to smell brimstone. They want deodorized and disinfected sermons of tabloid size. Sermons about the birds that sing in the wood, the flowers that bloom in the spring, and babbling brooks that sing on their way to the sea, rather than sermons about the song of the redeemed and the Rose of Sharon, and the Water of Life.

66 Then there are the women of culture, and the women of society, who will not go to hear Billy. Why? Because with their pink teas, their bridge and theater parties, and the care of their poodles, they have no time. Why should they cut out pink teas and such fol-de-rols, to sit on a wooden bench, with their feet on a sawdust floor, to hear a man reason of righteousness, temperance and judgment to come'? Why should they give up bridge, when there are still pieces of cut glass and chocolate pots and bric-a-brac to be had for the shuffling of the pasteboards? Of course they won't go to hear him. They think too much of their precious skins, and don't want to be flayed alive, or shown up as the whitened sepulchres that they are.

"It needs no prophet to say that the booze slingers will not go to hear Billy. They have no use for him in their business, and their business and Billy's business won't mix any more than oil and water will mix. Besides, they have tender hides, and don't care to have them peppered as full of holes as a screen door. The whisky man knows that he will get his good and proper if he goes to hear Billy. The brewer's big horses can't run over Sunday. He is no more afraid of them than a child is of a kitten. No man of modern times has given the saloon such a scare and such a lambasting as it gets from Billy Sunday, and 'there's a reason' whythey don't like him.

"Of course there are a few others who will not go

to hear him, but generally speaking, there are not many outside the classes mentioned above. But none of these will be missed from the crowds that will hear him, and for every one opposed to him there are hundreds who favor him, and believe in him, and before he closes his campaign in South Bend, his traducers and vilifiers will be hunting holes to crawl into-and a mighty small hole will answer for the biggest of them."

XI

LAST DAY OF THE BURLINGTON MEETING

S

UNDAY'S meeting at Burlington, Iowa, was one of

his greatest up to that time, and attracted wide attention. This chapter is taken from the Hawkeye's report of the closing day, and was written by Dr. G. Walter Barr, a journalist of Keokuk:

"Rev. W. A. Sunday's labors of five weeks closed in Burlington amid a scene of wild enthusiasm. A half acre of fluttering handkerchiefs and cheers from six thousand throats, shouting in a delirium of feeling, after twenty-five hundred persons had been added to the membership of Burlington churches, with hundreds more giving notice of their coming a little later. After this staid old city, firm in the conservatism of a one-time capital of Iowa, had been faced about and given such an uplift of moral standard that the observer within its gates who saw its intense antagonism six weeks ago, is overwhelmed with amazement at the change.

"After this man showed oratorical ability strong enough to pack a huge structure, with four to six thousand people at every session, and to have the largest attendance at the end of five weeks constant speaking. After the topmost item in the data of the table of history of revivalism in America had been surpassed, and the wonderful work of Australia, Wales and England had been equaled. After local ministers assisting him had collapsed and gone to bed broken down, and wiry

newspaper men accustomed to the strenuous life were on the verge of exhaustion, this most remarkable man in the world to-day ended a day of three tremendous sermons, as chipper as a newly elected candidate, and in a voice still able to carry half a mile, shouted:

66 6

Farewell, fellow sinners; I'm free from your

blood!'

"The last scene of the drama so full of the strongest heart throbs of humanity as to be a tragedy many times; so full of the unusual climacteric as to be thrilling at times; with something of comedy at times; the last scene may indicate something of the tremendousness of what has occurred here in the last five weeks.

"It is half past seven o'clock of a Sabbath evening in the tabernacle on West Hill. The building of thin pine boards and long roof trusses is packed with a solid mass of people so tightly that women faint in the crush, and strong men find their arms pinioned to their sides. Full six thousand people are in that mass of humanity that is quiet, because it has no chance to move. They all sing gospel songs in a grand chorus, such as was never heard in Iowa before. Then a man with a pleasant face and an iron-gray imperial advances a step nearer to the high pulpit edge of the platform, at one end of the crowded building, and says a few words of appreciation of this evangelist and his work.

"The waves that have been toppling the great tidal swell for weeks break over in whitecaps. The level plain of a half-acre of heads becomes a lake of white handkerchiefs wildly waving at arm's length. Cheer after cheer goes up, reminding one of the roar of national conventions when presidents are made. Time after time the waves of feeling break into whitecaps, and the cheers resound to the rafters and the sky. That was Burling

ton's answer to the request that all who have learned to love and respect William A. Sunday should indicate their feeling toward him.

"The background of this picture was the surging measure of song that rolled out in the big tabernacle from thousands of voices, led by the chorus choir of hundreds, as the people sung what was in their hearts. After the final evening sermon, and long after the preacher of it had gone to his rest, the people remained and sang.

"When the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there!' had new meaning to some of them.

"The Sweet By-and-By' was nearer than ever to some of them.

"Shall we gather at the river?' was answered by an increased volume of sound at the verse

"Yes, we'll gather at the river!'

"Blest be the tie that binds,' was chanted over and over again between other hymns, as My Jesus, I love thee,' and 'Where He leads I'll follow,' for 'I surrender all,' this last song of the famous 'Little Red Book,' was sung over and over again, and then repeated at the end

once more.

"These things were the end of a day of almost continual procession of great things occurring in a moving panorama. The greatest scene of the day was the men's meeting in the afternoon, when between four and five thousand stood to pledge their practical support at the polls and elsewhere, to the mayor, if he shall close the saloons on Sunday, and exterminate the gambling houses in Burlington.

"They did it with cheers and apparent determination. That was a climax harmonizing with the sermon to the effect of the liquor traffic on human society, which was