The Second Coming

Three bishops sat in San Francisco, New Orleans, and New York, peering gloomily into three flickering fires, which cast and recast shuddering shadows on book-lined walls. Three letters lay in their laps, which said:

Three bishops sat in San Francisco, New Orleans, and New York, each staring gloomily into a flickering fire. The fires cast shifting, trembling shadows on walls lined with books. Each bishop had a letter in his lap. The letters said:

"And thou, Valdosta, in the land of Georgia, art not least among the princes of America, for out of thee shall come a governor who shall rule my people."

"And you, Valdosta, in the land of Georgia, are not least among the princes of America. For from you will come a governor who will rule my people."

The white bishop of New York scowled and impatiently threw the letter into the fire. "Valdosta?" he thought,—"That's where I go to the governor's wedding of little Marguerite, my white flower,—" Then he forgot the writing in his musing, but the paper flared red in the fireplace.

The white bishop of New York scowled and impatiently threw the letter into the fire. "Valdosta?" he thought. "That's where I'm going for the governor's wedding to little Marguerite, my white flower." Then he forgot the letter as he lost himself in thought, but the paper flared red in the fireplace.

"Valdosta?" said the black bishop of New Orleans, turning uneasily in his chair. "I must go down there. Those colored folk are acting strangely. I don't know where all this unrest and moving will lead to. Then, there's poor Lucy—" And he threw the letter into the fire, but eyed it suspiciously as it flamed green. "Stranger things than that have happened," he said slowly, "'and ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars ... for nation shall rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom.'"

"Valdosta?" said the black bishop of New Orleans, shifting uneasily in his chair. "I must go down there. Those colored folk are acting strangely. I don't know where all this unrest and moving will lead. Then there's poor Lucy..." He threw the letter into the fire, but watched it suspiciously as it burned with a green flame. "Stranger things than that have happened," he said slowly. "'And you shall hear of wars and rumors of wars ... for nation shall rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom.'"

In San Francisco the priest of Japan, abroad to study strange lands, sat in his lacquer chair, with face like soft-yellow and wrinkled parchment. Slowly he wrote in a great and golden book: "I have been strangely bidden to the Val d' Osta, where one of those religious cults that swarm here will welcome a prophet. I shall go and report to Kioto."

In San Francisco, the priest of Japan sat in his lacquered chair. He was traveling abroad to study unfamiliar lands. His face looked like soft yellow, wrinkled parchment. Slowly, he wrote in a large golden book: "I have received a strange invitation to the Val d' Osta. One of the many religious cults there will welcome a prophet. I shall go and report to Kioto."

So in the dim waning of the day before Christmas three bishops met in Valdosta and saw its mills and storehouses, its wide-throated and sandy streets, in the mellow glow of a crimson sun. The governor glared anxiously up the street as he helped the bishop of New York into his car and welcomed him graciously.

So, as daylight faded on Christmas Eve, three bishops met in Valdosta. In the soft glow of a crimson sun, they saw its mills, storehouses, and wide, sandy streets. The governor stared anxiously up the street as he helped the bishop of New York into his car and welcomed him warmly.

"I am troubled," said the governor, "about the niggers. They are acting queerly. I'm not certain but Fleming is back of it."

"I'm worried," said the governor, "about the niggers. They're acting strangely. I suspect Fleming may be behind it."

"Fleming?"

"Fleming?"

"Yes! He's running against me next term for governor; he's a firebrand; wants niggers to vote and all that—pardon me a moment, there's a darky I know—" and he hurried to the black bishop, who had just descended from the "Jim-Crow" car, and clasped his hand cordially. They talked in whispers. "Search diligently," said the governor in parting, "and bring me word again." Then returning to his guest, "You will excuse me, won't you?" he asked, "but I am sorely troubled! I never saw niggers act so. They're leaving by the hundreds and those who stay are getting impudent! They seem to be expecting something. What's the crowd, Jim?"

"Yes! He's running against me for governor next term. He's a firebrand. He wants niggers to vote and all that. Excuse me a moment, there's a darky I know." He hurried over to the black bishop, who had just gotten off the "Jim-Crow" car, and warmly shook his hand. They whispered together. "Search carefully," the governor said as they parted, "and bring me word again." Then he returned to his guest. "You'll excuse me, won't you?" he asked. "But I'm terribly troubled! I've never seen niggers act this way. They're leaving by the hundreds, and those who stay are getting impudent! They seem to be expecting something. What's the crowd about, Jim?"

The chauffeur said that there was some sort of Chinese official in town and everybody wanted to glimpse him. He drove around another way.

The chauffeur said some kind of Chinese official was in town, and everybody wanted to see him. He drove a different way.

It all happened very suddenly. The bishop of New York, in full canonicals for the early wedding, stepped out on the rear balcony of his mansion, just as the dying sun lit crimson clouds of glory in the East and burned the West.

