“We are still rushing on.  I had five Meetings yesterday, Friday, and an hour’s ride through the most blinding storm I ever encountered.  Two of our cars broke down, gave up, and retreated to the nearest town for the night; another got through in a damaged condition, and three with difficulty arrived at our destination.  However, we who did get in, were rewarded with a big audience and a big reception.  It was very wonderful.  I am now reckoning on the closing Meeting which takes place on Wednesday afternoon.

“Everybody continues to bless me and speak well of me.  Is it not a little surprising, and, viewed from the Master’s Standpoint, a little dangerous?  You must keep on praying that my faith fail not.  Abundance of trying things await me.  I must wait for my rest ‘until the Morning.’  God bless you!”

Well may a man sometimes long for rest who has experiences like the following:—­

“I nearly killed myself on Saturday and Sunday at Birmingham.  For some cause or other both throat and head got wrong, and it was with difficulty I could frame my sentences or pronounce my words, and yet I had to meet the great opportunity that was presented.  I am paying the price to-day in weariness extreme.  There is hardly a bone in my body that does not ache, or a nerve that does not seem overstrung.

“But I shall rally and be myself again; indeed, I must, for things of vast importance have to be attended to before the day is out.  Our exchequer is empty, and I have to prepare for my autumn Campaign in Holland, Germany, Italy, etc.”

     “A mile or two after Penzance, the chauffeur turned to General
     Booth, and ‘Now she’s waking up!’ he said, with a satisfied sigh,
     as the great car began to hurry through the open lanes.

“The General nodded his head meditatively.  ‘Yes,’ he said, in his beard, ’people have to wake up before they begin to move.  England wants waking up; I’m trying to wake her up myself, just a little, and then we shall move.’

     “I asked him what he made of our national apathy.

“He shook his head.  ’I don’t know how it is,” he said, ’but people are somehow afraid to examine themselves, afraid to see facts as facts.  There is a spirit in England which is worse than opposition to religion; it’s a spirit of—­of—­of detachment, of separation, a spirit which says, “I don’t want you, I can do without you; and so long as you leave me alone I shan’t interfere with you.”  It’s a kind of slackness.  They want waking up.  They want rousing.  They want a good shaking.  It seems as if they have fallen into a deep slumber—­opium-eaters!’

     “He is setting out to rouse England once again, make one great
     final effort for the future of humanity.  The future of humanity, he
     believes, can only be secured by ‘conversion.’