Notwithstanding all this, there was every inducement for real inspiration. The architectural beauty of the interior of the church was artistic to the nature, and soft and alluring to the eye. The place was decorated with beautiful pots, plants and flowers. Through the stained windows a mellow light gilded rich carpets and soft cushions. The trained choir sang divinely while the organist thundered forth not only the wrath of the Deity, but promised mercy, like the whisper of an angel, through the organ’s pipes. As the notes of the grand instrument died away in the distance, softly, like a summer sigh, a man of noble face and figure stood in the pulpit. It was the preacher! He was young. His eyes were boldly black and brilliant. They sparkled like pure diamonds with feeling, comprehension and intelligence. His head had the shape of a Roman God. His shoulders were square. He looked the very physical and intellectual giant that he was. His voice was flavored with magnetism that always distinguishes the eloquent orator from the mere word absorber. He ran his long, shapely fingers through his dark hair, shook his head like a lion, and plunged like a blooded courser into the very meat and marrow of his subject. “Christ was insulted on Sunday last. This church was empty at service time, and all had forsaken Him to pay tribute to a woman’s vindictively immoral work. You who have built this religious palace to the glory of a mighty and eternal God, betrayed Him for the devil. For hark me, I tell you, that he who so prostitutes true art, be it man or woman, pandering to the depraved tastes of modern society, is but an agent of the King of Hell! “‘A Grecian Temptress’ was, or is, its theme. A woman of form almost divine, enticing a youth of purity to voluptuous sin, while in the veiled background stands a Satan, holding sway over the temptress, while she is but serving her Master in alluring souls to the regions of perpetual darkness. “All true art leads to God. The tree, the earth, the sparrow, the eagle, the wheat, the stars, the beasts, man, are parts of a great and mighty network of machinery. All false art leads to God’s enemy, and sin, selfishness, voluptuousness, temptation and passion, carry with them and in them the seed of their own punishment. How dare these bold and brazen creatures, under the name of art, lay before the multitude chapters from their own devilish and inconsistent lives? _Yet the sin is not theirs alone._ You who hear me are equally guilty, because you encourage them by your countenance and patronage to continue in their base course of debauching the public taste. We seek in vain for purity and find it swiftly fleeing, while in its place there is rising up a craving for sensationalism which is even reaching the pulpit itself!