e a dispatch in his own
name, asking the boy to come home. As soon as he got the invitation from
his father he started off to see his dying mother. When he opened the
door to go in he found his mother dying, and his father by the bedside.
The father heard the door open, and saw the boy, but instead of going to
meet him, he went to another part of the room, and refused to speak to
him. His mother seized his hand--how she had longed to press it! She
kissed him, and then said, "Now, my son, just speak to your father. You
speak first, and it will all be over." But the boy said, "No, mother, I
will not speak to him until he speaks to me." She took her husband's
hand in one hand and the boy's in the other, and spent her dying moments
in trying to bring about a reconciliation. Then just as she was
expiring--she could not speak--so she put the hand of the wayward boy
into the hand of the father, and passed away! The boy looked at the
mother, and the father at the wife, and at last the father's heart
broke, and he opened his arms, and took that boy to his bosom, and by
that body they were reconciled. Sinner, that is only a faint type, a
poor illustration, because God is not angry with you.

I bring you to-night to the dead body of Christ. I ask you to look at
the wounds in his hands and feet, and the wound in his side. And I ask
you, "Will you not be reconciled?"

Moody and his Little Willie.

I said to my little family, one morning, a few weeks before the Chicago
fire, "I am coming home this afternoon to give you a ride." My little
boy clapped his hands. "Oh, papa, will you take me to see the bears in
Lincoln Park?" "Yes." You know boys are very fond of seeing bears. I had
not been gone long when my little boy said, "Mamma, I wish you would get
me ready." "Oh," she said, "it will be a long time before papa comes."
"But I want to get ready, mamma." At last he was ready to have the ride,
face washed, and clothes all nice and clean. "Now, you must take good
care and not get yourself dirty again," said mamma. Oh, of course he was
going to take care; he wasn't going to get dirty. So off he ran to watch
for me. However, it was a long time yet until the afternoon, and after a
little he began to play. When I got home, I found him outside, with his
face all covered with dirt. "I can't take you to the Park that way,
Willie." "Why, papa? you said you would take me." "Ah, but I can't;
you're all over mud. I couldn't be seen with such