The Birmingham age-herald., 1917-04-29

 ing to B. sunday-are forever viewing with alarm the circumstance that he has made money for himself out of his revival campaigns.
 Well, 1 am here to tell these detractors of the man and his methods that, if Sum day made his money by preaching, as 1 shrewdly opine he has, he earned 1t, every cent of it.
 Ordinarily the greater an artist a man Is, in his own particular line, the more easy the job appears to be. Outsiders see him engaged in his avocatlon or be- hold the finished fruits of his laborS and figure it out that the craftsman did not put any real elbow grease and brow sweat into the thing; that he achieved his results by virtue of a certain delft ness, a certain knack, a certain trick of the trade.
 The trouble with these persons Is that they look no deeper than the shellac on the top; they do not sense the main fact, which is that, before the artificer applied the varnish he put in quite a spell or hard licks on those details which do not appear so plainly visible to the naked eye. Or, employing another and & more homely simile, they observe the fresh laid egg and forget that the hen Is en- titled to some prior credit.
 SUNDAY HARD WORKER
 Now Sunday undoubtedly is an artist In his line he is, I think, one of the greatest artists that our native school of exhorters, dating clear back to Whitfield and Pere Marquette, has ever produced, but, unlike most artists, he does not ac- complish his undertakings with the sem blance of physical ease. He pays in the coinage of his own hard wrung perspira- ton for every soul he saves. To attain his effects he first must make himself drunk on the strong liquors of his own earnestness and, when he Is done with the job in hand he comes away, reel1ng and spent
 Purposely picked an afternoon service for the occasion of my latest visit to the Harlem tabernacle. Twice I had heard Sunday preach-yes and seen him preach-when all the conditions were as though they had been made to order for him, as, indeed, in 8 way Of speaking, they had-when the great trained cholr lifted the refrain of each hymn until the sound caused the little hairs to prickle on the back of your neck, when the au- dience filled every inch of planed-pine seating space, when Man-Friday Rode heaver had laid the fire and only the kindling touch of his boss rough-hewn, sulphur tipped, oratory was needed to kindle the emotionallsm of the great mass into flame.
 But I wanted to see him in action when the crowd would be smaller, and, therefore, by all the common rules of crowds, less responsive So, by intent saw him at his ministerial work bench on raw, gusty afternoon of the past week when the singers were absent and wide stretches of emptiness showed at the back and sides of the vast wooden auditorium. It was understood in advance that there would be no trail hitting at this service; or. at least. that the re- yiyalist would make no special ef1oft to draw the penitents to the mourn ers' bench Night time was the time for filling the mercy seats; thls mere ly was to be a routine daylight serv- lee with no unusual inducements In the way of pulpiteering sensational ism to attract the curious.
 After the great crashing swells or harmony which had marked the night meetings I attend, the preliminary singing now seemed as a mere trickle of sound, a vocal spatter which lost it's force and fell back before 1t reached the crossbeams In the roof overhead They were still singing the tag end of the second hymn when MT. Sunday climbed up on the platform and let himself down into his chair. He looked tired: the lines in his Jaw were bone-deep. almost, and his eye lids dropped wearily. Although his critics have claimed he has been watching the collections closely and that he is disappointed because, to date, the free will offerings have aver aged less than nickel head-meas- uring the amount taken in by the numbers in attendance-he did not 1if.' his bowed poll as the ushers began to work the ais1es with their tinware and the clink of small change began to sound against the thin bottoms Of the receptacles.
 CROWD NOT LIBERAL
 Vertically. this was a chicken food crowd and one which wanted good deal in exchange for the price of jitney ride apiece. Down, just below me- where I sat in the front row of the press stand hard by the pulpit, was a middle aged gentleman with the eye of born horse trader and the jaw of lion tanner His mouth looked like a seam in a chunk of granite. He reached down into his nigh flank pocket and hauled out little flat purse with a patent clasp-that kind always carry their silver in purses with patent clasps-and he opened it and, with a long bony finger and