DPRING WITH DEWY FINGERS COLD, RETURNS TO DECK THEIR HALLOWED MOULD.
Doo gleep the brabe, who sink to rest
By all their country’s wishes. blest:
{When Spring, with vey fingers cold,
Beturns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sioecter sod
Than Fancy’
By faery bands their knell ig rung,
By formg ungeen their birge is sung:
There Bonour comes, a pilgrim grap,
To bless the turf that wraps their clap;
And Freedom shall awhile vepair
To dwell a weeping hermit there,
72)
EE
$ Vl Hay,
g feet habe eber trod.
«—W. Collins
F they only hadnt
given me such a
name I could do
something in the
world,” cried Mark,
savagely, as he
looked across the
alkali plain, stretch-
fngr avray fron the
outskirts of the big
Arizona town.
“But i's Mark
Twain and the
. Shining Mark and
LRN 3 * Marked Copy, and
e x gle > Make your Mark
till I'm sick of the whole business.
name, like Thomas or John or Paul,
I should like to know?”
An old man just then went across
Mark’s line of vision, stooping over
badly and walking very feebly. He
had something in his hand and Mark,
looking closely at him, said, “There
he goes, with his old tomato can full
of water, to the graveyard to water
“that iscrubby ‘leetle plant’ he set out
4m his son's grave, thinkin’ ‘twill
_ bloom out ’Morial Day. Well, ’twont,
#4 ean tell him that much and it just
makes me wild, thinkin’ I can’t get
that tombstun fur his son he’s been
hopin’ to get fur so many years,” and
Mark threw his hands downward with
. a wild swing.
“Hello, Mark,” and first one, and
then another and still another boy
rounded up from the thicket of bristly
cactus.
“Say, we've caught some beauties
for the school teacher to sent East:
horns as big as a bull's; just see here.”
Boy number one carefully lifted the
cover of a basket the tintiest crack
and Mark, looking in, saw three
horned toads huddled together.
“Big as a bull's horns,” cried Mark,
contemptuously, “all in a horn, I guess.
Why, if you're goin’ to give those |
toads to Miss Brown to send to Massa-
chusetts as. specimens. of what Arizona
3 EE A fT ZF
LIF FA, G5
THE STORY ABOUT ~ &
MARKS MORIAL DAY codiiven.
{ making money,
| town
‘Why couldn’t I have had a common |
TNs I~
ap
ey
can do in the way of raisin’ critters,
why, you'd better fly de coop. They'll
just laugh at us out here.”
Boy number two, this was Marshall
Turpin, nodded his head in token that
he agreed with Mark.
“Besides, if you'd go to work and
ketch some of these fellers and try
to sell ‘em to train folss when the
east bound comes in, 'stead o’ scoopin’
’em in fur echoolmarms, an’ the like,
’twold Le time better spent.”
The boys looked at Mark in aston-
ishment, for he was generally the
schoolmarm’s devoted slave, and as for
as the boys around
generally did, selling bunches
of wild flowers to tourists, who passed
through the town, or engaging in any
other such little scheme for becoming
millionaires, Mark was simply “not in
it?
“What do you want us to do with
the money, eh, Mark? Ping-pong set,
broncho, canoe? Out with it! What
game are you.-up to?”
“W-e-11,” began Mark, rather reluc-
tantly, and casting a side glance at his
chums. “It’s just that I want to get
a tombstone.” - ’
“A what?’ shouted the boys. “Feel
bad, do you, Mark? Feel like’s if you
was goin’ to die? Has Kittie gone
back on you again this week?”
“Quit foolin’—will yer?’ exclaimed
Mark, angrily. “No, it’s nothin’ of the
kind. You know ’'Morial Day, Dec'ra-’
tion Day is comin’ along fast; and poor
old Daddy Western won’t see another;
taint likely, and every year he’s been
“Yes, that’s it,” said Mark, briefly.
“Well, poor old Daddy’s mine petered
out, went to nothin’, and he never got
his house, nor the ‘mauserleeyum’
neither. He's pottered around and
done odd carpenterin’ jobs ever since,
so my father says.”
