{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_36917/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_36917","id":"gutenberg_36917","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36917","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Conwell, Russell H., 1843-1925"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by D Alexander, Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                     The Story of Fifty-Seven Cents\n\n                         _By_ ROBERT SHACKLETON\n\n\n                        The Story of the Sword\n                    The Beginning at Old Lexington\n                    The Story of Fifty-Seven Cents\n                        His Power as a Preacher\n                       Gift for Inspiring Others\n\n\n    VOLUME 6\n\n    NATIONAL\n    EXTENSION UNIVERSITY\n\n    597 Fifth Avenue, New York\n\n    ACRES OF DIAMONDS\n\n    Copyright, 1915, by Harper & Brothers\n    Printed in the United States of America\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nTHE STORY OF THE SWORD[1]\n\n\n[Footnote 1: _Dr. Conwell was living, and actively at work, when these\npages were written. It is, therefore, a much truer picture of his\npersonality than anything written in the past tense._]\n\nI shall write of a remarkable man, an interesting man, a man of power,\nof initiative, of will, of persistence; a man who plans vastly and who\nrealizes his plans; a man who not only does things himself, but who,\neven more important than that, is the constant inspiration of others. I\nshall write of Russell H. Conwell.\n\nAs a farmer's boy he was the leader of the boys of the rocky region that\nwas his home; as a school-teacher he won devotion; as a newspaper\ncorrespondent he gained fame; as a soldier in the Civil War he rose to\nimportant rank; as a lawyer he developed a large practice; as an author\nhe wrote books that reached a mighty total of sales. He left the law for\nthe ministry and is the active head of a great church that he raised\nfrom nothingness. He is the most popular lecturer in the world and\nyearly speaks to many thousands. He is, so to speak, the discoverer of\n\"Acres of Diamonds,\" through which thousands of men and women have\nachieved success out of failure. He is the head of two hospitals, one\nof them founded by himself, that have cared for a host of patients, both\nthe poor and the rich, irrespective of race or creed. He is the founder\nand head of a university that has already had tens of thousands of\nstudents. His home is in Philadelphia; but he is known in every corner\nof every state in the Union, and everywhere he has hosts of friends. All\nof his life he has helped and inspired others.\n\nQuite by chance, and only yesterday, literally yesterday and by chance,\nand with no thought at the moment of Conwell although he had been much\nin my mind for some time past, I picked up a thin little book of\ndescription by William Dean Howells, and, turning the pages of a chapter\non Lexington, old Lexington of the Revolution, written, so Howells had\nset down, in 1882, I noticed, after he had written of the town itself,\nand of the long-past fight there, and of the present-day aspect, that he\nmentioned the church life of the place and remarked on the striking\nadvances made by the Baptists, who had lately, as he expressed it, been\nreconstituted out of very perishing fragments and made strong and\nflourishing, under the ministrations of a lay preacher, formerly a\ncolonel in the Union army. And it was only a few days before I chanced\nupon this description that Dr. Conwell, the former colonel and former\nlay preacher, had told me of his experiences in that little old\nRevolutionary town.\n\nHowells went on to say that, so he was told, the colonel's success was\nprincipally due to his making the church attractive to young people.\nHowells says no more of him; apparently he did not go to hear him; and\none wonders if he has ever associated that lay preacher of Lexington\nwith the famous Russell H. Conwell of these recent years!\n\n\"Attractive to young people.\" Yes, one can recognize that to-day, just\nas it was recognized in Lexington. And it may be added that he at the\nsame time attracts older people, too! In this, indeed, lies his power.\nHe makes his church interesting, his sermons interesting, his lectures\ninteresting. He is himself interesting! Because of his being\ninteresting, he gains attention. The attention gained, he inspires.\n\nBiography is more than dates. Dates, after all, are but mile-stones\nalong the road of life. And the most important fact of Conwell's life is\nthat he lived to be eighty-two, working sixteen hours every day for the\ngood of his fellow-men. He was born on February 15, 1843--born of poor\nparents, in a low-roofed cottage in the eastern Berkshires, in\nMassachusetts.\n\n\"I was born in this room,\" he said to me, simply, as we sat together\nrecently[2] in front of the old fireplace in the principal room of the\nlittle cottage; for he has bought back the rocky farm of his father, and\nhas retained and restored the little old home. \"I was born in this room.\nIt was bedroom and kitchen. It was poverty.\" And his voice sank with a\nkind of grimness into silence.\n\n[Footnote 2: _This interview took place at the old Conwell farm in the\nsummer of 1915._]\n\nThen he spoke a little of the struggles of those long-past years; and we\nwent out on the porch, as the evening shadows fell, and looked out over\nthe valley and stream and hills of his youth, and he told of his\ngrandmother, and of a young Marylander who had come to the region on a\nvisit; it was a tale of the impetuous love of those two, of rash\nmarriage, of the interference of parents, of the fierce rivalry of\nanother suitor, of an attack on the Marylander's life, of passionate\nhastiness, of unforgivable words, of separation, of lifelong sorrow.\n\"Why does grandmother cry so often?\" he remembers asking when he was a\nlittle boy. And he was told that it was for the husband of her youth.\n\nWe went back into the little house and he showed me the room in which he\nfirst saw John Brown. \"I came down early one morning, and saw a huge,\nhairy man sprawled upon the bed there--and I was frightened,\" he says.\n\nBut John Brown did not long frighten him! For he was much at their house\nafter that, and was so friendly with Russell and his brother that there\nwas no chance for awe; and it gives a curious side-light on the\ncharacter of the stern abolitionist that he actually, with infinite\npatience, taught the old horse of the Conwells to go home alone with the\nwagon after leaving the boys at school, a mile or more away and at\nschool-closing time to trot gently off for them without a driver when\nmerely faced in that direction and told to go! Conwell remembers how\nJohn Brown, in training it, used patiently to walk beside the horse, and\ncontrol its going and its turnings, until it was quite ready to go and\nturn entirely by itself.\n\nThe Conwell house was a station on the Underground Railway and Russell\nConwell remembers, when a lad, seeing the escaping slaves that his\nfather had driven across country and temporarily hidden. \"Those were\nheroic days,\" he says, quietly. \"And once in a while my father let me go\nwith him. They were wonderful night drives--the cowering slaves, the\ndarkness of the road, the caution and the silence and dread of it all.\"\nThis underground route, he remembers, was from Philadelphia to New\nHaven, thence to Springfield, where Conwell's father would take his\ncharge, and onward to Bellows Falls and Canada.\n\nConwell tells, too, of meeting Frederick Douglass, the colored orator,\nin that little cottage in the hills. \"'I never saw my father,' Douglass\nsaid one day--his father was a white man--'and I remember little of my\nmother except that once she tried to keep an overseer from whipping me,\nand the lash cut across her own face and her blood fell over me.'\n\n\"When John Brown was captured,\" Conwell went on, \"my father tried to\nsell this place to get a little money to send to help his defense. But\nhe couldn't sell it, and on the day of the execution we knelt solemnly\nhere, from eleven to twelve, just praying, praying in silence for the\npassing soul of John Brown. And as we prayed we knew that others were\nalso praying, for a church-bell tolled during that entire hour and its\nawesome boom went sadly sounding over these hills.\"\n\nConwell believes that his real life dates from a happening of the time\nof the Civil War--a happening that still looms vivid and intense before\nhim and which undoubtedly did deepen and strengthen his strong and deep\nnature. Yet the real Conwell was always essentially the same.\nNeighborhood tradition still tells of his bravery as a boy and a youth,\nof his reckless coasting, his skill as a swimmer and his saving of\nlives, his strength and endurance, his plunging out into the darkness of\na wild winter night to save a neighbor's cattle. His soldiers came home\nwith tales of his devotion to them and of how he shared his rations and\nhis blankets and bravely risked his life; of how he crept off into a\nswamp, at imminent peril, to rescue one of his men lost or mired there.