THE STORY OF THE DAY
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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
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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.
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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.”
