£7, 2.3 h 5 
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 COEHRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 By 
 
 LISTON HOUSTON PEARCE 
 
 THE METHODIST BOOK CONCERN 
 NEW YORK CINCINNATI 
 

 Copyright, 1922, by 
 LISTON HOUSTON PEARCE 
 
 Printed in the United Statea of America 
 
 m\l U'22 
 
 ©C1A690157 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction 5 
 
 An Appreciation 9 
 
 A Foreword 11 
 
 A Shipwreck 15 
 
 Personality in the Pulpit 20 
 
 A Strange Loss of Memory 24 
 
 The Game of Teeter-Totter 27 
 
 The Great Baltimore Fire 30 
 
 Adventures in Amity 36 
 
 Hospital Adventures 43 
 
 A Day With My Birds 50 
 
 My Lady Humming-Bird 55 
 
 A Midnight Baptism 60 
 
 A Guerilla Tragedy 63 
 
 A Weird Night - 67 
 
 Tom Odley 71 
 
 Bedouin Robbers 76 
 
 The Pity of It 81 
 
 Caught in the Act 83 
 
 The Grand Canon of Arizona 85 
 
 Along the Danube 92 
 
 Gone, But Not Lost 95 
 
 Senatorial Fisticuffs 100 
 
 A Storm on Galilee 104 
 
 A PosTwoRD — ^Love Dreams Among the 
 
 Eighties 108 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 GROWING old beautifully, like apples 
 becoming more beautiful as they ripen 
 and taking on the colors and luscious 
 flavor that sun and rain impart and which make 
 the fruit fit for the Master's use — such has been 
 and is the type of old age that finds outlet for 
 thoughts and memories and dreams in this book. 
 
 An editor by profession and taste, a lifelong 
 familiarity with literature, a facile pen that 
 readily served the fertile imagination of an 
 accomplished limner, a gentleness of spirit that 
 won and held in lasting grip the hearts of a 
 multitude of friends, a traveler in far foreign 
 lands, a preacher of eloquence was the man 
 whose heart and soul find expression in these 
 reminiscences. 
 
 Dr. Pearce was for several years the editor of 
 the Baltimore Methodist, later for many more of 
 the Northern Christian Advocate, at Syracuse, 
 and for one session editor of the General Con- 
 ference Daily Christian Advocate, at Baltimore. 
 He is the author of a book of travel which sets 
 forth with interesting style and vivid clearness 
 
 5 
 
6 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 his journeys in the East, to which experiences 
 he briefly refers in these pages. 
 
 For the fellowship and sympathetic converse 
 the years we spent together in the genial climate 
 of Florida were notable. When the kind-hearted, 
 gracious old man reached the time when feeble- 
 ness of body put a stop to his annual migrations 
 in the effort to escape the boisterous attentions 
 of Jack Frost, I never ceased to sadly miss the 
 companionship of my chum. In vivid memory 
 of the heart-to-heart conversations over our 
 breakfast and tea table, I seemed to call back 
 my gentle friend to his old room which I occu- 
 pied after he ceased to do so. I could only par- 
 tially make up for the loss of his presence by 
 frequent correspondence. 
 
 He refers to what we playfully called my 
 Dream House and to his Dream Book, both 
 now happily materialized. The book speaks for 
 itself and is before the reader, but between the 
 lines his old friends will note the phantom 
 words and voices that are sweet to the memory 
 and expressive of an affection that will never 
 die. 
 
 If the four score years be "labor and sorrow," 
 as the wise man saith, nevertheless my dear 
 friend Liston H. Pearce knew how to mingle 
 
INTRODUCTION 7 
 
 sunshine and good fellowship with the pains 
 and shadows that seem to be inevitable in old 
 age. While abiding at this writing within the 
 kindly shelter of the Hospital of the Good 
 Shepherd, he will find in experience the truth 
 that it is possible to make last days best days. 
 Home or hospital may be to him and to me a 
 true Beulah Land where weary pilgrims, within 
 faith-view of the shining gates of The City, 
 await the welcome call of the Master of life 
 saying, "It is enough, come up higher." Then 
 shall dreams of homes and books become 
 fruitions in the land where "We shall see Him 
 face to face." 
 
 Carlton C. Wilbor. 
 Elma, New York. 
 
AN APPRECIATION 
 
 DOCTOR PEARCE is at home on the 
 heights. Figuratively, he has spent 
 much of his Hfe on Overlook Moun- 
 tain, aspirant of high altitudes with their pure 
 air, far horizons, and comprehensive views. 
 Bishop Henry W. Warren had a similar am- 
 bition to "put all things under his feet" — 
 physically, mentally, spiritually. To excite my 
 envy, he wrote me exultantly from the top of 
 Pike's Peak, Colorado, and Popocatapetl, 
 Mexico, and the Swiss Matterhorn, from which 
 in 1873 he and I, half-way up, were driven 
 back by a storm. From all those hilltops my 
 comrade of many climbs and tramps teased me 
 with "Don't you wish you were here?" 
 
 In this book, written from life's Overlook, 
 Dr. Pearce tells us what he has seen and sees 
 from the hilltops of the world, from Morning 
 Side Heights. He calls to us: "Come on up! 
 The views are fine." So I have found them, 
 looking through his clear, illumined eyes. I urge 
 others to take a look through his binoculars, 
 while I hear him saying, as Robert Browning 
 to his Elizabeth, "Other heights in other lives, 
 God willing." William V. Kelley. 
 
 9 
 
A FOREWORD 
 
 THE lure and fascination of an old man's 
 life is reminiscence. That is the golden 
 El Dorado in which he lives and through 
 which he roams at will. It is the completed 
 and unalterable realm of experience and realism 
 that holds him with a resistless charm, whether 
 it gladdens or saddens. This realm of per- 
 sonal experience and historic reality is his 
 inheritance and will either ever gladden him 
 with great joy as he has lived nobly or forever 
 sadden him as he has lived basely. 
 
 If an old man chances to be keyed to the 
 imaginative or spirituelle, he will likely often 
 embellish the reminiscent life in which he now 
 tarries for transportation, by dreaming dreams, 
 weaving phantasms, picturing visionary scenes 
 or, maybe, writing romances, or fairy stories. 
 This is not the solid realism of reminiscence but 
 the pure fiction of the imagination; but this is 
 not the purpose of this "old fellow" as he puts 
 forth this modest little book. 
 
 Some fifteen years ago Ray Stannard Baker 
 (whose pen name is "David Grayson") wrote a 
 
 11 
 
12 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 great book, Adventures in Contentment, a splen- 
 did epic of simple life close to the bosom of 
 Mother Nature. It caught the popular heart. 
 (He has followed it by several other books of 
 like spirit and high mission.) But it is a 
 volume of imagination, save as the author 
 weaves into it lessons, views, and incidents that 
 have come to him through his own personal 
 experience and observation. But the story he 
 creates he tells so cleverly that his readers, by 
 the thousand, surely believe that he is here 
 relating faithfully the reminiscences of the life 
 that he so felicitously describes, but never 
 lived at all, except in thought. That for years 
 he lived a quiet, care-free life in supreme con- 
 tentment on a little farm is simply a splendid 
 creation of his imagination. This unique and 
 eminent writer has spent his mature life in the 
 midst of the roar and conflict of great cities 
 and the achievements of a strenuous career. 
 
 Now, the reminiscence of an old man is 
 history, not story; fact, not fiction; stereotyped 
 copy, not copy that can be changed. The 
 recording angel has it written in his changeless 
 book of remembrance. 
 
 It was several years ago that the writer of 
 this Foreword reached the serene heights of the 
 
A FOREWORD IS 
 
 eighties and retired from the ranks of the 
 world workers and now has consented to sweep 
 up some of the crumbs that chance to lie in the 
 long and changeful way of his very ordinary 
 life. His cheerful hope is that this little book 
 of varied reminiscences may be so produced 
 that it shall beguile the tedium of many an 
 aged man or woman while waiting for the 
 Pilot, afford diversion for the suffering shut-in, 
 light reading for vacation hours, and make an 
 attractive gift book for the holiday seasons. 
 
 LisTON Houston Pearce. 
 Syracuse, New York. 
 
A SHIPWRECK 
 
 ABOUT sixty years ago there seemed to 
 be a period of great disasters on Lake 
 Michigan. On the shore of that splen- 
 did lake, twelve miles from the center of 
 Chicago, lay the classic little town of Evanston, 
 where lifted the spreading walls of the North- 
 western University and of the Garrett Biblical 
 Institute. Here, one memorable night in 1860, 
 when the wind blew strongly and the breakers 
 rolled fearfully, four hundred excursionists, out 
 from Chicago and bound for Milwaukee, on 
 the steamer Lady Elgin, colliding with a 
 schooner, were thrown into those angry waters 
 near the coast at Evanston. What deeds of 
 heroism and love the students there did that 
 night in saving men, women, and children 
 from the tempestuous surf has been celebrated 
 in oratory, story, and song. 
 
 But I am to tell you of the loss of the bark. 
 Storm, off the same coast about the same time, 
 when I was of the student body of the same 
 college town. 
 
 It was Tuesday, May 10, 1864. A steady, 
 15 
 
16 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 heavy wind had been blowing all night. On 
 going to my breakfast I learned that a vessel 
 was being driven toward the shore opposite 
 the village. Without taking anything to eat 
 I ran to the lake shore and saw a bark, loaded 
 with lumber, with her masts down and floating 
 at her sides, driven by the strong winds while 
 the tempestuous surf waters frequently broke 
 over her. She was near enough for us to see 
 somewhat plainly ^ve men on her cabin deck. 
 A number of other vessels were in sight, one of 
 them flying a signal of distress. Crowds of 
 people were gathering on the shore, the num- 
 ber increasing for hours. The disabled boat 
 continued to slowly drift at an oblique angle 
 toward the shore. About nine o'clock one of 
 the five men disappeared and the others 
 signaled that he was dead. By and by, we 
 missed two more, but after a time they ap- 
 peared again, evidently having been down in 
 the water-logged cabin to escape the furious 
 winds. Finally, about twelve o'clock the vessel 
 struck on a sandbar, two miles and a half from 
 Evanston toward Chicago, and was held fast. 
 She was yet too far oflF shore for us to speak to 
 her even if there had been no roar of the waves 
 and winds. We, therefore, procured a large. 
 
A SHIPWRECK 17 
 
 long board and wrote on it in large, black 
 letters: "Sent to Chicago for lifeboat." The 
 men on the vessel would probably perish be- 
 fore any boat could reach them from Chicago. 
 Hundreds of people were now crowding the 
 shore watching the vessel, but apparently 
 helpless to save them. Some of the students 
 used to these heavy surf waters (and many of 
 them had wrought heroic wonders at the wreck 
 of the Lady Elgin) thought of attempting to 
 swim to this boat with a line. But old seamen 
 in the crowd assured us that no man could 
 survive such an attempt, with the water almost 
 at freezing point and a furiously cold wind 
 blowing. But one of our number, Joseph C. 
 Hartzell, now Bishop HartzelL, bravely re- 
 solved to make the venture and could not be 
 dissuaded. Having procured a rope and fasten- 
 ing one end of it to his body, he with some of 
 his mates went several rods up the lake so as 
 to get the advantage in a battle out to sea 
 before he should come abreast of the stranded 
 bark, he started in. I followed him part way out 
 with my hand on the line as it was played out 
 from the shore so as to save Hartzell as much 
 as possible from being drawn down or back by 
 the heavy sag of the rope and the pull of the 
 
18 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 breakers on it. My part was comparatively 
 easy and without any special danger. I planted 
 my feet the best I could in the sand and allowed 
 the breakers to roll over me as I struggled to 
 hold the rope in place. Hartzell rose on the 
 billows or dove under them and by desperate 
 efforts kept swimming out. As he approached 
 the vessel there was imminent danger that he 
 would be dashed to death against the masts 
 that were floating at her side and pounding 
 upon her, or drawn under her. He succeeded 
 in seizing hold of a spar and by throwing his 
 legs and arms about it, he slowly worked his 
 way toward the boat, but this was a desperate 
 experience, for with every roll of the sea the 
 spar went perhaps a dozen feet beneath the 
 water, carrying Hartzell with it. With every 
 such roll we thought he was lost, but every 
 time he came up, clinging to the mast, still 
 clinging as he went a dozen feet into the air. 
 Thus, almost inch by inch, he crept on till he 
 reached the side of the vessel, where he seized 
 dangling ropes by which the crew succeeded in 
 bringing him to the reeling deck, carrying the 
 line on his body. A wild applause by the crowd 
 on the shore rang out on the air when the 
 daring feat was achieved. 
 
A SHIPWRECK 19 
 
 Hartzell drew in the rope that was tied to 
 the lighter line that he carried out and made it 
 fast to the railing of the cabin next the shore. 
 One after another of the crew slid down the 
 rope hand over hand into the tossing waters, 
 and holding to it, worked his way toward the 
 shore. Each one of the crew on reaching the 
 point where I held the rope well out from the 
 shore, fell like a dead man and was carried by 
 willing hands of those who rushed into the 
 waters. Hartzell had refused to start back 
 from the vessel till the imperiled men had left 
 the wreck. When he finally reached us, he too, 
 like the others, now that the strain of the 
 effort was over, collapsed and would have 
 fallen to the bottom but for the hands that 
 seized him as the people shouted: "Save 
 Hartzell! Save Hartzell!" and bore him to the 
 shore. When they put him down on the shore, 
 more than a thousand voices rent the air with 
 loud huzzahs for the young man who had so 
 heroically risked his life for others. 
 
 What he did so bravely that wild day of 
 storm he has as gloriously done for saving the 
 dark continent of Africa. 
 
