Magee, one of the men who helped carry him, says: "When we first came to lift him up, he said, 'Now, boys, don't think that because I'm wounded I've any less spirit than I had before. I feel just the same.""

General Gordon writes:

"As Wilder was brought from the fatal spot, I rode to his side. As I reined up my horse, his eye met mine, and he almost exultingly saluted me. At this moment bullets whistled over our heads, shot and shell crashed through the trees. I said, 'I must have you removed from here.' He replied, 'Never mind me, -- whip them.' I ordered six men to carry him to the rear."

Chaplain Quint writes:

"I found him in the garden of a hospital, somewhat in the rear. He was lying on a stretcher, covered by a blanket, with his eyes closed, and quite pale from loss of blood. As I kneeled down beside him, he opened his eyes, and smiled as he took my hand. 'Is that you, Chaplain?' said he. Doubtless he saw my sorrow in my face, for he said, 'Don't feel bad,' and with a firm look, and natural smile, he said, 'It's all right, all right.' I replied, 'I thank God you feel so cheerful'; when he added, 'Now, Chaplain, I know I'm done for, but I want you to understand I don't flinch a hair. I should like to live a few days, so as to see my father and my mother. They think a good deal of me, especially my mother, too much,' (this was said smilingly,)—'but apart from that, if God calls for me this minute, I 'm ready to go.""

Colonel Andrews soon came, and, bending over him, yielded to the grief which overwhelmed him. Dwight threw his arm around his friend's neck, and, drawing him down, said, "Kiss me, dear. Don't take it so hard, dear fellow; don't take it so hard. Think how much better it is that I should be lying here than you who have wife and children at home." He then talked freely. He said: "I want it distinctly understood that I have no personal regrets in dying. My only regret is that I cannot longer serve the cause." He gave him the history of the boy Saddler, who had been in his charge before the war, and for whom he wished Colonel Andrews's sympathy and care. He also told him that he wished a soldier's burial. Turning to Chaplain Quint, he said, "I don't like display,

but I think this appropriate, do not you?" The Chaplain assented; and he added, "I have lived a soldier, I die a soldier, I wish to be buried as a soldier." To another member of the regiment, a son of his clergyman, the Rev. John S. Stone, he said that he wished Dr. Stone, as his minister, to receive his last message in case he did not live to reach home and talk with him. He said: "Tell him I am ready to die. I look back upon the past with many regrets for failings and for misused opportunities, but still with the self-respect of a man who has tried to do his best. As for the future, there is but one hope, no putting forth of one's own claims, but reliance on the merits of Another: you know what I mean."

He was placed in an ambulance for the night. The men lay around it. At daybreak his wounds were dressed. He examined them in a cool, naive manner. Looking at the hole through the forearm, he said: "Now that's a very neat little wound, a proper wound; but the other, pointing to the thigh, won't do so well." It was now determined to carry him to Boonesborough, where a house had been found for him. Twelve men from the new recruits were detailed for the purpose. They were divided into six parties, who relieved each other by turns. During the journey of three miles and a half, he called out the reliefs himself. On their way, they met the drum and fife corps of the regiment. He stopped them and requested them, as a last favor, to play him the Starspangled Banner once more. He thanked them, repeating the sentiment of the song in the wish that "The star spangled banner in triumph may wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." One of the men happened to ask where the rest of the regiment was. Colonel Dwight called out: "Who asked for the Second Regiment? I'll tell you where the Second was yesterday. In the foremost front of the battle, fighting like men; and we drove them, boys, drove them." Chaplain Quint writes of him on this journey: "If water was given him, or any service rendered, his old 'Thank you' was never omitted. Indeed, the night before, in the garden, he repeatedly sent his servant and others to relieve the wounded men around him, while in pain himself."

About one, P. M., (September 18), they reached Mr. Thomas's house, where a bed was prepared for him. By following his own suggestions, they were able to place him in bed without his suffering in the process. As they lifted him, he said, "Steady and true,- steady and true." As they turned to leave the room, he roused himself and said: "Wait a minute, boys; you've taken good care of me; I thank you very much. God bless you." They then partook of a dinner he had provided for them.

