On September 5^th she passed away quietly after a few months sickness.  Her last words whispered, "It is all right."  Her remains now rest in Lynnhurst Cemetery in Knoxville, Tennessee.  We built a mausoleum for her with room for ten more bodies to be placed inside.  For nearly sixty years, we traveled together along life's pilgrimage.  I was with her a few minutes before she passed away, but I did not think the end was so near.  I left to meet Dr. BROWN and my son-in-law, J. W. WILLIAMS.  As I was greeting them my daughter Hannah came to us said in a soft tone, "Mama's gone."  I did my best to hold up.  I felt as if the ground had given away from under me.  Dr. BROWN and John asked me to go with them to the auto.  We got in and they drove me around for a good while.

After coming back to the house, I asked, "Where is Annie?"  Someone answered, "They have taken the body to Mann's to the mortuary."  Then I said to Dr. BROWN, "I should have stayed and not gone away.  Am I weaker than other men who have gone through the trial of their wife's death?"  Many friends from the First Baptist Church came and expressed their sympathy.  This helped so much in my hour of greatest trial.

My wife was deeply religious.  I thought at times that she was too serious in following the teachings of the Bible, but I could see that it gave her much comfort.  She would mark passages so that she could refer to them again.  As I watched her my thoughts would be, what a good wife she has been to me all the years we have lived together.  How many more years will we be together?  Which one of us will be called first.  Such thoughts as these would come over me.  I have outlived her, but memory lingers with me.  What comfort it is to retain memories of those who have gone before us.  It seems to me that life is only a memory.

When alone and in a quiet hour, we can let our minds bring up memories of the past.  We think we see them again only for a moment as a faint shadow and then it fades slowly away.

May I relate two instances that happened to me which made a vivid impression on my mind which I cannot forget.  About one year and a half after my wife's death, when I was alone in the house at eight o'clock at night, I went to my room and was retiring for the night.  My bed was near a window.  A faint evening glow came through the window, some of it partly from a street lamp.  As I lay quietly and not thinking of anything in particular, only to get to sleep as soon as possible, I was lying on my back when my attention was drawn to the foot of the bed.  As I looked, a form seemed to appear faintly and very slowly on the foot of the bed.  Then a face appeared which I recognized as that of my wife.  Her eyes were wide open.  She was looking steadily at me as I lay and the expression on her face was one that I had seen many times in my life -- a calm one.  Then it slowly faded away.

About two years afterwards, lying on a couch one afternoon after I had been reading, my attention was drawn to a door only a few feet from me which was open and as I looked a form seemed to appear and stopped.  My wife's face appeared looking at me with an expression of gladness and a lingering smile as it faded away from me.  The room where this happened is the same room where she died.  Her last words faintly whispered, "It is all right."  Those words fit the expression on her face as I saw her standing at the door.