"'There's many a man and woman, young and middle-aged, who is not satisfied with himself—he wants to go on farther, he wants to learn more. But his daily work won't allow him to complete his education because of the inconvenient hours of the classes and lectures in other colleges. And he comes to Temple, as there classes are held practically all day and for several hours at night. The terms of the course at Temple College are reasonable, and thus many young men or women may prepare themselves for higher and more remunerative work, whereas they would not feel that they could afford to pay the tuition fee at some other institution. The Temple University will be similar to the London University, a city university for busy persons.'"
Thus Temple College grows because it is needed. And such an institution is needed in other cities as well as in Philadelphia. This is but the pioneer. It can have sister institutions wherever people want to study and Christian hearts want to help.
It grows also because in the heart of one man, its founder, is the bitter knowledge of how sorely such an institution is needed by those who want to study, and who himself works hand, heart and soul so that it shall never fail those who need it.
Says James M. Beck, the noted lawyer: "There have been very wealthy men who, out of the abundance of their resources, have founded colleges, but I can hardly recall a case where a man, without abundant means, by mere force of character and intellectual energy, has both created and maintained an institution of this size and character,'"
Far back in the dim light of the centuries, Confucius wrote, "Give instruction unto those who cannot obtain it for themselves." This is the great and useful work the Temple College is doing and doing it nobly, a work that will count for untold good on future generations.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE SAMARITAN HOSPITAL
Beginning in Two Rooms. Growth. Number of Beds. Management. Temple
Services Heard by Telephone. Faith and Nationality of Those Cared For.
His pastoral work among his church members and others of the neighborhood brought to Dr. Conwell's mind constantly the needs of the sick poor. Scarcely a week passed that some one did not come to him for help for a loved one suffering from disease, but without means to secure proper medical aid. Sick and poor—that is a condition which sums up the height of human physical suffering—the body racked with pain, burning with fever, yet day and night battling on in misery, without medical aid, without nursing, without any of the comforts that relieve pain. Nor is the sick one the only sufferer. Those who love him endure the keenest mental anguish as they stand by helpless, unable to raise a finger for his relief because they are poor. Through the deep waters of both these experiences Dr. Conwell had himself passed. He knew the anguish of heart of seeing loved ones suffer, of being unable to secure for them the nourishing food, the care needed to make them well. He knew the wretchedness of being sick and poor and of not knowing which way to turn for help, while quivering flesh and nerves called in torture for relief. His heart went out in burning sympathy to all such cases that came to his knowledge, and generously he helped. But they were far too many for one man, big-hearted and open-handed as he might be. More and more the need of a hospital in that part of the city was impressed upon him. Accidents among his membership were numerous, yet the nearest hospital was blocks and blocks away, a distance which meant precious minutes when with every moment life was ebbing.
He laid the matter before his church people. Down through the centuries came ringing in their ears that command, "Heal the sick." They knew it was Christ's work—"Unto Him were brought all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and he healed them."
So they decided to rent two rooms where the sick could be cared for, and later built a hospital for the poor, where without money and without price, the best medical aid, the tenderest nursing were at the command of those in need.
"The Hospital was founded," says Dr. Conwell, "and this property purchased in the hope that it would do Christ's work. Not simply to heal for the sake of professional experience, not simply to cure disease and repair broken bones, but to so do those charitable acts as to enforce the truth Jesus taught, that God 'would not that any should perish, but that all should come unto Him and live.' Soul and body, both need the healing balm of Christianity. The Hospital modestly and touchingly furnishes it to all classes, creeds, and ages whose sufferings cause them to cry out, 'Have mercy on me!'"
So far as buildings were concerned, it began in a small way, though its spirit of kindness and Christian charity was large. After one year in rented rooms, a house was purchased on North Broad Street, near Ontario Street, and fitted up as a hospital with wards, operating room and dispensary. It was situated just where a network of railroads focuses and near a number of large factories and machine shops, where accidents were occurring constantly. Almost immediately its wards were filled. The name "Samaritan Hospital" was given as typical of its work and spirit, its projectors and supporters laying down their money and agreeing to pay whatever might be needed, as well as giving of their personal care and attention to the sufferer. But though Dr. Conwell's heart is big, his head is practical. He does not believe in indiscriminate charity.
"Charity is composed of sympathy and self-sacrifice. There is no charity without a union of these two," he said, in an address years ago at Music Hall, Boston. "To make a gift become a charity the recipient must feel that it is given out of sympathy; that the donor has made a sacrifice to give it; that it is intended only as assistance and not as a permanent support, unless the needy one he helpless; and that it is not given as his right. To accomplish this end desired by charitable hearts demands an acquaintance with the persons to be assisted or a study of them, and a great degree of caution and patience. It is not only unnecessary, but a positive wrong to give to itinerant beggars. There is no such thing as charity about a so-called state charity. It is statesmanship to rid the community of nuisances, to feed the poor and prevent stealing and robbery, but it should not be called 'a charity.' The paupers take their provision as their right, feel no gratitude, acquire no ambition, no industry, no culture. The state almshouse educates the brain and chills the heart. It fastens a stigma on the child to hinder and curse it for life. Any institution supported otherwise than by voluntary contribution, or in the hands of paid public officials, can never have the spirit of charity nor be correctly called a charity. Boston's public charitable institutions, so called, are not charities at all; the motive is not sympathy, but necessity. The money for the support of paupers is not paid with benevolent intentions by the tax-payers, nor do the inmates of almshouses so receive it. I have been engaged in gathering statistics, and have found sixty-three per cent of all persons who applied for assistance at the various institutions were impostors, while many were swindlers and professional burglars."
The sick poor are never turned away from Samaritan Hospital, but those who are able to pay are requested to do so. Dr. Conwell believes it would be a wrong to treat such people free, an injustice to physicians, as well as an encouragement of a wrong spirit in themselves. The hospital has a number of private rooms in which patients are received for pay. Many have been furnished by members of Grace Baptist Church in memory of some loved one "gone before," or by Sunday School classes or church organizations.
It may have been the fact that it started in an ordinary house that gave the Hospital its cheery, homelike atmosphere. It may have been the spirit of the workers. But its homelike air is noticeable. While rules are strictly enforced, as they must be, there is a feeling of personal interest in each patient that makes the sick feel that she is something more than a "case" or a "number."
