Going to the Front: Recommissioned for Army Service

“Lo, a cloud’s about to vanish

From the day;
Lo, the right’s about to conquer —

Clear the way!
And a brazen wrong to crumble

Into clay.”

The dark days of 1861 came on. The nation was drifting into war. Few believed it, however, till the blow was absolutely struck. Then loyal millions arose and with one voice said, “Die who will or may, this land must live.”

Everywhere were heard the shoutings of captains, the rattle of armor, the tramp of marching feet. Uncle John had been opposed to war. He had looked upon it as always a calamity, and frequently a crime. Again and again, regarding it through his strong affections and tender sympathies, he had shudderingly cried, “How long, O Lord, how long?” He had seen in the foe defeated and plundered a man and a brother. He had glimpsed the mutilations and barbarities and butch, eries which war of necessity involved. He had heard the wails of orphanage and widowhood, and so recoiled from every appeal to arms.

But when the cup of trembling was put into his country’s hands, and put into its hands unsought, he

GOING TO THE FRONT. Zy

saw, as others did, that whatever its bitterness it must not be pushed away. For two years he listened, as did many heavy hearts, to tidings of drawn battles or defeats. Then he felt that his time had come, and that he had found his work. It was not to serve in the ranks: he was too old for that. It was not to act as an officer: for that he had no training and no taste. Another and a higher call was in his ears. There were sick and suffering men to be ministered to temporally and spiritually. That should be his task. He went to the Tract Society again, and asked if he could not have a new commission, a commission to engage in army labor. It was granted him in June, 1863, and he was soon inside the Federal lines,

“Amid a wilderness of graves,
With death on every hand.”

Lee had started northward on that last invasion which he ever ventured, and whose issues half a dozen States a little later hung breathlessly on. Hooker’s army was in full pursuit. The excitement was at white heat all over Maryland and along the Pennsylvania line. The cloud gathering so blackly was about to break. The rival hosts drew closer together, and finally grappled in one of the deadliest struggles of these latter days, on the ridges and slopes around Gettysburg.

It was the Sunday before the fight. The old Army of the Potomac lay stretched from Frederick City southward along the Monocacy. The” One Hundred and

Fiftieth New York,” of which the writer was chaplain, had camped on a rough hillside. The regiment had as yet seen but little service; the march for days had been heavy; no one knew what moment orders might come to move on: so our meeting had been a short one and a small one that day. As it was closing, who should come in but Uncle John! These were all Dutchess County men, hundreds of whom he knew. Tired as they were, they were not too tired to welcome him. Moreover, he was recently from home, and to grasp his hand and listen to his voice seemed half as good as being there.

Before daylight the advance was sounded, and all were tumbling out and falling into line. The columns went pushing along the artillery-rutted roads as if on a race toward those Pennsylvania hills. Uncle John was fifty years old or more, but he kept up with the best. Not only kept up, but often would shoulder for a mile or two the gun or knapsack of some poor fellow ready to give out. We missed him before getting to Gettysburg, and weeks passed before our men again saw his face. After the fight was over he became separated in some way from our troops, and was captured by Stuart’s cavalry.” When brought into the presence of the general and questioned as a suspected spy, he instantly dissipated the suspicions of the officers by his frank and fearless words for the Master. * I am working as a colporteur of the American Tract Society, to try and save the souls of the dear boys that fall around me daily. General, do you love Jesus?’ The

General fenced the question with, *I know that good old Society, and have no fear of its emissaries.’ * But, my dear general, do you love Jesus?’ The puzzled officer was relieved by the suggestion of those who had arrested Uncle John, and who were already restive under his close questionings. * General,’ said they, * take the man’s promise that he will not tell of our whereabouts for twenty-four hours, and let us see him out of our lines, or we will have a prayer -meeting from here to Richmond.’ And so it was decided. He made his way back into the Union lines, and was once more among friends.”

He was only inside of the Confederate camp about ten hours, but it is doubtful whether in a like space so much Gospel was ever urged upon the men he met. And their supposition that he would have kept it up had he been held longer was perfectly correct. Had he been put in the foulest corner of Libby Prison, or Castle Thunder, the story of salvation would have rung there as it did in the jail at Philippi so long ago.

How he employed himself in the army one of the chaplains, Rev. E. J. Hamilton, tells us in a racy little sketch of the man which he prepared for publication while the war was yet going on. “Mark him as he enters camp. In his cheery way he says, ‘How are you, dear boys? I am glad to see you. I guess I have a little something for you; I was thinking you would be wanting some paper or needles, for the paymaster has not been around in a good while, has he.-* I cannot carry much, but just step up, boys, and I will give you what I have.’ Both his hands are busy dispensing sheets of paper, and pens, and thread, with skilful and impartial generosity. After these gifts tracts and religious reading are produced from the black satchel, and distributed to many glad recipients. Now his stock is exhausted, and after some excellent story or terse remark, he adds,” Now, boys, don’t forget the prayer- meeting the chaplain is going to have this evening. Come, dear boys, and let us ask God to bless us.’ ‘We will, we will,’ is the response of many voices, and possibly the evening hour will show that the invitation has been accepted by many silent, softened hearts that did not dare to speak. In the prayer-meeting he is a great power, for he generally imparts to his fellow-worshippers much of his own spirit. I first met him in the log church of our brigade. On that occasion he moved us all. After this I was going away for ten days, and asked him to look after my boys. He consented. On my return I was prepared for something of a revival, but not to learn that the chapel was crowded, and that meetings were kept up three times a day. When I entered it that afternoon what a scene presented itself! The place was half Babel, half Bochim. Many of the soldiers were kneeling, some praying, some sobbing, some groaning some loudly responding. Uncle John was seemingly the most engaged of all. After the principal prayer was over he rose and in his sweet tenor voice began a favorite hymn. All joined, and the praise went up through the white trembling canvas roof. He had instituted the morning assembly for inquirers and young converts, that in the afternoon for the prayers and exhortations of Christians generally, while more formal exercises occupied the meeting at night.

