Before I was half through the first line, most of the audience were singing; many, I doubt not, with a tearful memory of other days. The effect can not be described. Many a hallowed association was called up at that moment, to thrill the hearts of wanderers from earlier influences. But what an hour was that when, after many struggles, the church was formed! The rain and the "bad going" did not keep the faithful few away. A venerated servant of Christ, living a "mile and a half off" on the prairie, seeking relief from the painful disease that had interrupted a useful pastorate, was punctually present, and, grasping my hand, said, "I did not know how I should get here; and when I came to the stream, and found there was no way to cross, I did not know for a moment, but I must turn back; it was hard to do it, however, and I just 'waded through,' and here I am!" Then later came the longed-for blessing. The rain of the Spirit descended, and in many a household was heard the inquiry, "What shall I do?" and the rejoicing of new-born souls. Mr. and Mrs. L. were both members of our little church, and the family altar was no longer neglected. Aunt Flora, however, remained outside of the widening circles of salvation; she continued to absent herself from family devotions. But at length there was a change, imperceptible at first to most. Her voice was losing its harshness, her manner becoming more genial, and, though taciturn still, various little offices of kindness attested her growing interest. The "two" who, by agreement, were laying her case day and night before the Hearer of prayer took courage. I embraced an opportunity to say to Mrs. L., "Do yourself and husband discharge your duty toward aunt Flora? Do you pray for and labor with her? If I mistake not, the Holy Spirit is leading her to thoughtfulness—to God." "You do not 'know' aunt Flora," she replied, with a look of surprise. "She will never change; I can not expect it!" Oh, how prone God's people are to limit his grace. On Sabbath days Mr. L., in his large-hearted way, loaded his long wagon with neighbors, and, in his zeal to get people to meeting, sometimes sent the ox-cart too. All the family, save aunt Flora, went. One Sunday morning, as we were setting out, she stood in the doorway, holding a babe left in her charge for the day. There was a tender, pensive expression on her face, and I said: "Good morning, aunt Flora. It makes us feel sad to leave you behind. God can bless you at home, however." I had never ventured much on the subject so unpleasant to her, but the parting remark was well received. I detected symptoms of deep emotion as she turned away, and I said to Mrs. L., "It would not surprise me to learn that aunt Flora reads the Bible after we are gone." Still the same incredulity.