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About The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933 | View Entire Issue (May 26, 1899)
PLAY SOFTLY, BCf'S. I'm thinkia av the gooldcn bead I nestled to my breast; They're telliu me, "He'a bctther off," And sayiu', "God knows beat." But, oh, my heart ia breakiu' And the wild, wild waves at piny Where the gooldeu head la buried low, Close to Mauila Bay. I'm thlnkin' aw.tbo roguish eyes Of teuder Irish gmy; They're telliu' nie, "He'a betthcr off," And, "I'll thnnk Ood some day." But, oh, my heart Ih breakin' And the wild, wild wavea at piny And my baby's eyes all closed in death Close to Manila Bay. I'm thlnkin' av the little hands That's fastened 'round my heart; They're telliu' me, "Have courage, Sure life's to meet and part." But, oh, my heart is breakiu' And the wild, wild waves at play And my baby's hands so stiff and cold Close to Manila Buy. I'm thinkin' av the noble boy That kissed my tears away; They're telling me "How brave he was, And foremost In the fray!" But, oh,' my heart Is breakiu' And the wild, wild waves at piny And my baby and my soldier dead-t Close to Manila Bay. I'lny softly, boys, I know you will, Remembering he's away My boy, who proudly marched with ye On lust St. l'atriek's day. Play softly, boys, I know ye will, And the wild, wild waves at play And your comrade lying lonely, Close to Manila Bay. Play softly, boys, I know ye will, And hush this pain to rest Aud soothe the bitter agony That's tearin' at my breast. How cau ye march at nil, at all, And the wild, w,ild waves at play, And the boy who loved ye lyiu' cold Close to Manila Bay. Utlca Globe. 5 "MAN PROPOSES " I 66 0, mother, no; It Is useless; let us speak no more about ' It." My mother stretched her plump, small hands towards the fire, her An gers lavishly ornamented with rings, the coquetry of ladles In the '00s. "James," said she, with her most dig nified countenance, "you are as stub born as your father. He, too, objected to marriage, lie belonged to a club the poor man to the Bachelors' Club, and had seriously sworn to remain faithful to Its principles. But you, too, you will come to It" "But, then, In my father's day, young girls were brought up more simply; they aspired no higher than to play the piano prettily, write correctly, and make a graceful courtesy. Then, on leaving school, young girls came Into their families with enough Instruction to understand the pages of a romance and follow a conversation, not enough to humiliate their parents, aud often their husbands. They were then really 'home angels.' " "You exhaust my patience, and I can't bear such prejudices. 'Home angels,' Indeed! As If one must be a fool or a nonentity to be domestic. A bright woman could never be satisfied with the' role you assign her. If you had not wasted your time at college, you would not be so afraid of compari sons." "You are too severe " "Do you pretend that I.atln and Greek are Incompatible with modesty, sweetness and domestic qualities in a woman ?" "I am certain of It!" "Very well, then; we will speak no more of marriage. You will accompany me to Itesjnrdlns, for you will meet the twin sisters, and you may judge for yourself, since my experience Is not worth your own." Poor little mother! I knew she and her old friend, Mine. Desjardlns, had plotted together against my bachelor hood, but a girl with the degree of B. A. was enough to frighten me Into It more securely than ever. When we arrived at Mine. Desjardlns' she greeted me as "little James." This exclamation upset me. I expected her to ask me If I had brought my marbles along, but Instead of that she presented me to her daugh ters. The twin sisters resembled each other only In their dress. Mile. Martha was a very beautiful brunette a Greek goddess, with pure, straight features. Mile. Rose was less imposing, a sweet, pretty blonde. I was sure that In spite of her nineteen years she still played with dolls. She certainly was not the "learned young woman" my mother had proposed I should court; It must be the other one. There was dancing, and I offered my arm to Mile. Bose. After a waltz we chatted. She was witty and a little sharp, this moek-look-Ing little blonde. I started a conversa tion on commonplace subjects, and In a short spnee of time I had judged my companlou to bo a most charming lit tle woman, and It was with much re luctance I left her side. Bluo eyes, blue gauze, smiling lips, and a cloud of golden hair were all min gled In niy sleep that night. Why not the stately, statuesque, dark beauty my mother would so gladly welcome as a daughter? In another week I must again accom pany my mother to the weekly recep tion of Mme. Desjardlns, and then they would come to my mother's Friday "at home." Thus twice a week I saw her, and naturally fell In love deeper and deep er. "Dear little Kose," thought I, "true home angel. What a wife she will be to make home bright and happy for some one!" A strange fear came over tun when I recalled many Instances where Rose had appeared aaxtons t avoid me, perhaps out of consideration for her sister, or perhaps to save me from disappointment. Under the torture of this sudden sus pense I flew to my mother. "I must make a clean breast of It, mother dear; I love Rose, and you must help me to gain her." "O, James, Is not