PERSONALITY IN THE PULPIT 
 
 SOME ministers use personalities in the 
 pulpit. It is execrable taste, always 
 cowardly and sometimes dangerous. To 
 single out from the pulpit individuals in the 
 congregation or community and criticize them 
 or hold up their misdoings so that they or those 
 present know to whom personal reference is 
 made is seldom even excusable. If the writer 
 ever did that, he was cured of it by an incident 
 in which he innocently transgressed. 
 
 It was a long time ago, I should say thirty- 
 five years ago, but the event seems as vivid, 
 now that I am in a reminiscent mood, as 
 though it had been only yesterday. I was 
 having a few weeks of delicious vacation in a 
 quiet part of southern Tennessee. To the south 
 were the mountains of northern Georgia and 
 to the north a stretch of three miles of un- 
 broken woods. I was busy with some tinkering 
 which I was doing in a little forsaken shanty by 
 the road. By and by the wonted stillness of 
 the place was broken by the faint sound of un- 
 earthly hallooing and profanity in the woods. 
 20 
 
PERSONALITY IN THE PULPIT 21 
 
 The sound continued to grow nearer and louder 
 till I saw two half-drunken men emerge from 
 the big woods along the road carrying carpet- 
 bags. They apparently were tramps wild with 
 apple jack whisky. I noted that one had very 
 black hair and the other was red-headed. 
 When they had passed without entering the 
 lone farmhouse where the family of the actor 
 in this story was staying, I resumed work in 
 the shanty, reflecting upon the wickedness of 
 men in general and these two tramps in par- 
 ticular. The next morning I drove several 
 miles away to preach at a country church for 
 the circuit preacher. For company I took with 
 me a little girl who is now the wife of a well- 
 known pastor in the North. In the course of 
 the sermon I had occasion to contrast the op- 
 posite extremities to which men and women 
 come in this life. For the first illustration I 
 cited the case of a lovely woman in Baltimore 
 whose life was beautiful in deeds of charity and 
 love; for the second, I spoke of the two drunken 
 tramps who came the day before through the 
 woods. I was in the midst of a very powerful 
 delineation of them and their vile conduct 
 when I suddenly saw them sitting together in 
 the very middle of the congregation, and they 
 
2^ HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 had recognized the portraiture and were in a 
 state of agitation. The red-headed man en- 
 joyed the situation immensely, for his face was 
 wreathed in suppressed laughter; but the other 
 man was alarmingly serious over the matter. 
 His eyes flashed in anger, and it was easy for 
 the man in the pulpit to imagine that this 
 Southerner's hand was reaching for his hip 
 pocket — for you must remember that it was 
 Ku Klux times in the South and the preacher 
 was a Northern Yankee. It was a critical mo- 
 ment. The sudden recognition of the men and 
 the dangerous look of one of them caused me 
 to tone down the unfinished illustration. I 
 said, after all they might not have been such 
 bad men. We must not judge others, etc. 
 
 The sermon concluded and the services 
 ended, what must be done.'^ The two men — now 
 evidently citizens of that neighborhood — had 
 remained, perhaps for an interview. They 
 simply stood up where they had been sitting 
 and waited. Something heroic must be done; 
 so, smiling as best I could, I shook hands with 
 the people in the aisle till I reached the two 
 men, and, entering the seat next to where they 
 stood, I saw they did not extend their hands, 
 as others of the people were doing; but I paid 
 
PERSONALITY IN THE PULPIT 23 
 
 no attention to it and took their hands as they 
 hung at their sides. The red-headed man con- 
 tinued his tactics of laughing and the other 
 looked dangerously like striking. Neither spoke 
 a word, perhaps owing to the rattle of words 
 from the alarmed preacher, who hastened out 
 to his buggy with the little girl and made one 
 of the quickest seven miles of his life, while 
 looking back perhaps a hundred times every 
 hundred yards or more. 
 
 That experience cured this preacher of using 
 personalities in the pulpit — and also made him 
 a more cautious editor. 
 
A STRANGE LOSS OF MEMORY 
 
 SOME time ago someone sent me a pic- 
 ture of the old First Church at Battle 
 Creek, Michigan. What memories that 
 picture awakened! I was once a pastor there, 
 and had the joy of receiving into the church 
 during one winter's meeting two hundred mem- 
 bers. Some scenes of that winter come back to 
 me as vividly as though it were yesterday. How 
 well I remember a certain Sunday night! A 
 large audience had crowded to hear Mrs. Mary 
 C. Nind, of saintly life, beautiful character, and 
 tender heart. She had taken for her text, 
 "What shall I do then with Jesus who is called 
 Christ.'^" She had spoken ten minutes in her 
 solemn and impressive way, and the audience 
 was giving breathless attention, when someone 
 in the hallway below cried, "Fire!" The entire 
 audience arose instantly and started to move 
 toward the broad, open stairways — perfect 
 death traps in case of a panic. I saw the dread- 
 ful peril. After that I remembered absolutely 
 nothing till I became conscious that I was 
 standing at the side of Mrs. Nind, speaking to 
 24 
 
A STRANGE LOSS OF MEMORY 25 
 
 the people. When the services ended I was 
 amazed to be told that, at the cry of fire, I had 
 sprung to the front of the platform and yelled 
 and pounded and stamped like a madman, 
 commanding the audience to halt and sit down, 
 and finally succeeded. Then sending out the 
 chief of the fire department, who was one of the 
 ushers, to report the cause of the cry, I pro- 
 ceeded to lecture the people about panics. I 
 have never had the least memory of what 
 transpired during the ten minutes of that in- 
 tense excitement. During it all, Mrs. Nind 
 stood calmly with her hand on the pulpit, and 
 when it was over she resumed her sermon. 
 Whether someone maliciously raised the cry of 
 fire or only wanted to see the fun of the people 
 rushing madly to a false alarm, no one seemed 
 to know; but it is certain that a dreadful 
 panic was only narrowly averted that mem- 
 orable night, for, as it was, some of the excited 
 folks reached the bottom of the stairs in their 
 mad rush to get out. 
 
 A similar mental phenomenon happened to 
 me several years ago. I was in Los Angeles, 
 California, and was taking a morning walk 
 alone. I chanced to be looking with interest at 
 a young girl, perhaps fourteen years of age, 
 
26 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 who was riding her horse with much grace 
 along the broad, quiet street. A carpenter, not 
 far away, threw one plank upon another, mak- 
 ing a report like that of a pistol, which caused 
 the horse to spring wildly aside, throwing the 
 girl over backward. That much I remember 
 and nothing m.ore till I regained my senses and 
 found I was holding the horse and questioning 
 the girl about her injuries, if any. It seemed 
 the girl held fast to the reins and fell in front 
 of the horse and was in danger of being tram- 
 pled to death, but strangely escaped being hurt. 
 Thus, on these two occasions of interest, mem- 
 ory seems to have made for me no record of 
 what I said or did. Here is an interesting study 
 in psychology. 
 
THE GAME OF TEETER-TOTTER 
 
 ONE day a man whom I knew intimately 
 wrote a letter to his absent wife which 
 I chanced to read. As nearly as I can 
 recall it ran thus: "Did you ever play teeter 
 when you were a little girl? I am sure you did, 
 and how I wish I had known you then and 
 played that game with the sweet little girl that 
 I am sure you were. Well, I have lots of fun 
 these days playing teeter. One day I find my- 
 self going down, down, down till I think I 
 can't hold onto the plank any longer, but I 
 just stick on and laugh. Then in a day or two 
 I go up, up, up till I am up, way up into the 
 sky of bright hopes and exultation; and, of 
 course, then I am in high glee, but the first 
 thing I know I am going down, down again, 
 and I get splinters in my hands trying to hold 
 on, and so the gay old game goes on and it is 
 great fun. What jounces I get, but I won't get 
 mad or jump off; if I did, that would stop the 
 fun of life, and someone on the other end of 
 the board might be badly hurt, and that might 
 be you. So, sweetheart, I keep teetering away 
 
 9n 
 
28 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 and have a good time in the ups and downs — 
 in the hard knocks and jolly jolts I get." 
 
 Now, I like the philosophy and Christianity 
 of that letter. It smacks of the true heroism of 
 life. As we study this letter we see that there 
 are two splendid lessons which it teaches. The 
 first is that in the big teeter game of life the 
 great thing is to hold on. No matter whether 
 one is going up or down he should cling to the 
 plank. If he is sweeping down, there is no tell- 
 ing at what moment he may start up again. 
 No matter how steep the plank is or how many 
 splinters dig into his hands, the very best thing 
 to do is to hold on. The men who hang on are 
 the world's masters — not the men of big brains 
 or of great gifts, or of splendid opportunities, or 
 of hosts of friends; but the men who have the 
 grit or the grace or the sense — or whatever it is 
 — to hang on. It is Palissy, the potter, half 
 starved, but throwing his last chair into the 
 furnace; it is Columbus holding the prow of 
 his vessel toward the West over a trackless, un- 
 explored ocean while his men are on the verge 
 of mutiny; it is Grant fighting it out on that 
 line though it takes all summer; it is Peary re- 
 turning again and again to his quest in Arctic 
 frozen desolations with the lure of the pole in 
 
THE GAME OF TEETER-TOTTER ^9 
 
 his blood for thirty years; indeed, it is every 
 man who wins in his battle of life, in his little 
 or great sphere. 
 
 The second splendid lesson which my friend's 
 love letter to his wife teaches is that in the 
 teeter-totter of life one must throw himself into 
 the big game joyfully. To do any other way is 
 a large mistake. The game, of course, is a 
 serious thing, but to play it with anything but 
 good cheer and a glad voice makes one a 
 nuisance to other folks and himself. To be in 
 a constant giggle is, of course, brainless and 
 silly, and a craze for sport is degrading — and 
 there is a deal of it among people these days; 
 but to be cheerful and carry a bright face and 
 speak pleasant words is a beautiful and holy 
 thing. Out on a man who is always serious or 
 solemn or cross! There is almost no jolt of the 
 teeter, no experience in life that justifies that. 
 It is bad financially. We don't want to trade 
 with a man who never smiles or who talks even 
 on business matters mechanically and without 
 affability. People like sunshine, and nothing 
 works such wonders as does sunshine. It is 
 Paul taking joyfully the spoiling of his goods 
 and saying, "We are exceeding joyful in all our 
 tribulations." 
 
THE GREAT BALTIMORE FIRE 
 
 RESURGAM 
 
 By Ralph E. Pearce 
 
 Baltimore, thou art desolate! 
 
 Thy treasure scattered and thy walls o'er- 
 thrown; 
 Night broods upon thy ruins, 
 
 Deeper night dwells in thy smoking palaces 
 of stone. 
 
 Yet, thou art rich; thy treasures lie 
 
 Secure, unscorched by fire; thy sons are men, 
 
 And underneath thy wide blue sky 
 Thy former glories shall return. 
 
 God of our Fathers, thou hast made 
 
 Men greater than the things their hands 
 have wrought; 
 
 We call thee mighty, grant us aid 
 
 To profit by the lessons thou hast taught. 
 
 ONE of the most memorable events of my 
 life was connected with the Baltimore 
 fire of 1904. I had been elected editor 
 of the Baltimore Methodist, and took charge of 
 30 
 
THE GREAT BALTIMORE FIRE 31 
 
 the paper January 1, 1904. The seventh story 
 of the splendid Law Building of the city was 
 secured as new editorial rooms, and fitted up 
 with great pleasure and high hopes. The fire 
 came February 7, and left me almost broken- 
 hearted, but not broken-spirited. Let me place 
 here my reminiscence of those hours of trial in 
 the form of my editorial written while the fire 
 was still smoldering. 
 
 "A most appalling scene spreads out before 
 our eyes. The roaring, crackling conflagration 
 that started Sunday noon, February 7, in the 
 heart of the business section of the city, has 
 swept on leaving in its wake widespread ruin 
 and desolation, till now and at this writing, 
 Monday night, the city is still burning. Before 
 this slower going weekly reaches our readers, 
 the fleetfooted dailies will have told the story 
 of this measureless calamity. It has been a 
 scene of indescribable grandeur and awfulness. 
 In extent and cost it will probably exceed the 
 Chicago fire of 1873. All the great newspaper 
 buildings have perished. The most splendid 
 business houses and blocks have been swept out 
 of existence or remain only as blackened and 
 tottering ruins. The magnificent structures in 
 which the great banks and trust companies of 
 
32 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 the city have kept their untold wealth have 
 shared in this common ruin, as have the princi- 
 pal warehouses and shipping docks, and count- 
 less homes especially of the poorer people. 
 How stubbornly the brave firemen of the city 
 have worked with almost superhuman courage 
 and endurance to stop the progress of the con- 
 flagration; how the surrounding country and 
 cities have sent instant help in engines, firemen, 
 and policemen; how the burning and contigu- 
 ous districts have been put under martial law, 
 while the militia and regulars are on duty to 
 protect the property and guard the lives of the 
 citizens against the vast number of thieves and 
 hoodlums who seem to have come from every 
 whither; what great buildings are being blown 
 up; how the drinking places have been tightly 
 closed, and sobriety and order are maintained, 
 though the streets are packed with people eager 
 to witness the awful scenes — have not all these 
 things and many others been told you by the 
 dailies that you have eagerly sought and 
 eagerly read? 
 
 "Let us now talk a little of the outlook of 
 the Baltimore Methodist. Well, our beautiful 
 Law Building is gone, and with it the editorial 
 apartments that with so much care, pride, and 
 
THE GREAT BALTIMORE FIRE 33 
 
 expense, we had fitted up, and about all the 
 material possessions of the company — the ac- 
 cumulations of twenty-five years — are in ashes. 
 Our safe fell nine stories, and with scores of 
 others lies in the hot embers, whether with 
 contents intact we cannot tell. How long and 
 hard we tried to save that building, and time 
 and again we thought we had done it! The 
 scene from the roof was simply sublime. The 
 sparks fell like millions of burning meteors, and 
 brands hissed through the air and bounded on 
 the iron roofing. 
 