“The evening service was the most important. Generally there was a sermon by one of the chaplains, after which those who loved the Lord and those who desired to do so were requested to remain. Commonly very few went away, and then Uncle John’s work began. After some prayers and hymns he would make a short address, and conclude by asking those who felt themselves in need of salvation and who desired Christians to pray for them to stand up. And then what earnestness in persuading sinners to declare for Christ! He would look over the assembly sometimes for a minute till some one rose. ‘There’s one,’ says Uncle John, with visible emotion. ‘Bless the Lord. There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.’ Then after a short pause he would add in the most inviting tones, * And is there no other precious soul here that wants a Saviour? Yes, there’s another. God bless you, dear brother. Oh, it was for such that Jesus died. Jesus, the Son of God,’ and Uncle John would sing,

* He died for you,

He died for me,
He died to set poor sinners free;

Oh, who’s like Jesus
That died on the tree? ’

*’ Another pause. * And is there not another one who wants to love this blessed Saviour? Yes, I see you, dear brother. I knew there would be more. I feel that God is here to-night. And there’s another, and another, and another. Oh, praise the Lord! Precious Saviour, thy blood cleanses a universe from guilt.’ In this way he would go on till perhaps a dozen or twenty had risen; then the meeting would be dismissed, and Uncle John and the chaplains would tarry with the anxious, conversing and praying according to the need of each individual case.

During such an awakening Uncle John labors night and day. As he set out one morning to follow the impressions of the previous evening I went with him down the company streets. Entering a tent where two out of the four occupants were Christians, he addressed himself to each man and led in a short prayer. Then he asked for a sergeant whom he knew to be under deep conviction. The young man came in. Uncle John read the look of trouble on his face, and sadly and tenderly said, * O Albert, Albert, my boy, haven’t you given your heart to the Saviour yet? What is the matter? Why don’t you throw every thing else away and trust only in the Lord Jesus? The young man answered that he was trying to do that, but could not find any peace. We all knelt down in the little shanty which barely held us, and the chaplain led in prayer. Then Uncle John said, * Now, Albert, you pray.* The lad offered a few simple, earnest petitions, and we left him. Several days afterward I met him going to one of the meetings with a shining face. ‘Well, Albert,’ said I, ‘how do you feel to-day?’ ‘Oh, bright as a shilling, chaplain,’ was the singular but expressive reply. And bright ever since has been his Christian character and course. “His fidelity is unsparing. ‘Uncle John,’ said one captain, ‘I try to do my duty, and I think that is all that is required of me.” Why, captain,’ answered the honest man, in tones of astonishment, ’ how can you say so? No man does his duty who does not ^lyq his heart to God, and live in God’s service. What would you think of a man brought up by a kind father, and provided by him with every means of happiness, who should be a good brother and husband and neighbor and citizen, and yet be a heartless and undutiful son? Don’t you think his wickedness would be unspeakably great?” But the cases are different,’ rejoined the captain. ‘No, they are not,’ said Uncle John. ‘That man would be condemned by the moral sense of the community; and the godless sinner, you may depend upon it, will be condemned by the public opinion of the universe.’

“Nearly one hundred and ffty — one tenth of our whole brigade — professed faith in Christ during these services thus carried on. Many are in soldiers’ graves, some are at home sick or wounded, some are in Southern prisons, but so far as I know the great majority have shown that their profession was well founded.

“On one occasion, I cannot say whether I was more amused to see the familiar yet respectful assurance, or gratified to witness the startling directness with which he interrogated a brave colonel whom he had never seen before. A meeting had been concluded in front of the headquarters tent, and Uncle John had conversed and prayed with a young man who had shown deep conviction and anxiety regarding his sins. Utterly unconscious of human presence, and with a simplicity and earnestness which rose above all influences of time and place, and surrounded themselves with their own proprieties — silence, solemnity, and attention — he knelt with the lad in the midst of a crowd of bystanders, and prayed for him, for his comrades, for the officers of the regiment, and for the whole army. The vigorous colloquial language of the prayer, and its particularizing petitions, in which names and places and circumstances were freely mentioned, interested and impressed the hearers of it. Conventionalities plainly had little to do with Uncle John’s religion. The young man went away comforted, and trusting in God; and the crowd dispersed. Then we entered the colonel’s tent, in which we found one or two officers of the command, together with their chief. After a few words of conversation regarding the history of the regiment and its part in the summer’s campaign, in which it had lost heavily, Uncle John remarked that it was a blessed thing to have a hope that no bullet or cannon-ball can touch, and a life indestructible and immortal. Then turning to the colonel, he said, “And now, colonel, just tell Uncle John how it is with you. We are all perishing creatures, and must soon be in eternity together. Have you, dear colonel, a good hope in Christ y Can you say that you know that your Redeemer liveth? You will pardon Uncle John for asking you; he ’s a poor dying old man that loves your soul, and wants it to be saved.” This appeal, made rapidly, without any apparent premeditation, and with great tact and tenderness, evidently affected the colonel. Uncle John proceeded in the same manner as before:” You know what I mean. I do n’t mean. Are you a professor of religion y for there are many unworthy professors; but, has your heart been renewed by grace divine? That is the point. Have you become a new creature in Christ Jesus? Have you experienced that change of which our Saviour speaks when he declares that a man must be born again before he can see the kingdom of God V The colonel expressed a hope that he was a Christian; and Brother Vassar replied that he rejoiced to hear him say so; that he prayed the Lord to bless him and make him faithful to the end; and that he wished before God that all our leaders were earnest, believing men.

“During the revival in the winter he frequently moved the audiences in the log chapel with short but thrilling strains of extemporaneous eloquence. Those of us, who were accustomed to notice mental methods, could not but wonder at the man’s gifts. For myself, I listened to passages in his oratory such as, I think, are seldom heard from either pulpit or rostrum. His style at times reminded one of the more serious and moving utterances of Gough. But his discourses showed more argument than is commonly attempted in those of that interesting lecturer. Thought after thought was presented and ilkistrated with admirable though untaught adherence to the rules of art. The logical order of the ideas, their progressive continuity of impulse, their practical development and application, were faultless. Homely condensed language, natural and striking metaphors, unexpected similes, antithesies and turns of expression, a becoming gesticulation, and a voice wonderfully persuasive and rich with sympathetic feeling, engaged attention, awoke the heart’s best emotions and excited new inter, est in the saving truths of Christianity. The sincere and humble earnestness of the man was also a chief element of his power. Not a word was uttered for oratorical effect. Every sentence manifested yearning love for souls, vivid conceptions of eternal things, and a solemn sense of the presence of God. Success too, though confidently looked for, was expected solely through the divine blessing. What wonder was it that such speaking produced results that have been visible ever since? Those who have heard him will not forget with what joyous faith he sang,

“Jesus shall reign where’er the sun
Does his successive journeys run;”

nor how invitingly and solemnly he rendered

“There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins;”

nor the tenderness of those lines,

“Come, trembling sinner, in whose breast
A thousand thoughts revolve;
Come with your guilt and fear oppressed,
And make this last resolve;”

nor the heartiness of the verses,

“Come ye sinners, poor and needy,

Weak and wounded, sick and sore;
Jesus ready stands to save you,
Full of pity, love, and power.”

