er say to him, jokingly, "Scott,
it would not cost you so much to keep a wife as it does to keep all
these dogs; she'd save more than she'd cost. Try it now, and take the
word of one who knows." The lady whom he finally chose was a Miss
McCracken, of Rochester, New York, with whom he lived happily for some
years. At the battle of Cerro Gordo he was warned to be more careful
of the bullets, but he replied, "Never fear; the bullet is not run
that is to kill Martin Scott," and almost immediately fell from his
horse pierced to the heart by a Mexican bullet. Knowing that his wound
was mortal, he, with his usual presence of mind, took from his pocket
his purse, containing quite a large sum of money, and, handing it to a
soldier who stood near, said: "Give that to my wife." And the brave,
true heart was still forever.

Major Laurence Taliaferro was for many years a member of our
household, and we all loved and honored him. He was very entertaining
in conversation and full of anecdotes of Virginia, which was his
boyhood's home. His father owned many slaves, and when he, as a
student in an Eastern college, was home for vacation, he delighted to
amaze the negro boys with his knowledge and excite their admiration.
On one occasion he had been using some pretty big words in a speech
for their edification, branching out now and then into Greek and Latin
quotations, when one of them, overcome by his young master's
proficiency, exclaimed: "Oh, Massa Laurence; you larn so much since
you done been to college, you clar fool." He liked to tell this story
of himself, and admitted that the boy had good ground for his sweeping
conclusion. Dear Major Taliaferro, our happy-hearted, beloved and
trusted friend, the faithful servant of the government, and humble
follower of Christ. His picture and an accompanying letter, sent me
from his home in Bedford, Pennsylvania, when he was eighty-two years
old, are before me, and as I look on the well-known features, I repeat
from my heart the testimony of his biographer: "For more than twenty
years an Indian Agent, _and yet_ an honest man."

A few years ago, in an interview with Major Joseph Brown, so well
known to the early settlers of Minnesota, he reminded me of Colonel
McNeil's short stay at "Fort St. Anthony," as it was first called,
previous to the arrival of Colonel Snelling, and of Mrs. McNeil, a
sister of Franklin Pierce, a most estimable woman, of whom he spoke in
the most affectionate, gratefu