Christian. What would I do now if I was not a Christian? I know that my Redeemer liveth. I feel that his finished work has saved me. And, chaplain, thank God for giving me dying grace. He has made my dying bed

'Feel soft as downy pillows are.'

Thank him for the promised home in glory. I'll soon be there, there where there is no war, nor sorrow, nor desolation nor death,— where I shall see Jesus, and be forever with the Lord."

I knelt by the dying man, and thanked God for the blessings he had bestowed upon him, the blessings of a good mother, a Christian hope, and dying grace, to bear testimony to God's faithfulness.

Shortly after the prayer, he said, "Good-by, chaplain; if you ever see that mother of mine, tell her it was all well with me."

XXIX. THE YOUNG COLOR-SERGEANT.

At once a color-bearer in the army of his country and in the army of Jesus,what prouder position than this for a young Christian soldier! He was General Kilpatrick's color-bearer, and a mere boy. His comrades all said he was a brave fellow. The main artery of one of his legs had been cut off by a Minie ball. The wound had bled several times while in the hospital, and he was fast sinking. He whispered to an attendant who was bending over him: "Jesus has a home in heaven for me."

"How do you know?"

"Because God loves me. He loves his Son Jesus, and he loves me too."

These were almost his last words. A few hours before

NOT YET TOO LATE.

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his death, his father came, truly a broken-hearted man. "For he was his youngest boy,- his Benjamin,- and how could he spare him?”

"I didn't want him to go; and how, how, shall I go home without him? Oh! I am afraid it will be too much for the mother."

The boy was laid in his coffin, and the ladies and little children of Hagerstown where he died trimmed the body with flowers, though he himself was the brightest flower of all, destined assuredly to bloom and flourish forever in the Paradise above.

XXX. NOT YET TOO LATE.

Among the wounded at the battle of Stone River, in Tennessee, was a young man. Over the mortally wounded son hung the anxious mother, in the deepest sorrow that he gave no evidence of fitness for eternal scenes. But the words the dying youth uttered, severely as they condemned himself, showed clearly his own convictions of the shame and wrong of those who neglect God till life is drawing to a close, and hope then to obtain his favor.

To a Christian appeal, he replied, "If I live to get well, I will be a Christian; but I will not throw the fagend of my life in the face of the Almighty." He immediately expired.

The poor fellow certainly mistook the gospel mode of salvation, for faith in Christ can avail in other cases as it did with the dying thief in his last moments. The "fagend" of his life was distinguished by an act which opened to him the gates of Paradise. The time may be short, but much may be done often in a short time.

The striking language of the dying soldier contains a

stinging rebuke to all those who practically claim the best of life for themselves, while they venture to put off their Maker with the little that remains when they are about to sink into the grave.1

XXXI. SOLDIER, ARE YOU HUNGRY?

Be kind to the soldiers. What they need is good cheer for the mind as well as the body, assurance of sympathy, proof that our hearts are with them as they go forth to peril their lives for us by land and sea. Brave men appreciate such tokens of interest in them and their work. child may show to them kindness, the remembrance of which will strengthen their hearts and nerve their arms in the day of battle.

Even a

A writer from Baltimore illustrates this trait of the soldier's character. About eighteen months ago, a northern regiment passed through this city on the way to Washington. They had occasion to halt a short time in one of our streets, for rest and refreshment. While they were doing this, a little fellow approached one of the men and said, — Soldier, are you hungry?"

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"Yes, I am," he replied; upon which the boy invited him to go with him to his home near by, and there, on his making known the case, the family set before the hungerbitten soldier a bountiful repast.

A few weeks ago, this regiment, having served out their term of enlistment, passed through Baltimore again, on their way home. The soldier referred to had distinguished himself on the field, and had risen from a private to the rank of captain. He had not forgotten the kindness of

1 From the Congregationalist.

OUR GOOD-HEARTED PRESIDENT.

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his little friend in Baltimore. He knew where he lived, sought him out, and presented to him a handsome photographic album filled with likenesses of all the prominent generals in the Union army. Inscribed upon the back of the album in beautiful gilt letters, were the words, "Soldier, are you hungry?"

This little boy is the son of a Lutheran minister in the city of Baltimore.

XXXII. OUR GOOD-HEARTED PRESIDENT.

"I have observed more than once," says Daniel Webster, in his eulogy on honest Zachary Taylor, "that the prevalent notion with the masses of mankind for conferring high honors on individuals is a confidence in their mildness, their paternal, protecting, prudent, and safe character. The people naturally feel safe where they feel themselves to be under the control and protection of sober counsel, of impartial minds, and a general paternal superintendence."

Such titles to popular confidence and favor we recognize, also, in the man on whom it has devolved to guide our ship of State through the present crisis. The people trust him because he has made them feel that he is unselfish and honest. They believe he has sought to do his duty according to the best of his knowledge and ability, and that conviction at the bottom of their hearts has been our sheetanchor; it has held us together, has buoyed up the nation's faith, has kept us from drifting into anarchy and ruin. It is a quality of character and a means of power not inconsistent with genius, but which genius alone does not confer; it is worth infinitely more to us, in a time like this, than any glare of military reputation, or brilliancy of intellect, or diplomatic skill.

The way to be thought upright and faithful and earnest for the public welfare, is to be so in truth, and it is by that art of arts that Mr. Lincoln has so won to himself the hearts of the great mass of the nation.

Incidents like the following bring out the character of an individual in a natural manner, and leave us in no doubt how we are to understand him.

On Monday last (says a visitor at Washington),1 I dropped in upon Mr. Lincoln, and found him busy counting greenbacks.

“This, sir,” said he, "is something out of my usual line; but a President of the United States has a multiplicity of duties not specified in the Constitution or acts of congress. This is one of them. This money belongs to a poor negro who is a porter in one of the Departments (the Treasury), who is at present very ill with the small pox. He is now in hospital, and could not draw his pay because he could not sign his name.

I have been at considerable trouble to overcome the difficulty and get it for him, and have at length succeeded in cutting red tape, as you newspaper men say. I am now dividing the money and putting by a portion labelled, in an envelope, with my own hands, according to his wish;" and his Excellency proceeded to endorse the package very carefully.

No one who witnessed the transaction could fail to appreciate the goodness of heart which would prompt a man in his situation, borne down by a weight of cares almost without parallel in the world's history, to turn aside thus and befriend one of the humblest of his fellow-creatures in sickness and sorrow.

1 Who published the incident in the Chicago Tribune.