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I u SreS - / ' * y "~~~~I \^~-- I C ii ■I w-a I ILa B^fc> lSus> >3j!fl b a, ■ •^ts^^ EZ ®’ VOLUME EIGHT NUMBER THIRTY-SIX BROUGHTON “PESTERED” BY LONDON FOG The Intrepid American Preacher Who “Kicked Up Dust" For Evil Doers in This Country and Brushed Away the Fogs They Made For Him, Confessed Himself Almost “Knocked Out" by the Fogs of London Town, ROUGHTON has been conquered at last! The London fog has done it —and the “lonesome friends whom he left on this side are not going to shed, any “weeps” over his dis comfiture. When Len G. Brough ton was in Atlanta, his enemies— that is, the enemies of the manifold good he was doing, and especially r the way in which he did it —were always com plaining that “Broughton kicks up too much dust.” He did— for them! And when they tried to cover him in a cloud of dust and an ocean of fog he always rose like an eagle and soared above the ocean, and perched in victory in the pure empyrean far above the cloud! Indeed, we have heard it freely said, not only in Georgia, but beyond her borders, that “If Broughton had stayed in Atlanta the ‘wide open’ forces would never have triumphed in the last municipal campaign.” But the London fog has “got him!” Ha, h a! Dr. Broughton’s personal letter to the Editor of The Golden Age is so Broughtonian and de lightful that we are going to share it with the thousands who feast and feed upon his ser mons from London —found exclusively in The Golden Age every week: CHRIST CHURCH (Perpetuation of Surrey Chapel) Pastors: Telephone: Dr. LEN G. BROUGHTON HOP 52 REV. ALBERT SWIFT CHRIST CHURCH, WESTMINSTER BRIDGE ROAD, LONDON, S. E. October 16th, 1912. Mr. Will D. Upshaw, Editor of The Golden Age, Atlanta, Ga., U. S. A. Aly Dear Will: I feel just in the frame to write ,a letter to all the homefolks today. To begin with, we are in the midst of a real, sure enough, old fashioned London fog. You do not know what that means, and I wish I did not. As I look out from my window, in my study at home, at the present moment, there is very little that I can see, except fog, fog, fog every where. We have been having them, more or less, for several days, and now the prospect is that it will be much heavier tonight than ever before. lam expecting that traffic through A GOOD MAN’S GREAT MISTAKE--Page Four ATLANTA, GA., OCTOBER 31, 1912 the city will be seriously hampered by night, if not stopped entirely. It is something fierce to one not accustomed to it; it just makes one solemn enough to write home. But there is something really inspiring, though it may be hard to believe it, about one of these fogs—the peculiar noise that you hear! It is of a rumbling, muttering character, like the distant roar of artillery. That, if nothing else, is interesting. But I am not going to write about fogs. Another thing that makes me feel like writ ing home is the fact that yesterday, Leonard, who is all that we have in the way of blood ties in this part of the moral vineyard, left for Oxford University, where he sets in for the DR. LEN G. BROUGHTON. --4 completion of his education, and equipping himself for his career as a physician. His mother, and Miss Long, of Alabama, who is a part of our household, accompanied him. They will remain in Oxford near by him until he finds his feet, which will take only a few days. So I am here, all by my lonesome. Leonard enjoys a very unique experience, in that he en ters the University with the Prince of Wales. The young prince, who is heralded as the fu ture King of England, is said to be a fine young fellow, and is going up to Oxford for special izing in literature and history. “Len, Jr.,” in an Oxford Gown. It is hard to realize that our boy is now wearing his Oxford gown and cap. It seems only yesterday that he was a little tot in kilt skirts, with long beautiful golden curls, dang ling down his back, holding my hand as we stepped off the train at the old ear shed in At lanta, to begin our life in that city. How rapidly time has gone, and how busy the days have been; many of them days of greatest de light. As 1 reflect upon them they grow in delightfulness. Never again do 1 expect to have any experiences more pleasant than many of those days that have now gone to make up the record of the past. But not all of them have been of that char acter. There have been days of sorrow and trial, days of great struggle and anxiety. Still, as I think over them all, good and bad, the good outweighs the bad. But I must not write on this line, however; certainly, not until this fog lifts! I cannot keep my mind off of this fog, it looks like I will have to talk about it in spite of myself. It is getting thicker now. Broughton Rejoices Over Seeing American Missionaries. What I want to tell you about in particular is a most unique meeting which was held at Christ Church last Monday night. Sunday was the opening of our fall work at the Church. For two months I had been away, and so had everyone else excepting the workmen. They had been there; a regular army of them, re modelling the Church proper, and almost building anew the school premises and insti tute adjoining it. The Church was ready last Sunday, though the other premises will not be ready until about the Ist of December. A prettier Church auditorium this world does not contain, than this is now. But it is not that lam interested in most. The fact is, lam earing less about such things as I grow older. What I am interested in is the work, the living Church. With the opening of our fall work, we began on Monday night a meeting which will be held every Monday night, to be known as a “Missionary Rendezvous,” a purely Mis sionary Meeting for all kinds of mission work —a meeting for prayer, praise and mis sionary testimony. Dr. Campbell Morgan and his Church have joined in with us in holding the meeting. He will share with me in presiding over it. Let ters have been written to every missionary board and society in the world that we can learn about, and missionaries are invited, when in London, to attend it. Last Monday night, when I invited all missionaries on the pkit (Continued on Page 5.) ONE DOLLAR AND FIFTY CENTS A YEAR :: FIVE CENTS A COPY