"The lovely Christ spirit," says Dr. Conwell, "which inclines men and women to care for their unfortunate fellowmen, is especially beautiful when in addition to the healing of wounds and disease, the afflicted sufferers are welcomed to such a home as the Samaritan Hospital has become. All such kind deeds become doubly sweet when done in the name of Christ, because they carry with them sympathy for those in pain, love for the loveless, a home for the homeless, friendship for the friendless, and a divine solace, which are often more than surgical skill or medical science. Such an institution the Samaritan Hospital is ever to be. It began in weakness and inexperience, but with Christian devotion and affection, its founders and supporters have conquered innumerable difficulties, and can now say unreservedly that they have a hospital with all the conveniences and all the influences of a Christian home."
The hospital was opened February 1, 1892. It did not take long to prove the need of the work. Before the year was out it was so crowded that an addition had to be built, and now magnificent buildings stand adjoining the original "house" as a monument to the untiring work and zeal of Grace Church members and their friends. It is now an independent corporation.
The hospital is fitted with all modern appliances for caring for the sick. It has a hundred and seventy beds, and a large and competent staff of physicians numbering many of the best in the city. There is also a training school for nurses, the original hospital building being now fitted up and furnished as a nurses' home. More than five thousand different cases are ministered to during the year in the beds and dispensary. The annual expense of running the hospital is more than forty thousand dollars, the value of the property more than three hundred thousand dollars.
In addition to the customary weekly visiting days, visitors are allowed on one evening during the week and on Sunday afternoons. These rather unusual visiting hours are an innovation of Dr. Conwell's for the benefit of busy workers who cannot visit their sick friends or relatives on week days.
A novel feature of the hospital and one which brings great pleasure to the patients, is the telephone service connecting it with The Temple, whereby those who are able, can hear the preaching of the pastor Sunday morning and evening at the big church farther down Broad Street.
One of the most efficient aids in the hospital's growth has been the Board of Lady Managers. When the hospital was opened in 1892, a committee of six ladies was appointed by Mr. Conwell to take charge of the housekeeping affairs, and from this committee has grown this Board which has done so much to aid the hospital, both by raising money and looking after its household affairs.
This committee had entire charge of the house department, visiting it weekly, inspecting the house, and making suggestions to the trustees for improving the work in that department.
The Board is divided into Finance, Visiting, Flower, Linen, Ward Supplies, House Supplies and Sewing Committee. The chairman of these committees, together with the five officers, constitute the Executive Committee, and meet with the trustees at their regular monthly meetings.
In addition to paying the housekeeping bills, the board has come many times to the assistance of the trustees, and by giving entertainments, holding sales, teas, receptions, has raised large sums of money for special purposes. In connection with this Board is the Samaritan Aid Society which annually contributes about three hundred new articles of clothing and bedding.
The Board of Trustees is composed of able, experienced business men who apply their knowledge of business affairs to the conduct of the hospital. It means a sacrifice of much time on their part, but it is cheerfully given.
The hospital is non-sectarian. Suffering and need are the only requisites for admission. During the past year among those who were cared for were:
Catholic 284
Baptist 134
Methodist 141
Episcopalian 112
Lutheran 97
Presbyterian 96
Hebrew 89
Protestant 54
Reformed 25
Friends 12
Confucianism 5
Congregational 4
United Brethren 3
Evangelist 3
Christian 2
Not recorded 60
——
1141
[Illustration: ATTENDING SERVICE IN BED]
The nativity of the patients showed that nearly all countries were
represented—Russia, Poland, Italy, Canada, Sweden, Norway, Scotland,
England, Germany, Ireland, China, Hungary, Australia, Switzerland,
Jerusalem, Roumania and Armenia.
Never was the worth of its work better shown than in the terrible Ball Park accident, which happened in Philadelphia in 1904, when by the collapsing of the grandstand hundreds were killed and injured. Without a moment's notice, more than a hundred patients were rushed to the hospital and cared for. When the wards were filled, cots were placed in the halls, in the offices, wherever there was room, and the injured tenderly treated.
Thus from small beginnings and a great need it has steadily grown, supported by contributions and upheld by the faithful work of those who labor for the love of the Master. Sacrifices of time and money have been freely made for it, for the people who have worked to support it are few of them rich. It still needs help, for "the poor ye have always with you." And while there are poor people and sick people, Samaritan Hospital will always need the help of the more fortunate to aid it in its great work of relieving pain.
CHAPTER XXX
THE MANNER OF THE MAN
Boundless Love for Men. Utter Humility. His Simplicity and
Informality. Keen Sense of Humor. His Unconventional Methods of Work.
Power as a Leader. His Tremendous Faith.
What of the personality of the man back of all this ceaseless work, these stupendous undertakings? Much of it can be read in the work itself. But not all. One must know Dr. Conwell personally to realize that deep, abiding love of humanity which is the wellspring of his life and which shows itself in constant and innumerable acts of thoughtfulness and kindness for the happiness of others. He cannot see a drunkard on the street without his heart going out in a desire to help him to a better life. He cannot see a child in tears, but that he must know the trouble and mend it. From boyhood, it was one of the strongest traits of his character, and when it clasped hands with a man's love of Christ, it became the ruling passion of his life. The woes of humanity touch him deeply. He freely gives himself, his time, his money to lighten them. But he knows that to do his best, is but comparatively little. To him it is a pitiful thing that so much of the world's, misery cannot be relieved because of the lack of money; that people must starve, must suffer pain and disease, must go without the education that makes life brighter and happier, simply for the want of this one thing of so little worth compared with the great things of life it has the power to withhold or grant.
One must also be intimately associated with Dr. Conwell to realize the deep humility that rules his heart, that makes him firmly believe any man who will trust in God and go ahead in faith can accomplish all that he himself has done, and more.
"You do not know what a struggle my life is," he said once to a friend. "Only God and my own heart know how far short I come of what I ought to be, and how often I mar the use He would make of me even when I would serve Him."
And again, at the Golden Jubilee services, in honor of his fiftieth birthday, he said publicly what he many times says in private:
"I look back on the errors of by-gone years; my blunders; my pride; my self-sufficiency; my willfulness—if God would take me up in my unworthiness and imperfection and lift me to such a place of happiness and love as this—I say, He can do it for any man.
