Ask CBS News: Will McChrystal Retire?

[Tyree]

Jamaican gang leader arrives to face NY charges Lawmakers slam top mortgage firms on loan mods This is a story whose roots are lost deep in the recesses of time, before such stories were actually written down, but rather passed, a generation at a time, sometimes even skipping entire generations that either were not interested, or who merely forgot, as time was quite different in those days, generations were shorter, and lives were shorter, too: as a person approaching middle age today would be said, at the same age back then, to have already led a complete and total lifespan, as likely as not with both grand-children, AND great-grandchildren.Thus you can see that this story is populated by very young people . and such people do not often leave much of a mark on society, other than in stories. such as The Little Boy At The Dike, such as The Boy Who Cried Wolf [which may or may not be true] and other such stories of this nature. If I can but reach my companions without being seen, tell them my strange adventures, and all hide ourselves till the giant is out of reach, I shall be only too happy.Very soon he saw the group of beautiful great shells, just as they were when he left them, except that _his_ shell, of course, was not there, as it graced Mrs. Huggermuggers domestic fireside. When he came near enough, he called some of his comrades by name, not too loud, for fear of being heard by the shell-fish-loving giant. They knew his voice, and one after another looked out of his shell. They had already seen the giant, as they were out looking for their lost companion, and had fled to hide themselves in their shells. For heavens sake, cried the little sailor. Tom, Charley, all of you! dont stay here; the giant will come and carry you all off to his house under the cliffs; his wife has a particular liking for those beautiful houses of yours. I have just escaped, almost by miracle. For myself, I have found nothing more tantalizing than the endeavour to restrain from an occasioned doze during church time.After a certain period, I have perceived the parson diminishing, like a phantasmagoric image--all the ladies black bonnets sinking away, like a cluster of clouds--and (shame on the confession! ) I have performed head worship to the front of my seat, instead of keeping an immovable post-like position, before his reverence. However, a church doze is seldom admired by the wakeful. Should an embryo snore escape from ones nose (and this is possible,) some old grandam, or an upright piece of masculine sanctity, is sure to rouse you; the former will either _hem_ you into awakening shame, or drop her prayer-book on the floor; the latter will most likely thump the same with the imperative tip of his boot. How horridly stupid one seems after being aroused!