How boldly he raised that Christian battle-song,

“Am I a soldier of the cross?”

What thankfulness and love he put into that grand hymn

“Oh for a thousand tongues to sing
My dear Redeemer’s praise!”

With what plaintive melody he sang,

“Did Christ o’er sinners weep?
And shall my tears be dry?”

and with what affectionate longing,

“Jerusalem, my happy home.” These and many other old hymns, and the tunes which accompany them, were weapons of power with Uncle John.

During the early part of the summer he labored in the army of the James, among the colored regiments, and as might be conjectured, was very successful in arousing the lively African soldiers to the duties and attractions of religion. Nowhere were his visits more welcome, or the results of his efforts to lead men to the Saviour more apparent, than among the colored troops. They prepared a place in the pine woods with seats and a stand for speakers, where he often addressed them. From one thousand to fifteen hundred souls were frequently present at these meetings. It was a scene worthy of a painter’s skill. I was particularly pleased with an address which he made one September evening in the plaza of

Fort Davis to a regiment drawn up before him in line. The colonel had directed a notification of the companies for a prayer-meeting which we proposed to have; but the adjutant, thinking, I presume, to do the business thoroughly, ordered out the whole command, as if for dressparade. Uncle John stood with his hands behind him, leaning against a tree in front of the headquarters, while company after company filed past him, faced to the rear, and dressed into correct position. The men evidently were wondering what was going on; and some of the officers seemed to think that a joke was being perpetrated on the chaplains and Uncle John. However, we were ready for the emergency. A prayer-meeting was out of the question; so we resolved on some public exercises. After an introductory address, a hymn, and a prayer, Uncle John was invited to speak. He began by expressing his gratitude to the colonel for that opportunity of addressing the officers and men of “the dear old Seventh.” He had come expecting only to attend a prayer-meeting, but was glad to meet so many brave men. As he looked on the faces before him, and saw, how very few were present of those whom he had seen last winter, the thought arose,” Where were those brave boys that left the old camp at B. V They are gone; they lie on the battlefields of the Wilderness, and of Spottsylvania, and of the North Anna, and of Coal Harbor — all along the way from the Rapidan to Petersburg. Some are at home in the North, or in hospitals; but how many occupy their long, last home — a soldier’s grave! Scarcely one is left of the familiar faces. Ah, well did he remember some of those noble boys that he used to see in the old log chapel, and whom he should see never more on earth. But, blessed be God, he had a bright hope of meeting them in heaven. They were heroes of Christ, and of his cross. Now they have fought their fight, they have finished their course, and they have received their crown. Oh, how he -wished that every soldier was a truly Christian man, and prepared for any chance that might befall him. He knew many brave men who were not Christians; but it was always a mystery to him how any man could face death without a hope in that blessed Saviour, who had triumphed over death and the grave. He supposed a sense of duty would do much, but how much better was it to be sure that one’s soul has been saved with an eternal salvation. Then the king of terrors is dethroned, and death becomes the gate of heaven. Did you ever think, he asked, against what love you offend while you remain unreconciled to God.? Oh, it filled all heaven with wonder, when God’s glorious Son took on him our salvation, and offered himself for our sins. Never was love like His love. How can you refuse your hearts to that loving, dying Saviour t Surely you will not suffer it to be that Christ should have died for you in vain.

“The Son of God in tears.
Angels with wonder see;
Be thou astonished, O my soul,
He shed those tears for thee.

“He wept that we might weep;
Each sin demands a tear.
In heaven alone no sin is found,
And there ’s no weeping there.”

loo UNCLE JOHN VASSAR,

Dear soldiers, if I know my own heart, I earnestly desire the welfare of you all. God knows that I love you, and want to see you happy. And when I think of the fatigues and exposures and dangers which soldiers must undergo, oh, how I wish to have them sustained and comforted by the hopes and consolations of the gospel. I would that every one of you had a sure title to a mansion in the skies. I would that you could all look from these scenes of conflict and suffering and death to that blessed land where there is war no more. Oh, yes; no whistling minie ball, no bursting Parrot shell shall disturb the peaceful inhabitants of that heavenly country. In that land there shall be rest for the weary; pain and grief shall not enter there:

“No groans shall mingle with the son<:;s
That warble from immortal tongues.”

Now let me say a few words to those of you who are Christians. Dear brethren, you are surrounded by temptations; but strive to live faithfully; hold fast your profession; let no man rob you of your crown. Trust not in yourselves, but in One who is mighty. Keep looking up to Jesus, and you will be conquerors, and more than conquerors, through him who loves you. Recently, by the bedside of a dear corporal that formerly belonged to your regiment, but who now sleeps in Jesus, I felt what truth, what power there is in the religion of Christ. All was peace with him, perfect peace. He knew that he was dying; but he rejoiced in the hope of a better life, in the sure prospect of a glorious immortality.” Oh, let me die the death of the righteous, and let lOI

my last end be like his.” And as for you, dear friends, who are without Christ, will you not seek an interest in his salvation? Will you not begin to love and serve that Redeemer who can save and bless you for ever? Yes, Jesus is the Saviour that you need.

“None but Jesus,
None but Jesus
Can do helpless sinners good.”

Oh, then, do not hesitate. To-morrow may be too late. Who knows how soon the bolt of death may come.? Now, while it is called to-day, give your hearts to God, and kneel before him in penitence and prayer. Dear soldiers, I thank you for the kind attention with which you have listened to me. May the Lord bless you all, and bring you to his heavenly kingdom.

Such, as nearly as memory serves me, was the course of thought and style of language employed by Uncle John. But the sketch can give no adequate idea of the living power with which he spoke. His allusions to the uncertainty of life and the nearness of death had a peculiar significance with those whom he addressed. Several of their number had been instantaneously killed, not long before, on the picket line in front of the fort; and a day or two subsequently to our meeting, one poor lad was struck by a minie ball and died in five minutes, a few paces from the spot where he had listened to Uncle John. The summer’s campaign had made us all too much accustomed to these things.”