"When I see the blunders I unintentionally make in history, in mathematics, in names, in rhetoric, in exegesis, and yet see that God uses even blunders to save men—I sink back into the humblest place before Him and say, 'If God can use such preaching as that, blunders and mistakes like these; if He can take them and use them for His glory, He can use anybody and anything.' I let out the secret of my life when I tell you this: If I have succeeded at all, it has been with the conscious sense that as God has used even me, so can He use others. God saved me and He can save them. My very faults show me, they teach me, that any person can be helped and saved."
Speaking of his sermons, which are taken down by a stenographer and typewritten for publication in the "Temple Review," he said, with the utmost dejection, "Positively they make me sick. To think that I should stand up and undertake to preach when I can do no better than that"
He has ever that sense of defeat from which all great minds suffer whose high ideals ever elude them.
In manner and speech, he is simple and unaffected, and approachable at all times. When not away from the city lecturing, he spends a certain part of the day in his study at the church, where any one can see him on any matter which he may wish to bring to his attention. The ante-room is thronged at the hour when it is known that he will be there. People waylay him in the church corridors, and on the streets, so well known is his kindly heart, his attentive ear, his generous hand.
Not only do these visitors invade the church, but they come to his home. Early in the morning they are there. They await him when he returns late at night. As an instance of their number, one Saturday afternoon late in June he had one hour free which he hoped to take for rest and the preparation of the next morning's sermon. During that one hour he had six callers, each staying until the next arrived. One of these was a young man whom Dr. Conwell had never seen, a boy no more than seventeen or eighteen. He had a few weeks before made a runaway marriage with a girl still younger than himself. Her parents had indignantly taken the bride home, and the young husband came to Dr. Conwell to ask him to seek out these parents and persuade them to let the child wife return to her husband.
He has a knack of putting everybody at ease in his presence, which perhaps accounts for the freedom with which people, even utter strangers, come to him and pour into his ear their life secrets. This earnest desire to help people, to make them happier and better, shines from his life with such force that one feels it immediately on entering his presence and opens one's heart to him. He helps, advises, and, because he is so preeminently a man of faith and believes so firmly that all he has done has been accomplished by faith and perseverance, he inspires others with like confidence in themselves. They go away encouraged, hopeful, strengthened for the work that lies ahead of them, or for the trouble they must surmount It is little wonder the people throng to him for help.
His simple, informal view of life is shown in other things. During a summer vacation in the Berkshires he was scheduled to lecture in one of the home towns. His old friends and neighbors dearly love to hear him, and nearly always secure a lecture from him while he is supposed to be resting. Entirely forgetting the lecture, he planned a fishing trip that day. Just as the fishing party was ready to start, some one remembered the lecture. There would not be time to go fishing, return, dress and go to the lecture town. But Dr. Conwell is a great fisherman, and he disliked most thoroughly to give up that fishing trip. He thought about it a few minutes, and then in his informal, unconventional fashion, decided he would both fish and lecture. He packed his lecturing apparel in a suit case, tied a tub for the accommodation of the fish on the back of the wagon and started. All day he fished, happy and contented. When lecturing time drew near, rattling and splashing, with a tubful of fish, round-eyed and astonished at the violent upheavals of their usual calm abiding place, he drove up to the lecture hall, changed his clothes, and at the appointed time appeared on the platform and delivered one of the best lectures that section ever heard.
Some people call his methods sensational. They are not sensational in the sense of merely making a noise for the purpose of attracting attention. They are unconventional. Dr. Conwell pays no attention to forms if the life has gone out of them, to traditions, if their spirit is dead, their days of usefulness past. He lives in the present He sees present needs and adopts methods to fit them. No doubt, many said it was sensational to tear down that old church at Lexington himself. But there was no money and the church must come down. The only way to get it down and a new one built, was to go to work. And he went to work in straightforward, practical fashion. It takes courage and strength of mind thus to tear down conventions and forms. But he does not hesitate if he sees they are blocking the road of progress. This disregard of customs, this practical common-sense way of attacking evil or supplying needs is seen in all his church work. And because it is original and unusual, it brings upon him often, a storm of adverse criticism. But he never halts for that. He is willing to suffer misrepresentation, even calumny, if the cause for which he is working, progresses. He cares nothing for himself. He thinks only of the Master and the work He has committed to his hands.
Though the great masses in their ignorance and poverty appeal to him powerfully and incite him to tremendous undertakings for their relief, he does not, because his hands are so full of great things, turn aside from opportunities to help the individual. Indeed, it is this readiness to answer a personal call for help that has endeared him so to thousands and thousands. No matter what may he the labor or inconvenience to himself, he responds instantly when the appeal comes.
Two men, now members of the church, often tell the incident that led to their conversion. One evening they fell to discussing Dr. Conwell with some young friends who were members of the church. The young men stoutly maintained that "Conwell was like all the rest—in it for the almighty dollar." The church members as stoutly asserted that he was actuated by motives far above such sordid consideration. But the men would not yield their point and the subject was dropped. A few evenings later, coming out of a saloon at midnight into a blinding snowstorm, they heard a man say, "My dear child, why did you not tell me before that you were in need. You know I would not let you suffer."
"That's Conwell," said one of the young fellows.
"Nothing of the kind," replied the other. "What's the matter with you?
Catch him out a night like this."
"But I tell you that was Conwell's voice," said the first man. "I know it. Let's follow him and see what he's doing."
Through the thickly falling snow, they could see the tall figure of Dr. Conwell with a large basket on one arm and leading a little child by the hand. Keeping a sufficient distance behind, they followed him to a poor home in a little street, saw him enter, saw the light flash up and knew that he was living out in deed the doctrine he preached. Silent, they turned away. What his spoken word in The Temple could not do his ministry at midnight had accomplished, and they became loyal and devoted members of the church.
In conversation with a street car conductor at one time, he found the man eager to hear of Christ and His love, but unable to give heed on the car because he might be reported for inattention to his duties and lose his place. Dr. Conwell asked him where he took dinner, and at the noon hour was there and, plainly and simply, as the man ate his lunch, told what Christ's love in his heart and life would mean.
Such stories could be multiplied many times of this personal ministry that seeks day and night, in season and out, to make mankind better, to lift it up where it may grasp eternal truth.
Francis Willard says:
"To move among the people on the common street; to meet them in the market-place on equal terms; to live among them not as saint or monk, but as a brother man with brother men; to serve God not with form or ritual, but in the free impulse of the soul; to bear the burden of society and relieve its needs; to carry on its multitudinous activities in the city, social, commercial, political, and philanthropic—this is the religion of the Son of man." This is the religion of Dr. Conwell.
