The Press., 1908-02-05
THE GRASS FENCE.
Thrilling Incident of the Battle of
 Bunker Hill.

Thrilling Incident of the Battle O, Bunker Hill.
 The battle of Bunker Hill gave the occasion for many deeds of valor. and since that day we hold a list of names illuminated in our memory. One of these names belongs to the Knight of Derryfield. Do you remember who he was, and can you recall the song of his bravery? Read of it once more and have impressed again on your heart the implicit obedience and perfect courage of the New Hampshire farm CTS and their captain, John Moor,
 When the forty-fve men of the little town of Derryfield, N. H., left their homes to fight for the great cause each knew that no men were ever led by a braver man than their beloved Captain Moor. His courage had inspired many of them in the French and Indian war. So, eagerly, when the alarm came in 1795 they marched with him and his drummer boy son to Cambridge, where he was entered a captain In Stark's regiment
 And now comes the battle of Bunker Hill. Behind fence, piled thick with grass. Captain Moor's company lay as still as death. An order had come from Colonel Stark that not a shot was to be fired until the British passed a stake that was driven a short distance away. With perfect confidence in themselves and their captain, the farmers waited waited motionless while that beauti- ful, death dealing pageant of British warriors swept grandly toward them. With the coolness and wonderful pre-. cision of dress parade the old world came to meet the new, the grenadiers and light infantry marching in single file twelve feet apart, the artillery ad- vancing more slowly and laundering out an insolent defiance to the con. ceited little rebels, while on each side five battalions formed an oblique line to the fence breastworks. The very flower of the English army, full blos- somed in learned maneuvers, resplen. dent in shining arms and waving ban ners, advanced to meet little group of men untrained in tactics of warfare, only half armed, clad in homespun, hiding behind breastwork of grass.
 The dead line was crossed. Bang! Bang! Bang! The little rebels were awake at last. Now, not the stake but a line of fallen bodies marked the dead line. Thunder and lightning belched forth from that breastwork. A fire. intense, steady, killing, and the brave march of the Britishers was checked. A slight recoil, and the ofl- cers, dashing up, again urged the line forward. Not for one moment did the grass fence cease its voice of fire and shot. One by one the brave grenadiers and their dashing, gallant officers fell to the earth. The ranks broke and the proud host fled before the meager handful of New Hampshire men. Ah, if we could only have had grass breast works and Captain John Moor all along the American line!-C. F. Harri son in Atlanta Constitution.
 How the Artists Model "Happens."
 Most of our models are not made; of breeding and intelligence. want to make a little money for some special occasion. Some acquaintance recog nizes that they have distinction and style and gives them the address of an Illustrator who happens to need just such person. They pose once In this way. more or less from necessity. find they can make an independent living in congenial manner, and so come again. In consequence the women who pose for livelihood in New York are exceedingly nice as class. The prev alent idea that the words artists model" necessarily mean a highly paid, greatly petted and utterly de. prayed individual is ridiculous In the extreme. A first class artists model in New York city receives s day for six hours hard work. photographic model has of course q different propo- sition. She has shorter hours and higher rates. From Being a Model" by Charles r Peters. in Bohemian.
 One Use For 1t.
 q notice that you writers use Q great deal of tobacco. Does it stimu- late your brains?"
 "I don't know. but it makes you for