 "Our building first caught about six o'clock 
 and caught on our floor, it being the topmost. 
 We entered the little room that seemed to be 
 afire with a pail of water, but though the 
 electric light was burning, we could not see one 
 yard before us, so dense was the smoke. We 
 vainly sought the fire till about suffocated, 
 when we stumbled back, narrowly losing our 
 way. By that time the assistant editor had 
 secured the building hose from the roof, and, 
 with a wet towel over his face, went into the 
 room and stayed so long that we feared he had 
 perished. At last the room was cleared of fire 
 and smoke. We then addressed ourselves to 
 carrying down some of our most valuable 
 
34 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 things. The elevators could not be run till the 
 very last, and to climb up and down the crowded 
 stairways seven flights was next to impossible. 
 Unable to get a wagon for love or money, we 
 carried a few of our valuables a little distance 
 out of the apparent track of the fire, and by 
 and by moved part of them farther away, but 
 went back to do what we could to save the 
 building. The fight continued from the first 
 catching at six o'clock till about 11 p. M., when 
 in utter glee of victory the fire king shook his 
 hands of flame from every window and shouted 
 his exultant triumph with crackling voice from 
 the lofty roof. We are cast down, but, thank 
 God, not destroyed. Through the kindly offer 
 of Dr. Tagg, editor of the Methodist Protestant, 
 we have a place for the present in his finely 
 fitted office, 316 North Charles Street. 
 
 "Whether we are crippled beyond recovery 
 cannot now be told. The paper in its new form 
 had received so many hearty commendations, 
 and the business outlook was so encouraging, 
 that we were hopeful that this organ of the old, 
 numerous, and influential Baltimore Conference 
 would now take the rank and exert the influence 
 expected of a paper of such a constituency. Our 
 loss in the advertising department must be 
 
THE GREAT BALTIMORE FIRE 35 
 
 serious, and in many other respects. The ex- 
 pense of refitting an office after the late outlay 
 we can hardly bear. The brethren who have 
 stood so nobly back of the Methodist when it 
 did not pay, and met the bills, are, some of 
 them, if not all, heavy personal losers by the 
 fire. ... It would mean great things to us to 
 have a letter from each of you. Baltimore 
 Methodism owes it to itself to meet this 
 emergency." 
 
ADVENTURES IN AMITY 
 
 THE most paradoxical thing of the Chris- 
 tian centuries is the animosity that has 
 existed between Christian bodies in the 
 world. Proclaiming the sublime duty of love to 
 each other, even love to one's enemies, writing 
 upon the loftiest banners of Christian faith 
 the words of Jesus Christ, "Thou shalt love 
 thy neighbor as thyself," nevertheless. Chris- 
 tian people, in stupendous numbers, as the 
 centuries have rolled by have hated and de- 
 spised and often drenched the earth with each 
 other's blood. Even in this great day there are 
 startling signs of religious animosity, which 
 once aroused, would parallel the late World 
 War in rancor and blood. It is surely not a time 
 for recanting or surrendering our tenets of re- 
 ligious faith, but it is a time for holding them 
 in amity, and so trying to bring them into the 
 court of reason and love, with justice in the 
 throne. 
 
 With this preliminary glance at a lamentable, 
 if not perilous, situation, I submit these ad- 
 36 
 
ADVENTURES IN AMITY 37 
 
 ventures in amity by way of three reminis- 
 cences. 
 
 First, one Sunday morning, several years ago. 
 Cardinal Gibbons was escorted by a cavalcade 
 of horsemen in regal entourage to some high 
 church service in an adjoining community. The 
 periodical of which I chanced to be editor spoke 
 somewhat critically of that event. To this the 
 Catholic Mirror replied: "Can you say any 
 good thing about the Catholic Church? If you 
 can, we wish we knew what it is." To this, my 
 paper replied: "Most cheerfully will we take 
 up this challenge of the Mirror, and in no 
 ^negative fashion,' either. We shall name things 
 which meet and merit our strong and positive 
 approval. We shall do this ^ith the utmost 
 sincerity and in words containing no trace of 
 criticism, jealousy, or bigotry. If we should 
 follow the list that we may name with the men- 
 tion of other things in the Catholic Church that 
 we cannot approve (which we probably shall 
 not do), we should do so in language entirely 
 devoid of bitterness and harshness. The times 
 are too perilous and the enemies of our common 
 Lord are too many and too dangerous for us to 
 discuss our differences as variant Christian be- 
 lievers in anything but dispassionate and 
 
38 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 charitable words. Many sad and deplorable 
 things have been said and done, especially in 
 the heat of religious strife — said and done in 
 the name of Protestantism as well as Catholi- 
 cism — which caution us to tread softly and 
 speak with the least possible censure when we 
 talk of each other. Cardinal Gibbons well said 
 in his Cathedral sermon last Sunday, *Censure 
 is a common and cheap commodity.' " 
 
 The following are some of the things in the 
 Catholic Church which we discussed editorially, 
 and approved without criticism and in the spirit 
 of amity: The sanctity of the marriage cove- 
 nant; the especial care of childhood in the 
 church; the open house of prayer; and the 
 sacredness of church buildings dedicated to 
 worship. These brief editorials touching 
 things we like received no little attention and 
 strong commendation from Catholic and 
 Protestant papers. For instance, the Catholic 
 Mirror published the first^ article entire, call- 
 ing it "a fair and square editorial by a 
 Protestant contemporary." The Ave Maria 
 repeated most of the same article, pronouncing 
 its strong approval and high appreciation of 
 the editors. 
 
 Thus the first adventure registers the high 
 
ADVENTURES IN AMITY 39 
 
 rank and glorious beauty of amity between 
 Christian communions. 
 
 Second: Some years later, when the writer 
 was editor of the Northern Christian Advocate, 
 a letter came to that paper speaking in very 
 bitter words of an article that had there ap- 
 peared. The first impulse was to answer it 
 in the spirit in which it was sent. But a 
 different course was taken. A personal letter 
 was sent to this Catholic brother, saying 
 that it would be better for us to discuss our 
 differences in a calm and amicable spirit, 
 without bitterness or rancor. He replied 
 promptly that he too thought that would 
 be the better way. 
 
 The result was he came to the office, had 
 a friendly meeting, and we mutually agreed 
 that I should take up the discussion of ques- 
 tions involved, and that he should give the 
 Catholic view, while the editor should reply 
 to each article as he should see fit, but 
 neither of us should fail to use words of 
 candor and amity. The discussion ran 
 through several months of the paper, and, 
 perhaps with one single exception, in every 
 article we kept faith with each other in oiu* 
 promise. 
 
40 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 Here again the voice of amity pleads the 
 right of way in the Church. 
 
 Third: Austria held high rank as one of the 
 great Catholic countries of the world till the 
 all-grasping German Empire went down in the 
 World War and carried Austria with it; not 
 that church and state were united, for they 
 were not, but because the people were over- 
 whelmingly Catholic, and the splendor and af- 
 fluence of the papal church were preeminently 
 great. 
 
 It was during this period of prosperity and 
 power (1886) that I had several memorable 
 days in the brilliant city of Vienna, and took 
 great pleasure and paid most worshipful devo- 
 tion in the Saint Stephen's Church in Vienna. 
 I had gone on Sunday morning with friends to 
 see the resplendent church and hear the wonder- 
 ful music. After my friends had retired from 
 the church I remained for two full hours in 
 worship as sincere and spiritual as I ever paid 
 at any Protestant shrine. I put aside all 
 thought of any inharmony with, or opposition 
 to, or criticism of the people in whose splendid 
 temple I worshiped the great name of my 
 Divine Master and theirs. The glorious singing 
 that voiced the joy and praise of the infinite 
 
ADVENTURES IN AMITY 41 
 
 God was so tender and sweet that it touched 
 my heart, and often during those two hours I 
 found my eyes filled with tears of joy and glad- 
 ness. Had I known the ritual, or could I have 
 spoken the language, my voice would have 
 blended with theirs. In all parts of the great 
 building the people sang the praises of God in 
 responsive measures. The choral music of that 
 morning, the antiphonal singing, the Gregorian 
 chants filled my spirit with solemn pathos and 
 holy peace, even as their strains filled the great 
 arches above my head. It had a world of mean- 
 ing to me that the supreme note in this almost 
 seraphic music is in praise of our adorable Lord 
 and Master, and that the beginning and end 
 and meaning of that great Cathedral church 
 building is to every enlightened, pious heart 
 to proclaim the supreme greatness and glory 
 of the cross. 
 
 If in those hours of worship that day in Saint 
 Stephen's anything to disturb obtruded itself 
 upon me, it was the sad thought that so many 
 in that place, and in every large assembly of 
 Christian believers, whatever their communion, 
 so sadly fail of the true spiritual meaning of 
 Christ's kingdom. We are likely to forget 
 the topmost and bottommost of all things. 
 
42 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 namely, that soul-building is the climax, and 
 that there can be no soul-building without the 
 supremacy of love, the center of the cross; for 
 love is the fulfilling of the law, human and 
 divine, and "God is love." 
 
 Our three adventures in amity plead anew 
 for Christ's kingdom of love. 
 
 1 
 
HOSPITAL ADVENTURES 
 
 ON October 21, 1886, I met at Mar- 
 seilles, France, a delightful company of 
 tourists from Nashville, Tennessee, who 
 were intent upon a month or two of travel in 
 Egypt and the Holy Land. The next day I 
 hastened to join this company on board of the 
 good steamer The Sindh, as she moved out of 
 the harbor at Marseilles into the Mediterranean 
 Sea for a five days' trip to Alexandria, Egypt. 
 As I was about to take ship a little scene tran- 
 spired that the many years that have come and 
 gone have left still vividly in mind. I had taken 
 a carriage to the dock, and noticed that several 
 able-bodied men were following the carriage 
 though it was driven at a rapid gait. I knew 
 this was a common sight especially in southern 
 France, for swarms of poor, haK-starved-looking 
 men crowded along the streets at the depots 
 and steamer landings, in search of work. This 
 would make almost anyone miserable, if he 
 would allow it. Some of these would often run 
 long distances through the streets beside a car- 
 riage till they looked as if they would drop 
 
44 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 down from exhaustion, and this in hope of carry- 
 ing a grip or valise into a depot or boat. I was 
 followed in this way onto the vessel and when 
 I handed the poor fellow who had at last carried 
 my luggage a few steps twice as much pay as 
 he expected, and five times as much as he had 
 earned, he almost threw it on the ground in 
 disgust that I should have given him so little. 
 He moaned piteously and held out the money 
 as though I ought to be ashamed to offer such 
 a pittance to him. There were two impulses 
 which in alternation wrought on my inner 
 nature as that man continued to follow me. One 
 was to give him the full benefit of my pent-up 
 disgust; the other was to give him my pocket- 
 book with its contents. At this moment of calm 
 reflection I am glad to say that I did neither of 
 these things, but, keeping my resolution to be 
 a first-class traveler, I simply laughed at the 
 comical performance until it was over. 
 
 As I sat on the deck of the steamer the first 
 evening out, not only was there something re- 
 splendent in the whole scene, but when the disk 
 of the sun, which seemed marvelously large and 
 of strangely mellow light, touched the surface 
 of the green sea, it slipped down into the water 
 with a visible motion, as when the moon some- 
 
HOSPITAL ADVENTURES 45 
 
 times seems to slip quickly into a dark cloud, and 
 was out of sight in a moment of time. About 
 this time I felt the first ominous twinges of pain 
 that sent me to my stateroom, there to remain 
 the rest of the voyage. 
 
 To have sickness and hospitals injected into 
 my glowing plans for jaunting in Egypt and 
 Palestine were as undesired as they were un- 
 expected. Four physicians, including the ship's 
 doctor (who could not talk English, while I 
 could not speak French) gave faithful attention 
 and counsel during the rest of the five days of 
 the voyage across the Mediterranean. But, 
 finding one of them was Dr. R. W. Brigstock, 
 the English physician of long standing at 
 Beyrout, I asked him to take charge, and he 
 did, never remitting his attentions day or night 
 until he had brought me in person to the most 
 excellent hospital at Alexandria. For a friend in 
 need, give me an Englishman! 
 
 Among the compensations for this distressing 
 illness are valued friends whom otherwise I 
 would never have known: Mr. Cookson, the 
 English consul at Cairo, who came to me at all 
 hours; Dr. Sidney Davis, of the English army 
 and on duty at Cairo; Judge Darringer, of 
 the International Courts of Egypt, who called 
 
46 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 frequently on me; and S. C. Ewing, of the 
 American Board of Commissioners for Foreign 
 Missions. 
 
 This hospital at Alexandria is a blessed prov- 
 idence of God to a sick man, "the shadow of a 
 great rock in a weary land." Away from the 
 tender mercies of his own home, he could 
 hardly imagine a safer, sweeter shelter on earth. 
 Think of such an institution "away down 
 Egyptland"! Peace to the ashes of the saintly 
 old Lutheran pastor who, under God, became 
 the founder of this chain of Deaconess Hos- 
 pitals! Multitudes have risen to call him 
 blessed. These sweet-faced, white-capped Lu- 
 theran nurses are indeed sisters of mercy. They 
 are under no vows, but are trained for their 
 mission, and do their work for Christ's sake 
 and for suffering humanity. This particular 
 institution is located in the suburbs of Alex- 
 andria. The building is large and firmly built, 
 with broad, clean halls, and rooms and wards 
 for various classes of patients, and ample, 
 breezy balconies, and large beautiful gardens 
 with lovely walks among trees and shrubbery 
 and flowerbeds. 
 
