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Show OUR CELEBRATION. The birds have been practicing glee3, but today They gave up their concert and flew away; And the locusts and grasshoppers. noisy and shrill, Could not make themselves heard. and so they kept still; And the blustering wind went off in a huff. Since nobody noticed how loud he could puff. And the clouds rolled up from the west in a row, For they thought that the noise in the world below Was the voice of the thunder to call them together, r And so they began to make showery weather. And the Man in the Moon, being greatly great-ly perplexed To know whatever would happen next. Wished for hands or feet, as well as a face, To cover his ears up, or run from his place. And the baby stars opened their bright little eyes. And stared down below with the greatest great-est surprise To see how the rockets s!;ot up in the sky But they never guessed out What it all was about. That we were just keeping the Fourth of July. Peresis Gardiner. LOUIE'S .FOURTH WITH ARIZONY." "CLD I It was nearly noon when "oM Arizony," coming down fr m his camp for a bucket of milk, foiled a lonesoma little boy standinr guard on the d ,lr- Step while mamma was res tin 3 within. "An' so you ain't at the p.i-nie?" he said. How's that? Your iua iva.-,n t "AN SO YOU AIN'T AT PICNIC .'" feelln right good, an' yn; staved at home with her so's y ur p.i , oiiui take everybody else to the pi.r.ic. Well, that's rough! I didn't c t 'o po myself, my-self, but sure's I'm a oid i!-r-i rier from Arizony I'm a-th:ni;ir.' r ;;ht now old Arizona, as he p'Tt Louis on his of celebratin' this Fuu.th i: ! au ru:i acrost anybody that ii : ui an' lieip!" "Ob, if mamma wis w I " Louis began, and just ti;rr. n? nin . bearing them talking, i-nfd the door; and she said s-he f !: . vpt ?o much better, and he 1v.11 1 ;o ;!-'-'ic'p Mr. Arizona celebrate Ar.i Ii z:' i the bucket of milk, jj.e f. ic.! me z'.ao with cakes and pies. "Well, I reckon thi !r. -s n'l th3 ridey-go-rounds at the pi;..;:!" sni.l old Arizona, as he put Lc;:ic 02 hii burro tied at the gar.!tn' srn e. And Louie thought so. a? the kurro carried him, ea.-y as a cr.tdie. all the way to old where the big spruce A i'i.: a rn. ElLCii :: i lil.e a "THAT BEATS ANYTHING AT THE PICNIC." tent over the pack-saddles and picks and pans and blankets. "Now, this is a ginuwine picnic," said old Arizona, as he set out a whole camp-kettle of cold yenison. "Pitch right in." ':u u 'v ft- P Mm 4 ( 7 rt 1 JI 8 1 i B limmmm bW iP'ifeK And Louie politely "pitched" in" to the venison, and old Arizona as politely polite-ly "pitched in" to the milk and pies. Then for the first time Louie thought of it, and jumped right up with, "Oh, say, Mr. Arizona, how are we going to celebrate 'thotit any firecrackers?" "Ha! ha! haw!" laughed old Arizona. Ari-zona. "As if i ain't got the biggest an' the best you ever see! Ginuwine cannot ones. Why, one of my giant crackers'll go off louder than all the crackers at the picnic put together! Looky here! " He reached to a root behind him, and showed Louie a bundle of the queerest looking "crackers." He laid one on a boulder and lit a fuse; and didn't Louie jump at the noise when it cracked that boulder! "Now we'll have some water-works," said old Arizona. And he dropped one with a lighted fuse in the creek by the spruce, and it went off with a splutter that sent the water to the spruce's top. "And now we must have a real big cannon one," he said; and he put three whole crackers in a hole in a dead Cottonwood. Cot-tonwood. And in a minute that tough oid tree flew everywhere in splinters, while a roar louder than thunder went rolling through the hills. "I reckon that beats anything at the p:enic, said o!d Arizona. And Louie said that it beat the picnic pic-nic all to pieces. J. S. Oakling. MAKING AN AMERICAN AT HOME. FLAG Many women have an idea that the American flag is a difficult one to make, whereas it is easy and simple. It is a pity that the flag used in or on the house should not be oftener than ! it is the work of the mother, wife or I .It,,!,.,,. TVirt Krtcrf m o c f I 1 1 t nca ' llt2i,lllt:i. i lie uiot ill uii.1 iai .u for a flag ' bunting, as it is the only material which withstands wind and weather. The field is the only really troublesome trouble-some part, for the reason that it is a difTcult task to cut out and stitch forty-five five-pointed stars and secure regularity. But these fields may be purchased ready