Sunday, January 17.—Went to the Methodist Church, now reopened for service. Mr. Holland, a young man, apparently not over eighteen years of age, from Kentucky, preached. To all appearance his sermon was extempore. His language was most eloquent, and he spoke with great fluency. His subject was prayer, and he discoursed on the mysterious power of that great moral lever with all the clearness and force of an able and experienced divine. He is certainly a young man of extraordinary abilities.
In the evening Mr. Moore preached an excellent sermon in a ward filled with patients. We burn tallow-candles, and we always carry ours with us to light up the ward, as well as we can.
I often think of these meetings, and how strange every thing has turned. The ward is usually filled with men dressed in all kinds of uniforms, and some, unable to be up, are in their bunks. The ward is dimly lighted, but not too dim to prevent us distinguishing the faces of the men, and see the eagerness with which they listen to the expounding of the word of God, and the words of comfort in the solemn prayers which are offered up in their behalf, and frequently in behalf of our cruel enemies.
