rb db db bbb bill bbb bb bbb
She saw standing on the committee
appointed to carry out Henry's resolu-
tion to arm the colony—greatest marvel
of all—the very men who had cried out
against it, Mr. Pendleton, Colonel Har-
rison, Colonel Bland.
At that moment a vast army began
forming. From those walls in which
later Benedict Arnold was to quarter
his British marauders the message
flew that day. One by one the battal-
ions gathered, strong, but invisible.
They were not called by drum or trum-
pet. They had no camp nor field nor
garrison. But at plow, in shop or in
chamber the recruits silently answered
the summons and stood ready.
It had been the hour and the man.
The hour had started the initial im-
pulse of the Revolution, and the man
was Patrick Henry.
S Foy did so and returned to
his seat across from the gov-
ernor in the arras walled council cham-
ber at the palace. He sent a snaky
look at Armand, who sat at ease in egg-
blue satin and lace, attired for the
evening's rout. And the look was ma-
levolent.
Lord Dunmore’s face this night fo-
cused slow hate, and he sat hunched in
his chair. “Has Conolly come from the
ship yet, Foy?’ he asked.
The other shook his head.
“Hell’s tooth!” raved the earl, leap-
ing from his seat and striding up and
down. “I'll show them! Tomorrow
they shall whistle for their powder!
There are the Indians still, and then
the slaves. If I have to raise the plan-
tations, I'll bring these sniveling rebels
to their knees! Freedom, forsooth!
’Tis the king’s hand rules, and my hand
for the king’s in the Virginias!”’
He paused in front of Armand and
beat the table with his fist.
“And the slipperiest of them all you
shall snare us, my fine marquis. ’Tis
Patrick Henry! Haunch of a basted
swine! A nice picture his tongue licks
up for the clods! He is in Williams-
burg tonight, and he shall not leave it
till he sails for London and a gallows
tree!” He strode off again in a rage,
his face working like a Satan’s.
At last he left off. “Give him his
orders, Foy,” he said quickly.
Foy leaned forward, chin in palm.
and spoke.
“You will write a message now to
Henry which I shall dictate. It will
state that you are in receipt of news
from France affecting the colonies and
desire his immediate presence at a
place which I shall name. You shall
go thither to await Henry and detain
him there till my own arrival with an
armed file. Do I make myself clear?”
The young foreigner waved his em-
broidered arm lightly. “I beg to re-
mind his excellency of our bargain.”
The governor faced around with
something like a snarl and sat down
heavily.
“] was to write certain letters to De
Vergennes, King Louis’ minister, and
to Beaumarchais—Iletters in the hand
of the Marquis de la Trouerie, signed
with his signature and seal. These
CHAPTER XII.
gir the door!” the earl com-
manded.
have been written. They have said of
the situation in this colony only what
you would have them say, have they
not? And you have sent them.
not so”
Is it
“As for me, give me liberty or give me
death!”
Tre earl narrowed his eyes.
“I have done your excellency’s bid-
ding. You are not satisfied. Very good,
monsieur. We turn the page then.”
“Ho!” said Foy. “’Tis not as difficult
for a nobleman to get money, eh, Mas-
ter Clerk? What fine colonial bird have
you plucked now? I’ faith, a nice swag-
ger of a sudden! Marry! Art going to
wed with a plantation then?”
. Lord Dunmore snorted and threw
himself forward in his chair.
“Nay!” he shouted. ‘The bargain
ends not here, my lily livered poacher!
Letters, haith, when there is open re-
bellion? Small need I have for pen
work now! ’Tis neck twisting I am for,
pd PEPE TEPER Sait FERRERS ARRERSRERRERS
pod
seed HALLIE
i By... ERMINIE
$iit RIVES
PZ 3
* ¥
E 3 z
x 2 oop
+
* 3 ee
php he
pb ; os
+ 0
od Copyright, 1902, by THE BOWEN.MERRILL COMPANY it:
+
fre ep iB %
etd
and you shall aid me with a bait for
that stubborn rump Henry!”
