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barn; but that farm was now being cut up into building lots, and criss-crossed by city streets.

The church I attended was on Mulberry Street, not far below my house. And now I set in to go to meeting every Sunday; I was also present on prayer- and class-meeting, nights. I never lost my religion after this. You won't read in these papers of any more backslidings by Dan Drew. It took a good deal of the grace of God to reach me. But when finally he got me landed safe and sound within the fold, he held on to me. I have never slid back from that time to this. Of course, I have had my cold seasons. Every person has those. You can't live on a mountain all the time. Now and then I have found myself in the valley. But I have never failed to get back to the mountain-top experi

ences.

We used to have glorious times in that old Mulberry Street Church. From the Bowery village by Peter Cooper's grocery store, where he was superintendent of the Sunday-school, the church moved first down to the north side of Seventh Street. But the revivals there were so powerful, the neighbours began to object. Some good saint would get the power and would be well-nigh out of his senses. Suddenly he would come to, and with mighty "hallelujahs" would tell of the things he had seen. I don't see why people should object to shouting Christians. I'm not a shouter myself.

But in a love feast I can get good and happy along with the rest. And I like it. If the saints on earth haven't any right to be happy, I should like to know who have. Come, let our joys be known, say I. We are travelling through Immanuel's ground, to fairer worlds on high. Let those refuse to sing who never knew our Lord. The soul that knows its sins forgiven by the atoning Blood applied, and has had vouchsafed unto it the sprinkled conscience and the inward witness, let that man raise his Ebenezer, say I, and shout his joys abroad.

Well, as I started to say, some of the neighbours didn't just take to the revivals that used to be held in the old Seventh Street Church; and in those days the preacher would get up a revival every winter. I must confess that some of the meetings did last pretty late into the night. But so much the better. When a sinner has sung:

"Show pity, Lord, oh,

Lord, forgive; let a repenting rebel live!" and sung it over and over until his knees are well-nigh cramped beneath him, and then when he is ready to despair, for seeing himself slipping down the hill into the Devil's lap, if the burden all to once rolls off from him and he gets through and comes out onto the Hallelujah side, that man isn't going to let that meeting come to an end very soon. He is going to relate his experiences. He is going to tell what the Lord has done for him, and keep on telling. And he is going to wrestle with other sinners at

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the mercy seat until he gets them through also. And if it's twelve o'clock midnight before the meeting is over, he isn't going to care.

But the neighbours did. They said the church was a bad thing for property values. So they raised some money and bought two lots near Third Avenue. These they gave to the trustees of the church on condition that they move the meeting-house over there. The trustees consented and the building . was put up. One day Zekiel Moore, a merchant and member of the Seventh Street Church, saw a vacant plot on Mulberry Street near Bleecker, and got the idea of building a church there. So Jake Bunting called a meeting at his house on Crosby Street, and the thing was started. There were great doings when our new meeting-house was finally dedicated. Dr. Bangs preached the sermon that afternoon. How some things stand out in a person's memory! It was from Luke I, 79. The sermon was meant mostly for us who were saved. This was as it should be. A dedication sermon is to the saints rather than to the sinners.

The preacher described the darkness out of which we had been delivered. I could almost feel the heat of the flames as he pictured the thing, and showed how we had been snatched as a brand from the burning. Although I had been in the backsliding class often and long, I was no longer in that state of alienation nor appointed unto wrath. My

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delight was now in witnessing and testimonies. I could with joy gaze into the lower depths, which once used to send shivers and goose-flesh all over me.

"Waken and mourn, ye heirs of hell,

Let stubborn sinners fear;

You must be driven from earth, to dwell
A long forever there.

See how the pit gapes wide for you,

And flashes in your face.

And thou, my soul, look downwards too,

And sing recovering grace!"

There was a time when that sort of thing would have made me hang onto the seat in front to keep from slipping down into the pit. But now my feet had been placed upon the rock. I was no longer building on the sands, but on solid foundations. Hay and wheat and stubble — the fire will consume But the rock stands, when the nearer waters

these. roll.

These thoughts may seem poky and dull to some. That is because they have never experienced religion. It was in this Mulberry Street Church and in the big marble church on Fourth Avenue, which a little later I was instrumental in building, that I spent a good share of my time out of business hours. When a man goes to prayer meeting and class meeting two nights of the week, and to church twice on Sun

day, and' on week-days works at his office from morning till night, his life is made up of about two things work and worship.

In order to know what a man really is, you've got to see him now and then away from his office. Business isn't the whole of life. Business shows one side of a man. His church and home life show the other side. That is where a good many of the revilings against me have come from. They have come from people who have seen me only at business. Everybody knows that business is one thing, and a man's church and home life another thing. I have had to sharpen my wits -count the pennies closein order to make money. But there has been something to Dan Drew besides just getting rich, and I want people to know what this other something is. Unless a business man is also a converted man, with the witness of the spirit within him, he is like a hog under an apple tree - so busy crunching the fruit that he doesn't have time to look up to where the fruit comes from. It isn't fair to judge a man by his down-town life alone. Business, anyhow, slobbers a fellow up. It's like teaching a calf to drink out of a pail - you're sure to get splashed and dirty. Business is a scramble for the cash. Nobody looks for manners around the meal tub.

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