last he made up his mind he would not go to church any more.  When he came back to Northfield, after years, his mother had died, but the text kept coming to him over and over, and he said, ’I will not become a Christian;’ and said he to me, ’Moody, my heart is as hard as that stone.’  It was all Greek to me, because I was not a Christian myself at the time.  After my conversion, in Boston, he was about the first man I thought of.  When I got back and asked my mother about him, she told me he was gone out of his mind, and to every one who went to the asylum to see him he pointed his finger and said:  ’Seek ye first the Kingdom, of God and His Righteousness.’  When I went back to my native village, after that, I was told he was still out of his mind, but at home.  I went to see him, and asked him did he know me.  He was rocking backwards and forwards in his rocking chair, and he gave me that vacant stare and pointed to me as he said, ’Young man, seek first the Kingdom of God and His Righteousness.’  When, last month, I laid down my younger brother in his grave, I could not help but think of that man lying but a few yards away.  May every man and woman here be wise for eternity and seek now the Kingdom of God and His Righteousness, is my prayer.”

THE PRAYING SHOE-MAKER.

A correspondent of The American Messenger relates this instance of a poor man in the village where he lived, who, with a family of young children and a wife in very feeble health, found it extremely difficult to obtain a livelihood.  He was at length compelled to work by the week for a shoe-dealer in the city, four miles from the village, returning to his family every Saturday evening, and leaving home early on Monday morning.

He usually brought home the avails of his week’s labor in provisions for the use of his family during the following week; but on one cold and stormy night, in the depth of winter, he went towards his humble dwelling with empty hands, but a full heart.  His employer had declared himself unable to pay him a penny that night, and the shoe-maker, too honest to incur a debt without knowing that he should be able to cancel it, bent his weary steps homeward, trusting that He who hears the ravens when they cry, would fill the mouths of his little family.  He knew that he should find a warm house and loving hearts to receive him, but he knew, too, that a disappointment awaited them which would make at least one heart ache.

When he entered his cottage, cold and wet with the rain, he saw a bright fire, brighter faces, and a table neatly spread for the anticipated repast.  The tea-kettle was sending forth its cloud of steam, all ready for “the cup which cheers, but not inebriates,” and a pitcher of milk, which had been sent in by a kind neighbor, was waiting for the bread so anxiously expected by the children.  The sad father confessed his poverty, and his wife