The work went on.  In May, 1894, a great congregation thronged The Temple to attend the dedication services of “Temple College,” for it was in its new home; a handsome building, presenting with The Temple a beautiful stone front of two hundred feet on the broad avenue which it faces.  Robert E. Pattison, governor of Pennsylvania, presided, saying, in his introductory remarks, “Around this noble city many institutions have arisen in the cause of education, but I doubt whether any of them will possess a greater influence for good than Temple College.”  Bishop Foss, of the Methodist Episcopal Church, offered prayer.  The orator was Honorable Charles Emory Smith, of Philadelphia, ex-minister to Russia.  Mr. James Johnson, the builder, gave the keys to the architect, Mr. Thomas P. Lonsdale, who delivered them to the pastor of Grace Church and president of Temple College, remarking that “it was well these keys should be in the hands of those who already held the keys to the inner temple of knowledge.”

President Conwell, receiving the keys, said that, “by united effort, penny by penny, and dollar by dollar, every note had been paid, every financial obligation promptly met.  It is a demonstration of what people can do when thoroughly in earnest in a great enterprise.”

Academies were also started in distant parts of the city for the benefit of those who could not reach the college in time for classes.  Unfortunately these academies were compelled to close on account of lack of funds.  Many pitiful letters were received at the college from those who were thus shut out of educational advantages.  One in particular, poorly spelled but breathing its bitter disappointment, said that the writer (a woman) was just beginning to hope she would get her head above water some day.  But that now she must sink again.  A little light had begun to glimmer for her through the blackness, but that light had been taken away.  She was going down again into the depth of hopeless ignorance with no one to lend a helping hand—­the tragedy of which Carlyle wrote when he penned “That there should be one man die ignorant who is capable of knowledge, this I call a tragedy.”

The College at first was entirely free, but as the attendance increased, it was found necessary to charge a nominal tuition fee in order to keep out those who had no serious desire to study, but came irregularly “just for the fun of the thing.”  When it was decided to charge five dollars a year for the privilege of attending the evening classes, the announcement was received with the unanimous approbation of the students who honestly wished to study, and who more than any others were hindered by the aimless element.

Not only did the poor and those who were employed during the day come, but before long the sons and daughters of the well-to-do were knocking at the doors, not for admission to the evening classes but for day study.  So the day department was opened.  Not only has it proved most successful in its work, but it has helped the College to meet expenses.