Land. Noble old man--he did not live to see me--he did not live to see

his child. And I--I--alas, I did not live to see him. Weighed down by

sorrow and disappointment, he died before I was born--six thousand brief

summers before I was born. But let us try to bear it with fortitude.

Let us trust that he is better off where he is. Let us take comfort in

the thought that his loss is our eternal gain.

The next place the guide took us to in the holy church was an altar

dedicated to the Roman soldier who was of the military guard that

attended at the Crucifixion to keep order, and who--when the vail of the

Temple was rent in the awful darkness that followed; when the rock of

Golgotha was split asunder by an earthquake; when the artillery of heaven

thundered, and in the baleful glare of the lightnings the shrouded dead

flitted about the streets of Jerusalem--shook with fear and said, "Surely

this was the Son of God!" Where this altar stands now, that Roman

soldier stood then, in full view of the crucified Saviour--in full sight

and hearing of all the marvels that were transpiring far and wide about

the circumference of the Hill of Calvary. And in this self-same spot the

priests of the Temple beheaded him for those blasphemous words he had

spoken.

In this altar they used to keep one of the most curious relics that human

eyes ever looked upon--a thing that had power to fascinate the beholder

in some mysterious way and keep him gazing for hours together. It was

nothing less than the copper plate Pilate put upon the Saviour's cross,

and upon which he wrote, "THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS." I think St.

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The Innocents Abroad