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Well may you, or any other Northern Abolitionist, consider this a heaven-forsaken region, why? I cannot even get worms to fish with, and was solemnly assured by Jack this morning that the whole 'point, i.e. neighbourhood of the house, had been searched in vain for these useful and agreeable animals.
They went off for a month to a lonely cottage in some heaven-forsaken spot, where never a soul came near them, and never a thing happened but morning, afternoon, and night. There for thirty days she overhauled him.
One Sunday night, when the band was playing in the plaza, at a heaven-forsaken fever camp called Ciego de Avila, a group of soldiers were sitting near me on the grass enjoying the music. They loitered there a few minutes after the bugle had sounded the retreat to the barracks, and the officer of the day found them.
Let science warm the heaven-forsaken inhabitants of flats and hotels as effectually and economically as it may; if the choice were forced upon me, I had rather sit, like an Italian, wrapped in my mantle, softly stirring with a key the silver-grey surface of the brasier's charcoal. They tell me we are burning all our coal, and with wicked wastefulness.
"What are you doing up here in this heaven-forsaken country?" "Why, I am an oil hunter," said the fat man, simply. "A what?" repeated Andy and Mark together. "Oil hunter. My name is Phineas Roebach, and I am in the employ of the Universal Oil Company. I am here as I have been in many lands boring for petroleum. You understand that my mission is semi-secret.
An unfriendly, dirty, and Heaven-forsaken place, inhabited by a poor class of Mexicans and half-breeds. It was, however, an important shipping station for freight which was to be sent overland to the interior, and there was always one army officer stationed there. Captain Bernard came on board to see us.
To have to leave my little cottage and take a stuffy, smelly, over-heated hole of an apartment in this Heaven-forsaken, festering Gehenna. To have to mix night after night with a mob who think that life is a sort of St. Vitus's dance, and imagine that they're having a good time because they're making enough noise for six and drinking too much for ten. I loathe New York, Bertie.
The member apologized politely enough for bringing us to this almost uninhabitable and Heaven-forsaken region; but I begged him not to mind: it was only a more blasted scene than the heath in "Macbeth." "Yes," said he, still apologetically; "it is very bad, I admit. You see, the fumes and fires from those manufactories make such havoc of our woods."
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