Genre War. Page - 7

some one had drawn up her window shades. Carley promptly pulled them down and settled herself comfortably. Then she heard a woman speak, not particularly low: "I thought people traveled west to see the country." And a man replied, rather dryly. "Wal, not always." His companion went on: "If that girl was mine I'd let down her skirt." The man laughed and replied: "Martha, you're shore behind the times. Look at the pictures in the magazines."Such remarks

ergy did he do this, that he received from his antagonists themost complimentary sobriquet of the one hundred thousand men .Wherever Napoleon made his appearance in the field, his presencealone was considered equivalent to that force.The following proclamation rang like a trumpet charge over thehills and valleys of France. "Frenchmen! You have been anxious forpeace. Your government has desired it with still greater ardor.Its first efforts, its most constant wishes, have been for

ncient friendshipscontracted by officers of the contending armies during our last war withGreat Britain.III. "It is granted that it would be better for man in general, if warswere abolished, and all means, both of offence and defence, abandoned.Now, this seems to me to admit, that this is the law under which God hascreated man. But this being admitted, the question seems to be at anend; for God never places man under circumstances in which it is eitherwise, or necessary, or innocent, to

but they laughed at them. We only fought for our State rights, they for Union and power. The South fell battling under the banner of State rights, but yet grand and glorious even in death. Now, reader, please pardon the digression. It is every word that we will say in behalf of the rights of secession in the following pages. The question has been long ago settled and is buried forever, never in this age or generation to be resurrected.The vote of the regiment was taken, and we all voted to go

he illumination consisted of candles set in bottles and some electric hand lamps. The centre of the cellar was occupied by two portable operating tables, rarely untenanted during the three hours I spent in this hell.The atmosphere--for there was no ventilation--stank of sweat, blood, and chloroform. By a powerful effort I countered my natural tendency to vomit, and looked around me. The sides of the cellar were lined with figures on stretchers. Some lay still and silent, others writhed and

contribution made by the freemen who live across the ocean of peace from you to "make the world safe for democracy."I also have the hope that the stories of personal experience will make real to you some of the men whose bodies have been for three years part of that human rampart that has kept your homes from desolation, and your daughters from violation, and that you will speed in sending them succor as though the barrier had broken and the bestial Hun were even now, with lust

oken his neck.""Not I. He has only fainted. The better for him if he never came out of it again." I felt a hand within my tunic. "Matteo is right," said a voice. "His heart beats like a hammer. Let him lie and he will soon find his senses." I waited for a minute or so and then I ventured to take a stealthy peep from between my lashes. At first I could see nothing, for I had been so long in darkness and it was but a dim light in which I found myself. Soon,

call her superstitious. She has an odd belief in dreams and we have not been able to laugh it out of her. I must own, too, that some of her dreams--but there, it would not do to let Gilbert hear me hinting such heresy. What have you found of much interest, Susan?" Susan had given an exclamation. "Listen to this, Mrs. Dr. dear. 'Mrs. Sophia Crawford has given up her house at Lowbridge and will make her home in future with her niece, Mrs. Albert Crawford.' Why that is my own cousin

fall and possible demise-- for where was he? what was he? Shading her eyes, she looked along the road for Captain Barfoot--yes, there he was, punctual as ever; the attentions of the Captain--all ripened Betty Flanders, enlarged her figure, tinged her face with jollity, and flooded her eyes for no reason that any one could see perhaps three times a day.True, there's no harm in crying for one's husband, and the tombstone, though plain, was a solid piece of work, and on summer's days when the