Rev. J. H. Twitchell, of the Asylum Hill Congregational Church, Hartford, Conn., who as chaplain was also thrown into such contact with him in the army, in a sermon to his people after the death of Uncle John recalls many interesting incidents. We can quote but a few.

“One evening a fellow-chaplain brought him to my tent. We had not met before. At once he burst out in such a strain of religious conversation as I had never heard. At first I was repelled. It seemed canting and extravagant. I could not believe it was genuine. But that suspicion did not last long. I soon saw that what he said, and his way of saying it, was the true utterance of the man. I cannot altogether describe the impression he made. I know that when he left I followed him out and yielded to the impulse that was strongly upon me to tell him I feared I knew but very little of what it was to be spiritually blessed, and to ask him to pray for me. His riches convicted me of poverty. And I have heard a good many say that meeting him produced a like effect on them. There was a Unitarian chaplain amongst us who confessed that Mr. Vassar was a new exhibition of Christianity to him.

“In a merely physical point of view his achievement was prodigious. He began his day at roll-call, and was in a state of intense activity from sixteen to eighteen hours. He ate little, and slept little, yet never flagged, and never gave out. Week after week, and seven days in the week, the same even high rate of energy was sustained. I suppose there were very few of the eight thousand officers and men of our division with whom in the time he was with us he did not talk, and with the majority of them more than once or twice. I used to see him running in his eagerness to get about. Yet he was as far as possible from being in a flurry. His restlessness was wholly external. He always knew exactly what he was after. His objects were distinctly before him.

“Conversing with from seventy-five to a hundred different men a day, he came to the fiftieth or sixtieth just as fresh in his manner, just as much interested, just as tender, as at the first. He wasted no words. He went right to the heart of his errand at once, and his bearing was such that it was hardly possible to take offence. Indeed it was said, and I think truly, that in the entire division he never met with but one positive rebuff, and that in the case of an officer in liquor. And the reason was, he was entirely self- renounced, and showed it. He represented the yearning heart of Christ. It was almost magical the power he had over men. One of our chaplains, taking him to dine with him one day, found no member of his mess present beside himself but the colonel. Nov, this colonel was irreligious, immoral and low-bred, and the chaplain feared to have Mr. Vassar say any thing to him, and I think had advised him to that effect. For a little while the earnest man held his peace; then pausing from his eating, said, ‘My dear colonel, this is the first time I ever saw you, and perhaps we shall never meet again. I am sure you will not think it amiss if I ask you whether you have an interest in the great salvation? ‘The chaplain’s heart leaped up into his mouth. He expected an explosion; but to his surprise the colonel answered the question as simply as it was asked, and with entire civility, and even thanked him for expressing such interest in his welfare. Dinner over, the colonel said, * Sir, would you like to talk to the men? ‘Of course Uncle John said Yes, and the colonel absolutely spent half the afternoon in walking with him through the regiment, and introducing him to knots of soldiers here and there, with, * Here’s a gentleman who has something to say to you, and you had better listen to him, for I think he is a good man.’ The chaplain followed them around in amazement, and could scarcely credit his senses. The colonel was not converted, but for the time he was subdued.

And so he passed around among us for a whole season, uttering one voice continually — the voice of the invitations of divine love. It used to be said that he left the print of his knees in every company street of our division. If this was not literally true it was essentially so.

“Such a ministry could not fail to be fruitful. Upon hundreds, probably upon thousands, of men he made his mark for eternity. Dear old man! How he loved, and how he was loved for Christ’s sake! There were joy and sorrow in all hearts when he parted from us. And when, as we were met together in our log chapel the evening after he bade us good-by, one of our soldiers — a Methodist — prayed in stentorian tones, ‘O Lord, ive thank Thee for sending dear Uncle John Vassar to us, and may God bless him wherever he goes,* a chorus of amens responded, and I saw the tears falling on many a rugged cheek. It is my conviction that few more gracious spirits have been given to the church of Christ in any age than he. The last day alone will reveal how much good he did.”

Professor G. D. B. Pepper, D.D., of Crozer Theo* logical Seminary, sends these reminiscences of war days:

“I met your Uncle for the first time at Alexandria, Va., in the winter of 1863-64. I had gone there to serve the Christian commission as delegate for the term of six weeks, and to their headquarters Uncle John delighted as often as practicable to resort for Christian fellowship. We saw him, however, far less frequently than we desired, for he was incessantly and intensely active wherever soldiers could be found. At the ‘Soldier’s Rest,’ the ‘Teamster’s Park, ’ the ‘Ambulance Stand,’ the ‘Slave Pen,” Detached Regiments,” Garrisons of Neighboring Forts ’ — anywhere, everywhere, untiringly he went. Though laboring specially for the Tract Society, he worked as cordially with the delegates of the Commission as though he had been one of them. Indeed, so full was he of Christ that he became at once identified with every Christian spirit met by him, and identified with all and every Christian work. Firm in avowing and maintaining his distinctive denominational views when occasion required, neither these views nor their maintenance served as a wall or even bar of separation from any person or thing that was lovely and of good report. He was as intensely jo6 UNCLE JOHN VASSAR.

and completely catholic in heart and word and life, as he was intensely earnest in his convictions and their realizations.

More than any other man whom I ever met, or ever expect to meet. Uncle John excelled in the power of free, ready, wise approach to, and entrance into, the hearts of men with personal religious messages. Herein he was no respecter of persons. Professor or non-professor, privates or officers, black or white, it mattered not to him. Enough that all were men, and his Master was the Master of all, and had sent him, John Vassar, as His servant and representative to all. Not only was he not a respecter of men, but just as little was he a respecter of times, places, or occasions, save to observe those proprieties which few better understood. But he held that all times, and all places, and all occasions were the Lord’s, not less than all men, and it was never in his purpose or practice to yield God’s claims to the claims of men or devils.

“Yet I never knew that he gave to any man offence by this forwardness. He had such self-revealing, overflowing, outgushing, all-conquering good-will and Christian love, such natural freedom, heartiness, and geniality, all elevated and glorified by his deep Christian experience, and also so much of childlike simplicity along with the wise tact and address perfected by years of incessant labor, that he would have been a strange man indeed who would not have opened all the doors of his heart to Uncle John, and told the dear old saint to make himself perfectly at home, and do and say just what he pleased.

