Part 4

If these automobiles and carriages could talk, there’d be something doing.

The reason we’ve got so many little whip-poor-will widows nowadays is that they married men to reform them.

Girls, you sell yourselves too cheap. You’ll keep company with some miserable young buck who’ll dodge into a doorway so as not to be embarrassed by the look of recognition from some fallen woman on the street, just to have “steady” company.

SAYS SOCIETY TO BLAME FOR SINNERS.

I say, you card playing women for little prizes such as a dinky cream pitcher or pair of silk hose (maybe you’ve got ’em on now) are responsible for many of the gamblers, because you started ’em.

The purer life for men and women will never come till the girls raise the standard of their company. Then we’ll clean up some of these young bucks around town.

I believe the man who will seduce an innocent young girl and sell her into a life of shame, ought to be shot on the spot.

Society takes no notice of an innocent flirtation. It waits till the mute evidence of a girl’s downfall cannot be concealed, then gasps in horror and turns her out.

Society is responsible for the sins of those you saw starting toward hell and didn’t warn ’em.

Society’s to blame for many a blithering drunkard, for starting him drinking at a fashionable party.

SOME EXTRA SHOTS TO THE OUTFIELD.

If I can send one girl from the red light back to home, mother and God, then I’ll be repaid for having stood all your bitter raillery and your mockery. Mock you old devil, mock.

Gehazi was the first grafter mentioned in the Bible.

If by some power I could yank a string and pull from you all the clothes you are wearing that are not paid for, some of you would have left only a celluloid collar and pair of socks.

Many a fool today, when told what to do to keep out of hell, gets mad at God.

Some fellows are so rotten that they ought to be disinfected for two years and then given a bath in carbolic acid and formaldehyde before they should be allowed to speak to a decent woman.

Christian Scientists, I notice, always answer the call for dinner just as quick as I do.

Don’t condemn your doctor until you try his remedies.

The devil’s no fool. If you get to playing tag with him he’ll touch you on the shoulder, say “tag, you’re it,” and get your goat. He’s never idle. He never gets the rheumatiz, peritonitis, gout or appendicitis.

BILLY’S SKETCH OF LEPER BATHING IN JORDAN.

Billy Sunday’s impersonation of the leper Naaman, entering the waters of the Jordan river to dip seven times, given Thursday night in his sermon on “The Moral Leper,” in the language of the vaudeville press agent, was a “bell-ringer.”

Billy, in the role of Naaman, made things so realistic that his vast audience could almost expand their imagination enough to see the muddy waters of the river, the slippery bank and the frightened and shivering Naaman, endeavoring to bolster up enough courage to plunge in and take his seven dips to be cured of leprosy.

Billy cautiously approached the water’s edge, stuck one toe in to ascertain the temperature of the water, drew it back with a shiver and an “U-u-gh, but that’s cold!” Then he stopped to explain that Naaman was not accustomed to such surroundings, but was used to a porcelain bath tub at home and to a “crooked-handle dingaramus” to rub his back with. With this Billy went through the contortions of a man trying to reach the hollow of his back with a brush or sponge.

SAYS WATER MADE NAAMAN SHIVER.

He told of a big “snake doctor” stinging Naaman on the shoulder, emitting an unearthly screech and slapping one hand to the offended spot. Then he tried the water again. He got part way in, slipped, stubbed his toe and went hobbling about on his left foot, holding the other in both hands as his facial contortions told of Naaman’s pain after getting hurt. He shivered again, let his teeth chatter with a loud “b-r-r-r,” as he again went into the water, pinched his nose shut after taking a long breath, squinted his eyes and “ducked” under the surface, coming up spluttering, spitting and choking.

Then Billy told of the spots of leprosy on Naaman beginning to itch. He nearly had every one in the tabernacle scratching arms and legs as he vigorously rubbed various spots on his body, and scratched ’em. Then he resumed his ducking stunt. After the seventh dip, he told of Naaman’s flesh being covered with the delicate skin of a babe and of him emerging from the river no longer a leper. Here Sunday ended his monologue with the exclamation, “Gee, wonder what Mrs. Naaman and the kids will say when I come home and they see me cured.”

