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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (May 27, 1909)
THE STORY OF THE DAY •t * Memorial Day t t ♦ ❖ -> <i> * •c+d-1!- ■!* •4 +44 %*•!* •*♦ *h *{• -J "t* <••') ■{"?• discovered the beauty of our. Memorial i <lay. She was a guest in an old New England town, and missed nothing, ^jther of preparation or observance. She helped gather flowers for the children, who came begging them ail j day. and listened to their confidences: I “My grandfather, he was a soldier, j There's flowers and a flag on his grave, anyway, but we bring flowers, i too." “This basketful's going to the j ladies of the post; they're making up j bouquets at the hall." “No'm, these ; ain't for the soldiers; they're for our 1 baby. I’ve got enough to most cover ; the mound, it’s so little." “Mv, them laylocks'll look fine on teacher's de.sk! i Yes'nt. we decorate for the exercises, and take 'em up to the cemetery aft erward.” IR WALTER BESAXT once pointed out the su- ' perior significance, inter- ' i est and character of our i national holidays. An Englishwoman iast year On Memorial day she attended the 1 exercises; saw the rows of young faces turned attentively toward the fine old man in faded uniform, who spoke well and simpiy of the duties of a citizen in war and peace; heard the children sing; saw them salute the flag. Then came the procession—the 'old soldiers, most in carriages, a sturdy few on foot; the town officials; tjie militiamen; the boys' brigade; the fire company. With the crowd she followed to the ancient burying ground. She saw blossoms and little waving flags placed where lav men who had served in the Spanish war, the civil war, the Mexican war, the revolution, and under a quaint stone, lichened and asiant, a soldier of King Philip's war; not one forgotten, not one neglected. She observed how' everywhere, in every burial-plot, there were more flowers; how, naturally and simply, the day was coming to be one of re membrance, not of soldiers, only, but of all the honored and beloved dead; how friends, meeting among the fra grant paths, talked quietly of those gone, or of the great historic days; or noted with appreciation the grace of memorial garlands or the beauty of clustered flowers. It happened that she was a woman who had seen parades and pageants and state solemnities in many lands. She had kept very silent, and her friend, fearing that, to her too-expe rienced eye, the dignity of the occa sion might have been impaired by oc casional crudities and rusticities, and a decoration here and there in ob trusive ill taste, expressed her doubts. “No/’ said the Englishwoman. “Where all take part, there must be flaws like that. They are nothing. When I think that every year, every where in your great country, there are scenes like this, in a spirit like this— I believe I have never in my life seen anything so beautiful."—Youth’s Com panion. Veterans Were Remembered. When the great union army disband ed great numbers of men found await ing them places which had been kept open. Sir Samuel Peto, an Eng lishman. records that soon after the close of the war he was in Chicago, and there visited a printing establish ment. The proprietor pointed out 47 compositors who had been soldiers. “This man was a major," he told Sir Samuel. The man next to him a cap tain, the third a lieutenant, another a sergeant. . . • They were only too happy to return to situations which I bad given them an understanding, when they left me, that I would retain open for them.”—McClure's Maga .wine * * A * The Meaning t of the Day i ic*st war of modem times and the greatest war of all time in the cause for which it was fought. In the be ginning the south, honestly and sin cerely believing that it had a right to withdraw from the union, proposed to exercise this right peacefully if it could, forcibly if it must. Its com plaint was that the north would not in good faith keep the national laws made to protect the domestic insti tution of the southern states—slavery —and was continually encroaching on it with new laws, and the south wished a separate government in which such laws would be supreme. The north insisted that the union was indissol uble; that once having entered it, states could not withdraw. As a question of law, this could never be OR forty-one years the north and the south— though on different days—have decorated the graves of their sol dier dead of the might semen. It is pitiful to see how our fathers for years argued and demonstrated and quibbled over an interpretation while in the background loomed the real question, dimly discerned, never wholly confessed, and ignored, as much a possible; while as if to drown