shall ever make of you. Kneel right down here, by my bed, and pray for me."

I was

I was astonished. I never supposed the boy knew what prayer meant, and wondered where he had learned. never so perplexed before.

"Billy," I replied, "I cannot do that. I try sometimes to pray for myself, but I have never in my life prayed audibly in public. You must excuse me."

66 Doctor, I cannot. You can,- you must pray with me." "But, Billy, I cannot. I will do this, however. We will get a Bible, and I will read to you a chapter,—some of the words of the Saviour. Then we will all kneel around your bed, and one of these good women will lead us in prayer."

He assented, though with great reluctance. He was evidently not satisfied. The one great desire of his heart seemed to be that I should offer the prayer. After a moment's silence he said to me,

"Turn me upon my side, doctor, if you please, that I may lie with my face toward you as you read."

As gently as I could, I turned him upon his side. A large Bible was then brought and laid before him upon the bed. In an instant he threw his attenuated arms around it, and pressed it to his heart with all his remaining strength. It seemed as if he could not let it go. I remembered that Testament, and I knew then how Billy had come to love his Bible, and how he had learned to pray. God seemed to direct me what to read to this dying boy. I opened at one of those chapters in John's Gospel so full of precious words, and read it, with a faltering voice, I assure you. Billy kept the Bible firmly clasped in his arms, while I was reading. As soon as the chapter was finished, we all kneeled around his bed, while one of the women offered one of the most appropriate and touching

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prayers I ever heard. There were no unmoistened eyes there as we rose from our knees. Then I bade Billy good-by, promising to call and see him in the morning, if he was then alive. Just as I was leaving the room, one of the women present touched me on the shoulder, and said, – 66 Doctor, Billy wishes to see you a moment."

I went back. As soon as I was near enough, he caught my hands in his, and said,

66 'Doctor, I cannot be denied. You must, pray with me."

-you must

I could resist no longer; and so, sinking down on my knees beside him, in faltering accents and as best I could, I commended that poor, dying boy to the Friend of sinners. Perhaps the petition was not rejected. I am not much given to the melting mood, but I am free to say that I wept then as I never wept before. Billy was satisfied. He grasped my hand, and thanked me as I rose from my knees. We then bade each other good-by a second time, and parted to meet no more in this world. Within the next hour he died a most triumphant and happy death, and doubtless now stands before the throne with

"A crown upon his forehead,

A harp within his hands."

Such was my friend's story. Comment could add nothing to its point; and, for some moments after its conclusion, the silence was unbroken by a single word from the little group of attentive listeners. Was there one there who did not breathe the prayer, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his "?1 I hope not.

1 Numbers xii. 3.

IX. SURELY I COME QUICKLY.

I have seen (writes the Rev. Mr. Alvord from the army) a Testament pierced with a minie ball which also pierced the owner's heart. Opening the book, I found name and date, and pencilling which seemed to indicate premonition. On one of the fly-leaves he had commenced as follows:

"With tearful eyes I think I see "

and then, as if he had recollected the verse, he began again, just below,

"With tearful eyes I look around;

Life seems a dark and stormy sea;
Yet 'midst the gloom I hear a sound,
A heavenly whisper, Come to me."

I followed the bullet, and the first passage struck was, "Surely, I come quickly, Amen: even so, come, Lord Jesus." The journey of the messenger from that passage to the life of the poor fellow was very short. The "whisper" of the herald was scarcely heard ere he was in eternity. The mutilated Testament, with its touching record, will be sent home to mourning friends.

X. THE STUDENT'S LAST WISHES.

The chaplain of the Eighty-first Illinois Regiment vouches for the truthfulness of the scene described below.

The Eighty-third Illinois was stationed at Fort Donelson at the time of the last battle there, and is well known for having repulsed an attack of some six thousand of the enemy. A Christian youth, named Adams, belonged to

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this regiment and was severely wounded in the engagement. He afterwards lay wasting away day by day in the hospital. He had enlisted, while he was a member of college, with a number of others, to fight the battles of freedom. One day when he was extremely weak, he asked the physician how long he would probably live.

"Not long," was the reply; "you are near your end." "Is it so," he demanded; and was told, "Yes, it is indeed so."

Making then an almost superhuman effort, he raised his body, with the help of his companions, many of whom were standing around his cot, and, stretching forth his emaciated arms, with a voice faint, but firm, he articulated the request, "Now come; give three cheers for the flag of our Union."

His fellow-soldiers gave them with a will and an emphasis such as only our brave boys know how to exhibit, and then awaited his further wishes.

Thus far we have seen in him the traits only of the dying patriot and hero. But he was more than that. The dear fellow added then the request, "Now boys, let one of you kneel down and pray." They dropped on their knees. A Christian comrade led them in prayer. While he was performing the solemn act, the spirit of young Adams, joyful and triumphant, as in a chariot of glory, took its flight home!

Such a mode of dying becomes a soldier who is a Christian as well as a hero. Such is the power which the religion of Jesus gives to the believer.

XI. THE FAVORITE HYMN.

A workman in Christ's vineyard, who has done much for our sick and wounded soldiers at Washington, writes to a friend as follows:

The hundred hymn-books you sent me will be very useful, and, I think, will do much good. There is one hymn in the book that I can never forget if I live a thousand years. It is the sixty-third, beginning

"One sweetly solemn thought."

I had held by the bedside of a dying soldier several prayer-meetings; it was at the Patent Office Hospital, and the soldiers would gather round the bedside of this interesting Christian, and we would pray with him and them, read to them, talk a little, and sing several pieces out of the hymn-book. This sixty-third hymn was his favorite, and he always wanted it sung. We used to sing it to the sweet tune of "Dennis." One evening, just as the sun was setting, we went in, and he wanted us to have the prayer⚫ meeting. In the course of the service, I leaned over and asked him what we should sing. He said, "My hymn." We knew very well what that was, and sung it as far as the conclusion of the third verse, and there we had to stop. He actually went to "wear his starry crown," just as we were singing, at his request, those very words.

Last Sunday, I told the story to a company of soldiers who had just lost a companion, and there was not a tearless eye among the listeners.

We may stand at the grave of such a patriot, and with trustful heart, may say,

"One more absent,

The battle done;
One more left us,

Victory won.