An of­fi­cer of the Eng­lish ar­my sends me the fol­low­ing in­ci­dent: “A sol­dier was sta­tioned at Ed­in­burgh Cas­tle, and one even­ing left his post on a pass un­til mid­night. He had a week’s pay in one pock­et and the wash­ing mo­ney earned by his wife in the other, and was on his way to the pub­lic house to have a night in gam­bling. His eye caught the pos­ter out­side the Tol­booth Church, an­nounc­ing your meet­ings. The of­fi­cer liked the sing­ing, and went in just to hear one song. As he en­tered Mr. Moo­dy was preach­ing on ‘The Blood.’ That had no in­ter­est for him. Af­ter the ad­dress you sang, ‘Je­sus of Naz­a­reth pass­eth by.’ He lis­tened with deep in­ter­est to the hymn. ‘Too late, too late,’ was God’s ar­row to his soul. An of­fi­cer of his re­gi­ment and I went in­to the in­quiry-room, and among a great crowd we saw this com­rade’s red coat. He was in great dis­tress. We spoke to him, hold­ing to John 3:16.

“That night the man went home in­stead of to the pub­lic house, and his wife was as­ton­ished to see him so ear­ly, and so­ber. He laid down all the mo­ney on the ta­ble, which as­ton­ished her still more. Then he went to bed, but was in too great dis­tress to be able to sleep. The words ‘Too late, too late’ rang in his ears. About two o’clock in the morn­ing John 3:16 gleamed in­to his soul. He leaped from the bed, plead­ed that grand pro­mise, and Je­sus re­ceived him. This was told the fol­low­ing morn­ing by him­self at the Cas­tle. He held to his faith, and when the re­gi­ment left he was known through­out the camp as a man of God. The glor­ious Gos­pel with him be­gan in song, and goes in song.”