ssured that any twig from that
crown which we may have to wear will one day turn out to be our most
dazzling ornament.

[1] A ministerial friend told me that he once, in the hearing of Dr.
Andrew Bonar, made reference to some things in the life of St. Paul
which seemed to him to betray on the part of the apostle a sense of
humour. He was not very sure how Dr. Bonar might take such a remark,
and at the close he asked if he agreed with him. "Not only," was the
reply, "do I agree with you, but I go further: I think there are
distinct traces of humour in the sayings and the conduct of our Lord;"
and he proceeded to quote examples. Everyone is aware how Dr. Bonar
himself knew how to combine with the profoundest reverence and
saintliness a strain of delightful mirth; and the absence of this is
the great defect of his otherwise charming autobiography.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE SHIPWRECK OF PILATE

We have lingered long at the judgment-seat of Pilate. Far too long.
Pilate has detained us. He knew perfectly well, the first glance he
bestowed on the case, what it was his duty to do. But, instead of
acting at once on his conviction, he put off. Of such delay good
seldom comes. Pilate gave temptation time to assail him. He resisted
it, indeed; he fought hard and long against it; but he ought never to
have given it the chance. And he miserably succumbed in the end.

I.

When Pilate delivered Jesus over to be scourged, it looked as if he had
surrendered Him to the cross; and so in all probability the Jews
thought, because scourging was the usual preliminary to crucifixion.
He, however, had not yet abandoned the hope of saving Jesus: he was
still secretly adhering to the proposal he had made, to chastise Him
and then let Him go. Perhaps, if he retired into the palace while the
scourging was taking place, his wife may have urged him to make a
further effort on behalf of that Just Man.

At all events he came out on the platform, round which the Jews were
still standing, and informed them that the case was not finished; and,
as Jesus, whose scourging was now over, came forward, he turned round
and, pointing to Him, exclaimed with deep emotion, "Behold the Man."

It was an involuntary expression of commiseration,[1] an appeal to the
Jews to recognize the unreasonableness of proceeding further: Jesus was
so obviously not such an one as they had tried to make Him out to be;
at all events He had suffered enough.