And with it all there is
full reverence. It is no wonder that he is
accustomed to fill every seat of the great building.
His gestures are usually very simple. Now and
then, when he works up to emphasis, he strikes
one fist in the palm of the other hand. When he
is through you do not remember that he has made
any gestures at all, but the sound of his voice
remains with you, and the look of his wonderful
eyes. And though he is past the threescore years
and ten, he looks out over his people with eyes that
still have the veritable look of youth.
Like all great men, he not only does big things,
but keeps in touch with myriad details. When
his assistant, announcing the funeral of an old
member, hesitates about the street and number
and says that they can be found in the telephone
directory, Dr. Conwell's deep voice breaks quietly
in with, ``Such a number [giving it], Dauphin
Street''--quietly, and in a low tone, yet every
one in the church hears distinctly every syllable
of that low voice.
His fund of personal anecdote, or personal
reminiscence, is constant and illustrative in his
preaching, just as it is when he lectures, and the
reminiscences sweep through many years, and at times
are really startling in the vivid and homelike
pictures they present of the famous folk of the
past that he knew.
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