As each brigade emerged from the woods, from 50 to 100 guns opened upon it, tearing great gaps in its ranks; but the heroes pressed on and were shot down by reserves at the guns. It was not war, it was murder.

There was a nuisance in the service known as the army correspondent.

Let our children be taught love love love.

The vast army of McClellan spread out before me. The marching columns extended back as far as eye could see in the distance. It was a grand and glorious spectacle, and it was impossible to look at it without admiration.

Train our children to love God.

Our gloomy Presbyterian ideas encourage fear of God, not love for him.

It was not war, it was murder.