SNAPSHOTS FROM SUNDAY’S SERMONS.

God never owned a slave. All the service you render for God is or should be prompted by gratitude.

It’s hell and damnation that put men and women in the asylums and jails.

If my vehemence and exertions amaze you, your apathy and laziness stagger me.

If God could get possession of all the flesh and blood that belongs to Him, He could create a commotion in this city in 48 hours.

Some people work only with their mouths. But God wants that part of you that’s on the ground as well as in the air.

Christianity and red whiskey don’t stay in the same hide together.

Bill Shakespeare was onto his job when he said “What fools these mortals be.”

The Lord’s having just as bad a time today with the folks here as with the old Jews out there in the wilderness.

It gives me prostration to see how some people do things in this world. It’s no wonder the devil’s got a mortgage on the world and is about ready to foreclose it.

Some churches have 500 in the congregation and about 25 turn out at prayer meeting. Where are the other 475? They have just as much right to be there as the 25.

Faith is like a headlight on a train.

I don’t believe one-half the people in the churches were ever converted or had an experience.

I believe in experimental religion.

Faith is above all other graces; it honors God and brings blessings to the individual.

The average preacher don’t pray much more than five minutes each day; the average churchgoer not more than three minutes.

If we got what was coming to us—it’d be Hell for all of us.

A TRIP THROUGH THE BIBLE WITH BILLY SUNDAY.

_An Example of the Evangelist’s Power in Painting Word Pictures._

Twenty-seven years ago with the Holy Spirit as my guide, I entered at the portico of Geneses and went into the art gallery of the Old Testament, where, on the wall, hung pictures of Enoch, Noah, Jacob, Abraham, Elijah, David, Daniel and other famous prophets of old. Then I passed into the music room of the Psalms, where the spirit swept the keyboard of my nature and brought forth the dirge—like a wail of the weeping prophet, Jeremiah, to the grand exultant strain of the 24th Psalm and where every reed and pipe in God’s great organ of nature seemed to respond to the tuneful harp of David, as he played for King Saul in his melancholy moods.

Next I passed into the business office of Proverbs, then into the chapel of Ecclesiastes, where the voice of the preacher was heard; then over into the conservatory of the songs of Solomon, where the Lily of the Valley and the Rose of Sharon and sweet-scented spices perfumed my life. Then I stepped into the prophetic room and saw through telescopes various stars, some pointing to far-off stars and others to nearby stars, but all concentrated upon the bright and Morning Star which was to rise above the moon-lit hills of Judea, while shepherds guarded their flock by night.

From there I passed into the audience room and caught a vision of the King from the standpoint of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. I then went into the Acts of the Apostles, where the Holy Spirit was doing office work in the formation of the Infant Church. From here I went to the correspondence room where Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Paul, Peter, James and Judah sat at their desks, penning their epistles to the church. Then I passed last of all into the throne room of Revelations and the king sitting high upon his throne.

DEFENDS DIVINE ORIGIN OF THE BIBLE.

If the Bible were the dreams of men, it would have gone down long ago. But it still stands like a light-house, shining out into the darkness, surrounded by thousands of dead birds, which have battered their brains out, knocking it.

The biggest fool today is the man who sneers at the word of God.

God’s word can’t be overthrown. It is too hard for the tooth of time and will last forever.

God’s plan in the beginning was that man should never die and that no man should ever work. Now, because of sin, white or black, Christian or skeptic, civilized or savage, it’s work for you or over the hills to the poor house.

You can say, if you want to, that your great-great-great-great-grandfather was a monkey with a prehensile tail, playing in the back alley, all right, but you can’t connect me with your monkey ancestors.

Why is it that corn that is fed to chickens makes feathers; that fed to sheep makes wool; that fed to the cow makes milk, and that which you eat goes into brain?

The men who undertake to overthrow the Bible will find the biggest job they ever had on their hands, and a lot of these lobsters have already gone to the mat for the count.

Don’t you feel like brutes; don’t you feel lower than snakes when you raise you voice against the Bible and this campaign, which is working for the influence of Christianity?

