he years since my
conversion I had always kept in touch with Dr. A. F. Schauffler,
Superintendent of the City Mission and Tract Society, visiting him at
his office once in a while, and he was always glad to see me. He would
ask me about my work and we would have a little talk together.

LODGING-HOUSE MISSIONARY

One day I said, "Dr. Schauffler, do you know I'm a protege of the New
York City Mission?" He said, "I know it, and we have kept our eyes on
you for the last ten years, and have decided to make you Lodging-House
Missionary to the Bowery, if you accept."

Praise God! Wasn't it wonderful, after thirteen years of God's grace in
my life, to get such an appointment! Lodging-House Missionary--I
couldn't understand it! It struck me as being queer in this way; the man
who under God was the means of my salvation, who was a missionary when I
was converted, had resigned a few years after to become a minister, and
now here was Ranney, the ex-crook and drunk, being asked to take the
same position!

We don't understand God's ways and purposes; they are too wonderful for
us; but here I am on the Bowery, my old stamping-ground, telling the
story of Jesus and His love. And I don't believe there's a man in this
big world that has a greater story to tell of God's love and mercies
than I have. I'm writing this seventeen years after being saved, and
I'll still say it's a grand thing to be a Christian. I would not go
back to the old life for anything in the world.

Part of my work has been in Mariners' Temple, corner of Oliver and Henry
Streets, Chatham Square, New York City, right on the spot where I did
everything on the calendar but murder. There I could see the men every
night, for we had a meeting all the year round, and every day from 1 to
2 P. M. We invited all those who were in trouble to come, and if we
could help them we gladly did so. If they wanted to go to the hospital
we placed them there and would do whatever we could for them, always
telling them of Jesus the Mighty to save.

FROM NOTHING TO $5000 A YEAR

I remember and love a man who was my partner in the Tuesday night
meetings in the Mariners' Temple, when we fed the poor fellows during
the winter--a fine Christian gentleman. You would never think to look
at him he was once such a drunkard! He told me his story. He had spent
months hanging out in the back room of a saloon on Park Row, only going
out once in a while to beg a little food. He had sold everyt