made at small cost. The proper dimensions for flags over one foot in size are as follows: Eight and a half by fourteen inches, twelve by twenty-two, seventeen and a half by twenty-seven and a half, twenty-eight and a half by forty-three, thirty-five by fifty-eight; three feet by five and four by seven. In making a flag three feet in width and five in length, seven strips of red bunting, six of white, and a field of blue are required. Three of the red stripes and three of the white should be five feet in length by three inches in width. Four of the red stripes and three of the white stripes should be thirty-four inches in length by three in width. These thirteen 6tripes should be stitched together with French seams, the shorter stripes being be-ing at the upper right-hand corner, a red stripe being at both top and bottom. bot-tom. The field of blue bunting should be twenty-six inches in length and twenty-one in width. On it should be stitched forty-five five-pointed stars of white iir.cn put on in alternate rows of eight and seven stars each, eight being in the top row. The field then completed com-pleted forms the upper left-hand corner cor-ner of the flag and is stitched securely tr the stripes. In these measurements for the stripes three inches has been allowed for seams, but no allowance h.T3 been made for the tiny seam v here the stripes are joined to the f 3 d. nor for the hem. The outer edge cf the flag is then hemmed, and the inside edge faced with a piece of strong canvas for the admission of the flag-pole. AN EPISODE OF THE FOURTH. Oh. yes. we had a glorious time, of course. We always do. We didn't be-: be-: gin firing till 7 o'cIock, partly because j it wakes people up, and partly because i it is so silly to use up all your crack-! crack-! ei s before breakfast, as some boys do, and have none for the rest of the day, j and have everyone to think you a nui sance beside. We had a good lot of crackers, and my horn was almost the biggest size there is, though papa did say it was a I p ty I didn't get a fog-horn. I am not j sure whether he was in earnest, how ever; he isn t always. We had no accidents; that is, nothing noth-ing to speak of. Polly burned two or three of her fingers a little, but we made that all right with soda and a j rag, and she never cried a bit: but there was an episode, and it happened to me. This was the way it happened. I wanted both my hands to use, and I had a piece of punk in one of them, and there was no place to lay it down, and everybody else's hands were full, too, so I well, I Just put It Into my pocket for a minute. It was lighted, but I didn't think it would do any harm just for a minute, i forgot that I had a whole bunch of firecrackers in that same pocket. Suddenly I heard some one cry out. "Tom is afire!" and then there came a puff of smoke in my face, and then pop! snap! bang! crack! fizz! whizz! crackelty-bang! the crackers began to go off in my pocket! Everybody was yelling, and just for a minute I didn'f know what to do. I ran, but the crackers ran with me. "I FELT SOMETHING HOT AGAINST MY LEG." and the faster I went, the harder they popped. Then all at once I saw what to do, and I pulled off my jacket and threw it on the grass. Luckily it was my jacket, and not my trouser-pocket! Hilly took it up and shook out the crackers, and then he turned out the pocket, but there wasn't much left to turn. It was just a black rag, and it dropped into little pieces. Then there was a big piece that looked as if it had once been white, and that, they said, was my handkerchief, but I should never have known it. Well, of course they all laughed at me a good deal, but I didn't mind much, for it really was very funny, I suppose; but my advice to other boys is: Don't carry crackers in your pock- -v, . a r-X, BILLY TOOK IT UP AND SHOOK OUT THE CRACKERS. et, and if you do, don't put a lighted slow-match in with them! Laura E. Richards. A STRANGE LODGEROOM. Nothing Like It Frohably Elsewhere In the World. The sixteenth session of the Masonic Grand Lodge of Arizona was unique In the history of latter-day Masonry, according ac-cording to a correspondent of Leslie's Weekly. Its mystic rites and ceremonies ceremo-nies were performed in a temple of great beauty and magnificent dimensions, dimen-sions, in the building of which the sound of hammer and trowel was never heard. Two hundred feet below the surface of the earth, at the end of a half-mile of windings through narrow tunils into the very heart of a great limestone and porphry mountain, was the wonderful temple a cavern of large dimensions and exquisitely adorned by stalactites beyond the power pow-er of man to imitate. Two years ago some dust-begrimed miners in the upper up-per levels of the Copper Queen mine, at Bisbee, A. T., drifting their way into in-to the dark depths of earth, came suddenly sud-denly upon this cavern. In the light of their tallow dips it seemed like a vi sion into earth's inferno. There were tne many-nued carbonized lime drip- 1 pings of centuries, within a limitless j rift that was shadowy and weird. The i cave has since been seen by people j from many parts of the world, and is ; said to be one of the most beautiful subterranean caverns ye discovered, j For the Masons the winding passages ! were brilliantly illuminated by elec- j tricity, and within the main chamber i itself, which seats a thousand persons, there were innumerable lamps and an electric "G" and other symbols. Back Bay Flippancy. Blfteen "I was sorry to see you on your wheel last Sunday. Evidently you haven't much respect for the Sabbath.' Sab-bath.' Donder "You'd better talk; you were playing golf all day long." Blltzen "Yes, but golf, you know, is a boley game." Boston Transcript. A A A' r. r -y f o o Yt SWEETHEART Perhaps the morning never dawned on a sadder scene than on July 4th, '63, when over the blood-sodden field of Gettysburg the light began to break. Could all the history of the wounded and dead have been written never before be-fore had been such a chronicle of romance ro-mance and tragedy, but it was not; only now and then a leaf, as it were, has been written and preserved thi3 one by an army nurse. My hands and skirts were dabbed in blood; my heart was faint within me. For long hours I had fasted and worked; work-ed; Into my ears had been poured the most tender of last messages; the most heart-breaking tales. "You ought to rest a little," said the rough but kindly voice of an old surgeon; sur-geon; "only, if you can stand up a minute longer there is a case over here I want you to see. In silence I followed him to a small church build ing that had been turned into an hospital. hos-pital. Every pew was a bed of pain; blood dripped from between the altar rails; even the aisles were partially blocked with the wrecks of humanity. It Is in a scene like this that one appreciates ap-preciates the "other side" of war. The surgeon led me straight to the singer's stand and pointed to a young man in shoulder straps, whose blonde curls were matted and whose beautiful blue eyes, beautiful even in their pain, roved restlessly over the walls aid ceiling. He was lying flat on his back with only a prayer book for a pillow. I saw at a glance that an arm wa3 gone. The flng-ers of the other hand worked nervou3y. "I can't make out whether he if in his right mind or not," the surgeon said in an undertone. "Maybe you eaa tell." I kneeled and laid my hand on his brow. He seemed not to have noticed me before. Now he turned a start'ied, wondering gaze on me. His lips moved, but at first I could not catch the' words. By and by I made out: "I want Dollis. Please bring Dollie here." Again: "I will give all I have to the one who will bring me Dollie." 'Who is Dollie?" I asked, gently, still smoothing his forehead. He looked up with almost a smile in his eyes, and asked naively: "Don't you know Dollie?" "I am afraid I don't," I said, and I smiled a little, too. "Dollie is my sweetheart," he answered an-swered a moment later. His face was very grave now. "And, oh, how she cried when I came away! Poor Dollie!" Dol-lie!" A few moments I busied myself In trying to make him more comfortable; then he broke out again: "If only I could see her just a few minutes it would be heaven on earth. Maybe she would come If she knew I am sick. I am sick, ain't I?" "What ails me? I feel so queer and sore all over and " "There!" he suddenly interrupted himself "if you look quick you will see Dollie's head up there when thf light shines on that lamp. Look! WThy, how natural her curls, and she smiles at me out of the corners of her eyes a trick of hers. Dear Dollie! She's gone now. I dreamed of her last night; dreamed that her arms were about my neck and that she was kiss ing me and calling me her soldier boy." 