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of the place. It has made a convert of me, has revolutionized some of my fundamental notions of men and of life. And when people accuse me of being inconsistent, all I can say is this, 'I have seen the tomb of Napoleon.""

Such, on a vastly different scale, was the impression received at San Francisco's Passion Play. The chorus, the orchestra, the unconventional surroundings, the simply worded script and the unsophisticated performers, all served to stir even the calloused first-nighter out of his professional apathy; but it was the totality of impression-a thing that baffles definition and eludes descriptive analysis-that pierced the toughened epidermis of the spirit and flashed quivering darts of love and sympa

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thy and reverence into the inmost core of
being. To the Christian it brought re-
newed realization of the Godhead of
Jesus; to the Jew and the Unitarian, the
pantheist and the agnostic, it gave an in-
sight into the personality of the Hero
Supreme, and an understanding not other-
wise obtainable, of the chief reason for the
marvelous rise and progress of the religion
of Christ.

Father Josaphat plans to reproduce the Passion Play every ten years. Let us hope that the project will endure. In the year of grace 1919 we shall be wiser, doubtless, in many ways; but our wisdom will not be so vast that a second production of San Francisco's Passion Play will fail to stir our hearts.



An evening in a garden old and dear,
In the sweet rest and autumn of the year;
Where the light filters through a veil of green,
And, gloriously glimpsed, afar is seen

The splendor of the sunset on the hills!
(Oh, brooding peace that all the valley fills.)
Santa Lucia's purple ranges rise,

Altars where thought may worship, to the skies.

In fancy often shall the scene repeat,

To my remembrance, all its witchery sweet:
The arbor, weaving o'er us light and shade;
The shrubbery, stretching an enchanted glade;
The sunset portai, and its spirit-spell
That on low talk and laughter sweetly fell;
And the fair hostess pouring nectar clear—
Bidding us welcome to her dainty cheer.
The work-day world has faded quite away,
Lost in the vision of the parting day.
In the soft sky, where still the after-glow
Lingers, the crescent moon doth trembling show.
(What wish unspoken, in each heart lies hid,
To test the ancient charm her coming bid?)
And the soul rests, poised in this heavenly air;
As the bird rests on moveless pinion fair.
Through the green cloister folding us within,
The leaves are audible our ear to win;
They whisper of the realm of far romance-
Of sunny Spain, and of chivalric France;
And poor Ramona's love, and her despair,
Thrill, like aeolian harp, the twilight air.
So the dear garden claims its mystic due-
Linking the legends of the Old and New.




T WAS AUTUMN in the professor's garden. The Virginia Creeper, which thickly screened the weatherworn house during the summer, had crimsoned over and glowed richly in the mellow sunlight of a California November. It was redder on the professor's house than anywhere else along the street. Plants always did their best for him-so his neighbors said.

"But then," they added, "that is his line of business." For Professor Lee was associate in the department of botany.

His dearest friend-and the professor had many dear friends, for he was a lovable man-his dearest friend said that it was because of the man's own nature; that there was an inherent something that made all things do their best for him.

The first winter rain had softened the ground. It was Saturday, and Professor Lee was preparing the bed for a great basket of bulbs which stood at hand, when a man who had been watching from the street entered the gate and approached him. He raised his hat, showing hair as white as the professor's own. He asked for work.

"What can you do?" was the kind inquiry.

"I can do gardening," he answered, glancing around. There was need. The garden was large and the botany department was over-worked this semester.

The professor looked closely at the newcomer. He prided himself on his ability to read character from appearances. The man looked honest. In fact, he resembled the professor himself. They were about the same size and wore the same short beard, fast changing from grey to white.

"I suppose you could lay the fires and beat the rugs."

"Yes, sir," was the humble answer.

"I shouldn't think Ellen would object,"

the professor continued, more to himself than to the other. "She is always having trouble with the cook about the rugs."

So Alexander Brown was hired to be gardener and man of all work around the Lee home. Miss Ellen, who was her brother's house-keeper, did not share his confidence in the gardener. She was suspicious from the first and declared for the ninety-ninth time that the professor would some day be deceived by appearances and his inordinate and childlike faith in his fellow creatures would receive a terrible shock. He laughed indulgently.

"You don't give me any credit for being a judge of character. I should as soon consider myself a villain as to suspect Alexander of being one. You can see for yourself that we have the same general appearance."

"People will think that he is brother or some poor relative we've taken in," she objected."

"I'm thinking of using him for a double. to attend faculty meetings. He could save me time for research work. He might accompany you to church, in my place, occasionally.'

Miss Ellen sniffed contemptuously.

"He's ahead of you in one thing, anyway," she retorted. "He hasn't shown any symptoms of absent-mindedness yet."

For this thrust the professor had no answer. He knew that it was his weak point. He had depended on his wife, the few years she had lived, to see that he went forth in proper attire to keep his appointments at their allotted times. Since she died, his sister, Ellen, had been his faithful monitor.

Still, he was forever wearing home a strange hat or ill-fitting overcoat, ill-fitting garments cast off by others, until finally Miss Ellen sewed a band inside of each with his full name, John Lee, etched thereon; and strictly bade him to form.

the habit of reading this before donning any outer garment.

Every one liked the professor. There was something winning about his childlike, genial personality; so it was no wonder that the man whom he had befriended became much attached to him. And the professor, on his part, trusted his man implicitly and made a real friend of him.


