To this hour the prosaic old capital of New Jersey has a halo of poetry floating over it, and I never go through it without waving a benediction from the passing train.
The next stage of my life's work was a seven years' pastorate of Market Street Church in the city of New York.

To those seven years of hard and happy labor I look back with joy.

The congregation swarmed with young men, many of whom have risen to prominence in the commercial and religious life of the great metropolis.

The name of Market Street is graven indelibly on my heart.

I rejoice that the quaint old edifice still stands and welcomes every Sabbath a congregation of landsmen and of sailors.