In the spring of 1866, he was on his way to Phillips Academy, Andover, with the one hundred dollars in hand,--or rather with one hundred and one dollars; and, as he had been advised to start with one hundred, he gave the odd dollar to a poor man on the road. At Andover, while an earnest student, he was an untiring Christian worker. He taught in a mission-school, took part in prayer-meetings, and conversed on the subject of personal religion with many school-mates, winning thus friends to himself and souls to Jesus. His life really seemed--as he had promised it should be--wholly consecrate to Jesus. "Way down in the inmost recesses of my heart," he wrote, "the great all-absorbing purpose and desire is to do the will of G.o.d as it is made known to me by his providence.... I desire to be led by the hand of G.o.d.... I wish to do away with every selfish thought, and live only for Jesus." Yet he worked from no mere sense of stern duty, in the slavish performance of a binding vow: love prompted his service, out of a willing heart. "How much real enjoyment it gives me to work for Jesus!" he said. "All other pleasures fade away and are lost, by the side of it." And this enjoyment in work for Jesus was increased by the conviction that souls were benefited by it. He loved to work for others, because Jesus commanded it; and he loved to work for Jesus, because others were blessed by it.

"You know," he said, "the words of our Saviour are, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' How soothing and encouraging these words are! I don't see how any one can help doing all the good they can.... I have an insatiable thirst after perishing souls, and hope and pray that G.o.d will lead me to do good wherever I am.... I am thankful for the hope that, perhaps ere long, I can throw aside all other things, and enter with my whole heart upon the work of saving souls.... My heart pants to be wholly engaged in my Master's service."

TOIL FOR BREAD.--UNFAILING TRUST.

One hundred dollars will not go far towards a young man's thorough education, nowadays; and Manning found himself before long pressed for means of support. Then he was driven to work hard for money, while toiling incessantly at study. He swept the school-rooms, and performed similar service at the academy, for fifteen cents an hour; he went out in the early mornings to do mowing and other farm labor, until the hour of school-time; and thus he kept along in every thing but health and rest. He had no odd hours unimproved. Writing of his mission-scholars, in whom he was deeply interested, he said, "I generally spend two evenings a week with them, and two evenings at literary societies for improvement of the mind, and there are not often but three evenings left, and those are our prayer-meeting nights."

Had Manning been in full health, he might have stood all this; but disease, fastened on him in the prison stockade, never relaxed its hold; and his strength failed steadily. Some of his friends advised him to abandon student-life and seek renewed vigor in active out-door occupation; but others, who were nearest him, with unaccountable blindness and persistency, uniformly urged his adherence to first-formed plans. Again and again his enfeebled frame gave way; and as often his unwavering determination enabled him to rally for another effort. It was hard for him to relinquish his purpose of _activity_ in Christ's service. He was far from wilful in this struggle. "I desire to be led by the hand of G.o.d," he said; "I am praying very earnestly, ... asking G.o.d to tell me what to do, and I know he will not tell me wrong.... Feeling that I am performing my mission here on earth, I take every step gladly;" but he wanted to take some step, not to stand still: it was easier for him to do any thing for Christ than to do nothing. "I will endeavor," he wrote, "to keep within bounds, and not try to strain my rope when I find I have arrived at the end of it;" but he was loath to believe there was any end to his rope. "G.o.d willing, I shall be able to do something by and by," he said, "and what shall it be?" He had the feeling that G.o.d, having accepted his consecration vow in prison, would somehow find work for him to do for Jesus, in accordance with its terms.

No lesson concerning G.o.d's "kingly state" seemed so hard for him to learn as that--

"They also serve who only stand and wait."

And, doubtless, his energy, coupled with his faith, prolonged his useful life. In his condition, and with his temperament, he would have fallen sooner but for his indomitable will, his determination not yet to yield to the closing pressure of disease, and his conviction that G.o.d would still sustain him in his work; that so long as he did what he could and should, his Father would supply all lack. It is, unquestionably, every man's duty to consider his health, even in the prosecution of a religious enterprise, and no desire for high and holy attainment will justify reckless over-effort of body or mind. But not all are to be judged by the same standard of prudence in amount or kinds of effort or toil. What is rest for one man would prove torture to another. Not a few depend for very life upon tireless activity; like the traveller on the Alps, if in their exhaustion they sit down at the approach of night, they chill and sleep and die. They must keep moving or perish. So in the case of Henry Manning: while his example of unintermitted nervous endeavor may not be commended to ordinary men for imitation, it may be admired and approved in him, doomed as he was to an early death from the hour he entered the Petersburg dungeon, and kept alive through his resolute activity, his over-estimate of remaining strength, and his ever sanguine antic.i.p.ations of returning health.