“Say,” said the boy from the East,
“if you couldn’t get the tombstone in
time, I mean, couldn’t raise the money
to buy the thing in time, why, 1 saw
something to-day that, I bet, could be
bought cheap, and do for a kind of
mark for the grave.”
“But I don’t want anything that can
be bought cheap for Daddy's son's
grave,” cried Mark angrily. “He's no
pauper, is Daddy, “if he is old and
hasn’t any money.”
Roland hung his head and looked so
mortified that Mark generously said,
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelin’s,
Roland. Come along and show us
what this is.”
Roland went ahead to a shop, where
a pile of old iron was standing around,
and pointed to a square of open work
fron, which, evidently, had been used
as a gate for a fence around a grave.
There was wrought into this rusty old
thing a figure of a lob-sided angel,
stooping over something at one side.
Mark surveyed this with fine scorn.
“What's the woman doin’, pumpin’ ?”
“Woman? Pumping? Why, it’s an
angel, putting a garland of laurel
around an urn.”
“Looks mignty like a pump, the urn,
and the garland for the handle,” an-
swered Mark, contemptuously. '
“Well, you see,” szid Roland, *“I
thought we might paint the thing up
with white enamel paint, and make
it look kind o’ ciean and new, and gild
the urn, and make some letters for
his name across it; it would do to
stand up over the grave, Decoration
Day.”
“Daddy’d better go to heaven and
leave that trained magpie of his to
shout out Billy's name whenever
strangers went through the graveyard.
so as folks will know whose grave it
is, 'stead of leavin’ such a thing as
that,” pointing contemptuously to the
iron gate, “to mark the spot.”
There was dead silence for a mo-
ment; then Mark said, “Come along,
all of you, and let's go see old Daddy.”
The boys strolled along till they
came to a small cabin; then went in
upon the old man, with Jack, the mag-
pie, sitting on his wrist,
“Howdy, boys?” said Daddy. “Come
in. Jack an’ me’s been havin’ a talk.”
The boys sat down, Mark on the half
barrel chair old Daddy had made a
long time ago, and Roland and Tim
on a wooden bench.
“I've been out to the graveyard to
water that little plant I sent back to
house, and some one was singing in
there. Oh! What a beautiful voice!
Mark listened till the last, rich note
dled away. “Jimminy!” he said, “1
guess up there,” and he looked up to
the stars in the Arizona sky, “they
don’t have any better voice than that.”
He didn’t know that one of the most
famous singers in the world was being
entertained up in the clubhouse that
night. A crowd of gentlemen was
pressing around the singer, when the
president came forward, and said:
“I’ve just heard a real Arizona story,
and I'm going to tell it to you all”
and he bega nto talk about Daddy and
Mark and the boys, and the tombstone,
just as the stone cutter had told him
of them when he passed the marble
yard that afternoon, for it was he that
had run across Mark out on the Alkali
plain that day.
The singer listened with wide open
eyes. He tapped the ground restlessly
with one foot. Then, when the story
was finished, he snatched up his hat,
and ran out of the clubhouse. The
club men followed him, bewildered.
The singer stationed himself on the
street corner and began to sing. Not
any “high-flown thing,” as Mark said
afterward, but something that took
you “right straight up.” And as the
crowd gathered and the singer went
on
singing “The Land of the l.eal,”
there was such stillness in the stréet
“you might a-heard a pin drop,” said
Mark again. Then the men began to
rub their coat sleeves across their eyes,
and still the singer went on singing,
and this time it was a grand old
church hymn that almost every one
had heard before, and as the rich,
full voice rolled it out the crowd could
hardly keep still, and then the singer
dropped into the “Star-Spangled Ban-
ner” for a Decoration Eve song. The
people hegan to cheer and the song
went ringing far and wide.
Then the singer took off his hat and
went among the crowd, langhing and
holding out his polished “beaver.”
The president of the club did“the same,
and there on the street corner he told
the story of Daddy, while the nickels,
dimes and quarters poured into the
the old place fur to set out on Billy's
hat.
A flag and a fading wreath
Are out in the falling rain;
Maj’ nevar be ‘resh again.
—n
MAY THIRTIETH.
AAAAAAAAAAAA
But the memory wreath of the brave,
The stars and the withered buds, Is green in the Nat'on’s heart
ARG CIB Ti Pt oN IN
AANA
We twine of immortal Lay
Zand rever shall fade away.
