that he might get the full benefit
of the preacher's words.

Under the spreading trees, whose foliage was brilliant with the hues
of Autumn, in the mellow sunshine of that October day the men seated
themselves upon the ground to hear the Gospel preached. The Chaplain,
in his best uniform, stood and prayed fervently for Divine guidance
and protection and blessing, while the soldiers listened, with heads
reverently bowed. Then he gave out the familiar Methodist hymn,

"Am I a soldier of the cross,"

and all joined in the old tune "Balerma," their voices swelling in
mighty chorus. As they sang,

"Are there no foes for me to face?"

there came to the minds of many a practical application of the words, in
view of the long and fruitless chase after the rebels in which they had
been engaged for nearly a month.

The Chaplain had formerly been an old-fashioned Methodist circuit-rider
in Indiana. He was full of fiery zeal, and portrayed the terrors of
eternal punishment so vividly that His hearers could almost feel the
heat of the flame and smell the fumes of brimstone that are popularly
believed to roll out unceasingly from the mouth of the bottomless pit.
It ought to have had a salutary effect upon Shorty, but it is greatly
to be feared that he steeled his stubborn heart against all that the
Chaplain said.

It was always difficult not to feel that there was something
contradictory and anomalous about religious services in the army.
Grim-visaged, hideous war, and all its attendant circumstances,
seemed so utterly at variance with the principles of the Bible and
the teachings of Him who was meek and lowly, that few soldiers had
philosophy enough to reconcile them.

The soldiers spent the afternoon in reading what few stray books
and fugitive, well-worn newspapers there were in camp, mending their
clothes, sleeping, and some of them, we are pained to add, in playing
eucher, old sledge, and other sinful games. Dress parade closed the
day that had brought welcome rest to the way-worn soldiers of the 200th
Ind..

"Shorty," said Si, after they had gone to bed that night, "I sh'd be
mighty sorry if I'd ha' got up that knapsack trick this mornin', 'cause
you got left on it so bad."

"There's a good many things," replied Shorty, "that's all right when ye
don't git ketched. It worked tip top with you, Si, 'n' I'm glad of it.
But I put ye up to it, 'n' I shouldn't never got over it if the Colonel
had caught ye, on