Columbia ^niDcr^ftp THE LIBRARIES 0. p. F ITZGER ALD. SUNSET VIEWS IN THREE PARTS. BY BISHOP O. P. FITZGERALD. '/ am a ;^crt ^f fill t%aT 1 lihxfe w.?^. '*— TenNYSON Nashville, Tenn. ; Dallas, Tex. : PfBLisHiNfj House of the M. E. Church, South. Smith & Lamar, Agents. 1906. ^4^. ^~^ ^ n -: 3 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1900, By the Book Agents of the M. E. Church, South, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at W^ashington. • • 4 • • TO BE READ OR SKIPPED. In most of the thin<^s that they do, men act from mixed motives. Whether the making of this book shall prove an exception to this general rule, the reader will judge. Of this I am sure : The chief motive is to magnify the mercy of God. And the thought that these pages mav make a channel for his grace to flow into oth- er souls warms my heart as I pen these words. Several kindly voices had said to me : " Tell the story of the men and times you have seen, in your own way." The thought took hold of my mind, and almost grew into a purpose. I have not the vanity or the idiocy to think that my life is worth writing. I would not do it if I could. No man who tells the story of his own life ever tells all. There are reserves of self- respect and privacy that arc sacred to all save the hope- lessly vulgar and vile. I have no grudges to settle. I do not wish to leave a line written by this hand that will give pain to any human heart. Posthumous mal- ice is the meanest of all : it combines both malignity and cowardice. The Christian statute of limitations applies to all grudges in noble souls, when time has come to cool the heat of passion or to clarify the judg- ment. Death cancels all debts of reprisal. A week ago I decided, if so God willed, that I would print these chapters in their present form. This final decision was made just as the setting sun flushed with glory the hills that encircle Nashville, the beloved city whose people are like kinsfolk to me, from whose homes so many elect souls dear to me have already gone up to the city that hath foundations whose maker and builder is God. CONFIDENTIAL. This book is now submitted to my friends in the shape of its original plan. The sermons and the lec- tures are omitted. Men and things take their place. Thus the book is made a homogeneous work. If it shall thereby be made more acceptable to the readers. I shall be grateful. My literary constituency has al- ways been generous in its treatment of me as a book- maker. If this, my last endeavor on that line, may give them any measure of pleasure and profit, I shall be glad and thankful. O. P. Fitzgerald. Nashville, Tenn. (iv) SUB-PREFACE. To burn or to print these pages — that was the ({ucs- tion with me when, thinking the time of my departure was at hand, I was setting- my affairs in order. IMuch stuff, such as it was, was consumed, but these pages were spared for reasons that may be guessed at by the discerning. My old friends will be indulgent. If any of them shall conclude that I have ventured once too often as a bookmaker, so be it. I have not been the first, nor will I be the last, to err in this way. The Author. FOREWORD. That vision of the sunsetting came to me in a dream of the night. It ^vas a vision that excelled all that mine eye had seen in all my waking hours. I stood on the top of a peak, high and lifted up above ten thousand lesser ones grouped belovs^ and all around it, all bright with the glory of a cloudless sunset. The silence was holy. The note of a song bird, the chirp of an insect, or the flutter of a butterfly's wing would have jarred on my ear then and there. I had sunk to sleep after a day of weakness and pain — thinking, thinking, thinking, and praying : thinking that I might next awake in the spirit-world or linger on here only to suffer, and praying that grace might be given me to go or to wait, as it pleased God. The vision came when it was needed by the soul that clung to God and was sweetly tuned by him for its touch. I awoke with a blessedness in my spirit that cannot be put into words. A still, small voice whispered to my inner ear : "At evening time it shall be light." And it is. The title of this book was born of that vision. The blessing of it abides. O. P. F. CONTENTS. PAGE To Be Read or Skipped iii Confidential iv Sub-preface v Foreword vi Blood Will Tell, but Not All 3 An Early Start 9 My First Schooling „ . 15 A Sad Xicrht Ride 21 How Methodism Kept Its Hold 27 Taking Shape 33 Formative Influences 39 Four Old-time Revivalists 47 A Unique Pedagogical Experience 55 In Richmond in the Forties 6i Afloat 69 A Turning Point 77 Initiated S3 My Environment 89 My First Sermon 97 Preaching to the Blacks 103 Sent to Savannah 107 Savannah 113 To California 119 On the Pacific Side 127 California as We Found It 135 Those Early Californians 141 Some Preachers 149 Five Fathers of Georgia Methodism 159 The Old Panel 169 A Midwinter Meditation 179 (vii) viii Contents. PAGE A Little Note iSo My Impulsive Friend 1S3 Some Types of Methodist Women 191 Our Jewish Friends 199 Sunset Views at Seabreeze 205 The Novel-reading Pest 211 A Wore Excellent Way , 217 Money-makers , 223 Tom Reed 229 Our New Year Motto 233 The Future Safe ........ 239 Birthday Reflections 243 Mark rianna Astonished 247 Our Irish Friends 253 Transfigured Singers 259 An Abiding Benediction 269 William McKendree 273 McTyeire as an Editor . 281 The Question We Are All Asking: Why Do They Not Come Back ? 291 The Son of Man 301 Our Three Pillows 305 Big Ab : A Typical Old-time Negro 309 Another Question All Are Asking : When and W^hy Did Miracles Cease ? 315 Led by the Spirit 323 John M. Daniel and Some of His Contemporaries 331 Sunset Views from My Bedroom Window 339 A Fresh Interpretation 347 The Master's Message 351 Heredity 355 "The Goal" 359 BLOOD WILL TELL, BUT NOT ALL. 1 BLOOD WILL TELL, BUT NOT ALL BLOOD will tell. From Adam and Eve down to this day, this has been an ac- cepted truism. From Abraham to the latest born inheritors of titles or dollars, men have loved to air or invent their pedigrees. Our family w^as like other families in this respect. The lower the family fortunes sunk — and they sank to a point that was very low at one time — the more they had to say as to what they had been in earlier days. Perspective smoothes genealogies as well as landscapes. Distance lends enchantment to the view where the imagination gilds the summits of vision. It is well that this is so. There is enough that is petty and pitiful in our everyday life to give us cause for thankfulness for the glamour that is on the past, as well as for the glory that through faith and hope gild the future. My parents — Richard Fitzgerald and Martha Hooper — were both Virginians, and belonged, at least in a chronological sense, to the first families. I could wish that I knew the verity of the tradition that this Virginia branch of the Fitzgeralds was akin to Lord Edward Fitzgerald, who was a martyr for the cause of freedom for Ireland. There is no nobler name in Irish history. This is saying much. The noblest Irishmen are among the noblest of earth's true nobility, whether titled or untitled. A mean Irishman is the meanest of men. Irishmen are extremists, patriots of the first quality or trai- tors of blackest dye ; mart^^rs glad to die for truth or readv to sell it to the highest bidder. God bless (3) 4 • Sunset Viczi/s. old Ireland I God bless her children wherever they may wander to the latest generation ! The families of the Hoopers, the Powells, the Goodes, the Grants, the