The Life of General William Booth

Vol. 2 ~ Chapter 21 ~ 1903
Contents

THE DAWN OF A SECRET HOPE AND
THE END OF A GREAT CAMPAIGN

ALTHOUGH one finds few references to the matter in the journals or letters, and these only of the most glancing character, there is no doubt that the General was moved by the immense interest in the Army at this period to entertain the hope of converting the whole world.

He spoke of the matter to Bramwell Booth and also to the present writer. He believed that it was possible to bring men and women of every degree and temperament into the fold of the Salvation Army, and he even dared, in certain moments of enthusiasm, to think that he himself might live to accomplish this consummation.

The reader must remember that the campaigns of the General were events of the first order in every country that he visited. No man of any nation in the world had so wide a popularity among all the peoples of the earth. Moreover, it must be carefully borne in mind that wherever he went the General heard the most astonishing, the most dramatic, and also the most pathetic stories of individual conversions. To hear one or two of such stories must have kindled any man’s enthusiasm, but for a man of William Booth’s temperament and faith to hear hundreds of these stories told in every part of the world must clearly have been an inspiration of irresistible power.

In a certain measure it may be said that he looked for a Second Advent. He hated faddists with all his might, and he feared to find himself numbered among the superstitious; he therefore kept almost entirely to himself this dream of great world-conversion, this hope of a final victory over Satan, this prayer for an absolute accomplishment of his heart’s passion.

But there is no doubt that in secret he poured out to God this last and tremendous longing of his soul, clinging to life with an ever-hardening tenacity only that he might live to see the answer of his prayer and fall adoring, on this human earth of sorrow and tears, at the feet of his Master.

We shall see from the concluding accounts of his visit to America, which extended into the year 1903, that there was at least some justification — if we remember the troubled beginnings of the Army — for this pathetic dream of the old prophet. And from now onwards it will be found that he moved, with an ever-multiplying band of followers, from one triumph to another, enjoying such a universal popularity as I suppose has fallen to the lot of no other religious leader.

His daughter Emma, with her husband, Commissioner Booth-Tucker, were the organizers of these triumphs in the States:

Found Emma waiting me in our car. She has come from Washington, where she had spent Sunday interviewing Mr. Mark Hanna in reference to my approaching visit to that City, and my dinner with the Members of the Cabinet, the lunch with the President, Mr. Roosevelt, and other important things.

I cannot stop to record the story of her experiences, but it was quite exciting, very interesting, and likely to prove useful to the Army in the future.

A somewhat formal account of the reception given by Senator Hanna in Washington occurs in this journal:

I had my usual effort (at sleep) after lunch, but failed, and now my head was swimming and my heart was burdened to a border of distraction with the supposed importance of the evening’s gathering, and of the part I had to play in it. I threw myself on the bed, and succeeded in gaining ten minutes’ sweet oblivion.

5 o’clock. Introductory interview with Senator Hanna. Found him very friendly indeed, and seemingly anxious to do what was within his ability for the Army. His personality impressed n-me at once. I wanted no one to tell me that he was a born leader of men after I had conversed with him ten minutes.

8 o’clock. The Dinner. Some of the most important guests had failed at the last moment to put in an appearance on account of influenza. Of this there is quite an epidemic in the city.

However, quite a number of influential men gathered around the beautifully decorated table and partook of the dainties set before them, and when they had well eaten and the cigars had been handed around, Mr. Hanna introduced me with a few very hearty and appropriate words of recommendation respecting myself personally and the work in general. I talked for an hour, got a little confused here and there, and left unsaid some of the more important things I wanted to say.

Still I talked freely out of my heart, and pleaded hard for my poor people. Whatever my own opinion was of my performance (and it was not a very high one, indeed quite the contrary), the views entertained respecting it by every individual present, expressed in the frankest manner either in the speeches made after I sat down or at the final handshake, were most favourable to the Army, and of deepest sympathy with it and the most ardent desire for its continued and increased success.

Describing, in The Continent of Chicago, a dinner given in Washington by the late Senator Mark Hanna, the Hon. Henry B. F. Macfarland, of Washington, said:

The most interesting dinner ever given in Washington, so far as my knowledge goes, was that of Senator Hanna, in honour of General William Booth. Senator Hanna had been brought to know the Salvation Army in Cleveland by Governor Herrick and his sympathetic and generous heart, so little known by people in general, had gone out to the Army.

