at one time told Dr. McGuire he thought he was dying, and would have bled to death, but a tourniquet was immediately applied. For two hours he was nearly pulseless from the shook. As he was being carried from the field, frequent inquiries were made by the soldiers, "Who have you there?" He told the doctor, "Do not tell the troops I am wounded."
On the Thursday following, all pain had ceased, hut a mortal prostration came on, from which he never recovered. He still conversed feebly, and said, "I consider these wounds a blessing; they were given me for some good and wise purpose, and I would not part with them if I could."
From this time he continued to sink, and on Sunday morning it was obvious that he could only live a few hours longer. His mind was still clear, however, and he asked Major Pendleton, his adjutant-general, "who was preaching at headquarters on that day?" Mrs. Jackson was with him during his last moments, and conversed with him fully and freely. She informed him that he was about to die, and his reply was, "Very good, very good: it it all right!"
He then sent messages to all his friends, the generals and others, and murmured, in a low voice, his wish to be buried in "Lexington, in the Valley of Virginia."
His mind then began to wander, and that delirium which seizes upon the most powerful minds, the must vigorous brains, at the mysterious moment, when the last sands fall from the glass, began to affect him. He gave orders to the commissary of his corps, the surgeons, and the commanders. Among the last words which escaped his lips were, "A. P. Bill prepare for action."
After this be speedily sank, and at fifteen minutes past three in the evening he tranquilly expired.
