again have a grand "reconfederation." We shed a tear over their flower-strewn graves. We live after them. We love their memory yet. but one generation passes away and another generation follows. We know our loved and brave soldiers. We love them yet.
But when we pass away, the impartial historian will render a true verdict, and a history will then be written in justification and vindication of those brave and noble boys who gave their all in fighting the battles of their homes, their country, and their God.
"The United Stutes has no North, vo South, no Hast, no West." "We are one and undivided."
ADIEU.
My kind friends—soldiers, comrades, brothers, all: The curtain is rung down, the foot-lights are put out, the audience has all left and gone home, the seats are vacant, and the cold walls are silent. The gaudy tinsel that appears before the foot-lights is exchanged for the dress of the citizen. Coming generations and historians will be the critics as to how we have acted our parts. The past is buried in oblivion. The blood-red flag, with its crescent and cross, that we followed for four long, bloody, and disastrous years, has been folded never again to be unfurled. We have no regrets for what we did, but we mourn the loss of so many brave and gallant men who perished on the field of battle and honor. I now bid you an affectionate adieu.
But in closing these memoirs, the scenes of my life pass in rapid review before me. In imagination, I am young again to-night. I fell the flush and vigor of my manhood—am just twenty-one years of age. I hear the fife and drum playing Dixie and the Bonnie Blue Flag. I see and hear our fire-eating stump-orators tell of the right of secession and disunion, I see our fair and beautiful women waving their handkerchiefs and encouraging their sweethearts to go to the war. I sec the marshaling of the hosts for "glorious war." I see the fine banners waving and hear the cry every-
