[207] as from the pale, stricken faces of those whose hearts the thorn had pierced.
Among the tender and true women with whom I have corresponded since the war is the mother of Colonel Robadeaux Wheat, the noble Louisianian who fell at Gaines's Mill. I have several of her letters by me, written in the tremulous hand of one who had passed her seventy-ninth birthday, but glowing with love for the cause, and fondest pride in the sons who died in its defence. It is touching to see how she clings to and cherishes the record, given by his companions in arms, of ‘Robadeux's’ last hours on earth, when, in the early morning, before going forth to battle, his heart seemed to return to the simple faith of his boyhood, and, gathering his subordinate officers around him in his tent, he read reverently the service of prayer which committed himself and them to the protection of the God of battles. Mrs. Wheat's letters are, I think, among the most beautiful and touching I ever read, yet sprightly and interesting. Believing that all my readers will feel an interest in the mother of glorious ‘Bob Wheat,’ I will here transcribe a small portion. In one letter she says,—
I am, thank God, in excellent health for one aged seventy-eight. My husband was born in this city (Washington, D. C.) in the year one, he says.‘We shall soon celebrate the fifty-ninth anniversary of our marriage, and he is deeply engaged upon some ‘post-nuptial lines’ for me.’
In another,—
