With the natural reaction from despair to hope many of us imagined
ourselves converted, prayed and gave our experiences in the meetings,
and at times rejoiced in the thought that we were Christians--chosen
children of God--rather than sinners and outcasts.

But Dr. Finney's terrible anathemas on the depravity and deceitfulness
of the human heart soon shortened our newborn hopes. His appearance in
the pulpit on these memorable occasions is indelibly impressed on my
mind. I can see him now, his great eyes rolling around the congregation
and his arms flying about in the air like those of a windmill. One
evening he described hell and the devil and the long procession of
sinners being swept down the rapids, about to make the awful plunge
into the burning depths of liquid fire below, and the rejoicing hosts in
the inferno coming up to meet them with the shouts of the devils echoing
through the vaulted arches. He suddenly halted, and, pointing his index
finger at the supposed procession, he exclaimed:

"There, do you not see them!"

I was wrought up to such a pitch that I actually jumped up and gazed in
the direction to which he pointed, while the picture glowed before my
eyes and remained with me for months afterward. I cannot forbear saying
that, although high respect is due to the intellectual, moral, and
spiritual gifts of the venerable ex-president of Oberlin College, such
preaching worked incalculable harm to the very souls he sought to save.
Fear of the judgment seized my soul. Visions of the lost haunted my
dreams. Mental anguish prostrated my health. Dethronement of my reason
was apprehended by friends. But he was sincere, so peace to his ashes!
Returning home, I often at night roused my father from his slumbers to
pray for me, lest I should be cast into the bottomless pit before