favorable influence upon the others. I have seldom seen a person on the field so calm and mild in his demeanor, — evidently not acting from impulse or martial rage.

"His position was directly in front of a grocery store. He fell in five minutes after he took it, having fired once or twice. He was killed instantly, and did not move after he fell. I saw the flash of the rifle which did the deed.

"I think the Chaplain fell from the ball which entered the hip. He might not have been aware of the wound from the ball entering his arm, as sometimes soldiers are not conscious of wounds in battle, or he may have been simultaneously hit by another rifle. We were in a very exposed position. Shortly before the Chaplain came up, one of General Burnside's aids accosted me, expressing surprise, and saying, 'What are you doing here, Captain? I replied that I had orders. He said that I must retire, if the Rebels pressed us too hard. In about half and hour I had definite orders to retire, and accordingly fell back, leaving the Chaplain and another man dead, and also a wounded man, who was unwilling to be moved. It is not usual, under such pressing circumstances, to attempt to remove the dead. In about an hour afterward, my regiment advanced in line with the Twentieth Massachusetts. They occupied the place where Chaplain Fuller fell; and they suffered very severely, it being much exposed. The Chaplain's body we found had been robbed, and the wounded man bayoneted by the Rebel Vandals, while the ground was left to them.

"I think, in addition to Chaplain Fuller's desire to aid at a critical juncture in the affairs of his country, by the influence of his example and his personal assistance, he may have been willing also to show that he had not resigned in the face of the enemy from any desire to shrink from danger."

- his

An unusual recognition of the services and the gallant death of Chaplain Fuller took place in Congress, some time afterwards. His death had led to just that result of which he had been warned by an army officer before his death; family was left without a pension, as he was not technically in the service. On his widow's petition to Congress, a special law providing her a pension very promptly passed both Houses without opposition. Honorable Charles Sumner presented the petition in the Senate, remarking, that

"From the 1st day of August, 1861, Arthur B. Fuller had been

a duly commissioned chaplain in the Sixteenth Massachusetts Regiment of Volunteers, and had followed its flag faithfully, patriotically, religiously, through all the perils of the Peninsula and wherever else it had been borne."

The petition having been referred to the Committee on Pensions, they reported,

"That it appears that Arthur B. Fuller was the chaplain of the Sixteenth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers; that his health was much impaired by the hardships and exposures of the Peninsular campaign; that after repeated efforts to renew his labors in the camp of his regiment, which were foiled by his sickness returning upon every such attempt, it was finally determined, by the advice of army surgeons, that his malady was such that he could not bear exposure in the field. He was accordingly honorably discharged, on surgeon's certificate of disability, on the 10th day of December, 1862. On the 11th day of December, on the call for volunteers to cross the Rappahannock at the battle of Fredericksburg, he volunteered, and was killed in the service soon after entering Fredericksburg.

"The committee think that, though Chaplain Fuller was technically out of the service of the United States, still he was really in the service of his country and in the line of duty while bravely leading on the soldiers, and dying on the field of battle. They therefore think the petitioner entitled to the relief for which she prays, and accordingly report a bill."

The body of the slain soldier was sent home to Massachusetts, as soon as the incidents of war permitted. A private funeral took place at the house of his brother, and a public one at the First Church on Chauncey Street, in Boston, on December 24, 1862.

"The church was crowded with the friends of the deceased, who wished some opportunity to express their sense of loss, their respect for his memory, and their estimation of his character and services. Governor Andrew and staff, General Andrews and staff, Chief Justice Bigelow, and other prominent public men, were present. The escort was performed by the Cadets.

"The coffin was placed in front of the pulpit, and was pro

fusely covered with the most exquisite flowers. One by one the wreaths were placed upon the lid by loving hands, as the best expression of the cherished memories of the past. The following inscription was upon the plate:

"REV. ARTHUR BUCKMINSTER FULLER,

Chaplain of the 16th Regiment of
Massachusetts Volunteers;

Killed at the Battle of Fredericksburg, Va.,
11th December, 1862,
Aged 40 years.

'I must do something for my country.""

These words were his fitting epitaph; and few there are who have so well succeeded in matching a single electric word and deed together. Margaret Fuller Ossoli was an artist in words; she left behind her many a sentence of the rarest depth and beauty,-"lyric glimpses," Emerson called them, and her glorious life in Italy joins with her tragic death to throw back upon those brilliant phrases the lustre of a corresponding self-devotion. Less gifted in intellect, less devoted to artistic culture, her brother and pupil left behind him this one utterance of self-devotion, putting to it, within that same hour, the seal of death. It may yet make his memory as lasting as her own.

1845.

PETER AUGUSTUS PORTER.

Colonel 129th New York Vols. (afterwards 8th New York Heavy Artillery), August 17, 1862; killed at Cold Harbor, Va., June 3, 1864.

IN

N how many of the students of Harvard does every favoring element seem to have combined culture, purity, selfreliance, and courage to give promise of high and noble achievement. One only boon of Fortune they lacked, - her last and most reluctant gift, opportunity. At length that opportunity came it was their death. A good Providence granted them to die, and in their death accorded them the achievement of every possibility life could have bestowed. Of such was Peter Augustus Porter, a graduate of Harvard of the Class of 1845. He died in the service of his country on the 3d of June, 1864, at the battle of Cold Harbor.

There was something impressive and noble in the circumstances of his death. Young, gifted, happily married, and with children growing up about him, using all his powers and opportunities with a high and noble aim, Colonel Porter had endeared himself to a large circle of friends by ties of more than ordinary strength and permanence. Favored in birth, and early master of his own career, he resolved that no external advantage of position should help him to any station he had not first merited by his own labor. We all know the results he achieved; but few have followed and appreciated the conscientious labor and study, the severely simple and unostentatious life, which preceded them. His more distinguished merit, however, and higher grace consisted in his benevolence and kindness of heart, in his large and constant, though secret charities, and in his consideration and tenderness towards the poor, the suffering, and the bereaved. However attractive he may have appeared in social life, and however valued for his eminent powers, his best intellectual gifts were ever reserved

for the quiet hours spent with those whose relations with him were purely personal and domestic.

My first acquaintance with Colonel Porter was at the University of Heidelberg, where he appeared in my room,—a fair-haired, sunshiny youth, shadowed only by the loss of his aged and beloved father. An orphan, on the threshold of life, his career at Cambridge just terminated, with all that fortune could add to the most noble and generous natural endowments, he had left all behind him to enter on the labors of a student; and at an age when most men deem their culture achieved, he earnestly and humbly commenced anew the great task of self-education. "I want culture," he would say; "I want the equal development of all my faculties, the realization of the true, the good, and the beautiful; and for this I am willing to give my whole life if necessary, but I desire no results which are not based on solid and real knowledge." At a much later period, when time had chastened and tempered his qualities, he was still faithful to this ideal. When urged to choose a career among the many opportunities which presented themselves, he said: "My call has not come : I must bide my time; I can wait, but I cannot give myself, for the sake of occupation or success, to that which my heart does not tell me I am fitted for. I am conscious of the possession of all my faculties in their prime. Whatever I could have been I still could be ; but I cannot choose, I must be chosen." The last time I saw him, it was in command of his regiment at Fort McHenry, I reminded him of this conversation. He smiled sweetly but sadly as he said: "I have done my duty as I have known it. For the two years I have been in command of my regiment, I have hardly been away from it a single day. We are thoroughly drilled for artillery and for infantry service. We are ready for duty we are waiting for our turn."

His mind seemed singularly old-fashioned, and even in his early youth he had all the graces and courtesies of age. "I am a generation before you all," he would say: "I am the son of an old man. I reach back to the war of 1812. I was born almost in the wilderness. My father rode on horseback through