In the foregoing extract from the _New England Gazette_, the Rev. Mr. Moody is mentioned. Samuel Moody was a memorable man. Having graduated in Harvard College, he was ordained in 1700, and, for forty-seven years, had been minister of York. He was eccentric, but eminent for piety and usefulness. In his younger years, he himself had been an itinerant, and had often preached beyond the limits of his own parish. Wherever he went, he was welcomed. Even the irreligious were impressed with the sanctity of his character, and were inspired with awe. He refused to have a fixed salary, as was usual, and elected to depend entirely on the free contributions of the people. He was frequently in straits, and almost dinnerless; but always felt confident that, in his extremity, a meal would be furnished by the providence of God. One day, he had no provisions and no money, but insisted upon having the cloth laid, saying to his wife, “The Lord will provide.” No sooner were the words uttered, than there was a rap at the door, and a person presented him with a dinner. He was now in the seventy-first year of his age; and, within four months after the date of Whitefield’s visit, peacefully expired. The following touching letter was addressed to this venerable man only eight weeks before his death:―― “BOHEMIA, MARYLAND, _September 17, 1747_. “HONOURED SIR,――Will you permit a young soldier of Jesus Christ to write to an experienced veteran, before he goes hence and is no more seen? I am sorry that my visit to York was short, yet glad that our Lord gave me to see you once more ready to sing your ‘Nunc dimittis,’ with steadiness and composure, if not with joy unspeakable. Happy, thrice happy, reverend sir! You have gone through that wilderness, which, if hoary hairs should be my lot, awaits me, your younger son and servant. Well! this is my comfort: I have the same Beloved to lean upon, as you have had. The way, though narrow, is not long; the gate, though strait, opens into life eternal. O that I might pass through it when young! But, Father, not my will, but Thine be done! “Honoured sir, be pleased to pray for me. I remember you and your dear flock. May He, who kissed away the soul of His beloved Moses, appoint a Joshua to succeed you, when He bids you come up to the mount and die! I hope my cordial respects will find acceptance with your dear yoke-fellow; and I beg leave to subscribe myself, honoured sir, your most affectionate, though unworthy, younger son and willing servant in Him who liveth for ever, “GEORGE WHITEFIELD.” Little more remains to be recorded respecting the year 1747. After spending a few days in Maryland, Whitefield passed into Virginia, where he “preached once, and would have preached oftener, but the small-pox was spreading.” He then “posted” to Bath-Town, North Carolina. Writing to a friend, he says:――