'Was she willing for you to go to war?" I asked. Like the doctor, I was not sure of his mental condition. "Yes, willing in a way. She felt "I WANT DOLLJE." that It was right for me to go, and right is law with Dollie," I went away then, but an hour later, having bribed a good woman over the to let me have a pillow her last one I returned to his side, it seemed to me that he had failed during my asence and the troubled look in his eyes was intensified. waen I had put the pillow under hi fiead and hathed his face, he said. gratefully: "How Tery kind you are! Your touch 'minds me of mother's. Then I knew he was watching me, but he did not speak for a long time,' and when he did it was not to me: "Father in heaven, let me see Dollie once more; please send her to me." I could not stand either the words er the pathos In the voice. I mu3t help answer that prayer if possible. By and by I said: "Could you tell me where to send for Hollie? Maybe she would come to you if it is not too far, and I should tell her how much you need her." It was a hazardous thing to say. We did not often dare make such suggestions, sugges-tions, for, of course, few comparatively, comparative-ly, could come, and it did not do to raise false hope3. However, I felt confident that he could not live many hours, and his pleadings touched me inexpressibly, even amid the scene and sights surrounding. At the question he flashed me such a look. "Will you?" That was all, but oh, the intensity of it! "Write to S. B. Sterling.Sterling's Corners, Pennsylvania." I was not in the least doubt of his sanity at the moment, but before I could trace the words in my notebook, his gaze was once more on the ceiling, ceil-ing, and he was babbling of mother and Dollie. Reluctantly I brought myself to search his pockets, finding, strange to say, only a notebook with the name in gilt letters on the cover: "Donald Dee." My letter was brief, only this: "Donald Dee is dangerously wounded and calls ceaselessly for Dollie." It wa3 a memorable Fourth of July, one never to be forgotten by the poor fellows suffering through the hot, interminable in-terminable hours, or the busy surgeons and nurses, who never paused in their work of moistening hot lips, bathing throbbing brows, washing out gaping wounds, receiving last messages, "writing "writ-ing letters home;" in short, doing what they could when everything was to do. As soon as possible we had the young captain removed to more comfortable com-fortable quarters. His wounds were doing fairly well, but the surgeon said the shock had been too much for his nervous system; L might or might not live. "Everything, I should say, depends de-pends upon the nursing," he added, looking meaningly at me. "I will do my best for him till Dol- "YOU DOLLIE?" lie comes," I made answer, but my heart misgave me; I did not think she would come, and if she did well, the future was veiled, as futures are apt to be. Day by day he wasted away. Al though I prepared him fairly decent messes he scarcely ate at all; and though a real bedstead had been loaned loan-ed him, with a real though somewhat dilapidated straw mattress on it, he seldom slpt: Without being moody, fce was not talkative. He seemed to be silently consumed by some inward longing. "He is dying to see his sweetheart poor boy!" was what the surgeon said, and what we all thought. It was the evening of the fourth day after I had sent my message to Sterling Corners. Sitting by his couch, fanning him it was intensely hot I was startled to hear him say in a hurried whisper: "You don't think she will get here in time?" To give myself time to frame an answer, an-swer, I feigned not to understand. "I am afraid I will not hold out till Dollie gets here. I dreamed this afternoon after-noon that her mother was here by the bed, and she said, 'You won't have to wait much longer, Donald.' Her mother is dead, you know,, and I think It means that I am soon to go." Assuming a hopefulness that I was far from feeling I answered: "I do not so interpret your dream. I take it that you will not have long .to lie here and wait before Dollie comes." He caught hopefully at the suggestion sugges-tion and seemed much better all night. Early the next morning I went to see a poor boy whose end was unmistakably unmistak-ably near and who called me "mother." I was detained some time and as my return to my headquarters necessitated my passing where Capt. Dee was quartered, quar-tered, I thought to serve him his breakfast and then take an hour or two of rest.. The surgeon met me, saying: "Dollie has come and is waiting out there in the kitchen. See her and then break the news to him. He is very