eedn't go."

However, Mr. Dawson obtained the address, and went away to the West End
of London; ascended the steps of a beautiful villa, and rang the bell. A
servant in livery came to the door and conducted him to the
drawing-room. There was everything in that house for comfort and luxury
that money could purchase. He could not help contrasting the scene of
poverty in that garret with the scene of luxuriant elegance everywhere
around him. Presently a proud, haughty-looking merchant came in, and as
he stepped forward to shake hands with Mr. Dawson that gentleman said:
"I believe you have a son named Joseph?" and the merchant threw back his
hand and drew himself up. "If you come to speak of him--that
reprobate--I want you to go away. I have no son of that name. I disown
him. If he has been talking to you he has been only deceiving you."
"Well," replied Mr. Dawson, "he is your boy now, but he won't be long."
The father stood for a minute looking at the Christian, and then asked:
"Is Joseph sick?" "Yes," was the reply, "he is at the point of death. I
only came to ask your forgiveness for him, that he may die in peace. I
don't ask any favor; when he dies we will bury him."

The father put his hands to his face and great tears rolled down his
cheeks, as he said, "Can you take me to him?" In a very short time he
was in that narrow street where his son was dying, and as he mounted the
filthy stairs it hardly seemed possible that the boy could be in such a
place. When he entered the garret he could hardly recognize his son, and
when he bent over him the boy opened his eyes and said: "O, father, can
you--will you forgive me?" and the father answered: "O Joseph, I would
have forgiven you long ago if you had wanted me to." That haughty man
laid his boy's head on his bosom and the son told him what Christ had
done for him; how He had forgiven his sins, brought peace to his soul;
how that Son of God had found him in that poor garret, and had done all
for him. The father wanted the servant to take him home. "No, father,"
said the boy, "I have but a short time to live, and I would rather die
here." He lingered a few hours, and passed from that garret in the East
End to the everlasting hills.

Moody in a Billiard Hall.--A Remarkable Story.

In a meeting recently a man got up. I didn't know him at first. When I
was here he was a rumseller, and broke up his business and went to the
mountains. This is how it happened. When I was here