The writing was bold, the style vigorous, the matter fresh and interesting.

Major Carnaby had no graces of expression; but all the more engrossing was his brief narrative of mountain warfare, declaring its truthfulness in every stroke of the pen.
'Fine fellow!' exclaimed Rolfe, when he had read to the end.

'Splendid fellow!' 'Isn't he! And he's seeing life.' 'That's where you ought to be, my boy,' remarked Rolfe, between puffs of tobacco.
'I dare say.

No use thinking about it.

Too late.' 'If I had a son,' pursued Harvey, smiling at the hypothesis, 'I think I'd make a fighting man of him, or try to.