consciousness the talk about “inter pretation of the constitution" grew ever louder, until the south struck. It ordained the dissolution of this union and fired on its flag, "then rose the curtain on the red drama that cost a million lives before the curtain fell. Confused in the beginning, the theme gradually unfolded, the back ground became clear and the pro tagonists were disclosed in deadly strife, not over a petty text, but over the question of human freedom versus human slavery. The fathers had eat en the sour grapes and the children’s teeth were set on edge. There could be no compromise. As long as this country wa3 to bo the heritage of those that made it, the one idea or the other must prevail. Freedom won—in a blaze of glory, with a trail of re flected light, seen clearer this day every year, as the diminishing ranks of the boys in blue march to lay flow ers—the rue o« sacrifice and rose mary for remembrance — on the graves of “Those that have died al ready." This is the personal possession of the union soldier—that he fought for the cause of human freedom. And Memorial day has this wider and unique significance that it is not merely in memory of brave men who “gave the last full measure of devo tion" for a cause they believed was right, but that that cause was human freedom! It abides. We that come after them have a like battle to fight, and the same old foe with a new face. All slaves are not black. All slavery has not the outward and vis ible signs of dungeon and the lash We are still, as Lincoln said on the field of Gettysburg, “engaged in a great civil war testing whether a na tion—conceived in liberty ar.d dedi cated to the proposition that all mqn are created equal—can long endure." And in this war north and south clasp hands and stand shoulder to shoulder. Grow Too Old for Parade*. As a day celebrated only by vet erans of tlie union army. Memorial day is rapidly slipping into the past. The veterans are growing too old for the parades which, until within a few years, were its most conspicuous fea ture. In the south, where Decoration day was formerly observed on dif ferent dates in different states, the custom has grown of celebrating May 30, which until recently was an exclu sive anniversary of the Grand Army of the Republic. \ New England Society. There is a National Society of New England Women that has branches iu many of the states, co-operating often with the men's New England societies, but making pleasant opportunities for women to take up the thread of re membrances with one another. Miss Lizzie Woodbury Law is the president, residing in New York. OL. LEVISON BFtANT was a little startled by the news that his daughter was engaged to be mar ried, subject to his fatherly approval. Still, he felt that there was no need for worry. Dorothy was 20, and since her mother's death hud been left almost en tirely to the care of her Aunt Mary at Poplarville, while her father was oc cupied with his business affairs in the city. It was natural, therefore, in her lack of adequate parental protection, that she should turn to matrimony as the most convenient and comfortable refuge. Col. Brant had come down to Pop iarville in response to an invitation to deliver the Memorial day address at tiie public exercises to be given un der the auspices of his old Grand Army post. He had formerly beem a resident of the town. That was be fore the growth of his business neces sitated its removal »to a larger field, and made it advisable for him to take up his abode in the city. Dorothy spent the greater part of her time iL Poplarville. She was not partial to city life, especially as it sepa rated her from Aunt Mary, who was a second mother to her. and from the old homestead, to which she was great ly attached. It was Dorothy who met Col. Brant at the railway station when he ar rived on the evening preceding the 30th of May, 1SS5. and it was Dorothy who blushingly confided to him, on their way to the house, that a very handsome and a very worthy young man had been paying court to her for two months past. “He will call on you this evening, papa, to ask your consent." she said, softly. “The deuce!" growled her father. 