Irbys were branches of the family tree. My maternal grandmother w^as a mar- vel of energy in business and fervor in religion. She had every soul on the plantation aroused at daybreak and ready for work. Her gift in prayer w^as mighty. At a camp meeting her prayers seemed to move heaven and earth. She ran a dis- tillery famous for the quality of its whisky. There is no question of her sincerity as a Christian. At that time members of the various branches of the Church of Christ took their drams as a matter of course, ran distilleries, and ''treated" in election campaigns. The stillhouse and "meetinghouse" were owned and managed by the same persons as a matter of course. The Methodists were among the first to make w^ar against w^hisky in that region, as elsew^here in this land. The fires of that old stillhouse have long since ceased to burn, the very site of it is lost; but the songs of the Methodists are still heard among those Dan River hills. The dear old mother in Israel now sees more clearl}^ w^hat few could* see in her day — the sin and curse of strong drink — and w^hen we join in the new song in heaven, she will be there too. The ideas and standards have changed, and changed for the better, during the intervening decades. God is God, and this world is his world. An illustration of the reign of God's grace in the world may come in just here. Among the negroes on the farm was " Uncle Lunnon," who in an earlier and darker time came over from Africa as a compul- sory immigrant in a British slave ship. He was al- most as strong as a gorilla, and very profane and hot-tempered. But he was honest and truthful. Blood Will Tclh hut Not AIL 5 He lived to be one hundred and twenty years old — the oldest man of any color that I ever saw. The most remarkable fact concerning Uncle Lunnon was his conversion in the last year of his life. By the grace of God he was brought under deep conviction by this thought which came into his mind: " I have been faithful to my earthly mars- ter, but Tve been a mean nigger toward my heav- enly Marster. I've lived longer than any nigger I ever heard of; in my prime I was stronger than any man, black or white, I ever met. But Tve been a cussin' and not a prayin' man all my life. I am a mean nigger." So, to use his own lan- guage, Uncle Lunnon put the case to himself. In genuine penitence he bowed before God, and helped by the counsel and prayers of my uncle, Bannister Fitzgerald, Uncle Lunnon was led to lay hold of the hope set before sinners in the gos- pel of our Lord Jesus Christ. The Spirit itself maketh intercession for us. If any channel is left open in a human soul, the grace of God will flow in. Heredity is a potent factor in every human life. Free agency is also a fact. Heredity may give a trend upward or downward, but free agency de- termines the movement. Not fatalit}^ but free agency, fixes destiny. The rule of judgment is equitable. Thje Judge is infallible. Where little is given, little is required; and where much is given, much is required. Lack of effort is the only ground of condemnation of any human soul. The slothful servant, not the one less gifted, is the one who went into outer darkness — not only by the sentence of the Judge, but by the drift of his own indolence, or by the perversity of his own will. No soul ever perished in any other way. AN EARLY START. AN EARLY START. WHEN two days old, I came into the Church of Christ in a sense good and true, and have been in it in some sense until now. Membership with me means membership forever. The Church militant mer^res into the Church trium- o phant. The Church is the one organization on earth in which membership never lapses. The reader understands my meaning when I say that I came into the Church when tw^o days old — that is to say, I was then dedicated to God in baptism. Dr. Abram Penn, of the Virginia Conference, was the administrator. The second member of my "given" or Christian name is Penn, and was given for that man of God, whose memory is blessed. After pouring or sprinkling upon m}' head the crystal drops that symbolize the promised grace that cleanses the soul through the atoning blood of the Lord Jesus Christ, he knelt at the bedside and prayed that the man-child might live before the Lord ; that he might be a disciple of Jesus; that he might be a Methodist preacher. " I felt the answer,"' said my mother to me with wet eyes in a low voice that I seem to hear now as I write the words. She felt the answer — and so have I all my life. Christians used to talk that way in those days concerning prayer. They be- lieved that the prayer of faith touches God, and that God can and does touch the petitioner and the sub- ject of the prayer at the same moment. The old Book seems to put it the same way. Many Christians reach this level at times in their lives. It is a high (9) lO Sunset Viczvs. plane : up there the air is very pure and the hght is clear-shining. My mother had that sort of faith. According to her faith it was done unto her: she lived to know that the boy-child she gave to God in the baptismal covenant was a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ. My dear, Christian mother 1 She was said to be wonderfully beautiful in her youth. To me she was always beautiful. She was a woman of many sorrows. The last time I saw her the marks of age and pain and grief were on her face. I shall see her again, clothed in beauty greater than that of her bridal morning, up 3'onder in that land where the w^eary rest. She was a sweet singer, and her songs were mostly in the minor key. She had sorrows of her own, and was touched by all the sorrow of the circles in which she moved, from the highest to the lowest. She ministered to all, and was loved by all. These many years she has been within the vail. I shall know her when w^e meet, and the rest of the city of God w^ili be completer when once more I feel the clasp of her arms. Yes, I came into the Church when two days old, and the tie was never wholly broken. The relation of the baptized children of the Church to the Church and its Head is very sacred to ev.ery parent who knows and feels what is meant by the baptism of children. Many show that they neither know nor feel its solemn and bless- ed significance. There wall be an awakening and a reform in the brighter day that is com- ing in Christendom. Then will be understood the fullness and sweetness of the meaning of the Master's w^ords : "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." What do the words mean ? We may be sure that they do not mean A?/ Early Start. ii that our children are farther from God and lower in privilege in the New Testament Church than under the old dispensation. We maybe sure that they do not mean that our children must of neces- sity go into sin and be stained and maimed and stunted in their spiritual development by it. We may be sure that they do not mean that they are to be turned loose in the world and branded by the devil, afterwards to be lassoed and tamed if possible by special effort. No, no ! The Master's words must mean at least this much: that the baptized children of the Church belong to him; they are initially inducted into his kingdom ; they have the promise of prevenient grace and guidance up to the line of moral accountability. Then what? Just this: they may and ought to tide right over by faith into the conscious salvation of the gospel. Faith is choice — the choice of the parent at first, the choice of the child when choice for it is possible. My mother felt the answer to her prayer of faith at my baptism: I feel it now. The millennium cannot come until the Church shall have assumed its proper relation to the chil- dren of the Church. If it were to come, it could not stay with a Church that allows a wall of ice to shut ofi her children from her communion. Ques- tion: May not the lapse into sin of so many chil- dren in the families of ministers of the gospel and other good people be owing to their error at this point .