The Irish standard., 1904-07-16
An Unnamed
Grave
By MRS. GEORGE E. PICKETT
tcopyright, 1904, by Daily Story Pub. Coz

I 1 TIE lonely grave GOWN IN the SOuLn.
| west corner was heaped over with
red roses and white lilies that rose in
q glowing, fragrant, rapturous mass of
concentrated fire and snow.
The girl who bent over it to place
one last white blossom on the glorious
pile seemed afar from the world by
her rapt devotion to the lone grave
Her fingers lowered in tender curves
over the flower through which she con-
veyed her last farewell to the unknown
dead as if unwilling to part from so
fair blossom even in response to the
call of sad and sacred duty.
Though rift in the parted branches
Of the evergreens that surrounded the
grave she could see the throng of pec-
pie bending over the mounds that dot
ted the hillside. The hedge of green
cry seemed to set her apart from them.
Hers was a little world wherein she
and the dead man dwelt alone. She
had never seen the soldier who had
gone to rest from the battle under the
green-sodded mound encircled by the
arbor vitae, yet she could not remem-
Der time when she had not put flow
ers each year over the unknown dead.
What a vivid CLEAN of light she was
among the graves.
| Through her childhood she had come
with her mother, who had saved the
most beautiful roses and lilies in the
garden to deck that grave when flower
day should come. Now she came alone,
more as memorial to her lost and
gone mother than in any fancied re-
| membrance of the dead soldier. Ev-
cry 30th of May they had thus decked
just remember there had been no pub
lie celebration of the day.
"It is the day he died." said her
mother once when she had gloried in
the beauty of the May that was dying
in supernatural light.
| "He was killed in battle?" she had
asked looking back at the grave where
a CLINT of sunlight drifting through the
trees fell across the rose and snow
piled above it. There was an instant's
pause and then the reply softly
spoken:
eyes, the hardest battle man ever
fought"
That was years ago and now the
whole nation had chosen the day of
this mans death as the time for re-
membering with outward observance
the heroic dead.
"1n sacred memory of soldier Of
the SOUTH" was the inscription on the
marble slab at the head. Nothing to
show to what southern hearts he had
been dear in the olden days of fire and
storm, nor what had been his rank III
that devoted army that had sealed its
faith with the blood red seal. "a SOL
der of the south" was all that she had
ever known Of him, and the fact that
he had been dear to her mother, as
Shown by her memory of him when
the day Of flowers came.
| There were other soldiers of the
south sleeping on that hillside at peace
with the soldiers of the north who
shared their spacious grounds. Rose
mont had been near the line in war
days and they who wore the gray and
they who wore the blue had come back
to their home to the beat Of mufled
drums and gone to rest side by side,
with never a vestige Of battle rage
burning in their still hearts.
Those other graves were abloom
with many flowers, but none were
snowy with the CLEAN Of lilies and
ablaze with the crimson fire of roses
as was that secluded place where the
nameless headstone marked the grave
of one unknown to the world.
why is not his name there?" she
had asked her mother on the first day
She could remember in her childhood
when she had stood beside the mound
and put glowing red rose at it's head
with little hand that was hidden BY
the great crimson blossom.
II think he would have wished it
So" was the reply in low tone that
left no room for further questioning.
She had never heard that name, but
she knew it had been craven in ten
der and sacred place in her mothers
heart and the inscription on the stone
was as a beautiful and wonderful name
to her,
AS she went out by the pathway
through the circle of green young
man, meeting her, took off his hat and
bowed, the sun striking gold sparkles
from his hair as he bent his uncover
ed head before her. A soft color swept
over her face as she returned his
greeting. They walked together be-
tween long lines of mounds with little
stones at their heads each with name
that belonged to the village records
and had a distinctive place in the vii
lage heart. Thus they went silently
until they came to a monument that
far overtopped all the other stones in
those consecrated grounds A man
to whose memory it had been erected
did not lie under it's shining white
Shaft. He was buried in a far-famed
field of the dead where the nations
most honored sons lay at rest.
They looked at the marble shaft
with its head lifted high against the
golden light. The name it bore was of
one who belonged to the world and to
history. He seemed far away in some
lofty region from which he sent no in
dividual appeal to their hearts. They
could talk in the shadow of that pile
of marble. Besides the graves of the
village dead wherein the glory of the
world never shone they must stand in
awed and loving silence.
Alan Goodwin looked from tho cold
white marble to the girl at his side.
my quest among the graves has a