Vol. Il. No. 49 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
A-WEEKLY- JOURNAL: DEVOTED-TO-THE BEST: INTERESTS-OF THENORTHSHORE 
MANCHESTER, MASS., SATURDAY, APRIL 22, 1905 
Three Cents 
WON THE BATTLE. 
Manchester Boys’ Brigade Captured the Flag 
and Carried off the Palm at Field 
Day in Dedham. 
The Manchester boys did themselves 
proud at the ninth annual field day of 
the First Mass. Brigade, United Boys’ 
Brigade of America, held at Stone 
Park, Dedham, on Patriot’s day. Not 
only dit’ they capture first honors in 
the sham battle,—the event of the 
day,— when Captain Swett and his 
three dozen soldier boys held at bay 
six other companies, and captured the 
‘flag, but the honor of having the best 
drum corps on the grounds was 
awarded the Manchester boys. In 
fact, one of the Boston papers gave 
the boys the credit of making the best 
show of the day,—carrying off the 
palm. 
The boys were up bright and early 
Wednesday morning and, dressed in 
their natty suits of blue coats and caps 
and white duck pants and Khaki leg- 
gins, assembled on the common long 
before seven o’clock. The first part 
of their day’s program was to march 
up Bridge street to Ashland avenue 
and greet the venerable Deacon A. E. 
Low after whom the camp has been 
named. Impressive indeed was the 
meeting as the beloved old man, lack- 
ing less than four years of being 100, 
appeared in the doorway of his home 
and spoke a few encouraging words 
to the boys. 
{Continued on page 8.] 
CO. A, FIRST REGIMENT, UNITED BOYS’ BRIGADE, 
Of Manchester, winner of the Sham Battle at the Field Meet in Dedham. 
TO A CANARY 
Singing at a Funeral. 
BY JOSEPH A. TORREY. 
Sweet bird, loud carrolling with melodious 
breath, 
What canst thou know of death! 
Gay-hearted songster in this mournful 
throng, 
Tell us, what means thy song? 
Above the sounds of weeping and of prayer, 
Thou floodst the Spring-tide air 
With the light laughter of thy tuneful note, 
That seems so far remote 
From the sad spirit of the time and place. 
Cease for a little space ! 
Hast thou no sympathy with grief and woe, 
That thou dost carol so? 
And yet I marvel not that thou dost sing ; 
Birds know not anything. 
Their lightsome hearts are never wrung by 
grief ; i 
They know not life is brief. 
They know not life is full of pain and 
sorrow ; 
They care not for the morrow. 
They have no souls to save, no heaven to 
gain, 
Yet sing their merry strain. 
Gaily they sing thro’ their life’s little day, 
Only to pass away 
From the warm presence of the joyous sun 
To dull oblivion. 
But we who weep above the loved one’s bier 
The unavailing tear, 
We do not weep for that we have no hope, 
Nor do we blindly grope 
As one who wanders thro’ a sunless cave 
To find himself a grave. 
And yet, and yet, our human hearts will 
grieve 
For the dear ones who leave 
Behind them the sweet memory of their love, 
To soar and dwell above, 
Where we and all the ransomed ones shall 
come 
Atlast unto our home! 
If any heart should sing why should not ours, 
That soon in Eden’s bowers 
Shall sing His praise? The tree of life 
whose leaf 
Shall medicine all our grief 
