"The thirtieth of May is sacred to the nation. With its return the heart of the country instinctively turns to those eighty-three national cemeteries, mostly on Southern soil, where in 194,492 known and 151,710 unknown graves lie 346,202 men who fell fighting for the flag. And in all the land, fittingly enough, there are no spots more beautiful than these. For their care and improvement the national government spends $100,000 a year. The cemetery at Andersonville, Ga., gains additional interest in view of the famous prison connected with it. Of these I wish to speak. No one can spend a day there, as I did lately, without drinking deep of the patriotic spirit. The very ground on which you stand seems holy, when you think how brave men suffered and died there. The very air seems charged with their spirit still. Some disappointment is felt when over one hundred miles south of Atlanta you get off at a little station, with a few straggling houses here and there. But in the distance, a mile away, the national flag waving invitingly bids reassurance. At length you stand at the entrance of the cemetery, entering through the strong iron gates of the thick ivy-covered brick wall, 12,782 known and 923 unknown men are buried within. Many things at once interest you. Walks lead to every part of the grounds. Trees, shrubbery and flowers enhance the natural beauty of the place. Feathered songers of the South chant daily requiems. Each grave is marked by a white marble headstone, on which is generally carved the number, rank, name and state of the dead soldier. Here and there we read the sad inscription, "Unknown." The white stones contrasting with the fine greensward under the soft Southern sky make an impressive scene. This is especially true in that part of the grounds where stands the splendid monument of New Jersey, as shown by the accompanying illustration. In a convenient place there is located an octagonal rostrum, where every Memorial Day gathers a large concourse of people to pay homage to the sacred dead. After the exercises the most impressive act of all follows. Each grave, officers or private, white or black, known or unknown, is decorated with a miniature flag. And what a transformation! Instead of the monotonous rows of bare white stone a field of flags, by the magic of loving remembrance, appears! But as impressive as is this cemetery, more impressive still to me was the prison. It is only a few rods away. Its notoriety is universal. Blaine, in his memorable speech in Congress, immortalized its more than Siberian horrors.