weak this morning." My heart beat fast; at last I would see Dollie with her arms about, her lever's neck. I could imagine Just the way he would look at her; he said so much with his eyes. I paused on the threshold of the kitchen; she was not there no one but the cook, a strange man and a little lit-tle child were in the room. Dolli must have grown impatient and sought him out; the shock might kill him. Hurriedly I turned away, but as I did so the child sprang forward and caught my hand, exclaiming vehement ly: "Dollie wanti her papa! ff lift In my surprise I Jerked my han4 away and fairly staggered backwards. "You Dollie ?" It was all I could say. "Of course I'm Dollie," she answered in an injured tone, adding pjteously: "I want my papa, and he wants me." The strarger, an elderly gentleman, now interposed by handing me my own letter and saying: "1 am S. B. Sterling, Donald Dee'r stepfather. and this is little Dollie, his daughter." "Certainly yes, I see," I stammered, and I did, though as yet dimly; it was so entirely different from what I had expected. And then I went to Capt. Dee. He seemed restless and feverish, and I gave myself time by wetting a cloth and placing it on his head. By and by I said: "If Dollie should come today, could you bear the joy of it?" "I'd like to try the experiment," and a ghost of a smile flitted over his wan features. "Joy is not as apt to be fatal as either hope deferred or rebel bullets, and I know something of both of these." Then I said: "Well, she is here." I can no more describe the unutterable unutter-able look of gladness that lighted his face than I can describe the rapture of the blest. "Thank God and you!" A few moments later Dollie was covering his face and hands with kisses and he was hugging her with his one arm and calling her "sweetheart" over and over again. For the time the grandfather and I stood apart and let them enjoy themselves, them-selves, the former telling me meanwhile mean-while of the unusual affection existing exist-ing between them, of how the young wife had died while Dollie was a babe and of the almost constant prayer of fift TIIEY HUGGED AND KISSED. EACH OTHER. the child for her father's safety since he entered the army. She was a lovely child, with her father's blonde curls and fine blue eyes. Donald Dee did not die, and a few days later he was taken home to the mother love and care awaiting him there. I am now grandmother to Dollie's children, for you must know Donald and I celebrated our next Fourth in a far more pleasing manner than the one a year before, and Dollie has long been my sweetheart as well as his. A DASH OF POWDER. It Is at the Temple, Xot on the Cheek. An affectation of the moment- reminine artectation, or course is s dash of powder on the hair just above one temple. The pompadour style of coiffure offers a particularly good field for exploit, and there is no doubt that it has a chic effect all of its own. Very young women are most given to it The middle-aged, whose locks are al ready whitening at the temples, have little use for it, though as a matter of diplomacy they now and then turn it to account. The dash of powder, so patently artificial, distracts attention from the naturally silver threads. But it is the young that delight in it, just as they delight in all-black costumes and matronly millinery and other staid and sober things that hint of age and dignity, and which they will be only too glad to forswear so soon as they have reached a staid and sober age. The fashion of all-over powdered hair, by the way, is decidedly imminent. There are rumors that it will be the accepted thing for full dress next season. sea-son. And, meanwhile, s a shadow of that coming event we have the fashion fash-ion of powdering a fractional bit of the hair. SAFE FROM BURGLARS. Perhaps there is not so much danger dan-ger from the intrusions of burglars in this country as there is abroad and that may be the reason why there are not here such wonderful vaults built for the safekeeping of valuables. The most remarkable strong room is that in which the valuables of the Bank of England are stored. It is one of the largest in the world. The foundation, sixty-six feet below the street level, Is a bed of concrete twenty feet thick. Above this is a lake seven feet deep, and above that thick plates of iron, specially manufactured to resist both skill and force, says the New York Telegraph. Anyone attempting an entrance en-trance from above would find a