s rode on at an easy canter, warmly disputing, for
the hundredth time, over the merits of their well-matched animals.

Redmond Carter was the fifer, as Edward Maloney was the drummer, of the
infantry company. The latter, the son of a laundress, was a graceful and
soldierly boy, dark-complexioned, with black eyes and hair, who bestrode
his mule with easy confidence, riding like a Cossack. The other boy, a
blond-haired, blue-eyed lad of the same age, quite as tall, but more
delicately built, showed less reckless activity in the saddle, but he
was a fine and graceful equestrian nevertheless. He had enlisted a year
before, in Philadelphia, naming that city as his residence; but certain
peculiarities of speech led Captain Bartlett to believe him a
New-Englander. He used better language than his fellows, and it seemed
he had received good school advantages before entering the army.

For instance, one day when it was Carter's turn to be office orderly,
while sitting at the door he overheard Captain Bartlett, who was writing
a private letter, ask the Adjutant, "How does that Latin quotation run,
Dayton--'_Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes_,' or '_Danaos timeo et dona
ferentes_'?'"

"Blest if I know. We don't waste time on dead languages at the Point, as
you college men do. I can give you the equation of a parabola if you
want it."

Captain Bartlett did not ask for the equation, or explain his reason for
wanting the proper order of the Latin sentence, but, the morning's
office work concluded, and the orderly having departed, as he and the
Adjutant were passing out of the doorway the latter noticed a leaf of a
memorandum-pad lodged against the leg of the bench just vacated. A
drawing on its surface attracting his attention, he picked it up. It was
a very creditable sketch of a huge wooden horse standing within the wall
of an ancient city, and a party of Grecian soldiers in the act of
descending by a ladder from an opening in its side. Beneath the drawing
was written "_Quicquid id est, timeo Danaos et dona ferentes._--AEneid,
II., 49."

"Here, Captain," said Mr. Dayton, handing the paper to the post
commander; "here's the answer to your question."

"What--that boy Carter? How does a boy like that come to be a musician
in the army?"

"Can't tell. Probably for the same reason that an occasional graduate of
a foreign university turns up in the ranks--hard times and want in civil
life, and plenty of clothing and food in military l