The prisoner was reprimanded (which was unnecessary, as he was a new creature in Christ Jesus), but the case against him was dismissed, as it was apparent there was no intent to defraud the Jew. His family nearly smothered him with kisses and embraces, and he walked out a free man.
Skeptics may say this was mere chance. But how did it happen that the man came back on that day, saw that account in the paper, felt compelled to testify? No, God directed the case after it was committed to Him.
CHAPTER VII
Varieties of Work in a Gospel Mission
We are apt to think that all persons who accept the hospitality of the Mission are low-born people; we have not found it so. There have knelt at the altar of the Gospel Mission, priests and preachers, lawyers, doctors, merchants, engineers, college men and poor chaps who have had no education but that of the street.
I remember one night when we were located at 1230 Pennsylvania Avenue, there knelt at the altar three men, one an ex-preacher, one a graduate of the University of Virginia, and one the nephew of an ex-President of the United States. We believed they were all converted. The preacher was in bad physical condition, and we felt it necessary to put him into a Christian institution for such as he for medical treatment. The taste for liquor had gone, but the ulcerated stomach and bowels remained, also his nerves were in a dangerous condition. How we ever obtained money enough to pay that man's bills for six weeks is yet a marvel, but we did it. He came out a redeemed, humble man. He went to the pastor of a large church in Brooklyn, whom he had known at college, and before that large church he acknowledged his sin with shame and deep contrition. The church had grace enough to accept him. The congregation opened a rescue mission, supported entirely by that church, where for five years he has preached the gospel and has saved a hundredfold more souls than the big church which supports the mission.
The Virginian never again crossed our path, but Mr. Buchanan died after three years of a good life, an honored member of an Episcopal church in Washington.
Men who have been dissipated, even when redeemed and reformed do not, as a usual thing, live to old age. The wages of sin is death to the body, though the soul may enter upon eternal life.
Among the sorrowful who nightly are to be found at the missions of this city either pensioned by their family or the government, but not permitted to return to their homes, is one man who was once one of the best mail agents between Washington and New York City. Another, the son of an ex-cabinet officer. Another has been Chief Mathematician in a government bureau, besides about twenty wrecks of various government departments.
I remember the case of a well-known man in Philadelphia. He was converted one extremely cold night at the Breakfast Association. No provision is made there for beds, so that poor fellow started “to carry the banner”—that is to walk the streets all night. About three o'clock in the morning he was taken with a congestive chill. A kind policeman, seeing the man was ill and not drunk, sent him at once to that blessed little Presbyterian hospital in West Philadelphia.
It happened that one of the Board of Directors of the Breakfast Association, Mr. Tibbals, had given the poor fellow his card. The authorities, finding the card, sent for Mr. Tibbals. The sick man had revived enough when Mr. Tibbals arrived, to give his true name and the address of his parents, which was a number on Fifth Avenue, New York City. That street was then a residence street for very wealthy people. Just as soon as it could be done, a telegram for $100 was received in reply and we were directed to do all we could for him. But the man died before night, and Mr. Tibbals was asked to take the body to New York. The coffin was carried into one of the handsomest brown-stone residences on that handsome avenue.