Watching a Llewellin setter dashing with glee through a woods or steadfast with purpose while hunting afield, presents a picture of grace, beauty and abounding enthusiasm.

The musket ball slammed into the soft tissue of the young lieutenant’s neck, dropping him to the ground in a heap.

In 1943, a 12-year-old English girl watched in wonder as American soldiers played what looked to be a strange type of cricket on a field near a hospital.

During the summer of 1943, England shook from the churning impact of tank treads, roar of bomber engines and cadence of marching boots.

The orders that arrived at No. 25 10th Street in Charlottesville might have been penciled on a scrap of paper or inked on embossed stationary.

In kitchens filled with the delicious scent of freshly baked bread, women judged golden-hued loaves with discriminating eyes.

Regardless of the hour, the doors of the Market Street livery were open to those of gentle hand and good hearts who brought the stray and injured creatures of the city and county there.

The star of the popular television show “M*A*S*H” was, in fact, working himself to a frazzle. In addition to having one of the leading roles in the film, he also was directing it.

A century or more ago, the notion of a 24-hour news cycle hadn’t even been imagined.

The name was as easy on the tongue as the juice of a ripe peach.

The hurricane claimed more than 150 lives, 125 of them in Nelson County.

A leap of faith ends up in history books

By the turn of the 20th century, the crack of colliding billiard balls had become a common sound around downtown Charlottesville.

Back in Virginia a lot of people were doing more cussing than cheering.

The young, freckle-faced man was filled with excited anticipation.

In early October 1946, the weather in Charlottesville might have been compared to the world’s mood swing following World War II.

The skies that Thursday — May 2, 1929 — were overcast and threatening rain. The blustery weather made the first-grade classroom of Rye Cove Consolidated School more inviting than the playground outside the large two-story structure.

The United Press story that ran in the May 4, 1929, edition of The Daily Progress was no less heartbreaking because of its brevity.

By the late 1920s, Charlottesville was enjoying all the advances of science and technology.

Members of Charlottesville’s City Council had plenty on their minds when they met on Jan. 5, 1942.

During the second decade of the 20th century, livery stable owners in Charlottesville started seeing the development of a troubling pattern.

Their final glory years came during the first decade of the 20th century, before motorized vehicles had made much of an impact.

With elegant words the speaker told of a South that remained fiercely proud of its heritage, and unapologetic for having fought for its convictions.

Just a few days before Christmas, 1886, a 36-year-old journalist strode with confidence to the lectern in the luxurious Delmonico’s Restaurant in New York.

By the spring of 1861 a great many people were heady with the intoxicating ambrosia of approaching war.

An empty grave and a memorial marker in Charlottesville’s Maplewood Cemetery stand in tribute to one man’s undying loyalty to a lost cause.

It wasn’t as if John A. Via didn’t have enough to worry about by the end of Civil War hostilities in the spring of 1865.

And now, the rest of the story.

In his day Coly the mule was one of Charlottesville’s most popular animal celebrities.

The skies above Charlottesville were cloudy, and rain was expected before nightfall on Aug. 31, 1940.