his attention to the promise which says:  “He that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.”  He requested me to pray with him.  I have never before prayed save in the retirement of my own room, and I felt a degree of diffidence at the thought of praying in the presence of others, but I overcame the feeling, and, kneeling down, I forgot the physician as well as others who listened to me, and lifted up my voice in solemn earnest prayer.  I forgot everything but the God before whom I pleaded.  I prayed that were it the will of Providence, he might be restored to health; but, if not, that he might, in believing on the Saviour, find a comfort which would enable him to triumph even over the terrors of death.  When I rose from my knees, he seemed more composed, and, after remaining silent for a short time, he addressed me with much earnestness, saying:  “It seems to me, Walter, that I must see my two boys, before I die.  Send for them at once.  I drove them from me by my harshness, years ago.  Send for them at once, and I hope my life maybe spared to see them once more.”  He held my hand long at parting, saying:  “You have done me good, Walter, and I do begin to have a hope that my Heavenly Father will have mercy upon me and receive me, not for any merit of my own, but through the merits of that Saviour who died for the salvation of repentant and believing sinners.”  Learning the address from Mrs. Judson, I at once dispatched a telegraph message to the two sons, and four days later they arrived, to mingle their tears at the death-bed of their father, from whom they had so long been estranged.  It was evident, from day to day, that Mr. Judson was failing fast; but, as his bodily strength wasted away, a most happy change came over his mind, during the last few days of his life.

I was summoned from my pillow at midnight to stand by his death-bed.  His death was calm and full of hope; but, to the last, it was to him a matter of regret, that he had neglected, through life, those things which afforded him any hope in death.  Among his last words to me, he warned me against setting my heart upon riches, in a way that would prove a snare to any soul.  “Riches,” said he, “are a great blessing when rightly used, but ought not to be the chief aim and object of life.”  Before the morning dawned, his spirit passed away, and it was my hand that closed his eyes in the dreamless sleep of death.  The next day I called, in company with my mother, and entered the darkened room where lay his lifeless remains, now habited for the grave.  I gazed long and silently upon those features now stamped with the seal of death.  Reader, if there lives one against whom you cherish angry and bitter feelings, pause a moment and consider what your feelings would be if called to stand by their coffin; for, be assured, your anger will then give place to sorrow that you ever indulged anger toward the poor fellow-mortal now extended before you in the slumber of death.  I attended the funeral of Mr. Judson, and saw his