And with all his weakness of body, his faith never faltered. "If G.o.d wants me to stay at school," he said while at Andover, "I have no fear but that he will find a way for me to get along there." Then he told of his rising one morning without a cent of money in the world, and going earnestly to G.o.d in prayer for help, and of his finding, but a few minutes later, between the pages of the book he took up to study, fifteen dollars (which G.o.d had put it into the heart of some friend to give to him in that delicate way); and he added, in affirmation of his undoubting faith, "And G.o.d will do so again if it is best."

FAILING HEALTH.--A GRATEFUL HEART.

It was in the spring of 1867, that Manning finally left his studies. He struggled manfully with disease, but it gained on him steadily. He visited among friends, to try change of air and scene, and was under various medical treatment, but all to little purpose. His prison privations were working out in his shattered const.i.tution their inevitable result. For all attention shown or aid rendered him, he was ever grateful, and he seemed to feel that none had better friends than he. Of a pleasant home where he had pa.s.sed a brief time, he wrote, "It's a second paradise: isn't it? If Christ was on earth now, I do believe that he would make his home there--a part of the time at least: don't you?"

Those who were privileged to a.s.sist him from time to time may surely feel, as he felt, that their gifts were unto the Lord. "I want a.s.sistance," he wrote on this point, once, "only that I may be useful; and, strictly speaking, I want to be useful only for Jesus!" To G.o.d he gave glory for whatever help came to him from any direction. Returning thanks for a generous donation--which proved most timely--from one who sent it as "a cup of cold water to a disciple," he said, feelingly, "How very strange and mysterious are the Lord's dealings with this poor weak child of his! Every earthly prop is struck from under me, and I am just sinking in utter hopeless despair, when the Lord not only succors and relieves me, but catches me right up in his arms, and gives me such blessings as I had no thought of asking for."

IN HOSPITAL.--GENTLE MINISTRY THERE.

In his health-seeking, Manning visited Boston to secure the valued counsel of Dr. S. A. Green, his former regimental surgeon, who had on many occasions shown special interest in him, and expressed a readiness to aid him to the utmost. Soon there came a letter from him, dated in the Ma.s.sachusetts General Hospital, saying, "My health has been growing frailer of late, and yesterday I came to this city, hoping to see Dr.

Green, and perhaps get into some hospital; but on arriving here I found that Dr. G. was in Europe!... So, with an earnest prayer on my lips, I turned back, and, after much difficulty, found my way to this place,--found the head of the inst.i.tution, and told my story--simple and short! Out of health, out of money, and disappointed about meeting friends.

"Well, I was told that this was just the place for folks in such a condition, and I was hustled into a warm bath, and into Ward 23, among a set of ghastly, half-in-the-grave looking fellows, some of whom lay, or sat up, in bed, like marble posts; some were cracking vulgar jokes, and one or two of the most deathly-looking ones were cursing and grumbling because they could not be allowed a pint of whiskey a day.... Perhaps I am wrong, but I can't help feeling grieved, mortified, and sad to come here so like a beggar! but what could I do? Here I've been on expense, more or less, ever since I left school, and no way of getting money. I have parted with my watch, and expect to receive ten or fifteen dollars for that shortly; so I shall get on nicely, only it galls me to have to be in this situation here! but I hope I shall not be here long.... And if I can get my health again, I shall know how to prize it; and shall be as thankful to G.o.d as I was when released from prison."

He was as unselfish in hospital as elsewhere. Having a little money left with him by friends, for the purchase of such comforts as he might crave, he at once set about ministering to the needs of those about him in the different wards, finding it ever "more blessed to give than to receive."