You can take all the books of all ages and nations, and take out all that is good and noble in them, and you can’t produce a book which will touch the hem of the Bible, which, is the word of God.

SPIRITUALISM ON THE GRILL.

Spiritualism is of the devil, pure and simple. I have no quarrel with you if you’re a spiritualist, but I have with that damnable doctrine.

Spiritualism is as old as the Egyptian mummies or the sphinx. It had long, gray hair and walked on crutches of decrepitude before Athens or Rome had a single mud hut or Romulus and Remus had been nourished by the wolf. It cannot work in the light, but needs darkness, because its deeds are evil. I never knew a confirmed spiritualist who had a normal physical body. Their religion is unclean. Christian science is the worst tommyrot since the Third Century.

STRAIGHT SHOTS FROM THE SHOULDER.

Bryan, clean as a hound’s tooth—he’s a friend of mine, too—isn’t afraid to put a Bible under his arm and preach the word of God.

The churches used to be daffy over high-critic preachers. Nowadays your high-critic preachers are wearing out shoe leather and going blind reading the want columns, trying to find jobs.

Down in Georgia they were having a dress ball. Huh! Better call it an undress ball.

Religion will do more for the world than it is now, as soon as God gets more than dimes and nickles to work with.

Some ministers are as crazy after sensation as the “yellowest” newspaper that ever came off the press.

Some of you society women are so stuck-up with pride that you can’t lie straight in bed at night.

These long-winded prayers will never get anything for Christ.

In nearly every church there is a little bunch that prays and all the rest are going to the devil.

What Shakespeare says is “literatwah,” but what Bill Sunday says is “vulgwah.”

The worst thing that ever wriggled out of hell is a church scrap.

I believe that some time in the life of every man and woman there will come a time when they will pray.

“I’d like to see the day,” said Sunday, “when there wouldn’t be a store open on Saturday night. I can’t see to save my gizzard why it’s necessary. People can do their shopping early. If they’d close the stores Saturday evening the same as on other days, the church attendances would be doubled. But of course, when you do anything to help humanity, some yellow dog has got to block it. And you employers and proprietors sit around in the churches and wonder why the attendance is so small, when you’re to blame yourself by making your employes work themselves to death so that they are too tired to go to church.”

OTHERS SUFFER FROM YOUR SINS.

“When you come staggering home, cussing right and left and spewing and spitting, your wife suffers, your children suffer, you infernal old devil. Don’t think that you are the only one that suffers. You’re placing a stain on your wife and your children. If you’re a dirty, low-down, filthy, drunken, whisky-soaked bum you’ll affect all with whom you come in contact. If you’re a God-fearing man you will influence all with whom you come in contact. You can’t live by yourself.

“Personal liberty is not personal license. Our forefathers did not fight and die for personal license, but for personal liberty bounded by laws. Personal license is the liberty of a red-handed anarchist. Personal license is the liberty of a burglar, of a seducer, of a raper, of a wolf that wants to remain in a sheep fold, or the fox in a henroost.”

LESSONS FROM STORY OF PILATE.

Pilate was a pliable, plastic, rathole, stand pat, peanut, lunch counter politician of his day.

Pilate sent Jesus to an innocent death to please the machine politicians.

Away with your hell-born, stinking lie of Unitarianism that Jesus was not a good man. He was either the Son of God or a fraud and liar, and I believe Him to be the Son of God.

God keeps no half-way house. It’s either heaven or hell for everyone.

A millionaire will go to hell just as fast as a hobo counting the ties on a railroad, if he doesn’t live true to God.

I challenge all the infidels on the earth to find one flaw in the character of Jesus Christ.

Even if Jesus wasn’t the Son of God I would worship Him anyway, for he is my ideal. I can’t conceive a grander character.

MORAL TRUTHS BILLY GAVE TO MEN.

Lyman Beecher was the father of more brain than any other man.

It’s everybody’s business how you live.

Law stands between you and personal liberty.

I brand that man with a black brand whose iniquities are responsible for the fall of others.

No man lives to himself alone.

No man will argue that sin is a good thing.

It doesn’t take boys long to get on the wrong track.

