The Press., 1908-06-03
Dead Hand Held Mite That
 He Always Gave.

The New York World Is perhaps the last place to look for . sermon, but the scribe who wrote the follow. ing account of the death of Peter Weber assuredly wrote one. perhaps unconsoiously. and he certainly had large audience. :-
 There was Q goodly congregation last night in Jerry McAuley's mission at No. 1O4 West Thirty second street, and Peter Weber, patriarch of the mission, obviously was gratified' If one thing more than another pleased aged Peter, it was to see faces old tC the Tenderloin, but new to the mis sion, light up with hope, which he found thirty years ago when he wal converted under Jerry McAuley'l teaching.
 Peter was a laborer then at small wage, and a laborer he remained, shouldering the burden of poverty no less bravely as the years weighed his shoulders. He believed that each should give according to his ability when the plate was passed in the mission. His contribution was 8 dime each day in the old days when he earned $l.50 day. His wage was reduced and he grieved over the necessity of contributing only nickel each night. Lately work has been slack for the old man. and Supt. Bellou observed that his contribution was a cent. Whatever the amount, Peter gave it every night.
 Seats Himself Wearily.
 He looked his seventy three years when he entered the mission last night. supt Bellou greeted him at the door. He said the days heat had affected him, but he determined not to break the record of thirty years by missing the service. He nodded to 8 few old friends, surveyed the new faces with satisfaction and dropped wearily into the seat near the platform which he had occupied for ore than a quarter of 8 century. The opening of the service had been delayed at times to await old Peters arrival. The regulars said it would seem cheerless without his presence and the ring of his voice in the hymns.
 Supt. Bellou paused at Peter's side before opening the service to inquire again about his health. The old man smiled cheerily, declaring all he needed was the comfort of prayer and song. The services started with the singing of Jesus, Saviour. Pilot Me" Peter cleard his throat and took up the melody. Soon there was quaver of voice. which those nerest Peter said later was unusual for him. He steadied himself and con- oluded the first verse;
 Unknown waves around me roll,
 Hiding rock and treaoherous shoal;
 Chart and compass come from Thee,
 Jesus, Saviour, pilot me.
 His eyes closed as the congregation took up the second verse, and over his face an expression of peace settled.
 The Last Sleep.
 Those who observed the old man believed that he was enjoying to the full the expression of religious fervor. He did not arouse himself when the hymn was needed, and Supt. Bellou tip toed down the aisle and placed his hand on his shoulder. There was no response. MT. Bellou lifted his head, but the eyes were closed in their last sleep. A penny dropped from the old mans hand and clattered on the floor. It was the mite he had provided for the collection plate.
 Word was sent to his home at No. 219 West Twenty eighth street, where he lived with his two sons. His wife left his home several years ago, for some reasons unknown. It was found at his home that there was not enough money to pay for 8 funeral, and the police took the body to the moTgue.. Unless some one comes forward and provides the necessary funds the. old man will be buried in Potters' Field.
 During his attendance at the mission he had contributed little more than $500, Supt. Bellou says.