entire forgetfulness of duty (so called). Soldiers who did _not_ bring
ladies enjoyed hugely living in tents and once more "messing"
together. Many eloquent speakers addressed the crowd. Pearls of
eloquence were sown broadcast, and brought forth a generous harvest of
applause.

The number of officers present was surprising. Generals, colonels,
majors were pointed out to me by the score, and at last I began to
wonder whether in the portion of the Confederate army here represented
there were any "privates," at least I _might_ have so wondered had I
not _known_ that, after many of the battles now being recalled with
honest pride and merited applause, my own eyes had been too dim with
tears to see the glory, my ears had failed to catch the sounds of
triumph, because so filled with awful death-groans or the agonizing
cries of the wounded. Men whose parting breath was an ascription of
praise to the god of battles, whose last earthly joy was the knowledge
of victory, and others who, shattered and torn and in throes of agony,
yet repressed their moans that they might listen for the music of the
fount which "springs eternal," whose bright waters (to them) mirrored
the cause they loved so well.

All honor to those who planned the glorious campaigns of the late
war--who dauntlessly led heroic legions. Their record is without a
parallel in the history of nations. Equal honor to the rank and
file--whose splendid valor and self-sacrifice made success possible
even when further efforts seemed but a "forlorn hope."

I believe I have omitted no important detail of the reunion. Each day
was just like the preceding one. Meetings and partings "tried men's
souls," and women's hearts were stirred to their depths.

At last the end came; afterwards to many painful reaction. Still it
was passing sweet to meet old friends and comrades, and to find that
memory had not proven faithless to her trust. For many a day in the
future we shall stand in the light of the surpassing glory which
streamed through as the curtain, which has so long obscured the past,
was lifted again and again by tender, reverent hands, under the oaks
at Dallas.

_An Incident of the Dallas Reunion._[3]

[3] Written at the time for the Shreveport paper by Colonel
Henderson, a true and gallant soldier, who has since died.

(The scene here described is to me a "_memory_" passing sweet, and one
which I desire to perpetuate. This feeling is far removed from vanity.