"Perhaps it may be gratifying to you," he wrote, in returning thanks for kindness shown to him by a slight gift, "to know of some of the effects of that kindness; of some of the good it has brought about, and some of the hearts it has cheered. That poor, deformed, ghastly-looking boy that I pointed out to you while we were conversing together in the hospital, wanted many things that were not furnished him. I expended a little of that money that you left with me upon him, ... and it would send a thrill of pleasure through and through you to have noted the effect. He was so unused to kindness that it quite overcame him. Poor, dear fellow! He is not long for this world. May the Lord watch over him, and prepare him for the future!

"And then there was a poor Irish girl in one of the wards, a Catholic, but one of the most devoted Christian girls I ever met.... Her home is in Ireland; but while visiting in this country, she met with a fearful accident, and was sent to the hospital for treatment. When I met her she was recovering, but was feeling somewhat disheartened because her friends were so far away; and she was often slighted on account of her being an 'Irish Catholic.'... I was enabled to cheer her up a great deal, and to do one or two little substantial acts of kindness for her, which went directly to her heart, and seemed to do her so much good that I thanked G.o.d, involuntarily, for the opportunity of cheering her, and being of service to her.

"But I was enabled to render the most a.s.sistance to an American lady,--a n.o.ble-hearted woman and a true Christian. Her life has been one of adventure and suffering, and one cannot listen to the recital of her touching story without feeling deeply interested in her. She has been in the hospital a long time, and is at present very weak and frail; and there is a great deal of doubt about her ever being any better. I bought little things for her that I knew did her good; and when I came away I left a very little money with her, in order that she might be able to procure any little thing that she felt as if she couldn't do without, even if the hospital did not furnish it. And so I had the pleasure of leaving her quite light-hearted and hopeful, believing more firmly than ever that the Lord would care for her, and never, never forsake her."

It was indeed a privilege to give a.s.sistance in any way to one so grateful as was Manning, for all that he received of blessing, and so ready to make others happy by ministering discreetly, and in a loving, Christ-like spirit, to the needy and heavy-burdened about him.

HOPE AGAINST HOPE.--THE PRIVILEGE OF CHRISTIAN WORK.

From the hospital to his home, and again among friends who felt that his presence with them was in itself a blessing, Manning still sought health, while growing gradually weaker and less able to exert himself in body or mind. He would not see the dark side of his case, but still confidently hoped for recovery. "I don't feel natural yet, by any means," he wrote from Fiskdale, where he was with good friends on a farm, in October, 1867, "nor free from mental weakness, but I'm stronger physically than I have been since I left Andover, certain. You see we are a mile and a half from neighbors, and my friends are very quiet indeed, so I talk hardly any; and when I get to work husking corn, digging potatoes, and the like, I often even forget to _think_, and I gain by it rapidly; but when I come down to writing letters, it puts me back."

Manning's days of struggle with disease were not wholly profitless to others. He was the means of not a little good, in his moving from point to point in the last year of his toilsome life. At South Danvers, Bridgewater, Fiskdale, Winchester, Beverly, Hartford, and elsewhere, he raised his voice or used his warm and loving heart for precious souls, in ways that will never be forgotten. His crown in heaven will be bright with stars won in those months of vain search for health. And this work was ever a joy to him, and he thanked G.o.d for his part in it.

While in the hospital at Boston, he told in sadness of his disappointments in efforts at Christian activity,--of his going to a place in Vermont where was such need of religious endeavor that "even he could do something for Jesus," and of his being taken ill on the very day of his arrival there, and thus prevented raising his voice for the Master. "And so it has often been," he added, regretfully. "I don't know whether I've learned the right lesson from all this; but this is what it seems to me G.o.d is teaching me by these disappointments: It is a blessed privilege to work for Jesus. Jesus didn't need me in Vermont. He has never needed me anywhere; but he has let me work for him sometimes.

Oh, if I ever get well enough to work for him again, won't I be thankful for it!" Would to G.o.d that all Christians had learned this lesson as well!

ONLY WAITING.--REST AT LAST.

