whom he had perfect faith. When he was here, some years ago, he
showed to a few a little manuscript book,--his "orderly book" I
think he called it,--containing the names of his company in Kansas,
and the rules by which they bound themselves; and he stated that
several of them had already sealed the contract with their blood.
When some one remarked that, with the addition of a chaplain, it
would have been a perfect Cromwellian troop, he observed that he
would have been glad to add a chaplain to the list, if he could have
found one who could fill that office worthily. It is easy enough
to find one for the United States army. I believe that he had
prayers in his camp morning and evening, nevertheless.

He was a man of Spartan habits, and at sixty was scrupulous about
his diet at your table, excusing himself by saying that he must
eat sparingly and fare hard, as became a soldier, or one who was
fitting himself for difficult enterprises, a life of exposure.

A man of rare common-sense and directness of speech, as of action;
a transcendentalist above all, a man of ideas and principles,--that
was what distinguished him. Not yielding to a whim or transient
impulse, but carrying out the purpose of a life. I noticed that he
did not overstate anything, but spoke within bounds. I remember,
particularly, how, in his speech here, he referred to what his
family had suffered in Kansas, without ever giving the least vent
to his pent-up fire. It was a volcano with an ordinary chimney-flue.
Also referring to the deeds of certain Border Ruffians, he said,
rapidly paring away his speech, like an experienced soldier,
keeping a reserve of force and meaning, "They had a perfect right
to be hung." He was not in the least a rhetorician, was not talking
to Buncombe or his constituents anywhere, had no need to invent