Foy drew forward pen -and paper.
“Will you write?’ he asked.
“No,” said Armand composedly.
His lordship’s face, from livid, turned
a volcanic purple.
“Your excellency,” went on the young
man, “will recall my social position.
Spy? Betray? Surely not, messieurs!”
He moved his hand as thoygh dismiss-
ing an indiscreet pleasantry.
The earl bit off an oath with head
thrust forward. His jaw dropped like
a lion lapping blood.
Armand had risen. “I shall see you
tonight amid the ladies, monsieur?”’ he
asked of Foy. “A very good night to
your excellency.”
«I shall be eager to carry out any
plans your excellency may be pleased
to favor,” said Foy as the door closed.
The Apollo room that evening was a
blaze of splendor. It was the last
dance of the old regime. All knew the
nearness of the cloud. All heard the
rumble of the storm. But courtesy in
Virginia was as the grain in wood.
There it was not until the last that
Tories had perforce to leave the colony;
when all who were not Tories turned
Democrats and went into the Revolu-
tionary armies; when gentlemen took
the field and their ladies toiled at
home with lint or homespun.
Now, though the bolt was speeding,
until it fell Tory and Whig met and
danced in tavern and in hall. Smile
and bow changed not a whit. Sparkle
was over all.
But it was only a shell of gayety.
The core was a volcano.
In the outer hall of the Raleigh, be-
hind the shifting throng of gallants at
the door of the Apollo room, Jarrat
looked across a minuet and in glimpses
caught between the stately moving fig-
ures he saw Anne. }
Never had she seemed so beautiful,
her head golden misted in the light, her
long, fringing lashes shading the dusky
blue of her eyes. She stood, full vein-
ed, exultant, under the white candles,
her dress dove colored, flowered in
large trees, with cherry tinted stays
trimmed in blue and silver. On her
hair, drawn high, sat a weblike cap-
uchin.
Jarrat’s face sprang scarlet—a hope-
less, helpless rage of bitter longing.
With him it was moth and flame, and
the wing singeing had become a joy
of torture.
The Marquis de la Trouerie passed in-
to the assembly. Gallants crowded to
greet him. Brooke fawned upon his
hand. He became a sun with a train
of lesser satellites. He moved leisurely
through the throng, answering the
shafts of the wits, bowing to plump
Mrs. Byrd among the dowagers, ap-
proaching the end of the room, where
Anne, beside Colonel Tillotson’s sol-
dierly black, held her constant court,
gilded by the effulgence which the open
worship of the favorite of fashion had
thrown upon her.
Very lovely she looked to Breckin-
ridge Cary, just arrived on a visit from
Lancaster. He watched her from where
he chatted with Byrd, whom he had
last seen in Covent Garden shortly be-
fore he left England for home. He had
known her from a child at Gladden
Hail. The old world, he thought, could
never have bred her; she was fruit of
the new, of its fire and full blood, its
daring, its pride and prodigality, born
of its dewy valleys and its untouched,
cavernous forests, a thing that must |
have withered in the heavy air of Lon-
don.
“yonder comes our glass of fashion,
Mr. Cary,” boasted Brooke, joining
them. “Ab, you can always tell your
real nobleman! What a waistcoat!”
he simpered, ogling it rapturously.
“Demme if Master Coolbaugh shall not
cut me one like it!”
Cary looked with a flash of recogni-
tion that broadened into a stare of
amazement. He saw a figure incased
splendidly in satin, with rare point
dropping from the sleeves, jewels
gleaming from the ruffles, a sword hilt
on which blcod rubies burned, a breast
sparkling with a bediamoned order.
“The marquis is late,” Brooke added.
“The marquis?’ Cary’s eyes opened
wide.
“That,” said Byrd. “is the Marquis
de la Trouerie.”
Cary bent closer. There could be no
mistake. No mistake! And all Wil-
liamsburg deceived! The circle of
beaus parted. roiled back at the new-
comer’s approach, and Anne's face lift-
ed itself, startled and joyful, a one
look which told it all to Cary, flashlike.