“But while all recognized in him a true friend, no one could ever make him a mere ’ hail fellow, well met.’ His dealings were always in the clear view of a hastening eternity and its tremendous realities. Herein he was a pattern to all chaplains, but certainly not a pattern after all.

“I have a very vivid remembrance of one night’s experience with him in a revival meeting which was held at the quarters of ‘The Fourth Delaware,’ but rather on my own account than on his. He had for several nights taken long walks out from the city to aid the chaplain, and had expressed the special desire for me to go with him some evening. I complied with the request at the first opportunity. The meeting tent was crowded. The opening hymn was rung out with mighty power — of lungs at least. Uncle John then introduced me to lead in prayer. I thought to lead, but soon found a multitude praying thunderously, each his own separate prayer. Of course I observed, not enjoyed, a short season of private devotion, whose end was as unnoticed by the crowd as had been its continuance. Uncle John was busy with inquirers amid this tempest of vociferous exercises. It was nothing to him what form expression took, if he could only find sinners seeking a Saviour, or any one needing advice or encouragement. Of course I was a spectator unable to adjust myself to the turmoil. At length in the midst of the meeting my dear old friend came round to me and said, ‘Come, Brother Pepper, come up here in front; there’s a little lull in the meeting now, and I want you to speak to the boys.” All right,* I said, and went with him. He shouted to them a kindly introduction of me, and asked them to listen to his friend whom he had brought along. But even then there was 07ily ’ a little lull ’ in the storm. I stood for half a minute looking at my audience — ah, not audience — awaiting silence, when a towering shouter just in front, with evident disgust at this trifling, this waste of holy time, at once burst into a yell of petition, adoration, or something else, and I in dishonor fled to a corner of the tent.

“In such a scene, or any other, that burning spirit wrought on doing the * one thing ’ needful. Blessed is he. Blessed is his memory.”

Among the Christian officers who greatly helped him, and whom he regarded as a brother in the Lord, was General McAllister, of whom he makes frequent mention in his correspondence and reports.

This testimony General McAllister now sends concerning him:

“He was a man for whom I had the highest esteem and the sincerest afTection; so I gladly send this slight tribute to his worth.

‘’ He was constantly going from regiment to regiment, from tent to tent, relieving both the temporal and spiritual wants of the soldiers. When he had been absent for a time and returned, there was great rejoicing among ofHcers and men that Uncle John was back.

“Upon applying at headquarters for permission to hold meetings, the answer always was, ‘Go ahead. We know you are all right. ’

In his frequent visits to my tent we had many pleasant conversations about the war and the religious condition of the army, and the intense patriot, as well as intense Christian, shone out in them all.

“It was his custom before leaving always to pray with us, and in his prayer each individual present was mentioned. One of my officers who was frequently with us said, ‘I can stand up under any man’s prayers but Uncle John Vassar’s.’

“During the winter of 1863-64 there was a great revival, and especially in the Third Corps. Meetings were held nightly, and thousands were converted. Often, not knowing that Uncle John was present, I would be surprised to hear his voice from the rear of the chapel in exhortation. Perhaps that would be the sixth meeting that he had attended that evening.”

His good friend. Colonel A. B. Smith, of Poughkeepsie, then Major of the 150th New York, furnishes this sketch:

We were visited by Uncle John several times, and he was always welcome to a part of my tent. He was unremitting in ministering to the sick and disabled. I knew him once to carry a box as large as a good-sized trunk nearly three miles on his back, filled with delicacies for our sick and suffering men. He was ubiquitous in the army. Came often, and always left his mark for the Master on every one he met. He waited for no no UNCLE JOHN VASSAL.

formalities. His first remark would be, * I hope this loyal blue covers a heart loyal to the Lord Jesus. He is the best friend a soldier can have. Tell me, is he your friend? Come over to the prayer-meeting to-night.’

“On Sunday, the 9th day of August, 1863, we were at Kelly’s Ford, and Uncle John came to us and said, ‘Shall we not have a little prayer-meeting to-night about sundown between the 150th New York and 13th New Jersey regiments? ‘It was agreed upon. He was the only man in citizen’s clothes in all the Twelfth Corps. All our chaplains were away sick or in hospitals, and a hundred or two gathered at the appointed time. We sat around or kneeled upon the ground, and Uncle John prayed as he only could pray. The meeting was going pleasantly on when a soldier from General Ruger’s headquarters stepped into the circle, and touching Uncle John, said, * The general wants you.* Not the least confused, he said, * Boys, go right on; the general wants to see me,* and he marched at the side of the soldier a prisoner over to the headquarters of the brigade twenty rods or more away. He was there accosted with the rough inquiry, * Who are you, and what are you here for? You are not the chaplain of either of those regiments. We shot a man as a spy who came into our camp as you have come to-day. By whose authority are you here? ’ * Oh, I know the whole of the 150th Regiment,’ said Uncle John. *I am an agent of the American Tract Society, and have a pass through the whole army of the Potomac from fll^H

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GOING TO THE FRONT. rir

General Patrick and President Lincoln. And now, General, do you love the Lord Jesus Christ? We can have a little season of prayer right here.’ ‘No, no,’ said General Ruger. ‘Here, orderly, take this man back, and I will see Colonel Ketcham about him.* So Uncle John was back before the meeting ended, and it proved one of the best meetings I ever attended in the army.

“On the resignation of our chaplain, Rev. T. E. Vassar, his Uncle John was unanimously elected to fill the vacancy. Army regulations, however, required that a chaplain should be an ordained minister, which he was not. A strong letter from the officers of the regiment was sent to his church at Poughkeepsie, urging them to call a council for Uncle John’s ordination, he having been licensed as a preacher some time before. He went home to take counsel touching the step, and found his church fully ready to proceed. Some outside parties, however — and some who ought to have been the last to whisper it — hinted to him that he was looking to the chaplaincy from sordid motives, the desire for paltry pelf. That settled the question. Of all men he was the last to deserve a thrust like that. If ever there lived an utterly unselfish soul it was he. But he would not put himself where his influence might be injured by such an iniputation. Back he went to his old work at twenty-five dollars a month, instead of a chaplain’s hundred and twenty-five, the same loving, busy, devoted soul that he was before. Our Twelfth Corps was then sent to the West and South-west to follow Sherman to the sea, and we never had Uncle John with us again. He sent us, however, occasional letters still, and among those who survive and remember those days his memory is sweet.

