I was riding on top of a train of cars, running over what the soldiers called "Gen. Grant's railroad," the line that stretches from City Point up to the left of the army. While we were passing through a forest cleared by soldiers' axes, a private, sitting by my side, called attention to the large pine trees which had been torn up by the roots in the wind-storm of the night preceding. They had been left standing for Quartermasters' purposes after the smaller ones had been cut away for fuel.

"Can't Stand without the Little Ones."

"Chaplain," said the soldier, "do you know why those trees that have tumbled over, are like a great many men in the army ?"

"Because they can't stand without 'the little ones' to help them."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE EASTERN ARMIES.

FROM THE INVESTMENT OF PETERSBURG, UNTIL THE CLOSE OF THE WAR.

(Concluded.)

June 1864-April 1865.

A LITTLE story told by Rev. Geo. N. Marden illustrates the same general truth with the incident which closed the preceding chapter:

At one of the City Point hospitals was a soldier who told me he had been near the gates of death.

"My Mother's Religion."

"How did you feel in view of meeting God?" I asked. "Well," said he, "I thought it all over, and felt calm and ready. I never made any profession, but I'm convinced of the truth of religion. When young, I used to read Tom Paine and Voltaire, and I liked to argue, for the sake of argument, with any one who seemed sectarian or fond of discussion. Yet I did not believe a word of what I read. I always believed in my mother's religion. No man on the face of God's globe can lodge an argument between me and my mother's religion."

Rev. Dr. Robert Patterson, writing from Hatcher's Run, in March, 1865, gives an account of the opening of a fresh box of Testaments for the men who were to march within a day or two:

'Boys, I want eight men to help in with this box of Testaments." “Here you go, Chaplain,” said a child of fourteen or fifteen, as he caught hold with the others.

Pleading for a Testament.

"That's a queer little fellow," says one of the men; "he is from Hagerstown, where, when the inhabitants fled, his father bushwhacked Stuart's Cav

alry and got killed, and he enlisted."

He gets a Testament and a hymn book:

"If you give me another, I'll distribute it." "To whom will you distribute it, my son ?"

"To my Color Sergeant, sir."

He is bringing in his blanket and great-coat for the Commission to send home for him.

"I wish you would give me one of those Testaments. I had one covered with leather, mother gave me, and I carried it all through the campaign, till I lost my knapsack. I wouldn't have taken fifty dollars for it."

"Please, Chaplain, let me have one. I have a Bible my mother gave me, but the covers are worn off it, and I have to tie it with a string; and I think I'll send it home."

Here is a young convert who found Christ last week, and he must have one. There is a boy who wants to send home his Fifth Corps badge, a Maltese silver cross, inscribed with Antietam and a dozen other battles. We cannot refuse him one.

The box of Testaments will scarcely last till night. Here is a Chaplain with an oat sack for papers and Testaments; he will shoulder it two miles. Here comes a brother with whom I have crossed the prairie, and mingled in the great revival of 1858; and he says the spirit among the men is the same as in that. His Colonel, McCoy, conducts the meeting when he is absent, and the chapel tent is filled every night.

I attended a Bible-class on Sabbath afternoon, in the Third Brigade, Second Division, Fifth Corps. Almost all the boys had Testaments; but one of the leaders, buttoned up to the throat, went around, and opening his breast poured forth the Word of God from his overflowing bosom, to those who needed. Then they all began the study of the Sermon on the Mount. At night in that chapel over a dozen were under conviction and seeking prayer, after the sermon. They will not willingly leave the meeting till the drum calls them

away.

Rev. W. H. Gilbert,' canvassing the army to find its need of the Word of God, comes upon these incidents :

"Mother Taught Me to read it."

In one tent, where there were four men, two of them went to the meetings, and became hopefully converted. Without opposition from the other two, they began reading the Bible and praying in their tent. One of them, a short, stout man, whom they called "Chubby," was accustomed to read for them. At length Chubby was sent to the front. When the hour of worship next came, his companion, not willing to give up the exercise, or to conduct it entirely alone, asked his comrades who should read the Bible for them:

"Will you, William ?"

"No," was the reply; "I can't read the Bible, I never did."

The other tent-mate, who was a very profane and wicked man, responded

"I will; I ought to. My mother taught me to read it; and it would have been better for me if I had always obeyed her." And the tears flowed, as he took the book and read a chapter. When he had done, his pious companion knelt to pray, and he knelt too; and when the other had prayed, he followed, and then and there gave himself to Christ, and began a Christian life.

Its Price above Rubies.

In one of the meetings at City Point, a soldier said that he had been trying to serve Christ for about six months. He had been trying to induce all his company to come to the meeting and seek Jesus; and had persuaded eleven to come. He drew his Bible from his pocket, and said he had read it through three times since he began to serve Christ, and he would not exchange it for all other books that could be collected.

Rev. John B. Perry2 writes in March from the chapel at Warren Station, of the influence exerted through these "tabernacles in the wilderness:"

1 Joint Agent of the American Bible Society, and of the Commission.

2 Pastor of Congregational Church, Swanton, Vt.

There were two boys from a regiment not noted for piety, who began to attend the services at Warren Station chapel. Becoming interested in the meetings, they persevered and soon gave evidence that they were born of God. Going back to their own camp, they started social worship in their tents. The little gatherings were nightly continued; the number in attendance increased; soon thirty from that regiment indulged hope in Christ.

A Chapel's Influence.

In another regiment there had been found, a few months before, but a single professing Christian. He had been alone for a year. He was an unassuming, quiet, conscientious boy, about nineteen years old. His life was so spotless and his efforts so faithful that interest among his comrades was at last awakened. On the 1st of April there were eighteen of the regiment who cherished a substantial trust in Christ as the Divine Saviour.

At Home with Jesus.

The fruit on the battle-field of these awakenings was what might have been expected,—soldiers "strong in the Lord." On the evening of March 22d, a soldier who had recently found peace was baptized and received into the Army Christian Association. In the severe fighting of March 25th he was mortally wounded. When brought off the field, though suffering intensely, he was happy in mind. He sent messages to his friends at home, and to his companions in arms, urging them to seek Christ. As the breath ebbed away amidst the outward signs of extreme bodily anguish, we asked him whither he was going:

"I am going home; yes, I am going home to be with Jesus." Rev. W. Howell Buchanan1 writes of the way in which the soldiers became attached to the chapels :

I attended one meeting in the chapel at Meade Station, whose like for deep, quiet, religious earnestness I had never seen. It was literally baptized in tears, and it was certainly baptized by the Holy Ghost. One young man, whose emotions continually choked his utterance, told me—

The Gate of Heaven.

"I helped to build this chapel, and I shall never forget the place. I didn't know when I was at work here what good

'Of Elverston Ill.