—N. A. M. Roe.
The Parade Ground at Fert (Runroe.
The Guns and Howitzers in the Foreground Were Captured From the
British at Yorktown.
grave. I must get him a stun for it,
hopin’ he could see a stone raised over
his boy, who died a soldier, or soon |
after the war was over, from gettin’ |
wounded in one of the battles: Bull!
Run, I think they called it. There he
comes now, out from the graveyard
I must,” almost shouted the old man.
The boys turned into the yard, na
picking their way among the marble
crosses, lambs and angels, they found
the boss stone cutter standing before |
with his old tomoto can watering pot;
been in, tryin’ to fix up the grave a
bit, cut grass, and water that scraggy
plant he had sent on from York State |
last week from the old place he used!
to live in—‘rosemary,’ I think he called |
it—the plant, I mean.” . |
“What was his son?’ asked the boy
from the East, “a general?”
“No,” said Mark.
“Colonel 7?
“Nol?
“Captain, eh?”
“No, No!” answered Mark, pettishly, |
“now you've got the whole lot in.
most, haven't rou? He, Daddy West-
ern’s son, was—was—a high private,
that’s what he was,” And Mark winked !
to his Western chums. i
“How did Daddy happen to get out |
here?” said he, at last.
“Why, you see, after the war, his |
|
|
|
|
|
son" was so sick from his bein’ in
prison, that he and his father took |
a v'yage to California, and there.
‘Billy’ died.: Daddy staved in ’Frisco
a while, an’ then fell in with a party |
goin’ to Arizona, prospectin’. He came
along; struck it rich in the mines, went
back to "Frisco, an’ brought on Billy’s
body, 'cause he was goin’ to stay in
Arizona, and build a fine house, an’
mauws—oh, what do you call it? a
marble house for rich people who die
an’ don’t get buried?’ |
“Mausoleum,” hinted the boy from |
. | the East, delighted to show that he did
{| know something.
hat?
| t
a granite shaft with. a polished slab.
The stone cutter looked up and said:
“Poor oid.Dady Western! He's been
here again to look at stonés for Billy's
grave. This is the one he wants.
He's only got six dollars toward it.”
“And how much is it worth?” |
“A hundred dollars, but 1 haven't |
told daddy so.”
“Oh, my!” exclaimed Mark, quickly. |
He scanned his chums’ faces. “Boys, |
do you think—dare we do it? Do you
think we could raise all that money?
We won't let Daddy know how much
we pay for it; let him think it's worth |
ten dollars, and we pay the rest. We
must raise the money for the stone]
and let Daddy see it set up over his |
boy’s grave before he dies!” |
The tombstone fund grew, but it still |
| lacked a big slice to be complete, and |
Decoration Day was but two days off.
Daddy had been toll by the stone cutter
that he could have the stone for ten |
dollars. He was straining every nerve
to earn it. His old face grew thinner
and thinner.
Mark was half crazy about him, and |
still the fund “ked thirty-five dollars |
of the one hu d. |
Night came and the big town was
|
|
| full of light, and everything was gay
| and bright, so it seemed to poor Mark,
as he .went forlornly through- the
street.
this late hour raise money for
i! what
Daddy’s tombstone. {
ing a
was
new club-
He was
pas
|
|
Oh! if he could only even :
i
in them, he went down on his knees
| ger stand up beside the fine, new tomb-
| saluted and waved their caps and old
“And Daddy shall see the tombstone
over his boy’s grave to-morrow,” said
the singer, “and I'll be there to see it
all.”
Early next morning there was a glad
procession, which went up to Daddy’s |
cabin. The singer, the club president,
Mark, Roland and Tim.
,‘Come out, Daddy,” cried Mark.
“Look here. There goes Billy's tomb-
stone in that wagon.
The old man tottered to the door,
and looked bewilderingly around him.
He saw the stone in the wagon,
“Billy got a stone at last, did ye
say? It can’t be true. 1 couldnt
raise but &7 for it, and the price was to
be $10.” Daddy’s eyes searched
Mark's. Then -reading the glad news
in a heap and prayed.
