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 with the people, had drawn her sable curtain over the eye of day, that an act which has found a parallel only in the judicial murder of the man of Andersonville, or the woman of Washington, soon after the fall of the Confederacy, might be shut out from her vision forever. Mr. Rodman returned, while yet it was early, and thus describes the few remaining hours: During the few hours that intervened before morning (I have gone back a little to bring up the connection), he said but little. He said he hoped he had maintained his composure during the presence of his family, and I told him he had astonished me by his remarkable self-possession. He spoke of his wife and children in the most tender and affectionate manner. And once or twice he seemed to be suffering intensely, and remarked, ‘My brain reels,’ but he soon recovered his composure. As to the future, he said he had no fears, for he felt assured his family would be provided for, and that God would raise up friends for them; for himself, he placed his trust in God's mercy for pardon and acceptance, through the merits of his Saviour; he frequently expressed his gratitude to me for my visits to him. I left for a short time in the morning, and on going back with the Rev. Messrs. Parkman, Okeson and Hubard, he mentioned, as we entered his cell, ‘You find me, gentlemen, putting my little house in order,’ while he was putting some little things in a box. As the time for his departure drew nigh we knelt in prayer. Just before leaving he took a long lingering look around the walls of the cell, which had been to him ‘the house of God and the gate of Heaven.’ Then he called to his fellow prisoners, many of them by name, and bade them all an affectionate farewell. On reaching the street he asked permission to look into his coffin, which was in the hearse before the door of the jail. The top was taken off, and he stood for some minutes and looked fondly at the daguerreotypes of his wife and children, which he had directed to be hung up around the inside of the coffin. As he stepped back to the sidewalk, he remarked to me: ‘I think there is nothing improper in that.’ Then he saw a man standing on the steps of the jail, who had been editor of the Old Dominion, and had written most bitter and untruthful articles about him. ‘There is a man,’ said he, ‘to whom I want to speak.’ He advanced towards him, extending his hand, and the editor slunk back. ‘Isn't this ’
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