\nThe present Conwell was always Conwell; in fact, he may be traced\nthrough his ancestry, too, for in him are the sturdy virtues, the\nbravery, the grim determination, the practicality, of his father; and\nromanticism, that comes from his grandmother; and the dreamy qualities\nof his mother, who, practical and hardworking New England woman that she\nwas, was at the same time influenced by an almost startling mysticism.\n\nAnd Conwell himself is a dreamer: first of all he is a dreamer; it is\nthe most important fact in regard to him! It is because he is a dreamer\nand visualizes his dreams that he can plan the great things that to\nother men would seem impossibilities; and then his intensely practical\nside--his intense efficiency, his power, his skill, his patience, his\nfine earnestness, his mastery over others, develop his dreams into\nrealities. He dreams dreams and sees visions--but his visions are never\nvisionary and his dreams become facts.\n\nThe rocky hills which meant a dogged struggle for very existence, the\nfugitive slaves, John Brown--what a school for youth! And the literal\nschool was a tiny one-room school-house where young Conwell came under\nthe care of a teacher who realized the boy's unusual capabilities and\nwas able to give him broad and unusual help. Then a wise country\npreacher also recognized the unusual, and urged the parents to give\nstill more education, whereupon supreme effort was made and young\nRussell was sent to Wilbraham Academy. He likes to tell of his life\nthere, and of the hardships, of which he makes light; and of the joy\nwith which week-end pies and cakes were received from home!\n\nHe tells of how he went out on the roads selling books from house to\nhouse, and of how eagerly he devoured the contents of the sample books\nthat he carried. \"They were a foundation of learning for me,\" he says,\nsoberly. \"And they gave me a broad idea of the world.\"\n\nHe went to Yale in 1860, but the outbreak of the war interfered with\ncollege, and he enlisted in 1861. But he was only eighteen, and his\nfather objected, and he went back to Yale. But next year he again\nenlisted, and men of his Berkshire neighborhood, likewise enlisting,\ninsisted that he be their captain; and Governor Andrews, appealed to,\nconsented to commission the nineteen-year-old youth who was so evidently\na natural leader; and the men gave freely of their scant money to get\nfor him a sword, all gay and splendid with gilt, and upon the sword was\nthe declaration in stately Latin that, \"True friendship is eternal.\"\n\nAnd with that sword is associated the most vivid, the most momentous\nexperience of Russell Conwell's life.\n\nThat sword hangs at the head of Conwell's bed in his home in\nPhiladelphia. Man of peace that he is, and minister of peace, that\nsymbol of war has for over half a century been of infinite importance to\nhim.\n\nHe told me the story as we stood together before that sword. And as he\ntold the story, speaking with quiet repression, but seeing it all and\nliving it all just as vividly as if it had occurred but yesterday, \"That\nsword has meant so much to me,\" he murmured; and then he began the tale:\n\n\"A boy up there in the Berkshires, a neighbor's son, was John Ring; I\ncall him a boy, for we all called him a boy, and we looked upon him as\na boy, for he was under-sized and under-developed--so much so that he\ncould not enlist.\n\n\"But for some reason he was devoted to me, and he not only wanted to\nenlist, but he also wanted to be in the artillery company of which I\ncaptain; and I could only take him along as servant. I didn't want a\nservant, but it was the only way to take poor little Johnnie Ring.\n\n\"Johnnie was deeply religious, and would read the Bible every evening\nbefore turning in. In those days I was an atheist, or at least thought I\nwas, and I used to laugh at Ring and after a while he took to reading\nthe Bible outside the tent on account of my laughing at him! But he did\nnot stop reading it, and his faithfulness to me remained unchanged.\n\n\"The scabbard of the sword was too glittering for the regulations\"--the\nghost of a smile hovered on Conwell's lips--\"and I could not wear it,\nand would only wear a plain one for service and keep this hanging in my\ntent on the tent-pole. John Ring used to handle it adoringly and kept it\npolished to brilliancy.--It's dull enough these many years,\" he added,\nsomberly. \"To Ring it represented not only his captain, but the very\nglory and pomp of war.\n\n\"One day the Confederates suddenly stormed our position near New Berne\nand swept through the camp, driving our entire force before them; and\nall, including my company, retreated hurriedly across the river,\nsetting fire to a long wooden bridge as we went over. It soon blazed up\nfuriously, making a barrier that the Confederates could not pass.\n\n\"But, unknown to everybody, and unnoticed, John Ring had dashed back to\nmy tent. I think he was able to make his way back because he just looked\nlike a mere boy; but however that was, he got past the Confederates into\nmy tent and took down, from where it was hanging on the tent-pole, my\nbright, gold-scabbarded sword.\n\n\"John Ring seized the sword that had long been so precious to him. He\ndodged here and there, and actually managed to gain the bridge just as\nit was beginning to blaze. He started across. The flames were every\nmoment getting fiercer, the smoke denser, and now and then, as he\ncrawled and staggered on, he leaned for a few seconds far over the edge\nof the bridge in an effort to get air. Both sides saw him; both sides\nwatched his terrible progress, even while firing was fiercely kept up\nfrom each side of the river. And then a Confederate officer--he was one\nof General Pickett's officers--ran to the water's edge and waved a white\nhandkerchief and the firing ceased.\n\n\"'Tell that boy to come back here!' he cried. 'Tell him to come back\nhere and we will let him go free!'\n\n\"He called this out just as Ring was about to enter upon the worst part\nof the bridge--the covered part, where there were top and bottom and\nsides of blazing wood. The roar of the flames was so close to Ring that\nhe could not hear the calls from either side of the river, and he pushed\ndesperately on and disappeared in the covered part.\n\n\"There was dead silence except for the crackling of the fire. Not a man\ncried out. All waited in hopeless expectancy. And then came a mighty\nyell from Northerner and Southerner alike, for Johnnie came crawling out\nof the end of the covered way--he had actually passed through that\nfrightful place--and his clothes were ablaze and he toppled over and\nfell into shallow water; and in a few moments he was dragged out,\nunconscious, and hurried to a hospital.\n\n\"He lingered for a day or so, still unconscious, and then came to\nhimself and smiled a little as he found that the sword for which he had\ngiven his life had been left beside him. He took it in his arms. He\nhugged it to his breast. He gave a few words of final message for me.\nAnd that was all.\"\n\nConwell's voice had gone thrillingly low as he neared the end, for it\nwas all so very, very vivid to him, and his eyes had grown tender and\nhis lips more strong and firm. And he fell silent, thinking of that\nlong-ago happening, and though he looked down upon the thronging traffic\nof Broad Street, it was clear that he did not see it, and that if the\nrumbling hubbub of sound meant anything to him it was the rumbling of\nthe guns of the distant past. When he spoke again it was with a still\ntenser tone of feeling.\n\n\"When I stood beside the body of John Ring and realized that he had died\nfor love of me, I made a vow that has formed my life. I vowed that from\nthat moment I would live not only my own life, but that I would also\nlive the life of John Ring. And from that moment I have worked sixteen\nhours every day--eight for John Ring's work and eight hours for my own.\"\n\nA curious note had come into his voice, as of one who had run the race\nand neared the goal, fought the good fight and neared the end.\n\n\"Every morning when I rise I look at this sword, or if I am away from\nhome I think of the sword, and vow anew that another day shall see\nsixteen hours of work from me.\" And when one comes to know Russell\nConwell one realizes that never did a man work more hard and constantly.\n\n\"It was through John Ring and his giving his life through devotion to me\nthat I became a Christian,\" he went on. \"This did not come about\nimmediately, but it came before the war was over and it came through\nfaithful Johnnie Ring.\"\n\nThere is a little lonely cemetery in the Berkshires, a tiny\nburying-ground on a wind-swept hill, a few miles from Conwell's old\nhome. In this isolated burying-ground bushes and vines and grass grow in\nprofusion, and a few trees cast a gentle shade; and tree-clad hills go\nbillowing off for miles and miles in wild and lonely beauty. And in that\nlonely little graveyard I found the plain stone that marks the\nresting-place of John Ring.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nTHE BEGINNING AT OLD LEXINGTON\n\n\nIt is not because he is a minister that Russell Conwell is such a force\nin the world. He went into the ministry because he was sincerely and\nprofoundly a Christian, and because he felt that as a minister he could\ndo more good in the world than in any other capacity. But being a\nminister is but an incident, so to speak. The important thing is not\nthat he is a minister, but that he is himself!