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conversation and social worship. He helped to sustain and give character to the nightly meetings at the chaplain's tent. Though he shrank from no duty, he was modest and unassuming in his manners. I loved him, delighted to see his open, cheerful countenance, and to hear his voice in prayer and praise in our solemn assemblies. He was sick but one short week. I sat at his bedside, day after day, to hear his words of confiding trust in the wisdom and mercy of his God. Death to him had no sting'; the grave had lost its power. It is true his thoughts turned often to the old. homestead, to his aged parents, his sisters, and brothers, and friends; but Jesus, the love of the Saviour, and the consolations of his rich grace, were chief in his thoughts. and on his tongue. The day before his death, he expressed a wish that I should write to his father for him. "Tell him," said he, "I have not forgotten his counsels and prayers, and my own dedication to God. Tell him I feel prepared for any event;-if I live, I will glorify God on earth, and if I die, I will praise him in heaven." So the pastor's son breathed his last amid sorrowing friends, on Friday, at four o'clock, A. M., with faith and joy steadfast

to the end.

But the domain of "tearful" war extends beyond the camp and the battle-field. Heaven gained in this instance a happy spirit, but there was sorrow in the homestead. The pain and anguish of these days are felt by survivors, as well as by those who suffer in hospitals, or yield up their lives amid the shock of arms. Thousands of bereaved households, at this moment, know the meaning of the poet's words:

"Not on the tented field,

O terror-fronted War!

Not on the battle-field,

All thy bleeding victims are.

While at Gettysburg, (says a visitor to that place,) I learned the following incident from the lips of Professor Stoever. At the close of the bloody battles of the second and third of July, while thousands of the soldiers were lying wounded side by side, and before even the officers could seek out and speak to their bleeding and dying friends, the command came to pursue the flying Confederates. Major General Howard, at the head of the Eleventh Army Corps (who has been called the Havelock of the American army), hastened to the bedside of Captain Griffeth of his staff, between whom and the general a strong personal attachment existed, to take his last farewell. He closed the door, and after a brief interchange

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of sympathies, the general took his New Testament and read to him the fourteenth chapter of John. The consolatory words have been often heard at the bed of the dying, giving strength to the soul for the last conflict: "Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you; I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also."

The general then knelt in prayer, and commended his wounded friend to the compassionate God and Father of all those who trust in Him, and, rising from his knees, clasped him in one long, fond, weeping embrace. Thus the heroes parted. One went to pursue the Rebels against his government. The other died, in a few days, in perfect peace, cordially acquiescing in God's will, and firmly relying on the merits of his Saviour.

XIV. JESUS WILL TAKE ME HOME.

When Colonel Herman Canfield was wounded at the battle of Pittsburg Landing, knowing that his wound would be fatal, he expressed a wish to his young brotherin-law that he might be taken to his home and family. But as the battle raged, the enemy pressed upon them, so that they were in momentary fear of being made prisoners. The surgeon, chaplain, and others who were looking after the wounded, were taken and borne away. Strange as it may appear, the two relatives were left unmolested. Alone and in such a condition, the moment was one of anxiety and of trial to them both. His brother-in-law was not able, without aid, to convey him to a place of safety; and he

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expressed a fear that he should not be able to comply with his request. To this apprehension, the colonel calmly replied, "Never mind, Charley, Jesus will take me home."

Oh! what childlike trust, what Christian faith, is there expressed! Having lived near to God, and long trusted in his sure promises, he had no doubts now. He knew that the Lord of hosts was present on the battle-field as well as in the peaceful home. As he lay there, with his life-blood ebbing from a ghastly wound in his lungs, he testified of the goodness of God, and showed with what fearlessness a Christian may yield his soul to him who gave it.

At

At last assistance arrived, and the wounded man was borne on a stretcher through low, marshy defiles, and over rough, pathless woodland, toward the Tennessee. night they encamped upon its bank. It was the last night he passed upon earth; a dark and fearful one it was to his companions. A storm raged about them. The very elements seemed pouring forth their sad requiems for the dying and the dead. During the vivid flashes of lightning, they had glimpses of the agonized features of their loved commander. And many were their anxious inquiries; but he assured them that though his physical sufferings were great, his soul was at peace with God, and he knew he soon would be at rest. Doubtless, he caught glimpses of that brighter world where darkness and death cannot enter because God is the light and life thereof. What that brave soldier and true Christian suffered during that night of agony, none but God can know. He did not murmur at his fate, and thought not his life too great a sacrifice for the cause in which he fell.

The following day he was removed to a hospital ship, where his wounds were carefully dressed. But he gradually grew weaker until evening; when, leaving tender

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messages for his loved wife and children, he calmly committed his soul to God, and Jesus took him home.

The Rev. Dr. Marks, after one of the battles on the Peninsula, in which some of our men were captured, gave himself up as a prisoner to the rebels, that he might not be separated from those over whom he watched as a religious guide. On one occasion, he went to the Brackett House, on the battle-field, where were four hundred and fifty of our wounded men. The flag of the country was printed on one of the publications which he was distributing; and he mentions that he often saw those mutilated men lift it to their lips, and kiss the emblem of our nationality, undeterred by the presence and taunts of the enemy.

There was one remarkable man in that group of sufferers whose story, as recounted by this gentleman, deserves to be told from one age to another. His name was Nolan. His right leg had been cut off by a cannon-shot, and he was lying in the midst of fifty or sixty men in one of the rooms.

As I came up to him, I saw that his face was beaming with smiles, and, from his appearance, I could not have supposed for a moment that there was a single pang of pain in that body. I asked him how he had endured his suffering. He said, "I was three days and three nights out on the battle-field, and all that time heard the whisperings of angels, and I only could look up to the stars and think every one of them sang to me. The question of my own personal safety, as a believer in Christ, was settled six years ago; and now I want that all my friends should feel as I do." And then there would burst forth from his lips that sweet song, –