3 DECORATION DAY, Thin grow the ranks. A few worn, weary men, With the white spray ol age upon each brow, Come In sad memory of those far-off days When they marched gayly whero they fal- ter now. A few are leit. Ilow short has grown the | list! | We eall it tenderly, with bated breath, Lest from our ranks should fade the noble band To answar to Deth, the roll-call of the ruler, | Few, few are loft, The ranks grow thin, and wide Apart as the dim drmies of the past, flently an slow they come, who once Their conquering forces on the foomen cast, weak and faltering tread, Only a few, with tiie while, thelr march they | And for a keep O'er the rough ways of poverty and age, To bivounc-grounls of rest, so green and - deep, | Thin grow the wail, ranks. In silent camps they | Who shared those hours of victory or de- feat , And marble sentries guar Where sweet, So few on Who lad tho con ju Who the sacred spot war-worn heroes rest in slumber | are Jef Where are those gallant os swine Tig 1 ands to victory, tha lHght of | out of darkness brought peace, And set a races of suffering people free? 8o few, but ah! the golden-frulted years Have scattered memory-blossoms on their Way And a giad heart To tell its love -pB. PP nation comes with on Decoration Day. BY HELEN FORREST GRAYES. HE night before Decoration Day had arrived, and the full moon—a sphere of dazzling silver— was shining over the moss roof cf the old farm i Day covered house where id Darley stood at the window, both hands and his buried deep in his pockets, wife sat kuitting by the table. “Father,” said the “what b : “There's somq schoolhouse ley. “The children ¥ by with bag ““A picnic, mebbe,” ley. “Not likely, this time o' year.” A spellin’ teh, p'raps.”’ “They ain't gwine to hev the spell h till June. What they s-carryin’? I'm ef I don't b'lieve it’ rs! “Flowers? echoed his wife. “Oh, I know what it is! It's to dec rate the graves to-morrow. Miss lisley she's a stranger here, and her folks are all buried off in Wisconsin—and she says if she can’t put flowers over her own people, bound to do some- thin’ for the graves nobody else thinks of here. There's yon know, father, that always gets forgotten— | Eben Peterson, folks moved away in "70; and them Swedes, that fonght as well ns anybody, but hadn't neither kith nor kin in this country; and Willis Holmes, that had nobody belonging to him-—eand Miss llsley she's bound to see that none of em is neglected. And the childre they've sot out she shal have plent o' flowers. They set a deal store by Miss Ilsley. Our Pete ain't never had a schoolma’am liked better.” Mr. Darley whisted softly. “That accounts for it,” said he. “Accounts for what?” Mre. Darley missed a stitch in her | curiosity, and had to pick it up agsin, “Where all our white laylocks has got to. 1 was kind o' keepin’ 'em to hang over Gran'ther Oliver's head- | stone. He warn't a soldier, an’ he never fit nowhere, as I knows on, but I allays like to put somethin’ on his stone Decoration Day, so’t won't look lonesome ; an’ 1'll bet a cookey Pete's took "em. He'd take the roof of the house if he thought Miss Ilsley wanted | iH." ““Miss Ilsley don’t want nothin’ that’s | come by that way,” said Mrs. Darley. | “But don’t scold him, {ather—he ain't | nothin’ but a child.” rns } s you lo : ‘ ; re all goin 5 an’ s aid Mrs, Dar- be blessed flowers! she's some, 3 Whose never n v Oo he as he In the little red schoolhouse, by the light of a smoky kerosene lamp, and | sundry tallow candles stuck ronnd the room, the children were eagerly sort- | ing out the snow white and rosy and | golden blossoms, putting them into | pails of water ready for the morrow. “Where's Miss Ida?’ asked little | Tommy Goldsmith, “I've got n lot | ©’ pinies, an’ nowhar' to put ‘em.” “She's gone to look for Janey Pike,” | said Lucy Hall, the tall monitor pupil. | “Where are the pinies? I'll take care of "em till she comes back. Jaucy's little, and Miss Ida's afraid she's gone too far.” In the white moonlight, up the Sur- rey road, lda Ilsley was walking with the swift, Mght step of a practiced edestrian, her black cambrie gown Frwine back in the sweet spring wind, Ler straw hat swinging by its ribbons from one hand. On a bunch of briers, close to the gates of the old hall, she had found one of Janey Pike's hair ribbons, and she was determined to seek out the little wanderer, wherever she might be’ Burrey Hall, a fine old place, was ad Mia and Ilslay, 4 wow somes ia the neighborhood, had never before en- tered within its ponderous gates, In the shimmering moonlight she looked here and there at the gleam of white statues, the groups of Norwegian pines, and the feathery droop of blos- soming laburnums, “Oh, here is the