e.

"Perhaps you have heard your father speak of me?" asked the Major,
eagerly; and Montague answered, "A thousand times."

He was tempted to add that the vision that rose before him was of a
stout gentleman hanging in a grape-vine, while a whole battery of
artillery made him their target.

Perhaps it was irreverent, but that was what Montague had always
thought of, ever since he had first laughed over the tale his father
told. It had happened one January afternoon in the Wilderness, during
the terrible battle of Chancellorsville, when Montague's father had
been a rising young staff-officer, and it had fallen to his lot to
carry to Major Thorne what was surely the most terrifying order that
ever a cavalry officer received. It was in the crisis of the conflict,
when the Army of the Potomac was reeling before the onslaught of
Stonewall Jackson's columns. There was no one to stop them-and yet they
must be stopped, for the whole right wing of the army was going. So
that cavalry regiment had charged full tilt through the thickets, and
into a solid wall of infantry and artillery. The crash of their volley
was blinding--and horses wore fairly shot to fragments; and the Major's
horse, with its lower jaw torn off, had plunged madly away and left its
rider hanging in the aforementioned grape-vine. After he had kicked
himself loose, it was to find himself in an arena where pain-maddened
horses and frenzied men raced about amid a rain of minie-balls and
canister. And in this inferno the gallant Major had captured a horse,
and rallied the remains of his shattered command, and held the line
until help came-and then helped to hold it, all through the afternoon
and the twilight and the night, against charge after charge.--And now
to stand and gaze at this stout and red-nosed little personage, and
realize that these mighty deeds had been his!

Then, even while Montague was returning his hand-clasp and telling him
of his pleasure, the Major's eye caught some one across the room, and
he called eagerly, "Colonel Anderson! Colonel Anderson!"

And this was the heroic Jack Anderson! "Parson" Anderson, the men had
called him, because he always prayed before everything he did. Prayers
at each mess,--a prayer-meeting in the evening,--and then rumour said
the Colonel prayed on while his men slept. With his battery of
artillery trained to perfection under three years of divine guidance,
the gallant Colonel had stood in the line of battle at C