-" The religious natures of their children bud into initial life normally at an early age, and are killed by the frosts of neglect and delay. They may not have a second budding time: if they do, will not the growth be a stunted growth? The promise is to 3'ou and 3'our children in the present tense for all. Let him and her that readeth un- derstand. MY FIRST SCHOOLING, MY FIRST SCHOOLING. THE image of my tirst school-teacher rises before me as I begin this chapter — that of a sweet-faced, sweet-voiced, holy woman, wlio opened the daily sessions with a prayer that made us feel that she was talking with God and that he was there. The dis- cipline of her school was strict, but it was the strictness of a constraining and pervading personal influence rather than a code of rules or fear of punishment. A boy about my own age one day was detected in a falsehood, and was told to stand in a corner and think of his sin against God. All the corporal punishment I ever felt or witnessed in all my life never impressed me with the guilt and shame of falsehood as did that object lesson. She somehow^ made us feel that all sin \vas sacrilegious as well as mean. We all loved her. The image of Rebecca Field — that was her name — keeps its place in my heart undimmed. She was what coarse people call an old maid — one of those sweet-souled and finely-tuned women who, mak- ing no homes of their own, bless every home they touch ; one of those Christlike spirits that, with a self-abnegation incomprehensible to lower natures, live for others, sweetening this dull, sordid world and ripening for that other world beyond \vhere, with that other Mary whom Jesus loved and a blessed company of such elect souls, they will find their re- ward and fit companionship. That long sentence grew upon me, but its length w^ill be excused when the reader is told that this holy woman, my first teacher, gave me a love for all such that I can never lose. ('5) i6 Sunset Viezvs. Mv next teacher was a man — a man to be re» membered. He was a good man, but severe, with notions of school government and discipline quite in contrast with those held by my first teacher. He did not spoil his pupils by sparing the rod. He whipped them with apparent enjoyment and ex- traordinar}' energy and frequency. Those gum and hickory switches, four or five in number, were placed above his desk, not for ornament, but for use. I heard him say more than once that I was his favorite scholar: he exhibited his favorit- ism by whipping me more than the others. Under the circumstances I was not very proud of the distinction. Fear and force ruled his school. The boys hated and feared him, and loved to an- noy him as much as he seemed to enjoy flogging them. It was a hard time for both teacher and pupils. Once during the term we "turned him out " for a holiday, and it was done by main force : a big boy asked for a holiday, and was refused; and then the irate pedagogue was thrown to the floor and held down until he agreed to the demand. We went away triumphant and rejoicing. But when we came back after the holiday was over, he "got even" wdth us, and more. Those gum and hickory switches made up for lost time. It is needless to say that to me the memory of the teach- er that prayed and ruled by love is sweeter than that of the one who whipped and ruled by fear. My third teacher was a quaint old Irish-Ameri- can, a fine scholar, a gentleman of the old school, whose passion was mathematics and whose special abhorrence was fault}^ syntax. He was not averse to the use of the rod in dealing with boys, but he never gave a blow to a girl: the chivalry of his race on its upper side was in his blood and breed- ing. An Irishman's best, let me again say, is as M\ First Schooliuo-. jtj good as the best to be found an3'where on earth, lie would show a partiahty toward the girls that made the boys angry sometimes. At this distance this trait lends a grace to his memory. His weak- ness leaned in the direction of a chivalrous senti- ment that has made half of the poetry of the world and a large part of its blessedness. It is a pleasant fact to record that my old Irish-American schoolmaster became a Christian man. He was converted at a Methodist camp meeting, and was quaintly demonstrative on the occasion. On the camp ground he had an enemy, a man named Kemp. Glowing with his hrst love as a Christian he sought his enemy, and finding him in the midst of a group of men, he grasped his hand, saying impulsively: ''Kemp, give me your hand — I feel humble enough to shake hands with a dog ! " The old man kept the faith unto the end of his life. My next and last teacher ,was a small man, quick of motion and speech, with a big head cov- ered with black bushy hair, spotless in his apparel, jealous of his dignity, with a passion for work and genuine good will toward all his pupils. He was what many would call a fussy man, ready to take sides in all personal quarrels, a hot partisan in politics, and perpetually entangled in mild love scrapes. But he had the pedagogical gift beyond question, and was at bottom a true man. There was a streak of romance in his life, but the pathos of grief and death crowd it out of this record. I had other schoolincf all alono- of course — the schooling of my environment, which was mixed and peculiar. Our home was a frequent stopping place for the Methodist preachers. When farthest from religion in his daily life, my father never lost his respect and regard for the Methodist Church and its ministry. Her Church life was for my 1 8 Sunset Viezvs. mother the golden thread that ran through all the tangled web of her life. So in my boyhood I heard (as a boy hears) the sermons of such pulpit giants as Peter Doub, James Reid, and William Anderson ; the tremendous exhortations of Father Dye; the seraphic songs of Jehu Hank. I was saturated with the spirit of that time of mighty revi- vals, polemical controversy, and sharp hand-to-hand fighting with the world, the flesh, and the devil. And the fighting w^as indeed sharp. The whisky distill- ery, the cross-road doggery, the cockfight, the horse race, the card table, were all around. I saw and heard much that I would be glad to forget forever. It was larcrely a duel between the Methodist Church and the whisky devil during this period. When in 1866 my father, then an old man, told me that he went alone once every day to pray in the little Methodist chapel in sight of his home, and that he had found peace with God, and w^as w^aiting for the call to go up to meet my mother, I thanked God for the Methodist Church that has made the desert places of America blossom and its wilder- nesses to rejoice. The life and death of my brother William, two 3'ears older than myself, was a graciously educative influence of my boyhood. He was frail in his physical constitution from the start, and there was something about him that seemed to indicate that he was destined for another and higher sphere than earth. He was never known to utter an evil w^ord, or to show a wrong temper, or to strike an angry blow. There was a spiritual beauty about