\n\nRecently I heard a New-Yorker, the head of a great corporation, say: \"I\nbelieve that Russell Conwell is doing more good in the world than any\nman who has lived since Jesus Christ,\" And he said this in serious and\nunexaggerated earnest.\n\nYet Conwell did not get readily into his life-work. He might have seemed\nalmost a failure until he was well on toward forty, for although he kept\nmaking successes they were not permanent successes, and he did not\nsettle himself into a definite line. He restlessly went westward to make\nhis home, and then restlessly returned to the East. After the war was\nover he was a lawyer, he was a lecturer, he was an editor, he went\naround the world as a correspondent, he wrote books. He kept making\nmoney, and kept losing it; he lost it through fire, through investments,\nthrough aiding his friends. It is probable that the unsettledness of the\nyears following the war was due to the unsettling effect of the war\nitself, which thus, in its influence, broke into his mature life after\nbreaking into his years at Yale. But however that may be, those\nseething, changing, stirring years were years of vital importance to\nhim, for in the myriad experiences of that time he was building the\nfoundation of the Conwell that was to come. Abroad he met the notables\nof the earth. At home he made hosts of friends and loyal admirers.\n\nIt is worth while noting that as a lawyer he would never take a case,\neither civil or criminal, that he considered wrong. It was basic with\nhim that he could not and would not fight on what he thought was the\nwrong side. Only when his client was right would he go ahead!\n\nYet he laughs, his quiet, infectious, characteristic laugh, as he tells\nof how once he was deceived, for he defended a man, charged with\nstealing a watch, who was so obviously innocent that he took the case in\na blaze of indignation and had the young fellow proudly exonerated. The\nnext day the wrongly accused one came to his office and shamefacedly\ntook out the watch that he had been charged with stealing. \"I want you\nto send it to the man I took it from,\" he said. And he told with a sort\nof shamefaced pride of how he had got a good old deacon to give, in all\nsincerity, the evidence that exculpated him. \"And, say, Mr. Conwell--I\nwant to thank you for getting me off--and I hope you'll excuse my\ndeceiving you--and--I won't be any worse for not going to jail.\" And\nConwell likes to remember that thereafter the young man lived up to the\npride of exoneration; and, though Conwell does not say it or think it,\none knows that it was the Conwell influence that inspired to\nhonesty--for always he is an inspirer.\n\nConwell even kept certain hours for consultation with those too poor to\npay any fee; and at one time, while still an active lawyer, he was\nguardian for over sixty children! The man has always been a marvel, and\nalways one is coming upon such romantic facts as these.\n\nThat is a curious thing about him--how much there is of romance in his\nlife! Worshiped to the end by John Ring; left for dead all night at\nKenesaw Mountain; calmly singing \"Nearer, my God, to Thee,\" to quiet the\npassengers on a supposedly sinking ship; saving lives even when a boy;\nnever disappointing a single audience of the thousands of audiences he\nhas arranged to address during all his years of lecturing! He himself\ntakes a little pride in this last point, and it is characteristic of him\nthat he has actually forgotten that just once he did fail to appear: he\nhas quite forgotten that one evening, on his way to a lecture, he\nstopped a runaway horse to save two women's lives, and went in\nconsequence to a hospital instead of to the platform! And it is typical\nof him to forget that sort of thing.\n\nThe emotional temperament of Conwell has always made him responsive to\nthe great, the striking, the patriotic. He was deeply influenced by\nknowing John Brown, and his brief memories of Lincoln are intense,\nthough he saw him but three times in all.\n\nThe first time he saw Lincoln was on the night when the future President\ndelivered the address, which afterward became so famous, in Cooper\nUnion, New York. The name of Lincoln was then scarcely known, and it was\nby mere chance that young Conwell happened to be in New York on that\nday. But being there and learning that Abraham Lincoln from the West was\ngoing to make an address, he went to hear him.\n\nHe tells how uncouthly Lincoln was dressed, even with one trousers-leg\nhigher than the other, and of how awkward he was, and of how poorly, at\nfirst, he spoke and with what apparent embarrassment. The chairman of\nthe meeting got Lincoln a glass of water, and Conwell thought that it\nwas from a personal desire to help him and keep him from breaking down.\nBut he loves to tell how Lincoln became a changed man as he spoke; how\nhe seemed to feel ashamed of his brief embarrassment and, pulling\nhimself together and putting aside the written speech which he had\nprepared, spoke freely and powerfully, with splendid conviction, as only\na born orator speaks. To Conwell it was a tremendous experience.\n\nThe second time he saw Lincoln was when he went to Washington to plead\nfor the life of one of his men who had been condemned to death for\nsleeping on post. He was still but a captain (his promotion to a\ncolonelcy was still to come), a youth, and was awed by going into the\npresence of the man he worshiped. And his voice trembles a little, even\nnow, as he tells of how pleasantly Lincoln looked up from his desk, and\nhow cheerfully he asked his business with him, and of how absorbedly\nLincoln then listened to his tale, although, so it appeared, he already\nknew of the main outline.\n\n\"It will be all right,\" said Lincoln, when Conwell finished. But Conwell\nwas still frightened. He feared that in the multiplicity of public\nmatters this mere matter of the life of a mountain boy, a private\nsoldier, might be forgotten till too late. \"It is almost the time set--\"\nhe faltered. And Conwell's voice almost breaks, man of emotion that he\nis, as he tells of how Lincoln said, with stern gravity: \"Go and\ntelegraph that soldier's mother that Abraham Lincoln never signed a\nwarrant to shoot a boy under twenty, and never will.\" That was the one\nand only time that he spoke with Lincoln, and it remains an indelible\nimpression.\n\nThe third time he saw Lincoln was when, as officer of the day, he stood\nfor hours beside the dead body of the President as it lay in state in\nWashington. In those hours, as he stood rigidly as the throng went\nshuffling sorrowfully through, an immense impression came to Colonel\nConwell of the work and worth of the man who there lay dead, and that\nimpression has never departed.\n\nJohn Brown, Abraham Lincoln, old Revolutionary Lexington--how Conwell's\nlife is associated with famous men and places!--and it was actually at\nLexington that he made the crucial decision as to the course of his\nlife! And it seems to me that it was, although quite unconsciously,\nbecause of the very fact that it was Lexington that Conwell was\ninfluenced to decide and to act as he did. Had it been in some other\nkind of place, some merely ordinary place, some quite usual place, he\nmight not have taken the important step. But it was Lexington, it was\nbrave old Lexington, inspiring Lexington; and he was inspired by it, for\nthe man who himself inspires nobly is always the one who is himself open\nto noble inspiration. Lexington inspired him.\n\n\"When I was a lawyer in Boston and almost thirty-seven years old,\" he\ntold me, thinking slowly back into the years, \"I was consulted by a\nwoman who asked my advice in regard to disposing of a little church in\nLexington whose congregation had become unable to support it. I went out\nand looked at the place, and I told her how the property could be sold.\nBut it seemed a pity to me that the little church should be given up.\nHowever, I advised a meeting of the church members, and I attended the\nmeeting. I put the case to them--it was only a handful of men and\nwomen--and there was silence for a little. Then an old man rose and, in\na quavering voice, said the matter was quite clear; that there evidently\nwas nothing to do but to sell, and that he would agree with the others\nin the necessity; but as the church had been his church home from\nboyhood, so he quavered and quivered on, he begged that they would\nexcuse him from actually taking part in disposing of it; and in a deep\nsilence he went haltingly from the room.\n\n\"The men and the women looked at one another, still silent, sadly\nimpressed, but not knowing what to do. And I said to them: 'Why not\nstart over again, and go on with the church, after all!'\"\n\nTypical Conwellism, that! First, the impulse to help those who need\nhelping, then the inspiration and leadership.\n\n\"'But the building is entirely too tumble-down to use,' said one of the\nmen, sadly; and I knew he was right, for I had examined it; but I said:\n\n\"'Let us meet there to-morrow morning and get to work on that building\nourselves and put it in shape for a service next Sunday.'