How the flag fluttered over that new
tombstone over Billy’s grave that
morning, and how beautiful and green
was the laurel wreath Mark had laid
reverently on it! And how grandly,
when the veterans came to strew
flowers on the low mound, did the sin-
stone and sing
Banner” till the
“The - Star-Spangled
men cheered and
Daddy, raising his happy face to
heavens, said: “Now I can die happy,
for Billy ’s got his tombstone at last.”
—Helen Chase, in Detroit Free Press.
For Decoration Day.
Why should she lay upon his grave a rose,
2 simple rose made sweeter by her
tears— ; ;
A fragile bloom to fade ere morning smile,
Unlike that flower of more exquisite grees,
Her love, that blossoms there through al
the years? a
3 —R. K. Munkittrick.
Soldier’s Rest! Thy Warfare O’er.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, ;
3 » sleep that knows not breaking;
Jr ttiefields no more, °
Ddyvs of danger, nights of waking,
In our isle’s enchanted hall .
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in siumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more; :
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
No rude sound shall reach thine ea,
Armor’s clang, or war-steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here ;
Mustering elan, or squadron tramping.
Yet the lark’s shrill tife may come
At the daybreak from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum,
Booming from the sedgy shallow,
Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards or warders challenge here;
Here’s no war-steed’s neigh and champing,
S ing clans or squadrons stamping.
thetiire NE wat.
The Phantom Army.
And I saw a phantom army come, i
With never a sound of fife or drum
But keeping step to a mufiled hum
Of wailing lamentation; .
The martyred heroes of Malvern Hill,
Of Gettysburg and Chancellorsville—
The men whose wasted bodies fill
The patriot graves of the Nation.
And there came the unknown dead, the
men
Who. died ir. fever swamp and fen,
The slowly starved of prison pen;
And, marching beside the others,
Came the dusky martyrs of Pillow’s fight,
With litnbs enfranchised and bearing
rig :
I thought—'twas the pale moonlight—
They looked as white as their brothers.
| And so all night marched the Nation's
dead,
With never a banner above them spread,
No sign save the bare, uncovered head
Of their silent, grim Reviewer;
With never an arch but the vaulted sky,
With not a flower save those which lie
On distant graves, for love could buy
No gift that was purer or truer.
So all night long moved the strange array;
So all night long, till the break of day,
I watched for one who ‘had pased away
With a reverent awe and wonder; ,
Till a blue cap waved in the lengthening
ine, : :
And I knew that one who was kin of mine
Had come, and I spoke—iund, lo! that sign
Vakened me from my slumber.
—Bret Harte.
“THE CALL TO ARMS.”
[The Soldiers’ Monument at Troy.]
Ghe Funny
Jide of
oS . .
Life
i fe.
INGENUITY.
The man who writes the novel
Has ancient plots, you’ll find.
The advertisement writer
Has the most inventive mind. -
—Washington Star.
CAUSE FOR JOY.
He—"“Have you noticed how happy
Miss Elderleigh looks this evening? I
wonder if she is engaged?”
She—*No, it isn’t that. She has quit
wearing tight shoes.”"—Chicago News.
MA WAS ALARMED.
Ma—*Did you hear that awful rack-
et in the parlor just then?” :
Pa—*“Yes; I wonder what it was?”
Ma—“I don’t know, but I hope it
wasn’t Clara breaking off her engage-
ment with young Gotrox.”—Chicago
News.
REMARKABLE WOMAN,
Diggs—“My wife is a genius.”
Biggs—“Indeed!”
Diggs—“That’s what. Why, she can
actually sharpen a lead pencil without
making it appear as if she shad used
her teeth instead of a knife.”—Chica-
g0 News.
FOR ETERNITY.
Barlow—“Crandish does not believe
in divorce. He says when a man mar-
ries it is for eternity.”
Hillrox—“Yes, I suppose it does
seem like eternity in Crandish’s case.
I've heard something about Mrs. C.”—
Boston Transcript.
ENTIRELY DIFFERENT.
Billings—“I hear you have been op-
erating on the stock market.”
Lambkin—“Mistake, all a mistake.
I thought I was operating on the mar-
ket, but it turned out that some of the
fellows there were operating on me.”
—Boston Transcript,
SIGN OF A GOOD STORY.
