t leap from a stranded ship
into the sea, and strike out boldly for the shore. The thrill of
admiration for the act was unforgetable.

The joy of beholding a strong and valiant thinker plunge into a theme is
an event. Will he make the shore, or shall he go down to defeat before
these thousands of spectators?

When Minot Savage ceased to speak, you knew he had won--he had brought
the line safely to shore and made all secure.

Or, if you have heard Rabbi Hirsch or Felix Adler, you know the feeling.
These men make a demand upon you--you play out the line for them, and
when all is secure, there is a relief which shows you have been under an
intense strain. To paraphrase Browning, they offer no substitute, to an
idle man, for a cushioned chair and cigar.

Phillips Brooks made small demand upon his auditors. If I heard Minot
Savage in the morning and got wound up tight, as I always did, I went to
Vespers at Trinity Church for rest.

The soft, sweet playing of the organ, the subdued lights, the far-away
voices of the choir, and finally the earnest words of the speaker,
worked a psychic spell. The sermon began nowhere and ended nowhere--the
speaker was a great, gentle personality, with a heart of love for
everybody and everything. We have heard of the old lady who would go
miles to hear her pastor pronounce the word Mesopotamia, but he put no
more soul into it than did Phillips Brooks. The service was all a sort
of lullaby for tired souls--healing and helpful.

But as after every indulgence there comes a minor strain of
dissatisfaction following the awakening, so it was here--it was
beautiful while it lasted. Then eight o'clock would come and I would be
at Edward Everett Hale's. This sturdy old man, with his towering form,
rugged face and echoing bass voice, would open up the stops and give his
blessed "Mesopotamia" like a trumpet call. He never worked the soft
pedal. His first words always made me think of "Boots and Saddles!" Be a
man--do something! Why stand ye here all the day idle!

And there was love and entreaty, too, but it never lulled you into
forgetfulness. There was intellect, but it did not ask you to follow it.
The dear old man did not wind in and out among the sinuosities of
thought--no, he was right out on the broad prairie, under the open sky,
sounding "Boots and Saddles!"

In Doctor Hale's church is a most beautiful memorial window to Thomas
Starr King, who was at one time the pastor of this church. I