'You have already given yours. I sup pose?" “Why, papa—of course." And so it came about* that Richard Cballoner. the fortunate suitor for Dorothy's hand, called at the home stead that evening and was formally Introduced to Coi. Brant. He was in deed a handsome and dignified young man, whose frank geniality and courtly manners had already made a stanch ally of Aunt Mary and at once made an agreeable impression on the colonel. He was a budding young law ' / S s' It Was Dorothy Who Met Col. Brant. yer of unimpeachable Virginia stock, who had recently established himself In Poplarville for the practice of his profession and had bounded at once into popular favor. In the course of the evening Cal. Brant and young Challoner retired to the’library on the second lloor of the bouse to indulge 1c a aulet smoke and a private Interview. Here Cballoner broached the subject of his love for Dorothy, and soon gained the consent of the grizzled old father to the pro posed marriage. When they were leav ing the room, arter finishing their cigars, Challoner’s attention was at tracted to a picture on the wall, and he stopped to look at it. In a moment he seemed deeply interested. Then he caught his breath sharply, and gripped a chair to steady himself. The picture was a painting in oils, evidently the work of an artist of more than ordtnary talent. It was a war time scene, representing a battlefield In perspective, with troops engaged in a running figkt in the background, half obscured by clouds of smoke. In the foregrouad were the figures of two in fantry officers who had crossed swords in a duel to the death. One of them wore the blue regimentals of the northern army; the other was clad In confederate gray; both were stal wart, typical soldiers. The aptist had caught the spirit of the encounter; his genius had endowed it with life, ac tion, atmosphere. The play of the muscles, the expression of the faces, the fire in the eyes of the combatants, were wonderfully realistic. The pic ture represented the exact moment when the federal officer, gaining a mo mentary advantage over his adver sary, was ending the fight by driving his gleaming sword through the con federate’s body. “That pal/iting." said Col. Brant, coming up behind Challoner and look ing over his shoulder, “Is no favorite of mine. It memorizes an episode In my career as an army oflieer that 1 would give worlds to forget. The art ist was an eye-witness of the scene, and his portrayal is spoken of as the wqrk of a master, but I should have destroyed the thing long ago if my sis ter had not begged permission to keep it. My sister is Dorothy's Aunt Mary, you know. She fully understands that it is not to be displayed on the wall when 1 am in the house, but I Reverently Deposited on the Dead Confederate's Grave. suppose this is a case ot forgetfulness on her part." He paused, but Challoner did not speak or move. In a sorrowful voice, the colonel continued: “The picture is calculated to perpetu ate the memory of a most regrettable affair. As you rrobably know, one of the nastiest skirmishes of the wav took place only live miles from this spot. Foplarville was in a panic. But we managed to beat off the enemy, and they were soon in full retreat, with our boys in hot pursuit. At the very beginning of the chase the horse ridden by the young colonel of a rebel regiment stumbled and fell. I hap pened to be close behind this man when the accident occurred, and be lieving him to be badly hurt, 1 quickly dismounted to render him such as sistance as 1 might. But apparently he was not hurt at all. With a yell he sprang to his feet and rushed upon me with drawn sword. Of course. 1 had to defend myseir. Three times during the tierce fencing that ensued I begged him to desist and avoid un necessary bloodshed. Twice I was in a hair's breadth of being killed by his f skillful onslaught; but in the end I was victorious, and he fell. I intend ed only to disable him, but, unfortu nately, my blade passed clear through his body. Six weeks he was in the military hospital here before be finally succumbed, and his body now lies in the Foplarville cemetery. By the way," suddenly exclaimed the colonel, "his name was Challoner— Col. Challoner—the same name as yours. I believe. My God. sir, 1 hope he was not a relative—a—a—” The words died on his lips, for at that moment the younger man turned ; slowly around and faced him. Richard Challoner was pale as death; his breath came in quick, excited gasps; his eyes shone with a fierce, vindic tive glare. "He was my father!" The words fairly hissed through his clenched teeth. “1 am Col. Challoner's son Aild you were the man who killed him —you—you! By God. sir, you shall answer to me for that act!” Col. Brant was struck dumb with uorror. "My reason Tor coming to Poplar vllle to begin my business career," continued the young man, hoarsely, “was because my father lay In your cemetery here. I wanted to be near him—to care for his grave. I never dreamed—" He broke off suddenly and seemed to restrain himself by a strong effort. Then, with a quick, nervous gesture, he turned on his heel, and without trusting himself to utter another word, he strode from the room. At the foot of the stairs he met Dorothy, who was waiting