On one occasion a party of us suggested that he should let us hold a prayer-meeting in his saloon. After a little reflection, he replied:
'Well, no, gentlemen, I can't go that. You know that every man must have regard to his profession and the opinion of his neighbors. What with my Observer and Independent, and you fellows coming here and singing camp-meeting hymns, I am already looked upon in the neighborhood as being rather loose and unsound; and if, a-top of all that, I should let you hold a prayer-meeting here, I should lose what little character I've left.'
But our friend Arnold, of the Howard Mission, was determined to achieve the prayer-meeting. And during the fourth week in May last, when there were many of his clerical friends in the city, Mr. Arnold thought he'd bring a heavy spiritual cannonade to bear on Allen, and see what would come of it. So, on Monday night, May 25th, after a carefully conducted preliminary season of prayer, an assaulting party was formed, including six clergymen from different parts of the country, to march upon the citadel of the enemy. When we arrived, it was half past twelve; the window-shutters were closed, and we feared we were too late. But a light shone through the window over the door, and on application we were admitted, and received a hearty welcome. Allen was just then undergoing a shampooing process; for the purpose, as he frankly stated, of enabling him to go to bed sober. He added:
'You see, gentlemen, it won't do for a business man to go to bed drunk, nor for a literary man either. So now, you just take my advice, and whenever you find yourself drunk about bedtime, you just take a good shampoo, and you'll find the investment will pay a big dividend in the morning. But walk into the saloon, gentlemen; walk in. The girls are in there taking a rest and a smoke, after the arduous duties of the evening. Walk in.'
We walked in, and found the girls smoking pipes, and sitting and lounging about the room. In a few minutes Allen came in and proposed to have the girls dance for us, but we declined.
'Well then, Arnold, let's have a song,' he exclaimed.
Mr. Arnold, as usual, asked the girls what they would like to hear, and they at once asked for their favorite—'There is Rest for the Weary.'
'Here, mother, give me my fiddle,' said Allen to his wife, 'and bring out the books,' meaning the Little Wanderer's Friend, of which he keeps a supply.
The books were got out by one of the girls, the fiddle was handed him by his wife, and Allen led off on the treble, all hands joining in. There were eleven girls in the room, and they sang in the chorus with unusual fervor, even for them. As soon as this song was finished, a couple of the girls, simultaneously, asked for 'There's a Light in the Window for Thee, Brother,' which was sung with emphasis and feeling.
At the conclusion of the last-mentioned song, Mr. Arnold believed that the appointed hour had come, and, tapping Allen on the shoulder, he said: