It seemed a lost battle. At last a sudden flash of thought seemed to
strike the speaker, irradiating his face and lifting his form as he gave
it utterance, with a characteristic throwing back of his shoulders and
upward sweep of his arms. Those present will never forget what followed.
The afflatus of the true orator had at last fallen upon him; the mighty
ship was launched, and swept out to sea under full canvas. Old Kentucky
was on her feet that night in San Jose. It was indescribable. Flashes of
spiritual illumination, explosive bursts of eloquent declamation,
sparkles of chastened wit, appeals of overwhelming intensity, followed
like the thunder and lightning of a Southern storm. The church seemed
literally to rock. "Amens" burst from the electrified Methodists of all
sorts; these were followed by "hallelujahs" on all sides; and when the
sermon ended with a rapturous flight of imagination, half the
congregation were on their feet, shaking hands, embracing one another,
and shouting. In the tremendous religious impression made, criticism was
not thought of. Even the betting Kentuckian showed by his heaving breast
and tearful eyes how far he was borne out of the ordinary channels of
his thought and feeling.
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