Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Harvard Memorial Biographies

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[439] of his classmates at his own home, and bore himself so bravely that they almost believed his wasted form would rise from its melancholy ruin. Not an impatient syllable escaped from his lips, not a word of regret for his sacrifice. On the contrary, he gloried in the service he had done for his country, and grieved that it was no greater.

But more rapidly and surely, day by day, his decline continued as the summer advanced, and still calmly and firmly he awaited the final catastrophe. As if the very shadows of his friends relieved the gloom of death, one of his latest acts was to obtain the photographs of his College Class. In their silent company he cheered the lonely hours, recalling memories of a brighter and a happier past. To the last he was eager to learn the progress of the war, and enthusiastic in asserting the ultimate success of the national arms. He passed the last day of his life in hopeful discussion of the military movements which three days afterwards culminated in the victory of Gettysburg. In the evening he retired, fell into a deep sleep, and slumbered soundly all night; awoke in the morning languid and weary, conversed a little, then turned and slumbered again, and never more awoke.

And so, on the 1st of July, 1863, emaciated, feeble, and faint, but patient and ‘forlornly brave’ unto the end, died Harry Richardson. In admiration of the fortitude of the patriot, in reverence for the fidelity of the officer, but, more than all, in love of the sterling virtues and endearing qualities of the man, this humble record of his life is placed among the memorials of his classmates and friends. Eulogy his fair memory needs not. All who knew him know the full measure of his worth, and, knowing that, recognize the wealth of the sacrifice, expressed more eloquently to them than labored pages can portray, in his simple epitaph, Pro patria;.

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