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The procession was one of the finest ever seen in Petersburg. It was composed of A. P. Hill Camp of veterans, Pickett-Buchanan Camp of Norfolk, R. E. Lee Camp and Sons of Confederate Veterans of Richmond, the Prince George Cavalry, Petersburg Grays, Petersburg Artillery with full battery of guns, the Fire Department with engines beautifully decorated, civil societies, and a long line of citizens. The line was headed by Chief-Marshal Henry and his associates, the ladies of the Memorial Association and the orator of the day, with the Mayor and Miss Hill. It was fully half-past 6 o'clock before the ceremonies commenced in the cemetery, where fully 10,000 people had assembled around the monument and the stand. The scene was an inspiring one. The first to ascend the stand were thirteen beautiful little girls dressed in white, representing the thirteen Confederate States. On the stand were also seated the ladies of the Memorial Association, Miss Lucy Lee Hill, ministers of the gospel, and Mayor Collier. Prayer was offered by Rev. C. R. Haines, D. D., after which Mayor Collier introduced Captain W. Gordon McCabe as the orator of the day, who spoke as follows:

Captain McCabe's address.

My Fellow-Citizens:

If from the happier land the dead look down and are touched in any measure by concerns of earth, surely there is deeper joy in Heaven this day as those dear comrades who have fallen on sleep gaze upon this eager concourse of old companions in arms, of loyal kinsmen, and of steadfast friends who have gathered here at the bidding of the noble women, who in the brave old days cheered these men as they trod the thorny path of duty and who to-day unveil to the broad light of Heaven this beautiful monument, reared by pious hands to perpetuate to all coming time the constancy and valor of those who lived heroic life and died heroic death.

Other and grander monuments, perchance, may rise to tell in storied beauty or impressive majesty a people's gratitude and reverence for those who counted life itself a worthless thing when freedom was at stake, but surely nowhere in all our southern land could be found a spot more instinct with all the mournful glory of that heroic past than this historic ‘Cemetery Hill,’ overlooking those

labour'd rampart lines

where our matchless leader, girt with a handful of devoted soldiery,



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