At the orient end of the aisle, before the enlargement of 1853, rose the great mahogany pulpit, which swelled out in its capacious center and then rounded out with a still more generous curve at either end, from which rose two short pillars, as imposing to my youthful mind as those of Hercules. I remember how much I wondered, my infantile intellect being confused, when my father pointed out the "pillars" on the Spanish silver dollars, that two things so different, coin marks and pulpit ornaments should be called by the same name. On the top of these pillars at first was a globe lamp filled with oil, though in the march of progress, wick and chimney gave way to gas burners. Even to this day, my mental associations of the "lamps", in the parable of the ten virgins, are those of my boyhood's days in Chambers Church. Great crimson velvet curtains hung from near the ceilings, and shining brass bands on the carpet of the pulpit stairs are also in my recollection. My next impression of the dear old house of worship was in 1853, when not quite ten years old, and living on Girard avenue, in the northern part of the city, I was taken "down town" to the sacred edifice when it was undergoing a process of enlargement and change. The fashions of 1831 were to give way to those of 1853. There was another great curtain, this time not of velvet, but, if I remember right, of coarse canvas, which separated from, but also allowed a partial view into a space in which masons, plasterers and carpenters were at that time more familiar than were sitters and worshippers. In the twenty-one years of its history, the large building erected in 1831 had become too strait. By resolution of the annual meeting in April, 1853, the old pulpit had been taken away, the eastern wall knocked out, and the whole edifice changed in appearance by making an oriental extension of fifteen feet, while in front, on Broad street, the portico, with its imposing platforms, pillars and pediment were added. During the interim, when homeless, the congregation worshipped in Concert Hall, on Chestnut street. When I saw again the old church home, simplicity had given away to luxury. It was like the exchange from Ben Franklin's two-penny earthen porringer and pewter spoon for china and silver. The enlargement at both ends gave fifty-four additional pews in the audience chamber and more abundant space in the new Sunday School room, which, though a basement, was well lighted through plenty of windows on three sides. There was also a large "infant school" room, or primary department, over which my mother presided for several years, besides the large committee room, afterwards used for meetings of the Session, and also as a Bible class conducted during many years by Mr. Rudolph S. Walton. These rooms fronted on Sansom Street. On the north side, lighted from the alley, _straatje_, or little street, as the Dutch would say, were the library rooms.