kliffe. Many were spectators to the meeting
between them, and speculation ran higher upon the possibility that
before the week ended he would be enrolled among the avowedly convicted.
Again on Wednesday night he was on hand, an attentive and earnest
listener.

Prior to the preliminary exercise of song on this night, the Rev.
Wickliffe outlined the amplified plans for the great moral jubilation on
the evening of the Eighth and invited suggestions from the assemblage to
the end that naught be overlooked which might add to its splendors. At
this invitation, almost as though he had been awaiting some such
favorable opening, there stood up promptly Tecumseh Sherman Glass, and
Tecumseh made a certain motion which on being put to the vote of the
house carried unanimously amid sounds of a general approval. Some
applauded, no doubt, because of the popularity of the idea embodied in
the motion and some perhaps because the brother, in offering it, was
deemed to have displayed a most generous, a most becoming, and a totally
unexpected spirit of magnanimity toward a fellow professional occupying
a place which Cump Glass or any other saxophonist might well envy him.

If at this Jeff's heart gave a joyous jump inside of him, his face
remained a mask to hide his real feelings. If, privily, by day he
labored to gather up all the loose ends of his shaping design, publicly
by night he patronized the tabernacle. He was present on Thursday night
and on Friday and on Saturday, and three times on Sunday he was present,
maintaining still his outward bearing of interest and sympathy. He was
like a tree which bends before the compelling blast yet refuses for a
little while longer to topple headlong. This brings us up to Monday, the
Glorious Eighth.

With the morning of that day or with its nooning or with its
afternooning we need have no concern, replete though they were in
variety of entertainment and abounding in pleasurable incident. For us
the interest chiefly centers in the early evening and especially in that
part of the evening falling between seven o'clock and forty minutes past
seven. At seven, prompt on the clock's stroke and as guaranteed in the
announcements, the parade fathered by the Rev. Wickliffe, started from
the corner of Tennessee and Front Streets, down by the river, and
wended, as the saying goes, its way due westward into the sunset's
painted afterglow.

This was a parade! A great man had sired it; a tried organizer had