l, but he
could not find one. One day he was walking down the streets and met a
man whom he thought would do. He told the poor beggar he would pay him
well if he came to his room and sat for the portrait. The beggar agreed,
and the day was appointed for him to come. The day came, and a man put
in his appearance at the artist's room. "You made an appointment with
me," he said, when he was shown into the studio. The artist looked at
him, "I never saw you before," he said; "you cannot have an appointment
with me." "Yes," he said, "I agreed to meet you to-day at ten o'clock."
"You must be mistaken; it must have been some other artist; I was to see
a beggar here at this hour." "Well," says the beggar, "I am he." "You?"
"Yes." "Why, what have you been doing?" "Well, I thought I would dress
myself up a bit before I got painted." "Then," said the artist, "I do
not want you; I wanted you as you were; now, you are no use to me." That
is the way Christ wants every poor sinner, just as he is. It is only the
ragged sinners that open God's wardrobe. I remember a boy to whom I gave
a pair of boots, and I found him shortly after in his bare feet again. I
asked him what he had done with them, and he replied that when he was
dressed up it spoiled his business; when he was dressed up no one would
give anything. By keeping his feet naked he got as many as five pairs of
boots a day. So if you want to come to God don't dress yourself up. It
is the naked sinner God wants to save.

Commercial Traveler.

I remember when preaching in New York City, at the Hippodrome, a man
coming up to me and telling me a story that thrilled my soul. One night,
he said he had been gambling; had gambled all the money away he had.
When he went home to the hotel that night he did not sleep much. The
next morning happened to be Sunday. He got up, felt bad, couldn't eat
anything, didn't touch his breakfast, was miserable, and thought about
putting an end to his existence. That afternoon he took a walk up
Broadway, and when he came to the Hippodrome he saw great crowds going
in and thought of entering too. But a policeman at the door told him he
couldn't come in as it was a woman's meeting. He turned from it and
strolled on; came back to his hotel and had dinner. At night he walked
up the street until he reached the Hippodrome again, and this time he
saw a lot of men going in. When inside he listened to the singing and
heard the text, "Where art thou?" and he tho