A REMARKABLE SCENE.

A WORK OF LOVE BY AN ELDERLY LADY.--THE SCENERY OF OAK CLIFF.

Last night the moon shed its full l.u.s.ter slightly dimmed by thin clouds.

The crowd stood by a negro church at the point of the hill, just above the creek banks at their intersection. The view from the top of the hill was enchanting.

The lady pa.s.sed the crowd and stopped in the moonshine in front of the church. Here she was joined by a party of three other ladies and two men, whom she had preceded a little. Two of the ladies held babies in their arms.

In a strong and beautiful alto voice a song burst forth from the lips of the elderly lady: "I Will Tell the Wondrous Story of the Christ Who Died for Me." Her companions joined her in the song and the refrain echoed far and near over the hillsides: "Of the Christ who died for me."

The inhabitants heard it.

But this is the part of Oak Cliff inhabited by negroes. In response they swarmed out as would have done the followers to the signal of Roderick Dhu.

Pretty soon the church was filled and a few white people were among the audience drawn thither by the song.

The services were begun with prayer by the elderly lady, whose hair, when she had removed her bonnet, shone silvery gray. It was nothing out of the usual order of prayers except that it was accompanied with unusual fervor and simplicity being adapted to the circ.u.mstances. If any had a.s.sembled through curiosity she prayed that their hearts would be turned.

Then came other singing and prayer by a good colored sister named Cynthia Maria, who wore a white bonnet, and chanted her words, making the scene a wierd one.

Then the elderly lady rendered in beautiful solo, "Oh Christ, I am lost forever. I am to confront an angry G.o.d," from which she began her discourse, pleading to her colored hearers to open their hearts that night. She said she had the old time religion. This announcement was greeted with religious laughter from the congregation. The women had not been allowed to preach and she thought that there were souls in perdition on this account. People said that she had no business there last night. She had business in glory and was going to help crown Christ the Lord of Lords. For seven years she had been a pilgrim and had traveled from ocean to ocean and from state to state without receiving a salary or taking up a cent. There was the same G.o.d with her who was with Daniel in the lions' den, and who led the Children of Israel through the Red Sea. She had seen sore trouble, but there were few who knew it. She had the old-time religion, and that was what her hearers needed. She forsook home and country to go and preach the gospel to convicts and fallen women and most of her friends had forsaken her for this. She used to be proud. She had given up pride and given up style. She was glad that G.o.d had called the meeting. She did not know that she was to preach there until yesterday afternoon when someone informed her that the colored people wanted her to preach. She had visited the county jail last Sunday and prayed and sang with the prisoners. Some of them had forgotten about the old-time religion and requested her to sing the song having that t.i.tle.

Here the woman began that song joined by the congregation, a large number of whom got happy. It required the efforts of several of the colored portion of the congregation to hold down one sister who wore a straw hat and got shouting happy and paid no attention to her surroundings.

After a short talk by Rev. B., colored, the congregation was dismissed.

AT THE COLORED CHURCH.

MRS. ELIZABETH R. WHEATON LECTURES ON THE IMPORTANCE OF CONVERSION--SHE SAYS THE HARDEST PEOPLE TO CONVERT ARE PREACHERS.

As a News reporter and a News special artist, guided by a friendly star, wended their muddy way last night to the little negro church upon the hill at Oak Cliff, they overtook two solemn looking figures going up an incline. One of them proved to be the famous prison evangelist, Mrs. Elizabeth R. Wheaton. This lady turned her face to the News emissaries and inquired in a sweet silvery tone:

"Going to church, brothers?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, G.o.d bless you, brothers, come on."