\n\n\"It made them seem so pleased and encouraged, and so confident that a\nnew possibility was opening that I never doubted that each one of those\npresent and many friends besides, would be at the building in the\nmorning. I was there early with a hammer and ax and crowbar that I had\nsecured, ready to go to work--but no one else showed up!\"\n\nHe has a rueful appreciation of the humor of it, as he pictured the\nscene; and one knows also that, in that little town of Lexington, where\nAmericans had so bravely faced the impossible, Russell Conwell also\nbraced himself to face the impossible. A pettier man would instantly\nhave given up the entire matter when those who were most interested\nfailed to respond, but one of the strongest features in Conwell's\ncharacter is his ability to draw even doubters and weaklings into line,\nhis ability to stir even those who have given up.\n\n\"I looked over that building,\" he goes on, whimsically, \"and I saw that\nrepair really seemed out of the question. Nothing but a new church would\ndo! So I took the ax that I had brought with me and began chopping the\nplace down. In a little while a man, not one of the church members, came\nalong and he watched me for a time and said, 'What are you going to do\nthere?'\n\n\"And I instantly replied, 'Tear down this old building and build a new\nchurch here!'\n\n\"He looked at me. 'But the people won't do that,' he said.\n\n\"'Yes, they will,' I said, cheerfully, keeping at my work. Whereupon he\nwatched me a few minutes longer and said:\n\n\"'Well, you can put me down for one hundred dollars for the new\nbuilding. Come up to my livery-stable and get it this evening.'\n\n\"'All right; I'll surely be there,' I replied.\n\n\"In a little while another man came along and stopped and looked, and he\nrather gibed at the idea of a new church and when I told him of the\nlivery-stable man contributing one hundred dollars, he said, 'But you\nhaven't got the money yet!'\n\n\"'No,' I said; 'but I am going to get it to-night.'\n\n\"'You'll never get it,' he said. 'He's not that sort of a man. He's not\neven a church man!'\n\n\"But I just went quietly on with the work, without answering and after\nquite a while he left; but he called back, as he went off, 'Well, if he\ndoes give you that hundred dollars, come to me and I'll give you another\nhundred.'\"\n\nConwell smiles in genial reminiscence and without any apparent sense\nthat he is telling of a great personal triumph and goes on:\n\n\"Those two men both paid the money, and of course the church people\nthemselves, who at first had not quite understood that I could be in\nearnest, joined in and helped, with work and money, and as, while the\nnew church was building, it was peculiarly important to get and keep the\ncongregation together, and as they had ceased to have a minister of\ntheir own, I used to run out from Boston and preach for them, in a room\nwe hired.\n\n\"And it was there in Lexington, in 1879, that I determined to become a\nminister. I had a good law practice, but I determined to give it up. For\nmany years I had felt more or less of a call to the ministry, and here\nat length was the definite time to begin.\n\n\"Week by week I preached there\"--how strange, now, to think of William\nDean Howells and the colonel-preacher!--\"and after a while the church\nwas completed, and in that very church, there in Lexington, I was\nordained a minister.\"\n\nA marvelous thing, all this, even without considering the marvelous\nheights that Conwell has since attained--a marvelous thing, an\nachievement of positive romance! That little church stood for American\nbravery and initiative and self-sacrifice and romanticism in a way that\nwell befitted good old Lexington.\n\nTo leave a large and overflowing law practice and take up the ministry\nat a salary of six hundred dollars a year seemed to the relatives of\nConwell's wife the extreme of foolishness and they did not hesitate so\nto express themselves. Naturally enough, they did not have Conwell's\nvision. Yet he himself was fair enough to realize and to admit that\nthere was a good deal of fairness in their objections; and so he said to\nthe congregation that, although he was quite ready to come for the six\nhundred dollars a year, he expected them to double his salary as soon as\nhe doubled the church membership. This seemed to them a good deal like\na joke, but they answered in perfect earnestness that they would be\nquite willing to do the doubling as soon as he did the doubling, and in\nless than a year the salary was doubled accordingly.\n\nI asked him if he had found it hard to give up the lucrative law for a\npoor ministry, and his reply gave a delightful impression of his\ncapacity for humorous insight into human nature, for he said, with a\ngenial twinkle:\n\n\"Oh yes, it was a wrench; but there is a sort of romance of\nself-sacrifice, you know. I rather suppose the old-time martyrs rather\nenjoyed themselves in being martyrs!\"\n\nConwell did not stay very long in Lexington. A struggling little church\nin Philadelphia heard of what he was doing, and so an old deacon went up\nto see and hear him, and an invitation was given; and as the Lexington\nchurch seemed to be prosperously on its feet, and the needs of the\nPhiladelphia body keenly appealed to Conwell's imagination, a change was\nmade, and at a salary of eight hundred dollars a year he went, in 1882,\nto the little struggling Philadelphia congregation, and of that\ncongregation he is still pastor--only, it ceased to be a struggling\ncongregation a great many years ago! And long ago it began paying him\nmore thousands every year than at first it gave him hundreds.\n\nDreamer as Conwell always is in connection with his immense\npracticality, and moved as he is by the spiritual influences of life, it\nis more than likely that not only did Philadelphia's need appeal, but\nalso the fact that Philadelphia, as a city, meant much to him, for,\ncoming North, wounded from a battle-field of the Civil War, it was in\nPhiladelphia that he was cared for until his health and strength were\nrecovered. Thus it came that Philadelphia had early become dear to him.\n\nAnd here is an excellent example of how dreaming great dreams may go\nhand-in-hand with winning superb results. For that little struggling\ncongregation now owns and occupies a great new church building that\nseats more people than any other Protestant church in America--and Dr.\nConwell fills it!\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nSTORY OF THE FIFTY-SEVEN CENTS\n\n\nAt every point in Conwell's life one sees that he wins through his\nwonderful personal influence on old and young. Every step forward, every\ntriumph achieved, comes not alone from his own enthusiasm, but because\nof his putting that enthusiasm into others. And when I learned how it\ncame about that the present church buildings were begun, it was another\nof those marvelous tales of fact that are stranger than any imagination\ncould make them. And yet the tale was so simple and sweet and sad and\nunpretending.\n\nWhen Dr. Conwell first assumed charge of the little congregation that\nled him to Philadelphia it was really a little church both in its\nnumbers and in the size of the building that it occupied, but it quickly\nbecame so popular under his leadership that the church services and\nSunday-school services were alike so crowded that there was no room for\nall who came, and always there were people turned from the doors.\n\nOne afternoon a little girl, who had eagerly wished to go, turned back\nfrom the Sunday-school door, crying bitterly because they had told her\nthat there was no more room. But a tall, black-haired man met her and\nnoticed her tears and, stopping, asked why it was that she was crying,\nand she sobbingly replied that it was because they could not let her\ninto the Sunday-school.\n\n\"I lifted her to my shoulder,\" says Dr. Conwell, in telling of this; for\nafter hearing the story elsewhere I asked him to tell it to me himself,\nfor it seemed almost too strange to be true. \"I lifted her to my\nshoulder\"--and one realizes the pretty scene it must have made for the\nlittle girl to go through the crowd of people, drying her tears and\nriding proudly on the shoulders of the kindly, tall, dark man! \"I said\nto her that I would take her in, and I did so, and I said to her that we\nshould some day have a room big enough for all who should come. And when\nshe went home she told her parents--I only learned this afterward--that\nshe was going to save money to help build the larger church and\nSunday-school that Dr. Conwell wanted! Her parents pleasantly humored\nher in the idea and let her run errands and do little tasks to earn\npennies, and she began dropping the pennies into her bank.\n\n\"She was a lovable little thing--but in only a few weeks after that she\nwas taken suddenly ill and died; and at the funeral her father told me,\nquietly, of how his little girl had been saving money for a\nbuilding-fund. And there, at the funeral, he handed me what she had\nsaved--just fifty-seven cents in pennies.\"\n\nDr. Conwell does not say how deeply he was moved; he is, after all, a\nman of very few words as to his own emotions. But a deep tenderness had\ncrept into his voice.