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Friend and philanthropist, Joseph John Gurney, one of the wealthiest bankers of London:

"MY ESTEEMED FRIEND, I have not forgotten, probably never shall forget, the very impressive occasion when yourself and friends visited me on a sabbath forenoon two years ago. Nor had your kind letter, written nearly a year later, ever been forgotten. In all it has been your purpose to strengthen my reliance in God. I am much indebted to the good Christian people of the country for their constant prayers and consolations, and to no one of them more than to yourself. The purposes of the Almighty are perfect and must prevail, though we erring mortals may fail accurately to perceive them in advance. We hoped for a happy termination of this terrible war long before this; but God knows best, and has ruled otherwise. We shall yet acknowledge his wisdom and our own errors therein: meanwhile, we must work earnestly in the best lights he gives us, trusting that so working still conduces to the great end he ordains. Surely he intends some great good to follow this mighty commotion, which no mortal could make, and no mortal could stay.

"Your people, the Friends, have had, and are having, very great trials, on principles and faith opposed to both war and oppression. They can only practically oppose oppression by war. In this hard dilemma, some have chosen one horn, and some the other.

"For those appealing to me on conscientious grounds, I have done, and shall do, the best I could and can, in my own conscience, under my oath to the law. That you believe this, I doubt not; and, believing it, I shall still receive for our country and myself your earnest prayers to our Father in heaven.

"Your sincere friend,

"A. LINCOLN."

In closing this record of the Christian words and deeds of our late President, it may be well to add that many more incidents might be given, did the limits of this volume allow. Enough has been given to show, that, whatever his peculiar belief on religious topics of a doctrinal character, at heart and in his life he was a child of God, and "lived religion."

"For modes of faith, let graceless zealots fight:
His can't be wrong whose life is in the right."

President Lincoln's life was right. He was ever giv ing the cup of cold water; and, verily, he shall receive a righteous man's reward.

* Pope's "Essay on Man."

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"But the Lord said unto him, Go thy way, for he is, a chosen vessel unto me; for I will show him how great things he must suffer for my name's sake.”. ACTS ix. 15, 16.

In the sixth chapter, the course pursued by the President during the troublous times in which he governed was traced up to a certain point; though, designedly, not as minutely as a history of those times would require. The succeeding chapters have had reference more particularly to the man whom God gave to those times. Reference will now be had, briefly, to the course of events. These were of various character; sometimes bright with victory, sometimes shadowed with defeat.

"The ten months which divide the fall of Fort Donelson (Feb. 16, 1862) from the battle of Fredericksburg (Dec. 13, 1862) constitute the depressing era of military uncertainty. Administrative ability, executive resolution and hardihood, were never more impressively displayed than during this disheartening period; but, in spite of it, inconstant victory seemed to vibrate between the hostile banners.

"The encouraging results of Iuka and Corinth, and the opening of the Upper Mississippi, inspired the national heart with new confidence in the protection of Heaven and in the heroism of our Western soldiers. Brave old Farragut earns the grade of Admiral, and the sobriquet Salamander, by leading his thundering armada through the feu d'enfer which belched from Fort Philip on the right, and Fort Jackson on the left; and the martial and financial heart of the Rebellion in the South-west is palsied when the guns of his fleet sweep the streets of New Orleans, and the Tamer of Cities hangs up its scalp in his wigwam. War surges and resurges over the devoted plains of Missouri and Arkansas. The Peninsular campaign, with its checkered fortunes, alternately excites exultation and wailing; but its final failure plants in the national heart the seeds of despair, while the whirlwind which devours the army of Pope constrains us to doubt the justice of God. The victories of South Mountain and Antietam, fairly costing their weight in gore, and turning to ashes in our grasp, failed to re-animate our hopes; while Pittsburg Landing and Shiloh are more than counterpoised by the heart-rending butchery of Fredericksburg. . . . The definitive proclamation was promulged on the first of January, 1863; and it seems instantly to have been visited with that 'gracious favor' which it so reverently implores. From that eventful date, Federal ascendency flows surely and steadily on to the capture of Richmond and the surrender of Lee. Reverses and checks, it is true, intervene; but they are only eddies in the Amazon. During these twenty-seven controlling months of the war, into which more general engagements were crowded than into any equal period of the world's history, the loss of but one attests the advent of higher inspiration and divine re-enforcement

to our struggling cause. The ink with which the proclamation is written is scarcely dry upon the parchment before the decisive victory of Murfreesborough expels invasion from Southern Tennessee. On the nation's birthday which next follows it, propitious Heaven almost visibly interfered by breaking the last barrier which prevents the 'loyal Father of Waters' from flowing free and unobstructed through the divided Rebellion, and by sweeping back from the bristling hills of Gettysburg the army of the alien in its last desperate raid into the bosom of the North. Away up in mid air, on the cloudcapped crests of the South-eastern Alleghanies, there is the roar and lurid flame of battle, as if the pent-up fires of the caverns of earth were bursting from their thunder-riven summits; while down, down in the deep valley, it seems as if the elements of Nature were battering chasms and pathways through their granite foundations. The gates of Georgia yield to the flushed battalions of the Cumberland; and, from the Altamaha to Cape Fear, three great States of the Confederacy soon

"Feel the rider's tread,

And know the conquered knee."

Hood is hurled by his infatuated chieftain against the battlements of Nashville, only to be dashed back broken and destroyed. The vale of the Shenandoah is swept by the besom and scourged by the wrath of Sheridan. Over the forest which sweeps from the Rapidan to the James, there hangs, in early spring-time, a dark and portentous cloud: the Wilderness is red, as if untimely autumn had purpled its foliage. We dimly hear, far in its resounding depths, that awe-inspiring roll, that sharp, suggestive rattle, which forewarns and terrifies na

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