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feel its breeze. Nolan, "the man without a country" knew no other home and in its fair phases it is most kindly, bearing you on its bosom like a trusting child. but in its fury who knows what its lashings may be like.

 If I die in the service

of my country, I ask nothing but to be wrapped in the flag. I think it is a lovely thing to see it float from the mast and to know that we are under its service. Three of us girls got silk fogs and draped our hats. We purchased them in