Oh, the pity of it!
Jarrat in his red coat saw, too, from
the hall—saw her smiling, but not to
his words, glowing, but not for him,
and evil crept into his face till every
feature seemed a sin.
“Sweet Sir Lobster!” said a lacka-
daisical voice behind him. ‘Peaceful
as ever I see, and ‘with uniform all un-
sullied. I’ faith, I warrant no redskin
might outstrip you on the far Scioto.”
“Not now, Master Freneau,” said Jar-
rat, breathing heavily. “Not now! To-
night I am occupied.” ‘
“Alas! Poor Scarlet! Is it not a
raree show? Mayhap ‘twill inspire me
to an ode. Shall I sing a Trouerie ca-
parisoned for the lists of love? See!
To be gazed at so—is it not worth a
prince’s ransom? Oh, adorable!”
He paused, his mocking black eyes
on the other's smoldering face.
EE eye——m—m—m—m—mmmm—————"—"—"—mmm—¥¥7/74//———"—"—#—#—#—+#"™——~—"——
“Be-
hold the discomfited!” he went on.
“Think you Mistress Tillotson has
aught for the spruce coxcombs with
diamond shoe buckles and a macaroon
elbow for snuff taking? Nay, nay! Nor
for a king’s spy with a rusted sword!”
Jarrat for once had no retort. The
outer door opened, and Foy and three
soldiers in his majesty’s uniform enter-
ed. Foy carried a folded paper.
The four entered the inner door and
stepped on to the crowded floor togeth-
er. Freneau and Jarrat both pressed
after them. the former in eager curi-
osity and the latter to slip into the
background.
Anne stood with the marquis, her
fingers on his arm, awaiting a minuet.
The fiddles were weaving the first
meshes of the tune. She felt his arm
suddenly tighten, his clasp take closer
hold.
“What is it?’ she asked. There was
a bustle at the lower end of the room.
He looked down at her. Something in
his voice smote her. “Remember what
you said to me at Greenway Court—
what you said when we stood under
the pines by Gladden Hall. If 1 should
come to be mean and low and dishon-
orable before the world”’—
“Look!” she cried. “They come this
way. What can they want?”
«I isten—low before the world, but
still loving—still toving you”—
An indefinable tremor came to her.
The dancers were beginning to stop.
Colonel Tillotson had turned his head.
Foy, followed by the soldiers, had
paused in front of them and was point-
ing to Armand. “Take him!” said he.
The fiddles broke off with a screech.
"The whole floor was stricken suddenly
hushed, suddenly motionless. Anne
could hear in Foy’s throat his hoarse,
savage breathing as the soldiers step-
ped forward. The assembly gasped,
thunderstruck.
Then instantly there was an uproar.
“Stop!” they insisted. A dozen dress
swords, among them Freneau’s, came
out clicking. The ladies shrank, the
gentlemen came up furious, muttering
curses against the royal governor.
«What is the meaning eof this out-
rage, sir?” Colonel Tillotson stood tall
and threatening. “By what right lay
you hands upon the person of the mar-
quis?” :
« «he marquis? ” said Foy. “I want
no marquis. This is no more marquis
than I am. I have here a warrant
signed by the royal governor of Vir-
ginia for the seizure of the person of
one Louis Armand, calling himself the
Marquis de la Trouerie, swindler, im-
postor and conspirer against the peace
of his majesty’s colony. A fine sport
he has made of. you, ladies and gentle-
men! Will you come hence peaceably,”
to Armand, “or shall I have you
dragged?”
The hearers wavered. Mrs. Byrd
had fixed her eyes on Anne’s face, and
in them was a tiny, feline glitter.
Anne’s hands were clasped about Ar-
mand’s arm, and a spot of indignant
red burned either cheek.
“Oh, infamous!’ she said clearly.
“mis a lel”
“gir,” asked Colonel Tillotson of Ar-
mand, his tone halting, “will you an-
swer this?”
The young Frenchman's eyes were on
Anne with a look ineffably tender,
struggling with a sudden anguished
shadow. White lines had fallen around
his lips.
