William W. Bennett, A narrative of the great revival which prevailed in the Southern armies during the late Civil War

Some, nay, many of our readers will recall the sad scenes witnessed by Rev. C. W. Miller in a trip through a portion of the South. “Along the railroads,” he says,

the “tax in kind” is being deposited in such quantities that we imagine if an old Egyptian could raise his head after a sleep of 3,500 years and look upon the corn, etc., in this land, lie would think that it was the seventh year of plenty in the days of Joseph.

And yet, hundreds of homes are saddened by hunger and want. The grasp of extortion's mailed hand and marble heart is upon all this abundance; and hungry orphans and penniless mothers starve in a land of plenty! “I speak that I do know, and testify that I have seen.” “ If the clouds be full of rain they empty themselves upon the earth,” thus teaching men to pour forth the blessings which Heaven has deposited with them for the poor; but they need not the lesson, and challenge the ascending cries of orphans, widows, and helpless age, to bring down God's vengeance.

On my return I visited the memorable field of Chickamauga. Everywhere may be seen the marks of an awful struggle. Trees are scarred and perforated by balls of all sizes. Solid oaks and pines, in many instances of enormous size, are shivered by cannon-balls. But the saddest sight there is the long array of Confederate graves. All over that bloody field sleep, in their narrow beds, the deathless heroes of the 19th and 20th of September. No hand of affection plants a rose or trains the evergreen over their grave. Side by side they repose upon the field their valor won. The grand old forest above them stands sentinel at their graves, whilst turbid Chickamauga sings their requiem along its banks.

We are preaching and laboring for the spiritual good of the soldiers as much as the situation will allow. The troops are in line of battle, and we assemble a regiment or two around their camp-fires at night and speak to