The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1916-05-25

were ranged in bowls, in case any sol.
der be forgotten. Should there be
any such, away raced Tom or John
ny, Will or Frank, or tomboy Nell, If
the boys had all followed the drum
corps, to supply the lack, glad 70 be of
use on this day Of days, and pleased
with the grateful Thank you" of the
recipient. One Memorial day, trag.
ic day that shall never forget" said
the lady of the letter, grandmother
promised that should help make I'm
Gle Henry's bouquet, an honor that
seldom fell to an eight-year-old. To
gether Aunt Emily and / constructed
the masterpiece, triumph in bouquet
building, for the climbing rose bloomed
early that year, and our scheme was
simple yellow and white. But Memo
rial day morning brought some child
ish ailment, and when Uncle Henry,
resplendent in his uniform as a cap
tain of volunteers, and carrying silk
flag just presented to the company,
rode up to the door for his flowers, he
found weeping small girl clutching
the bouquet and pushing away the
sticky balsam remedy that was grand.
mothers panacea for all aches.
"In an instant he was OF his horse
and down on his knees, spoon in hand,
coaxing me to obedience. In a frantic
attempt to be good Jared his elbow,
and the contents of the tablespoon
splashed down over his spotless uni
form and the shimmering red, white
and blue of the banner. In the gen.
eral confusion that followed, the white
and yellow pyramid got badly dam
aged, and all that l recall of the re-
mainder of that holiday is the quiet
haven Of a big four-poster in a raft
cred room, and a comforting grand
mother, who read me to sleep out of
her illustrated Bible.
Parades were personal affairs in
those days. Every other man in the
procession was friend, or at least
an acquaintance. You knew even the
distinguished gentlemen in the car
riages. In the first rode the squire
and the First church minister, escort
ing the orator of the day, Hon. Mr..
Brown, congressman Of the district.
Judge Smith and the school superin.
tendent, with the editor Of the Daily
News, came next, and SO on down the
line of lesser notabilities. Cheers were
loudest when the crippled, age-worn
veterans rode by, in the village band
wagon, followed by Grand Army men
who were still able-bodied. A goodly
array they presented in that decade.
More than half have gone since.
Every man who could hobble held
his place in the line till the cemetery
was reached. There was thrill in
every blue coat, in each bit of tarn.
ished metal, q story in the empty
sleeve, q tale of adventure in hating
step and twisted back. Bull Run and
Charlottesville, Gettysburg and An,
tietam, were near ut hand when the
thin blue columns passed US by. At
the end of the company, the last man
of all in the procession, one girl knew,
there came inevitably German Charlie,
general utility man in the newspaper
Office, so bent and crippled by wounds
and rheumatic pains that his treacher.
GUS legs could not be relied on to keep
time to the martial strains of the band.
But he plodded along, eyes shining
under his service hat brim, posy in
his button-hole, loyal veteran Of the
Union army he had enlisted in when
a boyish immigrant, proud to the core
of his uniform and his right to wear it.
German Charlie has gone, and so
have most of the men who marched
with him; and so, alas, has some OF
the spirit they kept alive.