\n\n\"At a meeting of the church trustees I told of this gift of fifty-seven\ncents--the first gift toward the proposed building-fund of the new\nchurch that was some time to exist. For until then the matter had barely\nbeen spoken of, as a new church building had been simply a possibility\nfor the future.\n\n\"The trustees seemed much impressed, and it turned out that they were\nfar more impressed than I could possibly have hoped, for in a few days\none of them came to me and said that he thought it would be an excellent\nidea to buy a lot on Broad Street--the very lot on which the building\nnow stands.\" It was characteristic of Dr. Conwell that he did not point\nout, what every one who knows him would understand, that it was his own\ninspiration put into the trustees which resulted in this quick and\ndefinite move on the part of one of them. \"I talked the matter over with\nthe owner of the property, and told him of the beginning of the fund,\nthe story of the little girl. The man was not one of our church, nor, in\nfact, was he a church-goer at all, but he listened attentively to the\ntale of the fifty-seven cents and simply said he was quite ready to go\nahead and sell us that piece of land for ten thousand dollars,\ntaking--and the unexpectedness of this deeply touched me--taking a first\npayment of just fifty-seven cents and letting the entire balance stand\non a five-per-cent. mortgage!\n\n\"And it seemed to me that it would be the right thing to accept this\nunexpectedly liberal proposition, and I went over the entire matter on\nthat basis with the trustees and some of the other members, and all the\npeople were soon talking of having a new church. But it was not done in\nthat way, after all, for, fine though that way would have been, there\nwas to be one still finer.\n\n\"Not long after my talk with the man who owned the land, and his\nsurprisingly good-hearted proposition, an exchange was arranged for me\none evening with a Mount Holly church, and my wife went with me. We came\nback late, and it was cold and wet and miserable, but as we approached\nour home we saw that it was all lighted from top to bottom, and it was\nclear that it was full of people. I said to my wife that they seemed to\nbe having a better time than we had had, and we went in, curious to know\nwhat it was all about. And it turned out that our absence had been\nintentionally arranged, and that the church people had gathered at our\nhome to meet us on our return. And I was utterly amazed, for the\nspokesman told me that the entire ten thousand dollars had been raised\nand that the land for the church that I wanted was free of debt. And all\nhad come so quickly and directly from that dear little girl's\nfifty-seven cents.\"\n\nDoesn't it seem like a fairy tale! But then this man has all his life\nbeen making fairy tales into realities. He inspired the child. He\ninspired the trustees. He inspired the owner of the land. He inspired\nthe people.\n\nThe building of the great church--the Temple Baptist Church, as it is\ntermed--was a great undertaking for the congregation; even though it had\nbeen swiftly growing from the day of Dr. Conwell's taking charge of it,\nit was something far ahead of what, except in the eyes of an enthusiast,\nthey could possibly complete and pay for and support. Nor was it an easy\ntask.\n\nGround was broken for the building in 1889, in 1891 it was opened for\nworship, and then came years of raising money to clear it. But it was\nlong ago placed completely out of debt, and with only a single large\nsubscription--one of ten thousand dollars--for the church is not in a\nwealthy neighborhood, nor is the congregation made up of the great and\nrich.\n\nThe church is built of stone, and its interior is a great amphitheater.\nSpecial attention has been given to fresh air and light; there is\nnothing of the dim, religious light that goes with medieval\nchurchliness. Behind the pulpit are tiers of seats for the great chorus\nchoir. There is a large organ. The building is peculiarly adapted for\nhearing and seeing, and if it is not, strictly speaking, beautiful in\nitself, it is beautiful when it is filled with encircling rows of men\nand women.\n\nMan of feeling that he is, and one who appreciates the importance of\nsymbols, Dr. Conwell had a heart of olive-wood built into the front of\nthe pulpit, for the wood was from an olive-tree in the Garden of\nGethsemane. And the amber-colored tiles in the inner walls of the church\nbear, under the glaze, the names of thousands of his people; for every\none, young or old, who helped in the building, even to the giving of a\nsingle dollar, has his name inscribed there. For Dr. Conwell wished to\nshow that it is not only the house of the Lord, but also, in a keenly\npersonal sense, the house of those who built it.\n\nThe church has a possible seating capacity of 4,200, although only 3,135\nchairs have been put in it, for it has been the desire not to crowd the\nspace needlessly. There is also a great room for the Sunday-school, and\nextensive rooms for the young men's association, the young women's\nassociation, and for a kitchen, for executive offices, for\nmeeting-places for church officers and boards and committees. It is a\nspacious and practical and complete church home, and the people feel at\nhome there.\n\n\"You see again,\" said Dr. Conwell, musingly, \"the advantage of aiming at\nbig things. That building represents $109,000 above ground. It is free\nfrom debt. Had we built a small church, it would now be heavily\nmortgaged.\"\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nHIS POWER AS ORATOR AND PREACHER\n\n\nEven as a young man Conwell won local fame as an orator. At the outbreak\nof the Civil War he began making patriotic speeches that gained\nenlistments. After going to the front he was sent back home for a time,\non furlough, to make more speeches to draw more recruits, for his\nspeeches were so persuasive, so powerful, so full of homely and\npatriotic feeling, that the men who heard them thronged into the ranks.\nAnd as a preacher he uses persuasion, power, simple and homely\neloquence, to draw men to the ranks of Christianity.\n\nHe is an orator born, and has developed this inborn power by the hardest\nof study and thought and practice. He is one of those rare men who\nalways seize and hold the attention. When he speaks, men listen. It is\nquality, temperament, control--the word is immaterial, but the fact is\nvery material indeed.\n\nSome quarter of a century ago Conwell published a little book for\nstudents on the study and practice of oratory. That \"clear-cut\narticulation is the charm of eloquence\" is one of his insisted-upon\nstatements, and it well illustrates the lifelong practice of the man\nhimself, for every word as he talks can be heard in every part of a\nlarge building, yet always he speaks without apparent effort. He avoids\n\"elocution.\" His voice is soft-pitched and never breaks, even now when\nhe is over seventy, because, so he explains it, he always speaks in his\nnatural voice. There is never a straining after effect.\n\n\"A speaker must possess a large-hearted regard for the welfare of his\naudience,\" he writes, and here again we see Conwell explaining\nConwellism. \"Enthusiasm invites enthusiasm,\" is another of his points of\nimportance; and one understands that it is by deliberate purpose, and\nnot by chance, that he tries with such tremendous effort to put\nenthusiasm into his hearers with every sermon and every lecture that he\ndelivers.\n\n\"It is easy to raise a laugh, but dangerous, for it is the greatest test\nof an orator's control of his audience to be able to land them again on\nthe solid earth of sober thinking.\" I have known him at the very end of\na sermon have a ripple of laughter sweep freely over the entire\ncongregation, and then in a moment he has every individual under his\ncontrol, listening soberly to his words.\n\nHe never fears to use humor, and it is always very simple and obvious\nand effective. With him even a very simple pun may be used, not only\nwithout taking away from the strength of what he is saying, but with a\nvivid increase of impressiveness. And when he says something funny it is\nin such a delightful and confidential way, with such a genial, quiet,\ninfectious humorousness, that his audience is captivated. And they never\nthink that he is telling something funny of his own; it seems, such is\nthe skill of the man, that he is just letting them know of something\nhumorous that they are to enjoy with him.\n\n\"Be absolutely truthful and scrupulously clear,\" he writes; and with\ndelightfully terse common sense, he says, \"Use illustrations that\nillustrate\"--and never did an orator live up to this injunction more\nthan does Conwell himself. Nothing is more surprising, nothing is more\ninteresting, than the way in which he makes use as illustrations of the\nimpressions and incidents of his long and varied life, and, whatever it\nis, it has direct and instant bearing on the progress of his discourse.\nHe will refer to something that he heard a child say in a train\nyesterday; in a few minutes he will speak of something that he saw or\nsome one whom he met last month, or last year, or ten years ago--in\nOhio, in California, in London, in Paris, in New York, in Bombay; and\neach memory, each illustration, is a hammer with which he drives home a\ntruth.