There are little frizzled top sissies who know more about vice than their gray-haired grandmothers.

As a rule a man wants something better for his children than he had himself.

You would not want your son to live like you, if you are not living right.

A young buck that cusses will crush your daughter’s honor like he would an eggshell.

If you never become religious, men, for God’s sake stop your cussing.

Like produces like in everything.... Blood will tell.

SAYS THESE THREE WILL RUIN CITY.

“No man can be a good husband, no man can be a good father, no man can be a respectable citizen, no man can be a gentleman, and cuss. You can hang out a sign of gentleman, but when you cuss you might as well take it in.

“There are three things which will ruin any town, open license saloons, open stores on the Sabbath day and a dirty, cussing, swearing gang of blacklegs on the streets. Let a town be known for these three things, and these alone, and you could never start a boom half big enough to get one man there.”

“You can’t go anywhere any more, in a car, a depot, a restaurant, but what you find some fiend with his foul-mouthed oaths ready to spew them out. What an awful place hell will be when it gets all of that bunch down there.”

“Say, boys, if I was on a jury and you could prove to me that a father had stolen a loaf of bread to keep his wife from starving, you could keep me in the room until the ants took me out through the keyhole before I’d stick him. That may not be law, I don’t know, but you’ll find there is a big streak of humanity in Bill.”

DO GOD’S WILL.

He told the women that it was not sufficient to be familiar with all the poets and the books of etiquette to get into heaven. The one essential thing is the doing of the will of God, he said.

Mr. Sunday showed through the story of Lady Anne Erskine of Rome, how the devil and Christ are bidding for their souls—the devil offering beauty, pleasure, adulation and ease; Jesus promising peace, joy and eternal happiness—and it was left to them to choose.

BILLY’S KEYS TO SUCCESS.

“Dig the foundation deep, young man; Plant firm the outer wall. Build it well what ere you do; Build it straight and strong and true; Build it clean and high and broad, Build it for the eye of God.”

Have some definite aim in life. Don’t drift ’round and ’round like a log in a whirlpool.

Do the best you can and you will win; God could not ask more than that.

Not only aim high, but muster up enough power to pierce the opposition and to ring the bell.

Don’t try to build character with a whisky bottle, a pack of cards, a libertine life and cigarets. Put the Bible and Jesus Christ in your life instead.

Be careful what you read. Don’t read bad, worthless books.

Don’t assassinate every noble desire that comes to you.

Get a good introduction of yourself to yourself and find out how little you really know.

Cut out the cigarets, boys, or they’ll cut you out. Just take that from your Uncle Fuller.

Have the grit of Sampson in your system so that you won’t tremble when the lions roar.

Don’t have your veins filled with ice water. Get some pepper, ginger and tabasco sauce into them.

Be a live wire. Be like the man with the itch; make everybody scratch when they come near you.

Remember, you’re not measured by your size, but by what you are.

If your pockets are empty, fill your heart with resolutions and get into the game. Don’t sit on the bleachers and growl.

You can’t determine success by the rattle of the cash register.

The limbs of the tree of knowledge hang so low that anybody with ambition can reach up and pluck the fruit.

Cities are whirlpools that whirl you into the jaws of hell.

A FEW BUNTS TO LIVE STUDENTS.

It’s a sad day for the young man when President Taft’s overcoat won’t make him a vest, he’s so chesty.

Education is knowing what you want, knowing how to get it, and knowing what to do with it after you get it.

If you find a fellow on the top of the hill, he never “lit” there; he climbed.

You can’t measure manhood by a tape line around the waist.

Parents, don’t try to make your boy another “you.” If God had wanted another “you,” he would have made you twins.

You can’t always tell the size of a man by the fuss he makes. A frog makes more noise than a whale.

We can build universities, tax the people to support them and furnish the best curriculum on God’s dirt, but we can’t make something out of a nonentity.

When a girl is seventeen and is introduced to a young man, she asks, “Who is he?” At twenty-two she asks, “What is he?” and at thirty-five she cries, “For God’s sake, where is he?”

If I had lived in Napoleon’s day I would have followed his star for he could hit the ball.

