As for the other men's reformation, that is as absolutely a piece of humbuggery as Allen's. Tommy Hadden is playing the pious with the hope of being secured from trial before the Court of General Sessions for having recently 'shanghaed' a Brooklynite, and also in consideration of a handsome moneyed arrangement with his employers—similar to that with Allen. 'Kit' Burn's rat-pit will also be opened for religious services on Monday next; but the public need not be deceived in the matter of his reformation. His motive, like that of the others, is to make money, and, be it known, that he is to receive at the rate of one hundred and fifty dollars per month, for the use of his pit an hour every day. Slocum desired prayers at the Howard Mission, on Sunday last, but it is understood that he is not to be lionized, because the missionaries are not willing to pay him a high enough rental for his hall. As for the general movement carried on in Water street, under the false pretence that these men have voluntarily, and from purely religious motives, offered their saloons for public worship, and have, themselves, determined to reform, very little more need be said. The daily prayer- meetings are nothing more than assemblages of religious people from among the higher grades of society, in what were once low dance-halls. There is an unusual amount of interest displayed at these meetings, and much good has, doubtless, been accomplished thereby, but it is also a fact, that there are but a few, and sometimes none, of the wretched women, or ruffianly, vicious men, of that neighborhood, present. Those classes are not reached at all, and it is false to say that a revival is going on among them. The character of the audiences and the exercises are similar to that of the noon meeting at the Fulton street Church.

With a view of sounding Allen on various points of public interest, connected with this exciting affair, the writer, on Thursday, paid a visit to the devildom of which Allen is monarch, and there saw and heard some things that are worth the reader's attention. The house, 304 Water street, was easily found. Opening the door that leads from the Street into the apartment that once served as a bar-room, he (the writer) asked if Mr. Allen was at home, and he was informed by a lad to whom the inquiry was addressed, that he was not—he was across the street talking to Slocum, (the proprietor of a neighboring dance-hall,) and if the business upon which the visitor had called was important he would be summoned. Allen was accordingly sent for, and with evident reluctance he accompanied the lad to the room of which we have spoken.

The moment he entered, it was easily seen that he was grossly intoxicated. His step was steady, but the wandering expression of his bloodshot eyes, the silly grin that played about his lips, and the unmistakable rum-odor of his breath, as he approached, made it certain that he was a drunken man. He did not wait for the formalities of an introduction, but at once opened with: 'Well, who are you? What's your name? Where do you live? What's your business—salvation, sinners, eh?'—all at a single breath, and with a rapidity that would defy the pencil of the most skilful stenographer. There was an air of imperiousness, too, in his tone of voice, that seemed to say, 'Come, talk quickly now, and then go about your business; I have no time to waste.' The inquiries, in the main, having been answered, Allen closed the door of the saloon, dragged a small table and two chairs into the middle of the floor, and, having done this, and dismissed the boy and a hideous-looking girl, who was preparing to scrub the apartment, he bade us be seated, and then resumed the conversation, which was carried on in something like the following manner:

'Well, Mr. Allen, what do you desire to say to the public about this reform work?'

'Don't know what to say about it—it's all right, I guess. You can tell 'em that those prayin' "fellers" have broken all my cane chairs, and I've had to get wooden ones—guess they can't break them. Broke my glass there, too, smashed it in, and they smash everything they touch. Somebody stole my coat, too—I'd like to catch him. I don't much like them prayin' folks, anyhow,' he said.

'Why?' was the rejoinder, in evident surprise, 'the public has been led to believe that you were "converted," John, and that you loved Christian people—there will be great surprise when it is made known that such is not the case.'

'Oh!' he returned, interrupting the visitor, 'I'm reformed, and I've made up my mind to serve my great Redeemer as long as he lets me live. I'll never go back on Him, true as you live. I'm just a goin' to let the world know that I'm a second Apostle Paul—there ain't a goin' to be anybody beat me in this line of business, sure's my name is John Allen.'

'What do you mean by "a second Apostle Paul?"' we ventured to ask.

'What do I mean?' was the reply. 'Why, I mean just what I say; I'm goin' to study for a preacher, and I'm goin' to sweep everything in this street. If one church won't have me, another will; and I'll tell these wicked sinners in the world that they'd better look out for themselves, or they'll wake up some fine morning in hell fire.'

'You say that you are going to preach, John. Do you suppose that people will hear you from the pulpit, unless you stop drinking rum?'