III. GENERAL MITCHELL AS A PREACHER.

This lamented officer was an eloquent man, as well as learned and brave, and often addressed his men on religious subjects. He did not esteem it beneath his dignity, or subversive of military discipline, to endeavor to bring his command under the lead of the great Captain of our salvation. On one occasion, at the conclusion of a sermon preached to the Ninth Ohio Brigade, near Shelbyville, Tennessee, the general took his stand on a huge rock as a pulpit, and occupied half an hour in delivering what is described as one of the best religious discourses ever heard. He commenced by saying that he did not appear there as the general commanding, but in a higher capacity; that he would address them as a man his fellow-men, as one striving with them for the same eternal happiness for which all are candidates in this probationary life. He insisted that the highest duty of a soldier was to be a Christian; religion heightened every enjoyment, and prepared him to discharge better all his obligations. A chaplain who was present says, "It was a sublime scene; he left an impression on the minds of his auditors never to be forgotten." The effect of this sermon was heightened by the fact that the services were held on the mountain-top, amid the rugged grandeur of East Tennessee.

IV. THE MODEL PRAYER-MEETING.

It is an instructive fact certainly, as the author of the subjoined communication in the Boston Recorder," the Rev. William Barrows, of Reading, Mass., suggests, that the camp, and not the vestry, should furnish our "best model of

THE MODEL PRAYER-MEETING.

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a prayer-meeting." The scene is near Stoneman's Station, in the army of the Potomac, in the camp of the Twentysecond Massachusetts Regiment, and the time the evening of April 3d, 1863.

A Sibley tent, warmed by an army cooking-stove, lighted by three candles, and furnished with a long mess-table, was the "upper-room." One real chair, and several real boxes, chests, etc., furnished seats for twenty or more soldiers. A strange minister, fresh from home, had the meeting in charge. With no ado about agreeing on the tune and "pitching" it, some one began the service, when a hymn was called for, by striking up the words,

'Nearer, my God, to thee."

Then the minister prayed; and before he could find his passage for reading, they started off with

"My days are gliding swiftly by,"

singing two stanzas. Then was read the account of the blind beggar Bartimeus, and how Jesus healed him, and how he followed the Master afterward. A few words were spoken, showing how poor our estate is by nature, sitting by the way-side of life, and how blind we are to our own good and God's glory, till we call on Jesus. Then somebody began to sing,

"I love to steal awhile away,"

and almost all joined, singing but one verse. This was followed by a prayer, short and fervent. Then came an exhortation from a weather-worn soldier of the Cross and the government.

"Jesus, lover of my soul,"

next filled the tent and died away on the hill-side and among the pines in which the regiment has so charming a location.

Here one rose simply to testify, as he said, that he loved Jesus. He did not use five sentences, but it was all testimony. Then came a prayer for loved ones at home, the family, the church, the Sabbath school and prayer-meeting; and so still were all, that you would have supposed the praying man to be alone in the tent. The voice trembled somewhat, and if we wiped away a tear or two when he said amen, we were not ashamed to be seen doing it, for some others did so. Our thoughts went home also,—how could we help the tear?

And then, as if some of them in the chances of battle might miss the earthly home, a verse was sung beginning,

"Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood."

Next followed a practical talk about following Christ in the army. The good ideas were briefly, bluntly put, and full of the love of the Lord Jesus. Then a stanza went swelling out among the pines again:

"Come we that love the Lord."

An exhortation was now addressed to any who had not enlisted under the Captain of our Salvation, and it was pressed home by the sweet words and, then, familiar air,—

"O happy day that fixed my choice."

Now one kneels down on the clay floor, and prays in the first person singular. It was a short broken prayer, probably by the brother who, they said, had lately learned to pray, and in that tent. We have all heard such prayers, and none ever affected us so much. An exhortation followed by a sailor on the difficulties of being a Christian in the army. He showed how they tried to do that at sea, and illustrated it by an incident.

Then came the hymn,

"Thus far the Lord hath led me on."

A STARLESS CROWN.

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The minister here remarked that if we would follow Christ successfully we must keep in the ranks, and own to everybody at proper times, that Christ is our Captain. Following him by side-marches and obscure paths exposes us to the lurking enemy.

Now the hour was almost gone and so followed the doxology

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow,"

and the benediction.

We thought it worth a trip to the Army of the Potomac to learn from the soldiers how to have a good prayermeeting. No one was called on to pray or speak, and no hymn was given out. No one said he had nothing to say, and then talked long enough to prove it. No one excused his inability to "edify." No one waited to be called on; no time was lost by delay, and the entire meeting was less than an hour.

We shall always remember that prayer-meeting in the Massachusetts Twenty-second.

V. A STARLESS CROWN.

A private letter from Rev. Dr. Spaulding of Newburyport, Mass., written at Baton Rouge, mentions a rare instance of the union of patriotic zeal and tender religious sensibility:

Yesterday Dr. Dolson told me that a man in the General Hospital greatly desired to see a chaplain, and accordingly I went to see him. When the nurse had put aside the mosquito netting, the patient began to converse with me very freely, speaking of his home in Hopkinton, N. H., where he had a wife and two children. He had once been a member of a 'Freewill Baptist Church in that vicinity.

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He asked me if I thought it possible that his great desire would be gratified before he died. I told him I could hardly judge, without knowing what it was. “Oh," said he, "I want to be the instrument of the conversion of one soul. I cannot die and wear a starless crown, a starless crown!" There was a depth of earnestness in his expression and manner very affecting, and the whole fear of the man in dying was, not that he was an unforgiven sinner, not that he should fail of heaven, not that his friends would not come to Jesus, but that he should wear a starless

crown.

VI. BAPTISM IN THE MOUNTAINS.

On Tuesday of last week, says the editor of the "Christian Advocate," we had a call from Rev. Joseph Cotton, of the southeastern Indiana Conference, now chaplain of the Thirteenth Indiana Regiment. He was on his way from Indiana to his post at Huttonsville, Western Virginia. In an hour's conversation he detailed to us a chapter of stirring camp-life incidents. After one of the severest battles recently had there, and while the men of his regiment were exulting over their victory, a young man, a private who had participated in the fight, came to him, and said that he wished to talk with him on a subject the most important to him in the world that relating to his soul and its salvation. "The tears," said the chaplain, "were in his eyes, and his lips were trembling with emotion. I knew he was in earnest. We immediately retired to a secluded valley in the woods, and I prayed with him and for him, and he prayed for himself, with great propriety and fervor. Shortly afterward, during another interview which we had together, light broke upon his darkness. The penitent felt that the burden of guilt unforgiven was gone, that