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[245] 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 I’ ‘Why, Bob I’ was echoed back, and a warm embrace followed. Colonel Percy Windham, an Englishman in the Federal service, had parted from Wheat in Italy, where the pleasant business of killing was then going on, and now fraternized with his friend in the manner described. Poor Wheat month later he slept his last sleep on the bloody battle-field of Cold Harbor. He lies there in a soldier's grave. Gallant spirit; let us hope that his readiness to die for his country has made ‘the scarlet of his sins like unto snow.’
J. B. Lippincott Company, 1888.
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