You can hear more curbstone, barbershop and livery stable theology in this city today than ever before.

All some men are fit for is to make one more when the census count is taken.

The man who has nothing but money is the poorest man on earth.

It’s the false ideal that strews this world with wrecks.

SUNDAY’S TRIBUTE TO THE HOLIDAYS.

“I’m glad we celebrate the Fourth of July, when we can uncork our enthusiasm and shoot firecrackers and eat peanuts and drink red lemonade, for it makes us realize that we are living in the greatest nation that man’s eye ever saw or God’s hand ever made. I’m glad we have Labor day, when the man who toils can have a holiday of his own. I’m glad we celebrate Easter to commemorate the time when the Son of Man arose in conquering majesty. I’m glad we celebrate Thanksgiving, when we sit at our sumptuously laden tables and recall that as a nation we have never gone to bed hungry and that our granaries have never been empty, and reflect that we have one state that can raise corn enough to feed us all. America can feed the world. I pay tribute to the man with the dinner bucket, with bundles of muscle that knot like steel. All these days are days of precious memories, days that make the nation strong and great, days that make us better men and women.”

“If you are well prepared for life you’ll never wear out shoe leather hunting for a job, and you’ll never become blind reading the ‘Help wanted’ ads.”

“What songs do the people go daffy over today? Listen and I’ll tell you.”

“Love your neighbor as yourself, But let his wife alone; For if you don’t he’ll soon get wise, And then you’ll lose your own.”

And here Sunday named some of the popular songs he said were causing divorces. Among them were: “My Wife’s Gone to the Country,” “I Love My Wife, But Oh You Kid,” and “I’ll Trust My Wife With Fifty Men, But With One?—Not On Your Life.”

Sunday pointed out five things which he stated he considered necessary qualifications to win in life: Blood, environment, grit, education and religion. He then added that the first four without the fifth meant nothing at all, and pleaded with his youthful audience to trust in God.

“It takes more than a mortarboard cap, pipe, peg-top trousers, a cane and your ‘rah, rah, rah,’ to make a man out of you. It takes character and determination. It pays to feed the Bible to the children,” Sunday said.

LIVING UP TO ONE’S PROFESSION.

You can summon all your card-playing, theatre-going church members and they can’t drive the devil out of a boy as big as a peanut.

If you want the world to be better after awhile, then keep the devil out of your boys and girls now.

I am an “amen” Christian, but I don’t shout it any louder than I live it.

You’re killing religion with your dignity today.

Lots of people would go to hell sure if they died out of Lent season.

One-half the professing Christians amount to little or nothing as a spiritual force.

SOME STRAY SHOTS FOR THE GALLERY.

I’m a graduate of the university of poverty and have taken several post-graduate courses there, too.

Some of you sing, “I’m standing on the solid rock,” through a set of false teeth that you haven’t paid for yet.

Nine-tenths of the church members are bench warmers.

“Not my will but”—it costs some of you too much to complete the other three words—“Thine be done.” That’s why your spiritual batting average is only fifteen when it ought to be nine hundred.

I’d rather see a child in the mouth of a crocodile than to see it dragged down by some immoral influence.

Go into the church and you’ll find most of the bunch nearer the theatre and card party than to Jesus.

The nearer to Jesus the more elbow room there is; the farther away you find the biggest crowd.

SOME HOT ONES SHOT AT RANDOM.

You don’t see the “S. R. O.” (standing room only) signs in the churches; you have to go to the theatre to see them.

Show me a church where the minister hasn’t any concern in a spiritual revival, and I will show you a rich, fashionable, third-rate amusement bureau with religion left out.

You’ll spend more time and money getting a steer ready for a business deal, than you will to start your boys on a safe trip to heaven.

If you’re afraid to take your stand for fear of being ridiculed by the miserable bunch that won’t trot square, you ought to be ashamed to call yourself a man.

If you are in a business that religion hurts, you are a moral pauper and in a mighty dirty, rotten, stinking business.

The trouble with a great many men is they have got all their property and religion in their wives’ name.

ONE OF “BILLY” SUNDAY’S CHARACTERISTIC PRAYERS.