January 1, 1864.
A melancholy pause in my diary.
After returning from church on the night of the 13th, a telegram was handed me from Professor Minor
, of the University of Virginia, saying, “Come at once, Colonel Colston
is extremely ill.”
After the first shock was over, I wrote an explanatory note to Major Brewer
, why I could not be at the office next day, packed my trunk, and was in the cars by seven in the morning. That evening I reached the University
, and found dear R. desperately ill with pneumonia, which so often follows, as in the case of General Jackson
, the amputation of limbs.
were in attendance, and R's uncle, Dr. Brockenbrough
, arrived the next day. After ten days of watching and nursing, amid alternate hopes and fears, we saw our friend Dr. Maupin
close our darling's eyes, on the morning of the 23d; and on Christmas-day a military escort laid him among many brother soldiers in the Cemetery
of the University of Virginia.
He died in the faith of Christ
, and with the glorious hope of immortality.
His poor mother is heart-stricken, but she, together with his sisters, and one dearer still, had the blessed, and what is now the rare privilege, of soothing and nursing him in his last hours.
To them, and to us all, his life seemed as a part of our own. His superior judgment and affectionate temper made him the guide of his whole