greenhouse!” said Ida, aloud. “I shoulda't wonder if the little mite had wandered in here. And I don’t blame her; it's like fairy land, with the moonlight shining through the arched roof, and all these delightful scents in the air—" “Augh, Oi've eatched "ee, have O17" start. ‘‘’Ee’s the lass as has cut my flowers broke they down reeght an’ laft, loike 'e¢ was a pirate !" Ida turned and found herself con- man, in a an’ vieteens, “Who are you?" said she, “Oi'm t’ gairdener. Who be you?” “1 am Miss lisley.” “Miss Fiddlesticks!"” wrathfully re- torted the old man. **You be t' vil: as steals ma floo'rs. But Oi've gotten 'ee now an’ Oi mean to keep "ee. Maister he bees a justice of peace, an’ ve'll hev ‘ee arrested like Oi'll call he now.” Miss llsley was left standing lage gell And he had ever beheld. At sunrise the next morning, when the little flower brigade, escorted by their fair major-generaless, arrived at the cemetery to cover the graves with color and sweetness, Mr. Surrey was there before them, accompanied by re- luetant Miles, wheeling a hand-barrow ‘full of snowy syringae, fragrant carna- tions and delicions roses, “1 was afraid you wouldn't have nough,” said he. ‘‘And did you ever know such a curious coincidence, Miss Iisley ? The Inte mail last night brought me a letter from my sunt, Mrs. Evelyn, in Wisconsin, telling me and make things pleasant for youn.” “She is very kind,” said Ida, color- “I know her very well, forescen that our first by moonlight, in your gesenhouses, with me in the char- acter of a suspect.” ing. couldn't have meeting was to be “It was all that dear little Janey,” said he. flowers enough? ““Now have yon got all the Bure you have Then go on, arranged? Very well ing, You Miss llsley, aken the liberty to have a light re- of fruit and BQO past coffee and THE STORY OF JOHN BURNS, THE CITIZEN PATRIOT, ———— He Got Mad Because a Stray Bullet Killed His Cow--Firing Upon the Advancing Confederates, "NEWSPAPER has visited the around Gettysburg says: » gret the trip, since it has been the | means of shaking, if not destroying, my faith in one of the hallowed mom- Burns. Of all the citizens in the vil lage he alone, an old man of seventy- | two, shouldered a gun and took an no- | to resist the advance of the enemy. | When we drove past his humble ecot- | tage in one of the village streets our | guide pointed out the little narrow { porch whereon Abraham Lincoln seat- | ed himself by the side him as the civil hero of Gettysburg. The story is now historical, snd the recognition of Burns's services by Lin- coln has ever since enshrined him MAY 30, 1804, pentia + B mourner, lightly trea The graves are close and « Here lie the nation’s hon Who died theses consecrated grog in her dele ys 403 od ranks they le, more the battle sounds— op They muster now on high. alone among the palms trees, half inclined to laugh 30 ory “Why,” she exclaimed aloud, “what does the man mean?” and half a rustling by under startiod es close teacher!” cooed out Janey,” cried Miss py 9 JH: Lislew, Little Janey Pike, with her ron full of camelling, cape-jessamine rare white orchids, serambled out her hiding place. “I got all them flowers," 1 » 458 ie yn said she. im and so I hid. and I'm so scolding, “Theer!” cried the old gardener, unlocking the doors and flinging them “Didn't Oi tell so? Two of 'em, cotched in the varra nct.”’ dropped her apronful of and clung to Miss lisley's ' ee Janey flowers glittering diamond in his shirt front, up » lantern. In a second Mr, Surrey seemed to “I beg a thousand pardons,” said he, ‘but my gardener has evidently made a mistake.” ““A mis-teek!” shrieked old Miles ““An’ the orchids an’ the the white camelling a’ over the fiffre at her foot! What do "ee call a—misteek?” Ida conld scarcely forbear laughing. “The cirenmstantial evidence is cer- tainly rather strong,” said she, ‘but I think I ean explain the situation.” And she did so, with a certain dig- nity which impressed even the grum- bling old gardener, “An excellent idea,” said Otho Sar rey, eagerly. “I wonder no cne else ever thought of it. Go get a basket, Miles. Let us have the pleasure of cutting some more flowers for you.” “Well,” muttered the old man, *if Oi ever!” Little Janey slid her cold hand into that of the lord of the manor, “1 think you're a very nice gentle man,” said she, softly. Mins 1lsley laughed. 