similar simi-lar bed of concrete, a similar lake and similar plates of iron. The walls are impenetrable, while the doors are one foot thick, weigh four tons each and are made absolutely undrillable. Mr. W. W. Astor's valuables art stored in the ofiice of the Pall Mall Gazette in one of the most remarkable strong rooms ever erected. It is steel throughout and. covered with half an inch of solid concrete. The door, also of solid steel, weighs over two tons and has the most' remarkable lock which ingenuity of Chubb has ever constructed. The whole cost a fabulous fabu-lous sum, but this is not surprising when we are told, that Mr. Astor locks I up about $40,000,000 worth of valuables and money in this room. ,The Imperial Ottoman bank, Con stantinople, had a marvelous steel fort , built for it some years' ago. It is built upon a waterbearing fock and on the top of the rock foundation is a four-foot four-foot bed of concrete. The height is over thirty-six feet, length forty-six feet and width twenty-four feet. The steel walls are surrounded by masonry . and concrete sax feet thick throughout, while the whole comprises nearly thirty thir-ty tons of steeL A Certain Auditor. "Why does Miss S. address all her verses to the moon?" "Well, I suppose It is because the man up there is the only one who can't run away." What some public speakers need is better terminal facilities. FOR BOYS AND GIRLS I iSOME COOD STORIES FOR OUR JUNIOR READERS. Flora's Decoration Day, a Pretty Story That lias a Moral The Blossom Army Song Miss Wick's Snowball Bash Anecdotes and Incidents. lillow. Blow, Thou Winter Wind. Blow, blow, thou winter wlnd- Thou are not so unkind As man's ingratitude; IThy tooth is not so keen. Because thou are not seen. Although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly; Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly; Then, heigh ho! the holly! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky Thou dost not bite so high As benefits forgot; Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remembered not. Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly; Most friendship Is feigning, most loving mere folly; Then heigh ho! the holly! This life is most jolly! Shakespeare. Flora's Decoration Day. "Everybody is carrying flowers to the soldiers' graves," said Flora. "Mrs. Ware has broken off most all the lilacs' on her big bush. Mr. Peters has his ladder out under the tall, white lilac tree, and he's picking the flowers as fast as he can. Mrs. Peters wouldn't let one of them be picked till Decoration Decora-tion tlay. The Willard boys went by just now with their arms full of apple-blooms, apple-blooms, and mamma has given away all our daffodils and tulips. I've got a basketful of violets, and I mean to carry them down to old Mrs. Hawthorne. Haw-thorne. She is always lonesome, she says, on Decoration day. Last year mother sent me down there with a nice dinner for her. She sat in her rocking-chair by the window, so that she could get a good view of the procession. pro-cession. It always passes by there, you know. "Her soldier's sword was on the table close by her, and hi3 picture hung on the wall rig: t where she could see it plain. I'm going la decorate deco-rate the sword and picture, because Mrs. Hawthorne's soldier's grave is 'way down in Tennessee, and she can't ever go to it." So Flora took her basket of violets and ran down the street to the big, dilapidated old house where the soldier's sol-dier's widow lived. "I've come to decorate your soldier's picture and sword," she said. "See," and she held out the lovely violets. "Bless your heart," replied Mrs. Hawthorne. "How did you ever think of that?" "Well, I thought about him," pointing point-ing to the picture, 'and about you, because you can't carry flowers to his grave. And there's so many to decorate deco-rate our soldiers' graves, and only me to bring you violets." While they talked, the violet wreath for the picture grew very fast. Soon it was done and hung in lovely loop-ings loop-ings around the brave, noble face. Then another wreath was woven and wound around the sword. "Tell me again about your soldier," pleaded Folra, when the decorations were finished. "There Isn't much to tell," said the lady, "only that he" and she looked at the picture, "couldn't stay at home when Mr. Lincoln kept calling for men. And I told him we would try to get along without him for a little while. And he kissed me and the children chil-dren and went