Nellie—“T’ll bet that
story Fred was telling as we came
n>
Kate— What makes you think so?”
Nellie—“Didn’t you notice how he
dropped his voice as we hove in
sight?’—Boston Transcript.
HE DID THE REST.
Magistrate—“There was no reason
for you to assault this man and break
his camera because he tried to take a
snapshot of you. What else did he
do?” a
Prisoner—“Nothing, Your Honor. He
pressed the button and I did the rest.”
EXASPERATING DOCILITY.
“He seems to be such a lamblike
man.”
“Yes, I always feel sheepish after
I’ve been in his presence a little while
for not knocking him down, just as a
protest against his confounded aggres-
sive humility.”—Chicago Record-Her-
ald.
NO NECESSITY FOR HUSTLING.
“What's become of that hustling pase
-tor of yours who used to be so remark-
ably active?”
“He’s still here.”
“I haven't seen his name in the pa-
pers for many months. He's quit the
ministry, hasn’t he?”
“No. He’s getting $5000 a year.”
i. ‘AN INAPT REMARK.
‘Ascum—“Why on earth did you
speak of Swindell as a ‘bad egg’ be-
fore Barnes? Don’t you realize how
sensitive Barnes might be?”
O’Bull—‘Why, is Barnes related to
Swindell 2?
Ascum—‘“Certainly not, but Barnes
is an actor.”—Philadelphia Press,
‘A YOUNG NATURALIST.
‘A mother was trying to impress on:
her four-year-old son the importance
of going to bed early. >
“You know,” she began, “the little
chickens always go to bed with the
sun.”
go along, too.”—Philadeiphia Ledger.
F * HARD TO TIND.
“My son, what does this mean? Have
you lost your situation again?”
“Out again, dad. But it’s all your
fault. You didn’t get me the right
kind of job.”
“Well, what kind of job do you
want?”
“I want to work at a job where there
isn’t any work to work at.”’—Puck.
MISLEADING.
Towne—“De Riter has had a novel
published, I hear.” L :
Browne— “Yes, it's called ‘Pygmal-
ion,” and it’s having quite a sale in Chi-
cago.”
Towne—“Indeed ?”’
Browne—*Yes. I believe the people
there were misled by the first sylla-
ble. They thought the book had some-
thing to do with their great home in-
dustry.—Philadelphia Press,
HE WOULDN'T DO.
Railroad Superintendent—“Yes, I
have decided to open a bureau of in-
formation for the accommodation of
passengers who wish to know ahout
trains, and I am looking for a good
chap to rum it.”
Applicant—"“Well, sir, I have been a
railroad ticket agent for a gcod many
Years.”
Superintendent—‘Then
You won't
do. I want a man who is accustomed
to giving information.”—New York
Weekly.
was a good ’
“Yes, mama, but the big hen always
a
oh
TE
One 18
prominer
waist.
mend it
troduced
ally wor
but qua
desirable
It will
to the |
removing
the finge
posed to
many d
merciful
Do yo
preathe
When wi
through
ing the
and the
by the
The hal
breathin
surface,
tance th
you hav
establish
this man
able thi:
all poin
All the
healthy
in a gre
for the 1
which t
tact » wit
of the
vital pre
of furna
air is ¢
other el
to life, tl
upon th
manner
TT
Perhaj
wives hb
the last
wrestle
Most wo
They we
men do
closely.
usually
been allc
have be
pendenc
ing, witl
difficulti
women |
midst o
spasmod
of this
minds a
an’s- fin:
quence
careful,
hinderec
bands,
methods
to asser
husband
them ev
of self ¢
ation th
into the
worse
Harper's
WON
From
granted
Territor,
velopme
and pet
of the
the Gra
two da;
gambler
ally fied
the ind:
have ne
perience
seen a
honest
these.”
Howe w
summon
peatedly
as to t
the first
ming, S
Edward
ernor as
voices ¢
been the
guilty |
adds:
of juror:
release
gime of
not onl;
without
virtues,
but go
seen.”
Attorn
in a pul
if wom
answer
find but
They sc
glance,
neither
pleading
from ti
never es
tried by
Much
characte
ing the
‘Wyomirn
its mos
women