My birthday. I feel the pressure of years upon me in this
respect, that all life seems sadder; hope's wings droop; illusions vanish. Yet
am I a slow learner of the solemn lessons thus taught me. Letters from Frank;
the Cadets have had a severe time of it. Several have died of their wounds;
forty-five were wounded. They are now ordered on to Richmond, by the Secretary
of War, and I expect nothing else than that they are in for the remainder of
the war, and my husband with them. We hear nothing but tales of blood. Today
comes another report of a fight between Lee and Grant, and the details of
Beauregard's success at Richmond. Pickett's Division stormed the enemy's breastworks,
and have 700 or 800 killed and wounded. E. C. is in this Division; we know not
whether he has fallen, and are afraid to hear. People busy here scraping lint;
the schools dismissed in order that the children may help. . . .
SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and
Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 181
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