Bryan, clean as a hound’s tooth—he’s a friend of mine, too—isn’t afraid to
put a Bible under his arm and preach the word of God.
The churches used to be daffy over high-critic preachers. Nowadays your
high-critic preachers are wearing out shoe leather and going blind
reading the want columns, trying to find jobs.
Down in Georgia they were having a dress ball. Huh! Better call it an
undress ball.
Religion will do more for the world than it is now, as soon as God gets
more than dimes and nickles to work with.
Some ministers are as crazy after sensation as the “yellowest” newspaper
that ever came off the press.
Some of you society women are so stuck-up with pride that you can’t lie
straight in bed at night.
These long-winded prayers will never get anything for Christ.
In nearly every church there is a little bunch that prays and all the rest
are going to the devil.
What Shakespeare says is “literatwah,” but what Bill Sunday says is
“vulgwah.”
The worst thing that ever wriggled out of hell is a church scrap.
I believe that some time in the life of every man and woman there will
come a time when they will pray.
“I’d like to see the day,” said Sunday, “when there wouldn’t be a store
open on Saturday night. I can’t see to save my gizzard why it’s necessary.
People can do their shopping early. If they’d close the stores Saturday
evening the same as on other days, the church attendances would be
doubled. But of course, when you do anything to help humanity, some
yellow dog has got to block it. And you employers and proprietors sit
around in the churches and wonder why the attendance is so small, when
you’re to blame yourself by making your employes work themselves to death
so that they are too tired to go to church.”
[Illustration: BILLY SUNDAY AT THE AGES OF 20 AND 22 YEARS.]