Sd 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
“A BROWNTAIL SONG.” 
Creeping, crawling, swinging, swaying, 
Come they near or come they far, 
I must oust all other fancies, 
Till I’ve sung them as they are. 
I had sought the garden early, 
Just to dream a morning dream, 
With my pencil poised and ready, 
When my eye should catch the theme. 
Lightly ’gainst the kindly lattice, 
Leaning my unconscious head, 
Grateful for my brief aloneness 
And my neighbors safe in bed. 
When a gentle tickle, tickle, 
Agitates my restful ear, 
“‘ Haste thee, haste thee, morning dreamer, 
Some good neighbor stirreth near.” 
*Tis the meek and gentle browntail, 
Dropping from his morning meal, 
And his tender toes so creepy, 
With his silky coat, I feel. 
Who so thoughtful and so silent, 
-. 
Such a model co-mate he, 
For my dreaming and my scheming, 
Here beneath the cherry tree. 
He is asking nothing of me, 
But to whisper in my ear 
Just a friendly note of warning, 
Merely telling me he’s here. 
Cherry leaves are sweet and tender, 
Apple, peach and plum leaves, too; 
And this modest little fellow 
Of them all has ta’en a chew. 
Now he crawls in happy silence 
On the lattice at my side. 
Why am I so grim and watchful, 
Wild eyes staring open wide? 
Why that creepy, creepy feeling 
Running up and down my spine? 
Why that itchy, itchy feeling 
Roundy this snowy neck of mine? 
Ah! I doubt if ‘‘ Annie Laurie” — 
She whose neck was like a swan— 
Ever neighbored with a browntail 
In the light of early dawn. 
I can’t kill him, never, never, 
Can I kill a living thing, 
Larger than the fell mosquito 
With his fiddle and his sting. 
So, I snatch my book and pencil, 
Flee my easy garden seat, 
Making from that modest browntail 
One undignified retreat. 
Leaving him in full possession, 
Till some hardened, vengeful Miss— 
Some beribboned laurelled member 
Of the noble V. I. S. 
Comes to crush him or to burn him 
In the glory of the strife, 
That has sworn to leave no browntail 
Sporting out his little life. 
9 
One there lived who did aver it, 
That no moth was cloven in vain, 
That no browntail e’er was slaughtered 
Tosubserve another's gain. 
It may be that of his ardor 
Something still survives in me, 
That I needs must leave that browntail 
Feasting on my cherry tree. 7 
KATE RESTIEAUX. 
Beverly, May of 1904. 
SOLEMNITY GONE. 
Manchester Minister Prophecies Last Sunday 
in May as Memorial Day. 
“T can fearlessly prophecy a time, 
and that not far away, when the 30th 
of May will have ceased to be what it 
was intended to be, and when the last 
Sunday in the month will become the 
sacred day of memorial to the nation’s 
honored dead,” said Rev. W. H. Ashley 
in the course of his address at the 
union memorial service in the Con- 
gregational church, Manchester, last 
Sunday. 
The church was crowded, the ideal 
weather bringing out a very large 
number, Five minutes before the 
services began the members of Post 
67, 23 in number, filed into the audito- 
rium, followed by 30 members of the 
S.of V. camp 149 and 20 members of 
the W.R.C. 
Rev. D. F. Lamson and Mr. E. H. 
Brewster of the Baptist church took 
part in the services. Miss Carolyn 
E. Allen rendered the “ Ninety and 
Nine” with most pleasing effect. 
Mr. Ashley delivered a strong ad- 
dress on ‘‘ Memorial day as a national 
memorial and religious feast,” taking 
his text from Exodus 12:14. 
““To me, to-day is the memorial af 
the freedom of four millions of slaves 
and of a union unbroken, a memorial 
to the one million of brave men who 
gave their lives to accomplish these 
conditions, and of the million since, 
who, as the years have passed, have 
answered to the final roll-call from 
the great commander-in-chief. 
“The holy day of the 30th of May 
has already become a holiday, save 
where the influence of you battle- 
scarred veterans is felt. The solemn 
hush of this sacred national Sabbath, 
like the Fast day of our fathers, has 
ceased. The voice of prayer is re- 
placed by the cries of the ball-ground, 
the hum of the trolley, the sputter 
of the automobile and the gasoline 
launch. 
“In this, then, my last words to 
you as a body, I plead that you make 
Sunday. your memorial day. Let 
Sunday afternoon become the time 
for laying the flowers upon the 
soldiers’ graves. It is a holy day, but 
it is also a holy service. Let the 
drums be muffled, and with solemn 
march we seek the resting place. 
“It issad tome toseethe paltry bloom 
resting on the soldier’s grave and the 
profusion of flowers upon the graves 
of our own dead. We have 364 days, 
51 Sundays, upon which to honor the .- 
memory of our dead by decorating 
their graves. Why should we rob the 
soldier’s grave or make the honor less 
in comparison with our own? Is it not 
time to plead fora true decoration day? 
**T would that to-morrow in Man- 
chester only the graves of those who 
gave themselves tor the nation’s de- 
fense could be filled with flowers, that 
before many years the children might 
know where the soldier dead lie 
throughout our nation by the flowers 
that have been laid on Memorial day.” 
Mr. Ashley then spoks of the atti- 
tude for the nations to take concerning 
the world’s national life, of the memo- 
rial of gratitude to God and to the 
soldiers, of our inheritance, its great- 
ness and its cost, and ended his 
address by telling of the new battles 
to be fought to-day. 
“We must not seek the living 
among the dead,’ he said. ‘‘ Eternal 
vigilance is the price of liberty. There 
are new battles to be fought to-day. 
Our warfare is no longer with flesh 
and blood, but against wickedness in 
high and low places. 
‘‘The industrial battle ison. The 
loss of life, liberty and happiness 
under our present industrial system is 
greater than that of the civil war. It 
is the crush of the wheels of the 
modern commercial juggernaut where 
life is of no worth and slavery is 
valued only in the slave’s product.” 
BEVERLY NATIONAL BANK. 
CAPITAL $200,000. 
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ALBERT PERRY, President. 
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