Decoration Day has passed, and the graves of the Northern and Southern soldiers have been duly flower strewn, as is meet and fitting. The valor of the North has been told on a thousand rostrums, and the courage of the South has been related from ten hundred platforms. Battles have been fought again, and redoubts retaken. Much has been said of brotherly love and the bridging of the chasm. The Blue has marched abreast to the common meeting place, and the Gray has marched abreast, and they have met and shaken hands and said the war is over. There can be no such thing as a union of the Blue and the Gray. When you pronounce the words you form the bar that separates them. The Blue is one thing and the Gray is another. There should be no more Blue and no more Gray. If a tribute is to be paid to the heroes on either side whom we wish to keep in remembrance, it should be made by American citizens, not divided by the colors of their garments. There is no need to march by grand armies, by camps, or by posts. If there is to be a shaking of hands, let it be by one citizen of the United States with another. The Gray and Blue are things of the past. In the innermost hearts, in the still, quick memories of the South, the Gray will always live, but it should live as in a shrine, hallowed and hidden from pomp and display. As citizens of a common country, we of the South offer our hands to citizens of the North in peace and fellowship, but we do not mingle the Gray with the Blue. Charge of the White Brigade Mehitabel, Claribel, Bessie, and Sue All in white lawn and ribbons pale blue. Went into a drug store; each sat on a stool, And called for some phosphate to make them all cool. "Oh! what is that big copper thing over there?" Asked Bessie the gay one, asked Bessie the fair. "Why that," said the clerk, "is the thing with which we Charge the phosphate and soda we sell, don't you see?" "How nice," said bright Bessie and then they all rose, And shook out their ruffles and beautiful clothes; "Please charge those we had," said the girls--then they flew, Mehitabel, Claribel, Bessie, and Sue. An Inspiration He was seated on an empty box on Main Street late yesterday evening during the cold drizzling rain. He was poorly clad and his thick coat was buttoned up high under his chin. He had a woeful, harassed appearance, and there was something about him that indicated that he was different from the average tramp who beats his way by lies and fraud. The _Post_ man felt a touch of sympathy and went up to him and said: "There's a place around the corner where you can get a lunch and lodging for a small sum. When did you strike town?" The man gazed at the reporter out of his small, keen eyes and said: "You're a new man on the _Post_, are you not?" "Yes, comparatively." "Do you see that block of three-story buildings over there?" "Yes." "Well, I own them and was just sitting here studying what I'm going to do."