pression. I
almost memorized the Scripture reading and prepared my favourite
sermon; my personal appearance never had been so well attended to. The
hour arrived. The little souls sat back in their seats to take my
measure.
It was their innings. I had been duly looked up in the year-book and
my calibre gauged by the amount of money paid me in previous
pastorates.
The "service" began. My address to the Almighty was prepared and part
of the game is to make believe that it is purely extemporaneous. Every
move, intonation and gesture is noted and has its bearing on the final
result. I was saying to the ecclesiastical jury: "Look here, you
dumb-heads, wake up; I'm the thing you need here!" Sermon time came
and with it a wave of disgust that swept over my soul.
"Good friends," I began; "I am not a candidate for the pastorate here.
I was a few minutes ago; but not now. Instead of doing the work of an
infinite God and letting Him take care of the result I have been
trying to please _you_. If the Almighty will forgive me for such
unfaith--such meanness--I swear that I will never do it again."
Then I preached. This brutal plainness created a sensation and several
tried to dissuade me, but I had made up my mind.
It was while I was enjoying the "blessings" of poverty in Springfield
that I was called to New Haven to confer with the directors of the
Young Men's Christian Association about their department of religious
work. I had been in New Haven before. In 1892 I addressed the students
of Yale University on the subject of city mission work and, as a
result of that address, had been invited to make some investigations
and outline a plan for city mission work for the students. I spent ten
days in the slum region there, making a report and recommendations. On
these the students began the work anew. I was asked at that time to
attach myself to the university as leader and instructor in city
missions, but work in New York seemed more important to me.
I rode my bicycle from Springfield to New Haven for that interview.
When it was over I found myself on the street with a wheel and sixty
cents. I bought a "hot dog"--a sausage in a bread roll--ate it on the
street and then looked around for a lodging.
"Is it possible," I asked a policeman, "to get a clean bed for a night
in this town for fifty cents?"
"Anything's possible," he answered, "but----"
He directed me to the Gem Hotel, where I was shown to a 12 x 6 box,
the wal
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