ch like that most
needed was a strong, powerful church to put its arms around it and
give it support. I interviewed Dr. Parkhurst, as I was Chairman of a
Committee of the City Vigilance League which he organized. The result
was that Dr. Parkhurst's church gave it for a year support and
absolute independence of action at the same time. Then the Rev. John
Hopkins Dennison, who had been Dr. Parkhurst's assistant, superseded
me in the care of the church, and was able to bring to its support
help that I could not have touched. Mr. Dennison's service to that
church is worthy of a better record than it has yet received. He
performed brilliant service, intensified the life of the church and
gathered around it a band of noble people. He transformed the tower of
the church into a kind of modern monastery in which he lived himself,
and in which Dowling, the old Irish tinker, had a place also, and
which he made a centre of ten years' missionary work chiefly among the
lodging houses where I found him.

One day Dowling was walking along the Bowery when a hand was laid
roughly on his shoulder and a voice said:

"Ain't you Dowling?"

"Yes."

"What did you do with the loot?"

In the Sepoy Rebellion in India, he had looted the palace of a Rajah
with two other soldiers. The most valuable items of the booty were
several bamboo canes stuffed with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. In
the act of burying them for protection and hiding, one of the soldiers
was shot dead; the other two escaped and separated, and all these
years each of them had lived in the suspicion that the other had gone
back for the loot, and they both discovered on the Bowery that
neither of them had and that this valuable stuff was buried in far-off
India. Dowling wrote to the Governor-General and told of his part in
the affair and volunteered to come out and locate it. But by this time
his body was wasted, his steps were tottering and his head bent.
Five-hundred dollars were appropriated by the Indian Government to
take him out; but Dowling was destined for another journey; and, in
the old tower that he loved so well and where he was beloved by every
one who knew him, he lay down and died. They buried him in Plainfield,
N.J., and his friends put over him a stone bearing these words that
were so characteristic of his life:

"HE WENT ABOUT DOING GOOD"

My next service was in a city of a second class beyond the Mississippi
River. I had been invited as a pulpit supp