by Lieutenant Brown. Not long
before, the Lieutenant, seeing, as he thought, a buffalo, had fired at
it. But the buffalo turned out to be an Indian on a pony; and the Indian
riding fiercely at the Lieutenant, cried aloud for indemnity or the
"blood-fine" in the words, "Much tobacco!" And so I stood cigars.

Life is worth living for--or it would be--if it abounded more in such
types as Mrs. General Custer and her husband. There was a bright and
joyous chivalry in that man, and a noble refinement mingled with constant
gaiety in the wife, such as I fear is passing from the earth. Her books
have shown that she was a woman of true culture, and that she came by it
easily, as he did, and that out of a little they could make more than
most do from a life of mere study. I fear that there will come a time
when such books as hers will be the only evidences that there were ever
such people--so fearless, so familiar with every form of danger,
privation, and trial, and yet joyous and even reckless of it all. Good
Southern blood and Western experiences had made them free of petty
troubles. The Indians got his scalp at last, and with him went one of
the noblest men whom America ever brought forth. {333}

That evening they sent for a Bavarian-Tyroler soldier, who played
beautifully on the cithern. As I listened to the _Jodel-lieder_ airs I
seemed to be again in his native land. It was a pleasure to me to hear
from him the familiar dialect.

At St. Louis we were very kindly entertained in several distinguished
houses. At one they gave us some excellent Rhine wine.

"What do you think of this?" said Hassard, who was a good Latinist.

I replied, "Vinum Rhenense decus et gloria mense."

In the next we had Moselle wine. "And what of this?"

I answered, "Vinuin Moslanum fuit omne tempore sanum."

And here I would say that every memory which I have of Missouri (and
there are more by far than this book indicates), as of Missourians, is
extremely pleasant. The State is very beautiful, and I have found among
my friends there born such culture and kindness and genial hospitality as
I have never seen surpassed. To the names of Mary A. Owen, {334} Blow,
Mark Twain, and the Choteaus I could add many more.

So we jogged on homeward. I resumed my work. I had written out all the
details of our trip in letters to the _Press_. They had excited
attention. The Pennsylvania Railroad Company suggested that they should
be published