n indisputable fact. It is known, however,
that he lived in baronial style in his new town. His red brick mansion
was a treasure house of tapestries, tiles and other beautiful
furnishings.

However, whether he was a baron or an untitled man, he merits a share of
admiration. He was founder of a glass factory, builder of a town,
founder of iron works, religious and secular instructor of his employees
and citizens, and earnest philanthropist.

The last role resulted in his financial embarrassment. There is an
ominous silence in the story of his life, then comes the information
that the man who had done so much for others was left at last to
languish in a debtors' jail, die unbefriended and be buried in an
unknown grave.

In the days of his prosperity he gave to the congregation of the
Lutheran Church in his town a choice plot of ground, the consideration
being the sum of five shillings and an annual rental of one red rose in
June.

Years passed, the man died, and either through forgetfulness or
negligence the annual rental of one red rose was unpaid for many years.
Then, one day a layman of the church found the old deed and the people
prepared to pay the long-neglected debt once more. Since that renewal
there is set apart each June a Sabbath day upon which the rose is paid
to the nearest descendant of the founder of the town. They give but one
red rose, but all around are roses, roses, and it seems most fitting to
call the unique occurrence the Feast of Roses.

If ever the little town puts on royal garb it is on the Feast of Roses
Sabbath. For days before the ceremony the homes of Greenwald are
beehives of industry. That day each train and trolley, every country
road, is crowded with strangers or old acquaintances coming into the
town. A heterogeneous crowd swarms through the street. The curious
visitor who comes to see, the dreamer who is attracted by the romance of
the rose, the careless youth who rubs his sleeve against some portly
judge or senator; the tawdry, the refined, the rich, the poor--all meet
in the crowd that moves to the red brick church in which the Feast of
Roses is held.

The old church of that early day has been removed and in its place a
modern one has been erected, but by some happy inspiration of the
builders the new church is devoid of the garish ornamentation that is
too often found in churches. Harmonious coloring, artistic beauty, make
it a fitting place for a Feast of Roses.

When Phoeb