As a leader and organizer he is almost without an equal in church work. He sees a need. His practical mind goes to work to plan ways to meet it. He organizes the work thoroughly and carefully; he rallies his workers about him and then leads them dauntlessly forward to success. He has weathered many a fierce gale of opposition, won out in many a furious storm of criticism. The greater the obstacles, the more brightly does his ability as a leader shine. He seems to call up from some secret storehouse reserves of enthusiasm. He gets everybody energetically and cheerfully at work, and the obstacles that seemed insurmountable suddenly melt away. As some one has said, "He attempts the impossible, yet finds practical ways to accomplish it"
The way he met an unexpected demand for money during the building of the church illustrates this:
The trustees had, as they thought, made provision for the renewal of a note of $2,000, due Dec. 27th. Late Friday, Dec. 24th, the news came that the note could not be renewed, that it must be paid Monday. They had no money, nothing could be done but appeal to the people on Sunday.
But it was not a usual Sunday. The Church, just the night before, had closed a big fair for the College. Many had served at the fair tables almost until the Sabbath morning was ushered in. They were tired. All had given money, many even beyond what they could afford. It was, besides, the day after Christmas, and if ever a man's pocketbook is empty, it is then. To make the outlook still drearier, the day opened with a snowstorm that threatened at church time to turn into a drizzling rain. Here was truly the impossible, for none of the people at any time could give a large sum. Yet he faced the situation dauntlessly, aroused his people, and by evening $2,200 had been pledged for immediate payment, and of that $1,300 was received in cash that Sunday.
In a sermon once he said:
"Last summer I rode by a locality where there had been a mill, now partially destroyed by a cyclone. I looked at the great engine lying upon its side. I looked at the wheels, at the boilers so out of place, thrown carelessly together. I saw pieces of iron the uses of which I did not understand. I saw iron bands, bearings, braces, and shafting scattered about, and I found the great circular saw rusting, flat in the grass. I went on my way wondering why any person should abandon so many pieces of such excellent machinery, leaving good property to go to waste. But again, not many weeks ago, I went by that same place and saw a building there, temporary in its nature, but with smoke pouring out of the stack and steam hissing and puffing from the exhaust pipe. I heard the sound of the great saw singing its song of industry; I saw the teamsters hauling away great loads of lumber. The only difference between the apparently useless old lumber and scrap iron, piled together in promiscuous confusion, machinery thrown into a heap without the arrangement, and the new building with its powerful engine working smoothly and swiftly for the comfort and wealth of men, was that before the rebuilding, the wheels, the saw, the shafting, boilers, piston-rod, and fly wheel had no definite relation to each other. But some man picked out all these features of a complete mill and put them into proper relation; he adjusted shaft, boiler, and cogwheel, put water in the boiler and fire under it, let steam into the cylinders, and moved piston-rod, wheels, and saw. There were no new cogs, wheels, boilers, or saws; no new piece of machinery; there has only been an intelligent spirit found to set them in their proper places and relationship.
"One great difficulty with this world, whether of the entire globe or the individual church, is that it is made up of all sorts of machinery which is not adjusted; which is out of place; no fire under the boiler; no steam to move the machinery. There is none of the necessary relationship—there can he no affinity between cold and steam, between power wasted and utility; and to overcome this difficulty is one of the great problems of the earth to-day. The churches are very much in this condition. There are cogwheels, pulleys, belting, and engines in the church, but out of all useful relationship. There are sincere, earnest Christians, men and women, but they are adjusted to no power and no purpose; they have no definite relationship to utility. They go or come, or lie still and rust, and a vast power for good is unapplied. The text says "We are ambassadors for Christ"; that means, in the clearest terms, the greatest object of the Christian teacher and worker should be the bringing into right relations all the forces of men, and gearing them to the power of Christ"
He undoubtedly understands bringing men together, and getting them at work to secure almost marvelous results. A friend speaking of his ability once said: "I admire Mr. Conwell for the power of which he is possessed of reaching out and getting hold of men and grappling them to himself with hooks of steel.
"I admire him not only for the power he has of binding men not only to himself, but of binding men to Christ, and of binding them to one another; for the power he has of generating enthusiasm. His people are bound not only to the church, to the pastor, to God, but to one another."
He never fails to appreciate the spirit with which a church member works, even if results are not always as anticipated, or even if the project itself is not always practical. He will cheerfully put his hand down into his pocket and pay the bill for some impractical scheme, rather than dampen the ardor of an enthusiastic worker. He knows that experience will come with practice, but that a willing, zealous worker is above price.
Those who know him most intimately find in him, despite his strong, practical common sense, despite his years of hard work in the world, despite the many times he has been deceived and imposed upon, a certain boyish simplicity and guilelessness of heart, a touch of the poetic, idealistic temperament that sees gold where there is only brass; that hopes and believes, where reason for hope and belief there is none. It is a winning trait that endears friends to him most closely, that makes them cheerfully overlook such imprudent benefactions as may result from it, though he himself holds it with a strong rein, and only reveals that side of his nature to those who know him best.
He studies constantly how he may help others, never how he may rest himself. At his old home at South Worthington, Mass., he has built and equipped an academy for the education of the boys and girls of the neighborhood. He wants no boy or girl of his home locality to have the bitter fight for an education that he was forced to experience. It is a commodious building with class-rooms and a large public hall which is used for entertainments, for prayer meetings, harvest homes and all the gatherings of the nearby farming community.
Many other enterprises besides those directly connected with the church grow out of Dr. Conwell's desire to be of service to mankind. But like the organizations of the church, the need for them was strongly felt before they took form.
While officiating at the funeral of a fireman who had lost his life by the falling walls of a burning building and who had left three small children uncared for, Dr. Conwell was impressed with the need of a home for the orphans of men who risked their lives for the city's good. Pondering the subject, he was called that same day to the bedside of a shut-in, who, while he was there, asked him if there was any way by which she could be of service to helpless children left without paternal care or support. She said the subject had been on her mind and such a work was dear to her heart. She was a gifted writer and wielded considerable influence and could, by her pen, do much good for such a work, not only by her writings but by personal letters asking for contributions to establish and support an orphanage. The coincidence impressed the matter still more strongly on Dr. Conwell's mind. But that was not the end of it. Still that same day, a lady came to him and asked his assistance in securing for her a position as matron of an orphanage; and a woman physician came to his study and offered her services free, to care for orphan children in an institution for them.
