He told me where he was working and where he lived--wrote it down for me. He was bent on going, so I said I would go up to the corner with him. He wanted one more drink--the Devil's temptation!--but at last I coaxed him to the Elevated Station at Houston Street. He said, "I wish you could see my home and family. Will you come up with me?" It was 10 P. M. and going would mean home for me about the early hours. But I went up to the Bronx, got to his home, saw him in, was bidding him good-night; nothing would do but I should come in. He had a nice little flat of five rooms. I was introduced to his wife, who was a perfect lady. He wanted to send out for beer. I objected, and his wife said, "George, don't drink any more! I think you have had enough." Now was the time for me to get in a little of God's work, so I told him my life, and what drink did for me, and I had an attentive audience. When I finished, his wife said, "I wish my husband would take your Jesus, Mr. Ranney. I'm a Christian, but, oh, I'd give anything if George would take Christ and give up his drinking!" He made all kinds of objections and excuses, but we pleaded and prayed. God was working with that man, and at 3 o'clock in the morning we knelt down, the wife, the husband and I, way up in the Bronx, and God did mightily save George. He went to his business on Monday sober. That was three years ago, and he has held out well. He has been advanced twice, with a raise in salary, and comes down to help me in my work on the Bowery. God has blessed him wonderfully, and He will any one who has faith to believe. JIM THE BRICKLAYER Where I meet so many men every day and have so many confessions and try to lend a helping hand in so many places, I do forget some of the men, for it seems as though there was an endless procession of them through the Bowery. But some cases stand out so prominently that I shall never forget them. I remember one man in particular who used to come into the Mission. He was one of the regulars and was nearly always drunk. He used to want us to sing all the time. He was a fine fellow, but down and out, and every cent he could earn went to the saloons. I would talk to him nearly every night and ask him why he did not stop his drinking. He would listen, but the next night he would be drunk just the same. There was good stuff in him, for he was a good bricklayer and could make from $5.00 to $6.00 per day. He told me he was married, and his wife and two children were in Syracuse, living perhaps on charity, while he, instead of making a living for them and giving them a good home, was here on the Bowery drinking himself to death. He would often say, "Danny, if I could only sober up and be a man and go back to my family, I'd give anything. But what's the use of trying? I can't stop, and I wish sometimes that I was dead. And sometimes, Mr. Ranney, I'm tempted to end it all in the river."