this somewhat sud den? And those convictions you have cherished " "Nonsense, mother; listen, this Is serious. You will admit that so sweet and unpretending a girl Is seldom found now. No more words, please, but do, like the good mother you are, go and ask Mine. Desjardlns for the hand of her daughter." "My dear child, I will teach you how to be consistent; I cannot go back on my word. I will have nothing to do with the arrangements of a marriage for you." She said all this with such an amused Rtnlle that I could not think her serious. I determined, however, to put an end to this susiKMise, aud soon found an op portunity. There was a concert and ball at the Desjardlns' beautiful country home. When bending over her mother's hand I saw but one being, aud heaven enter ed my soul as I caught the light of her eyes. It seemed but an Instant before we were outside, wandering about the grounds. The words were on my lips to speak, when some one called to us, "Come, La Marlanl Is going to sing!" What care'! I for Marlanl? But Hose hastened her steps, and I followed, hoping she would at least stay outside, As we nenred the house, she led the way to a corner of the veranda, and there the words and voice of the won derful singer reached our ears and en tered our hearts. My soul Is full of dreams, My soul is full of love. "Those words are mine, Rose, do you understand? Don't you see how I love you? You are the woman I have dream ed of since I have known how to dream. You are the companion I have longed for, Rose; could you not love me?" In a low, sad voice, she murmured: "My friend, I am not the companion you have dreamed of. Too often you have described me, your Ideal woman. You love me because you think me sim ple, as young girls should be and you think because you have sometimes seen me attending to household duties that I would make a good domestic wife, but you will love me no more when you are undeceived. When you know " Her voice had been llrra until now, and though her words puz zled me and pained me I became aware of the sorrow In her voice a sorrow which meant more than sympathy. "Rose, In the name of heaven, what Is It?" She mastered herself In a moment. "How often have you cruelly told me you would never marry a college grad uatea blijeBtocklng, as you called her, and yet yon ought to have known your mother knows " The fool I had been! And how I wished I could fall right there on my knees to ask her pardon. And yet how could I have suspected that so much feminine grace could be united to a ripe and mature Intellect? "O, Rose, speak to me. Speak In Latin, in Greek, If you will. Only say you forgive mo and will love me." The Princess. Increase in German Trade. A remarkable proof of the expansion of German trade Is furnished by the traffic returns of the Suez Oam.l. Twenty years ago the German share of the canal traffic was 1 per cent of the total touuage. It Is now 11 per cent., a large proportion of the trade being with British possessions. Another curious fact In connection with the canal Is that the largest vessels pass ing through are German. As long ago as 1800 Germany took the lead In this respect. The steamer Fried rich der Grosse, of 10,000 tons, went through in that year, paying dues amounting to 72,000 francs. Several German steam ers of the same size are mentioned In subsequent canal reports, and at the present moment others are being built for the regular service In China find Japan. German owners paid 8,000,000 francs In canal dues In 1H07. Longest Flight of a Cannon Shot. The longest distance ever covered by a cannon shot It said to be fifteen miles, but that probably was several miles within the possible limit, according to Captain E. L. Zallnskl, the retired anhy officer, who ranks among the highest authorities In the world on munitions of war. Ou the point of possible rnnge Captain Zallnskl says: "Under exist ing conditions and with the guns, pow der and projectiles available, I believe It possible to fire a shot to a distance of eighteen miles. The distance will be greater when a powder Is produced that will exert a uniform pressure on the gun throughout the course of the projectile from breach to muzzle." Use for Volcano Dust, Volcanic dust carried by the wind from the mountains of I'uy In Au vurgne enriches the soil of Limagne with phosphoric acid and potash. Ac cording to M. Nlvols, Inspector Gen eral of Mines In France, It Is owing to this natural fertilizer that the soil Is so rich. A field at Gerzat Clermont- Ferrand, has yielded a fine crop of hemp 18 years running without any manure. Asbestos. Asbestos Is found In nearly all Darts of the globe, but there Is probably no product of Inorganic nature about which there Is so much popular mys tery. The principal claim for this re markable product is that It cannot be consumed by fire. A man feels that he Is vindicated In his claim that he Is a good father every time the baby cries to come to bun. THE SILENT MARCH. NOT with the clnsh of the siiberi, not with the roll (if the drains Or the cheers that greet the hero when hum from Hie iniltle lie come. Not to the . mud of the bugle, mellow and clear aud sweet, Do they pass on the homeward march with never returning feet, But Into the dim, deep stillness, where nev ermore atrlfe may come, With never a footfall founding, the fuldlera are marching home. Side by side, the line unbroken, as 'twas la the years ago, When they went with flying bannora to meet the ranks of the foe. These were the youthful heroea who fought for the nation then, These who march to ailent music, fcarrcd and gray, like ghosts of men. For them no bayoneta flashing in the tide of the noonday sun,' For them the eeholess slloaee, long flncc were their battles woo. Now are the batteries silent that breathed their murderous luvnth, That laid like gruln of the harvest the long, dark swath of death. Gone la the smoke of the battle that hung o'er the far-drawn line Till the sky was hid at noonday and the sun forgot to shine. And where the tide of carnage surged over the trodden plain No whisper cornea to grass or flower of all its crimson slain. There were tears and hours of longing for those who come no more, For the voices hushed to alienee and the footstep on the floor. In thoae far days of battle, thoae days of bitterest strfte, When a man for his eountry'a glory tet no price upon his life, Hut guarded that nation's honor down to his latest breath, The soldier brave who knew no irbc, parleyed not with death. And ever since the wartime, when love and home were sweet, Have the soldiers Joined the ailent march, with never reluming feet, Out from the door of the cottage, from pal ace of wealth, tbey.came, And the path led on in silence, the way win ever the same. And still the silent army la marching away,, away. And the last recruit will Join the ranks and he mustered In some day. -Buffulo New. They called it Decoration day in a little village some twenty yours ago. It was one of the great days of the year. The village itself was all green and white. The houses were white, with green blinds, and white fences inclosed the ample yards. The green branches of majestic trees met over the long, white roadways. The stores, with their greeu, batten shutters, the flagpole in "the square," the town hall, with the hitching posts about it, were all white. Aud ou the hill stood the white church. In this hill church, the services of Dec oration day were always held. The people who looked down on the village from "the ridge" could see the white steeple with its four little spires rising out of the dense green. It was a landmark. The church bell was sweet, clear and far-reaching. Iu the rear of the church were the long, low sheds for the horses and carriages. From each side a little cemetery Btrctehed away; the "old cemetery" on itw It-ft, with time-worn epitaphs on gray head stones, where the white-haired men aud women walked; the "new cemetery" on the right, with white monuments and flower-bordered plots, where children lov ed to piny. Soldiers lay sleeping in both. Up lu the high belfry-tower are little wooden monuments used only on Decora tion day upon the soldiers' graves. Kuch year they are trimmed with flowers and evergreens, and for that one day placed at the head of the graves. Knch has up on it in black letters the name of a sol dier. These are brought down to be fresh ly ornamented the day before Decoration day. Certain of these little monuments are placed unquestioningly aside, Boiue tinies with a whispered word of those who would trim them. A widow takes one of these, bearing her husband's name. Two belong to her; but her son's she leaves, and glances about the vestibule. Miss Hannah, with sweet, sad face, goes to her and takes the other one. The two women go out together to the side porch, from which, they can look across to the spot, under shading trees, where the two men lie. Others follow them, till nil those monuments set nside have been claimed, aud a little apart from the gossip on the porch group of sad-faced women sit in silence. Each twines the evergreens upon the little monument before her with ten der, stumbling linger. The uame upon it her eyes cannot rem!, tor the tears that blind her, but it is written on her heart, sud on the "Roll of Our Honored Dead." For weeks before the 30th of May plans for the decoration were being made by the committee. The day before Decora tion day the congregation met. A vesti bule run across the front of the church from the side doors that opened out on to the small stone porches, aud there the men cast down great armfuls of fragrant evergreens. The little woodeu soldier monuments, painted white, were brought into the vestibule to be trimmed. The chatter and bustle began with the work. Little groups formed. Busy fingers soon lowered the heaps of pungent green. Then often some young man and maiden would slip out together to gather a new supply. And were it not for others who built up the dwindling piles of spruce, the workers would wait long for the two who first went. When they finally came back, he with his conscious face hidden behind the odorous green branches, and she, so flush ed rind sby, the merry jests wore at their expense. But though persecuted, the faces of the lovers showed that it was good to live. Within the church, behind the pulpit on the platform, two white columns rose, out lined with the woven greens, their sides hung with wreaths. These were connect ed by a broader structure on which were the words: "Roll of Our Honored Demi," and in smaller black letters, in two long columns, were the names of those soldiers lying in the little cemeteries beside the