The mirror. (Stillwater, Minn.) 1894-1925, 1904-05-26
A Memorial Day
Renaissance.

N INETEEN years ago, lacking q
M few days, sat on the balcony
of one of the largest hotels in a
city of eastern Pennsylvania,
intently watching lthe Memorial Day
parade pass by. 1t was headed by a
brass band playing Marching Through
Georgia" Then, if remember right
ly, came a squad of mounted police;
then some two or three dozen men,
bers of the city fire department; next
about eighteen or twenty carriages,
wagons, vans, carts, and other vehicles,
all gaily decorated, and well stocked
with signs, large and small, calling the
attention of the multitude of gaping
onlookers to the peculiar virtues of
DIR. Killem Qulck's Great Medical Dis
eevery; Mr.. Below Costs Mammoth
Clothing Emporium; DR.. Twister's
Dental Parlors, etc.; and, 1 distinctly
remember, the last one of the lot con-
tanned a very large and life-like paint
ing, representing six ladies of various
ages, nationallties and colors, in the
act of consuming large glasses of Mr..
Hop Malt's Famous Book Beer. Then
another brass band poured forth its
earsplitting notes with vigor and
earnestness that might have achieved
wonders if directed into less noisy, and
more useful channels; then members
of various societies, on foot; following
them came eight boys riding donkeys-
the boys or the donkeys represented
something, but have forgotten what.
One of the boys, l remember, was
dressed like bakers apprentice, and
in basket, strapped to the donkey's
back directly in front of the boy, was a
huge fruit cake, from which the
youngster cut slice after slice, and
which he devoured to his own and the
onlookers' great satisfaction. believe
he was the happiest boy: in the city
that day, but have my doubts about
his physical condition and the state of
his feelings on the following day.
Even a good thing can be overdone,
and that boy was more than OVERRIDING
it.
Following the boys andithe don
keys came about forty or fifty of the
leading business men OF the city-men
who had responsibilities resting on
them, and they looked as if their sbur-
dens were rather heavy. Next four or
five large wagons filed with flowers
and floral designs, the tributes of the
living to the departed defenders of our
country. These were followed by two
hundred, or more, veterans ofithe Civil
War. Some of the veterans were in
the prime of life, marching with forms
erect, and steps elastic; others were
past their prime-"age had begun to
blanch their Drows," and their strength
and vitality were on the wane; still
others were stoop-shouldered, wrinkled,
grey headed, enfeebled by old age, and,
young as was, it occurred to me that
many of that noble little band who
were on that day marching to the GEM
etery to decorate the graves of COM
rades who had already succum bed to
the stroke of the grim reaper, Death,
would on the following Memorial Day
be the recipients of like honors, and in
year, perhaps, the younger comrades
would be dropping tears on the graves
of men who on that day marched with
them, keeping step to the music of the
fife, intent on paying their respects to
comrades who perhaps had year be-
fore gratefully remembered other COM
rades who had preceded them to the
grave. And at this distant date, now
that myself am past the meridian of
life, doubt not that the thought up
permost in the minds of many of the
veterans on that day was, "When will
it be my turn?"
The Grim Reaper never rests. The
Destroyer is forever at work. His
methods of selecting victims are whim-
steal: he may pass you by on the battle
field when you are expecting him, and
strike you down at the banquet when
you do not even suspect his presence.
1t is well for us to remember this.
Made proper use of, this knowledge