He had given largely of money, and even of time, in aid of its work in Cleveland and in Ohio, and had, like Governor Herrick and other friends of the Army, endured cheerfully ridicule from associates on account of his avowed friendship for an organization which to men of the world seemed bizarre and fanatical.

At the period of this dinner, it is true, the Salvation Army had lived down most of the early opposition to it. But its unique Founder, General Booth, had not yet received the official honours afterward heaped upon him, and if he had died then, the President of the United States and the Emperor of Germany might not have joined with the King of Great Britain in honoring his memory. To most of the leaders in public life of the United States he was practically an unknown quantity.

Senator Hanna himself had never seen the General, but hearing that he was coming to the United States and Canada for a tour of meetings, the Senator invited him to be his guest while in Washington — especially the guest of honour at a formal dinner. General Booth accepted. At that time the Senator was living at the Arlington Hotel, and he provided for the formal dinner as elaborately as if it were for the President of the United States.

The banquet was set for the evening of General Booth’s arrival, and as he came in on a late train, he did not meet his host until he came with the other guests into the reception-room. The General was very tired with his journey. After the first exchange of greetings, Senator Hanna and General Booth apparently found little to say to one another, and both were relieved when the other guests began to arrive. These guests were about fifty of the most important men in Washington at that time.

Except the President of the United States, practically every conspicuous figure in the public life of the capital was present, including the Vice-President, the Speaker, and members of the Supreme Court, the Cabinet, the Senate, and the House. Almost all of them came to please Senator Hanna, and with no feeling toward General Booth except, possibly, curiosity. Some, like the then Speaker of the House, the late David B. Henderson, who looked upon every dinner as a time for fun of all sorts, evidently expected to get great amusement out of the occasion at Senator Hanna’s expense.

It was winter, and the air outdoors was cold, but it was no colder than the moral atmosphere of the reception-room in which every one seemed to feel an awkward constraint. After the introductions no one seemed to know what to say to General Booth, and he said very little to anybody. The announcement that the dinner was served came with more than the usual amount of relief to the host and his guests, including General Booth. The dinner proper passed off as dinners usually do, varied only by an attempt on the part of Speaker Henderson to jest across the table with Senator Hanna and General Booth, which Senator Hanna promptly and peremptorily suppressed, saying, “Now, Dave, this is not that sort of a dinner.” As may be imagined, this remark did not help to break the ice.

When at the close of the dinner Senator Hanna got up to speak, he was evidently embarrassed. His brief introduction of General Booth was almost colourless. When General Booth arose, he looked tired and ill at ease. His voice was husky from the effect of the many speeches of his tour, and he spoke in low tones. His first few sentences made no impression, except, possibly, to add to the general feeling of coldness. Senator Hanna’s face showed fear of failure.

Suddenly one of the Senators at the extreme right said, “Louder!” This gave the old General just the shock which he needed. He threw up his head and straightened out his form like an old lion suddenly roused to action. Snapping back, “Oh, I can shout if necessary!” he raised his voice so that it could be heard all through the banquet suite. He spoke possibly an hour, continually gripping, more and more, first the head and then the heart of his audience.

It was a memorable study to watch those who had never heard him before, and he gradually overcame their indifference, disarmed their criticism, and captured their attention, and, finally, admiration. His hearers were the hardest men in the country to affect by speaking. All of them were familiar with all the arts and tricks of every form of public speaking — in courts, in Congress, on the stump.

No company of the same number could have been assembled in their country at that time including more public speakers of experience and success. Senator Hanna could not have selected for the purpose of resisting the speech of General Booth a more formidable company of men.

But the Salvationist chief took them captive without their knowing how. In form General Booth’s speech was not eloquent any more than his voice, which, though strong, was rough and harsh. In truth, the speech violated all the canons of oratory but one, and that the only one that cannot be violated without failure. The canon, of course, is that which requires sincerity and earnestness. It was evident that the speaker was genuine, and it was equally evident that he was speaking of real life.

But it was most evident that he was speaking, as was said of Whitefield, “like a dying man to dying men,” without thought of the outward rank or popular reputation of those to whom he spoke.

