I suppose, sir, however, I was called to talk to-night because I am rather an unique and curious living specimen of a soldier, for I was a private, and there are few now living. It is said just before the surrender a poor old soldier laid down to sleep, and he slept _a la_ Rip Van Winkle, for twenty years. Awaking up he rubbed his eyes; looking around, he called a man walking on the road-side to him. "Where," said the soldier, "is old Marse Bob Lee and his army?" "General Lee," replied the man; "why, he has been dead many years; he surrendered his army and then died." "Ah!" said the private; "ah, then where are all the generals?" "They," replied the man, "have been sent to Congress." "And what has become of the colonels?" "Why, they have been elected to the Legislature." "What about the majors, captains and lieutenants?" "They have been made sheriffs and clerks and treasurers." "Where, then, tell me, where in the world have the privates gone?" "The privates!" answered the man; "why, they are all dead." And the old soldier rolled his eyes back and fell asleep again. If he were to awake again to-day his eyes would be gladdened and his heart made happy by monuments erected in Virginia's capital city, and elsewhere, to emphasize the love and reverence with which the memory of the brave private soldiers are held by a grateful people. Sir, far be it from me to hold in slight estimation or little esteem, the illustrious commanders. I am proud of the grand and glorious leadership of my great captains, Lee and Jackson, and I willingly pay a tribute to the greatness of Grant and to the memory of Hancock, "the superb," and the splendid Meade. I would not, if I could, attempt to dim the lustre of their names or throw any shadow over the brightness of their deeds. I was an humble private soldier in the Confederate army, and I am proud here to proclaim that I was a follower of the peerless and illustrious Lee, but I stand here to pay my loving tribute to the private soldier of both armies. His splendid achievements, grand heroism, unfaltering loyalty and unflinching bravery, have no parallel in all time. He knew that if in the forefront of the fight he were shot down that then his name would not be written on the scroll of fame, his uncoffined body would find sepulture in a nameless grave, and that he would have for an epitaph, "unknown!" Only a private shot; and thus the story of his daring and dying would be told.