Mr. President, Comrades, and Ladies and Gentlemen:
The musical echoes of the horn of the
Alpine Chief, winding from highest mountain top to lowermost valley, were as sacred in the ears of his followers as the mystic fire which burned in the temple of the Virgins of
Vesta, and its blast drew every man from his wife, his sweetheart and his fireside.
So, an invitation to speak to this Association of the historic Army of Northern Virginia, should sound upon the ear of the
Confederate soldier as a mandate from a band of brothers, chained to him by the loving links of a mighty past, and whose future is indissolubly wrapped up with his in one common destiny — for all time, for sunshine and for storms; irresistibly drawing him from all other obligations, it brings him, however unworthy, before you to-night, to discharge the duty assigned him by your partiality.
At your bidding, fellow soldiers, I strike the strings of the harp of Auld Lang Syne, whose notes now are chords of peace, while picturing, with poor brush, the camp fires of war. The ruddy
