L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion

[327] which he could not rally. It seemed, therefore, no kindness to allow his mother to be tortured with false hope, and we earnestly represented (hard as it seemed to do so) that the surgeons did not look for any improvement; but all in vain-he had seen sickness-he had seen doctors mistaken before now-his boy was going to get well; so he accompanied us to the telegraph station, and sent his message, That evening I was told some one wanted to see me, from the — hospital, and on going out, was met by the words, “Miss--, my boy's gone, my boy's gone!” and a burst of sobs, which seemed as though it must shake that poor old frame to pieces.

He had scarcely left, in the morning, to send his hopeful telegram, when the change took place, and Robinson breathed his last just as his father reached his bedside. The blow fell heavier, as we had feared, from the strong hope he had persisted in entertaining, and even then it seemed as though he were too much bewildered and stunned to realize fully what had occurred. There was something inexpressibly touching in the grief of that poor, bowed-down old man, shattered as he was, too, by hard travel and loss of rest; and yet I hardly knew how to comfort him, or to answer that sad appeal, “How can I go back to his mother without him?” Deep grief must ever bear with it a reverence of its own, and this seemed something one scarcely dared meddle with.

He said the funeral was to take place the next afternoon, and begged that the ladies who had been so kind to him would be present for his mother's sake; he