The new gardener had not been stalled a month when the professor visited an old friend who lived across the bay and carried some of his rarest bulbs to enrich the other's garden. The friend, in return, picked out other rare bulbs from his own collection and stowed them away in the professor's old black bag for him to carry home.

That evening Professor Lee attended a meeting. After he had been gone for some time, Miss Ellen was startled by an imperative ringing of the doorbell. It was too late for callers, and too early for the return of her brother, who might have forgotten his key and so have rung the bell. Alexander was in his room, a fact that she remembered with more satisfaction than it had previously given her, so she called him to answer the summons. She heard the sound of men's voices and waited to learn their errand. No one came to her for some time, so she finally stepped out into the hall. The gleam of a silver star shone through the doorway, and an officer of the law respectfully addressed her.

"Madam," he said, "we are sorry to disturb you, but we shall have to take this man away with us. He is wanted for the theft of some valuable jewels."

Miss Ellen paled, then grew indignant. To think that the man her brother had befriended should prove a thief! It was no more than she had expected, though; she had always been suspicious about him.

Alexander made no comment to Miss Ellen. He left no message for his benefactor. Indeed, he dared not meet the glance of her reproachful eyes. Quietly he left the house with his captors, and she sat, erect and scornful, by the study lamp, waiting for the professor to come


As soon as he entered, he saw that something had gone wrong.

"What's happened?" he queried.


The reproachful look had never Miss Ellen's eyes. It turned now toward him. He saw it and wondered what he had done.

"Alexander has been arrested," she witheringly announced.

"Alexander!" he repeated. "What for?" "For stealing," was the crisp answer. "What did he steal?" he persisted. "I know nothing about it," she replied, "except that the officers came here for him about an hour ago. They said something about jewels. It was so late that I sent him to the door. I feel disgraced."

The professor sank down into the depths of his easy chair and wearily rested his head against his hand. Miss Ellen's heart. sank with a sudden dread as she observed how old he had grown. She realized all at once that this might prove a sad blow to him, for most people willingly sponded to his confidence. This thought only increased her bitterness toward the traitor whom they had unsuspectingly harbored. She rose softly and said goodnight.


The professor sat beyond the circle of light from the study lamp. He did not care to read. His unseeing gaze was fixed upon the dull, ruddy embers of a dying fire. Nor did he rouse himself until Miss Ellen called him gently from above and told him the time.

In the morning he announced his intention of going down to the city prison to see Alexander.

"I think I'll get a few things that he might need from his room and take them along in my bag," he added.

He brought it out and placed it on the table to empty it.

"Sheldon gave me some fine new dahlia bulbs," he informed her, and mechapically sprung the catch. A puzzled look overcast his face as he drew out a large package. "I don't see how this came in here," he added.

Miss Ellen watched curiously as he opened it and drew forth a number of small boxes. All at once she seized one and cried.

"The jewels! Alexander must have used your bag."

"No," her brother answered. "I had it yesterday myself. I brought home my dahlia bulbs in it."

"Is it your bag?" she cried, a sudden suspicion gripping her.

He looked at it carefully. Then the awful truth broke over him.

"I've stolen it,” he exclaimed. Miss Ellen held her tongue. She was afraid she would say too much if she said anything.

Hastily, with trembling hands, the professor gathered the boxes into a package again and pushed them back into the bag which seemed to emanate reproaches from all its shining surface.

"What are you going to do?" she finally


"Take it to the police station and prove that Alexander is not a thief."

It was what she had expected, but the way he said it surprised her.


"John," she sternly demanded. you realize that you may be disgraced? You speak as if you were actually happy." He laughed his old boyish laugh as he answered:

"I am. You see, I thought I was deceived in Alexander, and he's all right. I haven't felt so good over anything in years."

"They may not take your word that it was all a mistake," his sister predicted. "You may have to stand trial and-oh, suppose you should lose your position!"

"I think you could testify as to my habits of picking up things that don't belong to me."

"But they may prove that you're a kleptomaniac, anyway," she bewailed.

"I'll take it right down and hand it over before they come to search the house," he said, picking up the bag. "And I'd thank the other party to deliver un mine." Miss Ellen awaited the outcome in some anxiety.

In less than an hour, her brother entered her sitting-room with a beaming face.

"Better than I thought!" he exclaimed. He was excited to a degree of exaltation. "Alexander is pure gold, true as steel, and

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"When the bag was opened to adorn my lady for dinner, they discovered the mistake. They called the police, and I was traced and tracked to my very door. Alexander knew that I had been across the bay and was the person wanted, but the good soul thought that rampant disgrace would wear a fiercer aspect attacking a dignified college professor than it would an obscure gardener, so he went in my place. And both women (not counting the poodledog), identified him as the man they had seen hovering around at the ferry."

The professor laughed, and Miss Ellen saw that ten years had rolled away from him since she saw him crouched before the dying fire the night before. It suddenly came to her how she would have felt if her brother had answered the bell's summons and had been the one to walk miserably away with the officers. "Is Alexander free?" she asked. "Yes; he came home with me," he answered. "He's out in the garden."

Miss Ellen opened the side door. Alexander was planting the new dahlia bulbs over by the fence, and he was whistling as he worked.

"Are you going to congratulate him?" the professor called, gaily, as she started down the steps.

"No," she answered briefly. "I'm going to ask his pardon."


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