away, and " "Never came back, ' murmured Flora. Flo-ra. "But, dear Mrs. Hawthorne, I think you ought to be decorated because be-cause you told him you would get along without him, an! encouraged him, you know." Then Flora made little knots of the dear blue blossoms and pinned them on Mrs. Hawthorne's gown. "Bless you for a dear, weet, comforting com-forting darling," said the soldier's widow, clasping the child in her arms and kissing her. "You have done me a world of good.' Tts Slow Progress. They tell of an absent-minded professor pro-fessor in a college town who is so wrapped up in his studies as to pay little attention to what Is going on about him. Meeting a friend one day on the street, he said to him: "This deplorable war with Spain is dragging along interminably, is it not?" "War with Spain!" replied the other. "Why, professor, you surely know it ended months ago?" "Is it possible? I had not heard of it." "Where in the world did you get the impression that the war was still in progress?" "From the magazines," rejoined the professor, relapsing into his customary absent-mindedness. Miss Wick's Snowball-Bash. Miss Wick had a snowball-bush whose bio ;oms always came to the point of perfection upon Memorial day. From early morning until twilight, when the snowballs were in bloom, year after year, Miss Wick had teeen bothered with a train of children walking walk-ing up her front path and asking for the flowers. She had usually given them because she thought she ought, but it had been sparingly and not too willingly, for that snowball-bush in bloom was the apple of her eye. Thi3 year, however, she decided not to distribute dis-tribute her flowers. So she painted a board and hung it on her front gatepost: gate-post: "No snowballs to spare." Then she settled down to undis turbed possession. The morning of Memorial day passed by, the afternoon set in, and Miss Wick began to feel restless for some one to ask her for a snowball. It was then that Bobby Sweet poked his rosy face in at her front door and said: Mis3 Wick, we've only got dandelions and violets for Uncle Gordon's grave, "cause you can't spare us any snowballs, snow-balls, but we've got a lot Don't you want to come out and see them?" Miss Wick looked at him sharply, but there was no guile in his good, sunny little face. Uncle Gordon was an old soldier who had died in the village during the winter, beloved of every child in it. Miss Wick came out to the gate and looked at the sorry collection of drooping wild flowers the loving, childish hands had gathered. "The sod on Uncle Gordon's grave hasn't had time to sprout any flowers, so these will do this year," said Willie Lee simply. He looked from the sign to Miss Wick, supposing, since she had no snowballs to spare them, she had other, better uses for them. "They won't do," said Miss Wick, with a lump in her throat. "There's my snowball-bush. Come in, all of yon, and pick big bunches for Uncle j Gordon. I'll put on my bonnet and go up with you myself." Gently, although quickly, the children chil-dren piclred every blossom, for the appreciated the kindness that allowed them all that beauty, and showed it by not marring the bush whose snowy bunclres tney hoped would be given to them every year. When their hands were filled, there stood Miss Wick. She had a small silt flag in her hand, the only thing wanted to complete their decoration. As the sun set that night, on Uncle Gordon's grave lay a thick, deep coverlet cov-erlet of snowy bloom, and over it floated the American flag. Miss WicK had Invited company to tea, five lively boys, and Bobby Sweet chopped up the signboard to help boil the kettle for their supper. LILLIAN L. PRICE. What He Saved. "You take a man that's got real gumption, and it'll come to the front, no matter what he's undergoing," remarked re-marked John Low, of the Hullby Fire company, as he unwound a muffler from his neck and prepared for a belated be-lated breakfast. "Now there's Ned Stone," he went on hurriedly, waving his hand to deprecate dep-recate any possible interruption from his helpmate. "I went over there this morning just to see how the ruins were, and I declare, they're complete! Job Saunders was there, and we walked around, seeing how complete they are. "When you think that even all the clothes that Myra had put out on the line yesterday went, and that within two hours' time there wasn't se much as a spool of thread left in the Stone family, it seems as if Ned had reason