“Colonel Tillotson—gentlemen,” said
Foy, “there is not a particle of doubt,
though the rascal has been clever
enough to deceive even his excellency.
Lack of proof has prevented his earlier
exposure. This man crossed on the
same ship as the nobleman he repre-
sents himself to be. The passengers of
the vessel knew him in his true char-
acter.”
“’Pywas the Two Sisters,” Anne de-
clared. Her eyes sought out Cary.
“Why—why—you were on that ship!
You left her in Hampton Roads. You
must know. Tell him he lies!” Her
tone was certain and defiant.
Cary’s lips twitched. He looked at
Armand, where he stood straight and
quiet, his eyes on Anne’s, and he seem-
ed again to see that lithe form hurling
itself against the brutal mate of the
ship for the hurt of an outcast woman's
heart. He struggled against a wish to
cry out that the matter was not his
business and fly. He dared not look at
Anne, knowing what he must see there
when he spoke.
“Mr, Cary was on the ship?’ asked
Foy distinctly.
Anne drew a long breath, and a pal-
lor suddenly struck her face. But she
bent forward and laid her hand on
Cary’s arm.
“Answer!” she bade him. ‘*‘Who is
he?”
Cary raised his hand. ‘“He is a gen-
tleman, and he is a brave man. Be-
yond I ask not!”
“Is -he the Marquis de la Trouerie?’
Anne's voice was clear and firm.
“He was my friend!” cried Cary.
“Is he the Marquis de la Trouerie?”
Cary’s look turned to her. He saw
the grayness in her cheek and the
brave light in her eyes burned his heart
cold. He looked from side to side—at
the sneering laugh of Foy, at the calm,
stern evenness of Colonel Tillotson, at
Anne’s face, now grown deadly white.
“Is he the Marquis de la Trouerie?’
“Answer, my friend,” said Armand.
Cary’s voice was husky as he spoke.
“He is the marquis’ secretary,” said he.
The men standing nearest drew away
from Armand at this. Anne had given
a flinching start as if smitten by the
flying terror of a bullet. It seemed to
her that present, future, dreams, real-
ity, heaven, earth, eternity, were all
slipping away from her. Armand
touched her hand gently, his face torn
with conflict.
“You told me—if the man you
loved”— The words failed.
She raised her great eyes to his. “Are
you the Marquis de la Trouerie?”
A whitening pain had conquered his
face.
WE AA
( Continued next week.)
HAND IN HAND.
When spring was young and life was new,
Love was our only friend and guide;
Sweet were the bowers he led us through,
And sweet our going side by side.
Then summer came, a golden flood,
And still we followed hand in hand;
Love was the music in our blood.
And love the glory of the land.
Rich autumn fell and winter drove
The fruity ripeness from the air;
But wrapped in warm, soft robes of love,
What recked we if the world wae bare ?
So round again we come to spring,
Strong for another year’s emprise;
The birds are whist to hear us sing,
The sun is dazzled by our eyes.
For, hand in hand. where’er we go,
Earth under fool and heaven above,
Love is the only life we know,
Aud every breath we breathe is love.
— Maurice Thompson.
Hamilton Shot 100 Years Ago.
Tribute to His Memory on the Weehawhen Duelling
Ground,
Weehawken residents have just taken
steps for an observance of the hundredth an-
niversary of the duel hetween Alexander
Hamilton and Aaron Burr, and, according
to the New York Sun, the ceremony, which
the Weehawken promoters planned as a
purely local affair, may grow into a tribute
of considerable magnitude to the memory
of one of the most picturesque figures of
the American Revolution.
There is no more picturesque or romantic
spot in the vicinity of New York city than
that in Kings Woods, on which the two
great men met in mortal combat. Only a lit-
tle clearing in the midst of a network of un-
derbrush,and surrounded by the very trees
through which the dueling parties passed,
indicates the scene of the encounter.
The clearing was made by a body of pub-
lic-spirited citizens, who in 1894 arranged
a ninetieth anniversary celebration of the
duel. Till then no one has given the his-
torical site any attention.