 Let me name the usual order of events for 
 each day in the hospital here. At daybreak my 
 
HOSPITAL ADVENTURES 47 
 
 Swiss male nurse (poor fellow, he is soon to be 
 married, and to the girl he loves, but he goes 
 about as though he were wrapped in deep and 
 solemn thought, and looks like a man doomed 
 to die. I wished he were not going to be mar- 
 ried, for he was so absent-minded. One day he 
 put me into a sitz bath, and went out for a 
 moment, but forgot me and stayed about an 
 hour. You may imagine my state of mind, and 
 his too, when at last he came running in as 
 though the room were on fire) — well, as I was 
 saying, John comes in about daybreak, and puts 
 out the night lamp, looks after the ventilation, 
 and sees if I am needing anything. An hour 
 later he comes again and gives the room a pretty 
 thorough sweeping, brushing, and airing. Then 
 comes a most welcome visitor. Sister Mary, my 
 regular nurse, carrying a tray of food, skillfully 
 prepared to tempt a sick man's appetite, con- 
 tained in pretty dishes scrupulously clean. She 
 cannot speak English, but knows just what to 
 do. Washed, combed, I address myself to the 
 food, while she slips out and brings me from the 
 garden a bouquet of lovely flowers that looks at 
 me and talks sweetly to me all the day. While 
 I am in my ecstasy over the flowers. Sister 
 Barbery, the sister superior, quietly enters to 
 
48 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 bid me good morning, ask me how I am, and say 
 a few cheery words, for she speaks good English. 
 About nine o'clock I hold a reception; that is, 
 I entertain a company, or, rather, that resolute, 
 kind-hearted, fine looking Scotchman, Dr. 
 McKey, the physician in charge, enters, fol- 
 lowed by the sister superior, the dispensary 
 clerk. Sister Mary, and John. I give an account 
 of myself to the doctor, and the rest of the com- 
 pany tell him all they know about my conduct 
 for the preceding twenty-four hours. He gives 
 directions for the day, and the dispensary sister 
 notes them down in her book. The reception 
 does not last long, for, after a few moments of 
 cheerful chatting, the company file out in the 
 order in which they entered. At half-past ten 
 Mary brings beef tea; at twelve, dinner; at 
 three, tea, or some delicate soup; at six, my 
 evening meal; and she always appears at the 
 exact time to give the medicine as directed by 
 the physician. At any time during the day, 
 John comes at the touch of the electric bell to 
 take me to the balcony or down into the shady 
 walks, as I may be able. At five or six, the 
 young physician calls to see if there is needed 
 any change in the treatment. Later in the eve- 
 ning Sister Barbery comes in for a little visit. 
 
HOSPITAL ADVENTURES 49 
 
 What pleasant talks we have had! One night 
 when it seemed doubtful that I would remain 
 till morning, she talked to me of myself, my 
 faith in Christ, and my message to friends, and 
 then read the precious Word to me. When 
 needed a special night watch is given, who sits 
 in the room behind a screen and reads or sews, 
 ready for any moment of service with skillful 
 hands and kind heart. 
 
 Later in this tour I again fell into hospital 
 for a week or two at Beirut, in Syria, which is 
 north of the Holy Land, where from my window 
 I could see the broad expanse of the Mediter- 
 ranean, the vessels of almost every nation riding 
 at anchor in the harbor, and beyond, the splen- 
 did, half -Turk, half -European city lovely to see, 
 and the lofty Lebanon range, some of whose 
 numerous heights were snow -crowned. 
 
 On crossing into Italy, on returning, I again 
 fell into hospital, this time at Naples, where, 
 after a notable day on Vesuvius, I found a re- 
 treat in the very hospital where, afterward, the 
 eminent and precious Maltbie Babcock, D.D., 
 found the close of life, perhaps in the very room 
 where I spent the hours of my stay. 
 
A DAY WITH MY BIRDS^ 
 
 I SAY my birds, because they belong to me. 
 They are in the invoice of my personal 
 possessions at Tanglewood, where they and 
 I are to spend the livelong summer. 
 
 These birds of mine are here to serve my 
 special pleasure and profit. They are, for in- 
 stance, under special orders to sing for me; but 
 mainly in sweet, gentle solos at impressive mo- 
 ments; their oratorio and concert music they 
 produce only earlier in the season. However, 
 the solos are fine. Can you imagine anything 
 more plaintive and ravishing than the notes of 
 the whippoorwill, coming up from a shady 
 thicket as evening stillness and darkness deepen, 
 or the mournful cooing of the turtledove sitting 
 alone in the depths of the wood.^ Nor does the 
 cheery solo of the bob-white whistled cautiously 
 from his perch on the wheatfield fence quite 
 escape a tone of sadness and fear. This charm- 
 ing musician seems to be whistling to keep his 
 courage up. 
 
 Then I have also assigned to my birds a daily 
 
 1 RepriDted from The Christian Advocate, by permission of the editor. 
 
 50 
 
A DAY WITH MY BIRDS 51 
 
 roll of entertainment as air performers. Every 
 hour they execute feats with splendid grace, 
 ease, and absolute safety which make the acts 
 of the whole troupe of the expert flying men of 
 the world seem like the clumsy efforts of be- 
 ginners. Who ever saw a bird drop to disaster 
 through "a pocket in the air"? Who ever saw 
 a gust of wind upset a bird or crumple its wings 
 and send it down to its death? Or who ever saw 
 an aeroplane toy with storm clouds in the very 
 dignity of its calm strength as does the eagle, 
 or hang in midair in the very glee of life as the 
 humming-bird poises itself before an object of 
 its interest? 
 
 But my birds are not only entrancing singers 
 and amazing aviators; they are also fine in- 
 structors in the lessons of life. Do not wonder 
 then that I was anxious to have my first meeting 
 for the season with them. The morning after 
 my arrival at Tanglewood I went out to see 
 them. They did not know I was coming, so I 
 caught them engaged in their ordinary daily 
 duties and pleasures. With my eyes and ears 
 and thoughts alert I sat down on the grass near 
 our shack. Close by to the south was a noble 
 primeval forest of many acres. To the east and 
 west spread out a panorama of undulating hills, 
 
52 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 running streams, and cultivated farms inter- 
 spersed with woodlands beautiful to behold. To 
 the northeast was the magnificent Susquehanna, 
 rushing among its famed and picturesque 
 islands to its confluence with the Chesapeake 
 Bay a few miles away. 
 
 The first of my feathery tribe to present 
 themselves were a pair of chickadees. They 
 were shy and well-behaved, and in their surprise 
 at my presence kept at a distance. You know 
 they always dress modestly, and in this they 
 are not the least like a multitude of young 
 ladies — and some old ones too — whom we all 
 know who dress in scant, tight-fitting, fright- 
 colored toggery, the front, the most conspicuous 
 part, wrought out into the dazzle of a crazy 
 quilt, and in this attire flash along the public 
 streets! 
 
 Then came two robins and sat for my inspec- 
 tion in the top of a nearby tree, but soon darted 
 away into the woods, where one of them struck 
 up a wild, jubilant song just to show me how 
 country robins can sing among these hills and 
 trees. But this robin song was almost nothing 
 compared with the peculiar, gentle sweetness of 
 rehearsal that I attended late that evening given 
 by a robin in the edge of the woods. I never 
 
A DAY WITH MY BIRDS 53 
 
 before knew that one bird singer could so 
 transcend another of the same species. I 
 listened entranced a long time and until it had 
 grown dark. Surely that robin is one of the 
 vocal stars of these woods. I must hear him 
 often. 
 
 Meanwhile from my seat in the grass I had 
 heard the loud shrill notes of a crow. They re- 
 verberated across the fields from the distant 
 trees like some urgent emergency call for help. 
 It was not long before I saw Mr. Crow saihng 
 in the open with two small birds — a robin and 
 a blackbird — in hot, desperate pursuit of him. 
 How they annoyed him, as often some big, 
 dignified person is worried almost to death by 
 little, despicable upstarts! But I noticed that, 
 at least, the big black fellow did the proper thing 
 of rising above his enemies into the upper realms 
 where they did not care to follow him, and how 
 serenely he rode on his steady wings in the 
 higher skies! 
 
 About that time an enormously large bat 
 came dashing along in his headlong, crooked 
 flight, just to give me one good look at him, 
 and was gone, leaving me wondering if, indeed, 
 great bat roosts established in all our mosquito- 
 infested districts are to solve the problem of the 
 
54 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 destruction of one of our most deadly disease- 
 breeding insects; for, you know, the bat is a 
 voracious feeder on mosquitoes. 
 
 I was anxious to know whether or not I had 
 any turtledoves in my collection, and so it 
 touched me somewhat deeply when I caught 
 the plaintive notes of one of these heavenly 
 singers coming up from a clump of trees to the 
 north. The songs of some birds stir us as do 
 martial strains, others charm us with jubilant 
 notes, others still hold us spellbound by the 
 purity and sweetness of their melodies; but the 
 mournful cooing of the turtledove softens the 
 heart and subdues its passions and melts it into 
 gentleness and submission as does the song of 
 no other bird of our woods. 
 
MY LADY HUMMING-BIRDi 
 
 BUT the greatest joy of the morning came 
 of my meeting with my lady humming- 
 bird. I speak of "My Lady Humming- 
 Bird," since I do not know that I have seen her 
 mate. Certainly, I have not seen the pair to- 
 gether. If I have seen them separately, I did 
 not know it, as the dainty creatm'es look so 
 much alike. So then let me say that the tiny 
 mother bird was ever so nice and refined in her 
 deportment — and what fine manners she had! 
 She always came into my presence (and she 
 came seven times during the morning) on my 
 right and always gave notice of her approach 
 by a peculiar hum of her little vibrating wings, 
 and I thought I caught a whiff of her fine per- 
 fumery; but in this I may have been mistaken. 
 She always alighted on a certain dead twig of a 
 chestnut tree at a respectable distance — say 
 fifteen feet from me — where each time she sat 
 a good while for my inspection, and when she 
 thought I had feasted my eyes on her long 
 enough she gracefully flew away toward the 
 
 1 Reprinted from The Christian Advocate, by permisaion of the editor. 
 
 55 
 
56 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 woods. However, twice in the seven times on 
 returning she darted to within four or five feet 
 of my face and held herself poised on wing for 
 about a minute, as much as to say to me, "Now 
 take a good look at me!" or was it a brave 
 attempt to drive me away from her nest and 
 nestlings somewhere near by? This point I de- 
 cided to settle later and I have detained this 
 article to tell the result. 
 
 For several days I assiduously cultivated the 
 acquaintanceship of my little Lady Humming- 
 Bird and deftly sought to get her to reveal to 
 me the place of her nest. Our meeting place 
 was always the same. At last I found she would 
 come to her twig at the call of a low whistle 
 that I cultivated. Only twice did she fail to 
 come to my signal, and I gave the whistle sev- 
 eral times every day. I suppose that on these 
 two exceptional occasions she was busy with 
 domestic cares. All my devices to get her to go 
 toward her nest completely failed. When our 
 interviews ended she always flew straight into 
 the big woods, as though her nest were there. 
 In the meantime I chanced to read in one of 
 John Burroughs' books these stimulating words: 
 "The woods hold not such another gem as the 
 nest of the humming-bird. The finding of one 
 
MY LADY HUMMING-BIRD 57 
 
 is an event to date from. It is the next best 
 thing to finding an eagle's nest. I have met with 
 but two, both by chance." These statements by 
 an eminent ornithologist set me aflame with 
 enthusiasm in my quest for the nest of My Lady 
 Humming-Bird — to find by plan and purpose 
 that which he had found by chance, and I did 
 it. 
 
 At last I was sitting watching for her where 
 she did not expect me, when she darted by and 
 lit on a small branch of a maple not twenty 
 feet away. One glance at a little protuberance 
 the size of a small chestnut burr and almost 
 indiscernable among the leaves on the branch 
 beside her made me spring up as though I had 
 been shot and cry, "Eureka!" 
 
 A few minutes later I had a wagon under the 
 tree with a stepladder in it and I was at the 
 top looking into the smallest nest that birds 
 ever build and in it lay two baby birds not 
 much larger than bumblebees. 
 
 The study of My Lady Humming-Bird was 
 not complete when the reminiscence went to the 
 printer. Let me, therefore, say further that I 
 was almost sorry when at last the tiny bird was 
 outwitted. Her guile availed not in the end. 
 Her nest was found most deftly hidden on the 
 
58 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 top of a limb the size of your wrist under an 
 overshadowing sprig of leaves. I watched 
 the nest with interest until the birdlings had 
 gone to repeat the incident of nest and bird life 
 for themselves. I learned in their going this 
 unique fact, that, unlike the robins and such 
 birds, they do not leave the nest until they are 
 fully fledged and ready for the battle of life. 
 They take no risks of cats or other animals. I 
 watched these two mites for hours as they 
 stayed at home and attended to their duties 
 under the watchful eye of their mother, when 
 other kinds of bird youngsters would have been 
 off for a trial of their strength and wings, and 
 plunging into dangers. How many times they 
 stood on the rim of the home nest preening their 
 wings, stretching their legs, and shaking out 
 their feathers, till the mother bird one day told 
 one of them, in some bird language, that the 
 test was satisfactory; that they could now go 
 safely into the wide, wide world! 
 
 Then it spread its little wings, and without an 
 unsteady stroke sped on its way to the top of 
 a very large tree, and in very glee of life, as 
 fearlessly as would the mother bird. Two days 
 later the other birdling completed its tutelage, 
 and on safe pinions took wing into the air as 
 
MY LADY HUMMING-BIRD 59 
 
 though it too were a veteran hummer. As the 
 nest was now forsaken, I climbed into the tree, 
 sawed off a bit of the limb on which the bird 
 had glued her nest, and I now keep the tiny 
 structure about an inch in size as a trophy of 
 my season with my birds. 
 
