mercy. She thought she was at a revivalist meeting, and the movement of Saltren's hands had caught every nerve in her head and had drawn together and knotted them, so that she shrieked with the tension insupportable.
"My friends and fellow sufferers," began Saltren. The cry of the woman had unloosed his tongue, for it proclaimed that sympathy was established between him and his hearers. "I have doubted"—he spoke slowly, in a low tone, with tremor in his tones, and with diffidence—"I have doubted whether I should address you or not. I do not desire to speak. I am held back, and yet I am thrust on. I am like an anchored vessel with the sails spread and the wind filling them. The anchor must part, or the sails be torn to shreds. The anchor is in the earth, the breath of heaven is in the sails. I know which ought to go. But there is strain—great strain;" he paused and passed his hand over his face, and it came away dripping with moisture. "I have no natural gift. I am fearful of myself. I cannot speak as did James Welsh. I am no scholar. I am an ignorant man. But so were the apostles, taken from their nets, and so was Levi taken from the receipt of custom. So was Elisha, drawn from the plough. I hang back. I can say with David, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself as a child that is weaned of his mother."
Then the woman, kneeling, began again to scream, "Lord, have mercy! have mercy!" and her cries assisted in thrilling and exciting the speaker and people alike. Some of the audience began to groan and sigh. One young bumpkin from behind called out, "We don't want no sarmon. If you're going to preach, I'm off." Then ensued a commotion; heads were turned, exclamations of anger and disgust greeted the interruption, and the lad was hustled away.