These celebrants wrested from dts setting
of earth the stone on which Hamilton 1s
said to have rested his head after receiving
his mortal wound, placed a very modest
bust of Hamilton on it, cleared the ground
around, and smirounded it all with an iron
fence. An inscription on the face of the
stone thus tells in brief the story of Ham-
ilton’s career and death.
1804 1894.
Upon this Stone
Rested the Head of the
PATRIOT, SOLDIER, STATESMAN AND
JURIST.
ALEXANDER HAMILTON,
After the Dael With
AARON BURR,
July 11, 1804.
Few make their way through the woods
to the modest shrine. The iron railing
which surrounds it is growing red with
rust. Rank growths cover the ground,and
she statuette is more remarkable for its de-
facement by chipping curiosity-seekers than
for its beauty or size.
A few months ago some patriotic resi-
dents of the surrounding country set on
foot a movement looking to the erection of
a becoming shaft there. The State was
solicited to aid, but the bill appropriating
$5,000 toward a $10,000 fund failed of en-
actment at the recent session of the Legis-
lature. It is proposed, however, at the ap-
proaching centennial exercises to set under
way a movement that will arouse the sen-
timent of the State and result in a becom-
ing decoration of the neglected spot.
Labrador.
Sparsely Populated—A Terrible Wilderness and
Lonesome to Man and Beast.
The coast of Labrador is the edge of a
vast solitude of rocky hills, split and blast-
ed by the frost and beaten by waves of the
Atlantio for unknown ages, writes John H.
Stark, in the Boston Transcript. A grand
headland, yellow, brown and black in its
nakedness, is ever in sight,one to the north
of you and one to the south. Here and
there npon them ‘are strips and patches of
pale green mosses, lean grasses and dwarf
shrubbery. There are no forests except 1n
Hamilton inlet. Occasionally miles of
precipices front the sea in which fancy may
roughly shape all the structures of human
art. More frequent than headlands and
perpendicular sea fronts are the sea fronts,
often bald and tame, and then the perfeo-
tion of all that is picturesque and rough.
In the interior the blue hills and stony
vales that wind up from among them from
the sea have a summerlike and pleasant
air. One finds himself still peopling these
regions and dotting their hills, valleys and
wild shores with human habitations, but a
second thought, and a mournful one it is,
tells that no men toil in the fields away
there, no women keep the home off. there,
no children play by the brooks or shout
around the country school house, no bees
come home to the bive,nosmoke curls from
the farm house chimney, no orchard blooms,
no bleating sheep flock the mountain side
with whiteness and no heifer lows in the
twilight. There is nobody there, there
never was but a miserable and scattered
few, and there never will be. It is a great
and terrible wilderness, thousand of miles
in extent, and lonesome to the very wild
animals and birds. Left to the still visita-
tion of the light from the sun, moon and
stars and the auroral fires, it is only fit to
look upon and then be given over to its
primeval solitariness. But for the living
things of its waters, the cod, salmon and
seal, which brings thousands of fishermen
to its waters and traders to its bleak shores.
Labrador would be as desolate as Green-
land. The time is now coming when with
good steamship accommodations the inva-
lid and tourist from the States will be
found spending the brief, but lovely sam-.
mer here, notwithstanding ite ruggedness
and desolation.
Right and Lett Handed.
It is curious to notice the vagaries of hu-
maniby in cases where no hard and fast line
has already been drawn. Although most
right handed persons put on their coats left
arm first, a considerable peroentage thrust
in the right first. Soldiers fire from the
right shoulder, but sportsmen are found
who prefer the left. In working with a
spade a proportion of right handed men
grasp the spade with the left hand and
push with the left foot and right hand,
though when using an ax the same indi-
vidnals would grasp farthest down with
the right.
She Knew Her Dad.
Smithers—Do you know anyone who bas
a horse to sell? >
She—Yes ; I suspect old Brown has.
Smithers— Why ?
She—Well, papa sold bim one yester-
day.— London Punch.