A MIDNIGHT BAPTISM 
 
 IT took more than a century of long marches 
 and great fighting by way of victories and 
 defeats before the kingdom of John Barley- 
 corn could be overthrown and prohibition 
 written into the constitutional law of the United 
 States. It was during this prolonged struggle, 
 and it was in the year 1872, that the people of 
 Grand Rapids, Michigan, were in one of the 
 many long disputes over the enforcement of 
 liquor laws, and the strife was a bitter one. I 
 have a vivid reminiscence of one night that year 
 when, about midnight, a rap came at my side 
 door. Who could it be at such an hour.^ I was 
 a little anxious about my personal safety, as I 
 was in this struggle, so I held a parley with the 
 visitor before opening the door to him, till he 
 convinced me that he really wanted me to come 
 to his home and baptize his sister, who seemed 
 almost crazy to receive that ordinance. Not 
 willing, yet, to throw away all precaution, I 
 stopped with the man at the home of my family 
 physician, and secured his consent to dress and 
 go with us to the place where I seemed to be 
 60 
 
A MIDNIGHT BAPTISM 61 
 
 wanted. As we hastened along the quiet street, 
 not far from the parsonage, and approached the 
 house to which we were going, someone came out 
 and broke the stillness of the night, calling in 
 an excited voice, "Come on quick with the 
 preacher!" As we entered the house, I requested 
 the doctor to go upstairs and see if everything 
 was all right. He returned and said, "I think 
 you better go up and baptize her." So I went 
 upstairs, and as I entered the room I found 
 the young woman apparently sick abed. The 
 moment she saw me, in a frenzy of excitement 
 and without a moment of warning she threw 
 her arms to my neck and cried, "Oh, baptize 
 me! baptize me!" I thought I took the situation 
 in, and asked of the friends who stood about to 
 procure me a bowl of water, with which I pro- 
 ceeded to bathe her head rather lavishly and 
 without repeating any ritual. I did this for a 
 good while until she became quiet and restful, 
 and after a little talk with the friends, left her 
 apparently satisfied. 
 
 The next morning I thought I would study 
 the case a little further, and so called to see the 
 young woman, and found the surroundings 
 quite changed. She was downstairs in the 
 sitting room, neatly dressed, and talked fluently 
 
62 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 and very intelligently. She told me how she 
 had attended revival services in Chicago, and 
 at a church whose pastor was an intimate friend 
 of mine. When she came home she was anxious 
 to be baptized. Referring to the baptism of the 
 last night, she explained how she heard all the 
 company said and declared that at that time 
 the devil went out of her ear. That sudden 
 remark threw new light upon the case, so a day 
 or two later, taking my wife with me, I called 
 again on the lady. This time she was again 
 sick abed, but entertained us very intelligently 
 and pleasantly, till suddenly she lifted up her 
 feet and struck them down violently at a hot- 
 water bag in the bed, and exclaimed, "Take 
 that devilish thing out." My wife, at this, 
 without ceremony lost no time in getting out of 
 the house. In the curtain lecture that followed, 
 when at home, it was after all amicably agreed 
 that Satan had reentered the young lady again 
 by the "way of her ear." 
 
A GUERRILLA TRAGEDY 
 
 IT was the spring of 1864. The Civil War 
 for the Union was still abroad in the land. 
 Its end was near at hand, but we knew it 
 not. Another Chickamauga or a half-won 
 Gettysburg would probably have led to the 
 doom of the Union. The desperate venture of 
 Sherman's army to cut its way through the 
 Confederacy to the sea was in progress. Re- 
 cruits were greatly needed to take the place of 
 Sherman's veterans. President Lincoln had sent 
 forth the urgent call. College boys were under 
 pressure to respond and were impatient to go. 
 They were neglecting their classes and in large 
 numbers were enlisting. Among these were 
 many students of Northwestern University and 
 Garrett Biblical Institute. They went into 
 camp at Chicago at Camp Fry. The writer 
 went Tsath many others and was elected chaplain 
 of the 134th Regiment, Illinois Volunteers, but 
 was transferred to the 132d Regiment. Both 
 regiments were ordered to Paducah, Kentucky, 
 in support of the fort there, being at once face 
 to face with war conditions. 
 
 63 
 
64 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 After a few days I was called to the fort 
 headquarters. There I met Captain Norton, in 
 charge of a squad of sixteen Negroes, and was 
 told that two guerrillas had been captured. 
 They were to be shot in a few minutes and I 
 was to talk with them and attend the execution. 
 This was new and trying work for a young 
 theological student just from school. It was a 
 severe test of my fortitude. The work of guer- 
 rillas during the Civil War was not only bloody, 
 but it was held to be most dishonorable, for they 
 fought at their own wills and without any 
 military organization. 
 
 I asked to see these men alone and was per- 
 mitted to take them into a room in the fort, 
 around which the guard of colored soldiers was 
 thrown. I found them willing and anxious to 
 talk, and I assured them that they were about 
 to die. One of them, a rough-looking country- 
 man, about thirty years old, told me he was 
 unmarried; lived at Smithland, near by, where 
 he had four sisters and his mother; had been in 
 the Rebel cavalry; had done no murderous 
 deeds except in fair battle; had stolen cattle 
 and said he was unfit to die. When I prayed 
 with them this man knelt down and wept and 
 prayed aloud. The other man was smaller, more 
 
A GUERRILLA TRAGEDY 65 
 
 excited, and more distressed. He said he lived 
 at Henderson across the river, not far from the 
 fort, where he had his home with his mother 
 and four brothers; was opposed to the govern- 
 ment; spoke freely of his life and family and 
 asked me to have his body sent to his mother. 
 He declared that he had been a wicked man and 
 was afraid to die. Both men asked me to go 
 with them to the execution. When our con- 
 versation had ended, the detachment detailed 
 for this bloody work was in waiting to move to 
 the nearby shore of the Ohio River. There a 
 grave was being dug. At the request of the 
 prisoners, who were surrounded by their guard, 
 I walked with them. During this walk and at 
 the grave they had many things to say. 
 
 One of them asked me to write to his brothers 
 and beg them to let liquor alone, as that had 
 brought him to his doom, and added: "If any 
 rebel ought to die, I ought to." A moment later 
 he straightened himself up and said, "I'll die 
 like a man." When the grave had been com- 
 pleted, just an excavation large enough for the 
 two men without even a box, the men asked 
 me to make another prayer and the oflficer in 
 command permitted it. As the prayer ended I 
 shook hands with the men, stepped back a pace 
 
66 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 from them, while their hands were being tied 
 behind them and their eyes were bhndfolded. 
 As the two men stood beside their one coffinless 
 grave, sixteen black men raised their guns, four 
 of which were loaded with metal and the rest 
 with blank cartridges. Captain Norton, in a 
 low tone gave the command, "Fire!" As if 
 struck at the same instant both men fell back- 
 ward without a struggle; the shovels at once 
 covered them over, and the sad and bloody 
 tragedy had ended. 
 
 In a day or two a broken-hearted mother came 
 to our camp to beg the body of her son. True 
 to my promise to him, I went to the command- 
 ing general and besought him to grant her re- 
 quest, which he did. Securing aid, I had the 
 body taken up and loaded into the little cart 
 she had brought for it, trying the while to speak 
 some word of peace into a heart of unspeakable 
 sorrow. 
 
A WEIRD NIGHT 
 
 DR. J. McKENDREE REILEY, of 
 Baltimore, was long and well known as 
 an eminent preacher of a generation of 
 Methodist heroes now gone. At the time now 
 referred to, Dr. Reiley had been invited to have 
 charge of the services connected with the dedica- 
 tion of a church at Solomon's Island, Maryland, 
 in the Chesapeake Bay, about a hundred miles 
 south from Baltimore. I, then a young man, 
 was to go with him and be his assistant. These 
 services were to be held on a camp ground near 
 the church, where a camp meeting was in 
 progress. The ritual of consecration, of course, 
 was to be conducted at the church. We, with 
 others going to the camp meeting, took the 
 steamer at Baltimore Saturday night, and ar- 
 rived at Solomon's Island early the next morn- 
 ing. The sight of the small sail vessels, whose 
 white sails stood out against the broad expanse 
 of the bay and the surrounding land scenery, 
 was something fine that splendid morning. We 
 landed at the camp ground, where there was no 
 large landing pier, by running the steamer near 
 67 
 
68 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 the shore and having the passengers try by leap- 
 ing to reach the shore. This they did by taking 
 advantage of the receding waves, but many 
 even of the ladies sprang too late and were 
 caught in the water. I was fortunate in making 
 the leap, and sent a colored man to wade in and 
 carry Doctor Reiley out on his shoulders. This 
 reminded Doctor Reiley of Sinbad, the sailor. 
 The eminent preacher of the occasion was to 
 speak at ten-thirty on the camp ground, but I 
 was asked first to conduct the collection and 
 take subscription needed for the new church. 
 It was full one o'clock before I was able to re- 
 port the collection taken. Dinner was already 
 waiting in the tents, so a vote of the audience 
 was taken to determine whether Doctor Reiley 
 should now preach or the dinner be served. 
 Dinner was the choice, and the great preacher 
 delivered his sermon at three o'clock. This made 
 it necessary for me to preach the night sermon. 
 I shall never forget that night. As the people 
 came into the grove from their boats or from 
 their cottages or tents they seemed to talk in 
 suppressed voices. The sighing of the wind 
 through the trees was strangely plaintive. The 
 flames on the firestands in the camp about cast 
 a lurid gleam that was ghostly. The auditorium 
 
A WEIRD NIGHT 69 
 
 tent was made of the sails of the fishing smacks 
 and was lit by boat lanterns of various colors, 
 showing themselves, but giving almost no light. 
 The whole scene had an unearthly and uncanny 
 look, at least to the preacher of the evening. 
 When the audience had assembled and the 
 preacher had delivered ten minutes of his ser- 
 mon, the whole audience as if by some sudden, 
 mighty impulse, instantly rose from their seats, 
 and hastily rushed out of the tent. I stood still 
 on the platform, aghast at what was happening, 
 till someone shouted at me, "You better get 
 out there!" I took heed, and left the tent in 
 haste, to learn that the people, used to those 
 waters, sensing the coming of a storm by a 
 sudden, peculiar dash of wind, had thus fled 
 from the large and dangerous tent. 
 
 The coterie of ministers present rushed out of 
 the storm to the nearby schoolhouse, where 
 sleeping accommodations had been made for 
 them by making beds on the school benches. 
 Here they threw themselves down and began to 
 relate such experiences and tell such stories as 
 only a company of Methodist preachers can. 
 When the storm was over, the moon came out 
 in great beauty. The camp meeting rowdies 
 also began to appear. We heard one of them 
 
70 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 loudly declare that he was going to find a bed 
 with those preachers upstairs in the schoolhouse, 
 and, sure enough, he began to climb the stairs 
 that were on the outside. As he came into the 
 room and was walking between the beds on the 
 desks, one of the preachers, renowned for his 
 strength and courage, slipped from his bed, and 
 standing in his nightrobes, asked the rough 
 what he wanted. He received the reply, "I 
 want a bed among these ministers, and I am 
 going to have it." The minister answered back, 
 "There is no bed for you." The man, seeing 
 him standing there, a veritable Peter Cart- 
 wright, and knowing his fame for suppressing 
 disturbers of meetings in those days, meekly 
 said, "Well, if there's no bed for me, I'll have 
 to go back." And back the intruder went to 
 meet the jeers of his comrades, leaving the 
 preachers to their stories and, later, to their 
 slumbers and, long years after, to tell of that 
 weird night on Chesapeake Bay. 
 
TOM ODLEY 
 
 MR. THOMAS ODLEY had lived about 
 sixty years and I think he always had 
 his home in the Httle aristocratic city 
 of Alexandria, Virginia. He was a fine-looking 
 Virginia gentleman of the old school and could 
 boast of the blue blood of the Old Dominion 
 flowing in his veins. Twenty-five years before 
 the time of which I am to here write, this man 
 Odley was the president of the Young Men's 
 Christian Association and was held in high 
 esteem and affection in Alexandria. But now, 
 at the age of sixty, he had come to be "Old Tom 
 Odley," the rum-ruined wreck of a glorious man, 
 whose little cobbler's shop brings chiefly money 
 for the consuming fires of strong drink — a com- 
 mon street drunkard for whom no one cares. 
 
 This bit of human driftwood was caught in a 
 current of events that was sweeping over the 
 community of Alexandria at that time (1879), 
 and this was how it came about: 
 
 One afternoon I came home from visiting the 
 families of my church at Alexandria greatly de- 
 pressed and almost broken-hearted over the 
 
 71 
 
72 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 ravages of strong drink that I found almost 
 everywhere in high social circles as well as in 
 low hfe, in that city. That afternoon I resolved 
 to lift my voice as never before against this dis- 
 tressing condition. But what could one man 
 do? I first went for counsel and help to the 
 president of the Y. M. C. A., but soon learned 
 he was noncommittal and fond of his toddy; 
 then to the pastors, one of whom was chaplain 
 of the United States Senate, whose church was 
 liberally supported by liquor dealers, and none 
 of the pastors offered help or encouragement; 
 finally I went to the officers of my own church, 
 who without enthusiasm consented to the use of 
 their church for public meetings. 
 
 Such meetings were opened. Gifted speakers 
 were brought especially from Washington, D. 
 C, seven or eight miles away. Widespread inter- 
 est was soon awakened. For weeks the interest 
 continued to increase. Old soaks began to re- 
 form and put on the red ribbon; moderate 
 drinkers gave up all booze; many hundreds took 
 the pledge. A club of about six hundred re- 
 formed men was organized. Rooms on the street 
 were opened for the various activities of the 
 club, and many of these activities continued 
 years after that first campaign came to an end. 
 
TOM ODLEY 73 
 
 Pastors who were swept into it continued to 
 come back to attend the annual roll call of the 
 reformed men of 1879. At the last annual that 
 I remember to have attended four hundred men 
 reported "All right" in the meeting, some 
 sending the message, and the others arising 
 and giving their answer personally. 
 
