ave been
miracles of chastity. Methodism was not quite so bad, but it tolerated
some very strange pranks. The Rev. Richard Polwhele, in his "Anecdotes
of Methodism" (a very rare book), says that "At St. Agnes, the Society
stay up the whole night, when girls of twelve and fourteen years of age,
run about the streets, calling out that they are possessed." He goes
on to relate that at Probus "the preacher at a late hour of the night,
after all but the higher classes left the room, would order the candles
to be put out, and the saints fall down and kneel on their naked knees;
when he would go round and thrust his hand under every knee to feel if
it were bare." Salvationism does not at present go to this length, but
it has still time enough to imitate all the freaks of its predecessor.
There was an All-Night meeting in Whitechapel a few months ago, which
threatened to develope into a thoroughgoing love-feast. The light was
rather dim, voices grew low, cheeks came perilously near, and hands met
caressingly. Of course it was nothing but the love of God that moved
them, yet it looked like something else; and the uninitiated spectator
of "the mystery of godliness" found it easy to understand how American
camp-meetings tend to increase the population, and why a Magistrate in
the South-west of England observed that one result of revivals in his
district was a number of fatherless weans.

In one respect Salvationism excels all previous revivals. It is
unparalleled in its vulgarity. The imbecile coarseness of its language
makes one ashamed of human nature. Had it existed in Swift's time, he
might have added a fresh clause to his terrible indictment of mankind.
Its metaphors are borrowed from the slaughter-house, its songs are
frequently coarser than those of the lowest music-hall, and the general
style of its preaching is worthy of a congregation of drunken pugilists.
The very names assumed by its officers are enough to turn one's stomach.
Christianity has fallen low indeed when its champions boast such titles
as the "Hallelujah Fishmonger," the "Blood-washed Miner," the "Devil
Dodger," the "Devil Walloper," and "Gipsy Sal."

The constitution of the Salvation Army is a pure despotism. General
Booth commands it absolutely. There is a Council of War, consisting of
his own family. All the funds flow into his exchequer, and he spends
them as he likes. No questions are allowed, no accounts are rendered,
and everything is under his unqua