for him. The sight of his white face and blazing eyes startled her. v. "Richard! Richard!" she cried. He brushed past her without an an swering sign, took his hat from the rack, and an instant later the hall door closed-behind him. The Jay which custom has set aside for the annual decoration of soldiers’ graves dawned bright and beautiful. Poplarville was in holiday attire. The air was freighted with the perfume of floWers, the buildings were gay with bunting, flags floated at half-mast, and the Poplarville band discoursed pa triotic music in the public square. Col. Lewiston Brant mingled with the veterans of his post, and not a few remarked his grave demeanor and the unusual sadness that seemed to have settled down upon him. Apparently he had aged ten years in as many hours. Col. Brant delivered his Memo rial day oration with an eloquence born of deep feeling and sincerity. He moved all hearts by his simple, touch ing tribute to the heroes who had laid down their lives in their country’s de fense, and closed with this ap peal: “But while we are honoring our* dead, let us not forget the graves of those other brave fellows whose rest ing place is in our cemetery—the men who were pitted against us in that aw ful struggle—who fell as devoted mar i tyrs to a cause which they believed J to be right. Kemeinber them. also, with your flowers, your tears and your prayers.” la a secluded part of the cemetery that afternoon KIchard Challoner stood alone beside a grave which was marked by a granite headstone bear ing the name of his father. So occu pied was he with bis own gloomy thoughts that he did not notice the timid, hesitating approach of Dorothy Brant until she was within a few feet of him. He straightened up then, and greeted her with a solemn, courtly bow, while his cheek flushed. The girl was very pale, and her eyes were red with weeping. She carried an armrul of roses, which she silently and rev erently deposited on the dead confed erate's grave. Then, facing the man opposite with a look of pitying appeal, she took from her bosom a letter and handed it across to him. "Read this, Richard,” she said, in a frightened, quivering voice. "It was written by your father to my mother 1 many years ago, before I was born. It has been preserved among mam ma’s other treasures, left at her death. Aunt Mary found it last night, and 1— we wanted you to see it, and—please don’t refuse. Richard." ■’Written by my father to your mother?” he said, slowly, with a deep ly puzzled look. •’Yes, yes. Oh, please read It. It | will help you to understand. This is my last request, Richard.” He said no more, but took the let ter from its time-worn envelope and read: , ■ , Mrs. Levlson Brant.—Dear Madam: It pains me to learn tiiat your husband’s supposed responsibility for my condition has almost prostrated you. Pray do not worry on that score. 1 assure you from my inmost soul that I not only forgive your husband, but 1 have already begged his forgiveness for forcing him to commit an act which he so deeply deplores. The Tault was entirely my own, and 1 alone am the one who should suffer. Believe me, 1 am profoundly sorry for what hap pened. and 11 is not a sorrow that is in fluenced by selfish considerations, or the fear of death. Since i have been in this hospital Col. Brant lias become my most valued und best-beloved friend. What he has done for me can never be told, but lie has made me realize that there are true gentlemen at |he north as well as in tile south, and That he is one of the noblest men in the world. 1 thank you, dear madam, for giving me this oppor tunity to say that, so far from feeling resentment. I entertain only sentiments of warmest friendship and gratitude to ward your husband. Sincerely yours, WILLIAM CHALLONER. The color came and went In the young man s face as he read, and the light in his eyes softened to a tender glow. Finishing, he crumpled the let ter convulsively in his hand, and came round the headstone of the grave at a half-dozen quick strides. ••Dorothy,” he cried, seizing her hand, ‘'this is a glorious revelation to me. Let us hunt up your father at once. I will go down on my knees to him if you like. With you for a wife and Col. Brant for a fatlier-in-law 1 shall be the happiest man in Poplar ville.” The Veteran's Dream. We met last night in the old post hall. And some of the boys were sadly missed: Twenty present, ah. that was all— The rest had a ns wired the great roll call Out of eighty-nine on the charter list. Then up spoke Bates of the Twenty-third. Who had served all through till the war was done. “It's a long lime, boys, since tlielr names I’ve heard. tJ And I move we call them one by one.' So they read each name and