 Now, Tom Odley was only one incident 
 among a multitude of similar ones of that re- 
 markable movement. Early in the awakening 
 he had taken the pledge more than once, and 
 when he came again into one of our public meet- 
 ings I went to him and asked him to try once 
 more; but he declared it was no use to try any 
 more; it was impossible for him to let liquor 
 alone. Speaking loudly from the floor by his 
 side, I asked all the people to pray for this rum- 
 enslaved man while he now went forward and 
 again took the solemn pledge of total abstinence. 
 The Rev. Dr. Boyle, one of the pastors, sprang 
 to his feet and led the people in a fervent prayer 
 for the man; but he was no match yet for the 
 ever-present saloon, for in a day or two Tom 
 Odley was drunk again. A charge was then 
 mercifully trumped up against him, so that he 
 was committed to jail for ten days, and then re- 
 committed for ten days more, while watchful 
 
74 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 and helpful attention was given him, to be con- 
 tinued when the twenty days had expired. Thus 
 his body was prepared for another trial and his 
 spirit aroused to hopeful efiFort. Men of the 
 Club and of the church put their arms about 
 him and safeguarded him from evil till he was 
 established. One day I stood in his shop when 
 he told me, with tears of joy in his eyes, of his 
 great victory. A day or two after this I was 
 called hastily to the same little shop to see Tom 
 Odley in his last great struggle, for, smitten by 
 apoplexy, he lay on the floor of his shop and a 
 doctor was trying to preserve the spark of life; 
 but the efforts were in vain. 
 
 His reformation had been the wonder of all 
 who knew him. His death, funeral, and burial 
 produced a profound impression in the com- 
 munity. Having no family or home (for years 
 he had been disowned by the esteemed family 
 connection to which he belonged), and yet being 
 widely known, he was borne by the companions 
 of his new life to the Red Ribbon apartments 
 where he lay in state and was viewed by a 
 multitude of people and honored in remarkable 
 funeral services, attended by the mayor of the 
 city and other leading citizens. Then, declining 
 to use a hearse, his comrades who were chosen 
 
TOM ODLEY 75 
 
 as pall-bearers lifted the casket on their shoul- 
 ders, and, followed by a concourse of reformed 
 men, wearing red ribbons, bore him through 
 the streets to his burial. Wonder not that the 
 next day a large number of drinking men came 
 to the club headquarters, signed the pledge, and 
 put on the red ribbon. 
 
 These reminiscences of these old days at 
 Alexandria should include a record of many 
 more thrilling events than is the story of Tom 
 Odley. For instance, how the comrades of 
 tempted men safeguarded them against the 
 demon, even with their fists, fighting to keep 
 them from getting out to the saloons; how one, 
 otherwise a splendid man, eluded his watcher 
 and jumped through a window and was picked 
 up dead on the pavement below — this in the 
 attempt to get to a saloon or a place where drink 
 could be had. 
 
 But this reference to the long-continued fight 
 against strong drink at Alexandria is only a wee 
 bit of the overwhelming proof that shows that 
 the eighteenth Amendment has not come by 
 some sudden frenzied impulse of the United 
 States, but after long marches, hard fighting, 
 and the close study of the American people. 
 
BEDOUIN ROBBERS 
 
 FROM time immemorial the Holy Land 
 had been inhabited by a race of robbers 
 known as Bedouins. They seem to have 
 arisen from the plains and deserts of Arabia, and 
 spread especially through Egypt, Syria, and 
 Palestine, and have retained their marked racial 
 characteristics. They commit their robberies, 
 or, we might say, carry on their traffic, mainly 
 at night under tribal officers and according to 
 Bedouin customs and laws, which they regard 
 honorable, right, and businesslike. Hence, in 
 such lands as I have mentioned, there is little 
 travel away from the towns and villages, and no 
 such thing as country living and farming, all 
 the stock and farming utensils being carried into 
 the villages for safety and protection at night. 
 It so happened in 1886-87, I was riding, a 
 lone tourist, save with a dragoman named 
 Lyons, and a muleteer named Acmud, from 
 Beirut to Jerusalem. We had sent Acmud by a 
 short cut from Tiberias to Jenin, while Lyons 
 and I detoured to Mount Tabor, the most sym- 
 metrical mountain in the land, up which we 
 76 
 
BEDOUIN ROBBERS 77 
 
 rode by a fine bridle path built by the monks. 
 These monks took great interest in showing us 
 the caves and tombs and other reminders of the 
 days of the crusades. We had tarried longer 
 than we expected, so, after our lunch with the 
 monks, Lyons suggested that owing to the late- 
 ness of the hour, we should try to go down the 
 precipitous sides of Tabor on the north, thus 
 saving a good deal of time. For sentimental 
 reasons, I had named my horse, Rameses III. 
 So rough and steep was the going that it seemed 
 impossible for me to keep from slipping or being 
 thrown over the head of Rameses III. So I dis- 
 mounted and tried to lead his Highness; then I 
 ran into the greater danger of having my horse 
 stumble upon me, for he seemed to be almost 
 over my head. 
 
 Lyons reached the foot of the mountain be- 
 fore I did, and, without waiting for me, spurred 
 up his horse to a high rate of speed, and began 
 the trip across the Plain of Esdraelon toward 
 Jenin. Having the better horse, I soon overtook 
 him, and scolded him severely for speeding his 
 tired horse so. He then turned upon me and 
 said : "Mr. Pearce, it is yet two hours to Jenin, 
 and it is near nightfall. This is the most danger- 
 ous part of the country, and the first time in 
 
78 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 twenty-five years that I have been without 
 arms. We have to pass through two or three 
 villages. I request that you do not to-night 
 speak to me as we ride. No one should know 
 that you are a tourist." With that he whipped 
 up his horse. By the time we had crossed the 
 plain and reached the village of Jezreel it was 
 growing dark. We rode in silence through the 
 edge of the village, when Lyons by accident 
 dropped his brass-mounted whip (which I in- 
 tended to buy at any price as a souvenir). He 
 jumped from his horse, felt around on the 
 ground, and not finding it speedily, remounted. 
 That made me feel that Lyons was anxious for 
 our safety. He took his heavy long cane from 
 the bundle on the saddle and used that to 
 punch his horse. He had taken the precaution 
 not to put on his overcoat and his turban as 
 the cool of the evening came on, as was his 
 usual custom, so that, wearing his blouse and 
 his red fez cap, he could readily personate a 
 soldier of the Turkish government, of whom 
 the Bedouins stand in great fear. 
 
 We had now passed a mile or two beyond the 
 village of Jezreel, and the gloom of the evening 
 was deepening, when we were suddenly halted 
 by three men confronting us on foot. They 
 
BEDOUIN ROBBERS 79 
 
 could easily see us on horseback against the 
 moonlit sky. 
 
 The halt was in the Arabic language, to which 
 Lyons replied, "Friends come." The men re- 
 plied, "There is no friend at night." Thereupon 
 Lyons dug his heels into his horse's side, put 
 his big cane to his shoulder, as though it were 
 a gun, and rushing upon the robbers, cried, "A 
 soldier of the government!" The ruse suc- 
 ceeded, for the men instantly cried, "Salaam! 
 Salaam!" and hurried away. 
 
 As we pressed on our way we soon skirted 
 another village, but we were not seen, for which 
 we were very glad. However, to our dismay, 
 Lyons now lost his way, and was compelled to 
 turn back to the village just passed to ask for 
 a guide, or at least directions, in the darkness. 
 Here again his guile stood him well in hand. 
 Something like a village dance seemed to be in 
 progress, which at once adjourned to give atten- 
 tion to these night prowlers, but no amount of 
 argument could induce the villagers to give us 
 what we requested. We stood on the outside, 
 and the dispute was becoming intense. Fi- 
 nally, Lyons lifted his voice to a commanding 
 tone, and pointing to me sitting in silence on 
 my horse and looking as large and important 
 
80 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 as I could, he exclaimed, "I am taking this 
 officer of the government to Jenin, and I have 
 got to have a guide." At that, three of the 
 villagers at once started off to be our guides. 
 Soon Lyons got his bearings again and sent the 
 men back. 
 
 Without further incident worthy of note we 
 arrived at Jenin. Acmud had hired a little 
 stone hut with iron-barred windows. Lyons 
 got my supper on a little charcoal brazier; made 
 up my bed and tucked me in. He made his own 
 pallet on the floor where he lay all night with 
 his head against the door, for, as he said the 
 next morning, he fully expected that an attempt 
 would be made to rob us that night. We were 
 afterward assured that Lyons truly represented 
 the danger of travel in that part of Palestine. 
 
 The next night I slept in a good bed in the 
 Mediterranean Hotel in Jerusalem. 
 
THE PITY OF IT 
 
 A MORE perfect gentleman I have seldom 
 known. His pleasant face, genial man- 
 ners, neatness of person, and kindness of 
 heart made it pleasant to have him as a business 
 associate, while his devotion to his work and his 
 tact for it made me hopeful of large results. He 
 frankly told me of his past life, and how he had 
 been overcome by strong drink, but assured me 
 that for a long time he had been free from it, 
 and now was forever done with it, and was try- 
 ing to lead a Christian life. He meant all he 
 said and I believed it was true. I gave him 
 employment in our office at the head of the 
 advertising department. For weeks all went 
 well. He was delighted and so was I. But the 
 night of the great fire, February 7, 1904, sent 
 him to ruin as certainly as it did our great build- 
 ing, for the terrors and excitement of that 
 memorable night caused him to lose the master- 
 ship of his passion for strong drink, and he went 
 upon a debauch. We sought him for days, and 
 by and by he appeared. He told me his story, 
 was deeply mortified and penitent, promised to 
 never again yield to the demon; but he was 
 
 81 
 
82 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 penniless, had squandered his Httle all, wanted 
 money for food and lodging. I gave it more 
 than once; so did others. I took him home with 
 me one night for food and to guard him, but all 
 efforts were in vain. Almost every turn on the 
 street the saloon invited him, and the fires 
 within him burned furiously with every such 
 solicitation. His pleading for money that he 
 might get bread and shelter was as plaintive as 
 it was false. Truth, honor, modesty, and almost 
 every begged penny went for drink at the saloon 
 till one night he was picked up nearly dead on 
 the street and carried to the City Hospital as a 
 penniless, friendless, common drunk, there to die. 
 
 Oh, the pity of it! Of what.^ Not simply that 
 this one man of such qualities of head and heart 
 should thus perish, but that he should have 
 been only one sheaf in the enormous harvest of 
 misery, poverty, and moral and physical ruin 
 that rum was reaping on almost every street. 
 
 The rum power in this land dies hard and 
 sullenly, but it dies. I have lived to see it legally 
 dead. That seemed to be impossible in my day, 
 the battle was so long and desperate and seem- 
 ingly hopeless. Society is getting the one good 
 look that it needs to break the spell which rum 
 has put upon it. 
 
CAUGHT IN THE ACT 
 
 LET me tell you all about it. I had taken 
 the New York Central for some little 
 matter of business a few miles out of 
 Syracuse. The coach that I had entered was 
 well filled with passengers. As the train pulled 
 out of the station I glanced at the gentleman 
 with whom I was taking my seat and he looked 
 at me, but neither of us said anything. To be 
 sitting in the same seat with a respectable-look- 
 ing man and say nothing to him always seemed 
 a little awkward to me, and on this occasion I 
 felt it was unsocial and a little embarrassing, 
 for the same gentleman had a quizzical look on 
 his face. So I began to think up some way of 
 starting a good dish of conversation. Just then 
 we were passing the salt sheds. That was my 
 chance, I thought. I knew somewhat about the 
 great salt industry of Syracuse, having lived in 
 that city many years. I thought I would open 
 with a question about those salt sheds, so I 
 asked, "Can you tell me, sir, what those multi- 
 tudes of wooden sheds are?" He smiled, as I 
 thought afterward, and showed a twinkle in his 
 
 83 
 
84 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 eye. It was evidence that I had made a hit of 
 the question — perhaps a favorite theme of his. 
 Or, it may be he was an investor in salt. He at 
 once said he would be very pleased to tell me 
 about the great salt works of the city. He pro- 
 ceeded to unfold more erudition about the salt 
 business and its history than I ever knew be- 
 fore. He fairly grew eloquent. Somehow I be- 
 came very uncomfortable as the conversation 
 proceeded, and yet I was learning a great deal 
 that I should be glad to know. By and by, as 
 my new friend began to edge off to other sub- 
 jects, his face took on a mischievous look when 
 he said, "Do you live anywhere in this part of 
 the country.'^" 
 
 "Oh, yes," I said, "I live in Syracuse," and, 
 before I could make any apologies for my dense 
 ignorance and my pose as a stranger in those 
 parts, he exclaimed, "Oh, you needn't play off 
 on me. I know you. I knew who you were 
 when you sat down here. I have heard you 
 preach. I take your paper; I have been in your 
 office to-day and paid for your paper." 
 
 Now, whether or not my little game was an 
 immense success, or our dish of conversation 
 greatly enjoyed by all parties concerned, the 
 deponent saith not! 
 
THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 
 
 AVERY numerous religious body was 
 about to assemble in its quadrennial 
 session at Los Angeles, California, the 
 pride of the Pacific Coast. This body was to 
 meet May 1, 1904, and continue all that month, 
 which is so generally chosen for conventions and 
 great gatherings and is so fine for railroad 
 traveling in this country. People, especially of 
 the Methodist feather, were now gathering 
 from all parts of this land and from almost every 
 country to attend this convocation, and espe- 
 cially to get the advantage of the reduced rates 
 of transportation that thus they might be able 
 to visit and gaze upon the primeval resplendence 
 of our mighty West. Those who had planned 
 to enter this land of nature's amazing wonders 
 by the Santa Fe route were, of course, intent 
 above all other things on seeing the Grand 
 Canon of Arizona. This writer was of that tide 
 of folks. 
 
