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 of the Southern Historical Society. Especially we do not forget to-night that he was the first president of our own Association of the Army of Northern Virginia. He was always with us on Confederate memorial occasions, at the unveiling of the Jackson and Lee statues and the reinterment of President Davis, and he never missed a meeting of this society but once in twenty-two years, and then on account of sickness. We look around us now in vain for his familiar, gray-clad form; the noble, classic head; the keen, black, flashing eye; the long, white, patriarchal beard; the bent form; the shrewd, pat speech; the cordial greeting. We miss them here to-night. The mighty past of which he was so great a part recedes farther from us, and the chill of a lost friendship falls upon our hearts as we realize that we shall look upon his brave face and shake his honest hand no more. When he died an epoch passed to its historic niche, and the world to those who loved him seemed colder than before. But he will come again in memorial bronze. Lynchburg, which he saved, owes it to herself to build his monument there. Richmond and Virginia, which he defended, owe it to themselves to build it here. Lee and Jackson and A. P. Hill, yon Howitzer upon your highway, and yon sentinel upon the hilltop will be lonesome till Stuart and Early shall join them here. On March 2d last, in the town of Lynchburg, where he had resided since the war, in the 78th year of his age, he passed away. Floral tributes, telegrams and letters poured in from all quarters. Delegates from this society and many Confederate camps attended his funeral. The flag of the State hung at half-mast over the Capitol, the Governor and the Legislature, which happened to be in session, paid every proper respect to his memory. As he lay majestic in the solemn repose of death, clothed in Confederate gray, and as the coffin was about to close, one of his noblest and bravest followers stepped forward and kissed his marble brow. Services were held in the Episcopal church, and the Rev. T. M. Carson, a former chaplain in his command, who had witnessed his heroism at Cedar Creek, pronounced a touching eulogy, taking for his text the words: ‘A Prince in Israel has Fallen.’ Amongst the chief mourners was that line of gray and wrinkled men, who followed his hearse, carrying a tattered flag that told its own story. I have never witnessed a more imposing scene than the outpouring of the people as his body was borne to the grave with military ceremonial. The
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