en married for about five years, and two little children--one
a light-eyed girl of four summers, and the other an infant of two
years--were the small family with which heaven had blessed him.

After joining a company of infantry, and signing the muster roll,
Alfred returned home to his wife and informed her of what he had done,
expecting that she would regret it. But the patriotic heart of his
wife would not reproach him for having performed his duty; so heaving
a sigh as she looked at the child in her arms, and the little girl on
her fathers knee, a tear trickled down her flushed cheek as she bade
him God-speed. The time that elapsed between his enlistment and
departure for the seat of war, was spent by Alfred Wentworth in
providing a home for his family, so that in the event of his being
killed in battle, they should not want. Purchasing a small residence
on Prytania street, he removed his family into it and concluded his
business in time for his departure.

The morning of the twenty-second of May broke brightly over the
far-famed "Crescent City." Crowds of citizens were seen congregating
on Canal street to witness the departure of two more regiments of
Orleanians. The two regiments were drawn up in line between Camp and
Carondelet streets, and their fine uniforms, glistening muskets and
soldierly appearance created a feeling of pride among the people. They
were composed principally of Creoles and Americans, proper. The
handsome, though dark complexions of the Creoles could be seen lit up
with enthusiasm, in conversation with the dark-eyed Creole beauties of
the city, while the light-haired and fair-faced sons of the Crescent
City were seen mingling among the crowd of anxious relatives who
thronged to bid them farewell.

Apart from the mass of volunteers--who had previously stacked their
arms--Alfred Wentworth and his wife were bidding that agonizing
farewell, which only those who have parted from loved one can feel.
His little bright-eyed daughter was clasped in his arms, and every
minute he would stoop over his infant and kiss its tiny cheeks. Marks
of tears were on the eyelids of his wife, but she strove to hide them,
and smiled at every remark made by her daughter. They were alone from
the eyes of a curious crowd. Each person present had too much of his
own acquaintances to bid farewell, to notice the speechless farewell
which the soldier gave his wife. With one arm clasped around her, and
the other holding his