was a
_crucial test_ of their devotion and patriotism.

The exceptional talent which, during the war, these young men freely
gave in aid of every charity, was then only budding. Since the war,
splendid fruit has appeared.

Perhaps no single company of veterans numbers among its members more
talented and remarkable men, or more prominent and loyal citizens.

Of the "boys" who once composed Fenner's Louisiana Battery, a goodly
number yet survive.

The ties of old comradeship bind them closely. Not one forgets the
glories of the past. True,

"_Some_ names they loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb,"

but the survivors "close up" the broken ranks, and still preserve, in
a marked degree, the _esprit du corps_ which belonged to

"The days that are no more."

CHAPTER X.

"BOB WHEAT."

_The Boy and the Man._

(Communicated.)

In the early summer of 1846, after the victories of Palo Alto and
Resaca de la Palma, the United States Army, under General Zachary
Taylor, lay near the town of Matamoras. Visiting the hospital quarters
of a recently-joined volunteer corps from "the States," I remarked a
bright-eyed youth of some nineteen years, wan with disease, but cheery
withal. The interest he inspired led to his removal to army
headquarters, where he soon recovered health and became a pet. This
was "Bob Wheat," son of an Episcopal clergyman, and he had left school
to come to the war. He next went to Cuba with Lopez, was wounded and
captured, but escaped the garroters to follow General Walker to
Nicaragua.

Exhausting the capacity of South American patriots to _pronounce_, he
quitted their society in disgust, and joined Garibaldi in Italy,
whence his keen scent of combat summoned him home in time to receive a
bullet at Manassas. The most complete Dugald Dalgetty possible; he had
"all the defects of the good qualities" of that doughty warrior.

Some months after the time of which I am writing, a body of Federal
horse was captured in the valley of Virginia. The colonel commanding,
who had dismounted in the fray, approached me. A stalwart, with huge
moustache, cavalry boots adorned with spurs worthy of a caballero,
slouched hat and plume; he strode along with the nonchalant air of one
who had wooed Dame Fortune too long to be cast down by her frowns.

Suddenly Major Wheat near by sprung from his horse with a cry of
"Percy, old boy!" "Why, Bob!" was echoed back, and a war