Six hours later one of the Sisters of Charity came in and unclasped the precious hand which I knew was holding mine for the last time. Two hours earlier I had felt the sigh that freed his great spirit and made of me (Oh, the woe of that word!) a widow. Darkness came. Through it some of the scenes that passed made pictures on my mind which come back to me now in the dim watches of memory. I recall the memorials and resolutions of sorrow that came from military associations, from Boards of Trade, from the many organizations that had known my Soldier through the years. From all over the country they came to tell of the deep appreciation and honor in which he was held. I remember the long procession of mourners that followed him through the streets of Richmond to the beautiful resting place of Hollywood, the longest funeral procession, they told me, that had ever been known in Richmond. His staff officers, couriers and headquarters guard met again to follow him as loyally as when he led them into the whirlwind of battle. His old soldiers who had leaped at the flashing of his sword and dashed with him against the gates of death, and who were now scattered through far distant States, had rallied to the call of the unblown bugle and the unvoiced command of their beloved leader to march behind him for the last time. Those who had followed other leaders came to do honor to the memory of the great soldier who had fought for the cause dear to them all. A few years later another procession marched down the streets of Richmond to the sacred ground of Hollywood to attend the dedication of Gettysburg Monument, erected to the memory of my Soldier and his brave men--the first Confederate Monument. Again Southern veterans assembled in honor of their leader and of their gallant comrades. Loyal to them and the past, they came from many States, faithful as in the days of fire and storm, bringing their treasure of memories to lay on that sacred shrine. William Florence and Joe Jefferson placed their laurel wreaths on the grave of their friend. From Pennsylvania came ex-Governor Curtin, the war Governor, and two Union Generals. The Philadelphia Brigade, that stood on Cemetery Hill and received the shock of that great charge which will live in history while our country stands, marched in a body to pay tribute to the great Southern soldier whose heart was filled with kindness, leaving no room for enmity. Officers of the old Army of the Forties and Fifties, who had loved my Soldier in those far-gone days, three of them members of that memorable class of 1846, were there, with the golden flames of old camp-fires yet burning upon the altar of the heart. General Longstreet thus recalls his old comrade: