The testimonies roll in as the meeting progresses, strange and startling many of them, some so quaintly worded that they would provoke a smile in a more “respectable” prayer-meeting, but all given with an earnestness and pathos that is wonderful. Sometimes a drunken man will endeavor to interrupt the meeting. One night a man of this kind staggered to his feet, and hiccoughed, “Jesus saves me, too.”
“That ain’t so,” replied Harry, emphatically; “Jesus don’t save any man that is full of rum.” And down sits the man, utterly abashed by the quick retort.
Harry acts as his own policeman, and meets all attempts at disturbances on the ground. The offenders are seized in his powerful grasp, and led to the door, and put into the street, first being entreated to be quiet and lead better lives.
As the testimonies are given the audience is deeply moved. Yonder is a street-walker, kneeling on the floor, with her face hidden in her hands, sobbing bitterly. Mrs. Clarke, or one of the co-workers goes down to the poor outcast, and whispers to her despairing soul the only words of hope she ever heard. Others give evidence of their desire to be saved, and the meeting devotes itself to prayer for them. Mrs. Clarke’s keen eye sweeps the room, and at once detects the hesitating. In an instant she is at their side, devoting her mild, but powerful eloquence to urging them to take the decisive step then and there.
There is something wonderful in her mild grasp of the hand, and in her earnest tones, “Come, let the Good Lord save you. He has saved others, and I know there is a chance for you.”
“And He took him by the right hand and lifted him up.” Lifted him up! my brother!
Churches
Among the great institutions of Chicago is the church. No greater force for righteousness exists anywhere. The great, stately edifices are scattered over the entire city; from the business center back to the grand trees of the suburbs. Their tall spires point solemnly heavenward, as if to lift the soul above the vulgar worship of mammon, and at intervals the sweet tones of chimes come floating down into the streets, telling that wealth is not all, folly is not all, business is not all! but that there is something purer, nobler, waiting high above the golden cross which the sunlight bathes so lovingly.