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She's my only correspondent, the only one I love to write to, I mean. She writes things I like to hear about, and Christmas she sends me something I want. That's the way we began to write. She sent me a present, and father made me thank her in writing myself, and then she wrote me and we've been friends ever since." Laine knocked the ashes from his cigar toward the grate.
Only just point it somewheer else, darlin', for thim horse-pistols is cruel fond av goin' off widout bein' fired. Thank yez, sir, it 's my wife in bed will bless the day yez was born." The man hastily raked open the bed of ashes and threw chips and billets on the embers. Then he unlocked a corner cupboard. "Oi've New England rum, corn whiskey, an' home-made apple-jack, sir."
At each blow he says, "I wish the family as many cows, calves, sucking pigs, goats, and sheep, and as many strokes of good luck, as the sparks that now fly from the log." With these words he throws some small coins into the ashes.
I must save them for Jerrie, and may she wear them some day, and many days in the years to come, when her mother is dust and ashes in the ground, but a glorified spirit in Paradise, where I shall watch over her, and, if I can, be with her often, and keep myself in her mind, so that she will never forget my face or the old home in Germany.
In the present day, prayer and meditation are given to the winds, and they may be seen fat and sleek, perambulating the streets of the towns and villages, smeared over with ashes and ochre, and great coils of matted hair, which some tastefully wind like a turban round their head.
A few years afterward I saw her, stout, rosy, and happy, with her two children, and then well, I did not want her. The life she delighted in would have been ashes in my mouth. It was better, much better. People are not all wise at two-and-twenty." "If Gertrude had something to do," says Violet, "and that is where men are fortunate. They can try so many things."
If one could only hope that with the conflagration would die down those hotter fires that burn in the heart of this country, one might accept the manifest disadvantages. But good feeling will never spring from ashes like these; every charred spot is the grave of that which neither time nor laws can revive. BRAKFONTEIN, Wednesday, May 9th.
Her hair was quite colourless, almost like ashes; it had evidently once been light gold. The hand she extended to Sylvia was so thin that she thought she could feel the bones rubbing together. Her skin was hot and very dry. "I hope you like this horrible country," she said. "Oh, come, Matilda!" her husband protested. "That's not a very cheery greeting for a newcomer!"
"I say, old man," he inquired, with that cheerful tone and air which usually accompanies incapacity for food. "Do it always rain ashes here?" The old man whom he addressed was a veteran Malay seaman. "No," replied the Malay, "sometimes it rain mud hot mud." "Do it? Oh! well anything for variety, I s'pose," returned the sailor, with a growl which had reference to internal disarrangements.
It was in this way exactly that the British treated my brother, major Hugh Horry, as brave a soldier as ever fought in America. They laid in ashes all his dwelling houses, his barns of clean rice, and even his rice stacks! Destroyed his cattle; carried off eighty negroes, which were all he had, not leaving him one to bake him a cake.
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