PLEASANT F1ELDS OF HOLY WRIT
Save for my daily range
Among the pleasant fields of Holy Writ.
I might despair —Tennyson
THE INTERNATIONAL SUNDAY-SCHOOL LESSON.
Second Quarter. Lesson IX. Mark X, 35-45
Sunday, May 29th, 1904.
THE PASSOVER.
All the singing pilgrim caravans had
come to a halt with the high grace-note of
the last *‘song of degrees.”’ ‘‘Our feet shall
stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem!”
Green booths and snowy tents dotted all
the valleys and slopes around the city, and
three million worshippers made ready for
the morrow. Over two hundred thonsand
lambs bad been purchased and marked for
sacrifice, and all the details of the joyous
festival were being attended to.
Jesus tarried yet in the swees and restful
seclusion of Bethany, but His disciples
knew very well that He who had said,
*“Thus it becometh Me to fulfill all right-
eousness,”’ would not ignore the great
Pascha. The question was not if He would
eat it, but where would He doso. Two of
the disciples are at once commissioned to
make the necessary preparations. They are
sent with sealed orders, no doubt, to keep
the traitor off their track. No one of the
remaining ten could possibly divine the
place until they arrived there in the even-
ing. A man doing a woman’s work (car-
rying water) would be novelty enough to
serve them as a sign. Jesus bade the mes-
sengers ask for a lowly place, some hall-
way. He would fain make the circuit. As
He spent Hie first night on earth in ‘a
lodging’’ so He would fain spend his last
one. He knows beforehand, however, that
His nameless but well-to-do disciple, John,
Mark’s father, perhaps, would give Him
the best his stately manor affords.
The disciples are off at once with their
errand. They find it as Jesus bad eaid.
The proprietor of the house gladly places at
their disposal a spacious room, capable of
holding a hundred or more. But they will
not be asked to share it with other pasthal
parties. They shall bave it in completest
privacy. It is in the second story, which
will add to their seclusion. Its walls bave
been freshly whitened, and tile-floor secur-
ed for this very occasion. The low, gayly-
painted table is already in position, with
the conches, forming three sides of a hol-
low square about 1t. The hanging-lamps,
dishes, basine, and water-jars, all are in
position. The disciples view the place with
grateful satisfaction, and then hurry out to
make the necessary purchases—the wine,
and cakes of unleavened bread; the vine-
gar, salt and bitter herbs; the nuts, raisins,
apples and almonds to make the compost
of, reminder of the clay in the brickyards
of Egypt; and, most important of all, the
year-old lamb. One of them carries the
lamb on his shoulders, the sacrificial knife
sticking in its fleece or tied to its horns.
At two o'clock in the afternoon, at sound
of trumpet-blast, with all others who bad
been similarly commissioned, they went in-
to the inner cours of the temple. At three
blasts they, with thousands of others,struck
the death-blow to their victim while the
priest caught the blood in a golden vessel,
and passed it up to the high altar. As the
disciples held the ]Jamb upon a stick tha
rested upon their shoulders, it was quickly
flayed. The parts devoted to God were
separated ; then, wrapping the victim in its
own skin, they started for the house where
they were to celebrate the feast. The car-
case, trussed upon skewers of pomegranate
in shape of a cross, was baked in the bouse-
hold oven.
At sundown, Jesus, with the Ten, ap-
proached the city, knowing well where He
would find the waiting disciples and the
supper-room. They enter, and the Master
views the preparations with evident eatis-
faction. The first three stars are shining
now, and the silver trumpets signal the
feast to begin. Shame, shame! The un-
seemly dispute as to precedence hreaks out
once more as the disciples scramble for the
most eligible places. Jesus rebukes them
in an acted parable, performing for them
the menial task of a scullery drudge. Now
the paschal banquet begins. The ritual is
used, the rubrics ohserved. The cup is
passed with thanksgiving. Bitter herbs,
dipped in vinegar, are eaten in remem-
brance of Egypt. The unleavened bread,
with a bit of the roasted lamb upon it, is
taken by each. Apother cup is passed.
There is the customary hand-washing.
Jesus, as the symposiarch, discourses upon
the significance of the feast. They break
out in the joyous singing of the firs part of
the Hallel. (Psa. exiii-oxiv.) The third
and last cup goes from hand to hand, and
then sing the second part of the Hallel.
(Psa. cxv-cxviii.)
At times through the feast, Jesus gives
intimations, increasingly distinct, of His
betrayal and detrayer. He suffers not His
manner toward Judas to charge. He prob-
ably let him take the chief place at the ta-
ble. He certainly washed his feet and gave
him his portion with His own hand. But
the devil was in his heart, and the thirty
pieces in his scrip. An incubus was lifted
when the apostate left the table. All that
remained of the paschal ritual was the
blessing of praise with which it was always
closed. They were all expecting it. The
innovation could not bat be noticed by
those who had followed one program annau-
ally from the time when they were ten
years old. Instead of lifting His band in
benediction, Jesus reached over to the dish
of unleavened bread upon the table, and,
taking ap a piece, He rose from the mat,
and blessed it, and, as He rose from one to
another, He broke it, giving each a morsel.
saying, “Take, eat; this is My body.”
Then He filled a cup, and again giving
thanks, and passing it from one to another,
He said, ‘This is My blood of the new cov-
enant, which is shed for many for the re-
mission of sins.”” Then followed His words
of institution, “This do in remembrance of
me.”
THE TEACHER'S LANTERN
The anachronism of Leonard J da Vinoi’s
lovely and justly famous fresco of the Last
Supper is obvious. He represents Jesus
and the Twelve sitting, in Occidental
style, at a modern extension-table. They
did not sit at all,but reclined. It was this
reclining which made it easy and natural
for John to lay his head on Jesus’ bosom,
and for Peter and John to hold their sotto
voce conversation without the traitor’s ob-
serving them,
* * * * *
Perhaps we emphasize disproportionate-
ly the sadness of the Last Supper. Jesus,
as host, wonld not allow the occasion to
wholly lose its festive character. It was
a goodly scene that the well-trimmed
lamps shone down upon. The fresh tur-
bans of blue, crimson, and yellow, the ani.
mated faces, the table covered with damask
and well supplied, make a study to delight
a phinter. The feast extended over sever-
al hours, and only the sombre incidents are
recorded: There must have been much
joyous converse as well.
* * * * *
The presence of Judas was the one ugly
spot in the feast of love. Jesus, without
openly criminating him before the com-
pany, plainly announced that one of the
Twelve would betray Him. He did this
for their sakes, that they might know He
was perfectly aware of His impending fate.
and, not being at all surprised, voluntarily
submitted to it. He did it for Judas’ sake.
Is was His last appeal ‘to the traitor. He
gave Judas the chief place at the table,
washed his fees, gave -him his portion with
his own hand, lovingly let him know he
read his wicked heart, and only when i
was clearly of no avail He hade him do
quickly his wicked deed.
*
* * * *
No question but that this upper room,
forever endeared to the hearts of his apos-
tles (and probably the property of a dieci-
ple), witnessed the appearance of a risen
Christ in their mides, and of the Pentacos-
tal effusions of the Holy Ghost. If so, it
was the very oradle of the infant church.
* = * » ®
The various names by which the Lord’s
Supper is known are in themselves very
significant. It is the Eucharist, meaning
our ‘good thanks’ for the Lamb that was
slain; it is the sacrament (sacrementum),
our holy pledge of fealty to our Divine
Leader, it is the communion (communis),
sign of the intercourse and agreement we
have with God and each other.
* s * * *
The believer should be always ready to
commune, as he is supposed to be always
readyto pray. But this does not render spe-
oial attentionun desirable; for the commun-
icant finds in the sacrament what he brings
to it,no more and no less. Jesus is present
in the ordinance only to the thonght and
feeling of the communicant: present only
when His soffering and death are realized
by faith.
* * * * *
To ack and to take the solemn tokens of
redemption is to confess before the world
Sul before the Church faith in the great
act.
* * * * ¥
At the table of the Lord’s Supper man
and God meet—man with his highest as-
pirations, God with His richest gifts.
* * * * *
Incidentally the communion is a pledge
of the reunion of Jesus and all His disci-
ples. He said He would eat no more of
the bread nor diink of the cup until the
kingdom should come. Then He will vis-
ibly banguet with all us in the kingdom of
His Father, according to His promise.
Pennsylvania to Test New Rail.
If Successful it Will Replace the Heavy Steel Rail
Now Used.
A new rail is to he tested by the Penn-
sylvania railroad, which, if a soccess, will
replace the heavy steel rails now used. The
new rail is said to have more than fifty
times the durability of the one now used.
It is composed of a composition of steel and
manganese, and is known as a ‘‘man-
ganese’’ rail.
Under the supervision of the mainte-
nance of way department the test will be
made. A portion of the main line tracks
between Philadelphia and Harrisburg will
be equipped with the new rail and, along-
side new steel rails will be placed. Specific
observations will be made and a report de-
livered to President Cassatt. II a success,
the entire system will be equipped with it.
The manganese rail has been tested in
the Boston subway, where it was subject
to every possible condition. It was adopted
for use there, and the attention of the
Pennsylvania management directed to is,
with the result that a test has been order-
ed. The manufacturers of the rail are
well-known steel men of Altoona, and the
outcome is awaited with great interest.
The process of manufacture is said to bea
secret.
The Pennsylvania railroad operates
about 5,500 miles of road, and is equipped
with 100-pound rails. This class of steel
runs 157 tons to the mile. The manganese
rail weighs about the same. If the road is
to be fitted with the manganese rails, it
will mean the purchase and manufacture
of 863,500 tons of rails. At the present
price of steel the cost of changing to the
new would aggregate $25,000,000. This is
not beyond the undertaking of the Penu-
sylvania, for if the test proves its superior-
ity, it wonld effect a great saving to the
company. Such a change would require
several years, but once done, according to
the claims, purchases of steel rails in tbe
future would be limited to repairs.
Must We Have Him ?
The Roosevelt administration has acquir-
ed the distinction of being the most expen-
sive in our history.
The second administration of Madison,
nuinding the war of 1812, cost $130,542,-
The administration of Polk, including
the Mexican war, cost $173,299,266.
The administration of Lincoln, including
the Civil war, cost $3,347,802,909 in paper
money, equivalent to from $1,500,000,000
to $2,000,000,000 in gold.
The first administration of McKinley, in-
cluding the Spanish and Philippine wars,
cost $1,906,136,611.
The administration of Roosevelt, in un-
broken peace, has cost $2,449,227,545 in
gold. This is nearly four times as much as
was spent under the scandalous first ad-
ministration of Grant and three times the
gost of the first administration of Cleve-
and.
President Roosevelt certainly comes high.
Must we have him?
A Soft Answer.
Mr. Pecksniff—I must say, Mr. Naybor,
I’m quite surprised at you. Why are yon
watering your garden to-day ?
Mr. Naybor—Simply because the plants
need it.
Mr. Pecksniff---But don’t you know this
is the Sabbath ?
Mr. Naybor---Of course, I know it, but
the plants don’t. ‘
——**Mise Brighs,”’ said Mr. Sloman.
“I don’t think May Jenkins is a very good
friend of yours.”
“No?” replied Miss Bright, yawning
ostentatiously.
‘No. She told me if I called on you I'd
only be wasting my time.”’
“I gee. She doesn’t consider my time
worth anything’’—Catholic Standard and
Times.
Quick ARREST.—J. A. Gulledge, of
Verbena, Ala., was twice in the hospital
from a severe case of piles causing 24 tum-
ors,
Bucklen’s Arnica Salve quickly arrested
further inflammation and cured him.
conquers aches and kills pain.
Green's druggist.
After doctors and remedies failed,
Ib
25¢. at
——A little man can never fill a big:
place hut a big man in a small place soon.
makes the place large enough to fit.