When the hour of interment drew near, the General, who had not left the beloved remains, was informed that it was time to perform the last sad rites. The scene that then ensued is beyond description. There was no heart that did not ache, no eye that did not weep. Many of the officers present, who had shared with the General his difficulties and dangers; who had seen him in the most trying situations; who had eyed him when his gallant soldiers were suffering for food to sustain life, and he unable to relieve them; who had witnessed him on the battle-field, when the wounded and the dying were brought before him, and every muscle seemed moved, and his very frame agonized with sorrow; yet had seen no suffering, however poignant or excessive, affect the General like this great affliction. When he bade his final adieu to the last kindred link that bound him to earth, his Roman fortitude seemed for a time to be completely overcome. It was a soul-rending sight to see an old veteran, whose head was whitened by the hardships he had endured for his country, bending over the lifeless form of an affectionate wife, whose death was hastened by the cruelty of those whose rights he had so nobly defended. By a muscular and almost superhuman effort, he endeavored to check the current of his grief; and, waving his hand to the afflicted company, begged them to weep no more. “I know,” said he, “it is unmanly, but these tears were due to her virtues. She shed many for me.” But one wish pervaded the assembly, that the individuals who had hastened this scene by their relentless attacks on an unoffending woman, could be brought to witness the saddest spectacle that any present had ever beheld. But they were not there to witness the effects of their calumnies. She was dead, and they were vanquished. Ever after that funeral, his opponents complained that his personal feelings were allowed to govern his public acts, and that to be suspected by him of having believed aught of slander against his wife, was the unpardonable crime which he never forgave. Brave old Hero! how deathless was the feeling which to the latest hour of his life displayed the strength made manifest from its inception! Silent and grave he was on the subject, but forgetfulness or indifference did not occasion such a course of action, as too many found to their sorrow. A dangerous look in his flashing eye satisfied any one of the sacred ground, and few braved his anger by recalling an unpleasant recollection connected with her. The inhumanity of the world robbed him of his treasure, and darkened his life, but while he lived her name was a hallowed sound breathed in the darkened recesses of his bruised and lonely heart, which cheered him on to the portals of the tomb through which she had passed to immortality.