The General was a man to command instant attention in any crowd. An expert in anthropology would have selected his face from among a thousand as the typical man of the Caucasian race. He was above the average height, a strong muscular and well-rounded body, crowned by a heavy shock of what had once been raven black hair, now iron grey. His face was ruddy with the glow of perfect health and his full round lips and the twinkle of his eye showed him to be a lover of the good things of life. He wore a heavy moustache which seemed a fitting ballast for the lower part of his face against the heavy projecting straight eyebrows and bushy hair. As he shook hands with his old soldiers his face was wreathed in smiles, his eyes flashed with something like tears and he had a pleasant word for all. Tom Camp was one of the first to spy the General and hobble to him as fast as his peg-leg would carry him. “Howdy, General, howdy do! Lordy it’s good for sore eyes ter see ye!” Tom held fast to his hand and turning to the crowd said, “Boys, here’s the best General that ever led a brigade, and there wasn’t a man in it that wouldn’t a died for him. Now three times three cheers!” And they gave it with a will. “Ah! Tom you’re still at your old tricks,” said the General. “What are you after now?” “A speech General!”--“A speech! A speech!” the crowd echoed. The General slapped Tom on the back and said, “What sort of a job is this you’re putting up on me--I’m no orator! But I’ll just say to you, boys, that this old peg-leg here was the finest soldier that I ever saw carry a musket and the men who stood beside him were the most patient, the most obedient, the bravest men that ever charged a foe and crowned their General with glory while he safely stood in the rear.” Again a cheer broke forth. The General was hurrying toward the court house, when he was suddenly surrounded by a crowd of negroes. In the front ranks were a hundred of his old slaves who had worked on his Campbell county plantation. They seized his hands and laughed and cried and pleaded for recognition like a crowd of children. Most of them he knew. Some of their faces he had forgotten. “Hi dar, Marse Dan’l, you knows me! Lordy, I’se your boy Joe dat used ter ketch yo hoss down at the plantation!” “Of course, Joe! Of course.” “I know Marse Dan’l aint forget old Uncle Rube,” said an aged negro pushing his way to the front. “That I haven’t Reuben! and how’s Aunt Julie Ann? “She des tollable, Marse Dan’l. We’se bof un us had de plumbago. How is you all sence de wah?” “Oh! first rate, Reuben. We manage somehow to get enough to eat and if we do that nowadays we can’t complain.” “Dats de God’s truf, Marster sho! En now Marse Dan’l, we all wants you ter make us er speech en ’splain erbout dis freedom ter us. Dey’s so many dese yere Buroers en Leaguers round here tellin’ us niggers what’s er coming’, twell we des doan know nuttin’ fur sho.” “Yassir dat’s hit! You tell us er speech Marse Dan’l!”