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The Daily Dispatch: May 19, 1862., [Electronic resource], The War. (search)
sville, Ala, to the Cincinnati Times, says: The white inhabitants of this part of the country are the most rampant and vicious Secessionists I over met with. They will hardly speak to an officer when they meet him, but look side ways, lest they might inhale his "Yankee" breath. No matter what the nation, creed, or color of a man, of he is for the Union he is a Yankee. The ladies — save the mark — are more vicious, fierce, and rampant than the men. An instance: A few days ago, Major Moore, of the Tenth Ohio, seeing two women, whom he supposed to be ladies enter a carriage, and finding it difficult to close stepped gallantly forward for the purpose of closing the door, when one of the termagants put forth her hand and pushed the door most violently.--The Major looked create fallen for a moment, and after a pause said, "Excuse me, I thought you were ladies" This brought the crimson to the checks of the she devil, but she said nothing. Another correspondent, writing fro
The Daily Dispatch: May 19, 1862., [Electronic resource], Correspondence. (search)
Lines Written in 1821, on hearing that the Austrians had entered Naples, with scarcely a show of resistance on the part of the Neapolitans, had declared their independence and pledged themselves to maintain it.--Moore. Ay, sown to the dust with them, slaves as they are! From this hour let the blood in their dastardly voles. That shrunk from the first touch of Liberty's war Be sucked out by tyrants, or stagnate in chain! On — on, like a cloud, through their beautiful vales Ye locasis of tyranny!--blasting them o'cr; Fill — fill up their wids, sunny waters, ye salls. From each slave mart in Europe, and poison their shore. May their fate be a mock word — may men of all lands. Laugh out with a scorn that shall ring to the poles, When each sword, that the cowards 1st fall from their hands. Shall be forged into fatters to enter their souls! And deep and more deep, as the iron is driven, Base slaves! may the what of their agony be, To think —