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A Conquerer and His Conquest. (Continued from page 2.) Therefore we believe that he would approve all of the sunshine that can be scattered through this hour of memorial. “ Brother Jones, how is it that your hair is so much grayer than your mustache?” asked a -good woman at Cartersville. “Why, my sister,” he quickly replied, “that is easy enough to explain; my hair is twenty years older than my mustache.” The Dynamite Road to Heaven. During the great fight against bar rooms in At lanta years ago, Sam Jones learned that some sa loon men had threatened him with bodily violence —possibly a bomb or dynamite. “All right,” said he in one of his speeches, “let them blow me up if they want to. I will be in heaven before the sound dies out.” And thus he was always ready, catching the multitudes with his wonderful wit and then pour ing into their hearts the truth of God. And if he could speak we are sure he would say, “Let these gay decorations for Dr. Broughton’s home-coming remain—let the garlands hang, let the flowers bloom—let gladness and triumph be the dominant notes above the funeral dirge and the anthems of sorrow!” And let it be understood that while all hearts who loved and honored Sam Jones have been in vited today to mingle their flowers upon his sacred IP’’ ’ jMrI *ia®V ■ ♦ -. iWmMBIIs ■» bier, this memorial does not intend, in the wideness of its meaning, to lower the standards of his vir tues or the bravery that made him great. It was the “power of an endless life” that drew the throng from shows and fairs, even as lie had drawn them in his early life, on the day when his body lay in state beneath the dome of Georgia’s capi tol. It was a tribute to the faith that never fal tered, to the love that never waned and to the man hood that never cringed before the minions of evil, that caused sorrowing thousands that' day to throng the streets as if crowding to see a living president and pass his bier as if eager to look on the face of a king. The Vacant Chair. And as I look at that vacant chair on this plat form and the draped picture that hangs above it, I am thinking of that exquisite waif of mental beauty whose author I do not know—“To a Pond Lily”': “0 Star on the breast of the river— -0 marvel of bloom and grace! Did you drop right down out of heaven, Out of the sweetest place? You are poor as the thoughts of an angel; Your heart is steeped in the sun. Did you grow in the Golden City, My fair and radiant one? “Nay, nay, I dropped not out of Heaven— None gave me my saintly white; I slowly grew in the darkness Down in the depths of the night; Sam Jones Tabernacle, Cartersville, Ga The Golden Age for October 25, 1906. Up, up, from the ooze of the river I WON my glory and grace— White souls fall not, 0 sweet poet, . They RISE to the highest place!” And ever since Sam P. Jones fell beneath the burden of his conscious sins at the foot of the Cross and arose as a miracle of regeneration—he has been lifting upward with him the clinging re tinue of his surroundings as he has surely and grandly climbed. Let two things be remembered in this marvelous gathering of thousands today—such a tribute would never have been paid to Sam Jones if he had not met the Lord Jesus Christ in his wayward life in 1872. His life since then has been a crystal river of beauty and blessing to the world. And before a fact like this infidelity must stand forever dumb. And the other fact is this—that even men who deny in their sin-marred lives the truth he taught, yet acknowledge that truth in the hearts that be lieve in him and in the love that crowns him today. You know and I know that next to the joy of leading a soul to the Christ who had redeemed him, he loved and crowned the Christian statesman and the Christian citizen. It is therefore eminently proper that a man who was a Christian statesman and who is today, in the simplicity of his conse crated, stalwart life the ideal Christian citizen, should preside over these memorial exercises. I have great pleasure in presenting to you Ex-Gover nor Wm. J. Northen, who will act as chairman of Atlanta’s memorial to Sam P. Jones—Georgia’s beloved dead. Gov. Northen Presides. In taking the chair, Ex-Governor Northen spoke briefly but beautifully and in the course of his re marks he said that Sam Jones stood for three things: “First, for a strong conviction of duty; second, for a great, grand and God-given purpose and third, for an unusual and remarkable individ uality. He labored for God and for humanity,” said Gov. Northen, “and he labored in his own in dividual way. He was always himself, and he never tried to be anything but himself. He was unique in the service of God and humanity.” Gov. Northen then presented the first speaker on the program, Rev. Walt Holcomb, Sam Jones’ latest co-laborer, who was with him on the train when he died. His address put something into the ex ercises which no other man was prepared to say. and so rich was it in spirit and reminiscence that we give it in full in this issue. Brief Addresses. Following Mr. Holcomb’s address, it was ex pected that Mrs. A. B. Cunvus of Cartersville, daughter of Rev. Jon Jones, that beloved Baptist preacher who died suddenly three years ago. would sing, “I want to go there, don’t you?” bnt she felt that she would break down if she were to at tempt it. and in her place Mr. Edwin Smoot san-' with thrilling effect this song which was composed bv Dr. David Sullins, the father-in-law of Rev. George Stuart, who labored with Sam Jones for Wwj oISE '%&*** %r/- - '*% ,■ >M M. -’ ■ i ■? ?F A;- -• -.yw :- ■ years and who delivered in tears the funeral sermon at Cartersville. Col. Reuben Arnold, the leading criminal lawyer, of the Atlanta bar, was the next speaker. In his profession he had met so much of the opposite in manhood from that which Sam Jones stood for that he was prepared to view his value to the world from another angle as compared with the other speakers. His eloquent address appears elsewhere in this issue. Mr. J. K. Orr, speaking from the viewpoint of the Christian business man, packed a volume of truth in a three-minute speech. Chief Henry Jennings, of the Alanta Police De parment, a warm friend of the family, told in brief but impressive words how the policemen loved the great evangelist because he was always ready to help them in word and deed. Dr. Chas. 0. Jones, pastor of St. Mark’s Metho dist Church, spoke only a few words, but they were a prose-poem. Among other things he said : “His heart was too small to hold a little impulse and yet large enough to take in the whole world and its needs.” Dr. C. E. Dowman had known Sam Jones for many years and labored with him in great revival campaigns, especially in Columbus, Georgia, and the fragrance of that fellowship only deepened his sorrow now. He Sang Like One Inspired. Charles D. Tillman had been invited to sing at the Sam Jones memorial in Chattanooga the same hour, but he felt that, living in Atlanta, he must Residence o f Rev. Sam P. Jones be a. part of Atlanta’s tribute. He sang the song of his own composition which Mr. Jones had so often called for as they had worked together, “Un answered Yet.” And he sang at the memorial of his friend as he had never sung before. He sang like one inspired. Dr. Broughton’s Fitting Close. The exercises had lasted over two hours when the Tabernacle pastor arose. Thousands were sit ting and hundreds were standing all this time, and it is safe to say that no other living American could have held that audience at such an hour as lie did. The address was “Broughtonian.” That is enough to say. He spoke of “Sam Jones as he first impressed me; Sam Jones as he last impressed me, and Sam Jones as he impresses me now.” He declared that the whole trend of his ministry had been changed and moulded by hearing the fa mous evangelist lecture when he (Broughton) was .just entering the ministry. People will flock to hear a man who DOES something—that had been a key to victory with every man who has stirred and blessed the world. Ripples of innocent laughter swept the great au dience—the kind of laughter that would have pleas ed Sam Jones, and then hearts melted and tears flowed on every side. And just as the evening shades began to fall the vast crowd began to thread the shadows home, blessed and inspired by the greatest memorial ser vice the South has ever seen since Henry Grady <lied - . _ 7