 At Williams, Arizona, our trains were shifted 
 from the main line of the Santa Fe to the branch 
 called "The Bright Angel Trail" and headed 
 
 85 
 
86 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 directly north for the Grand Canon, sixty -five 
 miles away through a wild plateau of mountain- 
 ous formations and gorges of turbulent waters. 
 At the terminal of this trail we reach the high 
 altitude of seven thousand feet above the level 
 of the sea, and we now stand on the rim of the 
 gigantic breach in the crust of the earth that 
 we have come so far to see. The stupendous 
 chasm into which one looks extends down into 
 the earth along its tortuous way until it has 
 reached the amazing depth of 5,000 feet below 
 where we stand at the top — a depth so great 
 that if one could pile five Eiffel Towers one on 
 the other in the great gorge where the river 
 plunges, one would have to go down into the 
 chasm many feet before he could touch the top 
 of the steel mass; and that tower is the loftiest 
 structure that human hands have ever built up 
 on the earth. The foaming and impetuous 
 Colorado River that plunges along its way is, 
 here and there, torn into raging torrents by 
 jutting rocks, dangerous rapids, high embank- 
 ments, and treacherous whirlpools — waters in 
 which it would seem that no boat could live 
 and yet along which are gentle eddies, quiet 
 lakes, and subterranean chambers whose waters 
 are at perfect rest. 
 
THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 87 
 
 Nor is it only a few miles of these enormous 
 rock formations that are held within this breach 
 in the crust of the earth. Across the chasm from 
 rim to rim the distance varies from ten to 
 twenty miles while the canon up and down the 
 river is not less than two hundred miles. Within 
 these limits one has the most astounding, un- 
 earthly, and awe-inspiring sight that nature ever 
 displayed in the rocks of the earth to the eyes 
 of men; and yet it is also the most ineffably 
 beautiful revelation of mundane objects upon 
 which men ever gazed. 
 
 Here is not simply one resplendent canon, but 
 systems of them, labyrinths of wonders, some 
 of which are as huge as gigantic towers of 
 granite and some as delicate as are the colors 
 with which nature tints untold miles of these 
 marvelous stones, spacious caverns miles in ex- 
 tent, yawning abysses, mountains, volcanoes, 
 tall snow-crowned peaks, immense cataracts, 
 hanging gardens of stalactites and forests of 
 petrified trees; besides objects in semblance 
 most beautiful and wonderful to behold and in 
 countless number — temples, palaces, cathedrals, 
 castles, altars, tombs, domes, and fortifications. 
 
 But what shall we say of the miracle of colors 
 in which nature paints all these masterpieces 
 
88 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 of her handiwork? Not more varied, harmoni- 
 ous, or gloriously beautiful are ever the clouds 
 that float in the skies or the stars that shine in 
 the heavens than are the colors that glorify the 
 rock formations of the Grand Canon. And one 
 overwhelming wonder of this picturesque scene 
 is the blending of the colors and the harmony 
 of the whole painting. One might think that 
 the pihng up of such an aggregation of such 
 diverse and stupendous objects in such apparent 
 confusion would do violence to all harmony of 
 design and destroy all artistic beauty. But not 
 so. No old master ever put colors of more 
 delicate tone or of finer blending of tints than 
 one finds here in this most masterful of all 
 nature's paintings. O, the overpowering splen- 
 dor, the indescribable loveliness, the compelling 
 charm of it all! 
 
 If you raise the question: "How long was 
 God in preparing this supreme earthly display 
 of his work.f^" human wisdom saith not, and 
 science indeed only replies in guesses or in terms 
 of multiplied millions of years. As one stands 
 here and gazes upon what little part one can see 
 of this revelation in stone and tries to compre- 
 hend this incomprehensible wonder, it would 
 seem that God is giving men in this chasm a 
 
THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 89 
 
 divine counterpart of the vast dome above us 
 where float the clouds in glorious beauty and 
 where the heavenly bodies burn in their brilliant 
 majesty. 
 
 When I first read some of the ecstatic and 
 beautiful words of Ruskin in his Stones of 
 Venice, I said, "An art critic gone mad over his 
 entrancing subject." But when I had lived to 
 walk over the old pavements of Saint Mark's 
 Cathedral and looked up at its marvelous, in- 
 describable creations in marble, I said: "It is 
 enough; Ruskin was sane." So when, the other 
 day I read some of the words of Fitz-James 
 MacCarthy, the facile journalist, where he wrote 
 of the Grand Canon, I should have said, 
 "The man is writing bewildering, unbelievable 
 things," had I not seen this great chasm of 
 Arizona. If you do not accept the credibility 
 and enthusiasm of my reminiscence of this 
 wonder, I refer you to Fitz-James MacCarthy, 
 the man of the world, "the globe-trotter," but 
 the man who can see visions when God unfolds 
 them to his eyes, who, writing of the Grand 
 Canon, says: "This impassive thing that 
 frightens you with its appalling immensity, that 
 enthralls your imagination by the magic of its 
 matchless beauty, that bewilders and mystifies 
 
90 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 your senses by its vague suggestion of fragrance 
 and melody in its gorgeous purples, and by the 
 vast echoless silences of its Pompeiian reds and 
 yellows, is inexorable and unresponsive to your 
 puny emotions. That is what fills you with a 
 nameless longing, a divine regret. That is what 
 makes you sob unconsciously as you gaze o& 
 into the abysmal, chromatic splendors of the 
 scene." 
 
 Intent upon making my last hours at the 
 Grand Canon the most impressive and mem- 
 orable of my stay, I arose very early that morn- 
 ing, took my breakfast in my pocket with me 
 and walked three miles to a point on the rim of 
 the chasm where I was assured I would have a 
 most satisfactory view. Partaking of my basket 
 in a covert of rocks on the rim where all around 
 and below me were cliffs, gorges and rocky 
 chambers, I drew a little nearer still to the edge 
 when there broke upon my gaze one of the most 
 resplendent sights I had ever seen — a phantom 
 city, extending thousands of feet down the pre- 
 cipitous opposite sides of the gorge — the sem- 
 blance of a magnificent city built of marbles of 
 variegated colors and of countless structural 
 forms — towers, monuments, steeples, churches, 
 palatial residences, splendid business streets, 
 
THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 91 
 
 and, as if to complete the phantasm of it all, the 
 mists and vapors that rose from the canon below 
 and spread among the buildings made it seem 
 that the people were building their early morning 
 fires whose smoke went curling up as from thou- 
 sands of chimneys. I stood there wrapped in 
 overwhelming wonder, awe, and praise. The 
 strange stillness of those profound depths 
 brooded everywhere. Not a sound from the 
 rushing river, six thousand feet below the rim, 
 reached the ear. No human voice, or song 
 of bird, or tread of beast, resounded through 
 those corridors of silence. Whatever happens, 
 nothing can spoil the sublime symphony that 
 sings in my heart when I think of the days that 
 I spent amid the unparalleled wonders and 
 astounding splendors of the Grand Canon of 
 Arizona. 
 
ALONG THE DANUBE 
 
 THERE are times when even the worst of 
 us, and surely when the best of us, will 
 have the soul life within us so wrought up 
 that the spirituelle, the ethereal, the mystic, the 
 beautiful, and the divine, will make us see 
 visions that will seem as real as the streams, the 
 mountains, the trees, or the skies. 
 
 One of these visions was given me during a 
 jaunt of a few weeks that I was having with 
 friends in Bulgaria. We had traveled all day in 
 our carriages over the uplands of Bulgaria. As 
 evening drew on the lofty Balkan range faded 
 from view and the sun went down in great 
 beauty behind the distant foothills whose sum- 
 mit line reached up into and along the sky and 
 seemed like the borderline between heaven and 
 earth. We were now riding along the low banks 
 of the broad Danube. As the fading daylight 
 deepened into dusk the clouds upon the hills 
 caught from the sun a thousand tints which lit 
 the sky with indescribable glory, and were re- 
 flected and changed upon the surface of the 
 water, so as to make the river seem a great 
 92 
 
ALONG THE DANUBE 93 
 
 luminous pathway, paved in deep and lovely 
 hues, the changing lines converging at the foot 
 of the hills, whose tops were gilded with ex- 
 quisite colorings. I rode for a long time looking 
 at this magnificent spectacle. It required no 
 great effort of the imagination, in the gloaming 
 of that evening, to make the radiant vision upon 
 which we looked seem like the pathway to the 
 skies by which the redeemed are to ascend, and 
 at the end of which stand the sunlit towers of 
 the glorious city of our God. 
 
 Do you wonder that enraptured I was up- 
 lifted to the third heaven of spiritual things 
 (whether in the body I cannot tell : whether out 
 of the body I cannot tell).'^ Do you wonder 
 that I could catch the spirit of the seraphic 
 Bishop Quayle: "I thank thee, O God of the 
 out-of-doors, that thou art in the mountains; 
 and I am with them and thee. Hear my voice 
 mixed with the music of thy waterfalls, and 
 think of my prayer as if it were a song to thee 
 whom I love to bless for this great mercy of the 
 mountain and mountain music and shadow, and 
 moonlight and mystery. Thee I love and bless. 
 And the stream chanted, *He heareth prayer.' 
 
 "Mountains blue, dreamy, remote, com- 
 pounded of earth and air, white as built of sum- 
 
94 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 mer cloud, builded with the massive masonry of 
 God, tranquil, masterful, compelling wonder, 
 watched by the stars, abundant in waterfalls, 
 glorious in strength, battlemented for sunsets, 
 crowned with noons, steeped in dawns, the 
 expectation of the lowlands, a rest for care, 
 heights to which dying eyes lift their last, long- 
 ing, homesick look before they front the moun- 
 tains of eternity — mountains, pray you, build 
 your sublime ranges along the Western land- 
 scape of the heart, as that, as we look, sunsets 
 shall revel on your snowy crests, and your long 
 shadows shall walk from sky to sky, and we shall 
 hear at burning noon or quiet evening, or the 
 windy morn the calling of the mountains, *Let 
 us journey together to the sky.' " 
 
GONE, BUT NOT LOST 
 
 EVERY old man of heart will sooner or 
 later come to experiences so sacred, love 
 so tender, joy so seraphic, sorrow so 
 heartbreaking, or death so pitiful, that it seems 
 almost a profanation to speak of these things in 
 words for ears of others. O the pity of it when 
 an old man or woman has no inner sanctuary of 
 life where he would fain whisper these sanctities 
 of his holiest reminiscences ! Yet, there are times 
 when it is his duty to kindle in the hearts of 
 others kindred experiences. 
 
 A few years ago a fond brother whose life was 
 a part of mine was taken away. I thought I 
 could not live without him, and wanted to hide 
 away and seek communion with his spirit. But 
 I remember that he lived so nobly and lovingly 
 that multitudes came into his comradeship and 
 brotherhood, and so they too have sacred remi- 
 niscences of him. Therefore, I am writing here 
 what I wrote for others at the time when the 
 great sorrow had just fallen upon me. 
 
 "Only the reader of these lines who has stood 
 in the solemn gloom of some great bereavement 
 
 95 
 
96 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 can begin to fathom the depth of human grief 
 through which the editor of this paper is mov- 
 ing. Voices as sweet as the lutes of heaven are 
 speaking in this hour of sorrow and O, how 
 cheering the hopes kindled by Him who is saying 
 to me, as He did to Martha, *Thy brother shall 
 rise again.' Without these, how hopeless and 
 starless would be the night that has fallen about 
 me! Perhaps these voices and hopes should at 
 once turn darksome night into unclouded day; 
 but they do not. Perhaps my faith is not 
 entirely triumphant, for I do not rise above the 
 gloom of the thought that long days — maybe 
 years — must come and go before the coming of 
 the glad morning that shall reunite two lives 
 that had long been interwoven as one. 
 
 "Born within two years of each other in the 
 same Christian family, set apart by godly 
 parents for the same ministry in life, playmates 
 together through childhood, walking together in 
 uninterrupted loving companionship through 
 early manhood, in constant warm and sym- 
 pathetic touch with each other during a varied 
 ministry of a third of a century, deeming it a 
 chief joy to often spend our vacations together, 
 happy together in each other's homes and in the 
 intimacies of the families that grew up about us, 
 
GONE, BUT NOT LOST 97 
 
 keyed to each other as even brothers seldom are, 
 hoping to spend the closing years of a long life 
 near to each other in the quiet retirement of 
 pleasant homes — is it any wonder that the sud- 
 den vanishing of one into the mystery of death 
 leaves the other in unutterable loneliness? Is 
 it any marvel that I sit here, though it is Easter 
 morning, trying to look through blinding tears 
 into the veiled mysteries of the tomb and the 
 life beyond? It seems to me that this pen can 
 never again take up its work on these pages; but 
 I know it must — aye, it must render a diviner ser- 
 vice for the chastening of this hour. Nor must 
 I for a moment forget that there are others that 
 sit to-day in the deep shadows of this sorrow, es- 
 pecially another beloved brother who is in the 
 ministry, and two sisters; but above all others 
 the faithful, noble wife and the devoted children. 
 "But I must pay a more formal tribute to the 
 memory of the beloved Christian minister whose 
 name is at the head of this article, and whose 
 face appears on the first page this week. He 
 came of the old Kentucky family of Houston on 
 his mother's side, and of a sturdy Holland 
 Dutch ancestry on his father's side. He was 
 born at Springfield, Ohio, and there, amid the 
 romantic scenery of Mad River and Buck Creek, 
 
98 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 he first learned to love nature, to which his soul 
 was so finely attuned. His health in early life 
 was apparently too frail for the application re- 
 quired by a full college course, though he 
 attended Asbury University; so, with scant 
 college training, but with high ideals, untiring 
 self-culture, sincere piety, and rare native 
 qualities as a preacher and a pastor, he began 
 his ministry among the country charges of 
 northern Indiana; but before his course was 
 ended he had served chief churches in seven 
 Conferences — Michigan, Detroit, East Ohio, 
 Erie, Pittsburgh, Wyoming, and Philadelphia. 
 Poetic, artistic, sympathetic, fervid, eloquent, 
 genial, fun-loving, yet devout, what wonder that 
 his ministry was one of joy to himseK and the 
 people whom he served? He was more than a 
 preacher and pastor, for he was a church- 
 builder — instance the three great Elm Park 
 churches at Scranton, two of which were burned 
 during construction and the third of which 
 was completed and dedicated — a champion of 
 educational institutions, an exponent of great 
 reforms, an instructor on the platforms of sum- 
 mer assemblies, a church dedicator, and a 
 speaker on important occasions. As a single 
 evidence of the esteem in which he was held by 
 
GONE, BUT NOT LOST 99 
 
 his ministerial brethren he was elected to General 
 Conference as the leader of the delegation when 
 his consent was only reluctantly given and when 
 he was a transfer serving his first church in the 
 Conference. 
 
