their
lives.

It happened that that afternoon a somewhat noted newspaper
correspondent was passing through Raymond on his way to an editorial
convention in a neighboring city. He heard of the contemplated
service at the tent and went down. His description of it was written
in a graphic style that caught the attention of very many readers
the next day. A fragment of his account belongs to this part of the
history of Raymond:

"There was a very unique and unusual funeral service held here this
afternoon at the tent of an evangelist, Rev. John Gray, down in the
slum district known as the Rectangle. The occasion was caused by the
killing of a woman during an election riot last Saturday night. It
seems she had been recently converted during the evangelist's
meetings, and was killed while returning from one of the meetings in
company with other converts and some of her friends. She was a
common street drunkard, and yet the services at the tent were as
impressive as any I ever witnessed in a metropolitan church over the
most distinguished citizen.

"In the first place, a most exquisite anthem was sung by a trained
choir. It struck me, of course--being a stranger in the place--with
considerable astonishment to hear voices like those one naturally
expects to hear only in great churches or concerts, at such a
meeting as this. But the most remarkable part of the music was a
solo sung by a strikingly beautiful young woman, a Miss Winslow who,
if I remember right, is the young singer who was sought for by
Crandall the manager of National Opera, and who for some reason
refused to accept his offer to go on the stage. She had a most
wonderful manner in singing, and everybody was weeping before she
had sung a dozen words. That, of course, is not so strange an effect
to be produced at a funeral service, but the voice itself was one of
thousands. I understand Miss Winslow sings in the First Church of
Raymond and could probably command almost any salary as a public
singer. She will probably be heard from soon. Such a voice could win
its way anywhere.

"The service aside from the singing was peculiar. The evangelist, a
man of apparently very simple, unassuming style, spoke a few words,
and he was followed by a fine-looking man, the Rev. Henry Maxwell,
pastor of the First Church of Raymond. Mr. Maxwell spoke of the fact
that the dead woman had been fully prepared to go, but he spoke in a
peculiarly sensitive manner of the effect of t