More than thirty years ago eight law students were walking one Sunday morning on the banks of a river, not far from Washington, D. C. They were directing their steps to a quiet little wood, where they intended to spend the hours of church-service in playing cards. Each of them had a bottle of wine in his pocket. While on their way, engaged in all sorts of frivolous talk, the church bells in a neighboring village began to ring, and one of their number, called George, suddenly stood still, and said to his friend who was walking beside him, that he was not going any farther with them, but was going back to church. His friend called out to the other students, who had gone on in front: “Boys, boys! Come back, George is turning pious; we must help him. Come, let us baptize him right away.”
They formed a circle round him, and said that the only way to escape a cold bath, was to remain in their company and follow the program of the day. Quietly, but seriously George answered “I know that I am in your power, to throw me in the water and to drown me, if you will; but first I have something to say to you; listen to me, and then do what you like.
“As you all know, my home is about 200 miles from here, but none of you are aware that my mother is very sick and helpless; that she is bed-ridden. I am her youngest child. It was hard for me to leave her, and, too, for her to give me her permission. At last, after much prayer, she consented to my coming. The preparations were soon made. My mother did not speak another word about it, till the day of my departure. After I had eaten breakfast, she inquired if everything was ready. I answered, Yes, and said, I was only waiting for the coach. Then she asked me to kneel beside her bed. With her dear hands on my head, she prayed for me. Many, nights I have dreamed of it since. It was the happiest hour of my life. I believe that till the hour of my death I shall remember each word of that prayer. Afterward she spoke to me these words.
“‘My precious boy, you cannot know how a mother’s heart aches when parting with her youngest child. When you go from here, you will look, for the last time, at the face of her, who loves you better than anyone else ever can. Your father has not the means to let you come back during your two years’ study. And I cannot possibly live that long. In the strange city you will have no mother to stand by you in the hour of temptation. Seek counsel and help from God. Every Sunday morning from 10 to 11 o’clock, I will pray for you. Wherever you may be, when the church-bells ring, turn back your thoughts to this room, where your dying mother is praying for you. But I hear the coach coming. Kiss me! Farewell!’
“Boys, I shall not see my mother again in this world. But with the help of God I hope to meet her above.”
When George ceased speaking, the tears were pouring down his cheeks. He looked at his comrades and their eyes, too, were moist. The circle that had formed around George, opened, and he went back to church. His friends admired the courage in him, which they lacked. They followed him to church; and on the way threw away their cards, and it was the last time that they made such plans for Sunday.
From that day things were changed for them. Six of them died Christians. George became a clever lawyer in Iowa, and his friend, the eighth of the company, who wrote this narrative, lived for many years a worthy witness for Christ. Here were eight young men converted through the prayers of a faithful Christian believer. Eternity only can show, what streams of mercy and blessing flow forth through the prayers of mothers.