Among memory's dissolving views is one of a young man who had been brought into the church and for a time gave promise of manly piety and a fruitful Christian career, but, falling into habits of worldly pleasure he seemed to lose in girth of soul as he became larger in body. He once boasted to me of his finely developed muscle, ascribing his physical enlargement and, as he thought, improvement to "good liquor and good women," saying it without a blush, and in such a statement horribly abusing the English language as I knew and felt it. When the war broke out he became captain in a regiment which was made up chiefly of Roman Catholic Irish soldiers from Philadelphia, men as devout in one way as they were reckless in another. In leading them to the charge in their first battle, he noticed not only how their faces turned pale as the spirit conquered the flesh, but also how each man crossed himself, and how, as he described it, the advance of his company into the thick of the fight could be traced by the packs of cards which they threw away. They did not wish to lose their lives, but they relished even less the idea of being found dead with these instruments of pleasure and of evil in their knapsacks. The handsome young captain, after going to moral wreck, was mortally wounded in battle. When his body was brought home and laid in Laurel Hill, I remember the impressive final words of his saddened and disappointed pastor as he committed "to the care of the Resurrection and the Life" the relics of a once noble form: "Alas! there are wrecks on humanity's sea More awful than any on ocean can be". Yet the preacher's burning denunciations of sin and his praise of holiness helped us all to keep step with the Infinite and hold to the right path. Whether in formal discourse or in the reading of a hymn he lost no opportunity to make sinners and false professors uncomfortable and to cheer well doers. Rev. James Crowell, D.D., writes, in 1902: "I remember going in to hear Rev. Dr. Chambers one Sabbath afternoon, and being much struck with a remark that he made while reading a hymn. It was characteristic of the plain, straightforward way in which he would sometimes rebuke what he thought was wrong among the people. He was reading the hymn 'My soul, be on thy guard Ten thousand foes arise,' and when he came to the last verse, beginning, 'Fight on, my soul, till death Shall bring thee to thy God,' he suddenly laid down the hymn-book and said, 'Bring whom? Bring that cruel rum-seller, who sells damnation to his fellow men for the sake of paltry gain? Bring that lazy lounging Christian who was at church this morning, but is now taking a nap in bed, at home, instead of being in the house of God? No!'"