him that awed and attracted both the old and the 3^oung. He died in his teens, lying in our mother's arms, his face shining rapturously as he said with upward look, ' ' Lift me higher ! ' ' That death and the life that went before it were part of my schooling. A SAD NIGHT RIDE. A SAD NIGHT RIDE. 1WAS a sad-hearted boy that winter day when I left home to go out into the wide world alone. jMy mother's hot tears fell on my face as she gave me a parting kiss. I feel it all as I write these lines to-day, more than fifty years after- wards. I w^as under fourteen years old. The family fortunes had sunk to a point where it be- came imperative that I should become self-support- ing. From that day to this I have fought this bat- tle. The record of the struggle would be a record of my gropings in the dark and sinnings in the light on the one side, and of the patience and mercy of my God on the other. (That last sen- tence might be taken as an epitome of my whole life.) Blessed be His name! My destination was Lynchburg, Virginia. It was twelve miles to Danville, where ended the first stage of my journey. I felt like one in a dream as the four-horse stage w^heeled me along. The winter sk}" looked cold, and there was a heaviness about my heart and a lump in my throat. I had no appetite for the hot supper set before me at Williams's Tavern. When a boy in his early teens loses his appetite, there is something serious in the case. At two o'clock in the morning I was roused and told that the stagecoach was waiting for me. That ride ! It seemed a long, long time from two o'clock to daybreak. The weather was very cold, the very stars glittering coldly in the sky, the horses' hoofs making lively time on the frozen roadbed. The jolting of the stagecoach and the sadness of my heart kept me wdde awake dur- (21) 22 SiDisct Views. ing the long hours. The sense of loneliness was then tirst felt, not for the last time. There are souls that feel it all their lives — orphaned at the the start, isolated all along. To such heaven will be sweeter, if possible, than to all others — the heaven where the family of God shall meet and mingle in fellowship unrestrained, with love un- mixed and unending. Blessed are the homesick who shall reach that home ! I was too heartsick to realize how cold it was. When at sunrise we drove up to the tavern at Pittsylvania Court- house, I was so nearly frozen that I had to be lifted out of the stagecoach, taken into the house, and set by the big log fire to thaw. The landlady gave me a kindly look, and spoke kindly words that touched my boy-heart. But I thought of the home I had left on the other side of Dan River, and again there was a lump in my throat. It all comes back — that long cold night ride, the all-day 'ride that followed, and the heartache that never left me for a moment. Over the hills of Pittsyl- vania and Campbell counties, crossing Staunton River, which then looked big to my boyish eyes, the wintry wind whistling through the forest trees, the smoke curling upward from mansions or cabins in the clearings, the Blue Ridge outlined north- ward in the sky that looked so far away and so cold — it all comes back with a rush upon m}^ memo- ry, my first day alone in the world. There was a sort of semi-orphanage in my consciousness that day that has given me sympathy for orphanage all my life. And I do not wonder that the Book that tells us what is in God's heart toward his creatures says so much about the children that are mother- less and homeless. The heavenly Father may not be seen by the natural eye in the order of the nat- ural world, but the throb of his heart is felt in the A Sad Nig-ht Ride. 23 Word that tells us what he is and how he feels. The heavenly Father ! — that is what he calls him- self. Our Fatlier, who art in heaven, thy king- dom come in our hearts, in our lives, in our world, is the prayer that rises from my soul in penning the closing words of this short chapter I Ainoi, HOW METHODISM KEPT ITS HOLD. HOW METHODISM KEPT ITS HOLD. IT may be worth while for me to pause in this stra<^gHng narration, and tell how it was that Methodism held its grasp upon me. The so- lution seems to be very simple: Methodism went everywhere that I went. There was al- ways within my hearing a Methodist voice that would expose the sophistries of infidelity, and I was never beyond the sweep of a revival w^ave that bore me back tow^ard my mother's Church. No matter how high might rise the tides of worldli- ness, passion, or unbelief, the tides of spiritual life in Methodism rose higher still. The Methodist idea then seemed to be that the mission of the Church was to save sinners in a sense more ex- plicit than is now understood by many. The great revival out of which Methodism was born was still sweeping over the land. Through Methodism and other evangelical agencies God was commanding all men everywhere to repent. The kingdom of heaven was at hand in a sense that was. special. To save sinners, not to build up the Church, was the Methodistic idea. The continent shook be- neath its tread. This is the gospel that was needed. The Church was built up, of course, wherever souls were born of God into new life under her ministry. There never was seen an}^- where else such rapid growth in Church member- ship as there was in Methodism in the flush time of its revival power. Mas a change come over it? Is a change desirable? Is a change to be ex- pected? No! Let us have no radical change in our convictions as to what are the true functions (-^7) 28 Sunset Views. of the Christian Church. Let us have no radical change of opinion or practice as to what is the special mission of Methodism. Methodism is not a sacerdotalism. When it becomes thus mummi- fied, it will be ready for its shroud of formalism and for burial. It is Christianity in earnest — in the present tense. (Dr. Chalmers would not object to the added clause, even if it does seem tautologous. ) Methodists when saved become soul-savers in some form of Christian service. All are to be at it, and always at it, as long as they live on earth. To build up the Church in the true New Testa- ment sense of the word is not only to polish its living stones, but to work in new^ material. The saints fall on sleep every generation, and others must take their places in the militant Church. The baptized children of the Church come to the point when they should ratify the baptismal cove- nant made by their parents, and make covenanted blessings theirs by choice. Shall we wait for a re- vival to take them into full fellowship ? Not neces- saril}'. But the right sort of a revival, at the right time, raises a gracious tide of spiritual power that sweeps them over the bar into the port — the bar of worldliness, or doubt, or indecision. Thus a large percentage of our membership came into the Church; how large, the reader may be astonished to learn if he will make inquiry. And for back- sliders, the periodical revival is the reopening of the gates for their return to the fold they have left. This is the true historv of the revival in Metho- dism, and it is largely the same in other evangeli- cal bodies. It is not a question of theory, but of facts- -facts all pointing to the same conclusion, namely, that this is the method owned and blessed by the Holy Spirit. Its development among us JIozj j\[cthodi<.))i Kept Its Hold. 29 was providential beyond question: its maintenance is demanded by every consideration affecting the salvation of men and the glory of God. All that can be truly said as to false