his death. At first he was quite senseless, but as he came to,
and I asked him anxiously if he was hurt, he replied sternly, "Go back
immediately to your place by the gun!" He was like grandfather Leland.

A day or two after, while we were on a forced march to intercept a party
of rebels, the effect of the wound on my brother's brain manifested
itself in a terrible hallucination. He had become very gloomy and
reserved. Taking me aside, he informed me that as he had a few days
before entered a country-house, contrary to an order issued, to buy food,
he was sure that Captain Landis meant as soon as possible to have him
shot, but that he intended, the instant he saw any sign of this, at once
to attack and kill the captain! Knowing his absolute determined and
inflexibly truthful character, and seeing a fearful expression in his
eyes, I was much alarmed. Reflecting in the first place that he was half-
starved, I got him a meal. I had brought from Philadelphia two pounds of
dried beef, and this, carefully hoarded, had eked out many a piece of
bread for a meal. I begged some bread, gave my brother some beef with
it, and I think succeeded in getting him some coffee. Then I went to
Lieutenant Perkins--a very good man--and begged leave to take my
brother's guard and to let him sleep. He consented, and my brother
gradually came to his mind, or at least to a better one. But he was
never the same person afterwards, his brain having been permanently
affected, and he died in consequence five years after.

I may note as characteristic of my brother, that, twelve years after his
death, Walt Whitman, who always gravely spoke the exact truth, told me
that there was one year of his life during which he had received no
encouragement as a poet, and so much ridicule that he was in utter
despondency. At that time he received from Henry, who was unknown to
him, a cheering letter, full of admiration, which had a great effect on
him, and inspired him to renewed effort. He sent my brother a copy of
the first edition of his "Leaves of Grass," with his autograph, which I
still possess. I knew nothing of this till Whitman told me of it. The
poet declared to me very explicitly that he had been much influenced by
my brother's letter, which was like a single star in a dark night of
despair, and I have indeed no doubt that the world owes more to it than
will ever be made known.

During the same week in which this occurred my wife's only b