church. Spaces were left for the bunches of flowers, to be added in the morning. At the top of each column the white statue of an angel stood. Long ropes of green were draped about the high gallery, in the rear where the choir sat and about the side lights and windows were more grace ful loops. As dusk fell the lads and lassies had made their engagements for the next day, possibly for life, and home duties were calling the matrons. The little groups hurried away aud the church was left in quiet. Kuch white pew door is closed upon the green, well-pounded cushions on the narrow, high-backed seats within. The little footstools are in prim array. The hymnals aud the pnlm lenr fans stand neatly in the racks. The gilt pipes of the organ in the gallery show above the rail, and the moon-faced brass clock on the front of the gallery ticks in a loud, meas ured tone. The odor of the fresh-cut ever greens is like some heavy incense. The pulpit looms up high and dark with the big Bible, the hymnal, and the little book of psalms arranged upon it in a severe pyramid. The moonlight creeps into the quiet there, touching the names of "Our Honored Dead" with its cold fingers, two by two, up the long columns, till the roll stands clear. Through the village, as the evening grows, the sound of the band practicing diligently is heard. A neighboring band joins in the ceremonies of the next duy and the rivalry is keen. All the little girls with long hair, at the important age of 7 are to assist in decorating the graves. Kuch fond mother braids her small vestal virgin's hair in tiny strauds to produce the required crlmpiuess. A warm, spicy odor from pantry and kitchen in the home where the out-of-town speaker is to be entertained speaks for him a comfortable inner man. One of the prominent men of the village is to make a tive-iniuute speech nt the monument "To Our Unknown Dead." He has rehearsed It for hours iu a meadow behind a hay stack. The day dawns. The dew is brushed away by passing skirts as the women hasten to their gardens to pick their choic est flowers each culls unsparingly. Early in the forenoon the vestibule of the church is filled with fragrance. Flowers of the garden, cultivated so tenderly and gath ered so willingly, are there, and great masses of snowballs, branches of dog wood, with their white petals crimson splashed, the sweet mock-orange, the rosy, flowering almond, all add their beauty. The work presses; bouquets to tack ou to the little monuments, and each to be car ried to its place; great bunches of flow ers to be placed in the church wiudows; KM- m '. i fit - TUB W1I1TK CHUIICU. everywhere flowers to be lavished. Up stairs in the "infants' room," are trays to be filled with the bouquets each child is to wear, and the larjje ones for the Boldiers graves. Already, from every direction, Ifnes of vehicles are coming into the village from all the little towns surrounding. The band wagon is brought out and trimmed with flags. The eight white horses which rr-m mil draw it have tiny flags between their ears and waving on their backs; white horses always, the whitest iu the lead, and the more speckled at the wheels. The little maidens rise from their uncomfortable night's sleep, with sore heads and exceed ingly wavy hair. The out-of-town speak er has arrived. The Ml in the steeple of the white church ou the hill tolls the hour. The flowers have been placed upon the white columns; masses of bloom are about the dark, old pulpit, around the side lamps, on the walls, and following the gallery rail. The church is ready. The procession of veterans forms in "the square." They march to the shrill, weird notes of a fife, and the intrepid roll 8gl tMmm GARLANDS OF FLOWKRS. of a drum. The neighboring band has come with but six horses, and none of them white. The church is packed to suf focation. The ministers of all the churches sit with the speakers In the pul pit. The veterans file in. The band clat ters to the gallery, and sits with the choir. The standard-bearer drops the great flag across the gallery rail, aud its soft, silken stripes sweep to the heads of those sitting beuenth. The little girls in white, and the proudest moment of their lives, march to the front seats. The ceremonies begin. They are very long. The commander of the G. A. It leads the services. The air grows oppres sive with the heat and the strong fra grance of the flowers. "A selection from the band" endangers the tympanums of every one present. A poetess recites with fervor an original poem of many stanzas to "Our Heroes." The choir has a solo for the leading soprano of each church, and other numbers interspersed among the readings, prayers and speeches. Then the procession forms. The flowei girls have their baskets of flowers. The baud leads tho way to the cemeteries. A grave is reached. Two little flower girls come forward and kneel at either side of the grave. The name of the soldier, his age, rank, regiment, last battle, and date of death are solemnly read. A short prayer follows. The children place their flowers upon the mound. The band gives three solemn signals, and at each the Stars and Stripes sweep In salute over the soldier's grave. From grave to grave they go, till all have been remembered, aud the sun Is sinking in the west. The village homes are full of friendi and relatives from out