methods and false re- vivalists may be assented to freely without any dis- count upon the value of genuine revival work. Sa- tan never fails to counterfeit as far as he can any good work he cannot stop. The lying wonders of Simon Magus counterfeited the gracious miracles of the true disciples of our Lord. This short chap- ter, which came in of itself, so to speak, as a re- flection on a personal statement, may end here with this remark: The time may come when Methodist and other evangelical bodies can afford to dispense with revivals, truly so called; but the child is not born who will live to see that time. TAKING SHAPE. M TAKING SHAPE. Y life in Lynchburg began at the age when a boy grows fastest and is most impress- ible. He takes shape in bod}' and soul between his first teens and early man- hood. I learned to set type in the print- ing office of the Lynchburg Rcfnblican^ and ac- quired a taste for journalism that has never left me. That part of my schooling, in the order of divine providence, was destined to have a very pos- itive influence upon all my after life. That was a time of intense political feeling and sharp politi- cal debate. It was also a period during which re- ligious controversy ran high. Political discussion and denominational debates were carried on ear- nestly by a people who had strong convictions and much loquacit}^ The Whigs and Democrats, nearly balanced in numbers, contended for politi- cal supremacy. Virginia was always at the front in those days; every voter was also a propagan- dist, and every youth an incipient statesman, at least in his own estimation. My naturalization was rapid, though not without friction and tribulation. Lynchburg boys of that day were like all other boys of all other times and places. They were of the normal type, and loved to wrestle, box, swim, and shoot. Being a new boy, I had to run the gantlet — that is to say, to fight every boy of my own age and size, or back down when challenged. My blood and my home teaching did not incline me to nonresistance. In fact, I always had a rel- ish for fighting. It is certain that I had all the fighting I wanted. The names of Kirkwood Otey, 3 (33) 34 Sunset Views, Paul Banks, Henry Orr, Walter Withers, Beall Blackford, Nick Floyd, and others, come to my mind — boys with whom I had battles that were drawn battles, none of us at any time getting enough drubbing to prevent renewal of the fight when occasion offered. Those Lynchburg boys were made of true metal. The strength of the hills was in their frames, the inspiration of a glori- ous history was in their souls, an heroic heredity was in their blood. They fought fairly, and never cherished malice, giving and taking hard knocks without flinching. In the ' * w^ar between the states ' ' these Lynchburg boys made their mark. They marched with Stonewall Jackson through the Val- ley of Virginia, and followed Lee in his wonder- ful campaigns. Braver soldiers never wore uni- forms. The Christian religion will, in its final triumph, bring in the reign of universal peace. The time is coming when the nations shall learn war no more, when swords shall be turned into plowshares, and spears into pruning hooks. Of this I have no doubt. Not only does the word of God promise it, but it seems to me patent that if Christianity stopped short of this result it would be to that ex- tent a failure. In the happier age that is coming, war will be looked upon as a horrible feature of a darker period of the world's history, when the evolution of God's purpose to give to the world knowledge, truth, freedom, and peace through the gospel of Jesus Christ was in its earlier and incom- plete stages. The noncombatant theories were not taught me in my boyhood, and the world had not then reached the promised time of peace. Cow- ardice was held to be a sin and a shame among men and boys everywhere. The whole American nation was possessed of this martial spirit, and it Taki'ui^- SIuipc. 35 has led us to make presidents of our successful generals, from Washington to Taylor and Grant. I fought my way to peace among the Lynchburg boys. I am a noncombatant now in theory, as it seems to me all New Testament Christians ought to be. But it would perhaps be as awkward for a nation in this year of our Lord to announce and act upon noncombatant principles as it would have been for a Lynchburg youth among his com- panions a half century ago. Combativeness has hitherto been invariably a constituent element of human nature. It is in the blood, instincts, and history of our race. Hero worship has been the universal religion. What is to become of the combativeness after the era of universal peace has dawned ? Will it disappear ? Or, will the love of conflict find legitimate exercise in other and high- er fields of activity ? Progress is the law under which the world moves in its pathway through the ages — progress by conquest, progress by over- coming obstacles and healing down opposing forces of whatever kind. To him that overcom- eth is given the promise to eat of the tree of life, and of the hidden manna; and to him will be given the white stone in which the New Name is written which is known only to its recipient; and to him will be given power o\'er the nations. But the weapons of this warfare are not carnal. The victory that overcometh the world is the victor}' of faith. What does that mean to the reader? The true answer would reveal his status and trend. FORMATIVE INFLUENCES. FORMATIVE INFLUENCES. FORMATIVE influences! This heading for this chapter presents a riddle. Who can know or analyze the agencies or influ- ences which have made him what he is? During the years of my stay in Lynchburg I was employed first in the newspaper office, and afterwards in a bookstore, and last of all as a post- office clerk. I read ever3'thing I could lay my hands on — mostly the newspapers of the day. The party press of both sides engaged my youthful mind, and I became an expert in partisan phrases and catchwords, if not an adept in constitutional law and political legislation. I adopted opinions at this time that I still retain, and became subject to prejudices and partialities that will be buried only in my grave. In the selection of my reading I had no guide save my own whim or choice or the limi- tations of my purse. If it could be so, I would be glad even at this late day to blot from my mind the memor}^ of some things I read during this pe- riod of my life: bad books that were read out of mere curiosity and thrown aside with disgust. Curiosity! How many young persons start on the paths that lead to hell to gratify curiosity ! The first vicious book, the first step in any of the ways that take hold on hell, is thus taken by so many that follow in the footsteps of the first trans- gressor in this world's tragic history. In the choice of my companions I exercised the same freedom, having no guide save my own pref- erence or the relationships naturally springing out of mv environment. If any reader of these pages (39) 40 Sioisct Views. doubts that man is a fallen being, and that the trail of the serpent of sin is all over this earth, he has had a different experience from mine, or he must draw a different conclusion from the same facts. The vileness of what many 3'ouths call "fun "' ex- ceeds even its idiocy. Respect for my mother, and a voice in the inner soul that was never si- lenced, made me turn away from profanity or ob- scenity if I could, or 10 hear it with disgust if I could not shut it out. But it was no more possi- ble for