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Updated: May 14, 2025
The black-caps pipe among the reeds, And there'll be rain to follow; There is a murmur as of wind In every coign and hollow; The wrens do chatter of their fears While swinging on the barley-ears. Amélie Rives. The Judge and Mrs. Claiborne were dining with some old friends in the valley, and Shirley, left alone, carried to the table several letters that had come in the late mail.
She nodded her head in assent. "I know; I know. I have gone days on a handful of barley-ears. M. le Colonel has his marmitons, and his fricassees, and his fine cuisine where he camps ho! but we soldiers have nothing but a hunch of baked chaff. Well, we win battles on it!"
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