\n\nThe vast number of places he has visited and people he has met, the\ninfinite variety of things his observant eyes have seen, give him his\nceaseless flow of illustrations, and his memory and his skill make\nadmirable use of them. It is seldom that he uses an illustration from\nwhat he has read; everything is, characteristically, his own. Henry M.\nStanley, who knew him well, referred to him as \"that double-sighted\nYankee,\" who could \"see at a glance all there is and all there ever\nwas.\"\n\nAnd never was there a man who so supplements with personal reminiscence\nthe place or the person that has figured in the illustration. When he\nillustrates with the story of the discovery of California gold at\nSutter's he almost parenthetically remarks, \"I delivered this lecture on\nthat very spot a few years ago; that is, in the town that arose on that\nvery spot.\" And when he illustrates by the story of the invention of the\nsewing-machine, he adds: \"I suppose that if any of you were asked who\nwas the inventor of the sewing-machine, you would say that it was Elias\nHowe. But that would be a mistake. I was with Elias Howe in the Civil\nWar, and he often used to tell me how he had tried for fourteen years to\ninvent the sewing-machine and that then his wife, feeling that something\nreally had to be done, invented it in a couple of hours.\" Listening to\nhim, you begin to feel in touch with everybody and everything, and in a\nfriendly and intimate way.\n\nAlways, whether in the pulpit or on the platform, as in private\nconversation, there is an absolute simplicity about the man and his\nwords; a simplicity, an earnestness, a complete honesty. And when he\nsets down, in his book on oratory, \"A man has no right to use words\ncarelessly,\" he stands for that respect for word-craftsmanship that\nevery successful speaker or writer must feel.\n\n\"Be intensely in earnest,\" he writes; and in writing this he sets down a\nprime principle not only of his oratory, but of his life.\n\nA young minister told me that Dr. Conwell once said to him, with deep\nfeeling, \"Always remember, as you preach, that you are striving to save\nat least one soul with every sermon.\" And to one of his close friends\nDr. Conwell said, in one of his self-revealing conversations:\n\n\"I feel, whenever I preach, that there is always one person in the\ncongregation to whom, in all probability, I shall never preach again,\nand therefore I feel that I must exert my utmost power in that last\nchance.\" And in this, even if this were all, one sees why each of his\nsermons is so impressive, and why his energy never lags. Always, with\nhim, is the feeling that he is in the world to do all the good he can\npossibly do; not a moment, not an opportunity, must be lost.\n\nThe moment he rises and steps to the front of his pulpit he has the\nattention of every one in the building, and this attention he closely\nholds till he is through. Yet it is never by a striking effort that\nattention is gained, except in so far that his utter simplicity is\nstriking. \"I want to preach so simply that you will not think it\npreaching, but just that you are listening to a friend,\" I remember his\nsaying, one Sunday morning, as he began his sermon; and then he went on\njust as simply as such homely, kindly, friendly words promised. And how\neffectively!\n\nHe believes that everything should be so put as to be understood by all,\nand this belief he applies not only to his preaching, but to the reading\nof the Bible, whose descriptions he not only visualizes to himself, but\nmakes vividly clear to his hearers; and this often makes for fascination\nin result.\n\nFor example, he is reading the tenth chapter of I Samuel, and begins,\n\"'Thou shalt meet a company of prophets.'\"\n\n\"'Singers,' it should be translated,\" he puts in, lifting his eyes from\nthe page and looking out over his people. Then he goes on, taking this\nchange as a matter of course, \"'Thou shalt meet a company of singers\ncoming down from the high place--'\"\n\nWhereupon he again interrupts himself, and in an irresistible\nexplanatory aside, which instantly raises the desired picture in the\nmind of every one, he says: \"That means, from the little old church on\nthe hill, you know.\" And how plain and clear and real and\ninteresting--most of all, interesting--it is from this moment! Another\nman would have left it that prophets were coming down from a high place,\nwhich would not have seemed at all alive or natural, and here,\nsuddenly, Conwell has flashed his picture of the singers coming down\nfrom the little old church on the hill! There is magic in doing that\nsort of thing.\n\nAnd he goes on, now reading: \"'Thou shalt meet a company of singers\ncoming down from the little old church on the hill, with a psaltery, and\na tabret, and a pipe, and a harp, and they shall sing.'\"\n\nMusic is one of Conwell's strongest aids. He sings himself; sings as if\nhe likes to sing, and often finds himself leading the singing--usually\nso, indeed, at the prayer-meetings, and often, in effect, at the church\nservices.\n\nI remember at one church service that the choir-leader was standing in\nfront of the massed choir ostensibly leading the singing, but that\nConwell himself, standing at the rear of the pulpit platform, with his\neyes on his hymn-book, silently swaying a little with the music and\nunconsciously beating time as he swayed, was just as unconsciously the\nreal leader, for it was he whom the congregation were watching and with\nhim that they were keeping time! He never suspected it; he was merely\nthinking along with the music; and there was such a look of contagious\nhappiness on his face as made every one in the building similarly happy.\nFor he possesses a mysterious faculty of imbuing others with his own\nhappiness.\n\nNot only singers, but the modern equivalent of psaltery and tabret and\ncymbals, all have their place in Dr. Conwell's scheme of church\nservice; for there may be a piano, and there may even be a trombone, and\nthere is a great organ to help the voices, and at times there are\nchiming bells. His musical taste seems to tend toward the thunderous--or\nperhaps it is only that he knows there are times when people like to\nhear the thunderous and are moved by it.\n\nAnd how the choir themselves like it! They occupy a great curving space\nbehind the pulpit, and put their hearts into song. And as the\ncongregation disperse and the choir filter down, sometimes they are\nstill singing and some of them continue to sing as they go slowly out\ntoward the doors. They are happy--Conwell himself is happy--all the\ncongregation are happy. He makes everybody feel happy in coming to\nchurch; he makes the church attractive just as Howells was so long ago\ntold that he did in Lexington.\n\nAnd there is something more than happiness; there is a sense of ease, of\ncomfort, of general joy, that is quite unmistakable. There is nothing of\nstiffness or constraint. And with it all there is full reverence. It is\nno wonder that he is accustomed to fill every seat of the great\nbuilding.\n\nHis gestures are usually very simple. Now and then, when he works up to\nemphasis, he strikes one fist in the palm of the other hand. When he is\nthrough you do not remember that he has made any gestures at all, but\nthe sound of his voice remains with you, and the look of his wonderful\neyes. And though he is past the threescore years and ten, he looks out\nover his people with eyes that still have the veritable look of youth.\n\nLike all great men, he not only does big things, but keeps in touch with\nmyriad details. When his assistant, announcing the funeral of an old\nmember, hesitates about the street and number and says that they can be\nfound in the telephone directory, Dr. Conwell's deep voice breaks\nquietly in with, \"Such a number [giving it], Dauphin Street\"--quietly,\nand in a low tone, yet every one in the church hears distinctly every\nsyllable of that low voice.\n\nHis fund of personal anecdote, or personal reminiscence, is constant and\nillustrative in his preaching, just as it is when he lectures, and the\nreminiscences sweep through many years, and at times are really\nstartling in the vivid and homelike pictures they present of the famous\nfolk of the past that he knew.\n\nOne Sunday evening he made an almost casual reference to the time when\nhe first met Garfield, then a candidate for the Presidency. \"I asked\nMajor McKinley, whom I had met in Washington, and whose home was in\nnorthern Ohio, as was that of Mr. Garfield, to go with me to Mr.\nGarfield's home and introduce me. When we got there, a neighbor had to\nfind him. 'Jim! Jim!' he called. You see, Garfield was just plain Jim to\nhis old neighbors. It's hard to recognize a hero over your back fence!