At length the prolonged struggle drew towards its close. Early in May last, Manning--told by the physicians in a water-cure establishment, where he had been spending some months, that nothing more could be done for him with hope--turned his steps for the last time to his Warwick home. He still had hope of recovery, for he had pa.s.sed so many perils safely that he could hardly realize there was any death for him; but he was now more resigned to inaction, in the same trustful love of Jesus and his cause. "I know that my Saviour will take care of me," he wrote: "I don't _think_ it, I _know_ it! I haven't the slightest doubt of it.

He never manifested himself to me more wonderfully than he has of late; never satisfied the cravings of my heart more, or filled my soul more full! And I believe I never had so much love for him, or loved to speak of him to others, so well, as at the present time!" But he added, "It is not my business to think whether I am to live or die, but, rather, how I can best serve Christ. I want to do any thing, and be any thing, and suffer any thing that he wants me to." So, as he lay down on his home-bed to die, he had learned his last lesson,--he could wait as well as work.

"He was not eager, bold, Nor strong,--all that was past; He was ready not to do, At last, at last."

His faith grew firmer as his flesh failed, and the less he could himself do, the more he was ready to trust G.o.d to do for him. On one occasion, when it seemed as if his hour of death had come, his sisters who were nearest were all summoned to his bedside, and just then two other sisters came in unexpectedly,--one from Boston, the other from Wisconsin,--while a friend whom he had particularly desired to see again, also visited him. For the first time in several years the family were all together at home. This moved Manning to profoundest grat.i.tude to G.o.d, and he repeatedly referred to it in this spirit, telling over the story of recent blessings secured to himself and his loved ones, as though he had just pride in the power and goodness of his heavenly Father, who had done all this for his comfort. Again, when he was pressed for means to supply his daily necessities, a sister came to him one morning to say that a letter had been received covering a gift of thirty dollars for his use. A pleasant smile came over his face as he responded, "I prayed for money last night. It was the first time I had asked for that in a good while."

There were long and weary weeks for him of final trial in racking pain--the whole inner system destroyed by the foul air of swamp and dungeon, and the scant or vile food of stockade and jail, while the still young and naturally vigorous outer man refused to be yet wholly crushed. There were dreams of prison-life, hunger and thirst ever unsatisfied; and seasons of agony in struggle for breath, as with slow, wasting flesh, and cold, clammy brow, the patient sufferer whispered with livid lips, in unfailing trust, "I want nothing; I wish for nothing; I hope for nothing: I only wait," until death brought relief and rest on the evening of Friday, Sept. 4, 1868. Two days later, his remains were borne out by loving hands from the church where, seven years before, that very month, he had stood up to witness for Jesus before going out to face death at the call of G.o.d, and tenderly laid away under the green turf of the neighboring hill-side cemetery, close by the tasteful granite shaft which stands "In Memory of Warwick's Soldiers who fell in the War of the Great Rebellion."

CLAIMS OF THE DEAD ON THE LIVING.

And thus the earthly warfare of another brave soldier is concluded. His was a n.o.ble work,--a work for others; for his fellows, his country, his G.o.d. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." Henry Manning "hath done what he could" for the interests dear to the hearts of the Union soldiers. It is for those who survive him to hold sacred, and to guard jealously the principles and privileges--the supremacy of the Federal Government; the integrity of the national Union; the just liberties of the people of the Republic; the protection in their every right of all its citizens; the execution of the laws, and the inviolability of the national faith--for which he and so many other soldiers battled, endured, and prayed, and gave or risked their lives.

And the faith of Henry Manning should be deemed yet more admirable and holy than his work. His work was heroic: his faith was sublime! It was because of his faith in that Saviour who died for him, and was an ever-present help in all his needs, that he went out as a soldier, and endured unto the end so bravely. "He fought a good fight" because he "kept the faith." "Through faith" he "escaped the edge of the sword; out of weakness was made strong, waxed valiant in fight," "had trial ... of bonds and imprisonment, ... being dest.i.tute, afflicted, tormented," and out of all "obtained a good report;" and finally has "gotten the victory," and received "a crown of glory that fadeth not away."

Surely in view of his faith and his faithfulness, and of the cause for which Henry Manning lived and gave his life, it behooves the lovers of their Country and of the Cross, to "hold such in reputation, because, for the sake of Christ, he was nigh unto death, not regarding his life to supply their lack of service."

Cambridge: Press of John Wilson and Son.