132 HENRY HILL GOODELL 



took care of him in his last days of life, when he was here 

 in St. Augustine. He is a man wonderfully well posted and 

 there seems to be no end to the reserve forces that he is able 

 to fall back on. As soon as I learn anything from him, or 

 can speak favorably myself of my condition, I will write 

 you more fully. My breathing this morning is much easier, 

 but the swelling has not gone down very much but is im- 

 proved somewhat." 



His next letter is written with pencil and simply says 

 that the doctor has recommended that he go North. He 

 was disappointed as he wished to stay longer at St. Au- 

 gustine. His wife writes April 19: "The doctor advises 

 us to get nearer home. We go by the Savannah line of 

 steamers direct and will arrive in Boston Monday the 

 24th." She understood what the doctor's advice meant, 

 for it had been evident to her for some time that the end 

 might come at any moment, although he showed no sign 

 to the last, by word or look, of anxiety on that point. 



When within a few hours' sail of Boston Bay, at 1.45 on 

 Sunday morning, April 23, while in the full possession of 

 his faculties, he was relieved of "the turmoil for a little 

 breath," so gently that he probably mistook the Angel of 

 Death for the Angel of Sleep. 



Like a shadow thrown 

 Softly and lightly from a passing cloud, 

 Death fell on him. 



The funeral services were conducted in the College 

 Chapel at Amherst, on the afternoon of April 27, and were 

 of the simplest kind. The casket was covered and surrounded 

 with many beautiful tributes of esteem and affection, and 

 the audience was one whose very presence was the finest of 