 "Somewhat worn down and out of health, a 
 year ago he retired from the pastorate of the 
 Park Avenue Church, Philadelphia, and sought 
 recuperation at his beautiful country seat at 
 Cazenovia, New York. Life there gave him 
 health and delight; but to escape the rigor of 
 the Northern winter he came with his wife to 
 Washington, in December last, remaining till 
 March, 1905, when they went to Aiken, the 
 well-known health resort in South Carolina. 
 
 "But the end of a life beautiful was near at hand. 
 After nearly two months of rare enjoyment be- 
 neath the sunny skies of the South, he was sud- 
 denly taken alarmingly ill, and in a few days, al- 
 though all that human skill and love and prayer 
 could do was done, there, among the magnolias 
 and spice trees and flowers he loved so well, on 
 Wednesday of Passion Week, with wife and son 
 and daughter and brother bowed in grief at his 
 bedside, this blessed servant of God, after beauti- 
 ful patience in his sufferings and joyful hope in 
 Christ, passed into the life eternal and supernal." 
 
SENATORIAL FISTICUFFS 
 
 THE reminiscence that I am now to relate 
 begins with a social function in the fine 
 old city of Baltimore and ends with a 
 fisticuff in the United States Senate Chamber at 
 Washington, D. C. And this is the way it all 
 came about. 
 
 It was February 22, 1902 — therefore, Wash- 
 ington's birthday. I had been called to the 
 aforesaid social and family affair at Baltimore 
 and had performed there my duties with as 
 much dignity and grace as could be expected of 
 a man of my size, figure, and limited acquire- 
 ments. The next day, intent upon diversions, 
 seeing the splendors of Washington life, and the 
 bout at the Capitol, I proceeded to Washington. 
 
 It was to be a great day in the Senate. The 
 strife between distinguished political leaders was 
 on. Senator Benjamin R. Tillman was to speak, 
 and the galleries were crowded. Not a seat 
 seemed to be had. I was anxious to hear, as I 
 had done before, this tempestuous South Car- 
 olinian. As I stood, with the anxious crowd, 
 outside of one of the gallery doors, I could hear 
 the sound of Senator Tillman's voice already 
 100 
 
SENATORIAL FISTICUFFS 101 
 
 speaking. That morning, I had shifted my 
 Grand Army button from my lapel to my vest 
 pocket. This I had done out of respect for the 
 family of lovely Southern people with whom I 
 was then an invited guest. When I noticed that 
 the doorkeeper nearest me wore a G. A. R. but- 
 ton, I quickly slipped my button back into my 
 lapel and crowded close to this doorkeeper. He 
 caught sight of my button and soon I was in 
 the gallery, where I saw and heard the Senator 
 with perfect ease and comfort. 
 
 As I settled to my good seat I saw that the 
 distinguished speaker had pushed well into the 
 aisle in front of the Republican Senators and 
 was delivering to them this vehement invective: 
 "In social life you are delightful gentlemen, but 
 politically you are scoundrels and rascals." 
 Evidently, he had already stirred this great 
 crowd into a ferment. Finally, in charging 
 political dishonesty and corruption upon the 
 Republicans, he went a step further to declare 
 that some of his own party had gone over to the 
 enemy. At that, Senator Spooner, of Wisconsin, 
 cried, "Name the man!" Tillman promptly re- 
 plied, "My own colleague." That was a fire- 
 brand that set the tinder aflame. The sensation 
 was at once felt through the Senate chamber and 
 
102 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 all the galleries. But the Senator spoke on for 
 half an hour. While he was yet speaking. 
 Senator McLaurin, of South Carolina, Tillman's 
 colleague, who had been at a committee meet- 
 ing, came in and took his seat. With that a 
 suppressed feeling of danger spread through the 
 vast audience. No little shifting about on the 
 floor was noticeable. I noted that the president 
 of the Senate had called the sergeant at arms 
 to his desk and seemed to be consulting him. 
 
 When Senator Tillman finished his speech 
 and took his seat, which was in the same row 
 with that of his colleague, Senator McLaurin 
 calmly arose, addressed the President of the 
 Senate, explained that he was attending a com- 
 mittee meeting while his colleague was speaking, 
 and that notes had been laid on his desk giving 
 what his colleague had in his absence said 
 about him. He then read from these notes the 
 words that Senator Tillman had used, and lift- 
 ing his voice, he said: "I pronounce that a 
 malicious and outrageous lie." 
 
 I was watching Senator Tillman's face and 
 saw it flash in anger and instantly he clinched 
 his fists and sprang for McLaurin. The aged 
 Senator Teller, who sat in the same row be- 
 tween the men, was tumbled over in the rush. 
 
SENATORIAL FISTICUFFS 103 
 
 McLaurin stood with ready fists and both men 
 met in savage blows. For a moment the 
 audience seemed spellbound, but before either 
 man could strike again the sergeant at arms and 
 several senators had seized the men and dragged 
 them apart. The building was at once in an up- 
 roar. Members from all parts of the chamber 
 were yelling, "Mr. President! Mr. President! 
 Order! Order!" When semblance of order was 
 obtained. Senator McLaurin again arose and 
 began to speak composedly, saying, "When I 
 was so unceremoniously interrupted," but cries 
 of "Order, Order!" stopped him, when Senator 
 J. C. Burrows, of Michigan, chairman of the 
 Committee on Rules, gained the floor and 
 promised an investigation of the fisticuff, the 
 first of the kind in the history of the Senate. 
 
 The charge that Tillman had made against 
 his colleague was that he (McLaurin) had basely 
 taken the patronage of the State from the Re- 
 publicans. The aftermath of this encounter was, 
 in many ways, most sad. President Roosevelt 
 withdrew the invitation he had given Senator 
 Tillman to a certain reception, and this so em- 
 broiled the political leaders of South Carolina 
 that at least one of them lost his life in a per- 
 sonal encounter. 
 
A STORM ON GALILEE 
 
 IT had been one of the dreams of my life 
 that some day I might look upon the Sea 
 of Galilee, walk along its sacred shores, ride 
 over the waters where Jesus so often had gone 
 with his lowly disciples, where he had wrought 
 many of his wonderful miracles of power and 
 love, and where he had taught the world the 
 great lessons of God's infinite love to man. No 
 other body of water on the earth has been so 
 sacred to the life and person of the Saviour as 
 has Galilee. The dream of my boyhood Sunday- 
 school days was now about to come true. 
 
 It was one December day in 1886 that I and 
 my dragoman reached the summit of the moun- 
 tain from which I had my first view of the Sea 
 of Galilee. How disappointed I was! It looked 
 so small. I thought I could ride to its margin 
 in fifteen minutes and throw a stone across it. 
 Had I not seen in my Michigan twenty larger 
 lakes than is this sea.^^ But it took us more than 
 an hour to ride down the mountain and reach 
 it. When I stood where I could see the whole 
 of it, it seemed larger, but I still thought that 
 104 
 
A STORM ON GALILEE 105 
 
 with my good Remington I could bring down a 
 deer standing on the opposite shore, where the 
 demon-possessed swine "ran down the hill into 
 the sea." 
 
 The city of Tiberias, in which I stayed at a 
 Latin convent, is mentioned thiice in Scripture. 
 It is a dilapidated, poverty-stricken town of six 
 or eight thousand inhabitants who live in poverty 
 and dirt. Since the destruction of Jerusalem by 
 Titus it has been an important Jewish center. 
 For a long time there has been a rabbinical 
 school there. The Sanhedrin met there from the 
 second century onward, and the Jews expect 
 that their Messiah will rise out of the Sea of 
 Galilee and establish his kingdom in Tiberias. 
 
 Now, the Sea of Galilee is really seven miles 
 broad and thirteen long. There was an English 
 clergyman staying at the convent with whom I 
 planned for a sail on the Sea, and the boat we 
 took seemed to be the only boat to be had. We 
 took with us eight Arabic rowers and a guide 
 who was to provide lunch and tell us everything. 
 Our purpose was to visit the ruins which mark 
 the supposed site of the ancient Capernaum and 
 Bethsaida, and the point where the Jordan 
 enters the Sea. These are localities diagonally 
 across the north end of the lake from Tiberias. 
 
106 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 I was astonished when told that it would take 
 most of the day to go and return, unless the 
 wind should be very favorable. 
 
 We had been in our course for nearly two 
 hours when we were surprised by a storm that 
 came down furiously upon us and threw our 
 crew into alarm and dire confusion. Every man 
 of them seemed to be all at once giving com- 
 mands in the most excited Arabic I ever heard, 
 and were wildly gesticulating. The wind was 
 instantly billowing the water beyond what 
 seemed possible a few minutes before, and the 
 rain was coming down in torrents, and yet it 
 did not seem to me that the situation was 
 dangerous. I had been used to the breakers of 
 Lake Michigan, and felt that if the boat should 
 ever swamp I could even swim to the shore. 
 The scene was grand, and from the first moment 
 I thought of the time when Jesus rebuked the 
 storm on that very sea. Chancing to look be- 
 hind from my seat in the middle of the boat, I 
 saw that my reverend friend was joining in the 
 jargon and telling the men to do what, with all 
 their power, they were trying to do — make for 
 the nearest shore. In fifteen or twenty minutes 
 the fury of the storm was over. It seemed im- 
 possible that such a storm could have been 
 
A STORM ON GALILEE 107 
 
 abroad so recently. But the men continued to 
 pull for the shore. Nothing could induce them 
 to resume the trip, so fearful were they of being 
 caught in a storm or out at night. So, landing 
 and taking our dinner in a cave in the rocks on 
 the western shore, we returned to Tiberias 
 greatly disappointed that we were not to visit 
 the places that seemed so near and are so 
 precious in New Testament history. 
 
 It is an interesting fact, at least to me, that 
 the place where the storm overtook us, so far as 
 we can tell, is the very part of the Sea in which 
 the tempest-rocked disciples called upon the 
 sleeping Jesus to save them. "Then he arose 
 and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there 
 was a great calm." 
 
A POSTWORD— LOVE DREAMS AMONG 
 THE EIGHTIES 
 
 YES, there are love dreams among men 
 and among them in their eighties, and 
 why not? Love is the same divine thing 
 in all ages, among all beings, and in all hearts; 
 but romantic love, beautiful as it is, is a mun- 
 dane affair and must change when human life 
 ends and we rise into the eternal and the 
 supernal, for God is Love. 
 
 The special case I have in mind dips deeply 
 into reminiscence. The two old men of whom I 
 write are still living (1922) and are in a green 
 old age, as the story unfolded will show. 
 
 Carlton C. Wilbor, D.D., formerly registrar 
 of Syracuse University, and long a member of 
 the Central New York Conference (Methodist 
 Episcopal Church), and the writer became 
 conscious of each other's mortal existence about 
 fifty years ago, but these dre'ams took definite 
 shape, as dreams sometimes do, in 1921. We 
 had spent three winters together as chums, for 
 we had become retired ministers (although we 
 didn't retire worth a cent). This particular 
 108 
 
A POSTWORD 109 
 
 winter was spent in the midst of all the charm 
 of life on the coast of Florida at Daytona Beach. 
 
 One morning my chum came into my room 
 and explained that he had begun the drawings 
 of a cute little house, doing this for pastime and 
 also for the pleasure of doing that kind of work. 
 Dr. Wilbor, an architect of no little skill and 
 note, called the plan his "Dream House," and 
 I noted how he became absorbed in his dream. 
 Every day or two he reverted to his dream; 
 made additions to the plans, thus perfecting his 
 work. Soon he began to talk about a lovely 
 spot where such a house would be ideal, a 
 romantic spot where he lived much of his boy- 
 hood days, and where many of his friends still 
 remain. When Mrs. Wilbor departed from this 
 life she left her husband bereft and sorrowed 
 indeed. Their refined and cultivated home was 
 soon sold, leaving him homeless save as he had 
 a home with his two married sons. But at last 
 the Dream House became a reality, as a thing 
 of beauty and convenience, and within its pris- 
 tine charm he hopes to abide imtil the reunion 
 with her whom he has long lost. 
 
 While the dream cottage of my chum was 
 slowly taking a visible shape, by a strange and 
 unexpected similarity of processes a "Dream 
 
110 HILLTOP VIEWS 
 
 Book" was materializing before our eyes. When 
 I was sent to Clifton Springs Sanitarium, a dis- 
 abled and badly afflicted man, I began to write 
 "stuff," as printers call it, as about the only way 
 to keep awake, which was necessary because of 
 my peculiar ailment. None would have thought 
 that out of these weary hours there would grow 
 this veritable book of ink and type and thought.