o make a long story short, some time after I
happened to be in the County Jail, and I saw him there. "How did you
come here?" I asked; "does your mother know where you are?" "No, don't
tell her; I came in under an assumed name, and I am going to Joliet for
four years. Do not let my mother know of this," he pleaded; "she thinks
I am in the army." I used to call on that mother, but I had promised her
boy I would not tell her, and for four years she mourned over that boy,
She thought he had died on the battlefield or in a Southern hospital.
What a blessing he might have been to that mother, if she had only
helped us to bring him to Christ. But that mother is only a specimen of
hundreds and thousands of parents. If we would have more family altars
in our homes, and train them to follow Christ, the Son of God would lead
them into "green pastures," and instead of having sons who curse the
mothers who gave them birth, they would bless their fathers and mothers.

[Illustration: Prayer of Jesus in the Garden of Olives. GUSTAVE DORE.
Matthew, xxvi, 36-45]

The Faithful London Lady.

When I was in London, there was one lady dressed in black up in the
gallery. All the rest were ministers. I wondered who that lady could be.
At the close of the meeting I stepped up to her, and she asked me if I
did not remember her. I did not, but she told me who she was, and her
story came to my mind. When we were preaching in Dundee, Scotland, a
mother came up with her two sons, 16 and 17 years old. She said to me,
"Will you talk to my boys?" I asked her if she would talk to the
inquirers, as there were more inquirers than workers. She said she was
not a good enough Christian--was not prepared enough. I told her I could
not talk to her then. Next night she came to me and asked me again, and
the following night she repeated her request. Five hundred miles she
journeyed to get God's blessing for her boys, Would to God we had more
mothers like her. She came to London, and the first night I was there I
saw her in the Agricultural Hall. She was accompanied by only one of her
boys--the other had died. Toward the close of the meeting I received
this letter from her:

"DEAR MR. MOODY: For months I have never considered the day's work ended
unless you and your work had been specially prayed for. Now it appears
before us more and more. What in our little measure we have found has no
doubt been the happy experience of many others in London. My husban