a boy left to himself to escape contact with foulness of speech than with foulness of the print- ed page. Thus it came to pass that I heard as well as read much that it is painful to remember — the pain being mixed with gratitude to God for the repulsion that was always felt at its polluting touch. Let me say it just here: Never for one moment of my life have I committed any sin, or come into contact with sin in any of its grosser forms, without feeling such a repulsion for it as to prove to me that the Holy Spirit has never left me nor ceased to move upon my soul since I crossed the line of moral accountabilit}-. Reading over that last sentence, and knowing it to be the affirma- tion of a fact, my heart is lifted in silent gratitude to God as I write these words. I would close this paragraph with a word of advice to any young person who may read what I say: Be simple con- cerning evil. Do not start to hell from curiosity. Ignorance on these lines is pleasing to God and honorable to yourself. The flippant assumption by young people of a knowledge of the world on its dark under side is at once a weakness and a wick- edness — a weakness to be ashamed of, a wicked- ness to repent of. Avoid alike the idiocy of such a pretension and the vileness of such an experi- ence, O youthful reader, whoever you may be. Formative Infliioiccs. 41 Two men's names drop from my pen point here while I am speaking of the formative influences of my youtli. They were both great and good men, though of different types. The one was Doctor WilHam A. Smith, of tlie Virginia Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. To his own generation he was w^ell known — a giant in de- bate, one of the foremost leaders of his side in the strui>"";le that ended in tlie division of the Church in 1844. He was indeed a grand man. Lion-like in port, with a voice to match, in the arena he moved as a conqueror. There w^as a limp in his gait from a crippled limb, but there was none in his logic. In debate, w^hen sure of his premises, he was irresistible. His aw^akening sermons were terrible. Fortified by well-chosen Scripture texts, with exegesis and deduction clear and strong, he showed the sinner who listened to him that he was on an inclined plane sliding down hellward, and that repentance or ruin w^as to be chosen then and there. He was as simple as a child, knowing no concealments as he knew no fear. He believed in Arminian (or Wesleyan) theology and in state- rights politics. He trained with John Wesle3"'s followers in the Church and with John C. Calhoun's followers in the State. His call to preach must have been very clear and strong: nothing short of this could have kept him out of party politics. In either house of Congress he would have been con- spicuous in the eyes of the nation. Whether he was ever tempted to turn aside in this direction, I know not. The devil has a way of taking such men up into a high mountain — the mountain of imagination — and showing and promising to them the kingdoms of this world and the glory of them. Such as have listened and yielded have found that he is a liar from the beginning. The preacher- 42 Sunset Viczvs. politician, as a rule, is a failure for both worlds. Tragedies along this line have come under my ob- servation that are sad enough, if it were possible, to excite the pity of the arch deceiver himself. What Doctor Smith saw in me that attracted his notice and elicited his good will, I cannot tell; but it was a fortunate circumstance for me that it was so. When I was a clerk in the Lynchburg post office, he would come inside and talk with me for hours at a time. Rather, he would talk to me. He loved a good listener, such as I must have been then. Those monologues would be good reading now for persons who- think. The only record of them extant is in the memory of the boy w^ho heard them with wonder and delight. Forgetting that he had only a single hearer — and he only an inquisi- tive youth — the great man would unfold great schemes of thought, and argue and illustrate them with a power that was tremendous, and an enthu- siasm that was charmingly contagious. The friend- ship of such a man was to me a blessing and an in- spiration. At that time I was j^oung, and impress- ible in many ways. My veneration for Doctor Smith w^as tinged with awe because of a story that his parsonage w^as "haunted" at night. The story was, that sound of the rocking of an invis- ible cradle by invisible hands went on night after night during the still hours when the family were abed and the world asleep. This was never de- nied nor explained. The supernatural touch, real or fancied, all of us respond to in our earlier 3'ears. It answers to something that is in us all — a belief in a world unseen. The other personality that comes in here is that of Doctor Robert B. Thomson, of the Methodist Protestant Church. His benignant presence seems almost to pervade the room as I w^rite his name. Foruiativc /nffiicuccs. 43 He was a man of medium size, who looked larger than he was under the afflatus that gave him the pulpit transfiguration. His dark eyes glowed with the tires of thouo-ht. About him there was the in- definable majjnetism that drew the hearts of the people, old and young, to him. He was eloquent in the truest and highest sense of the word. He had the clairvoyance that springs from the sympa- thy that flows out of a great heart filled with the love of souls. Doctor Thomson seemed to know^ my needs and my perils, and gave me touches that have influenced me to this hour. The worth of such a man to a community cannot be measured this side of the final judgment. For liim there is in my heart an affection that is almost filial in its nature. During all this time I lived in an atmosphere sweetened by the lives of holy women whom I met in the family circle and in the places of religious worship. Their faces shone in holy beauty, and their songs and prayers and good works made what is divinest in human character audible, visi- ble, and tangible. Four of these — Mrs. Early, Mrs. Otey, Mrs. Saunders, and Mrs. Daniel — made a quartette so Christlike that unbelief was abashed in their presence, and all that was holy and beneficent bloomed within the spheres of their gentle ministries. One of the formative influences of this period of my life is mentioned last of all, though not the least potent. From time to time the post would bring me a letter from my mother, breathing mother-love and telling me what was in her hope and prayers for me. Tear-stains were on the sheets, and my own eyes grew misty as I read them. Her love held me fast, and inspiration was in the thought that well-doing on my part would give her joy. 44 Sioisct Views. Her prayer touched God, and God touched me. My blessed mother ! She trod the paths of pain and toil and heartache and self-sacrifice through all her life. I was too blind to see what I owed to her while she was yet living her life of service here on earth. Like too many others, the mother- love with its self-abnegation and self-devotion — the self-abnegation that denies nothing that love demands, and the self-devotion that gives all that love can crive — I took as a matter of course. I now see more clearly and feel more deeply what I owe to my mother. May I here express the hope that some day, somewhere, I may meet her and tell her the love and gratitude that are in my heart? Some day, somewhere? FOUR OLD-TIME REVIVALISTS. FOUR OLD-TIME REVIVALISTS. FIRST in my memory is George W. Dye — Father Dye he was called by the