of town, staying t tea. Young couples stroll in the twilight through the shaded streets. Old soldien sit in groups, recalling their battle scenes. In the cemeteries on the hill, the flowers have faded on the soldiers' graves. The little monuments show their whiteness thickly under the dark pines. Chicago Inter Ocean. Meant Confederates. One Of Lincoln's little storka has just come to light. It was told by Dr. Walk er nt the Long Island church club. Ho says: "One week before the assassination of President Lincoln he visited the hos pital at City Point. I was stationed there as a member of the sanitary commission. I was then a boy of eighteen. Imagine my pride at being assigned to convey the Pres ident around the hospital. I felt very big. We came to ono port of the hospital where we had several tents of what were then culled rebel prisoners. With all the pride of a Northern boy I said: 'Mr. Lincoln, do you want to go into all those tents? There are only rebels in there.' Laying his big, generous hand on my shoulder he answer ed in his quiet way: 'You must mean Con federates." And I have meant Confeder ates ever since." That is tho true spirit of Decoration day. AW should bury all animosities, all hard feelings in the grnves of our dead soldiers. We should twine with the olive branch of peace, the wood bine of fraternal love and the honor to the brave compassed by the nasturtium. Hull Itnn and Appomattox. It is a fact not generally known that the first and the last stand of the Confeder ates were made ou land owned by the same man. A part of Bull Run battle field was owned by Mr. McLean. After this famous battle he decided to move to a locality where there would lie less fear from the ravages of war. By a strange coincidence he took up his abode at Appo mattox, which subsequently proved to bt the final battlefield of the civil war. I 61AM. Bow the Land of the White Elephant 13 Ueing- IMimcnkerciL The news that Slam has ceded an jtber province to France Illustrates the process by which the great jtowers of Europe are gradually absorbing tho jnee powerful nations of the far East The kingdom of Slam lies between tho Itritlsh province of llunmili on ono side and the territory of French Indo Chlna on the other. It is caught be tween the two millstones, and at Inter vals, now here and now there, a piece at Its territory Is conllscatid. Even within the sniull section still normally under the rule of King Kulalongkorn tho Siamese are but puppets In the hands of resident Europeans. English men control the commerce of the coun try, most of which goes through the port of Bangkok, the capital of Slam and A city of 350,000 Inhabitants. What business the English have left untouched la lu the Lands of German and French traders. Even tho small retail trade Is conducted not by native Siamese but by Chinese merchants. The royal Siamese navy, consisting of aue protected cruiser and a few yachts aud gunboats, is officered by English men and Danes, while the standing army of 12,000 men Is armed with German rifles and drilled by German officers. Tho difficulty with France, which now appears to be settled, Is of long standing. In fact, as long ago as 1580 French Influence began to lie felt In the Malay peninsula. The controversy j in which the ceding to France of tho Province of Luang Prabang Is the final step broke out into open hostility In I lcS!3, when France sent gunboats up ' the Mekong River to enforce its de mands. Slum made an offer to submit the whole matter to arbitration aud tho MAP of si AM. Siamese commissioner to the World's Fair asked that the President of tho United States act as arbitrator. Sec retary Gresham was reluctant to nils In the quarrel, however, and after tho French arms had met with some re verses a French naval squadron as cended the Mennin River, on which Bangkok Is tdtuutcd, lu the face of a severe fire and finally threatened to bombard the Siamese capital. Then terms of peace were arranged and the City of Chantibun was given Into the hands of the French as a guar antee that the provisions of the treaty would be carried out. This town Is aow to return to Siamese control. In 1S!)() England and France made a treaty which guarantees the permanent Independence of the central portion of Uie Siamese empire. A NOTABLE TURF FIGURE. rot. M. LewU Clark, Who Recently Committed Suicide at Memphis. Col. M. Lewis Clark, of Somervllle, Ky., who hilled himself at Memphis, Tcun., was prominent In turf circles throughout the United States. Ill health and unlucky speculations un balanced his mind. Col. Clark w-s the grandson of Gov. William cark. af Missouri. Over twenty-flvJ years of his life were devoted to t-ie Ameri can turf, during all of whl-ti no breath of scandal has ever assailed his name. He was the author of a majority of the turf rules or laws of the present day and the founder of the first American Turf Congress. For over twenty years toe had acted as presimng Judge of Western race tracks. He has been nt n u COL. M. LHWI8 CLARK. the stand iu Louisville ever since the "little red horse" Aristides captured the first Kentucky derby, twenty-two years ago. He presided at Memphis, Nashville, Oakley, Dallas, Ideal Park and the City of Mexico. Experience Is a teacher of mankind, and some men will learn of no other, . A 3iWm j Yinik, -If? X 1 s far A" " ' 4