At the door the programme was distributed. It consisted of six hymns to
be interluded with prayers by the doctor. Between the fifth and sixth,
he delivered the lecture, or the sermon, if you insist on the name, and
during the sixth there was the collection, that hinge on which the whole
service turns in Protestant places of worship.

I took a seat and awaited with the rest the entrance of Dr. Talmage.
There was subdued conversation going on all around, just as there would
be at a theater or concert: in fact, throughout the whole of the
proceedings, there was no sign of a silent lifting up of the spirit in
worship. Not a person in that strange congregation, went on his or her
knees to pray. Most of them put one hand in front of the face, and this
was as near as they got that morning to an attitude of devotion. Except
for this, and the fact that they did not applaud, there was absolutely
no difference between them and any other theater audience I ever saw.

[Illustration: THE LEADER OF THE CHOIR.]

The monotonous hymns were accompanied by a _cornet-a-piston_, which lent
a certain amount of life to them, but very little religious harmony.
That cornet was the key-note of the whole performance. The hymns,
composed, I believe, for Dr. Talmage's flock, are not of high literary
value. "General" Booth would probably hesitate to include such in the
_repertoire_ of the Salvation Army. Judge of them for yourself. Here
are three illustrations culled from the programme:

Sing, O sing, ye heirs of glory!
Shout your triumphs as you go:
Zion's gates will open for you,
You shall find an entrance through.

'Tis the promise of God, full salvation to give
Unto him who on Jesus, his Son, will believe.

Though the pathway be lonely, and dangerous too, (_sic_)
Surely Jesus is able to carry me thro'.

This is poetry such as you find inside Christmas crackers.

Another hymn began:

One more day's work for Jesus,
One less of life for me!

I could not help thinking that there would be good employment for a
prophet of God, with a stout whip, in the congregations of the so-called
faithful of to-day. I have heard them by hundreds shouting at the top of
their voices:

O Paradise, O Paradise!
'Tis weary waiting here;
I long to be where Jesus is,
To feel, to see him near.
O Paradise, O Paradise!
I greatly long to see
The special place my dearest Lord,
In love, prepares f