people — who in family prayer at my father's house seemed to talk with God as friend talks to friend, and who at the old Sharon camp ground on a Sunday morning, as it seemed to m}^ boyish mind, turned loose a spiritual cyclone upon the awe-stricken multitude. The revivals he con- ducted were of such a character that no one who believed at all in a supernatural religion could doubt that they were the work of God. Gam- blers, debauchees, profane swearers, and even drunkards, were powerfully converted — to use a phrase that has been current among the people called ^Methodists. The expression is just right: in no other way could they have been converted at all. Sin is a powerful enslaver: Satan is a strong tyrant, holding the castle of the human soul. The power that dislodges him must be still stronger. The gospel of Christ is the power of God unto salvation. Power! Those old circuit riders had it. All substitutes for it are worthless. The more machinery you have without power, the more worthless is any organization. Father Dye types a class not yet extinct. Another one that comes to mind was George W. Childs — the most ghostly-looking man I ever saw. His frame was tall and thin, his step noise- less, his face as pale as death, and he had a rapt, far-away look that made him seem to be not of the earth earthy, as are common men. It was easy to believe that there is a great spirit-world after see- (47) ^8 Sunset J^iczus. ing this unworldly old circuit rider. The strange power that attended his preaching could be ac- counted for in no other way. It was said of him that he had lain in a trance three days and nights, that he was never known to laugh afterwards, and that he was never heard to speak of it. Whether or not like Paul he saw things not lawful to be ut- tered — or thought he saw them — we cannot say. But that then and there he had an experience of some sort, that thenceforward made him a changed man, is beyond doubt. Boy as I was, I was strange- ly thrilled and awed in the presence of this man of God — for such he was. His very looks refuted materialism. The influence of William JNI. Crumley (men- tioned elsewhere in these pages) has never left me since I last saw him in 1866. In the pulpit he too had that strange power that no one was ever able to analyze or explain. He was not eloquent in any ordinar}^ sense of the word. His sermons were the most informal talks, in a subdued con- versational tone ; and yet it w^as no unusual occur- rence for the crowded congregations that attended his ministr}^ to be wrought up to the point of im- mediate surrender to Christ. In his own way he made a " still hunt" among his parishioners that found them all. No member of his flock was left unfed. He was a revivalist everywhere — he was himself a revival incarnated. I never heard him speak in a loud voice. I never heard him make an appeal to the emotions that was not also an ap- peal to the conscience. That I had even a short season of pastoral training with such a man is a fact for which I have never ceased to be grateful. He was a man of God : that solves the secret of his success. A very different sort of man was Leonidas Ros- Four Old-tinic Revivalists. 49 ser, but he too was a revivalist whose power was the wonder of his brethren. He was by no means a quiet man anywhere or any time when awake. It is hkelv that even his dreams had a dramatic and pictorial quality. He w^as criticised, smiled at, and followed up and listened to by multitudes. Manv were converted under his ministry. If there could be such a being as a sanctified dandy, he was one. The fit of his clothes, the pose of his bodv, the seemingl}' self-conscious look that never left him for a moment, the dramatic recital of in- cidents in which he himself was an actor, could not fail to elicit remark, especially in ministerial circles. (Note: Ministers in their proneness to criticise one another are not worse than other men.) But what was the secret of Rosser's power? It was the genuine earnestness of the man. He knew that the gospel he preached was the power of God unto salvation. His ineradica- ble Rosserisms were on the surface : deeper with- in his soul was the burning love for souls that somehow melts the hearts of the hardest sinners. He had a faith so mighty that all sorts of peo- ple, saints and sinners alike, caught its contagion. The individuality of the man was not lost, but the excellency of the power was of God. The quali- ty of his ministry was attested by its fruits. He was a man of God, not without human infirmity — where is the man who is not? — whose natural gifts as a speaker and charms of personalit}^ were sup- plemented by that one element that differentiates human eloquence from apostolic power. Here is another revivalist, presenting a contrast to Rosser in every particular save one: John Forbes, a local preacher, who during many years was as a flame of fire over the Dan River region in Vir- ginia and North Carolina. He was a man of the 4 50 Sunset Views. people; poor as to this ^vorlc^s goods; without book learning, except tliat found in the one Book of books; living in a cabin that could not be called a cottage without a verbal strain; a tall, gangling, ungainly, genial, free-and-easy sort of rural apostle. He was as guileless as a child, andfeared not the face of man. The common people heard him gladly, while the more cultured listened to him with won- der. His sermons presented two points: the ter- rors of the law, and the freeness and fullness of gospel grace. *'The w^ages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord" — that was his message; he had no other. It was God's own message, and it had God's own attestation. x\ccording to the prom- ise, it killed and made alive. Critics were dis- armed, scoffers were silenced, quibblers were con- founded, cavilers were convinced. If it was not the power of God, what was it that wrought so mightily by tlie ministry of this large-boned, large-featured, unlearned, simple-hearted, farmer- preacher? Because of his plainness of speech on one occasion some lewd fellows of the baser sort threatened to give him a beating if he ever dared to hold another meeting in their neighborhood. Their threat did not frighten Forbes, who soon af- terwards began a special protracted service among them. The threat of the offended parties had been given wide publicity, and a vast congregation as- sembled, many of them drawn by the expectation of a row. The old preacher opened the service with the usual exercises, and then announced a text embodying his one pulpit topic — the certainty that unrepented sin would be punished, and that God was ready to bless and save all who would truly repent of their sins. Toward the close of the sermon, in describing the securitv of the faith- Four OId-ti)}ic Revivalists. 