He had felt a sabre-cut in his side in the first of the engagement, but had not heeded it: now, he was growing blind, reeling on the saddle.

To tell the truth, I hate to see a cavalry man walk, and I hold that just as he is the most gallant thing upon earth when he has his saddle-flaps between his knees, so he is the most clumsy when he has to loop up his sabre and his sabre-tasche in one hand and turn in his toes for fear of catching the rowels of his spurs.

Such was a part of the price paid by the Irish body and the English soul, for the privilege of patching up a Prussian after the sabre-stroke of Jena.

Cats have no near relations upon the American continent, nor do they appear to have ever had many except the sabre-tooths.

But he was forced back steadily, in spite of a determined resistance, and at Upperville a hand-to-hand sabre-fight wound up the movement, in which the Federal cavalry was checked, when Stuart fell back toward Paris, crowned the mountain-side with his cannon, and awaited a final attack.

Captain Hammersly, barely recovered from a sabre wound.

Colonel Arran, his naked sabre point lowered, sat his saddle, gray and erect.

Sabres de bois, par Jacques Deval, pseud.

Field and staff passed headed by the colonel; behind jolted two howitzers; behind them glittered the sabre-bayonets of the engineers; then, filling the roadway from sidewalk to sidewalk the perfect ranks of the infantry swept by under burnished bayonets.

Being come beneath a certain latticed window, the Sergeant halted, and, next moment, his glittering sabre flashed up to the salute; then, with it upon his shoulder, he wheeled, and began to march up and down, his spurs jingling, his sabre gleaming, his dolman swinging, his sabre glittering, each time he wheeled; while Miss Priscilla leaning forward, watched him wide-eyed, and with hands tight clasped.

and as the son gave him only a sidelong glance he seized and shook the sabre arm, and all that long, bristling lane of bayonets went out of plumb, out of shape and order, and a thousand brass-buttoned throats shouted good-by and hurrah.

"But, mon Dieu!" replied Countess Ducayla to her royal friend, "we wished to show them a well-earned gratitude for the benefit they conferred in restoring to us your majesty; we wished to offer them freely what we, tired of resistance, were at last compelled to accord to the tyrants of the republic and the sabre-heroes of the empire!

The sabre parts now wagged back and forth, as their owner moved his lips over words that would not come.

The fire leaped into his eyes at sight of a sabre slash that scarred his cheek.

And like lightning along a thunderous steep, She saw the sickle-shaped sabres sweep, Keen as the sunlight they dashed away When it broke against them in flashing spray; Till the battle ebbed o'er the plain afar, Borne on the flow of the holy war.

But, now our Turkish conquerors have quench'd Their rage, and pall'd their appetite of murder, No more the glutted sabre thirsts for blood; And weary cruelty remits her tortures.

The scars of ten bullets and four sabre-thrusts are on his body.

Why, we of the staff knew all about those sabre trials in the Federal camp.

The Apaches know nothing of sabre work; not one of those present had ever before seen such a blow or such an effect; they were not only panic-stricken, but horror-stricken.

My soul from every tarnish free May boldly vaunt her purity, But ah, how keen, however bright, The sabre glitter to the sight, Its splendor's lost, its polish vain, Till some bold hand the steel sustain.

She rides with us to AlbanyI mean Magdalenwe wed at my aunt's house" The trumpet of the Legion was sounding persistently; the clatter of spurred boots filled the hallway; Ruyven burst in, sabre banging, and flung himself into my arms.

Distracted by sad forebodings, poor Mr. Robertson forced his way to the water-port, but not before a savage mountainerriding furiously by himaimed a sabre-blow at him to cut him down; but, as the murderous arm was poised above, Mr. Robertson stooped, and, raising his arm at the time, warded it off; the miscreant then rode off, being satisfied at this cut at the detested Nazarene.

At this dread moment when the foe My life with rage insatiate seeks, In vain I strive to ward the blow, My buckler falls, my sabre breaks.

Into the centre of the room I strode, my sabre clanking, my shako under my arm.

A quarter-century warfare woke No sabre clash nor powder smoke, No triumph song nor battle cry; Their shields no templared knights stood by.