All The Sugar Was In The Bottom

Heaven Knows What I Have Not Been Through With, Since I Saw You-dust, Dirt, Dyspepsia, Hotels, Railroads, Prairies, Tobacco Juice.

Every Fallen Woman Represents A Man As Guilty As Herself, Who Escapes Human Detection, But Whose Soul Lies Open Before God.

He Has Sounded Forth The Trumpet That Shall Never Call Retreat; He Is Sifting Out The Hearts Of Men Before His Judgment-seat. Oh! Be Swift My Soul To Answer Him, Be Jubilant My Feet! Our God Is Marching On.

Hope Died As I Was Led Unto My Marriage Bed.

As Men Have Often Forsaken The Plough And The Anvil At The Summons Of War, Let Women Now Leave All That May Be Left Of Home For A Great And Earnest Day Of Counsel. Let Them Meet First, As Women, To Bewail And Commemorate The Dead. Let Them Solemnly Take Counsel With Each Other As To The Means Whereby The Great Human Family Can Live In Peace.