J. William Jones, Christ in the camp, or religion in Lee's army

“ [107] duty, Malcolm,” said he, “to decide for yourself.” Shortly after his decision was made, he said to his wife: “Malcolm has determined to go, and I am much pleased. I wanted him to go, but felt that I ought not to influence him.”

He remained with the gathering students at the depot till a late hour, encouraging and cheering them until the cars bore them away. Then throwing himself upon his sleepless bed, he exclaimed: “I am so sorry I did not make a speech to those noble boys. The poor fellows called me out, too. Some of them I may never see again, and, upon the verge of so important a step, I failed to urge upon them the performance of their whole duty in this matter, and especially to remind them of their accountability to God. How I regret that I did not speak to them.”

Mr. Coleman loved his profession. He was admirably fitted for it. He had reached the most prominent position to which intellectual ambition can aspire in this country, for there is no literary height to which any man can climb from a professorship in the University of Virginia. He is there upon the summit of his profession—there are no peaks above.

On the other hand, he had no predilection, no training, no taste for a soldier's life, no aspirations for military renown. Personally such a life was intensely distasteful. He anticipated the service with shrinking repugnance. It severed him from his dear family. It broke up his loved habits of study. It took him from his books, which were his delight. It dispelled the serenity and calm in which he found his highest enjoyment.

Nor was there any compulsion to drive him to the army. He was beyond the reach of all conscription laws. He was specially exempted. His friends urged upon him the importance of his position in the university. Some of the faculty protested against his resignation. Many argued with him that he could do more good to the country by remaining to aid in the education of the neglected youth. Every dissuasive that affection and prudence could suggest was employed to turn him from his purpose.

But in this, as in everything else, he was earnestly conscientious. He felt sad because of the necessity, yet, impelled by a fervent patriotism, he would not shrink from the duty which he felt he owed to his country.

A cherished friend has well said: “In the hour of his country's ”