A few minutes later the church was reached. The penitent sister with the white bonnet, who was inspired on the previous night and started to shouting, had already arrived, as also had the good sister who called on the baseball man to run from the devil. What influence drives those simple worshipers to shouting and to imitate flying, is a question for the psychologists. Certain it is that the little and the great are linked together in this life and perhaps the present is linked to the future. Quien sabe. The meeting last night was free from shouting, but fervid with emotion. On arriving in front of the church Mrs. Wheaton turned her face to the pale moon, which had sailed high in the heavens, and sang "Sweet are the tidings that greet the pilgrims' ear." As she sung she gesticulated and her gray hair shone like silver. She had not gone beyond the third line of the said stirring hymn before the penitents inside of the church started to sing a hymn and then the scene was as impressive as the music was discordant. The hymns over, Mrs. Wheaton knelt on the wet ground and prayed while Deacon Banks did likewise inside of the church. The interjections were so many that he was forced to use short sentences.

"Come one, come all, while it is day."

"O, yes, Lord, we come, we'se a'comin'."

"O Lord, put the move on and call us away."

"O, yes, good Lord, we come."

At this point Mrs. Wheaton entered and ascended the low pulpit from which, for a moment, she silently surveyed the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude of black faces. She was wreathed in smiles, looking like the sun of righteousness shining on a dark, murky cloud of suffering humanity.

"G.o.d grant," she observed, "that n.o.body goes down to the lake of fire." "G.o.d grant it, ma-a-a-m." "Oh-oh-bo-bo." "n.o.body knows de trouble I see," and any number of exclamations each giving vent to an exclamation suited to the feelings of the penitent. The mention of fire seemed to cause a panic among the good colored people with a single exception. He was a dude who did not deign to sit down, but stood near the door seemingly watching the females. Only once did he drop on his knees and that was when he discovered the News artist in the act of tracing his outlines on the flyleaf of a prayer book.

Mrs. Wheaton then lectured upon the importance of conversion. As she proceeded, describing the fate of convicts and other sufferers, the iron of the ways of the world seemed to enter her soul and she wept.

n.o.body who hears her doubts her sincerity. She does not criticise the fallen; she weeps for them. The folks in heaven do the same. Only once last night did she criticise, and she said she did it for a benevolent purpose, and as she did it (as indeed throughout her entire remarks) the colored woman with the man's straw hat interlarded her remarks with her own opinions rendered in a whanging, chanting voice. This was how it ran: "The churches have got away from the old land marks [yes, ma'am; deed they has, ma'am]. It is hard, hard work to reach preachers [yes, ma'am; yes, ma'am]. The big white preachers and the colored preachers are nearly just as bad [O Lord, yes; good Lord ye-e-s, ma'am.] They put on plug hats, jewelry and the trickery of the devil.

If preachers would do their duty I would not have to visit the penitentiaries. Oh, the hardest work I have is to preach to preachers.

[Dat's so, ma'am; dat's so!] How many of you are living in lasciviousness, the sin that's hidden but that G.o.d sees? It is going on in the churches among some of the preachers. [Ah, yes, ma'am: good Lord! Deed'n 'tis, ma'am]. Ah! I have got to go to judgment and I will tell you the truth. There are other sins, but I do not want to mention them because I feel that you know all about them; but they won't be hidden and unless you have a pure spirit and a clean heart you can never see the face of G.o.d. Now say you will sin no more. [Several voices in alto: A-a-a-men.] These white churches," proceeded Mrs.

Wheaton, "are a little worse than the colored churches, for there is a little Holy Ghost left in the colored churches. Oh, how many of those white church members are going down to h.e.l.l! It grieves me to think of it. I'm going to meet some of you in glory. After I get there the first ones I want to see crowned are the poor convicts who have been murdered on the scaffold after they had turned their faces to G.o.d, and those poor convicts who have suffered, oh, you know not how much, how much, without human sympathy."

At this point a sad-looking man volunteered a hymn, during the singing of which much of Mrs. Wheaton's remarks were drowned. Mrs. Wheaton resumed: "It troubles my heart to see the people drifting down, down to h.e.l.l. I feel like getting down to the foot of the cross and crying mercy. For the attractions of this world I have no use; I have no use for newspaper puffs. [They's no good, ma'am: yes, ma'am.]"

