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them, by all they hold dear, to abstain from insulting Him whose protection they need."

VII. HE WAS ONLY A PRIVATE.

But he was faithful in that sphere:-and every example is instructive, noble, according to the elevation of the aim that we strive to reach, the use made by us of the opportunities at our command, the manner in which the impulses of conscience control a man, and make him earnest in his adherence to what is right. The case of Andrew Btherefore, stands high on the record of faithful witnesses. We admire the character of the obscure soldier so much the more because it was formed against adverse influences and sets forth so clearly the power of that grace of God which he is ever ready to give to us to help us in our duties and struggles.

The subject of this sketch1 was born in Brooklyn, New York. His parents were not Christians. His own honest words tell what he was at the beginning.

"When quite a child," he says, "I went to a Sunday school, but soon quit going, and became a bad boy. Tumbling round the streets with other bad boys, I began to curse and swear and drink. I went to meeting now and then, but only to see what I could see. I did not like to hear the preaching; it always made me feel so restless and unhappy." After a time, his father moved down the bay, and "went to oystering," where Andrew's habits, in some respects, became worse than If he heard preaching, it would alarm him; and on one occasion he was so distressed that he resolved to

ever.

1 It has been compiled from Mr. Alvord's Journal.

forsake his sins and serve the Lord; but his good resolutions soon vanished, and again he plunged into sin.

At length, one Sabbath evening, he was walking with a company of young persons to a place of frolic, when, on passing a church, one of them said, "Come, let us go in." They did so, and, as he states, "we had not been there fifteen minutes before my convictions returned stronger than before." Near the close of the service, he was in great distress. "It seemed to me,".-still using his own expressions, "that, if I did not give my heart to God then, I was lost! There was a dreadful struggle in my feelings; at length I gave up, and yielded all my heart to the Lord. From that time, I felt happy, and commenced a new life, working all I could for my Saviour.

He returned after a time to Brooklyn, where he "still tried to do his duty." When the Rebellion broke out, he was among the first to hear the call of his country, and he enlisted for three years. He has suffered much, and been in many battles, but, as he says, "I am not tired of serving my country, and the Lord is still with me."

This young soldier, thus made a trophy of divine grace, with very little education, or previous religious advantages, is here in the field, an ornament to his profession, and an example to all who know him. Without having risen to any rank, being still "a private," he is indeed a soldier of the cross, true to the Captain of his salvation.

In the regiment, which has now no chaplain, he maintains a regular weekly prayer-meeting, in addition to occasional meetings. On the muster-roll are several professors of religion, yet no other one in the whole regiment takes any active part; but Andrew is not discouraged. He reads and talks and sings and prays. Few attended at first, but more came, erelong, especially of the officers. There is an attempt at ridicule, sometimes, but he is proof

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against it. "When they make a noise," he says, "I feel ready to sink; but I throw myself right into the arms of Jesus, and I begin to rise and rise till I am lifted above the tumult. The blessed Spirit comes and breathes courage into my heart, and soon the boys are quiet and crowd around me, and I have a glorious meeting."

At the battle of Fredericksburg, Andrew, with his comrades was in the hottest of the fire. The night before, as they lay on the bank of the Rappahannock, in expectation of the carnage of the morrow he summoned them to prayer. His voice, remarkable for sweetness and melody, was heard singing his usual call to the meeting for worship. Twenty-five or thirty of the men gathered around him. He talked to them "of the salvation which sinners need. It might be their last time. The battle was at hand, with its certainty of death to so many. As to himself, if such was God's will, he was willing to go; and he then exhorted them all to be prepared for the issue, whether life or death. "They stood round me in the darkness," says he, “and listened. I felt the presence of the Spirit, and spoke to them twenty minutes. No one made fun of me that night." After singing

"Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly,"

he prayed, and his fellow-soldiers returned solemnly to their quarters.

After the battle (he escaped unhurt), they lay on the field all night, close to the enemy, and also during all the next day. Some were wounded, whom he assisted in any way that he could. It was an awful place. Death was on every side. On the next night, they fell back a little, to the outskirts of the city; and again Andrew had his meeting. He invited a few into a small house, read his

Bible, sung, and, under such afflictive circumstances, tenderly addressed those around him. He says, "I was afraid I should not have another opportunity, and I tried to be faithful. I could not close with prayer as we were called upon to 'fall in,' and I had to stop the meeting suddenly." Thus, this dear youth, the hero of battle-fields, is also the Christian hero!

A few evenings ago, in the still twilight of the Sabbath, I heard his voice within the precincts of his regiment singing, and then in a few earnest words dwelling on the love of God.

He has his meetings, not only in camp, but on long marches. "Right out here in this lot, I had one," said he, "when we were marching on." He is also one of the most faithful in the distribution of religious tracts; he comes often to my tent for supplies, and before leaving always wants a season of prayer. Asking him one day how he found a place where he could pray in secret, he replied, “I go down into the woods, and especially if I am to have a meeting. After that the cross is easy. I enjoy the work and expect a blessing." He complains of not having time to go around among his companions privately as much as he could wish, as he must be often on picket and fatigue duty, and always ready to fall into the ranks. "It seems to me," he says, as if I could draw them to Christ if I could only get near to them."

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Andrew modestly speaks of "a number of conversions." "One sergeant begins to talk with me as if he had a change of heart." "I am sure there is more attention among the officers than there was. Eight or ten attended my meeting last Sabbath. One of the lieutenants, at the close of the service, came and took my hand, saying he felt that every word I said was true, and told me to go on with the meeting. Oh, how that encouraged me!"

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Let it not be thought that he is less courageous because he fears God, or fails in his duty as a soldier because he is so active in religious things. The very opposite is true, as what has been related shows. The testimony of the officers is, "He is ready, cheerful under any order; his lion heart in battle seems ignorant of fear." And why should it not be so, when he lives so as to be ready for this world or the world hereafter? Surely the time cometh when such a private, though unhonored here, though lowly-born, shall outrank princes.

VIII. RELICS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD.

In the office of Dr. T., of Cambridge, Mass. (says a visitor to that place), we were recently shown some very suggestive relics from the army of the Southwest. This Christian surgeon had been in the hospital at Memphis, Tennessee. He first laid on the table a skeleton foot and the anklebones, the latter of which were shattered to splinters by a Minie ball. It seemed scarcely possible that a single bullet could so break in pieces nearly the entire length of bone from the knee to the foot. Yet the heroic soldier lived, and endured all the suffering without a murmur. By the side of these fragments Dr. T. laid the fractured heeljoint of another victim of the demon of war, with the remark that the case shed light on the question of needless amputation. The effort to save the limb cost the man his life. When Dr. T. inquired of the dying soldier what message he had to send to his family and friends, he replied promptly, "Tell them I am ready to go home to them, home to God or back to the war." These were his last words. His sense of accountability, his faith in the unseen and eternal, destroyed every fear except that of failing to know and perform his duty.