young soldier's request lose its hold upon the officer, until he became an humble, sincere Christian.

Rev. R. Brown, a Delegate among the troops at Fort Leavenworth, in the Fall and early Winter of 1865, describes an episode in his work:

Work on behalf of Military Prisoners.

About one hundred men of the 17th Ill. Cav. were confined in the Military Prison at Fort Leavenworth, on the charge of mutiny. On investigation I became satisfied that, while they had done wrong, there were many palliating circumstances. They certainly needed all the help we could render. Many of them were without shoes, shirts or stockings; some were very sick, and all sad and anxious. I interested myself earnestly for their release, and at last, through Gov. Oglesby of Illinois, an order was procured from the War Department, sending them to Springfield before their discharge.

Visiting them again, just as they were preparing to obey this order, I held a parting meeting. Never did praise and prayer seem so delightful; never was temple of worship more truly filled with the Divine presence than was that forlorn prison-house.

Life Becomes Real.

A lady from the East, of fashion and culture, reluctantly accompanied us to our last prison meeting with them. A box-the only movable thing that would answer for a seat-was placed in the centre of the cell for her. She wept as she saw the gratitude glowing in every face, and evident in pressure of the hand and utterance of the lips. She was a church member, but this scene of praise and prayer gave her an entirely new view of life. She was silent afterwards about the meeting; before her return to the East I asked the reason:

every

"When I think of my reluctance to accompany you, and then of the evident presence of God in that meeting, I begin to fear my own hope is false, and my religion an empty form."

It was the occasion of a new consecration, and a determination to do some of Christ's work among the poor.

Intercourse between the citizens of Leavenworth and the imprisoned soldiers had been quite frequent. In the opinion of many, the wonderful revival which visited the city soon after, and which re

The Germ of

a Revival.

sulted in adding one-third of their present strength to the Protestant churches, was due in no small measure to the quickening granted to many during their visits to the Commission meetings in the prison and elsewhere.

Two sketches of St. Louis hospital work may close this part of our record. Miss McBeth furnishes the first:

"Why, who is this? How did you get here, little brother?"

"Our Baby."

I had slipped into the wards after the lamps were lighted, to see some of the new patients who had reached us from the South that day, and just as I opened the door my eye fell on the strangest sight. The bed nearest me had been newly filled with straw, and upon the top of it, his little limbs scarcely reaching more than half its length, lay the oddest, oldest-looking boy, with a pair of bright, black eyes, looking at me out of a little, thin, withered face:

"I came up on the boat. I belong to the

Regiment"-I have forgotten the number; would the face were as easily forgotten!

"A drummer-boy?"

"No; a soldier!" and what pride there was in that shrill, childish voice, as he called over the names of the battles he had fought.

He was a waif from one of our great cities, such as only cities nourish. He had never known either parents or home, but "just growed," Topsy-like, and struggled up and out into the world the best way he could, until a recruiting officer, seeking one more name to complete his number, added this, and the boy was a soldier. "Have you seen our baby' yet?" asked a nurse, as I came out of the ward that night, so all had christened him from the first. I never knew another name for him. They moved him to a cot near the stoves attendants and convalescents petted and nursed him, and for a time he grew better under their care. Our hospitals were very full at that time, and death was busy in every ward. I spent my strength with those I knew must soon die, and gave "our baby" only a few passing words, waiting until I could have more time with him. He was getting much better, I thought, and needed careful instruction. He could neither read nor write; knew little more of God

than a heathen child; had scarcely heard Christ's name, save as an oath. I must begin with the very rudiments of the Gospel. And so I waited for a more convenient season, giving him my brightest-covered little tracts, for his comrades to read to him, and resting myself when I came home at night by putting all the old engravings I could find into picture-books for his amusement. At last a day came when I thought I could give him an hour; but when I stood beside his cot he had gone beyond my reach! I thought at first he was asleep— but no, he was dying! I bent close to his ear and tried to make him hear me, but not a muscle of that still face moved. Light, or sound, of earth could reach him no more for ever.

Rev. E. P. Smith, during a brief visit to St. Louis, was invited by Miss McBeth to see a Michigan soldier in Jefferson Barracks, in whose case she felt a peculiar interest:

I saw at a glance that he had not long to live. In his pale, thin face, flushed with the last sign of flickering life, there was a beseeching—a piteous longing, such as in all my hospital experience I had

Christ Rejected for the Last time.

rarely seen. At first he gave me little heed, but as I laid the back of my hand upon his burning cheek, and stroked the hair from his forehead, he turned his eyes full upon me, in a look that spoke things unutterable: "How are you to-day, my soldier friend?"

"Poorly, sir; very poorly; a few days more-only a few." "You are all ready, I trust?"

"I am going—there is no help for it; if you call that 'ready,' I am ready."

"But I mean, are you prepared to die? Is this exchange of worlds going to be pleasant to you

"Pleasant! It is awful, sir; horrible beyond all account! But I have got to come to it!"

"No, my brother, there is no such 'got to' about it. You are in this world yet, and it is a world of mercy. This is the world where Christ died. Let me tell you what He says: 'Whoso cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.'”

"I know it, I know it all; I have heard it a thousand times."