“I have known the man since 1851, and only to love and almost adore him as the most perfect exemplifier of Christ whom I ever knew. He was one of God’s own noblemen. Disciplined, tried, purified, he shone like burnished gold. Often I heard unbelieving officers say that if they could have a religion such as his they would prize it above all price. What he suffered and endured in serving Christ and his fellow-men, and what the grand results, the eternal day must be left to tell.”

Rev. E. Owen, of Wyoming County, N. Y., has something to give us concerning these same years.” My first acquaintance with him was at Alexandria, Va., during the war, where I was then engaged as Superintendent of the Freedmen’s Bureau. It was the day after I received the intelligence that my son had been killed in the army. Feeling the need of a human sympathizer, after pouring out my grief to the Friend above, I went in the suburbs to look him up. His heart, like mine, was bleeding, for he had just heard of the loss of a dear Christian nephew, a staff officer of Banks’, in Texas, who had recently been drowned.^ Common grief cemented our hearts from that very hour.

* Lieutenant A. H. Vassar, of the Thirteenth Regiment, Corps d’Afrique, drowned on duty near Point Isabel, February 6th, 1S64.

*’ After that, as he passed back and forth in his work, we were glad to have him drop in for a few minutes at our home, or spend occasionally a night. Those were precious hours. There would be intervals during which he would wake from sleep for a few minutes, and the first conscious breath would be prayer and praise. Soon as ever the day dawned we would hear him say, * Come, brethren, let us be up and about the Master’s work.’ In connection with no life have I been so deeply impressed with the truth of that expression,

‘Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath.’ He seemed greatly to enjoy the social hour, but if conversation was leading off the track, he would exclaim, * Brethren, we must keep praying,’ and forthwith drop down upon his knees, and draw all wandering thoughts back to God and duty at the mercy seat. One remarkable feature of his prayers, and which, apart from their special unction, made them so interesting, was the fact that he remembered the names and condition of those whom he had met, and formed them into petitions so forcible and appropriate as to give his supplications a freshness and variety seldom witnessed, and to fasten them as a nail in a sure place to produce effects likely to be lasting.

“After taking his long and weary tramps from regiment to regiment, literally loaded with books, tracts, papers, and other necessaries for the soldiers, he would sometimes return with his shoe-soles worn through to the very feet, but he scorned to rest while the neccessities of the times were so great.”

A chaplain writes:

*’ His journeyings called into play his powers as a pedestrian, which were most extraordinary. He thought nothing of a stretch of eight or ten miles; and one hot summer day I knew him to walk fifteen miles and back again, with very little appearance of fatigue. It would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to find another man in the country as well qualified as he was for religious labor among soldiers, at least for that kind of labor which Uncle John performed. And certainly no one could enter upon such work with more self-devoting zeal than that which animated this singularly-gifted man.

“When I think of Uncle John as a ready and mighty laborer in the cause of man’s regeneration, and compare him with what he was, the lively and driving manager of work in a brewery, I exclaim, * How powerful is the grace of God; what changes it can effect; how marvellously it fashions the most unlikely materials into blessed instrumentalities of good!’ Under its influence, abilities and habits developed in a life of eager worldliness are employed with singular efficiency in the pursuit of heavenly objects; the want of early preparation and instruction is compensated by the improvement of a devoted mind; and a holy consecration of purpose is unflinchingly sustained for years, and crowned with ever increasing success. Such an instance is rare; so that none should presume to squander precious time in the hope of future faithfulness; but what encouragement it contains for those, of whatever age or condition of life, who feel themselves called to some special department of the service of God.”

But it Is time we let the intrepid toiler tell us a little concerning his work, and tell it in his own words. There are letters and reports in his handwriting which would fill a volume such as this touching the labors of these days.

When in the autumn of 1863 the advance on the Rapidan was made, he says:

“We followed the poor boys out part of the way to the Rappahannock, and as they cried, * Good-by, Uncle John,’ the big tears rolled down many of their cheeks. We felt deeply for them, and soon the roar of cannon told us they had met the enemy in mortal combat. In the morning ambulances of wounded men came in calling for food and nursing. We joined the Christian Commission in its labor of love for two days, and passed through many affecting scenes.”

A month later he is back at Alexandria in the “Soldiers’ Rest,” and thence he writes: “I have helped in two meetings a night for some time. The attendance is large, and many are serious, while a few have confessed Christ.”

Here he meets the venerable Jeremiah H. Taylor, of Connecticut, a brother of James Brainerd Taylor, of saintly memory, a man who as this sentence is flowing from the pen is entering on his eighty-third year, but was then laboring for the bodies and souls of the soldiers with great diligence and success. These missionaries, thus brought together, were true yoke-fellows, and when the younger entered upon rest the ii6 UNCLE JOHN VASSAR.

elder toiler traced with trembling hand this testimony to his departed friend.

“It was my blessed privilege to be a fellow-laborer with this dear brother in the war. I never saw one on whose tongue the precious name of Jesus dwelt so much. It was the key-note to every utterance, it was the mainspring of all toil. How he unites now in that anthem of Paradise ‘unto Him who loved us.*”

To which another adds: “No quiet for him even in heaven. He used to tell the people who were so fearful of excitement in religious services, that they would not be still after they left this world, for all heaven resounded with hallelujahs.” “Oh, what a great, gentle, strong, sweet soul he was!” writes one who is elsewhere quoted. “How near he kept that soul to God, wherever he was, if the slightest shadow or sense of enfeeblement came over his spirit, he would stop short and gird up the loins of his mind by an appeal of childlike faith, an act of fresh surrender, or an outpouring of loving aspiration toward God. This infantile faith was what made him great before God, and this intense love made him mighty through God with men.”

“It is the seen and claimed promises which make the clouds disperse and the heavens glow.”

“There was no vital force lost in trimming his conduct to suit one eye fixed on the earth, and other eye looking toward heaven. ‘The thought that he worked out in his life was, “Precious Jesus, draw me and I will run after Thee.” It was Jesus in regeneration, Jesus for growth in grace, Jesus in life, and Jesus in death. **He was a burning and a shining light.

