The farmer and mechanic. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 18??-19??, 1902-03-04

crat whose ideal Of a luxurious life was
attained in his office. He handed CASTOR
his mail with a giggle.
What's the matter with you, SAM
"Nuthin' tall. l just thought I'd tell
you that 1 like her handwrite," he
laughed.
"How dare you study the handwriting
on my letters, Sir!'
.'NVhat's the use of being postmaster?
There amt no big money in it. l just
take pride in the Office said Sam ge-
nially. That's a new one, amt it,
Castor looked at the letter incredul-
oCsly. 1t was a new One,-a big square
envelope with a seal on the back of it
addressed to him in the most delicate
feminine hand, anG postmarked 'Indepen-
dence."
Great Scott, this is interesting" he
cried, breaking the seal.
When the postmaster saw he was going
to open it right there in the office, he
stepped around IN front and looking over
his shoulder said:
"What is it, Charlie?'
It's an invitation from the Ladies
Memorial Association to deliver the Me-
mortal day grafton at Independence the
10th of May. That's great. No money in it,
but scores of pretty girls big speech,
congratulations the lion of the hour!
Don't you wish you were really a man
of brains, SAM
NO, no. In married. 1t would be a
waste now
Castor accepted the invitation with
fe verish haste. He had it all ready to
put in the office for the return mail to
independence. But he was ashamed to
appear in such a hurry. SO he held the let
ter over until the next day.
On the 10th of May independence was
in gala robes. The long rows of beauti-
full houses with dark blue grass lawns
on which giant oaks spread their coz.
arms, were gay with bunting, and with
flowers, flowers everywhere! Every urchin
on the street and every man. woman
and child wore or carried flowers.
At ten o'clock the procession was
formed. What a sight, 1t stretched from
the hotel down the shaded pavements a
mile toward the cemetery, two long rows
Of beautiful girls holding great bouquets
of flowers. This long double line of
beauty and sweetness opened, and escor-
ted gravely by the Oldest General of the
Confederacy present, Castor walked
through this mile of smiling girls aud
flowers. Behind him tramped the vetcr-
ans, some with one arm, some with
wooden legs
When they passed through. the double
line closed, and two and two the hundreds
of girls carried their flowers in solemn
procession. Here was the throbbing soul
OF the South. keeping fresh the love of
her heroic dead!
And then to the stone altar marked
ITO the Unknown Dead" they came and
heaped up roses. Then q group of sad
faced women dressed in black, with quaint
little bonnets wrcathing their brows like
nuns, went silently over to the National
cemetery across the way and each taking
a basket, walked past the long lines Of
tho dead their boys had fought and
dropped a single rose on every soldiers
grave. They were women whose boys
were buried in strange lands in lonely
unmarked trenches. They were doing now
what they hoped some Woman's hand
would do for their lost heroes.
CASTOR had never seen this ceremony
so lavishIy and beautifully performed
before. He was overwhelmed with emo
ton. His fathers straight soldierly fig
ire rose before him in imagination, and
with him all the silent hosts that now
bivouacked with the dead. His soul was
melted with the infinite pathos and pity
of it all.
He had intended to say some SHARP
e~pigranumatlc things that would cut the
chronic moss-backs that cling to the
platforms on such occasions. But some
how when he began they were melted out
of his speech. He spoke with a tender
ness and reverence that stilled the crowd
in a moment like low music.
His tribute to the dead was a poem
of rhythmic words and exalted thoughts
Not a line of bombaSt or a superiuous
repetition. The occasion was to him an
less on his words. His voice was never
strained but penetrated and thrilled with
thought packed until it burst into the
flame of speech. He felt with conscious
power his mastery of his audience. He
was surprised at his own mood of extra
ordinary tenderness as he felt (his being
penetrated and softened) his soul vibrate
to that Oldest religion of the ages. the
Worship of the dead,-as old as sorrow
and as everlasting as death! He was for
the moment clay in the hands Of some
mightier spirit above him.
He had spoken perhaps fifteen minutes
when suddenly, straight in front of him,
he looked into the face of the One Wo-
man of all his dreams!
There she sat as still as death her beau
tiful face tense with breathless interest,
her futed red lips parted as if half in
wonder half in joy over some strange
! revelation, and her great blue eyes swim