thick and fast into the ranks of our brave soldiers, leaving thousands of them dead or wounded.

Where the contest had been fiercest, a soldier, severely wounded, was lying upon the ground, unable to move. The dead and dying were all around him, but the voice of one among them seemed to rise above the rest, indicating by its tone the most intense anguish. The wounded man looked around him this way and that as far as he was able, to see if he could distinguish whose voice it was, but in vain. He then called to know who it was, and the reply came in an agonized voice: "It is I. Oh, I'm dying, I'm dying." His unseen comrade tried to comfort him as well as he could, and suggested that he might be better in a short time; but the poor fellow replied, "Oh no; I'm dying, I'm dying."

Then rallying all his remaining strength, he threw a book in the direction of his new-found friend, and asked him to take care of it. At that moment a rebel soldier came along, and gave this friend a drink from his canteen; and emboldened by his kindness, the Union soldier asked him to show the same favor to the dying comrade, who was writhing in his agony a few feet from him. Very soon the Southerner returned, saying that it was too late, the man was already dead. He then asked the Southerner if he would hand him the book that had been thrown to him, and he kindly complied with this request. It proved to be a pocket Bible, handsomely bound, with the name of "W. S. Pollard, Thirteenth Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers," engraved in gilt upon the cover.

The wounded soldier was soon taken with others of his comrades to a place of safety, and he carried with him to his hospital bed the dying gift so affectionately presented to him. He knew nothing of the donor except his name, and whether or not the precious truths contained in his

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Bible were the solace of his dying moments will be known perhaps only in eternity; but it was evidently his last earthly thought and care to place the sacred volume where it would be cared for and blessed to others. Doubtless some kind friend, perhaps a mother or a sister, had presented it to him, and with thoughtful care, had made an oil-silk cover, which, though carried through marches and into battle, had preserved it pure and unsullied.

The soldier into whose possession the Bible came in such a peculiar manner was a Pennsylvanian, and was induced somewhat reluctantly to dispose of it to a pious fellow-soldier in the hospital, who was from Massachusetts. This soldier has since returned, and it was at his house that the writer saw the Bible, and learned its interesting history. The blessed promises contained in this book may have comforted and cheered the poor soldier who first owned it through many a weary hour in the camp and on the march. Having passed unharmed through the smoke and peril of battle, and been rescued from among the dead and dying on the field of blood, may it yet be the means of leading many a precious soul into the paths of peace.1

XVI. AN ANSWER TO PRAYER.

I was passing the camp of a Rhode Island Regiment, near Falmouth, when a soldier came up and said to me abruptly, "Do you belong to the Christian Commission ?" "I do," I replied.

"Then I saw some of your men at Stoneman's Station, and received some papers from them."

1 From "S. E. D.," in the American Messenger. The writer appends to the article this notice: -"Mr. Pollard's relatives may obtain this Bible by addressing Mr. S. H. Lincoln, Plainfield, Mass."

This was all the introduction, and he then went on to relate to me some passages of his life.

"I came out here," said he, "as rough and bad as any of the men. But I had left a praying mother at home. While in camp at Poolesville, I heard that she was dead. After that, her image was never out of my thoughts. It seemed as if her form appeared to me as in a mirror, and always as wrestling for her wayward son. Go where I might, I felt as if I saw her in her place of prayer, kneeling and putting up her petitions to God, and not even the

roar of the battle could drown the soft tones of her voice."

He was in the fight at Fair Oaks, and when it ceased, sat down exhausted upon a log by the road-side, and then, to use his own words, he "thought over the matter." Heaps of dead men lay on every side of him. They had fallen, but he was still unharmed. The melting words of his mother's prayer came back to his mind with new power. He thought of his own condition, and of her happy home, so far removed from the strife and agony of war.

A pious soldier of his company noticed that he was very thoughtful, and inquired the reason. To this friend he opened his mind freely, and told him how he felt. They sought occasions for private conference, communed together and prayed, and strength was given him to make "the last resolve;" and the soldier who had been so "rough and bad" became a soldier in the army of the meek and lowly Jesus. The sainted mother had not prayed in vain. A battle had just been fought, a victory won, which was spreading joy throughout the nation; but here, too, was a triumph, different triumph,—such as causes the angels of God in heaven to rejoice.

a

I have seldom found a happier man than I found in this young soldier. He was happy in the service of his Master, and happy in the service of his country. Nearly all the

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company were irreligious and profane, but he was firm against ridicule and opposition. He and his friend did what they could to hold up the cross, and save their comrades. He told me that they went often into the woods to pray, and enjoyed happy seasons there, even when they were the only two.

XVII. A SABBATH WITH THE CONTRABANDS.

I had attended a meeting of chaplains at Bealton Station, on Saturday, and on Sabbath morning went out from the tent of the Christian Commission, and met a company of contrabands at the depot, with whom I had, on the previous evening, had some conversation.

There were probably one hundred and fifty of them. Some of them were men of families, and had left their wives and children in slavery, and were every hour praying for the advance of our army, in order that our troops might have an opportunity to reach them and conduct them to freedom. Several of these men were most devout and earnest Christians. Every evening, they held a prayermeeting in the midst of their tents, in which there were shed many tears at the mention of their families. The scene would often strike those from our orderly and severely quiet churches as wild and boisterous; but these children of nature cannot pray in set forms, nor always act with measured propriety. Loud are their cries for pardon, many are the trembling and convulsive movements of the body.

"You have had a stormy time of it to-night, uncle."

"Yes, massa; the living child when it is born cries, the dead say nothing."

1 From the correspondence of Rev. Dr. Marks, in the Army of the Potomac.

I listened on Saturday night, at their camp-fire, to the stories of these children of oppression, and admired more than ever their forgiving temper. In some cases, however, it was evident the iron had often entered into the soul, and they had many times in the past said, "It is better to die than to live."

To these men I preached on Sabbath morning at six o'clock, first asking permission of the superintendent. This was most freely granted; he at the same time bore the highest testimony to the sobriety, honesty, and piety of these contrabands; and said, in contrast with this, that some months ago he had under his care one hundred Irishmen, and every day he had quarrels among them, fights, and drunkenness, and often his life was threatened and in danger; but here he had no trouble. These men were satisfied with their rations, thankful for employment, and quiet and gentle.

They gathered around me, and I preached to them on the tenderness and pity of our Lord, and that in their trials and sorrow they might have the assurance of his help and aid. I likewise reminded them of the patience and long-suffering of the Son of God, and said they, in imitation of his example, should forgive those who had inflicted on them stripes, torn from them their children, and in other ways made their lives so bitter to them. They listened with the greatest interest, and some with tears exclaimed, "Yes, blessed Jesus, we will forgive, for we are great sinners."

A few days after this, I was walking in the streets of Alexandria, and heard some one running behind me, and crying aloud, "Massa, massa preacher!"

I looked around and saw a young black man who with

1 That petition in the Lord's Prayer-"Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors" - could not have a more beautiful illustration.