/> the country had been made. There was also an appointment six miles

beyond for an afternoon service. It was now night. To drive across the

country was the only way open, or stay at home. Two disappointed

congregations the result in the latter case. But the roads were heavy

from recent rains. 'Twill be so late that none can direct. Friends said,

'Stay; you can't go forty miles across, to you, an unknown country.' But

the writer felt it duty to go. Hiring a horse noted for endurance, at

nine o'clock at night--dark, threatening--he set out. As he headed the

horse in the direction of the village--for he could find none who could

tell him the exact road--he prayed: 'O God, starting out to preach thy

word to-morrow, direct the way--guide this horse.' The night wore on; as

cross-roads came, dropping the lines over the dashboard, the same prayer

was offered. When the horse chose a road, the driver urged him on. As

day began to break, emerging from some wood in an unfrequented road,

they entered the village they sought. The sermon that morning was from

the text, 'Son, go work to-day in my vineyard.' The largest congregation

of the Summer had gathered. It will not do to say that the horse knew

the road. Returning in broad daylight the next day, though directed and

directed again, we lost the way and went seven miles out of our course.

A scientist might laugh at this way of driving, or at asking God to

guide in such trivial matters. But we shall still believe that God led

the horse and blessed us in our attempt to serve him."