trying to persuade one
of our members to join his church. It was the most brazen thing I had
ever known. He felt that our dissolution was a matter of time, and he
wanted his share of the wreckage. He went after the only person in our
church who had an income that more than supplied personal needs.
Afterward, this same minister entered into a deal with the trustees of
the hall we used, by which the hall and the Sunday School were handed
over to him. Of course, we made no fight over the thing--we just let
him take them. This is called "bringing in the Kingdom of God."

We were not free from dissension within our own ranks, either. Mr.
Bryan came to lecture for us in the largest theatre in town. Admission
was to be by ticket, on Sunday afternoon. The committee of our church
that took charge of the tickets began to distribute seats--the best
seats and boxes--to their personal friends. Thousands were clamouring
for tickets. It was an opportunity to give the city a big, helpful
meeting, and to do it democratically and well. But the committee would
brook no interference.

I announced in the papers that all tickets were general admissions,
and "first come, first served" would be our principle. Sunday morning,
when I was half-way through my discourse, one of the committee handed
me a note. I did not open it until I finished. It was a threat that if
I did not call off the democratic order, the committee would leave the
church. The meeting was a great success, and the committee made good
its threat. What the writer of the following letter expected of me I
have no idea, nor did his letter enlighten me:

"DEAR SER:

"Wen I gave my name for a church member it was fer a peeples
church, not a fol-de-rol solo and labour union church.

"Drop my name."

We had at our opening a solo by the finest singer in the city, and I
had thanked the labour unions for their help. His name was dropped.

An educated woman thought she saw in our simple creed an open door she
had been seeking for years. She joined us with enthusiasm. One day I
was calling on her, and as I sat by the door I saw a dark figure pass
with a sack of coal on his back. The figure looked familiar.

"Pardon me," I said, as I stepped out to make sure.

"Hello, Fritz!" I called. The coal heaver had only trousers and an
undershirt on, and looked as black as a Negro. Sweat poured over his
coal-blackened face. We gripped hands. The lady watched us with
interest.

"Do