"One on earth in silence wrought, And his grave in silence sought; But the younger, brighter form, Passed in battle, and in storm."
As the Superintendent of our Institution, he held the hearts of every inmate. His younger brother, in a letter of response to some queries, said--"He was an Engineer in the United States Navy during the War of the Rebellion, a devoted son, a true patriot, and an earnest Christian man." He was afterward stationed on the "Island of Navassa," one of the West India Group, within one hundred miles of Cuba, and was acting as Superintendent of a Phosphate Company which owned, and worked the Island. He had been there during eighteen months, when, in September, 1872, the yellow fever broke out in the Island. After several weeks' resistance he, too, succumbed to this terrible scourge, and, after a six days' illness, died on the 9th of November, 1872.
His brother also feelingly makes mention of his last letter, written upon the day of his attack, as "a marvel of calm resignation." It runs thus: "I am fast getting ready to be counted among the sick. When you know I am really dead write to--(here follow the names of many friends) and tell them to meet me in Heaven. One by one we are passing over, why should we hesitate? why should I with no one to care for? Surely I have seen trouble enough in this life! May I feel as little dread of dying at the last moment as I do now."
His last words were addressed to his second officer, who had been addicted to dissipation, but who had pledged himself to reform. As he was carried out to look upon the sea which he loved so well, he said: "Mawson, remember your pledge," when his head immediately dropped and he entered into the life eternal.
So did the life of this good man pass gently away while he was still in the prime of manhood. He was carried to beautiful Greenmount for burial, near the city in which his name will be coupled with loving memories for long years to come.
"Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress trees! Who hopeless lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play! Who hath not learned in hours of faith The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever Lord of Death, And love can never lose its own!"