to my ear Came words borne*forth on the evening breeze— . It sounded to me like a faint: Here. And I knew they answered that roll call From their resting place beneath the trees. I seemed to see them all in line Just touching elbows and standing straight: Yes. each was there of the sixty-nine. And I spoke to one old pal of mine Who had left us along in ninety-eight. And cried: "Old comrade, what means all this?” Then he said as he tapped on his muf fled drum: “We are calling the names of the ones we miss— The twenty boys who have not yet come.” Then he gave the order: “Right by twos." And they smiled on me as they marched away; But their “tramp, tramp, tramp" I did not lose— Till old Bates shook me: “Having a snooze? Corne. old pard. I go home your way.” BELONGS TO ALL AMERICANS Memorial Day Pre-eminently a Day of Patriotism and the Heritage of All. What the United States is, and is to be, rests upon something equally shared by the most venerable soldier and the smallest child with its tiny flag and handful of blossoms. Memo rial day is pre-eminently the day of patriotism. As long as the self-sacri ficing Jove of country abides the na I tion will be safe and its course on ward. No emergency can master a people who are ready to offer all and to die, if need be. at their country's call. There is a complete unity about what is done on Memorial day. All Americans are a part of It. The thoughts that dominate it are the her itage of all. Other crises must come and will not fully define themselves in advance. They can be overcome by patriotism, and that alone. Though it be an invisible spark in the human heart, a nation dies when it fails, and civilization would be lost without it. It is not peculiar to any race or coun try. but Americans, governing them selves. are glad to know that they have always been among the fore most in its illustration. They do not expect to escape trials, but have a calm faith that they will be ready for them and able to do their duty, though its performance should call for their lives, a self-surrender that outweighs the gift of existence on any terms less noble. Common to All Americans. In many parts of the south Memo rial day is now jointly celebrated by survivors of the blue and the gray, and the custom Is growing. As the country comes more and more to cher ish as a common inheritance the valor, fortitude and self-sacrifice of that con flict, it will beconm universal. $ T l it CLA5PMm/lMi)#£trf/ia/0ffl#<5fe£-i If/Mooi'id k/Aw. '/ terml&tr fid \fSj^JmfvwmM/ryMr/s. When We Honor the Heroes of Two Wars EMORJAL day, an it was christened by its sponsors, the Grand Army. Decora tion day, as the people at large persist in calling it, although chosen by the survivors of the war for the union as a season in which to honor the memory of our country's defenders, comes to us from the southland. It was the women of the south who instituted the custom of placing flowers upon the graves of not only their own defenders—none the less heroes because they died for a mistaken idea and a lost cause—but also upon the mounds that marked the resting places of union soldiers. Realizing the beauty and significance of this conception, the northern peo ple did not long delay in following the example set by the south. In the month of May, 1808, Gen. John A. Lo gan. then commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, issued an order for the observance by that organiza tion of May 30 as Memorial day—a day to be set apart to the memory of the soldiers and sailors who fell in ihe war of the rebellion. This particular day wras chosen because it was the date of the discharge of the last sol dier of the civil war. It is now a legal holiday in all the states except ten. I'ntil ten years ago it was difficult for those born since the civil war to realize the full significance that at taches to the day that wTe observe so generally. It is true they can gather from history all the events of that great struggle in which brother fought against brother ard son against fa ther, but they can form no adequate conception of the consternation that pervaded the north when the capital itself was threatened. They cannot grasp the import of the victory of An tietam; of the second Bull Run; of the battle of Fair Oaks; of the Wilder ness; of the fiercely contested battle —and the decisive one of the war—of Gettysburg, in which 150.000 men were engaged: and scores of other battles in which the blood of heroes stained the soil of the south in that titanic struggle between the states when more than once the fate of the nation iremuiea m me uiuuuir. Although so many- years; have passed since the war of the rebellion the American people are not oblivious of