commands them is merely carrying out the will of the priests. If the priests fail to recognize God, is it their fault? They do not know whom they are killing. They do not know what they are doing. Perhaps God is nearer to them than they are aware. True, they seemed wrathful and hostile, but the mob urged them on. As for Pilate, he acted at their instigation. "An hour's talk with that Roman, and he would have followed me! Whither? Back to the Sea of Galilee! Fruit does not ripen here. Jerusalem is a place of stone."

The cross is too heavy for him; the sap is still in the wood. That young fellow passing by is vigorous. Let him carry it for the condemned man-not very far, now. A kindly-looking fellow, he carried another's cross, and has received the new message in his heart though he has never heard it with his ears. Thus in the last hour there comes a new disciple. But where are the others?

While the cross is thus borne forwards on a young man's powerful shoulders, there totters along behind it the pale figure of the prophet, suddenly grown old, pushed and jostled by the soldiers of the escort.

The centurion in command rides beside the train in gloomy silence. The officer and his men are out of humour, for they regard such executioner's work as beneath a soldier's dignity, and they loathe the tedium of waiting. Last time they had had to spend two days under the cross before the victim died.

Up there on the hill, more legionaries are already at work hammering and delving, for there are two other

crucifixions to-day, Jews expiating the crimes of theft and murder. While some of the soldiers are digging holes in the ground, others are nailing the criminals to the crosses as these lie flat upon the soil. One of them resists; but strong hands hold him fast, his yells are ignored, and the huge nails are driven home, one through each hand, and one through both feet. Nail them firmly, so that no cord need be wasted on the malefactors! Now, up with the cross! The feet are supported by the projecting board to which they are nailed, and the fork of the legs by a little seat slanting backwards, which prevents the body from falling forwards, and, with its weight, rending the hands from the nails. A number of soldiers working together, they lower the base of the cross into the hole which has been prepared, and shovel in earth and stones to make it stand firmly. Thus almost simultaneously the two crosses with the thieves nailed to them are set up in the scorching sunlight, and the air is rent with the screams of the tortured men.

He whose turn is now to come sees all this as if in a dream. "Murderers and thieves," he thinks; "poor men, led astray, sentenced, and hurried off to their doom!" Above the head of each a placard has been affixed, declaring in three languages the nature of the offenders' crimes. There must be such a placard for him, too. Yes, that thickset little soldier, the one who had kicked him just now, is nailing it to his cross. "Rex Judæorum." Had he ever used that name of himself? Perhaps the whole thing is the illusion of men whom God

has struck with blindness? Soon the Father will manifest himself in glory and in truth!

While he thus continues to indulge in hopeful fantasies, he suddenly becomes aware that his arms have been seized by pitiless hands, and that he has been stretched on the cross. He watches a nail, which looms gigantic before his eyes. Horror overwhelms him; pain racks him; he faints.

When he comes to his senses again, and grows aware of the fiery smart in his wounds, he turns his head to right and to left, and the sight of the other crosses recalls him to an understanding of what has happened. Certainly he has not awakened in heaven! On the ground, the soldiers have settled down for their long vigil. Some are drinking, others dicing. He recognizes his own vesture, for which they are casting lots. Now, when he groans, one of them looks up, another gives a sign, a sponge tied to a stick is lifted to his lips, and a soldier, speaking in Greek, tells him to drink, for it will dull his pain.

Not until then does he fully realize the situation. Summoning up his last reserves of energy, he shakes his aching head in refusal. The man below shrugs his shoulders, and the sponge is withdrawn. Jesus does not wish to benumb himself. Is he to miss the moment for which he has so long been waiting, simply in order to ease the pain in his hands? If only the disciples were here, to see God's grace, about to be manifested!

But the disciples are far away, and there are very few spectators, for every one is celebrating the Pass