\"\nHe paused a moment for the appreciative ripple to subside, and went on:\n\n\"We three talked there together\"--what a rare talking that must have\nbeen--McKinley, Garfield, and Conwell--\"we talked together, and after a\nwhile we got to the subject of hymns, and those two great men both told\nme how deeply they loved the old hymn, 'The Old-Time Religion.' Garfield\nespecially loved it, so he told us, because the good old man who brought\nhim up as a boy and to whom he owed such gratitude, used to sing it at\nthe pasture bars outside of the boy's window every morning, and young\nJim knew, whenever he heard that old tune, that it meant it was time for\nhim to get up. He said that he had heard the best concerts and the\nfinest operas in the world, but had never heard anything he loved as he\nstill loved 'The Old-Time Religion.' I forget what reason there was for\nMcKinley's especially liking it, but he, as did Garfield, liked it\nimmensely.\"\n\nWhat followed was a striking example of Conwell's intentness on losing\nno chance to fix an impression on his hearers' minds, and at the same\ntime it was a really astonishing proof of his power to move and sway.\nFor a new expression came over his face, and he said, as if the idea had\nonly at that moment occurred to him--as it most probably had--\"I think\nit's in our hymnal!\" And in a moment he announced the number, and the\ngreat organ struck up, and every person in the great church--every man,\nwoman, and child--joined in the swinging rhythm of verse after verse, as\nif they could never tire, of \"The Old-Time Religion.\" It is a simple\nmelody--barely more than a single line of almost monotone music:\n\n    _It was good enough for mother and it's good enough for me!\n    It was good in the fiery furnace and it's good enough for me!_\n\nThus it went on, with never-wearying iteration, and each time with the\nrefrain, more and more rhythmic and swaying:\n\n    _The old-time religion,\n    The old-time religion,\n    The old-time religion--\n    It's good enough for me!_\n\nThat it was good for the Hebrew children, that it was good for Paul and\nSilas, that it will help you when you're dying, that it will show the\nway to heaven--all these and still other lines were sung, with a sort of\nwailing softness, a curious monotone, a depth of earnestness. And the\nman who had worked this miracle of control by evoking out of the past\nhis memory of a meeting with two of the vanished great ones of the\nearth, stood before his people, leading them, singing with them, his\neyes aglow with an inward light. His magic had suddenly set them into\nthe spirit of the old camp-meeting days, the days of pioneering and\nhardship, when religion meant so much to everybody, and even those who\nknew nothing of such things felt them, even if but vaguely. Every heart\nwas moved and touched, and that old tune will sing in the memory of all\nwho thus heard it and sung it as long as they live.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nGIFT FOR INSPIRING OTHERS\n\n\nThe constant earnestness of Conwell, his desire to let no chance slip by\nof helping a fellow-man, puts often into his voice, when he preaches, a\nnote of eagerness, of anxiety. But when he prays, when he turns to God,\nhis manner undergoes a subtle and unconscious change. A load has slipped\noff his shoulders and has been assumed by a higher power. Into his\nbearing, dignified though it was, there comes an unconscious increase of\nthe dignity. Into his voice, firm as it was before, there comes a deeper\nnote of firmness. He is apt to fling his arms widespread as he prays, in\na fine gesture that he never uses at other times, and he looks upward\nwith the dignity of a man who, talking to a higher being, is proud of\nbeing a friend and confidant. One does not need to be a Christian to\nappreciate the beauty and fineness of Conwell's prayers.\n\nHe is likely at any time to do the unexpected, and he is so great a man\nand has such control that whatever he does seems to everybody a\nperfectly natural thing. His sincerity is so evident, and whatever he\ndoes is done so simply and naturally, that it is just a matter of\ncourse.\n\nI remember, during one church service, while the singing was going on,\nthat he suddenly rose from his chair and, kneeling beside it, on the\nopen pulpit, with his back to the congregation, remained in that posture\nfor several minutes. No one thought it strange. I was likely enough the\nonly one who noticed it. His people are used to his sincerities. And\nthis time it was merely that he had a few words to say quietly to God\nand turned aside for a few moments to say them.\n\nHis earnestness of belief in prayer makes him a firm believer in answers\nto prayer, and, in fact, to what may be termed the direct interposition\nof Providence. Doubtless the mystic strain inherited from his mother has\nalso much to do with this. He has a typically homely way of expressing\nit by one of his favorite maxims, one that he loves to repeat\nencouragingly to friends who are in difficulties themselves or who know\nof the difficulties that are his; and this heartening maxim is, \"Trust\nin God and do the next thing.\"\n\nAt one time in the early days of his church work in Philadelphia a\npayment of a thousand dollars was absolutely needed to prevent a\nlaw-suit in regard to a debt for the church organ. In fact, it was worse\nthan a debt; it was a note signed by himself personally, that had become\ndue--he was always ready to assume personal liability for debts of his\nchurch--and failure to meet the note would mean a measure of disgrace as\nwell as marked church discouragement.\n\nHe had tried all the sources that seemed open to him, but in vain. He\ncould not openly appeal to the church members, in this case, for it was\nin the early days of his pastorate, and his zeal for the organ, his\ndesire and determination to have it, as a necessary part of church\nequipment, had outrun the judgment of some of his best friends,\nincluding that of the deacon who had gone to Massachusetts for him. They\nhad urged a delay till other expenses were met, and he had acted against\ntheir advice.\n\nHe had tried such friends as he could, and he had tried prayer. But\nthere was no sign of aid, whether supernatural or natural.\n\nAnd then, literally on the very day on which the holder of the note was\nto begin proceedings against him, a check for precisely the needed one\nthousand dollars came to him, by mail, from a man in the West--a man who\nwas a total stranger to him. It turned out that the man's sister, who\nwas one of the Temple membership, had written to her brother of Dr.\nConwell's work. She knew nothing of any special need for money, knew\nnothing whatever of any note or of the demand for a thousand dollars;\nshe merely outlined to her brother what Dr. Conwell was accomplishing,\nand with such enthusiasm that the brother at once sent the opportune\ncheck.\n\nAt a later time the sum of ten thousand dollars was importunately\nneeded. It was due, payment had been promised. It was for some of the\nconstruction work of the Temple University buildings. The last day had\ncome, and Conwell and the very few who knew of the emergency were in the\ndepths of gloom. It was too large a sum to ask the church people to make\nup, for they were not rich and they had already been giving splendidly,\nof their slender means, for the church and then for the university.\nThere was no rich man to turn to; the men famous for enormous charitable\ngifts have never let themselves be interested in any of the work of\nRussell Conwell. It would be unkind and gratuitous to suggest that it\nhas been because their names could not be personally attached, or\nbecause the work is of an unpretentious kind among unpretentious people;\nit need merely be said that neither they nor their agents have cared to\naid, except that one of the very richest, whose name is the most\ndistinguished in the entire world as a giver, did once, in response to a\nstrong personal application, give thirty-five hundred dollars, this\nbeing the extent of the association of the wealthy with any of the\nvaried Conwell work.\n\nSo when it was absolutely necessary to have ten thousand dollars the\npossibilities of money had been exhausted, whether from congregation or\nindividuals.\n\nRussell Conwell, in spite of his superb optimism, is also a man of deep\ndepressions, and this is because of the very fire and fervor of his\nnature, for always in such a nature there is a balancing. He believes in\nsuccess; success must come!--success is in itself almost a religion with\nhim--success for himself and for all the world who will try for it! But\nthere are times when he is sad and doubtful over some particular\npossibility. And he intensely believes in prayer--faith can move\nmountains; but always he believes that it is better not to wait for the\nmountains thus to be moved, but to go right out and get to work at\nmoving them. And once in a while there comes a time when the mountain\nlooms too threatening, even after the bravest efforts and the deepest\ntrust. Such a time had come--the ten-thousand-dollar debt was a looming\nmountain that he had tried in vain to move. He could still pray, and he\ndid, but it was one of the times when he could only think that something\nhad gone wrong.\n\nThe dean of the university, who has been closely in touch with all his\nwork for many years, told me of how, in a discouragement which was the\nmore notable through contrast with his usual unfailing courage, he left\nthe executive offices for his home, a couple of blocks away.\n\n\"He went away with everything looking dark before him. It was\nChristmas-time, but the very fact of its being Christmas only added to\nhis depression--Christmas was such an unnatural time for unhappiness!