the debt which they owe to the men who fought, suffered and died that the nation might live. The recurrence of Memorial day, with its beautiful and pathetic ceremonies, conjures up visions of those dark days of the past when our soldiers in the south were receiving their baptism of blood and fire and their friends at home were waiting in dread expectancy for “news from the front.” And when it is re called that there were four long years of this warfare those who have ap peared upon the stage of life since then may be able to form an idea of the magnitude of what is conceded to be the greatest war in history. While Memorial day has been scru pulously observed in the north for the last 40 years, within the last ten years It has been invested with a new and solemn significance. It will be a reminder that since the close of the rebellion the country has again been shaken with the throes of war —a conflict in which some of its best blood was sprinkled upon the altar of patriotism. As the veterans of '61 as semble to pay homage to their dead comrades, and the muffled drum and wailing fife sound a. requiem over the heroes who met death on southern battlefields and in southern prisons, there will be mourning also for the pat’-iots of ’98—the young men who, with courage and valor equal to that of their sires, fell by Spanish shot -md shell that an oppressed peopl- m;g be free. When the chaplets ar** twined and the garlands are woven f - those who have listened to the last tattoo they will also be laid upon at: other generation of American soldiers i As the rites of the day are being observed in city, town and hamlet, th solemnity of the occasion ws.i be brightened by the knowledge thaf r country is thoroughly reunited N < j sectional feeling nor bitter mentor;- - will now or evermore arise to mar •[>-* harmony of the occasion. The enmit - that was felt by a great portion of ■ he south against its conquerors has be- u j entirely dissipated. And vet it was not the conquering guns of the north 'ern hosts that swept away sectn-i . ism and removed the animositu -u gendered by that fractricidal scife, but rather the cannon that thunder I from the fleets of Spain and the vol leys that rattled from Spanish Ma> sers that welded together in one ha monious nation the north and so rh When the call to arms resound -1 through the land in 1898 the s:a:-s south of the Potomac vied with t • north and the west in respond!a. > the summons to maintain the honor f ' the flag against a foreign foe. and t: * first victim of that war w'as a son ■ j North Carolina. The south, with tb<s rest of the country, can claim the vn tor s laurel even while her tears be dew the cypress that marks her b reavement. Memorial day will never lose its - _ nificance and interest. The ranks the Grand Army are becoming d* pleted with each succeeding year. There will soon be but a corpora! * guard of the members left, for the are being "mustered out" at a rapid rate through age, disability and den ; But the graves of those who died fighting for the flag will not be n-g lected. Memorial day will continue to be a day of remembrance. The Sons of Veterans will keep alive ib^1 patriotic flame when their sires a ■ no longer able to march to the po. room and the cemetery. Then, to*. the Spanish war veterans will see to it that the memories of their fallen comrades are kept green Realistic. ’Twas in the commercial room at a hotel, and, as usual, the 'gentlemen >r the road” were boasting one aga,rtsi the other. Presently they got round to the subject of singing. “Ah, now!" said one. “talking of singing, reminds me of my ear!> triumphs on the concert stage. I had a voice then, and could always movj an audience. 1 mind the time when I sang ‘Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep’ in so realistic a manner that several of my audience were attacked with mal-de-mer.” “Bah!" said Boaster No. 2, “that's nothing. Why. I once sang 'The l-as' Post' with such fervor that several of my .absent-minded friends seated iti front started licking their programs, and then rushed out to catch it." And then silence reigned. Chicago American. The German of It. “The expression, ‘According to Hoyle,’ which is so often used by peo ple to verify a statement, even if it does not refer to cards, has a con; panion among the people of Germain ^ writes an American from Munich "Here they say, ’Xach Adam Riese (according to Adam Rise) when th statement is to be considered math* matically correct. The name is that of a great man at figures,’ who laid down study rules hundreds of year ago which are still followed. Hi? fou v hundredth birthday was unnoticed on § March -jO even at Anaeberg, where ue died in 1559.”