51 ful and their final coronation, he "' got happy,"" as the phiin countr}- people expressed it — that is to say, his soul was flooded with the joy of the II0I3' Ghost. '' Where are those fellows who came here to-day to whip me ? ' ' he asked. ' * Why, He would not let a thousand such harm me. Where are they?" he repeated; and as he spoke, with his eyes shut and his rugged face shining, he left the preach- ing stand and made his way up and down the aisles, exhorting as he moved. " My God," he exclaimed, "wouldn't let fifty thousand sinners whip me to-day ! — but boys," he continued with a sudden overflow of tenderness, " he is able to for- give and save you all this day," placing his hand upon the head of one of the opposing party as he spoke. The effect was indescribable. A might\- wave of feeling swept over the entire assembly amid songs and shoutings on the part of be- lievers, with tears and sobbings among the un- converted. The preacher got no whipping that day. The meeting was kept up. Among its con- verts were most of the hostile gang who had come to whip the preacher. When the old man died he did not own enough of this world's goods to buy a burial lot, but his name is as ointment poured forth in all that Dan River region, where on both sides of the state line so man}^ of the holy dead, whose images rise be- fore my mental vision as I write, are sleeping in Jesus, awaiting the morning of the resurrection. '* The treasure is in, earthen vessels, that the ex- cellencvof the power might be seen to be of God, and not of men." A UNIQUE PEDAGOGICAL EXPERIENCE. A UNIQUE PEDAGOGICAL EXPERIENCE. THAT was a curious sort of school that I taught. The teacher, his methods, and his classes were all unique. I look back upon this episode in my life with amused sur- prise — if that is a good phrase with the right meaning. My father, animated by patriot- ism and zeal for the war party to which he be- longed, had gone as a soldier to the Mexican war, in which he did his dut}^ was crippled for life, came back alive, and drew a pension from the government with patriotic punctuality to the end of his life. During his absence I lived at home with my mother. The neighbors, who always over- rated my learning, requested me to open a school for their children, and I did so. I had about sixtj^ pupils, ranging from the alphabet up as high as I could go. Classification was after a system — no, a method — of my own: system was not in it Some of the older pupils had formerly been my schoolmates; and if they did not know more than I did, it must surely have been their own fault. We all did pretty much as we pleased, and had a good time. The government of the school was mild, but mixed. Tlie use of the rod was then still in fashion, but I did not use it often. The switches that were kept in sight behind my desk were placed there mainly to satisfy the expectation of my patrons, and for moral effect. One bow- legged boy — still living at this writing — at the end of six months had failed to master the alphabet under my instruction. There were other pupils who knew more than their teacher, especially in (55) 5 6 Sunset Views, mathematics, in which he was never strong: these were kept busy in other studies in which he w^as more advanced. The good will of all con- cerned supplemented my shortcomings. Some of my old pupils are still living. When now and then I meet with one of them, the greeting on both sides is hearty. Fewof them are left. When we meet in the spirit-world, there will be a look of inquisi- tiveness in our eyes: the inquiry will then come up, What did we do for each other back there at that old-time school in those old days? Not much was done, but something. My pupils got the best that was in me then; and the fact that I was their teacher and exemplar made my best better than it would otherwise have been. That is the way God educates us. Tests come to us that reveal to us our ignorance and weakness. Responsibility comes to us to steady and strengthen us. If you would teach a boy to swim, throw him into deep water. The 3^outh who is petted and praised and coddled at home until he thinks it a great feat to rise and dress himself for breakfast, and believes that the chief functions of young manhood are to excite the admiration of one sex and the envy of another, thrown on his own resources develops a latent man- hood that astonishes himself and all who know him. Necessity is the mother of manhood in action. Many men have saved their boys b}" losing their money. Just as man}^ have ruined their boys by making money for them without training them for its use. At times I have been tempted to harbor in my soul a complaint that the fortunes of the famil}' to which I belonged went down in my youth to a point so low that I lost the advantages and op- portunities of other youths of my own age. But per- haps oftener I have thanked God that by my pov- erty I escaped in some measure the perils that were A Uiiiquc Pcdag-ogical Ii^xpcriciicc. 57 fatal to so many of them. It might have been that with a better mental training and a broader culture my life would have been larger and more fruitful of good. Or, it might have been that with the freer use of money, giving me access to indulgences out of my reach, with the lack of the spur of neces- sity to labor, I might have been one of that great army of young men of my country who w^ere vic- tims of plenty — slaughtered by the vices that lie in wait for youth when it is idle and full of passion. Adversity is a good mother. Prosperity is a de- ceiver to many. The pupil that got most good out of that unique school was m3'self . My knowledge of some of the branches taught was increased, and the dignity of pedagogy, while it did not sit easy on a youth of my temperament, w^as a good thing for me to feel or to assume. The country schoolmas- ter has been described by Washington Irving and many others. There were some among the rural pedagogues w^ho had scholarship, discipline, and moral force, but there were man}^ others no better qualified for the work of education than I was. It was not time wasted after all. Those bii9) I20 Sicnsct Vtezus. lives. She sits on my left, sewing, as I write this by lamplight on the evening of March 23, 1898 — God bless her ! At New Orleans we spent a few days, includ- ing a Sunday. It was then a gay metropolis, Frenchy in its glitter, Southern in its glow. Its brunette beauties shaded off into octoroons with rounded forms and laughing faces, deepening into the honest, solid blackness of the genuine negroes, who kept in Louisiana the complex- ion and the jollity they brought with them from the Congo. It was a jolly city in that day, unlike any other American city. The Picayune of that date was one of the unique newspapers that had a flavor and a field all its owm, wdth a touch of indig- enous literature in its columns and a bonhomie that gave it a national good will. Sunday was mostly a French Sunday — thatis to say, it had much frolic and some religious worship. Here I met for the first time McTyeire and Keener, afterwards made bishops. McTyeire was editing the JVew Orleans Christian Advocate, and winning his spurs as a thinker,' writer, and leader in the Church. The questions he asked me, and the things he said to me, went straight to the mark, and made me feel that I had met a man who was a mind-reader, and who knew all that was going on. Keener was a presiding elder, whose quaintly classic and incisive sayings and heroic methods w^ere much talked of even then. '* Yes, he's a Keener, sure enough !" said an admirer, with a chuckle, quoting one of his sharp sayings. These two men strong- ly impressed the young preacher who has always found a fascination in the study of men. To this day I have not forgotten the preaching of Dr. J. B. Walker at the Carondelet Methodist Church on Sunday. A small, w^ell-knit, dark-skinned, To Califoniia. I2i black-haired, heavy-whiskered man, witli briUiant black eyes, with a fluency that was almost miracu- lous in its rapidity, with a rhetoric that was ring- ing" and an enunciation that was as clear as it was quick, he preached for about thirty minutes — it seemed less to me — and quit when in full motion, leaving, as it seemed to me, everybody wishing he would