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 on His  shoulders,  a  fool's  sceptre — a  reed — in  His hand. She sees  the  crowd  sway  hither  and  thither  as the  soldiers,  in  grim  sport,  struggle  to  reach  Him,  to mock  Him,  as  a  King  whom  she  knows  truly  to  be  the King of  kings;  to  spit  on  and  buffet  and  load  with dishonor Him  whom  she  knows  to  be  the  soul  of honor;  to  torture  and  torment  Him  who,  she  knows, was always  good  and  kind  to  everybody,  and  feels even for  His  enemies  naught  but  tenderness  and  love. Why, even  the  stony  heart  of  Pilate  is  moved  to  pity as he  looks  on,  and  he  is  led  to  believe  and  hope  that if that  howling  mob  outside  could  only  see  the  man now, they,  too,  would  be  moved  to  pity  Him  and  let Him go. So once  again  he  orders  Him  to  be dragged  up  and  out  upon  the  balcony,  with  His  hands bound, the  crown  on  His  head,  the  purple  robe  on His  shoulders,  the  reed  in  His  hand;  and  thinking  to give  them  the  full  benefit  of  the  piteous  spectacle, Pilate suddenly  presents  Him  to  them  and  shouts out: "  Behold  the  man!  "  Behold  the  man! Ah, if you  have  the  smallest  vein  of  sympathy  in  your nature; if  your  heart  ever  beat  fast  and  swelled  with pity for  a  poor  fellow  creature,  for  a  poor  Brother, — behold this  man  and  shed  one  little  tear  over  His deplorable condition. What more  touching  sight  is there  than  to  behold  a  strong  man  writhing  in  mute agony? There before  me  stands  my  poor,  gentle, patient Brother;  His  knees  trembling  beneath  Him with weakness,  and  every  muscle  of  His  mangled body shivering  with  torture;  His  head  bowed  down, and those  pathetic  eyes  searching  the  crowd  with  a