Go, Get 'Em e-bog

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. IT was a drowsy, peaceful day in early May. War seemed remote, an evil unreality. Lured from my writing by the insistent call of Spring, I left my desk and strolled instinctively toward Boston's breathing space, the Common Of historic memo ries, whose easterly mall, honored in bearing the name Of Lafayette, was now lined with a row of trim green and white cottages dedicated to the com fort Of the boys who wear the khaki or the blue. Before the little stage in front Of one I saw gathered a thronging crowd that, from a distance, gave the impression Of many drones clustered about the open ing Of a hive. Such assemblages had become every-day sights and I moved toward it, impelled by a mild curiosity merely; but, when my eyes fell upon the figure which was leaning over the railing in an attitude Of stirring appeal, my steps quickened.