Such direct leading was not to be withstood. Dr. Conwell called on a former chief of police and asked his opinion as to an orphanage for the children of fireman and policeman. The policeman welcomed the project heartily, said he had long been thinking of that very problem, and that if it were started by a responsible person, several thousand dollars would be given by the policeman for its support. Still wondering if he should take such leadings as indications of a definite need, Dr. Conwell went to his study, called in some of his church advisers and talked the matter over. Nothing at that meeting was definitely settled, because some work interrupted it and those present dispersed for other duties. But as they disbanded and Dr. Conwell opened his mail, a check fell out for $75 from Rev. Chas. M. Sheldon, which he said in the letter accompanying it, he desired to give toward a movement for helping needy children.
Dr. Conwell no longer hesitated, and the Philadelphia Orphans' Home Society, of which he is president, was organized, and has done a good work in caring for helpless little ones, giving its whole effort to securing permanent homes for the children and their adoption into lonely families.
Although most of the money from his lectures goes to Temple College, he uses a portion of it to support poor students elsewhere. He has paid for the education of 1,550 college students besides contributing partly to the education of hundreds of others. In fact, all the money he makes, outside of what is required for immediate needs of his family, is given away. He cares so little for money for himself, his wants are so few and simple, that he seldom pays any attention as to whether he has enough with him for personal use. He found once when starting to lecture in New Jersey that after he had bought his ticket he hadn't a cent left. Thinking, however, he would be paid when the lecture was over, he went on. But the lecture committee told him they would send a check. Having no money to pay a hotel bill, he took the train back. Reaching Philadelphia after midnight he boarded a trolley and told the conductor who he was and his predicament, offering to send the man the money for his fare next day. But the conductor was not to be fooled, said he didn't know Dr. Conwell from Adam, and put him off. And Dr. Conwell walked twenty long blocks to his home, chuckling all the way at the humor of the situation.
He has a keen sense of humor, as his audiences know. Though the spiritual side of his nature is so intense, his love of fun and appreciation of the humorous relieves him from being solemn or sanctimonious. He is sunny, cheerful, ever ready at a chance meeting with a smile or a joke. Children, who as a rule look upon a minister as a man enshrouded in solemn dignity, are delightfully surprised to find in him a jolly, fun-loving comrade, a fact which has much to do with the number of young people who throng Grace church and enter its membership.
The closeness of his walk with God is shown in his unbounded faith, in the implicit reliance he has in the power of prayer. Though to the world he attacks the problems confronting him with shrewd, practical business sense, behind and underneath this, and greater than it all, is the earnestness with which he first seeks to know the will of God and the sincerity with which he consecrates himself to the work. Christ is to him a very near personal friend, in very truth an Elder Brother to whom he constantly goes for guidance and help, Whose will he wants to do solely, in the current of Whose purpose he wants to move. "Men who intend to serve the Lord should consecrate themselves in heart-searching and prayer," he has said many and many a time. And of prayer itself he says:
"There is planted in every human heart this knowledge, namely, that there is a power beyond our reach, a mysterious potency shaping the forces of life, which if we would win we must have in our favor. There come to us all, events over which we have no control by physical or mental power. Is there any hope of guiding those mysterious forces? Yes, friends, there is a way of securing them in our favor or preventing them from going against us. How? It is by prayer. When a man has done all he can do, still there is a mighty, mysterious agency over which he needs influence to secure success. The only way he can reach that is by prayer."
He has good reason to believe in the power of prayer, for the answers he has received in some cases have seemed almost miraculous.
When The Temple was being built, Dr. Conwell proposed that the new pipe organ be put in to be ready for the opening service. But the church felt it would be unwise to assume such an extra burden of debt and voted against it. Dr. Conwell felt persuaded that the organ ought to go in, and spent one whole night in The Temple in prayer for guidance. As the result, he decided that the organ should be built. The contract was given, the first payment made, but when in a few months a note of $1,500 came due, there was not a cent in the treasury to meet it. He knew it would be a most disastrous blow to the church interests, with such a vast building project started, to have that note go to protest. Yet he couldn't ask the membership to raise the money since it had voted against building the organ at that time. Disheartened, full of gloomy foreboding, he came Sunday morning to the church to preach. The money must be ready next morning, yet he knew not which way to turn. He felt he had been acting in accordance with God's will, for the decision had been made after a night of earnest prayer. Yet here stood a wall of Jericho before him and no divine direction came as to how to make it fall. As he entered his study, his private secretary handed him a letter. He opened it, and out fell a check for $1,500 from an unknown man in Massillon, Ohio, who had once heard Dr. Conwell lecture and felt strangely impelled to send him $1,500 to use in The Temple work. Dr. Conwell prayed and rejoiced in an ecstasy of gratitude. Three times he broke down during the sermon. His people wondered what was the matter, but said he had never preached more powerfully.
He is a man of prayer and a man of work. Loving, great-hearted, unselfish, cheery, practical, hard-working, he yet draws his greatest inspiration from that silent inner communion with the Master he serves with such single-hearted, unfaltering devotion.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE MANNER OF THE MESSAGE
The Style of the Sermons. Their Subject Matter. Preaching to Help Some
Individual Church Member.
In the pulpit, Dr. Conwell is as simple and natural as he is in his study or in the home. Every part of the service is rendered with the heart, as well as the understanding. His reading of a chapter from the Bible is a sermon in itself. The vast congregation follow it with as close attention as they do the sermon. He seems to make every verse alive, to send it with new meaning into each heart. The people in it are real people, who have lived and suffered, who had all the hopes and fears of men and women of to-day. Often little explanations are dropped or timely, practical applications, and when it is over, if that were all of the service one would be repaid for attending.
The hymns, too, are read with feeling and life. If a verse expresses a sentiment contrary to the church feeling, it is not sung. He will not have sung what is not worthy of belief.
The sermons are full of homely, practical illustrations, drawn from the experiences of everyday life. Dr. Conwell announces his text and begins quite simply, sometimes with a little story to illustrate his thought. If Bible characters take any part in it, he makes them real men and women. He pictures them so graphically, the audience sees them, hears them talk, knows what they thought, how they lived. In a word, each hearer feels as if he had met them personally. Never again are they mere names. They are living, breathing men and women.
