y." "Why," he said, "it would be blasphemy for me to call on God."
"You call on God," I said. He knelt down, and, like the poor publican,
he lifted up his voice and said, "God be merciful to me, a vile wretch!"
I put my hand through the window, and as I shook hands with him a tear
fell on my hand that burned down into my soul. It was a tear of
repentance. He believed he was lost. Then I tried to get him to believe
that Christ had come to save him. I left him still in darkness. "I will
be at the hotel," I said, "between nine and ten o'clock, and I will pray
for you." Next morning, I felt so much interested, that I thought I must
see him before I went back to Chicago. No sooner had my eye lighted on
his face, than I saw that remorse and despair had fled away, and his
countenance was beaming with celestial light; the tears of joy had come
into his eyes, and the tears of despair were gone. The sun of
Righteousness had broken out across his path; his soul was leaping
within him for joy; he had received Christ as Zaccheus did--joyfully.
"Tell me about it," I said. "Well, I do not know what time it was; I
think it was about midnight. I had been in distress a long time, when
all at once my great burden fell off, and now, I believe I am the
happiest man in New York." I think he was the happiest man I saw from
the time I left Chicago till I got back again. His face was lighted up
with the light that comes from the celestial hills. I bade him good-by,
and I expect to meet him in another world.

Can you tell me why the Son of God came down to that prison that night,
and, passing cell after cell, went to that one, and set the captive
free? It was because the man believed he was lost.

A Father's Love for his Boy.

A number of years ago, before any railway came into Chicago, they used
to bring in the grain from the Western prairies in wagons for hundreds
of miles, so as to have it shipped off by the lakes. There was a father
who had a large farm out there, and who used to preach the gospel as
well as to attend to his farm. One day, when church business engaged
him, he sent his son to Chicago with grain. He waited and waited for his
boy to return, but he did not come home. At last he could wait no
longer, so he saddled his horse and rode to the place where his son had
sold the grain. He found that he had been there and got the money for
his grain; then he began to fear that his boy had been murdered and
robbed. At last, with the