scourged
Him." Stripped to the waist, and bound in a stooping posture to a low
pillar, He was beaten till the officer in charge gave the signal to
stop. The plaited leathern thongs, armed at the ends with lead and
sharp-pointed bone, cut the back open in all directions, and inflicted
such torture that the sufferers generally fainted, and often died.

But the scourging in this case did not satisfy the soldiers, whom
scenes of this nature had brutalized. They had been told by their
comrades of the mockery of Herod's palace, and they would not lag
behind. Had He been robed in mockery as King of the Jews, then He
shall pose as mock emperor. They found a purple robe, wove some tough
thorns into a mimic crown, placed a long reed in His hand as sceptre,
then bowed the knee, as in the imperial court, and cried, "Hail, King
of the Jews!" Finally, tiring of their brutal jests, they tore the
reed from His hands, smote Him with it on His thorn-girt brow, and
struck Him with their fists. We cannot tell how long it lasted, but
Jesus bore it all--silent, uncomplaining, noble. There was a majesty
about Him which these indignities could not suppress or disturb.

Pilate had never seen such elevation of demeanor, and was greatly
struck by it. He was more than ever desirous to save Him, and it
suddenly occurred to him that perhaps that spectacle of sorrow and
majesty might arrest the fury of the rabble. He therefore led Jesus
forth wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe, and, stationing
Him where all could see, said, "Behold the Man! Behold Him and admire!
Behold Him and pity! Behold Him and be content!" But the priests were
obdurate. There is no hate so virulent as religious hate, and they
raised again the cry, "Crucify Him, crucify Him!" Pilate was not only
annoyed, but provoked. "Take ye Him," he said, in surly tones,
"crucify Him as best ye can, my soldiers and I will have nothing to do
with the foul deed."

Then it was that the Jewish leaders, in their eagerness not to lose
their prey, brought forward a weapon which they had been reluctant to
use. "We have a law," they said, "and by our law He ought to die,
because He made Himself the Son of God." We hardly know how much those
words meant to Pilate, but they awakened a strange awe. "He was the
more afraid." He had some knowledge of the old stories of mythology,
in which the gods walked the world in the semblance of men. Could this
be the explanation o