GOING TO THE FRONT. u;

“As beacon lights, oh, may we stand, Upon this dark and dreary strand; To guide earth’s voyagers through the gloom, To the bright world beyond the tomb. •Jesus, thou light from heaven divine, Let thy bright beams within us shine; That so our lives may ever be A true reflection, Lord, of thee.” Hear the toiler again:” Last evening we heard from several converts in Battery H. It was worth all my labor here to listen to the story of what grace had done for them. At the Soldiers’ Rest one fine young man cried out, * O that God would have mercy on me. My mother died but a few days since, and begged me to meet her in heaven.’ Another told me that he had left home to get rid of his mother’s entreaties and prayers, but the Spirit had followed him and rung them in his ears. He has had a hard struggle, bu’t I believe has submitted his heart to Christ.”

Later in the winter he is down among the huts and tents of the Third Army Corps.

Rejoicingly he reports to the rooms in New York marvels of saving grace. ‘’ I have never seen such a work since coming out. There are crowded meetings every night. Christians are all aroused. Converts are being multipled. In the spring the entire command will move, and many of these will go out to die on the bloody field.”

A chaplain at the same date writes to the Society:

*’ We are greatly indebted to you for sending Uncle

John here. We wish he could have remained all winter.

When he bade us good-by it was with prayers and ii8 UNCLE JOHN VASSAR.

tears that reminded me of the elders parting with Paul at Miletus. He went away with his knees all ragged, like a scarred veteran.”

He runs home for a few days, and on getting back to Washington finds that he cannot get at once inside our lines on account of some new orders which have just been given. No time must be lost, so he goes to work among the troops around the capital. We can imagine how he would enjoy a service such as this: “Sunday afternoon General Briggs, who has charge of all volunteers passing through here to the front, went with me to a meeting in a Pennsylvania regiment, where we had present a thousand officers and men. 1 wish you could have seen the General as he faced these men, and heard the words he pressed upon their hearts. I have not met such another Christian officer excepting General McAllister. Old Massachusetts may well be proud of such a son. He is a tower of strength to Christian laborers here.”

After the terrible battles in the “Wilderness” he went down to Fredericksburg, where the wounded had been brought in, and thence he writes: ‘’ I am surrounded by the dying and the dead. From morning to night, and often through the night, I am called to aid temporally or spiritually those who are nearing eternity. I have not passed by the poor rebel soldiers. Some of them were very grateful for little kindnesses shown.

“I have been detailed with several others to nurse and care for some five hundred of our wounded men.

Many of them know me, and a number, when undergoing amputation, would beg me to come and stand by their sides. Thank God for our holy religion. In the midst of so much suffering I see some great triumphs of grace.”

Next he is with General Butler’s army at Point of Rocks, ministering to those in the convalescent camps injured in the attack on Petersburg, and this is the story that he tells: “I cannot describe what my eyes have seen, my ears heard, and my heart felt these ten days past; feeding men whose mouths have been torn by bullets, or whose throats so injured that they could hardly take nourishment sufficient to sustain life, distributing the stores of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, praying with the dying, relieving men who for six weeks have been over the suffering or burying the dead — this has been my work.”

From before Petersburg, where the Sanitary Commission finds in him a valued helper and puts large supplies at his disposal, he reports: The firing is almost continuous along portions of our line. Many of the dear converts of last winter are falling, and are being laid to their long rest. One of them I had looked to as chosen of God for great good. Talented and generous, courageous, yet childlike, I have not often met his like. I saw him after he had fallen, the stars and stripes yet in his hands. His face was as radiant as when we last sang with him his favorite hymn, ‘There is an hour of peaceful rest.*

“Another dear spirit was cut down in a recent charge. I saw him after the amputation of his leg, and before he died. He seemed calm, cheerful, and full of delight in Christ. Speaking of his part in the engagement, he said, ‘I did all I could.’ These and many others are buried close up to the enemy’s lines, but the loving Jesus watches over them as though they slept in the old family burial ground.

“One of the converts, after the explosion of the mine, came out badly hurt. He was placed among the wounded, and when I reached him he lifted up the stump of a missing limb and cried, ‘Uncle John, I have lost my arm, but I have not lost my hold on Jesus.’”

“Nothing could be more conclusive as to the soundness of his work than such a testimony.”

At City Point, amid the trenches, he was completely prostrated, and lay for days very ill. Ex-Mayor Fay, of Chelsea, Mass., took him to his tent and showed him such attention as a brother might. By Thanksgiving (1864) he is able to work again, and thus mentions the observance of that day:” We had religious services in all the forts and trenches, and at the hospitals and headquarters.

“Several more good boys belonging to our Christian

brotherhood are gone. Sergeant L was brought in

dead while I was standing in the fort. A ball passed through his body. He never even groaned. When they

picked him up Chaplain H told him to look to Jesus.

He looked up, and calmly said, ‘Jesus is with me now. God’s will be done.’”

On the first Sabbath in February, 1865, he writes from Patrick’s Station: “We had expected to dedicate several new log chapels and have some very interesting services to-day, but as we were getting ready the men were suddenly ordered to move to the left. For the last half hour the roar of cannon has been very hard. Some of the men who were so happy in our meeting last night, and who went out so cheerfully this morning, have been brought in dead. My heart sickens as I look on the bloody ground and remember what sorrow will be brought to many a home by this day’s fight.”

After the battle of Hatcher’s Run comes this striking incident: “At one of the recent meetings this fact came out. In the last move a Christian young man in the camp was detailed to remain behind for some service while an impenitent tent-mate was ordered on. Anxious for the yet unsaved comrade, and fearing that the engagement might be a serious one, the pious soldier offered to change places with his chum, saying frankly that he believed he was prepared for whatever might come. The offer was accepted, and in the bloody battle that followed the friend who went was three times hit, but not seriously hurt. The impression made on the other soul was so deep as to send him at once to Christ.”

Another, then a chaplain. Rev. L. R. Janes, nov, of Jefferson County, Tennessee, thus witnesses of Uncle John’s services in the camp:

“I first met him in a field hospital at City Point, Virginia, and must confess that I did not immediately understand the man. I saw at once that he was a decided character, and very quickly discovered that he was all on fire with love to Jesus and his fellow-men. i” Learning of my position, he sought to secure my cooperation in a plan of work embracing the entire brigade. I entered into the arrangement, though u’ith little of his faith. Wickedness was peculiarly rife, drinking, gambling, and the like prevailing all along the line. He knew that well, but he walked not by sight.

*’ Through the Christian Commission he secured for our use a chapel tent, nightly services were commenced, and for several weeks, until the army moved, a glorious and sweeping revival was enjoyed. Brother Vassar was very modest through it all. Although the prime mover, he invariably sought to bring the regular chaplains to the front, so that the most scrupulous sticklers for propriety could not have complained.

