This evening, just before sunset, we saw the mortal remains
of the dear boy committed to the grave. It is a sore blow to his precious
father, to his sisters, and to us all. God grant it may be a sanctified
affliction! We have surely need of chastisement, or it would not have been
repeated so painfully, within so brief a period. Three months and a half only,
since dear Willy laid down his life on the battle field; and now another, as
full of life — as perfect a model of health — as seemingly fitted for long life
as any one I ever saw, after a lingering illness of seven weeks, is cut off.
How mysterious the providence appears! Few parents have as noble boys to lose;
and yet their father bows to the stroke with entireness of Christian
resignation. May God sustain his bruised heart!
Had a note from Gen. Jackson yesterday, most kindly written
amidst the hurry of a day or two succeeding the Fredericksburg battle,
informing me that Bro. John was met on the field by one of his aids, as he was
removing the dead — he being a Federal surgeon — and that a cousin named
Junkin, whom I have never seen, was among the slain. Bro. John sent word
through the aid that my friends were all well. I desire to be thankful for this
last item of information.
SOURCE: Elizabeth Preston Allan, The Life and
Letters of Margaret Junkin Preston, p. 156-7
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