\nBut in a few minutes he came flying back, radiant, overjoyed, sparkling\nwith happiness, waving a slip of paper in his hand which was a check for\nprecisely ten thousand dollars! For he had just drawn it out of an\nenvelope handed to him, as he reached home, by the mail-carrier.\n\n\"And it had come so strangely and so naturally! For the check was from a\nwoman who was profoundly interested in his work, and who had sent the\ncheck knowing that in a general way it was needed, but without the least\nidea that there was any immediate need. That was eight or nine years\nago, but although the donor was told at the time that Dr. Conwell and\nall of us were most grateful for the gift, it was not until very\nrecently that she was told how opportune it was. And the change it made\nin Dr. Conwell! He is a great man for maxims, and all of us who are\nassociated with him know that one of his favorites is that 'It will all\ncome out right some time!' And of course we had a rare opportunity to\ntell him that he ought never to be discouraged. And it is so seldom that\nhe is!\"\n\nWhen the big new church was building the members of the church were\nvaguely disturbed by noticing, when the structure reached the second\nstory, that at that height, on the side toward the vacant and unbought\nland adjoining, there were several doors built that opened literally\ninto nothing but space!\n\nWhen asked about these doors and their purpose, Dr. Conwell would make\nsome casual reply, generally to the effect that they might be excellent\nas fire-escapes. To no one, for quite a while, did he broach even a hint\nof the great plan that was seething in his mind, which was that the\nbuildings of a university were some day to stand on that land\nimmediately adjoining the church!\n\nAt that time the university, the Temple University as it is now called,\nwas not even a college, although it was probably called a college.\nConwell had organized it, and it consisted of a number of classes and\nteachers, meeting in highly inadequate quarters in two little houses.\nBut the imagination of Conwell early pictured great new buildings with\naccommodations for thousands! In time the dream was realized, the\nimagination became a fact, and now those second-floor doors actually\nopen from the Temple Church into the Temple University!\n\nYou see, he always thinks big! He dreams big dreams and wins big\nsuccess. All his life he has talked and preached success, and it is a\nreal and very practical belief with him that it is just as easy to do a\nlarge thing as a small one, and, in fact, a little easier! And so he\nnaturally does not see why one should be satisfied with the small things\nof life. \"If your rooms are big the people will come and fill them,\" he\nlikes to say. The same effort that wins a small success would, rightly\ndirected, have won a great success. \"Think big things and then do\nthem!\"\n\nMost favorite of all maxims with this man of maxims, is \"Let Patience\nhave her perfect work.\" Over and over he loves to say it, and his\nfriends laugh about his love for it, and he knows that they do and\nlaughs about it himself. \"I tire them all,\" he says, \"for they hear me\nsay it every day.\"\n\nBut he says it every day because it means so much to him. It stands, in\nhis mind, as a constant warning against anger or impatience or\nover-haste--faults to which his impetuous temperament is prone, though\nfew have ever seen him either angry or impatient or hasty, so well does\nhe exercise self-control. Those who have long known him well have said\nto me that they have never heard him censure any one; that his\nforbearance and kindness are wonderful.\n\nHe is a sensitive man beneath his composure; he has suffered, and\nkeenly, when he has been unjustly attacked; he feels pain of that sort\nfor a long time, too, for even the passing of years does not entirely\ndeaden it.\n\n\"When I have been hurt, or when I have talked with annoying cranks, I\nhave tried to let Patience have her perfect work, for those very people,\nif you have patience with them, may afterward be of help.\"\n\nAnd he went on to talk a little of his early years in Philadelphia, and\nhe said, with sadness, that it had pained him to meet with opposition,\nand that it had even come from ministers of his own denomination, for he\nhad been so misunderstood and misjudged; but, he added, the momentary\nsomberness lifting, even his bitter enemies had been won over with\npatience.\n\nI could understand a good deal of what he meant, for one of the Baptist\nministers of Philadelphia had said to me, with some shame, that at first\nit used actually to be the case that when Dr. Conwell would enter one of\nthe regular ministers' meetings, all would hold aloof, not a single one\nstepping forward to meet or greet him.\n\n\"And it was all through our jealousy of his success,\" said the minister,\nvehemently. \"He came to this city a stranger, and he won instant\npopularity, and we couldn't stand it, and so we pounced upon things that\nhe did that were altogether unimportant. The rest of us were so jealous\nof his winning throngs that we couldn't see the good in him. And it hurt\nDr. Conwell so much that for ten years he did not come to our\nconferences. But all this was changed long ago. Now no minister is so\nwelcomed as he is, and I don't believe that there ever has been a single\ntime since he started coming again that he hasn't been asked to say\nsomething to us. We got over our jealousy long ago and we all love him.\"\n\nNor is it only that the clergymen of his own denomination admire him,\nfor not long ago, such having been Dr. Conwell's triumph in the city of\nhis adoption, the rector of the most powerful and aristocratic church in\nPhiladelphia voluntarily paid lofty tribute to his aims and ability,\nhis work and his personal worth. \"He is an inspiration to his brothers\nin the ministry of Jesus Christ,\" so this Episcopalian rector wrote. \"He\nis a friend to all that is good, a foe to all that is evil, a strength\nto the weak, a comforter to the sorrowing, a man of God. These words\ncome from the heart of one who loves, honors, and reverences him for his\ncharacter and his deeds.\"\n\nDr. Conwell did some beautiful and unusual things in his church,\ninstituted some beautiful and unusual customs, and one can see how\nnarrow and hasty criticisms charged him, long ago, with\nsensationalism--charges long since forgotten except through the hurt\nstill felt by Dr. Conwell himself. \"They used to charge me with making a\ncircus of the church--as if it were possible for me to make a circus of\nthe church!\" And his tone was one of grieved amazement after all these\nyears.\n\nBut he was original and he was popular, and therefore there were\nmisunderstanding and jealousy. His Easter services, for example, years\nago, became widely talked of and eagerly anticipated because each sermon\nwould be wrought around some fine symbol; and he would hold in his hand,\nin the pulpit, the blue robin's egg, or the white dove, or the stem of\nlilies, or whatever he had chosen as the particular symbol for the\nparticular sermon, and that symbol would give him the central thought\nfor his discourse, accented as it would be by the actual symbol itself\nin view of the congregation. The cross lighted by electricity, to shine\ndown over the baptismal pool, the little stream of water cascading\ngently down the steps of the pool during the baptismal rite, the roses\nfloating in the pool and his gift of one of them to each of the baptized\nas he or she left the water--all such things did seem, long ago, so\nunconventional. Yet his own people recognized the beauty and poetry of\nthem, and thousands of Bibles in Philadelphia have a baptismal rose from\nDr. Conwell pressed within the pages.\n\nHis constant individuality of mind, his constant freshness, alertness,\nbrilliancy, warmth, sympathy, endear him to his congregation, and when\nhe returns from an absence they bubble and effervesce over him as if he\nwere some brilliant new preacher just come to them. He is always new to\nthem. Were it not that he possesses some remarkable quality of charm he\nwould long ago have become, so to speak, an old story, but instead of\nthat he is to them an always new story, an always entertaining and\ndelightful story, after all these years.\n\nIt is not only that they still throng to hear him either preach or\nlecture, though that itself would be noticeable, but it is the\ndelightful and delighted spirit with which they do it. Just the other\nevening I heard him lecture in his own church, just after his return\nfrom an absence, and every face beamed happily up at him to welcome him\nback, and every one listened as intently to his every word as if he had\nnever been heard there before; and when the lecture was over a huge\nbouquet of flowers was handed up to him, and some one embarrassedly said\na few words about its being because he was home again. It was all as if\nhe had just returned from an absence of months--and he had been away\njust five and a half days!\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"The Story of Fifty-Seven Cents","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":13174}