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The Daily Dispatch: April 29, 1864., [Electronic resource], Raid in Western Virginia. (search)
boldness of the frail sisterhood who throng every avenue and public resort, seeking the smiles of the contractors, peculators, and nouveaux riches, and blending in a scene which could alone be photographed in language by the pen of a Juvenile. On every side money flows as though the Potomac were the Pactolus. The dome of the Capitol, which once promised to share the fate without rivalling the beauty of Collogue Cathedral, is finished, and surmounted by a Goddess of such Liberty as even Madame Roland never conceived. The hotels are thronged to bursting; Willard's, in particular, is occupied by an excited, pike-eyes, seething crowd such as vibrates in the of the Parisian Bourse. At night theatres, gambling houses, "Varieties," and worse dens of infamy, veiled under no pretence at disguise, vie with the attractions of the "inspired Maid of Philadelphia," Miss Anna Dickinson Mr. Seward's optimism is accepted without thought or comment; no sound of war save the occasional boom of cann
The Daily Dispatch: March 18, 1865., [Electronic resource], One thousand dollars reward. (search)
, as his wife calls him, is wounded, and the next canto describes his confinement and convalescence, under the care of his wife. Then follows a picture of winter campaigning, which thus opens: "I am weary and worn,--I am hungry and chill, And cuttingly strikes the keen blast o'er the hill; All day I have riden thro' snow and thro' sleet, With nothing — not even a cracker — to eat; But now as I rest by the bivouac fire, Whose blaze leaps up merrily, higher and higher, Impatient as Roland who neighs to be fed,-- For Caleb to bring me my bacon and bread,-- I'll warm my cold heart, that is aching and lone, By thinking of you, love,--my Alice,--my own!" In this canto is the Song of the Snow, more sternly touching than Hood's Song of the Shirt. We append two verses: "Shivering midst the darkness, Christian men are found; There devoutly kneeling On the frozen ground-- Pleading for their country, In its hour of woe-- For its soldiers marching Shoeless thro' the snow
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