“Of course the worldly-minded could not appreciate his consecration. Some of them insisted that the good man was partly crazed. My colonel was quite reluctant on this account to have him come before our regiment. It was not long, hovv’ever, before he changed his mind. While lying in a hospital wounded. Brother Vassar called on him, and so won him over that, on returning to his command, he said, ‘Uncle John ’s about right, after all.’

“Upon my own mind he has ineffaceably stamped the impress of the thought, of which he was a living exemplification, ‘not with eye-service, as men-pleasers, but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart.’”

Chaplain H says:” His pleading, particularizing

prayers; his varied, choice, and ready store of hymns; his rapid, yet unoffending directness of personal appeal; his easy and quick command of thought and language; his homely, pointed, and solemn method in public address; and his very appearance, and voice, and manner, unpretending and deferential, yet as earnest and sympathetic as they possibly could be — all qualified him to succeed anywhere.

“I have been amazed sometimes at the beauty of his prayers. On one occasion, during the heat of summer, we rode together through the woods to a distant pasture, that our horses, then fed only on grain, might enjoy grazing for an hour. Uncle John had been somewhat depressed, and we sat under the shade of a tree. Suddenly

he exclaimed, * Brother H, let us pray,’ threw himself

forward upon the grass, and instantly began, ‘O God, on this beautiful day, amid these old woods, and beneath thine own clear heavens, we lift up our souls to Thee.’ His voice, at first slow and full, was rich with melody and pathos; and as petition after petition, exquisitely expressed, followed each other in beautiful succession, I thought the sacred eloquence of that unstudied prayer such as I had never heard before. While the prostrate body rested on hands and knees, crouching in lowliest humility, and the face, with close-shut eyes and intensity of expression, sometimes almost touched the ground, the longing, believing spirit seemed to rise, as on angels* wings, into the presence and glory of its God. As we were returning, he said that he seemed to have had a glimpse of heaven, and was refreshed and comforted. 1 could easily believe it.

“I shall not soon forget the delight with which I first heard him singing a song, whose lively notes and cheerful, rejoicing confidence accorded admirably with his own spirit. It was towards the close of a crowded meeting in the log-chapel. He rose after a prayer, and turned round in the aisle so as to face the congregation. His right hand held the left by two fingers, and kept it out of the way behind his back. Standing in his humble, but easy manner, he began in a clear voice,

“‘We are joyously voyaging over the main,
Bound for the evergreen shore,
Whose inhabitants never of sickness complain,
And never see death any more.’

Warming as he went on, he kept looking over the audience to observe their feeling; and before he had finished he was clapping his hands quietly in time to the tune, and leading us all in the chorus, like an enthusiastic singing-teacher. The hymn, though familiar now, was then new to most of us, but we could not help joining with Uncle John, to the best of our ability, in the chorus. Few, perhaps none, went away from the meeting that night without resolving to secure transportation in that good ship, for which, according to his wont. Uncle John was looking up passengers.”

Sunday morning, April 1st, 1865, was what might be properly called the last Sabbath of the war. Of that day, and those immediately following, let us hear what he has to say.

“Sunday morning dawned on a field of strife and blood and death. Such a Sabbath I had not in all my army experience seen. For three miles I passed along the lines amid roaring cannon and bursting shells, where the ’ gray ’ and the * blue ’ often lay close together, mingling their life-blood and dying groans. We little realized in the confusion and horror of that day that the God of our fathers was using our men to strike the blows which should bring the long conflict to an end.

“Monday morning found our great army in pursuit of Lee and his troubled host. We followed with out sanitary wagons until we reached Burkesville. By that time so many had been wounded that the surgeons decided to establish a hospital there. In that I have busied myself for days. As we moved along the roads the colored people flocked out to see the * Yankees,’ as they called us, and in many queer ways they expressed their joy. One shouted, ‘Ole Virginny neber tire, but now she tire’

“Now we have the glorious news that General Lee

has surrendered. Praise the Lord, O my soul. Many

of our poor wounded boys have almost forgotten their

sufferings in their joy over the report.”

Immediately on the occupation of Richmond the

Tract Society sent Rev. G. L. Shearer there to take

charge of its work in Virginia, and for some months

Uncle John was his efficient ally in trying to repair,

morally and religiously at least, the ravages of war.

1 o a later chapter these labors properly belong.

His army work was done. He had lived to see aii honorable peace shed its light on the banner of stars. He had lived to see the monstrous evil, which had been his abhorrence always, and which had lain at the bottom of the struggle, not only shattered, but torn up root and branch. He saw guns stacked and swords sheathed, and battle-flags bullet-rent and powder-blackened hung up for a later generation’s wondering eyes. He saw the white tents folded, the wards of suffering empty, and the lines of blue-coats melt noiselessly away. And nobody rejoiced more than he that the red river of blood had ceased to flow, that no more harvests would be trampled down, no more beds littered with the worn or maimed, no more households darkened and shivered, no more graves opened and filled. And yet with something like a pang, too, he saw the old regiments mustered out. A thousand memories, some bitter, some bright, linked him and the men with whom he had tramped and camp>- ed, and messed, and bunked, and suffered, and prayed, and praised. Long isolation from home had drawn their hearts together. From the fierce charge he had brought some back bleeding, and bound up their wounds. In the fever ward, where they had tossed and moaned, he had come to others and watched with the tenderness of a woman’s love. With hundreds he had plead and wrestled when as penitent sinners they were looking and longing for the light, and rejoiced with them when as converts they saw the new and living way by which a contrite soul returns to God. With older believers there had been seasons of blessed communion; times when the fellowship of kindred minds had indeed been ‘Mike to that above.’’ And beside the living there were the dead who had been left lying all along the line of march. Hours very sweet and precious he had spent with some of them. For a few he had even dug a grave, and wrapping their blankets around them, had lowered them into it, telling those helping meanwhile of that Christ Jesus who is the Redeemer and the Resurrection.

What wonder, if with devout gladness, and yet a trace of sadness, he saw this work end!

The results of these years it would be impossible to compute or calculate. We believe it perfectly safe to say that no single man ever performed in like space more personal labor, or amid like surroundings ever made a deeper or better mark on men.

For any thing more definite we must wait the disclosures of that all-judging day, whose reckonings will be correct.