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“IHUSTERBD OUT,” 
There’s a lonely grave in Virginia. 
And a nameless sleeper there, 
That fell when the tide of battle 
Rolled over the land so fair, 
No costly marble marks the spot 
Where he fell ‘mid war’s stern rout, 
But a rough hewn cross and the simple words 
“A soldier mustered out.” 
There are graves in the ‘‘Old Dominion,” 
Where her heroes are at rest, 
And piles of bronze and marble 
Stand above each sleeper’s breast; 
But none are there among them all 
That fleck her hills about 
With a tomb so grandly simple 
As that soldier’s “mustered out. ” 
It stands in its solemn beauty 
By the ever moaning sea. 
And the passing schooner proudly float* 
The flag he died to free. 
The white-capped billows bow their heads, 
And all the waters shout 
And fling their foam-wieaths ’round the grave 
Where he sleeps,' ‘mustered out. ” 
These waters on that dreadful day 
Had seen him fighting fall 
And mingling with the battle’s smoke 
Had made the soldier’s pall. 
No arms reversed, no muffled drum, 
But shot and groan and shout— 
These were the sounds that filled the air 
When he was “mustered out.” 
No music of soft requiems, 
No church-bells tolling low, 
But clash of arms and cannon’s boom, 
When he was called to go. 
His shroud a blood-stained, tattered flag, 
His hymn the victor’s shout. 
His knell, “Cumberland’s” last gun; 
When he was “mustered out.” 
All heroes sleep not ’neath tall shafts, 
Nor monuments of stone; 
For many graves are marked, alas! 
With one short word, “Unknown;” 
They sleep, who fought as brave as those 
For whom the millions shout. 
Till the Lord of battles gave command 
And they were “mustered out.” 
But He who marks the sparrow’s fall 
Knows where each hero lies, 
And humble blood for justice shed 
By him is not despised. 
And when in the last reveille, 
The dead ranks throng about, 
Foremost among the just shall stand 
Those soldiers “mustered out.” 
—Selected. 
When you have had Catarrh long enough, just 
send 10c. to Dr. R. C. Sykes, 181 Monroe St. Chicago, 
for his “True Theory of Catarrh,” 
The Farmer’s Boy. 
To educate boys so that they may acquire 
no dislike for the farm is a matter of no lit¬ 
tle anxiety to many farmers. In fact, this 
is one of the knotty problems of farming. 
It is often asserted that our boys are con¬ 
tinually becoming more and more averse 
to the farm. Assuming this statement t® 
be true the outlook is indeed a gloomy one. 
Under such conditions days of utter de¬ 
generacy must be rapidly approaching and 
inevitable ruin waits upon our country. It 
is singular enough that this fatal delusion 
has become so common among the farming 
oommunity. And yet those who hold so 
tenaciously to this idea must be ready to 
admit that our native farming population 
is increasing. The vexed questions regard¬ 
ing the future occupation of the farmer’* 
boy naturally arrange themselves into two 
queries: How shall we keep the boys on 
the farm ? Is it desirable to keep them all 
on the farm ’? 
The first question demands an individual 
answer to every boy. The parents should 
know best how to win their sons into sym¬ 
pathy with the occupation. I have known 
many young men who have left the farm 
when they became of age, and I think I 
know the reasons why some of them left it. 
Most of them saw too many hours of work 
in the day. and too many days of work in 
the year, to make the farm an attractive 
home. It was not the hard work especially, 
but the never-ceasing routine from sunrise 
till dark, from January till December, with 
not a pleasant hour for a book, a sport or a 
rest. They were content to work in a 
shop, to do a variety of work requiring 
hard labor, but where certain hours of each 
day were their own. It is a very injurious 
notion, entertained by many farmers, that 
there is no time on the farm for study or 
pastime. I now recall with pleasure a few 
farmers, among whom my father is one, 
who always take a delight in having the 
last chore done before sunset. It is also a 
pleasure to reflect that these farmers are 
among the thriftiest I ever knew. It was 
on such farms, where a long nooning was 
the practice in the hot days and where a 
