The lady who tells this story was herself neither loyal nor a Christian when she was at Gettysburg. The East Tennesseean's death taught her to be both an earnest lover of her country, and Christ's child also. So she feels that she can never repay little Alice for the lessons she has been taught.

CHAPTER VII.

THE EASTERN ARMIES.

FROM GETTYSBURG UNTIL GRANT'S ADVANCE ON RICHMOND.

July 1863-May 1864.

THE movements of the armies in Virginia for several months after Gettysburg need no chronicling here. Commission stations were established at Germantown, Warrenton, among the First Corps hospitals on the Rappahannock, at Bealeton, and in the Third Army Corps. The sick were promptly taken to Washington; so that the main work for some time was among the well. In September occurred the strange retreat of the entire army to Centreville Heights. Tedious days of slow advance followed. A station was put up at Gainesville in October, moved thence to Manassas Junction, and in November transferred to Warrenton Junction.

Mr. A. D. Matthews, of Brooklyn, a Delegate in October at Winchester Seminary Hospital, Frederick, Md., relates an affecting story of a mother's courage and of a soldier's faith:

After service on Sunday morning, I found Henry M― in the hospital, dreadfully wounded in the breast. He was one of three brothers,―all Sunday-school scholars at the time of their enlistment.

The Mother and her Sons.

Two or three weeks before, Henry's mother had been called from her home in Northern New York to Washington, to see Willie, one of the brothers,

who was at the point of death. He lingered but a few days after her arrival, then sweetly fell asleep in Jesus. Efforts to embalm the body failed, and the broken-hearted mother had just followed it to the grave, so far from home, when she was summoned in haste to Henry's cot in Frederick. The Surgeon cautioned her not to mention the fact of Willie's death, as the soldier's wound in the breast was liable to open during any fit of sobbing or crying, and death might be the result. Of course, one of Henry's first questions was about his brother. The mother replied

"Don't be troubled about him, my son; keep perfectly quiet; Willie is in good hands, and well cared for."

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With heroic fortitude for several days she kept the mournful news pent up in her breast, until some one, not knowing the restriction, alluded to Willie's death. Henry looked into his mother's face: Mother, is Willie dead?" Concealment was no longer possible; and telling the sad story, she realized the Surgeon's fears. The wound re-opened, and for several days life hung by a slender thread. The Sunday morning I visited him he had begun to mend. There was a smile on his face as he told me of his once feeble hope, of his present gladsome prospect:

"Since I have lain here the old lessons have come fresh and new to mind; I am now sure that Jesus is my all."

The mother's heart was spared the loss of her second son, though, before Henry had entirely recovered, she was made anxious again by news from the third, who was wounded in battle, but soon able to return to his regiment.

Rev. Luther Keene,' a Delegate to the forces about Washington in October and November, furnishes the following sketches of hospital work:

A young German, afterwards baptized by Rev. Mr. Coit, of S. Brookfield, Mass., came to talk to me about himself:

"There are two voices within me; one voice tells me to play cards and swear: the other to go to the meeting." He described with vividness and minuteness his last

The Two Voices.

1 Pastor of Congregational Church, N. Brookfield, Mass.

conflict; it was as much a real one to him as if voices were actually audible,—indeed was it not more real? I asked him which voice he was going to obey. With decision in his animated face he replied, "The good voice." I showed him St. Paul's words in the seventh chapter of Romans, and how he had been unconsciously quoting them. After his baptism, he gave one evening a precious sign of his love for Christ and souls. Going to a cområde at the meeting's close, he led him forward to where the men were kneeling to be prayed for. It was a beautiful sight to see him make room among the company for the unresisting soldier, and then help him down upon his knees.

Guiding into the Kingdom.

Coming to where

I stood, he told me that the man was almost deaf. By putting my mouth close to his ear I prayed with him. The last I saw of them, they were leaving the meeting together,—the deaf soldier leaning on the German's arm, who seemed to be tenderly and solicitously helping him into the kingdom of God.

Those letters written for soldiers,-how precious they were sometimes! I met one poor little English boy in the hospital. His face was piteous with homelessness and waiting. "I would give all I have in the world," he said, "if I could only hear from Letters Home. home." For some reason his letters had been long unanswered. I wrote to England for him, and there was at least one happy heart in the army a few weeks afterwards, when the answer

came.

I had visited a dying soldier named Hill, and written home for him. One morning I found a young stranger kneeling at the cot-side. He was Hill's brother. Shall I ever forget the grasp of that man's hand and the light in his eyes, as he told me about those letters home, narrating so simply the story of a soldier's endurance and victory over sin? Or, shall I ever forget another scene, over which there was joy elsewhere, if not there, when the brother, maimed in the service of the Government, followed the dead soldier to the grave, and wept with me there? We were the only mourners, and yet many of the poor boys had fewer still.

The army in November moved against Lee. The Rappahannock was brilliantly crossed on the 7th; and

after bridges were rebuilt and communications opened, the Rapidan was passed on the 26th. The armies faced each other along Mine Run for several days. On December 1st and 2d our forces were withdrawn, and the campaign of 1863 was ended.

A few days before the advance to Mine Run, Brandy Station became the grand centre of supply and communication. Thither, with such instructions as the Field Agent could give, went Rev. E. F. Williams with six Delegates. The first Sunday's service was an earnest of the great winter harvest to be gathered there. Several weeks before, an interesting work of grace had begun among the unorganized recruits at Warrenton Junction.

Chaplain Norman Fox, of the 77th N. Y. Regiment, sent to the New York Examiner a story of the evening after the battle of Rappahannock Station:

I found a young man of the 10th Mass. Regiment, with his leg crushed and mangled by a piece of shell. The shock had been so severe that amputation was useless, and he was sinking rapidly. I inquired concerning his religious history. It was the old story,—a bright hope, active church membership, army life and irregularities, and the abandonment of his profession. "And now," said he, "if there can be forgiveness for such a wanderer, pray for me."

The Brothers.

I confess I felt more backwardness than was right. There stood a circle of rough soldiers surveying the solemn scene with mere morbid curiosity. There stood another group, more educated and refined,— a knot of Surgeons, some of whom, I knew, had no belief in God or eternity, and considered my interview with the dying man as at best but amiable uselessness. But there lay the sinking sufferer, and I wore the uniform of a minister of Christ. Bending over the table where he lay, I asked the Good Shepherd to pardon the returning wanderer. Murmured responses throughout the prayer disclosed his own earnestness in the petition; the smothered hope revived again;