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Updated: May 11, 2025
"And the golden squirrel sprang at his behest, Nestled to his breast, first to join the quest. But Great Râm's grave eyes grew tender, Smiled upon the warrior slender, Braver than the rest! "'Nay! thou art too pretty! fearless little heart, Thou should'st have no part in Strife's bitter art; Live to show man, worn and weary, One blythe soul for ever cheery, Free from sorrow's smart.
"History of My Own Times," beginning 1660, by Bishop Gilbert Burnet, p. 158. Crookshank's "Church History," 1751, second ed. p. 202. Burnet, p. 348. I love no warres, If it must be I love no jarres, Warre we must see Nor strife's fire. This I desire.
This was the state of matters, when an outrage was committed which gave spirit and determination to the oppressed countrymen, lit the flame of insubordination, and for the time at least recoiled on those who perpetrated it with redoubled force. I love no warres, I love no jarres, Nor strife's fire. May discord cease, Let's live in peace: This I desire.
Here, perhaps, may be found the symbolic clue to the strife's cause. The sole non-combatant was Mrs. Bines, the widow. A neutral was this good woman, and a well-wisher to each faction. "I tell you it's all the same to me," she declared, "Montana City or Fifth Avenue in New York. I guess I can do well enough in either place so long as the rest of you are satisfied."
Through forests, across clearings, over streams and bogs and into and out of ravines and thickets they had swept, seizing transiently a whole field battery, permanently hundreds of prisoners, and covering the strife's broad wake with even more appalling numbers of their own dead and wounded than of the foe's: wailing wounded, ghastly, grimy dead, who but yesterday were brothers, cousins and playmates of these very men snatching and searching the list.
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