years he lived were spent in actual
service in the camp or on the battle-field. He was a brigadier-general
at twenty-three and a major-general at twenty-five. In the height of
his popularity and his phenomenal success as a cavalry leader, he was
a picturesque and familiar figure to friend and foe alike, as in his
broad cavalier's hat, his gold-bedizened jacket, and high cavalry
boots, with his long hair streaming in the wind, he would ride like a
tornado, to the accompaniment of "Garry Owen," his favorite
battle-air, carrying all before him--a subject worthy the pencil of a
Vandyke, the very type of the dashing trooper of romance. But that
there was a method in his dash and a practical element in his daring,
even the generals he outranked and the civilians who tried to direct
him would admit, and to be the choice of McClellan and the favorite of
Sheridan gave the assurance of worth to his leadership and of value to
his valor.

In 1877 Custer's remains were removed to the graveyard at West Point
from the battle-field of the Little Big Horn, where he had first
been buried amid the fallen heroes of his own brave band. In 1879
the Government made the battle-ground where Custer met his death a
national cemetery, and raised a monument, upon which appeared the
names and rank of all those who fell in that needless and fatal, but
heroic, fight.

[Signature: Elbridge S. Brooks.]

[Illustration: Custer's Last Fight.]

HENRY M. STANLEY[23]

[Footnote 23: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess]

By NOAH BROOKS

(Born 1841)

[Illustration: Henry M. Stanley.]

Two white men, one from America and the other from England, met in
the heart of Equatorial Africa, on the shores of Lake Tanganyika,
November 10, 1871. This was their first meeting. The Englishman had
been lost to the outside world for more than two years, and the
American had been looking for him since the early part of 1871.
Finally, after many great difficulties and perils, the American
found the lost explorer, surrounded by his black guards, friends,
and companions. They had dimly heard of each other through the vague
rumors of the natives for months past, and now meeting face to face,
the American lifting his cap, said, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume."
The Englishman nodded an affirmative reply, and the other said, "I
am Henry M. Stanley."

It was in this simple yet dramatic way that two of the most famous
African travellers of modern times met in the