1d so do L"” she frankly admit ted. : “Oi wish Oi hadn't called him now,” groaned Miles, Mr. Barrey not only filled ap a bas- ket full of the most fragrant and rer. est of his tropioal flowers, but insisted on carrying them to the schoolhouse, where, as be declared, the tableau of the little children all rushing to meet When winds assail, whe There o« A rey A dirge unt nines fron ujem for the the serve | ald Hill, and all your Little . people are lease don't Say no : The eager t} faces of wae chil- Mr. Barrey's be- little | else could she do? “I never seen the graves as they did this | Day,” said Mrs Darley to her husband. “All covered » flowers, look ®i) lovely h furrin and | them as costs lots 0’ money, from Sur- And Pete he looked out that Gran'ther Oliver's beadstun | shonldn’t neglected And the children they say they're to hev Fourth o’ July pienie in SBarrey Park among the elms and beeches.” | “Looks like the squire had taken a notion to Miss Ilsley,” said the far- mer, chuckling. “It seems a her out in Wisconsin,” said Mrs. Dar ley. **Nor I don’t blame him for fancyin’' her. 1 do think prettiest gal I ever set eyes on, the nicest, too! it a5 Tr 4% ini, 1 Dn ne And the old couple, went to bed and eried “I-11 had laid out to marry Miss Ils bered Pete. “I didn’t want nobody else snoopin’ around. Boo-boo! Boo- hoo-oo! 1 wish Squire Surrey was dead 2" i — Tanning Sheep and Woll Skins, If the skins are dry and hard, soak them in soft water, with a little salt added, for about twelve hours, or until softened ; then take out and scrape off all the loose pieces of flesh and make the surface as smooth as possible ; then stretch out in all directions and tack them to boards, with the hair or wool side down. Now make a paste of equal parts of salt and alum, dissolved in water, adding just enough coarse flour to make it about the consistency of thick eream. Spread this over the flosh side of the skins to the depth of half an inch. In three or four days paste, and leave it on until dry; then enarefully serape off and remove the skins from the boards, and work them with the hands until soft and pliable, To the wolf skin you may apply any coloring desired, such as yellow ochre, or for a drab color use blue clay with soft soap, and for a dark brown color apply strong oak-bark tea aad log- wood, and then wet with alum water to set the color, To color the wool of washe in re radiant purst in buds of yn Dex ration Day f - » ¢ hearts of his patriot ‘3 { as an example of inset belief to CG battlefield pot ttage, and asked him Such wes my own riod of m ter a tour guide w ¥ visit f the o had p Af } h nad uted 5 OO the pars n my curiosity OF giving un about his life, of Gettysburg, old THLIATSE concarnIng £ Be The guide was 8 native n the army and was i within sigh of daring all the battles, h his own home yet unable t wife or jesrn whether his hou escaped destruction, even after evacuation of the village, as the was at once ordered forward i suit of Lee's retreating forces, “Yea. I knew John Burns | replied the guide, ‘He ond | time a town constable, and later mad | himself quite unpopular with the wil Ingers by his activity in eatching and | strangling stray dogs, althouzh he i did no more tunan his duty under the | law. : £3 well,” eT 54 Was aL mh : “However,” continued the | “the pluck he showed when Getiys- attacked changed evers- body's opinion in the village, and changed his own ecircumstasces from | poverey to comparative aflinence, as { burg was fields wanted to see old John Burne, and none left withont giving him substan tial tokens, in the shape of green: backs, of their patriotic regard.” “Will you tell me,” I asked, ‘‘how it happened that an old man of seven: ty-two years of age was the only citi- zen of Gettysburg who had the cour- age to take up arms in ite defense, for, as you know, a civilian caught with arms 1n his hands virtually fights with a halter around his neck?” “Wall, 1suppose it happened about this way,” replied the guide. vil age. guns announced the approach of the Confederates and the old man saw our to corral his cow and drive her home. Undismayed by the musketry firing, he tramped across the open fields to the spot where the cow had been tied, only to find that a stray bullet had put an end to her existence. “When he discovered his cow had been killed he got so all-fired mad that he grabbed up a dead soldier's musket and cartridge box and immediately Suciared wa pan Southern Con- racy. He kept away upon the advancing Confederates, even af- ter he was wounded in the high, and ed of by left on the field ; but his age and pluck secured for him the respect of the Confederates, who removed him to his home, where, four months afterward, in November, 1863, when Abraham { Lincoln visited Gettysburg, he was | still on erutehes. President Lineoln's { open attention to old Burns secnred for him the respect of his neighbors and of all patriotic citizens.” That is the story of old John Burns {as told by one of his neighbors who knew him well, and although it muy divest the