Dr. Conwell makes his sermons human because he touches life, the life of the past, the life of the present, the lives of those in his audience. He makes them interesting by his word pictures. He holds attention by the dramatic interest he infuses into the theme. He has been called the "Story-telling Preacher" because his sermons are so full of anecdote and illustrations. But every story not only points a moral, but is full of the interest that fastens it on the hearer's mind. Children in their teens enjoy his sermons, so vivid are they, so full of human, every day interest. Yet all this is but the framework on which is reared some helpful, inspiring Biblical truth which is the crown, the climax, and which because of its careful upbuilding by story and homely illustration is fixed on the hearer's mind and heart in a way never to be forgotten. It is held there by the simple things of life he sees about him every day, and which, every time he sees them, recall the truth he has heard preached. Dr. Thomas May Pierce, speaking of Dr. Conwell's method of preaching, says:
"Spurgeon sought the masses and found them by preaching the gospel with homely illustrations; Russell H. Conwell comes to Philadelphia, he seeks out the masses, he finds them with his plain presentation of the old, old story."
Occasionally he paints word pictures that hold the audience enthralled, or when some great wrong stirs him, rises to heights of impassioned oratory that bring his audience to tears. He never writes out his sermons. Indeed, often he has no time to give them any preparation whatever. Sometimes he does not choose his text until he comes on the platform. Nobody regrets more than Dr. Conwell this lack of preparation, but so many duties press, every minute has so many burdens of work, that it is impossible at times to crowd in a thought for the sermon. It is left for the inspiration of the moment. "I preach poor sermons that other men may preach good ones," he remarked once, meaning that so much of his time was taken up with church work and lecturing that he has little to give his sermons, and almost all of the fees from his lectures are devoted to the education of men for the ministry.
His one purpose in his sermons is to bring Christ into the lives of his people, to bring them some message from the word of God that will do them good, make them better, lift them up spiritually to a higher plane. His people know he comes to them with this strong desire in his heart and they attend the services feeling confident that even though he is poorly prepared, they will nevertheless get practical and spiritual help for the week.
When he knows that some one member is struggling with a special problem either in business, in the home circle, in his spiritual life, he endeavors to weave into his sermon something that will help him, knowing that no heart is alone in its sorrow, that the burden one bears, others carry, and what will reach one will carry a message or cheer to many.
"During the building of The Temple," says Smith in his interesting life of Dr. Conwell, "a devoted member, who was in the bookbinding business, walked to his office every morning and put his car-fare into the building fund. Dr. Conwell made note of the sacrifice, and asked himself the question, 'How can I help that man to be more prosperous?' He kept him in mind, and while on a lecturing trip he visited a town where improved machines for bookbinding were employed. He called at the establishment and found out all he could about the new machines. The next Sunday morning, he used the new bookbinder as an illustration of some Scriptural truth. The result was, the church member secured the machines of which his pastor had spoken, and increased his income many-fold. The largest sum of money given to the building of the new Temple was given by that same bookbinder.
"A certain lady made soap for a fair held in the Lower Temple. Dr. Conwell advised her to go into the soap-making business. She hesitated to take his advice. He visited a well known soap factory, and in one of his sermons described the most improved methods of soap-making as an illustration of some improved method of Christian work. Hearing the illustration used from the pulpit, the lady in question acted on the pastor's previous advice, and started her nephew in the soap business, in which he has prospered.
"A certain blacksmith in Philadelphia who was a member of Grace Church, but who lived in another part of the city, was advised by Dr. Conwell to start a mission in his neighborhood. The mechanic pleaded ignorance and his inability to acquire sufficient education to enable him to do any kind of Christian work. On Sunday morning Dr. Conwell wove into his sermon an historical sketch of Elihu Burritt, that poor boy with meagre school advantages, who bound out to a blacksmith, at the age of sixteen, and compelled to associate with the ignorant, yet learned thirty-three languages, became a scholar and an orator of fame. The hesitating blacksmith, encouraged by the example of Elihu Burritt, took courage and went to work. He founded the mission which soon grew into the Tioga Baptist Church."
In addition to helping his own church members, this method of preaching had other results. Smith gives the following instance:
"A few years ago the pastor of a small country church in Massachusetts resolved to try Dr. Conwell's method of imparting useful information through his illustrations, and teaching the people what they needed to know. Acting on Dr. Conwell's advice, he studied agricultural chemistry, dairy farming, and household economy. He did not become a sensationalist and advertise to preach on these subjects, but he brought in many helpful illustrations which the people recognized as valuable, and soon the meeting-house was filled with eager listeners. After careful study the minister became convinced that the farmers on those old worn-out farms in Western Massachusetts should go into the dairy business, and feed their cows on ensilage through the long New England winter. One bright morning he preached a sermon on 'Leaven,' and incidentally used a silo as an illustration. The preacher did not sacrifice his sermon to his illustration, but taught a great truth and set the farmers to thinking along a new line. As a result of that sermon one poor farmer built a silo and filled it with green corn in the autumn; his cows relished the new food and repaid him splendidly with milk. That farmer Is the richest man In the country to-day. This is only one of a great many ways in which that practical preacher helped his poor, struggling parishioners by using the Conwell method. What was the spiritual result of such preaching among the country people? He had a great, wide, and deep revival of religion, the first the church had enjoyed for twenty-five years."
Thus Dr. Conwell weaves practical sense and spiritual truths together in a way that helps people for the span of life they live in this world, for the eternal life beyond. He never forgets the soul and its needs. That is his foremost thought. But he recognizes also that there is a body and that it lives in a practical world. And whenever and wherever he can help practically, as well as spiritually, he does it, realizing that the world needs Christians who have the means as well as the spirit to carry forward Christ's work.
Speaking of his methods of preaching, Rev. Albert G. Lawson, D.D., says:
"He has been blessed in his ministry because of three things: He has a democratic, philosophic, philanthropic bee in his bonnet, a big one, too, and he has attempted to bring us to see that churches mean something beside fine houses and good music. There must be a recognition of the fact that when a man is lost, he is lost in body as well as in soul One needs, therefore, as our Lord would, to begin at the foundations, the building anew of the mind with the body; and I bless God for the democratic, and the philosophic, and the philanthropic idea which is manifest in this strong church. I hope there will be enough power in it to make every Baptist minister sick until he tries to occupy the same field that Jesus Christ did in his life and ministry; until every one of the churches shall recognize the privilege of having Jesus Christ reshaped in the men and women near them."
CHAPTER XXXII
THESE BUSY LATER DAYS
A Typical Week Day. A Typical Sunday. Mrs. Conwell. Back to the
Berkshires in Summer for Rest.
By the record of what Dr. Conwell has accomplished may be judged how busy are his days.
In early youth he learned to use his time to the best advantage. Studying and working on the farm, working and studying at Wilbraham and Yale, told him how precious is each minute. Work he must when he wanted to study. Study he must when he needed to work. Every minute became as carefully treasured as though it were a miser's gold. But it was excellent training for the busy later days when work would press from all sides until it was distraction to know what to do first.
"Do the next thing," is the advice he gives his college students. It is undoubtedly a saving of time to take the work that lies immediately at hand and despatch it. But when the hand is surrounded by work in a score of important forms, all clamoring for recognition, what is "the next thing" becomes a question difficult to decide.
Then it is that one must plan as carefully to use one's minutes as he does to expend one's income when expenses outrun it.
His private secretary gave the following account, in the "Temple
Magazine," of a week day and a Sunday in Dr. Conwell's life:
"No two days are alike in his work, and he has no specified hour for definite classes of calls or kinds of work.
"After breakfast he goes to his office in The Temple. Here visitors from half a dozen to twenty await him, representing a great variety of needs or business.
"Visitors wait their turn in the ante-room of his study and are received by him in the order of their arrival. The importance of business, rank or social position of the caller does not interfere with this order.
[Illustration: THE CHORUS OF THE BAPTIST TEMPLE]
"Throughout the whole day in the street, at the church, at the College, wherever he goes, he is beset by persons urging him for money, free lectures, to write introductions to all sorts of books, for sermons, or to take up collections for indigent individuals or churches. Letters reach him even from Canada, asking him to take care of some aunt, uncle, runaway son, or needy family, in Philadelphia. Sometimes for days together he does not secure five minutes to attend to his correspondence. Personal letters which he must answer himself often wait for weeks before he can attend to them, although he endeavors, as a rule, to answer important letters on the day they are received. People call to request him to deliver addresses at the dedication of churches, schoolhouses, colleges, flag-raisings, commencements, and anniversaries, re-unions, political meetings, and all manner of reform movements. Authors urge him to read their work in manuscript; orators without orations write to him and come to him for address or sermon; applications flow in for letters of introduction highly recommending entire strangers for anything they want. Agents for books come to him for endorsements, with religious newspapers for subscriptions and articles, and with patent medicines urging him to be 'cured with one bottle.'
"It is well known that he was a lawyer before entering the ministry, and orphans, guardians, widows, and young men entering business come to him asking him to make wills, contracts, etc., and to give them points of law concerning their undertakings. Weddings and funerals claim his attention. Urgent messages to visit the sick and the dying and the unfortunate come to him, and these appeals are answered first either by himself or the associate pastor; the cries of the suffering making the most eloquent of all appeals to these two busy men."
Frequently he comes to the church again in the afternoon to meet some one by appointment. Both afternoon and evening are crowded with engagements to see people, to make addresses, to attend special meetings of various kinds, with College and Hospital duties.
"I am expected to preside at six different meetings to-night," he said smilingly to a friend at The Temple one evening as the membership began to stream in to look after its different lines of work.
Much, of the time during the winter he is away lecturing, but he keeps in constant communication with The Temple and its work. By letter, wire or telephone he is ready to respond to any emergency requiring his advice or suggestion. These lecture trips carry him all over the country, but they are so carefully planned that with rare exceptions he is in the pulpit Sunday morning. Frequently, when returning, he wires for his secretary to meet him part way, if from the West, at Harrisburg or Altoona; if from the South, at Washington or beyond. The secretary brings the mail and the remaining hours of the journey are filled with work, dictating letters, articles for magazines or press, possibly material for a book, whatever work most presses.
Pastoral calls in the usual sense of the term cannot be made in a membership of more than three thousand. But visits to the sick, to the poor, to the dying, are paid whenever the call comes. To help and console the afflicted, to point the way to Christ, is the work nearest and dearest to Dr. Conwell's heart and always comes first. Funerals, too, claim a large part of the pastor's time, seven in one day among the Grace Church membership calling for the services of both Dr. Conwell and his associate. Weddings are not an unimportant feature, six having been one day's record at The Temple.
Of his Sundays, his secretary says:
"From the time of rising until half-past eight, he gives special attention to the subject of the morning sermon, and usually selects his text and general line of thought before sitting down to breakfast. After family prayers, he spends half an hour in his study, at home, examining books and authorities in the completion of his sermon. Sometimes he is unable to select a text until reaching The Temple. He has, though rarely, made his selection after taking his place at the pulpit.
"At nine-thirty, he is always promptly in his place at the opening of the Young Men's prayer-meeting or at the Women's prayer-meeting in the Lower Temple. At the Young Men's meeting he plays the organ and leads the singing. If he takes any other part in the meeting he is very brief, in talk or prayer.
"At half-past ten he goes directly to the Upper Temple, where as a rule he conducts all the exercises with the exception of the 'notices' and a prayer offered by the associate pastor, or in his absence at an overflow service in the Lower Temple, by the dean of the College or chaplain of the Hospital. The pastor meets the candidates for baptism in his study before service, for conference and prayer. In administering the ordinance, he is assisted by the associate pastor, who leads the candidates into the baptistry.
"The pastor reads the hymns. It is his custom to preach without any notes whatever; rarely, a scrap of paper may lie on the desk containing memoranda or suggestions of leading thoughts, but frequently even when this is the case the notes are ignored.
"A prominent—possibly the prevailing—idea in the preparation of his sermons is the need of individuals in his congregation. He aims to say those things which will be the most helpful and inspiring to the unconverted seeking Christ, or to the Christian desiring to lead a nobler spiritual life. It may be said of nearly all his illustrations that they present such a variety of spiritual teaching that different persons will catch from them different suggestions adapted to needs of each.
"The morning service closes promptly at twelve o'clock; then follows an informal reception for thirty minutes or it may be an hour, for hundreds, sometimes a thousand and more, many of them visitors from other cities and states, press forward to shake hands with him. This, Dr. Conwell considers an important part of his church work, giving him an opportunity to meet many of the church members and extend personal greetings to those whom he would have no possible opportunity to visit in their homes.
"He dines at one o'clock. At two, he is in The Temple; again he receives more callers, and if possible makes some preparation for services of the afternoon, in connection with the Sunday-school work. At two-thirty, he is present at the opening of the Junior department of the Sunday-school in the Lower Temple, where he takes great interest in the singing, which is a special feature of that department. At three o'clock, he appears promptly on the platform in the auditorium where the Adult department of the Sunday-school meets, gives a short exposition of the lesson for the day, and answers from the Question Box. These cover a great variety of subjects, from the absurdity of some crack-brained crank to the pathetic appeal of some needy soul. Some of these questions may be sent in by mail during the week, but the greater part of them are handed to the pastor by the ushers. To secure an answer the question must be upon some subject connected with religious life or experience, some theme of Christian ethics in everyday life.
"When the questions are answered, the pastor returns to the Lower Temple, going to the Junior, Intermediate, or Kindergarten department to assist in the closing exercises. At the close of the Sunday-school session, teachers and scholars surround him, seeking information or advice concerning the school work, their Christian experience or perhaps to tell him their desire to unite with the church.[A]
[Footnote A: Lately (1905), however, he has had to give up much of this Sunday-school work on account of the need of rest.]
"As a rule, he leaves The Temple at five o'clock If he finds no visitors with appeals for counsel or assistance waiting for him at his home, he lies down for half an hour. Usually the visitors are there, and his half-hour rest is postponed until after the evening service.
"Supper at five-thirty, after which he goes to his study to prepare for the evening service, selecting his subject and looking up such references as he thinks may be useful. At seven-fifteen, he is in The Temple again, often visiting for a few moments one of the Christian Endeavor societies, several of which are at that time in session in the Lower Temple. At half-past seven the general service is held in the auditorium. The evening sermon is published weekly in the "Temple Review." He gives all portions of this service full attention.
"At nine o'clock this service closes, and the pastor goes once more to the Lower Temple, where both congregations, the 'main' and the 'overflow' unite, so far as is possible, in a union prayer service. The hall of the Lower Temple and the rooms connected with it are always overcrowded at this service meeting, and many are unable to get within hearing of the speakers on the platform. Here Dr. Conwell presides at the organ and has general direction of the evangelistic services, assisted by the associate pastor. As enquirers rise for prayers,—the prayers of God's people,—Dr. Conwell makes note of each one, and to their great surprise recognizes them when he meets them on the street or at another service, long afterward. This union meeting is followed by another general reception especially intended for a few words of personal conversation with those who have risen for prayer and with strangers who are brought forward and introduced by members of the church. This is the most fatiguing part of the day's work and occupies from one hour to an hour and a half. He reaches home about eleven o'clock and before retiring makes a careful memoranda of such people as have requested him to pray for them, and such other matters as may require his attention during the week. He seldom gets to bed much before midnight."
In all the crowd and pressure of work, he is ably assisted by Mrs. Conwell. In the early days of his ministry at Grace Church she was his private secretary, but as the work grew for both of them, she was compelled to give this up.
She enters into all her husband's work and plans with cheery, helpful enthusiasm. Yet her hands are full of her own special church work, for she is a most important member of the various working associations of the church, college and hospital. For many years she was treasurer of the large annual fairs of The Temple, as well as being at the head of a number of large teas and fairs held for the benefit of Samaritan Hospital. In addition to all this church and charitable work, she makes the home a happy centre of the brightest social life and a quiet, well-ordered retreat for the tired preacher and lecturer when he needs rest.
A writer in "The Ladies' Home Journal," in a series of articles on
"Wives of Famous Pastors," says of Mrs. Conwell:
"Mrs. Conwell finds her greatest happiness in her husband's work, and gives him always her sympathy and devotion. She passes many hours at work by his side when he is unable to notice her by word or look; she knows he delights In her presence, for he often says when writing, 'I can do better if you remain.' Her whole life is wrapped up in the work of The Temple, and all those multitudinous enterprises connected with that most successful of churches.
"She makes an ideal wife for a pastor whose work is varied and whose time is as interrupted as are Mr. Conwell's work and time. On her husband's lecture tours she looks well after his comfort, seeing to those things which a busy and earnest man is almost sure to overlook and neglect. In all things he finds her his helpmeet and caretaker."
From this busy life the family escape in summer to Dr. Conwell's boyhood home in the Berkshires. Here amid the hills he loves, with the brook of his boyhood days again singing him to sleep, he rests and recuperates for the coming winter's campaign.
The little farmhouse is vastly changed since those early days. Many additions have been made, modern improvements added, spacious porches surround it on all sides, and a green, velvety lawn dotted with shrubbery and flowers has replaced the rocks and stones, the sparse grass of fifty years ago. If Martin and Miranda Conwell could return and see the little house now with its artistic furnishings, its walls hung with pictures from those very lands the mother read her boy about, they would think miracles had indeed come to pass.
In front of the house where once flashed a little brook that "set the silences to rhyme" is now a silvery lake framed in rich green foliage. Up in the hill where swayed the old hemlock with the eagle's nest for a crown rises an observatory. From the top one gazes in summer into a billowy sea of green in which the spire of the Methodist church rises like a far distant white sail.
It is a happy family that gathers in the old homestead during the summer days. His daughter, now Mrs. Tuttle, comes with her children, Mr. Turtle, who is a civil engineer, joining them when his work permits. Dr. Conwell's son Leon, proprietor and editor of the Somerville (Mass.) "Journal," with his wife and child, always spend as much of the summer there as possible. One vacant chair there is in the happy family circle. Agnes, the only child of Dr. and Mrs. Conwell, died in 1901, in her twenty-sixth year. She was the wife of Alfred Barker. A remarkably bright and gifted girl, clever with her pen, charming in her personality, an enthusiastic and successful worker in the many interests of church, college and hospital, her death was a sad loss to her family and friends.
Not only the beauty of the place but the associations bring rest and peace to the tired spirit of the busy preacher and lecturer, and he returns to his work refreshed, ready to take up with rekindled energy and enthusiasm the tasks awaiting him.
Thus his busy life goes on, full of unceasing work for the good of others. Over his bed hangs a gold sheathed sword which to him is a daily inspiration to do some deed worthy of the sacrifice which it typifies. "I look at it each morning," said Dr. Conwell to a friend, "and pray for help to do something that day to make my life worthy of such a sacrifice." And each, day he prays the prayer his father prayed for him in boyhood days, "May no person be the worse because I have lived this day, but may some one be the better."