tics 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 tonight. I feel the flush
and vigor of my manhood--am just twenty-one years of age. I hear the
fife and drum playing Dixie and 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 see the marshaling of
the hosts for "glorious war." I see the fine banners waving and hear
the cry everywhere, "_To arms! to arms!_" And I also see our country at
peace and prosperous, our fine cities look grand and gay, our fields rich
in abundant harvests, our people happy and contented. All these pass
in imagination before me. Then I look and see glorious war in all its
splendor. I hear the shout and charge, the boom of artillery and the
rattle of small arms. I see gaily-dressed officers charging backwards
and forwards upon their mettled war horses, clothed in the panoply of
war. I see victory and conquest upon flying banners. I see our arms
triumph in every battle. And, O, my friends, I see another scene.
I see broken homes and broken hearts. I see war in all of its
desolation. I see a country ruined and impoverished. I see a nation
disfranchised and maltreated. I see a commonwealth forced to pay
dishonest and fraudulent bonds that were issued to crush that people.
I see sycophants licking the boots of the country's oppressor. I see
other and many wrongs perpetrated upon a conquered people. But maybe
it is but the ghosts and phantoms of a dreamy mind, or the wind as it
whistles around our lonely cabin-home. The past is buried in oblivion.
The mantle of charity has long ago fallen upon those who think
differently from us. We remember no longer wrongs and injustice done us
by anyone on earth. We are willing to forget and forgive those who have
wronged and falsified us. We look up above and beyond all these petty
groveling things and sha