medicine. Being near Mason's and Dixon's line, his profession naturally took him over in Pennsylvania. Some of the stay at homes living in Pennsylvania at that time notified him that if he came over into Pennsylvania they would kill him. They did not know the temperament of the man, or they certainly would not have indulged in such idle talk. Those threats made against him virtually forced him into forbidden territory, and go he did, spurning with contempt the low bred hirelings that had tried to intimidate him, and for years—up to the time of his death—went in and out across the line, penetrating the State of Pennsylvania for miles, fearful of no one except himself. He found friends that stood by him when adversity overtook him. Our dearly loved, idolized hero—loved by his old battery to a man—passed away at Hancock, Md., February 14th, 1870, and was buried in the beautiful cemetery of St. James Episcopal church. His age was 32 years. On Memorial Day Federal soldiers who have felt the power of his sword and the thunder of his battery, strew flowers over his grave and silently shed a tear over the mound that contains the remains of as true a type of manhood as the world can produce. As in life he was always found upon the uttermost edge of his country's fortune, so in death he sleeps on the extreme limit of the State he loved so well—old Maryland.
We laid him to rest in his cold, narrow bed,
And 'graved on the marble we placed o'er his head,
As the proudest tributes our hearts could pay,
“He never disgraced the dear jacket of gray.”