Yesterday (he writes) was the happiest Sabbath I have known in camp. We have just established a regimental church, which we call the Army-Union Christian Association. I enclose a copy of our creed and articles. At eleven o'clock, A. M., the regiment was assembled for public worship. In the presence of all, twenty-five of the men stepped out of the ranks to the front, and made public profession of their faith in Christ. To-day, several i others have come to me and expressed their wish to join us on the next occasion. Two were baptized, on the same day, and thus, for the first time, declared themselves publicly on the Lord's side. The others are members of churches at home. This association does not make it necessary for them to separate from those churches. It stands only in the place of the church at home, during their service in

the army.

We have deeply interesting meetings for prayer every evening, except Wednesday, when some of us come together for practice in singing. To-night, several new voices were heard in prayer, for the first time since the individuals left home. One poor sinner was melted to tears, and sobbed out a prayer to Jesus to wash away his sins and make him a new creature. I believe that God is pouring out a blessing upon us, and trust he may bring many of this regiment to himself.

III. THE LAST SOUL-CHEERING WORD.

I went into another ward (writes one of the tractdistributors), where I was told a volunteer from one of the Maine regiments was lying dangerously ill from a gunshot wound in the thigh. There the poor sufferer lay, pale, emaciated, fast sinking. It needed but one look to see that he

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could not long survive. I inquired his name.

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J—" was the only answer that he had strength to make audible. I had several of the little books in my hand which have been prepared for the soldiers, and I placed these by his pillow. He reached out his feeble hand, and looking them over picked out one with the title "Welcome to Jesus," printed in gold on a purple cover, and whispered to me to place that on the window-sill before him, upright, so that he could see those words without turning his head. I did so.

The surgeon came to dress his wounds. The patient, evidently near his end, and almost without breath for speaking, held out his hand to thank me, and I left him. That night he died. The last comforting message he had was, as I have reason to believe, the soul-cheering one, "Welcome to Jesus." But what a message was that! Thanks, many thanks, to the liberal people who sustain me and my associates in furnishing such means for comforting the departing soul in such an hour.

IV. ALL ONE IN CHRIST JESUS.

We are indebted to Professor M. L. Stoever, of Gettysburg College, a faithful workman in the hospitals of that place, for various instructive incidents, which his labors there have brought to his notice. We have from him the following fact, showing how in the estimation of the true Christian, the value of the soul is paramount to everything else; how it leads him to forget the distinctions of creed, and to lay aside the most cherished prejudices in his desire to save the unconverted.

On the Sabbath succeeding the battle (said this intelligent witness) my attention was directed to the destitution at the

Catholic church, which was used as a hospital. On entering the building, filled with the wounded and dying, I was met by a Catholic woman, whom I very well knew to be a good woman, but a rigid Catholic. As soon as she saw

me, she said to me,

"Do come and speak to this man.

will not live, and he is unconverted."

The surgeon says he

I followed her to the place where he was lying, within the chancel and near the altar. She introduced me as a Protestant, and as one connected with the college, and then left me to minister to him the comforts of religion.

After briefly and earnestly presenting to him the only way opened for his return to God, I knelt by his side and offered prayer, the first Protestant prayer, doubtless, ever offered in that Catholic church, and that too at the request of a member of the church. The man died a day or two after that, most peacefully, trusting in Christ, cheerfully acquiescing in God's will, and with the hope of eternal happiness beyond the grave. He was the son of a pious mother, and had been reared under religious influences. Although he had never made a profession of religion, his early instructions had prepared his mind to lay hold of the cross and to embrace the Saviour.

In Christ Jesus all Christians are one.

V. WORSHIP IN CAMP.

Rev. A. H. Quint, chaplain in the Second Massachusetts Regiment, attached at that time to the Army of the Potomac, thus graphically describes the meetings for preaching and prayer among the soldiers:

The Sabbath service is held at half-past four o'clock, P. M., under the lengthening shadows. The drum and fife

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play "church call;" the companies are formed as for parade. Each marches to the sound of music, to its place, till the regiment forms three sides of a square, leaving, perhaps, fifteen feet each side of the preacher. Just within the square are the field and staff officers, and the band, which plays a voluntary. At a word of command, the singers leave the ranks and stand near the band. In the service, the men stand until the time for sermon, when, at the word "Rest," all are seated, but still in order. The sermon closing, all instantly rise, uncovered, for prayer and benediction. These ended, "Attention! Company A, left face, march!" and, to the music of the band, the men march to their tents. There is no lack of attention, and never a disrespectful look.

Sabbath evening, at half-past seven o'clock, is our prayermeeting, lately established. It is held, now, on an open space, near the tents of our band. Each time, it has been a dark evening. A few candles cast a dim light. The flame of near or distant camp-fires shines fitfully on the bronzed faces of hardy men, bringing into deeper shadow the sombre blue of their uniform. They stand closely,a hundred of them. A familiar revival hymn, perhaps "Behold, behold, the Lamb of God," or "We're going home, to die no more," attracts others, for music is a great charm in camp. A prayer, reading of Scripture, a short address from the chaplain, singing, and then all are invited to speak, or pray, or sing. One comes forward quietly into the little vacant space, and in a low voice testifies to the grace of God. Then another; and one prays, or singing breaks forth; or one, in whose heart the springs have been long choked up, bears witness that the fountain is once more gushing, and mourns over his sins. Here and there are visible tears rolling down some rough cheek; "it seems so like home," or "it makes us feel human," or "it reminds one of a praying father."

The hour passes. Tired? No; though no cushioned seats have rested them, they have all been standing the whole period. But they have rested on the grace of God; and they look forward with yearning hearts to the Wednesday evening prayer-meeting. Wednesday evening I chose for its beloved associations with the "Young People's Meeting" at home.

The following narrative was written by the Rev. Dr. Marks, chaplain of the Sixty-third Pennsylvania Volun

teers.

It must ever be a source of relief and hope to thousands of Christian parents, whose sons have gone into the army without any avowed interest in religion, and have been slain in battle, or have died in hospitals, that their lost ones had an opportunity to witness such scenes as this narrative describes; and that the symbol of the divine presence rested so visibly here and there on the tents in which they sojourned. We need not put away from us the consolation of thinking that many of those who have been thus cut off may have been reached by the silent operation of such influences, and fitted for their end, though they may not have left the recorded proof of their acceptance of the terms of mercy.

The Sixty-third Regiment of Pennsylvania Volunteers entered the service of the government on the 25th of August, 1861, at Pittsburg. We reached Washington about the first of September, and very soon entered General Heintzelman's division, and were stationed on the Mt. Vernon road, about three miles from Alexandria.

The first Sabbath after the chaplain arrived in camp, he noticed unusual solemnity, and on that day gave away