to feel discouraged. "They'd laid in a good stock of pork and beef and so on, but every mite of It was spoiled. I said to Job that for all Ned's thrifty ways, I guessed when he came home from Renting last night and found he hadn't any home, he saw there was no use trying to make the best of such a Job. "I hadn't more than got the words out of my mouth before I saw Ned coming across the meadow with a big hauling-hook on Greenough's wheelbarrow. wheel-barrow. He smiled at us Just as cheerful, cheer-ful, and said he: " 'Glad to see you, boys! Last night I couldn't seem to sense anything, but I said to Myra this morning that as the stuff in the cellar would make excellent excel-lent grease when 'twas tried out, I might as well come over and hook up some of the pork to give me a kind of an appetite for breakfast.' "Job and I left him standing there, hooking up pork and so on out of the barrels, apparently just as easy in his mind as he was yesterday morning. And I reckon if there's anybody in the neighborhood runs out of frying stuff within the next six months, Myra Stone will be able to supply 'em at fire-proof rates." The ItloHSom Army. Why are the grave little pansy faces In long procession assembled here? And the violets' eyes bear dewy traces, In their sweet blue depths of a peaily tear? Why, in the happy, bright May weather. Have the lovely flowers all met together, to-gether, From the forest nooks and the wild-wood wild-wood places. And the spicy gardens far and nenr? The little children have borne them hither, The tender blue and the white and red. Into the quiet churchyard, whither They come to honor the nation's dead. The fair flower-army without number Gather to guard the soldier's slumber, slum-ber, Brightly to bloom and sweetly to wither Over the soldier-boy's grassy bed. E. H. T. Asked Too Much. Some time ago the faculty of a theological theo-logical seminary received a request for a minister, from a little Western parish. par-ish. Th'e salary offered was so meager and the virtues demanded were so many, that the heads of the theological professors shook with perplexity. One of them suggested writing that the only man they had ever known who might have filled the requirements of the parish was a late lamented clergyman who had accustomed himself him-self to living almost entirely upon spiritual food in one poor, stony parish par-ish but this suggestion was discarded. At last the most energetic member of the faculty composed a letter which he was deputized to copy and send off. He wrote as follows: "While we full;- understand that the lack of money In a parish does not lessen its desire to have a fine preacher and devoted pastor, we are compelled to say that we know of no man who can fill your requirements. Were we living in the days of the Apostle Paul, he would doubtless have preached for you but we ask you to bear in mind that he could have resorted to sail-making sail-making on week days In case of necessity." neces-sity." How Bardoa Writes. The trouble with women dramatists is that they are not emotional enough in their methods. There is Victorien Sardou to prove it. When Sardou is composing "he shouts every sentence aloud as he dashes it on the paper; aad raves, whines,' laughs, according to the emotions he depicts." The Sardou Sar-dou household must be a happy, joyful joy-ful place. In his chateau at Marly he has a huge chest containing ever so many little cardboard boxes, in each of which reposes an idea for a play. Mr. Sardou makes notes of incidents he sees or hears about or reads of in the papers and these notes he daily distributes dis-tributes among the cardboard boxes. In spring he has a sort of houseclean-ing, houseclean-ing, goes through these accumulations, chooses his idea for a play, and then sets to work at the raving, whining, shouting part of the program. Doubt less, if certain ladylike dramatists, whose plays have been considered too, mildly nice, had indulged in these vocal vo-cal exercises, they might have produced pro-duced somcciiing entirely different Mainly About People. A Long-Felt Want. Customer Have you any reversible megaphones? Salesman Reversible megahones? Customer Yes, the kind that you can use to make sounds inaudible. I want to buy one for the baby. Didn't Signify. 'Xook at this man," said the attof-j ney, pointing to the prisoner. "Does he look like one who would commit a crime?" "No," replied the witness.; "But neither do you." Philadelphia, North American, |