"That afternoon," says Chaplain Quint, "he suffered very much. The next morning I had no thought but that he would live several days; but he felt that he should not see any of his family. He spoke of it and of the time required. It was not until nearly noon that a marked change took place. I was in the kitchen, giving directions for the preparation of beef tea, when his servant came to me, saying, 'The Colonel is wanting you quick, sir.' I went in, instantly saw a change, and took his lifted hand. After looking earnestly in my face, he said, 'Chaplain, I cannot distinguish your features; what more you have to say to me, say now.' (I had, of course, remembered his dying condition, and conversed accordingly.) I said, 'Colonel, do you trust in God?' He answered, with ready firmness and cheerfulness, 'I do.' 'And in the Lord Jesus Christ, your Saviour?' 'I do.' 'Then,' said I, 'there is no need of saying more.' I said a few words of prayer over him, with a blessing, after which his own lips moved in prayer and he added audibly, 'Amen.' Then I said, 'Now what shall I say to your mother?' He answered, with his whole face lighted up: 'My mother! Tell her, I do love my mother' (he emphasized every word); 'tell her I do trust in God, I do trust in the Lord Jesus. Nothing else.' No more did he say then. He was soon sinking. The last was a few minutes later, and about fifteen minutes before he died, when he said, 'O my dear mother!' About twenty-five minutes past twelve, he died; so peacefully, that we could hardly tell the time. He died, as he had lived, a brave, gallant, noble man, a hero, and a Christian; cheerful to the last, considerate, happy."

When he breathed his last, every face, among soldiers as well as officers, was wet with tears. Colonel Andrews had sent him word of our success in the battle. "It is a glorious time to die!" was his joyful exclamation.

"So died," writes Colonel Andrews, "one of the most faithful,. brave, unselfish, and devoted officers of our army. He was, I think, the officer most beloved and respected throughout the regi- . ment by officers and men.

"His conduct as an officer and as a man was noble. On the battle-field he appeared to me to retain his self-possession most completely, and to have his soul bent upon doing his best to uphold the honor of his country's flag. He showed no consciousness of danger, although there was nothing rash in his conduct. He was uniformly kind to every one. How we all feel here in the regiment, you can perhaps imagine. It is not the same regiment.

"His friends have every consolation possible: his memory is their pride."

Mr. Justice Hoar, in his address to the Suffolk bar upon the occasion of the death of Wilder Dwight, closes with the following words :

"Tender and loving son, firm friend, true soldier, Christian hero, we give thee up to thy fame! For thee life has been enough.

'Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends.'

For us there is left the precious legacy of his life. Brethren, it is well that we should pause, as we are entering upon our stated and accustomed duties, to draw inspiration from such an example. For who can think of that fair and honorable life, and of the death which that young soldier died, without a new sense of what is worthiest in human pursuits, a stronger devotion to duty, a warmer ardor of patriotism, a surer faith in immortality."

1854.

RICHARD CHAPMAN GOODWIN.

Captain 2d Mass. Vols. (Infantry), May 24, 1861; killed at Cedar Moun tain, Va., August 9, 1862.

R

ICHARD CHAPMAN, the eldest child of Ozias and Lucy (Chapman) Goodwin, was born in Boston, Oc tober 11, 1833. After the necessary preparation he entered the Latin School, whence, at the end of four years, he entered Harvard College, graduating in the Class of 1854. On leaving college, he was in a mercantile house in Boston for more than a year, when he left this country for India. Here he passed a few months, and afterwards travelled through the Holy Land, made an extensive tour through Europe, and returned to his home after an absence of nearly two years.

On the breaking out of the Rebellion, prompted wholly by the movings of his own mind, he decided to unite himself with the Second Massachusetts Regiment, under Colonel George H. Gordon, with several of his personal friends. The Second Regiment left Boston in July, 1861, and its career is well known. The connection of Captain Goodwin with it is described so truthfully by Dr. Bartol, his friend as well as pastor, in a sermon preached in the West Church the Sunday after the funeral, that an extract from it is given, rather than the words of his friends.

"The Captain of Company K, in that Second Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers which will fill a shining page in our history, at the motion of his own will, obedient to the pleading within him of his country's call, gathered his men, and from his situation of independence and comfort went into all the labor and hazard of the war, with the simple purpose of doing his part as he has with unspotted honor - to solve our awful problem. The Colonel of the regiment testifies to what we learn on all hands, of the respect he won from his