In 1862 I accepted a call to the Second Reformed Church of Philadelphia.

What remembrances come to me, looking backward to this period of our
terrific national carnalism! I shall never forget the first time I ever
saw Abraham Lincoln. We followed into his room, at the White House, a
committee that had come to Washington to tell the President how to
conduct the war. The saddest-looking man I ever saw was Abraham Lincoln.
He had a far-away look while he stood listening to an address being made
to him by one of the committee, as though beyond and far and wide he
could see the battlefields and hospitals and conflagrations of national
bereavement. One of our party asked for his autograph; he cheerfully
gave it, asking, "Is that all I can do for you?" He was at that time
the most abused man in America.

I remember the alarm in Philadelphia when General Lee's army invaded
Pennsylvania. Merchants sent their goods quietly to New York. Residents
hid their valuables. A request for arms was made at the arsenals, and
military companies were organised. Preachers appealed to the men in
their congregations, organised companies, engaged a drill sergeant, and
carried on daily drills in the yards adjoining their churches.

In the regiment I joined for a short time there were many clergymen. It
was the most awkward squad of men ever got together. We drilled a week
or two, and then disbanded. Whether General Lee heard of the formation
of our regiment or not I cannot say, but he immediately retreated across
the Potomac.

There were in Philadelphia and its vicinity many camps of prisoners of
war, hospitals for the sick and wounded. Waggon trains of supplies for
the soldiers were constantly passing through the streets. I was