The way in which the penitents chimed in as Mrs. Wheaton proceeded rendered it impossible to report her fully. The best that could be done was to catch sentences on the fly. The stronger she appeared to her colored listeners to seek for mercy the longer they sought it.

Their bodies were moved by their souls. Some swayed from side to side; others placed their faces on their hands and wept; others wrung their hands, and there was weeping and wailing.

This was the state of affairs at the conclusion of the address. Just then Deacon Banks started a hymn and a few others drifted off into different familiar hymns, so that the music was varied. It was a spontaneous outburst of songs of praise from away down in the bottom of afflicted hearts which pays no attention to the measures of music.

The singing was awful. One female screeched and no two voices were in harmony.

At the conclusion of the hymn a deacon kneeling by a chair prayed, striking the chair with his fists while a hundred voices accompanied him. It was impossible to follow him throughout, but among other things he said: "I know that h.e.l.l is broad and eternity too long. Oh King, King, Lord have mercy on us. Guide us by the still water's side and give us new pastures. Bless this congregation in the hollow of thy hand, amen."

Mrs. Wheaton informed the News reporter that she will not go to Galveston.--Dallas News.

PRISON WORKER VISITS TACOMA.

"MOTHER" WHEATON CALLS AT COUNTY JAIL AND FEDERAL PENITENTIARY.--KNOWN ALL OVER THE WORLD.-- TWENTY-ONE YEARS OF HER LIFE DEVOTED TO LABOR AMONG UNFORTUNATES OF MANY NATIONS.

"I trust in G.o.d and the railroad men."

This is the explanation of her ability to carry on her work, expressed by "Mother" Wheaton, the prison evangelist, who has an international reputation for her work in the penitentiaries of the United States, Canada, Mexico and Europe. Mother Wheaton is in Tacoma carrying on her work among prisoners, work that has taken her into every penitentiary in the United States and Canada. For over twenty-one years she has carried the gospel to the men in stripes and to those who wear the broad arrow of England's displeasure, and it is Mother Wheaton's boast that during all that time she has never asked for a contribution or received a cent of salary.

Mother Wheaton came to Tacoma from her headquarters in Tabor, Ia., accompanying Miss Grace Yarrette, a young woman who is going as a missionary to India.

MANY YEARS IN PRISON WORK.

There is no woman in the world, and perhaps no man, who has had the prison experience of Mother Wheaton. The last twenty years of her life have virtually been spent inside prison walls, and there is not many in the country in which she is not a familiar figure. Long terms and lifers all over the land know her. Frequently she inquires for some prisoner whom death or the leniency of the law has released, whom she has not seen or heard of for years.

Dressed in a soft gray suit, with a gray bonnet, Mother Wheaton's appearance is distinctly motherly, and her smile the personification of kindness and tenderness further bears out the "Mother" by which she is known to thousands of unfortunates. She is the guest of Mrs. Ellen M. Bates, 1211 North Prospect street. She is at work from the time she arises in the morning until services are over in the evening. While her princ.i.p.al work is in the prisons and penitentiaries she takes part in evangelical and religious work and finds time to visit rescue homes where her advice is eagerly sought.

MANY EXPERIENCES.

"Experiences?" Mother Wheaton exclaimed, when asked if her life had not been productive of many events out of the ordinary run.

"Experiences, why I have had so many and such varied experiences that they are all a jumble in my head. I have been in nearly every prison in the land. I have consoled men who were but a few feet from the gallows and I have held the hand of those unfortunates as they sank into their last sleep in a cheerless prison hospital.

"I have seen sights that made my blood run cold and then I have had the joy of seeing the word of G.o.d prevail and the most case-hardened sinners the human mind could conceive of have reformed before me. It has been a curious mixture of sunshine and shadows, but after twenty-one years I think I can say that the sunshine has predominated.