ke a fury pursues all pitiless men.

We passed through the Jaffa gate and entered upon the steep road
leading to the place of execution. The sun flamed down upon us; we were
enveloped in a cloud of dust. The prisoner at length, overborne by his
cross, fell beneath it. We seized upon an Ethiopian who chanced to be
in the throng and placed the burden upon him. Strange to tell, he
assumed it without a murmur; insomuch that by many he was suspected of
being a secret follower of Jesus.

As we surged on with din and uproar a group of women standing by the
wayside rent the air with shrill lamentations, on hearing which Jesus
said, "Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but for yourselves and
your children; for behold the days come when they shall say to the
mountains, Fall on us! and to the hills, Cover us!" It was a weird
prophecy, and ere a generation passed it was to the letter fulfilled.
There were those in that company who lived to see the Holy City
compassed about by a forest of hostile spears. Its inhabitants were
brought low by famine and pestilence, insomuch that the eyes of mothers
rested hungrily on the white flesh of their own children. On the
surrounding heights crosses were reared, on which hundreds of Jewish
captives died the shameful death. Despair fell upon all. And in those
days there were not a few who called to mind the ominous words of the
Nazarene, "Weep not for me, but for yourselves and for your children
after you!"

The road we journeyed has since been known as Via Dolorosa. It led to
the round knoll called Golgotha, from its resemblance to a skull. As we
drew nigh we perceived two crosses, already reared, on which two
thieves of Barabbas' band had been suspended in agony for some hours.
Their twisted bodies stood out grimly against the sky. Our prisoner, as
an added mark of obloquy, was to be crucified between them.

Our spears and standards were lowered, and Jesus, being stripped of his
outer garments, was laid prostrate upon his cross. A soldier approached
with hammer and spikes, at sight of whom the frenzied multitude ceased
their revilings for the moment and pressed near. The prisoner preserved
his calm demeanor. A stupefying draught was offered him; but he refused
it, apparently preferring to look death calmly in the face. He
stretched out his hands; the hammer fell.

At the sight of blood the mob broke forth again, crying, "_Staurosate!_"
But not a word escaped the sufferer. As the nails