patriotic story of a certain ! halo of sentiment, it does not thereby | detract at all from the personal cour. snd heroism of the old citizen who, in defending his own property, | oeenpied relatively the same position ins the United States Government in resisting by for its property. John Burns wes a { type of the farmers of Massachusetts who lined the fences along the road of the retreating British soldiers who bad marched to Lexington to disperse the rebels, The world Mle force American whole worships courage, and old John Burns will ever remain inated with tl inseparably AME) heroism strated at Gettysburg, not sione C 3 ) grandly il- 1s Northern or Sonthern, Jas 3 Con val Decoration Day. smn oA I. tos An Old Song. ¢, which 13 al 1 ETRY, § It will be pul New Orleans nn —— Hunting the Hippopotamus, w Jae compared : said Mr “In th 2 On SCCUTACY . £ : ¥y oF in quick shoot: Y \ x te oon ige ofah bank, pro MY several feet x Fa 10) ars Ts vrs] WHICH 8 8CHO08 © above the surface of the water, In f thes ge the shal. vided the 1s a steady pot- r in the sun on ows, & little skill pre Neither a range of twenty dive yards, cise] ta fa Wind 18 i8AT. shot nt at a beast’ eve and GAY, In a 150 : well-defined snch ns mars x between a or shooting. When once xcared, how. ever, the conditions are changed, as hippos then become very ennning and take a great deal of cirenmventing, and | will test the sportsman’s patience as | well as the accuracy and quickness of his aim to the utmost. If they have wot beens much shot st or disturbed, they will show up pgein in a few min- tites alter the first shot.” —New York Sun, sss II 51 AHA His Rainwater Stolen. The larceny of rainwater in Arizona | has extenuating circumstances. This | observation has its origin in an inei- | dent of Churchill's addition, Some time after midnight A. H. Barber was aroused from sleep by a noise outside his bedroom window. Mr. Barber was not concerned; he could think of nothing unlocked, the stealing of which would impoverish him or enrich the thief, and he tarned sleepily in bed. Suddenly he thought of some ten gallons of rainwater whieh had been laboriously diverted from the roof and coaxed into a tub and washboiler during Sunday's rain, He sprang from his bed, blamed himself for his carelessness in leaving the rainwater exposed and rushed out into the darkness, The tub and boiler were gong Mr, Darber dashed into the house, aud in about a second re. turned with a revolver and took a shot at the wide world, breathing a fervent er that avenging fate would pw oh tha bullet jute + y An ot o pT 3 Sg 2 ea Republican. SE HME MADE HIS CARFARE, A New York Broker's Profitable Trip to Philadelphia. The ways of the Sew York broker are artful and his eyes sre always open for an opportunity. When he has a chances to “make a good bargain’’ he doesn’t let the grass grow under his foet, The head of a steamship company recently said to a Wall street broker: “1 wish I co get a certain pier of rit 3 5 FAViiGge And so, | da it's wey hy don't you go and get the broker, § ¥ ween t $ of a business,’ 3 ine ilere 14 ives and His Fateful Number. which prodi another suc display 10% in the his. A very remarkable feat man’s career will interest those who old Pathagorean doe that our fates are ruled by num- The fateful number of Ives ight. first broke the cighth command. ment at 18. He consummated just eight deals, and at the close of the eighth was arrested and imprisoned in 1888. He finished the eightn year of his career at exactly 8 o'clock on April IR. Of course, any assumed relation of our fates to numbers is fanciful and superstitious, though some of the an- clients believed it. Dut as no man can know what his fateful number is until too late to recover from disaster, the safest way is to go easy, be hon. est, earn what one gets and exercise proper economy with it. —{ Boston Globe. ire in this 4 i incline to the trine bers, Was ¢ He Ee A City's Subterranean Suburb. psn, It gives an impressive idea what subterranoan London is fast becom. ing to learn that on emerging from the river the new City and Waterloo line will, Im its passage up Queen Victoria street, run for part of the way underneath the low level main sewer, which in its turn runs alo beneath the District Undergroun Railway. So that at this point in the city we shall have first a busy main thoroughfare, below that a steam railway, then a huge metropolitan sewer, then an electric railway, reaching its terminus at a depth of about sixty-three feet below the strocts, and here It will communi- eate with another line—the Central London—which will lie at a depth of eighty fect.—(London Daily News.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers