I'm going to throw out a few things from my local paper that we might be able to get conversations going on.  This is the first of several.  If anyone else has anything they want to start a new thread on please do!

Oct. 22, 1863 Gallipolis [Ohio] Journal is the following:
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How They Go to Bed.Before the following article is perused by our lady readers, we desire to direct their particular attention to the last line of it, wherein it will be seen that the editor of a New York paper, and not our modest self is the author. Evidently, in spite of the precautions which he affirms young ladies take in making sure that no male intruder is concealed within the sacred precints of the chamber wherein they court 'Nature's sweet restorer,' he must have succeeded in eluding the nervous vigilance of some beauty, and seen much that he hadn't orter. We have no doubt that, although the writer speaks of what he saw in the most gallant style, the ladies everywhere will be terribly indignant at the secrets he has here laid bare, and if they could only get hold of the wretch -- and he should prove good-looking and unmarried -- they would compel him to marry one of their number without a memoent's grace. But should he prove already bound in Hymen's silken chains (and we are inclined to think he must, for how could a virtuous bachelor -- as all bachelors are --speak so glibly and familiarly when referring to mysterious articles of feminine wearing apparel,) then a fitting punishment for this 'Peeping Tom' would be to deprive him of the sight of his own quill and force him to swallo the editorial ink bottle and contents. -- With this verdict we have no doubt his better half would cordially acquiesce. Our sole object in publishing the monster's production is to still further ventilate his crime and so lead to his immediate discovery and punishment. The difference between a man and a woman in disposition finds no plainer illustration than that afforded at the moment when either of them retires to their beds. The young girl trips gailey up to her chamber, and with the cautious timidity peculiar to her sex, first locks the door, arranges the window curtains, so that by no possible chance a passer-by or a belated nocturnal wanderer from the pavement can catch a glimpse of her budding beauty when en deshabille. This task completed, she turns on the gas or lamp to its full, and institutes a general search throughout the apartment, that she may be sure that it does not contain a 'horrible burglar,' or a 'desperate ruffian,' in big whiskers and crispy black hair. Carefully, with her delicate fingers, she lifts the bed valance, peers into places where even Tom Thumb couldn't squeeze his diminutive corporation, and takes a cursory peep into the half emptied trunk, not forgetting to glance nervously under the sofa, the space between which and the floor is not sufficient to contain the ghost of Calvin Edson, much less an ordinary robber. Having ascertained that she is really alone, she leisurely proceeds to divest her fair form of 'the silk and linen conventionalities of society.' First she relieves her glossy hair from its thraldom of pins and combs, and 'does it up' more compactly. Then off comes the little embroidered collar and the light vapory cloud of lace she calls her undersleeves, which all the day have been clasped around her white, plump arms by a couple of India-rubber straps. Next, the 'love of a spring silk' dress is unfastened in front, partially revealing -- never mind what just now. The sundry waist strings and buttoned straps are unloosed, and, lo! what a collapse. A collapse like Lowe's big balloon. -- She stands like Saturn, in the centre of rings. There they lie on the soft carpet, partly covered by the linen underfixens, with no more expression in them than there is in the bare floor beneath the carpet. Sits she now upon the edge of the snowy bed, and begins the unlacing of gaiters, and the disrobing of those fair swelling limbs of the stockings. The pretty foot is carefully perched upon the knee, down drops the gaiter, off comes the elastic garter, and her thumb inserted at the top of the stocking pushes it down -- down over the heel, and -- the cotton rests beside the prunella. So with the other foot, involving a slight change of position. There is a happy smile that peeps out from behind the blushes of her sweet face, now, as standing before the glass she places upon her head the nightcap, and with her fingers ties the bewitching bow. Then the night-gown ins thrown on over the frilled chemise, concealing the heaving bosom and the fair shoulders in the linen folds. Don't you envy that nightrobe and liberty it takes? Do you envy it, you wretched, miserable old bachelor, you snarling, growling old curmudgeon. Then the counterpane and sheets are thrown back, the light is turned very low, and the sweet form presses the yielding couch and the angel goes off into a world of dreams, in which the handsome moustache of her Adolphus and his vows of eternal loves are prominent, the remainder of the picture being filled with ministers, bridesmaids, new dresses, drives in the park, and 'gold galor,' or 'love in a cottage.' Now, in the room directly above her, is her great brute of a brother. He comes into it, shuts the doors with a slam, turns the key with a snap, growls at a chair which happens to be in the way, pulls off his boots and throws them into a corner, jerks his socks from his feet, gets off his coat and vest by a quick vindictive sort of a twist of his arms and body, unbuttons his collar, throws it carelessly with the tie, under rather than off the table; jerks his pantaloons on the floor, and lets them lie there; travels to the window in shirt extremity -- to let down the curtains, as if he didn't care a cuss whether the entire population of the street beheld his anatomy or not; then puts out the light and bounces into bed like a great calf jumping into a pile of hay -- curls himself up, his knees nearly touching his nose, lies so a moment or two, turns on his back, stretches his limbs out, swears at the tucking of his bed clothes, grunts, gets over on the other side, and is -- asleep. Then comes in the snoring and the snorting. Isn't there a difference in style!" N.Y. Monster.

Transcribed and submitted by Linda Trent.

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Linda Trent wrote : I'm going to throw out a few things from my local paper that we might be able to get conversations going on.  This is the first of several.  If anyone else has anything they want to start a new thread on please do! Oct. 22, 1863 Gallipolis [Ohio] Journal is the following: Quote: Quote : There is a happy smile that peeps out from behind the blushes of her sweet face, now, as standing before the glass she places upon her head the nightcap, and with her fingers ties the bewitching bow. Then the night-gown is thrown on over the frilled chemise, concealing the heaving bosom and the fair shoulders in the linen folds. Don't you envy that nightrobe and liberty it takes? Do you envy it, you wretched, miserable old bachelor, you snarling, growling old curmudgeon. Transcribed and submitted by Linda Trent.

Linda,

I love it. Nothing like a little 1860's Softcore Porn.  

Greatings Linda,
I may be that growling old curmudgeon, but I don't snarl much any more. ( My wife won't let me)
Great postings, thank you.

Com. Sgt. Dan Girton  Co A , 6th Ohio