5. The Army of Tennessee—
The pennon droops that led the sacred band
Along the crimson field;
The meteor-blade sinks from the nerveless hand
Over the spotless shield.
General Marcus J. Wright.
6. The Dead—
They need no tears who lived a noble life,
We will not weep for them—who died so well,
But we will gather round the hearth and tell
The story of their strife.
Such homage suits them well—
Better than funeral pomps or passing bell.
7. The Women of the South—
Their angel hands the wounded cheered,
Did all that woman ever dares—
When hopes and homes had disappeared
They gave us tears—and smiles—and prayers.
Private R. B. Berkeley.
SPEECH OF HON. A. M. KEILEY.
At the request of a number who heard it, as well as in accordance with our own wishes, we give in full Hon. A. M. Keiley's splendid word-portrait of the "Model Infantryman."
After a facetious hit at the cavalry, and bringing down the house by saying that he had never been able to determine exactly which was the more pleasant duty, to charge the artillery of the enemy, or support your own, and that he had rather support a wife and twelve children than to do either, Mr. Keiley said:
But I do not propose to make response to this sentiment by any attempt to contrast the achievements of this branch of the Army of Northern Virginia with those of the cavalry or artillery. That immortal army won fame enough for all. Let me rather acknowledge the compliment by drawing a picture—most inadequate as it must be—of a great comrade, who, whatever may have been the arm in which he was trained, won the laurels, forever unfading, by which his name will be handed down the ages, in a career which entitles me to claim him as the Model Infantryman of the Confederacy.
It was on the morning of Friday, May 1st, 1863, that I saw him last in life: a rugged face, stained and seamed like some buried bronze, marked by the corroding sweep of centuries—a face with none of the advertisements of genius about it, as though nature scorned to mar its crag-like grandeur with one factitious