When General Booth sat down he had completely changed the atmosphere of the occasion, and the minds of all the men before him. Senator Hanna, rising to speak, searched in all his pockets for a handkerchief, and not finding one, picked up his napkin from the table and wiped tears from his cheeks. He was not the only man who had not been able to repress the tears. All were greatly moved, each according to his temperament. What Senator Hanna then said was very different from what he said in his introduction. But no words could equal the tribute of his tears.

Then followed a series of extraordinary informal speeches which were more like confessions than like ordinary after-dinner addresses. One after another the strongest men there, of different kinds, responded to Senator Hanna’s invitation to give their impressions as well as they could in words.

Vice-President Fairbanks, Speaker Henderson, Justice Brewer, Senator Hoar, Mr. Cannon (then Chairman of the Committee on Appropriations in the House), Senator Cockrell of Missouri (then the “watchdog of the Treasury” in the Senate), and others of the same general character, made speeches which would have astonished themselves if they had been made on any other occasion, and which astonished their hearers as it was. None of them ever spoke at any other time with equal eloquence — eloquence of the highest sort, because brought from the very depths of their own lives.

For once they allowed their spirits freedom and threw aside conventionalities, speaking from their hearts. It was interesting to see how each one of them went back to whatever was spiritual and holy in his boyhood training, or in the best moments of his past life, laying aside for the time all that had since gathered over these memories.

It would be impossible to reproduce the speeches. No reporter of any kind was present. Senator Hanna thought it would be best to have the freedom of a perfectly private dinner, and while fragments of the proceedings, gathered second-hand, were briefly printed by the local press in a very inadequate and unappreciative way, no real report of it was ever published. But even a stenographic report of it would have been entirely inadequate. It would not have given any idea of the spirit of it all, expressed in the manner as much as in the matter of what was said.

A characteristic incident was that Senator Cockrell, who, as guardian of the public purse, was never known to suggest an appropriation if he could possibly escape doing so, actually proposed across the table to Mr. Cannon, then Chairman of the House Committee on Appropriations and “watchdog of the Treasury” there, that they should agree to make an appropriation of public money for some Salvation Army institution to be established in Washington. Nothing else said at the table was more striking to those who heard them and who knew so well their customary attitude toward appropriations.

The most notable of the speeches was that of Senator Hoar, of Massachusetts, still in the full vigour of his powers. A Massachusetts Brahmin, a typical representative of New England conservatism and culture, a critic armed with great knowledge of men, books, and affairs, capable of the severest analysis, he was then President of the American Unitarian Association, the official representative of that church which does not approve of what is commonly called “revival” or “evangelistic” effort, and which of all the churches is supposed to have the least sympathy with the teachings and methods of the Salvation Army.

Of all the men present, Senator Hoar was supposed to be farthest removed from a personal sympathy with General Booth and his views and ways; therefore, when he rose to speak everybody felt strangely stirred.

After giving his thanks to Senator Hanna for what he termed a remarkable experience, he went on to say that he “took shame” to himself that this great movement called the Salvation Army had gone on in his own time without his ever really seeing it until that night. He had of course, he said, seen the Salvationists doing their work in his own town of Worcester, where he had frequently observed them at the street corners holding meetings.

It showed how little he really saw of the meaning of it, he said, that he had been on the point repeatedly of speaking to the leader of such a meeting, and asking him whether he did not know that he ought not to pray thus in public, but rather in secret, that he might expect that the Father in Heaven would reward him openly. “I see now,” he said, “how foolish, how fatuous such a remark would have been, and am thankful that I never made it.”

He then went on to say that the story which General Booth had unfolded was like that of the early Christian Church in the Apostolic age. He pointed out the resemblances between the spirit of the early Church and that of the Salvation Army. He recalled how the Apostolic Church also went to the people and used the open air for their meetings, and sought the lowest as well as the highest of men and women, and had power to help them to change their lives, as in later periods, so much of the Church did not have power. He spoke then of the courage, self-sacrifice, and heroism of the Salvation Army in being like that of his beloved Pilgrims and Puritans in England and Holland, and on the stern and rock-bound coast of Massachusetts.

Finally, after completing that parallel in his most eloquent manner, he said that while General Booth had been speaking there had come back to his mind an old-fashioned hymn which he learned in his boyhood, and which he thought expressed the very purpose and life of the Salvation Army. This hymn was called, he said, “The Heralds of the Cross,” and he quoted several stanzas of it with evident feeling. It was an old-fashioned evangelical missionary hymn, just such an one as the Unitarian Church does not use, and his recital of it with such earnestness made a deep impression on the company.

