the past that we must summon him from centuries long gone by. He is
in our hearts, John. Do I believe in the Real Presence? Do I not
know that there is a Real Presence? And neither priest nor pastor
can take it from me."

"I wish you could have administered the communion this afternoon,
Jennie," said I, "instead of Mr. Work."

"I wish some good friend of Mr. Work would advise him not to talk at
the communion," said Jennie.

"Write him a note," said I.

Jennie shook her head. "No," said she. "It would only do harm. But I
wish ministers knew and felt that at the communion table there is a
Real Presence that makes many words unfitting. When we are on the
mount of Transfiguration, we do not care much for Peter, James or
John. And so, dear, I recommend you to do as I do--if the minister
must give us a doctrinal disquisition, or a learned argument, or an
elaborate arabesque of fancy work, or an impassioned appeal, let him
go his way and do not heed him. I want silence that I may commune
with the Real Presence. If the minister does not give it me, I take
it."

Jennie is right, I am sure. What we laymen want at the communion
service, from our pastors, is chiefly silence. Only a few and simple
words; the fewer and simpler the better. Oh! you who are privileged
to distribute to us the emblems of Christ's love, believe me that
the communion never reaches its highest end, save when you interpret
it to us, not merely as a flower-strewn grave of a dead past, but as