It was not to be.  Chancellorsville, where 130,000 men were defeated by 60,000, is up to a certain point as much the tactical masterpiece of the nineteenth century as was Leuthen of the eighteenth.  But, splendid triumph as it was, the battle bore no abiding fruits, and the reason seems very clear.  The voice that would have urged pursuit was silent.  Jackson’s fall left Lee alone, bereft of his alter ego; with none, save Stuart, to whom he could entrust the execution of those daring and delicate manoeuvres his inferior numbers rendered necessary; with none on whose resource and energy he could implicitly rely.  Who shall say how far his own resolution had been animated and confirmed at other crises by the prompting and presence of the kindred spirit?  “They supplemented each other,” said Davis, “and together, with any fair opportunity, they were absolutely invincible.”

Many a fierce battle still lay before the Army of Northern Virginia; marvellous was the skill and audacity with which Lee manoeuvred his ragged regiments in the face of overwhelming odds; fierce and unyielding were the soldiers, but with Stonewall Jackson’s death the impulse of victory died away.

May 7.

It is needless to linger over the closing scene at Gurney’s Station.  For some days there was hope that the patient would recover; pneumonia, attributed to his fall from the litter as he was borne from the field, supervened, and he gradually began to sink.  On the Thursday his wife and child arrived from Richmond; but he was then almost too weak for conversation, and on Sunday morning it was evident that the end was near.

May 10.

As yet he had scarcely realised his condition.

If, he said, it was God’s will, he was ready to go, but he believed that there was still work for him to do, and that his life would be preserved to do it.  At eleven o’clock Mrs. Jackson knelt by his side, and told him that he could not live beyond the evening.  “You are frightened, my child,” he replied, “death is not so near; I may yet get well.”  She fell upon the bed, weeping bitterly, and told him again that there was no hope.  After a moment’s pause, he asked her to call Dr. McGuire.  “Doctor,” he said, “Anna tells me I am to die to-day; is it so?” When he was answered, he remained silent for a moment or two, as if in intense thought, and then quietly replied, “Very good, very good; it is all right.”

About noon, when Major Pendleton came into the room, he asked, “Who is preaching at headquarters to-day?” He was told that Mr. Lacy was, and that the whole army was praying for him.  “Thank God,” he said; “they are very kind to me.”  Already his strength was fast ebbing, and although his face brightened when his baby was brought to him, his mind had begun to wander.  Now he was on the battle-field, giving orders to his men; now at home in Lexington; now at prayers in the camp, Occasionally his senses came back to him, and