I hasten to greet my colleague, and then shake hands with warmth of greeting with a gentleman I have grown to respect and like. It is General Wheeler, once a dashing cavalry leader of Confederates, he who harried our rear so persistently and pronouncedly; reconstructed into a leader in forensic debate, an authority on parliamentary law, and an all-around legislator, whose trenchant pen was surely as mighty as his vigorous sword. Cuba and the Philippines are the scenes of his later triumphs, and there is no name upon the Army Roll more honored now for patriotic devotion and soldierly ability than that of him who, during the dark days of the civil strife, was the Marshal Ney of the Confederacy. I am introduced by the courtly Senator Pugh to his esteemed constituent, ex-Confederate Colonel Reeves, of Alabama. I greet him with pleasure, for he bears upon him those evidences that command respect. Both appearance and speech declare the Southerner, and the soft broad accents fall pleasingly upon the ear. He said, “I think, sir, I have something that once belonged to you, and will give it to you with pleasure, for I presume from the inscription upon it you will prize it highly.” He produces the long-lost revolver and tells its story. He bought it and its companion from one of General Wheeler’s troopers, who said he captured it at the battle of Mission Ridge. I mildly suggest that at Mission Ridge the captures were on the other side. He smiled acquiescence and said he cared little at the time of purchase from whence they came, so that they might be his. He had carried them through the war until a fearful wound had disabled him from further field duty. After the war he had loaned one to the sheriff of his county and from him it had been captured by some of our troops. I told him of the return of that one to me eight years before. We exchange reminiscences of the great struggle. We compare experiences. Enemies in war, we are in peace friends. Handling his revolver with easy grace and caressing gesture, he makes it mine again, saying as he passes it to me, with pardonable reluctance, “I tell you, sir, that is a mighty close shooting pistol.” I cordially agree to that sentiment, and we both dwell in thought upon the career of these messengers of death that have fought beneath two flags, giving loyal support to their masters, who have fought each one loyally for his own. And thus finding each other, after a quarter of a century of separation, they came back to me, to be cherished fondly and I hope never again to be used. EPILOGUE. And so my friend, you have the truthful story. It is not one to excite special wonder, but causes, I take it, emotions of pleasure and thankfulness.