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The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864   By:

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The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864 is a collection of essays, stories, and poems that provide a snapshot of American culture and society during the Civil War era. The authors tackle a wide range of topics, from the horrors of war to the joys of nature, offering readers a diverse and thought-provoking reading experience.

One of the standout pieces in this volume is an essay that explores the moral complexities of war and the ethical implications of violence. The author's vivid descriptions and poignant reflections force readers to confront the brutality of conflict and its impact on both individuals and society as a whole.

In addition to thought-provoking essays, this volume also features a number of engaging short stories and poems that showcase the literary talent of the era. From tales of love and loss to odes to the natural world, the authors skillfully capture the emotions and experiences of the time, drawing readers in with their vivid imagery and emotional depth.

Overall, The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864 is a compelling and captivating collection that offers a unique glimpse into the events and emotions of a tumultuous period in American history. Readers interested in the Civil War era, literature, or history in general will find much to appreciate in this volume.

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[Transcriber's note: Footnotes moved to end of text.]





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.


That was a pleasant life on picquet, in the delicious early summer of the South, and among the endless flowery forests of that blossoming isle. In the retrospect, I seem to see myself adrift upon a horse's back amid a sea of roses. The various outposts were within a five mile radius, and it was one long, delightful gallop, day and night. I have a faint impression that the moon shone steadily every night for two months; and yet I remember certain periods of such dense darkness that in riding through the wood paths it was really unsafe to go beyond a walk, for fear of branches above and roots below; and one of my officers was once shot at by a Rebel scout who stood unperceived at his horse's bridle.

We lived in a dilapidated plantation house, the walls scrawled with capital charcoal sketches by R., of the New Hampshire Fourth, with a good map of the island and its paths by C. of the First Massachusetts Cavalry; there was a tangled garden, full of neglected roses and camellias, and we filled the great fireplace with magnolias by day and with logs by night; I slept on a sort of shelf in the corner, bequeathed to me by Major F... Continue reading book >>

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