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especially liking it, but he, as did Garfield, liked
it immensely.''

What followed was a striking example of Conwell's
intentness on losing no chance to fix an

impression on his hearers' minds, and at the same
time it was a really astonishing proof of his power

to move and sway. For a new expression came
over his face, and he said, as if the idea had only

at that moment occurred to him--as it most
probably had--``I think it's in our hymnal!''

And in a moment he announced the number,
and the great organ struck up, and every person

in the great church every man, woman, and child
--joined in the swinging rhythm of verse after

verse, as if they could never tire, of ``The Old-
Time Religion.'' It is a simple melody--barely

more than a single line of almost monotone
music:

_It was good enough for mother and it's good enough for me!
It was good on the fiery furnace and it's good enough for me!_

Thus it went on, with never-wearying iteration,
and each time with the refrain, more and more

rhythmic and swaying:
_The old-time religion,

The old-time religion,
The old-time religion--

It's good enough for me!_
That it was good for the Hebrew children, that

it was good for Paul and Silas, that it will help
you when you're dying, that it will show the way

to heaven--all these and still other lines were
sung, with a sort of wailing softness, a curious

monotone, a depth of earnestness. And the man
who had worked this miracle of control by evoking

out of the past his memory of a meeting with two
of the vanished great ones of the earth, stood

before his people, leading them, singing with them,
his eyes aglow with an inward light. His magic

had suddenly set them into the spirit of the old
camp-meeting days, the days of pioneering and

hardship, when religion meant so much to everybody,
and even those who knew nothing of such

things felt them, even if but vaguely. Every
heart was moved and touched, and that old tune

will sing in the memory of all who thus heard it
and sung it as long as they live.

V
GIFT FOR INSPIRING OTHERS

THE constantearnestness of Conwell, his desire
to let no chance slip by of helping a fellowman,

puts often into his voice, when he preaches,
a note of eagerness, of anxiety. But when he

prays, when he turns to God, his manner undergoes
a subtle and unconscious change. A load

has slipped off his shoulders and has been assumed
by a higher power. Into his bearing, dignified

though it was, there comes an unconscious
increase of the dignity. Into his voice, firm as it

was before, there comes a deeper note of firmness.
He is apt to fling his arms widespread as he prays,

in a fine gesture that he never uses at other times,
and he looks upward with the dignity of a man

who, talking to a higher being, is proud of being
a friend and confidant. One does not need to be

a Christian to appreciate the beauty and fineness
of Conwell's prayers.

He is likely at any time to do the unexpected,
and he is so great a man and has such control

that whatever he does seems to everybody a per-
fectly natural thing. His sincerity is so evident,

and whatever he does is done so simply and naturally,
that it is just a matter of course.

I remember, during one church service, while
the singing was going on, that he suddenly rose

from his chair and, kneeling beside it, on the open
pulpit, with his back to the congregation, remained

in that posture for several minutes. No one
thought it strange. I was likely enough the only

one who noticed it. His people are used to his
sincerities. And this time it was merely that he

had a few words to say quietly to God and turned
aside for a few moments to say them.

His earnestness of belief in prayer makes him
a firm believer in answers to prayer, and, in fact,

to what may be termed the direct interposition of
Providence. Doubtless the mysticstrain inherited

from his mother has also much to do with this.
He has a typically homely way of expressing it

by one of his favorite maxims, one that he loves
to repeat encouragingly to friends who are in

difficulties themselves or who know of the difficulties
that are his; and this heartening maxim is,

``Trust in God and do the next thing.''
At one time in the early days of his church

work in Philadelphia a payment of a thousand
dollars was absolutely needed to prevent a law-

suit in regard to a debt for the church organ.
In fact, it was worse than a debt; it was a note

signed by himself personally, that had become
due--he was always ready to assume personal

liability for debts of his church--and failure to
meet the note would mean a measure of disgrace

as well as marked church discouragement.
He had tried all the sources that seemed open

to him, but in vain. He could not openly appeal
to the church members, in this case, for it was

in the early days of his pastorate, and his zeal
for the organ, his desire and determination to

have it, as a necessary part of church equipment,
had outrun the judgment of some of his best

friends, including that of the deacon who had
gone to Massachusetts for him. They had urged a

delay till other expenses were met, and he had
acted against their advice.

He had tried such friends as he could, and he
had tried prayer. But there was no sign of aid,

whether supernatural or natural.
And then, literally on the very day on which

the holder of the note was to begin proceedings
against him, a check for precisely the needed one

thousand dollars came to him, by mail, from a
man in the West--a man who was a total stranger

to him. It turned out that the man's sister,
who was one of the Temple membership, had

written to her brother of Dr. Conwell's work.
She knew nothing of any special need for money,

knew nothing whatever of any note or of the
demand for a thousand dollars; she merely

outlined to her brother what Dr. Conwell was
accomplishing, and with such enthusiasm that the

brother at once sent the opportune check.
At a later time the sum of ten thousand dollars

was importunately needed. It was due, payment
had been promised. It was for some of the

construction work of the Temple University
buildings. The last day had come, and Conwell and

the very few who knew of the emergency were
in the depths of gloom. It was too large a sum to

ask the church people to make up, for they were
not rich and they had already been giving splendidly,

of their slender means, for the church and
then for the university. There was no rich man

to turn to; the men famous for enormous charitable
gifts have never let themselves be interested

in any of the work of Russell Conwell. It would
be unkind and gratuitous to suggest that it has

been because their names could not be personally
attached, or because the work is of an unpretentious

kind among unpretentious people; it need
merely be said that neither they nor their agents

have cared to aid, except that one of the very
richest, whose name is the most distinguished in

the entire world as a giver, did once, in response to
a strong personal application, give thirty-five

hundred dollars, this being the extent of the
association of the wealthy with any of the varied

Conwell work.
So when it was absolutely necessary to have

ten thousand dollars the possibilities of money
had been exhausted, whether from congregation

or individuals.
Russell Conwell, in spite of his superb optimism,

is also a man of deep depressions, and this is
because of the very fire and fervor of his nature, for

always in such a nature there is a balancing. He
believes in success; success must come!--success

is in itself almost a religion with him--success
for himself and for all the world who will try for

it! But there are times when he is sad and doubtful
over some particular possibility. And he intensely

believes in prayer--faith can move mountains;
but always he believes that it is better

not to wait for the mountains thus to be moved,
but to go right out and get to work at moving

them. And once in a while there comes a time
when the mountain looms too threatening, even

after the bravest efforts and the deepest trust.
Such a time had come--the ten-thousand-dollar

debt was a looming mountain that he had tried
in vain to move. He could still pray, and he did,

but it was one of the times when he could only
think that something had gone wrong.

The dean of the university, who has been
closely in touch with all his work for many years,

told me of how, in a discouragement which was
the more notable through contrast with his usual

unfailing courage, he left the executive offices
for his home, a couple of blocks away

``He went away with everything looking dark
before him. It was Christmas-time, but the very

fact of its being Christmas only added to his
depression--Christmas was such an unnatural

time for unhappiness! But in a few minutes he
came flying back, radiant, overjoyed, sparkling

with happiness, waving a slip of paper in his hand
which was a check for precisely ten thousand

dollars! For he had just drawn it out of an
envelope handed to him, as he reached home, by

the mail-carrier.
``And it had come so strangely and so naturally!

For the check was from a woman who was profoundly


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