When Senator Hanna closed the speaking there was a general movement to speak to General Booth personally, which was in great contrast both in eagerness and in warmth to the reception he had been given on his arrival, and the things that were said to Senator Hanna in acknowledgment of the opportunity he had given his guests were very different from the conventional expressions of gratitude on such occasions. Often since then men who were present have spoken of this dinner as an experience that stands out separate from all other meetings of that sort which they ever saw.

But this dinner was only the prelude to other important events. General Booth was received by President Roosevelt at the White House:

We were ushered in in the most informal manner, and on entering found Mr. Hay, Secretary for Foreign Affairs; Mr. Root, Secretary for War; and Mr. Hitchcock, Secretary for the Interior. After introduction to these gentlemen, I had a nice chat with them. We were shortly after joined by another gentleman much interested in some kind of Slum Settlement in New York.

The President then entered, shaking hands all around in the cheeriest manner. Mr. Roosevelt was accompanied by a Mr. Sargent, who, I was afterwards given to understand, has a wide-world reputation as a Portrait Painter.

During the conversation at dinner I heard it stated that this Artist was present for the purpose of painting a likeness of the President; Mr. Roosevelt remarking that he had been through all the rooms at the White House that had been proposed for the sitting, and had not found one suitable, until in coming down the stairs to lunch Mr. Sargent had stopped him at a certain point, and declared that that was just the very place and position that would be suitable to his task.

We were soon seated and busy with the viands; conversation never flagged for a moment, the President having a long way the lion’s share of the talking. All manner of things were chatted about, some of them weighty, and some of very much lighter importance, at least so they appeared to me.

After a little while the President, who had seated me at his side, turned to me and entered into conversation on the character of our work. He seemed much interested in our Criminal operations, the efforts for the rescue of the poor Lost Women, and the Colonization of the land.

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Unfortunately some business matter called his attention off, and he turned aside to write a memorandum, and then something came about the Venezuela affair, which Mr. Hay informed him was he believed near a hopeful settlement, and so the talk drifted on until the repast was ended.

The President rose, assured me of the pleasure it had afforded him to meet me, wished me good luck, and we all went our way.

But of still greater interest was the next appearance of William Booth:

In company with Senator Hanna and the Commander (Commr. Booth-Tucker) we drove to the Capitol for the performance of the ceremony of opening the Senate with Prayer, to which I had been invited.

I had not looked forward to this affair as being of any importance, but it certainly turned out to be one of the most interesting if not remarkable incidents of my life.

To begin with, Senator Hanna, who had so publicly taken me under his wing, is one of the most important men in the United States, being looked upon as what is publicly known as “The Boss of the Republican Party,” and is beyond question a guiding spirit of the most powerful force in the Country.

In the second place, I found myself to be an object of interest to all the most prominent Statesmen in the Senate, nearly all of whom sought me out, being introduced by Mr. Hanna or others, or introducing themselves.

In the third place, I had the honour accorded me of being permitted to occupy the floor of the House during the progress of the business; and last, but not least, of bearing witness to the importance of the recognition of God, doing His will, and caring for the hopeless and helpless classes of the Community.

The House was unusually crowded, some people saying that the Galleries had not been so packed for thirty years, while all agreed that no such assemblage had taken place during this Session; and more remarkable than the crowd in the Gallery was the attendance of the Senators themselves; every man of them seemed to be in his place, and when the Vice-President made the usual sign and I was conducted to the chair he usually occupied, a sudden stillness fell upon the assembly.

Every head, they afterwards told me, was reverently bowed, while I asked God’s blessing on the men chosen for so important a share in the direction of the destinies of this great nation, and for wisdom and strength to do the work to the Divine satisfaction, and for the highest well-being of those concerned.

I must confess to feeling beforehand some little anxiety as to the way I should be able to discharge this duty. While desirous, as I hope I ever am when approaching the Mercy-Seat, to speak to God regardless of the feelings with which my performance may be regarded by those around me, I was still anxious that the few sentences I had the opportunity of speaking and which I knew would be so closely criticized, and so widely circulated, should carry with them useful lessons and inspire profitable feelings.

