male member of the company,
seated in a place of honour near the host, whose demure
garb and gentle countenance seemed to indicate her as a
Lady Pacifist, but denied all further identification.
The mild, ecclesiastical features of a second guest, so
entirely Christian in its expression as to be almost
devoid of expression altogether, marked him at once as
An Eminent Divine, but, while puzzlingly suggestive of
an actual and well-known person, seemed to elude exact
recognition. His accent, when he presently spoke, stamped
him as British and his garb was that of the Established
Church. Another guest appeared to answer to the general
designation of Capitalist or Philanthropist, and seemed
from his prehensile grasp upon his knife and fork to
typify the Money Power. In front of this guest, doubtless
with a view of indicating his extreme wealth and the
consideration in which he stood, was placed a floral
decoration representing a broken bank, with the figure
of a ruined depositor entwined among the debris.

Of these nameless guests, two individuals alone, from
the very significance of their appearance, from their
plain dress, unsuited to the occasion, and from the
puzzled expression of their faces, seemed out of harmony
with the galaxy of distinction which surrounded them.
They seemed to speak only to one another, and even that
somewhat after the fashion of an appreciative chorus to
what the rest of the company was saying; while the manner
in which they rubbed their hands together and hung upon
the words of the other speakers in humble expectancy
seemed to imply that they were present in the hope of
gathering rather than shedding light. To these two humble
and obsequious guests no attention whatever was paid,
though it was understood, by those who knew, that their
names were The General Public and the Man on the Street.

"A sad spectacle," said the Negro President, and he sighed
as he spoke. "One wonders if our civilisation, if our
moral standards themselves, are slipping from us." Then
half in reverie, or as if overcome by the melancholy of
his own thought, he lifted a spoon from the table and
slid it gently into the bosom of his faded uniform.

"Put back that spoon!" called The Lady Pacifist sharply.

"Pardon!" said the Negro President humbly, as he put it
back. The humiliation of generations of servitude was
in his voice.

"Come, come," exclaimed Mr. Jennings Bryan cheerfully,
"try a little more of the grape ju