Patten asked if he had no messages for home. "I have written them all," he said; "tell them how it was, Pat." The officers of his regiment who went to bid him farewell tell us that the grasp of his hand was warm and firm and his countenance smiling and happy. He desired that his father might be told that he was struck while dressing the line of his men; besides this he had no message but " Good by." He expressed a wish that his sword might not fall into the enemy's hands,—a wish that was faithfully attended to by Colonel Palfrey, through whose personal care it was preserved and sent home. All who saw him testify to the perfect composure of his mind and to the beautiful expression of his face. Two of our surgeons who had been left with the wounded at the farm were much impressed by his behavior, and one of them told the Rebel officers to talk with him, if they wished to know how a Northern soldier thought and felt. He lingered four days, and died on the 4th of July. A private of his regiment wrapped him in a blanket and laid him to rest under a tree. The name of the place is Nelson's, or Frazier's, Farm. Lowell was among the earliest of the Harvard soldiers to fall by the hand of the enemy. Colonel Peabody preceded him about three months, having been killed at Pittsburg Landing, and Major How died on the field in the same battle in which Lowell received his mortal wound. He was also the earliest to fall of seven kinsmen, the lives of five of whom will be found in these volumes. While the soul of this noble young soldier was passing slowly away, his sister, who had for some time been serving as volunteer nurse on a hospital steamer, was lying at Harrison's Bar, on the James River, only a few miles off. She heard of his dangerous wound, and tried every expedient to get to him, but without success. Three years after, that same sister, who had continued all this while in the hospital service, set out from Richmond to find her brother's grave. Following the line of our army's retreat from Fair Oaks, in his very footsteps, she with some difficulty tracked out the farm-house, and at last discovered the tree which marked the place of his burial. The day happened to be June 30th, the anniversary of that on which he was wounded, and the grave was found at about the same time in the afternoon when he was brought into the hospital. The remains were removed by affectionate hands in the succeeding November, and deposited in Mount Auburn beside those of his brother. This was a short life, only a span long: but if the essential thing in life be the bringing of our wills into free cooperation with the will of God, this life of less than twentyfive years was yet complete. That harmony once achieved, and immortality so assured, it can be of little moment whether dissolution comes sooner or later. Though the final act of sacrifice has importance in our eyes, as setting a visible seal to his integrity, we see, and we should see without surprise, that it cost Lowell no struggle. The serenity with which he received the summons of death must not be misunderstood. It did not come from blind enthusiasm, nor even from an unusual exaltation of feeling. It was also as remote as possible from apathy: it had no character of insensibility. It has already been said that his enjoyment of life was intense. No one had a keener relish for its every-day pleasures. It was crowned for him, in Körner's words, "with the flowery wreaths of love, of friendship, and of joy." No one could be less indifferent to the grief his death would cause at home; no one could have taken a deeper satisfaction in witnessing and assisting in the extension of knowledge and the improvement of the condition of mankind. The coexistence of this vivid enjoyment of the world with a readiness to relinquish all its delights and hopes at a moment's call, has been portrayed and explained by the one who knew him best, in these verses. "Twin fountains sent forth Our Delight. From one Came all that Nature to her darling brings To make a lover of each looker on; Fair gifts not graces yet nor rooted quite; "But lest the lover's soul, dizzy with joy, 'Lord, I am thine: do with me as thou wilt; Set thou my feet aright; they seek thy goal.' Thus prayed this rich-fraught soul, and in his thought A minuter analysis than it is possible to go into here would show a rare symmetry in Lowell's character, the result of a religious discipline acting upon a pure and generous nature. His whole life, says one who knew it all, was "luminous with love." Even in childhood his love was not the accidental, unspiritual attachment of most boys. Though impetuous, and by no means wanting in energy of will, he was docile and modest. The eagerness with which he pursued his objects occasioned him many trials of temper, and the self-chastisement which was thus required kept him from thinking highly of himself. He never excused his faults, or used any sophistry in extenuating them, but felt them keenly and repented of them humbly. Towards himself he was rigid; but though he expected every man to do his duty, for a sense of justice is generally recognized as his distinguishing trait, he was lenient to others. Though he was not given to the expression of religious sentiment, he lived habitually near to God, and in lowly dependence upon him.. In a book of extracts, he entered, probably about the time of his leaving college, some lines of Ben Jonson, as a sort of charge to himself, which may serve as an epitome both of his character and of his career. "That by commanding first thyself thou mak'st Thy person fit for any charge thou tak'st; That whatsoever face thy fate puts on, Thou shrink or start not, but be always one; EDWARD BROMFIELD MASON. Asst. Surgeon 14th Mass. Vols. (1st Mass. Heavy Artillery), March 1, 1862; Second Lieut. 2d Mass. Cavalry, June 4, 1863; died September 14, 1863, at Readville, Mass., of injuries received from an accident in camp. ED DWARD BROMFIELD MASON was born July 2, 1837, in Boston. He was the son of William Powell and Hannah (Rogers) Mason, and the grandson of Jonathan Mason, who was United States Senator from Massachusetts from 1800 to 1803. As a boy, he was unusually attractive in person and character, uniting in an uncommon degree gentleness and warm affections with a spirit of daring and cool courage that helped him out of, as well as led him into, many difficulties. After going through the usual course of studies in various schools, at fifteen years of age he accompanied his parents to Europe, and the eighteen months passed there developed and fostered a love of adventure, and an enthusiasm for the beautiful in nature and in art, which were most marked features in his character. Naturally modest, and free from any inclination for display, it was only to his most intimate and sympathetic friends that he showed himself freely. With them, his graphic descriptions of what had most interested him abroad, his vivid imagination, his lively and genial humor, and his intense enjoyment of everything that was striking and beautiful in life, imparted a singular glow and charm to his conversation. On his return from Europe, at the close of the year 1853, he was fitted for Harvard College by Mr. Samuel Eliot, and entered the Sophomore Class in July, 1855. He graduated with his Class, and after leaving college commenced the study of medicine with Professor Wyman and Dr. Nichols at Cambridge. At this period an incident occurred, strik ingly illustrating his kind feelings, his fearlessness, and his disregard of self. A fellow-student, with whom he was but slightly acquainted, was suddenly attacked with a severe form of small-pox. Being at a distance from his relatives and friends, he suffered much from want of suitable attendance and nursing; and the nature of his disease and his limited means rendered it difficult to obtain assistance. Edward, regardless of his own exposure, pitying his helpless and friendless condition, visited and watched with him, and thought so little of these charitable acts that they never came to the knowledge of his family and friends until he himself was taken down with the varioloid in consequence. Before the completion of his medical course, the war of the Rebellion broke out, and both he and his brother were anxious to bear their part in defending the Union. Their father, however, just slowly recovering from a long and dangerous illness, which left it uncertain how far he might regain his former state of health, felt so unable to meet the trial of parting with both of his sons at once for so dangerous a service, that they promised that one of them should certainly remain at home with him. The oldest, in November, 1861, was appointed Aid to Major-General McClellan. Edward, however, remained at home, completed his medical course of studies, and, in July, 1861, after passing a very good examination, received his diploma of M. D. No longer occupied by a daily attendance at Cambridge, at the Medical School and the Hospital; in a high state of health, with a vigorous frame, an active imagination, and a courageous spirit; excited by the daily reports from our armies, he felt a renewal of his original desire to enter the service. He became restless and uneasy, and expressed himself strongly as feeling that he was put in a wrong position by remaining quietly at home, while so many of his companions were in the field, or hastening thither to join our Massachusetts regiments. Under these circumstances, his parents, seriously questioning whether they were |