Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1888-05-11

the graveyard that belongs to the
old meeting house Everybody that
used to 60 to meeting there (pointing
/ to the old house) is in there now
! pointing again towards the briars
and weeds), so there are no more
meetings"
| looked at the graveyard with
plying interest. 1t was nothing but
square patch of brambles and rank.
dark weeds inclosed by broken and
worm-esten fence aud surrounded by
the thick and silent wood. Nothing
could be more isolated from busy
life, more completely forgotten by
the busy world. No, not quite for.
gotten, for here was the brown-legged
boy, with his flag and bis flowers, his
whistle and song.
"But soldiers are not buried here3''
/ said.
Zone of them is, ;" the boy answered
with an accent of pride and an addi-
tional wave of his flag "It's his
grave that Misses Gilman is going to
strew with flowers, though be wasn't
any relative of hers ct all He
was captain, and be has marble
headstone. the only one in the whole
graveyard. His company put it up.
It's getting little old now, for he's
been dead nearly twenty.four years
died most fourteen years. before
was born" He ratified this off with
childlike eagerness, happy in being
the first to tell bit of something in.
teresting to another.
"Were you in the war;" he asked.
"Yes."
$50 was my grandfather. l have
the picture OF fight he was in. He
was killed too" This with q special
accent OF pride. 1t was something
to be killed evidently, in his opinion.
Riding close to the old fence look
ed over into the neglected place oi
the dead and saw the edge oil marble
headstone and beside it the dark folds
of a woman's gown.
"Come in aud see this soldiers
grave" said the boy glad of new
interest I hesitated. The occasion
seemed too sacred for intrusion of q
stranger; but he insisted so warmly
that I left my horse and followed him
into the graveyard. His simple, but
not undIgniied, introduction made
an apology to the lady unnecessary.
Misses Wilson," be said, gallantly
taking off his flower trimmed hat,
"this gentleman was in the war, and
I've asked him to help put the flow.
ers on Captain Rathbone's grave.
We We're on the ground of common
sympathy at once. This woman was
no longer young, but she was beau
tiful with the beauty of a spirit that
had long dwelt on calm heights. She
was of the past, scarcely seeming to
belong to the present at all. Her
soft black silk and it's laces, and even
her face, were of fashion not new.
She was an old school lady with the
gentle dignity and majesty of manner
that indicate the old.school training.
This is not my sons grave" she
said, "but that of his dearest friend,
and Pm the only one left here wh O
knew him or cares to lay flower on
the earth tina: covers him"
| bent to read the inscription on
the fast dimming headstone.
To the Memory
CAPTAIN WILBUR RATHBONE,
A true friend and brave soldier.
This stone is raised by Co. 9Th Regt.,
Vol. l, which he commanded.
The grave had been carefully tend
ed. Its rounded outlines and fresh,
closely trimmed sod made of it q
green island in a lake of disorder and
neglect. The pale old lady knelt
down and began to pick the flowers
from the basket and reverently lay
them upon the grave. The boy, big.
eyed and silent. came softy up and
planted his flag at its head
Wilbur Rathbone was my son y
closest friend" continued the old lady,
in soft. sweet voice. "They were
babies together, school mates, CON-
rades and friends. The home OF each
was as much the others as his own
They spent almost every hour of the
time together for twenty years. They
grew alike in looks and manners,
though they were totally unlike in
character. Even their names resem-
bled each other. My boy was called
Willis. He was rash, ,impetuous, quick
to anger and not easy to control. Will
bur was brave and gentle, given to
quiet ways and of few words. He
loved music better than merrymaking,
and dogs, horses and birds better
than the society of most persons. /
fancy | can still hear the piano speak.
ing under his fingers when sit child.
less in an almost empty house. And
when the quiet of evening comes l
sometimes close my eyes, blot out of
my memory q quarter of q century,
and hear the music from his violin Goat
over the hills His mother and faith
er, my good neighbors. lived over
tb1re in that house whose chimneys
you can just see from here" and she
pointed through break in the wood
They are long since dead, and lie
here bv the side of their son. They
were not members of the Society of
Friends that met in this little house,
but their parents had been, and when
they died there was, after all, no spot
of ground in which to bury them
more sacred than this, though it is
30 desolate-so very. very desolste.
But the boys! They were never
separated until few months before
the war broke out. My son grew
restless. and talked of going into the
world and doing great things, We
held him here, his father and I, fool
ish things that we were, feeling that
we could not leave him go; that to go
once meant really to go for ever
| You know that when birds once try