I had a dim recollection that three minutes was allowed for the function, but altho’ I asked Senator Hanna and a few others, including the Chaplain, I could get no definite pronouncement on the subject, the general opinion being, I fancy, as I learnt afterwards was the case — that I should not be likely to infringe on the Decorum of the House by taking any unusual liberty in this direction.

As I stood there a world of feeling came rushing upon me; memories of past struggles, influences of the kind things said about myself and my doings, and the possibilities of the future, seemed all to come in upon me, God helped-me as I lifted up my heart to Him, and He gave me words which I believe not only reached His ear, but the hearts of many present.

I exceeded the three minutes, but I did not go far beyond the six — and I do not think that any one has intimated that I went too far. A good many would have liked me to have gone further!
A motion was afterwards passed ordering that the words of the Prayer be entered in the Records of the House, and suspending the standing order referring to the presence of strangers in the House. Then for an hour I remained on the Floor of the Chamber, during which time I suppose I shook hands with every important personage present.

There is an amusing story in the journal recording his reception in Atlanta:

Banquet of leading Citizens as a welcome. Fifty present, consisting of Judges, Pastors, Bankers, and the like.

Fine feast of fat things, which I had to sit out chewing a bit of bread, a potato and an apple to keep the Company in countenance.

After an hour’s wearisome dawdle, the Governor of Georgia, who was the President of the Function, called on Mr. Witham to make the opening remarks. This gentleman is an important personage in Atlanta. He was described to me as the President of Twenty-four banks in and around the city and two cotton mills, with a reputation for being the best after-dinner speaker in the States, and the leader of a Bible Class composed of 200 members.

He certainly gave a five minutes’ hearty, earnest, and humorous speech, saying that the reason Saul failed at Athens was the fact that the City never gave him a proper reception, and that they were resolved that my visit should not come to grief from the same cause, and therefore they assembled together to assure General Booth of the great admiration they had for him personally, the interest with which they regarded his career, and the hearty wishes they call for the success of the work in the U.S. in the future.

My talk came next, and I talked as well as I could under the circumstances, with very little pleasure to myself, but giving great satisfaction to all present, of which I was assured by each individual in the inevitable handshake with which the affair closed.

Then quite unexpectedly in the midst of these events we came upon a domestic romance. He encounters a man who had been brought up by the Booths from his childhood:

In after years to our grief he had taken to bad ways — come to America, gone to lower depths still, and was reported upon at last as being dead, the money sent to provide for him in his sickness being returned with the mournful message that he had passed away.

Here he was, however, alive and well, and apparently full of gratitude for the kindness shown in the years gone by. I told him to come in the morning and speak to me at the close of the meeting. On reaching my billet the Consul was no little interested in the news. It was like a resurrection from the dead.

Then we find an entry which hints at the secret ambition of the General’s soul:

I was billeted with a Professor of the Clark University here, a very thoughtful and intelligent man; he undoubtedly understands the Salvation Army as well as any one I have met in the States and a long way better than most, and sees in her ability for doing a great work, not only among the submerged but the higher classes of society.

He urged on me the importance of making an attack on the Universities, assured that we should reap a rich harvest of very superior young people capable of the devotion, self-denial, and toil required for doing great things in the world; he was very much interested in my University Scheme. The Institute over which he presides appears to be of a superior sort, expending its energies chiefly on the study of those Sciences which are supposed to be necessary for the higher education; indeed they pride themselves on the making of Professors.

He prefers American journalism to English:

The reports of the Secular Press were remarkably striking and religious, far more Salvationary Sensational than many that appear in our own papers. Amongst other things, in speaking of the waves of feeling that rolled over the crowd it was remarked that “There were psychological moments in the meetings when, if the invitation had been given, half the people would have had to rush out to the Mercy-Seat.”

Everywhere he goes the people throng to hear him:

The Theatre was gorged to overflowing. As I entered half the gallery was all but empty, that portion being set apart for the coloured population. I asked why they did not fill it up with the whites. “Oh,” they said, “no white man or woman would be seen there.” I thought to myself, perhaps you may see some of them there before long.

As I anticipated, people poured into the despised space rather than be shut out of the building altogether, and we were soon full in every part, some having by some means climbed on to the roof while other unfortunates did not get in at all.

In the midst of this campaign he keeps up the regular correspondence with Bramwell:

My passionate love for everything that blesses and favours the Army and the high position you occupy in its direction and control — no less than my heart’s tenderest yearnings over you personally, make me long to be ever talking to you. . .

Of some one attached to his modest retinue he writes:

It is no use complaining. . . . You have no need to fear about _____. I shall manage him. I have started on the enduring tack; it is good for the work of patience in my soul. Still he is a trial to me. Since I wrote this he has acted like a bully to a reporter, etc.

My eating is a great trial. I get awfully tired of the misery that seems to follow almost every meal. I eat less and less, but I must eat something.

Emma has gone back to San Francisco, a journey of 36 hours, to try and see Mrs. Stanford again and to ask her straight out for a sum of money to carry out my wish, the establishment of a Great Training Institution, an International University for training men and women for dealing with the sins and miseries of the submerged throughout the world.

There is a great rage here for Universities — I want to utilize it. I don’t think I should have any difficulty much in getting a million dollars for this object if it were to be fixed up in America — England is the rub! However, Mrs. Stanford’s rich husband gave 20 millions before he died to the University she is establishing and she has given 13 millions more since his death. I have sent her a letter by Emma. . . Emma is full of faith. We shall see what comes of it.

A very interesting reference is made to Social Work in one of these letters:

You are puzzled, you say, with respect to our relations with the poor. I am not surprised that you should be, but I think we have made it pretty plain both to ourselves and to the public. There can be no question that the Darkest England Scheme lifted us up to a position in public esteem the world over, which we should never have gained in all human probability for perhaps a century without it, even if then.

Moreover, it is right. It is in harmony with the teachings of Jesus Christ and the very essence of a great deal of the Bible. It matches the promptings of the human heart everywhere. If a man had a brother who was hungry and homeless and naked, his first sense of duty would be to feed and house and clothe him, doing it in the spirit of love and talking to him about his soul all the time.

The same practice is called for by Jesus Christ when He says, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” We are trying to do it. The world can understand this sort of religion, and the world believes in those who practise it, and belief in you has to be produced in the world before it will get much benefit out of what you say on other things.

The danger lies in extremes. “Let your moderation be known unto all men” is a text which grows more and more important in my estimation every day. As to whether we get as much real benefit out of the time and labour and ability bestowed upon feeding the poor as we should do if spent in purely spiritual work is a very difficult question to answer.

We have a number of people, and shall have an increasing number of them, who can do this work and cannot do the other. Let us employ them and make the world pay for it. What I object to is using the time and ability of men and women for Social Work who are required for the Spiritual, and using money after the same fashion. This is not very plain, but you will know what I mean.

Throughout these letters one comes across expressions of humility, such as the following:

I shall be only too glad to help you in any way which you feel most helpful, that is within the narrow compass of my limited ability.

His faith in Mrs. Booth-Tucker, whose tragic death was so soon to cloud his old age, is expressed again and again:

I have had a useful discussion with Emma this morning. She is a great pleasure to talk to and a great strength for the future.

I am very pleased indeed to hear you have had a good talk with Emma. She is indeed a marvellous conversationalist in my opinion, and has other gifts which if I am not mistaken are destined to help you and the Kingdom very considerably in the future.
Her soul yearns for affection and there is no one from whom a few extra kind words will he more acceptable than yourself. Just take the hint, please, without reference, and make a little extra joy and gladness in her heart.

Emma is an untold comfort and support. She is much better (for the time being, anyway) than for some years. May it last. But she works very hard and is very venturesome. Too hard and too venturesome, I think. But it is no use me saying her nay.

In the month of March this, one of the most brilliant of all his personal triumphs, came to an end:

The close of the Campaign now draws near. A few more days and the closing hour will be struck, the Celtic will be boarded, and we shall be away from the land where we have been permitted to see such marvellous victories of Grace.

Every minute of the day is laid out with work of one kind or another. Farewell letters to dear Comrades. Friends all over the States. Good-bye interviews to some of the leading people in New York City.

Articles promised for different secular and religious papers, together with a reception this afternoon at the residence of Miss Helen Gould who wants to see me. A handshake with the D.O., together with the preparation of my farewell address at the Metropolitan Opera House, which comes off the night before my departure.

The latter is now assuming somewhat remarkable proportions not only as regards the number but the character of the audience expected. Mr. Hearst, of journalistic fame, Mrs. Russell Sage, Miss Gould, and a number of others of the Elite of the City have taken boxes. _____ has sent 250 dollars for a Box.
While, on the other hand, the toughs and roughs of the Bowery (which is the lower part of New York) have taken a part of the Gallery for themselves, and I should like to be ready so far as my part of the Programme is concerned.

He writes to Bramwell:

Depend upon it, the United States is destined to be such a nation for Population, Power, Intelligence, Wealth, and Energy as the sun has never looked down upon. You can have no idea of the possibilities of this Pacific Coast taken alone. San Francisco will probably at some near future rival London itself.

And to a newspaper representative of The Daily News he gave on his return the following impression of his visit:

“Think what a number of nationalities you have there. Look at the 800,000 Jews in New York alone, the 40,000 Poles in Buffalo; think of the medley of tongues and the clashing of interests. You might think the possibility of disruption would be great. I don’t think so. Above everything, there is throughout the States the love of the Flag — of unity — that will subjugate all conflicting feelings, and ultimately mould the people into one solid nation.

There is a great love of fair play in America — of that sort of freedom which is not merely taught and advocated for party purposes. You go into a room full of men of different nationalities, and you will find them all jolly and friendly together. It is the same as if you go into a gathering of Ministers of different Denominations — Episcopalians, Baptist, Methodist, Quaker, or anything else.”

“There is great toleration?” inquired the journalist.
“Toleration!” shouted the General, “they don’t need to mention the word. It is much more than that — it is the recognition of every man’s right to hold what opinions he chooses. As to myself, I was everywhere received with the greatest respect and kindness, not only by religious people, but also by irreligious people.

“And nowhere was I received with greater respect than in Salt Lake City by the Mormons! You may go about the shops and hotels and warehouses, which I did, or into the homes of the people, which I didn’t, and you would notice no difference from the ordinary run of society. I think the question of Mormonism is largely one of secular prosperity. A man goes out there and gets a chance immediately. He wants to have a bit of land or a shop, and every help is given to him if he does right. I don’t think religion has very much to do with it.

I held four meetings there, and the Governor himself presided, while the head of the Mormon Church and his Bishops came arid listened to me, and shook hands with me, and congratulated me on the remarkable gathering. The Governor afterwards said to me: ‘Thank you for the meeting this afternoon. That was certainly the strongest sermon I ever heard in my life.’

“What was the subject of the sermon?”

“It was on the Past, Present, and Future of the Salvation Army. This country could take a lesson from the Mormons in the matter of colonization. Get hold of the men who have some fitness for the business, and give them seed to sow and implements with which to cultivate the land, as well as a horse; and let them pay you back again what you have expended on them. That is the principle of the Mormons. They spend money on a man, who afterwards has to return that money, as well as a tenth of all he produces.”

“And what about the spiritual life of America?”

“It is very much about the same as here. There is a great deal of formality among the professors of religion, and a great deal of indifference among the vast crowds — and, I think, of growing indifference — largely as a result of prosperity and of the spirit of unbelief which is rife everywhere. Yet I think their attitude towards religion is friendly. They puzzle me, they bewilder me. They are different from the English people. The American, I should say, is more religious naturally than the Englishman. He thinks. You can pray in an American crowd, and they won’t laugh at you. You can talk at the corners of American streets, and the people will listen to you.

I never once saw a sneer or heard a jeer all the time I was there. You see the difference in the newspapers. They are a perfect contrast to the English ones. My meetings were reported in the newspapers of nearly every City more fully than in The War Cry. They drew attention to the enthusiasm and other features in conspicuous headlines, and they wrote down what happened as if the writer understood what religion is.”

This campaign in America, with its public receptions and preachings, its state functions and conversions, its triumphal processions and quiet conversations with public men, was typical of every campaign that followed. The General of the Salvation Army had marched from cottage-meetings in the rookeries of Nottingham to a public favour and influence which extended all over the world. The same earnestness, the same humanity, the same simplicity of soul which had characterized his first youthful preachings in Nottingham streets characterized everything he did on this big platform of the world.

His attraction lay in that first transparent honesty, that first rugged simplicity. There was a most stubborn conservatism in his soul which preserved him from the dangers of popularity. He learned much as he went along, his sympathies widened and deepened, but the essence of the man never changed.

Chapter 22

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