It all happened very suddenly. The bishop of New York stepped onto the back balcony of his mansion. He was dressed in full ceremonial robes for the early wedding. Just then, the setting sun lit the clouds in the East a glorious crimson and set the West ablaze.

"Fire!" yelled a wag in the surging crowd that was gathering to celebrate a southern Christmas-eve; all laughed and ran.

"Fire!" yelled a joker in the surging crowd gathering to celebrate Christmas Eve in the South. Everyone laughed and ran.

The bishop of New York did not understand. He peered around. Was it that dark, little house in the far backyard that flamed? Forgetful of his robes he hurried down,—a brave, white figure in the sunset. He found himself before an old, black, rickety stable. He could hear the mules stamping within.

The bishop of New York did not understand. He looked around. Was that dark little house at the far end of the backyard on fire? Forgetting his robes, he hurried down, a brave white figure in the sunset. He came to an old, black, rickety stable. He could hear the mules stamping inside.

No. It was not fire. It was the sunset glowing through the cracks. Behind the hut its glory rose toward God like flaming wings of cherubim. He paused until he heard the faint wail of a child. Hastily he entered. A white girl crouched before him, down by the very mules' feet, with a baby in her arms,-a little mite of a baby that wailed weakly. Behind mother and child stood a shadow. The bishop of New York turned to the right, inquiringly, and saw a black man in bishop's robes that faintly re-echoed his own. He turned away to the left and saw a golden Japanese in golden garb. Then he heard the black man mutter behind him: "But He was to come the second time in clouds of glory, with the nations gathered around Him and angels—" at the word a shaft of glorious light fell full upon the child, while without came the tramping of unnumbered feet and the whirring of wings.

No. It was not fire. It was the sunset glowing through the cracks. Behind the hut, its glory rose toward God like the flaming wings of cherubim. He paused until he heard a child’s faint cry. Then he hurried inside. A white girl crouched before him, right by the mules’ feet. She held a baby in her arms, a tiny baby crying weakly. Behind the mother and child stood a shadow. The bishop of New York turned to the right, looking for an answer. He saw a black man in bishop’s robes that faintly echoed his own. He turned away to the left and saw a golden Japanese in golden clothes. Then he heard the black man mutter behind him: "But he was to come the second time in clouds of glory, with the nations gathered around him and angels." At that word, a beam of glorious light fell directly on the child. Outside came the sound of countless feet marching and wings whirring.

The bishop of New York bent quickly over the baby. It was black! He stepped back with a gesture of disgust, hardly listening to and yet hearing the black bishop, who spoke almost as if in apology:

The bishop of New York quickly bent over the baby. It was black! He stepped back with a gesture of disgust. He barely listened to the black bishop, but he heard him speak almost as if apologizing:

"She's not really white; I know Lucy—you see, her mother worked for the governor—" The white bishop turned on his heel and nearly trod on the yellow priest, who knelt with bowed head before the pale mother and offered incense and a gift of gold.

"She's not really white. I know Lucy. You see, her mother worked for the governor..." The white bishop turned around and almost stepped on the yellow priest. The priest knelt with his head bowed before the pale mother, offering incense and a gift of gold.

Out into the night rushed the bishop of New York. The wings of the cherubim were folded black against the stars. As he hastened down the front staircase the governor came rushing up the street steps.

The bishop of New York rushed out into the night. The cherubim’s folded wings were black against the stars. As he hurried down the front staircase, the governor rushed up the steps from the street.

"We are late!" he cried nervously. "The bride awaits!" He hurried the bishop to the waiting limousine, asking him anxiously: "Did you hear anything? Do you hear that noise? The crowd is growing strangely on the streets and there seems to be a fire over toward the East. I never saw so many people here—I fear violence—a mob—a lynching—I fear—hark!"

"We're late!" he cried nervously. "The bride is waiting!" He hurried the bishop to the waiting limousine and asked anxiously: "Did you hear anything? Do you hear that noise? The crowd in the streets is growing in a strange way. There seems to be a fire to the east. I've never seen so many people here. I fear violence, a mob, a lynching. I fear... listen!"

What was that which he, too, heard beneath the rhythm of unnumbered feet? Deep in his heart a wonder grew. What was it? Ah, he knew! It was music,—some strong and mighty chord. It rose higher as the brilliantly-lighted church split the night, and swept radiantly toward them. So high and clear that music flew, it seemed above, around, behind them. The governor, ashen-faced, crouched in the car; but the bishop said softly as the ecstasy pulsed in his heart:

What was it that he, too, heard beneath the rhythm of countless feet? Deep in his heart, he began to wonder. What was it? Ah, he knew! It was music, a strong and mighty chord. It rose higher as the brilliantly lit church broke through the darkness and swept radiantly toward them. The music soared so high and clear that it seemed to be above, around, and behind them. The governor crouched in the car, his face pale. But the bishop spoke softly as ecstasy pulsed in his heart:

"Such music, such wedding music! What choir is it?"

"Such music, such wedding music! Which choir is singing?"