my darling child's heart; Lord save
my child.' I was then anxious till the close of the meeting, when I went
to her. She was bathed in tears. She rose, put her arms around me, and
kissed me. When walking down to you she told me it was that same
remark--about the mother looking down from heaven--that found the way
home to her, and asked me, 'Papa, what can I do for Jesus?'"

[Illustration: The Destruction Of Sennacherib's Host. GUSTAVE DORE. II
Kings xix.]

The Rich Man Poor.

I heard of a farmer who, when a friend of mine called upon him to give
something for the Christian Commission, promptly drew a check for ten
thousand dollars. He wanted the agent to have dinner with him, and after
they had dined the farmer took the man out on the verandah and pointed
to the rich lands sweeping far away, laden with rich products. "Look
over these lands," said the farmer, "They are all mine." He took him to
the pasture and showed the agent the choice stock, the fine horses he
had, and then pointed to a little town, and then to a large hall where
he lived; he drew himself up, and his face lit up with pride as he said,
"They are all mine. I came here when a poor boy and I have earned all
that you see." When he got through, my friend asked 'him, "Well, what
have you got up yonder?" "Where?" replied the farmer, who evidently knew
where my friend meant. "What have you got in heaven?" "Well," said the
farmer, "I haven't anything there." "What!" replied my friend, "You, a
man of your discretion, wisdom, business ability, have made no provision
for your future?" He hadn't, and in a few weeks he died--a rich man here
and a beggar in eternity. A man may be wise in the eyes of the world to
pursue this course, but he is a fool in the sight of God. Wealth to most
men proves nothing more or less than a great rock upon which their
eternity is wrecked.

The Dying Boy.

But I have another anecdote to tell. It was Ralph Wallace who told me of
this one. A certain gentleman was a member of the Presbyterian Church.
His little boy was sick. When he went home his wife was weeping, and she
said, "Our boy is dying; he has had a change for the worse. I wish you
would go in and see him." The father went into the room and placed his
hand upon the brow of his dying boy, and could feel that the cold, damp
sweat was gathering there; that the cold, icy hand of death was feeling
for the chords of life. "Do you know, my boy, that you are dying?" ask