In the battle of Manassas and before Richmond, his brave heart manifested itself in distinguished deeds of gallant bearing; and in the silence and solemnity of his chamber, when all causes of animal excitement were absent, and he was conscious of the pressure of the cold hand of death, he was calm, collected, and hopeful. Death had no fears to him. He who had nobly laid his worldly wealth, and all he hoped for, even life itself, on the altar of his country, was himself reposing in the arms of Jesus, and could confidently say, “It is well” — “ well” if spared; “well” if removed; “well” for time and eternity. ‘We may thus, amidst the merited wreaths which his admiring and grateful survivors shower on his honored grave, discern an unearthly and incorruptible bloom bestowed by the invisible hand of grace, to refresh with its fragrance those who mourn him, and hereafter to bear the precious fruit of eternal life.’ Major Hugh Mortimer Nelson, of Clark county, Virginia, who was one of the ablest of the ‘union men’ of the Virginia Convention of 1861, but who, like most of his party, buckled on his sword when all of Virginia's efforts at pacification had failed, and did gallant service on the staff of General Ewell, died August 8, 1862. A faithful friend who was with him wrote thus, immediately after his death: ‘Truly, I felt it a privilege to listen to him, to hear his testimony to the glorious salvation of which he was assured. “ Saved by grace,” he repeated again and again. “I am safe, safe in the Lord Jesus.” All his views were bright; no cloud obscured his hope of heaven.’ Another, who joined him soon after, wrote of his wonderful serenity and his triumphant trust in his Saviour. ‘I am in sweet hands—safe in the arms of the Lord Jesus,’ were his words. A little after, he exclaimed, ‘Glorious brightness’ One who sat close by, asked, ‘Where does it come from?’ ‘Straight from my Saviour's countenance,’ he replied immediately. His message to his wife and children was ‘to stand still and wait on the Lord for salvation.’ On the 8th day of August, 1862, his brave spirit winged its way to the bosom of its God. And we add, reverently and trustfully, ‘Let me die the death the righteous, and let my last end be like his.’ Lieutenant Cotesworth Pinckney Seabrook, of South Carolina, fell on the field of Chancellorsville. His splendid career and happy
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