YES, little daughter, we go again, One glad bright hour in May, To cover with bloom the quiet graves Where sleep the "Blue and Gray." I think I have told you many times The sacred reason why, But mamma often likes to speak Of the sad, sad days gone by. I have told you how your grandpa Fell in the ranks of the Blue, When I was a wee maid, Barbara, Not nearly as large as you. Fell 'neath the dear old banner At the battle of "Cedar Creek," In the days when uncle Charley Was a baby small and weak. I well remember him, darling, So true, and noble, and bold, Though I was such a small, small girlie, Not quite turned eight years old. He told me we of the Northland Were forced to enter the fight, How _we_, not our Southern brother, Were battling for God and right, How they of the fiery Southland Were striving to tear apart The States cemented by life-blood, From many a loyal heart. And I ever was staunchly loyal, For when my baby came, I called her the name our Quaker bard Has given to deathless fame. Of her who so bravely held the flag, Out in the morning air Baring to rebel bullets The crown of her grand white hair. But grandpa dwells where he knows to-day The truth between Gray and Blue Better than they of that far-off time Who thought they alone were true, And mamma has learned that noble men Were there on the conquered side, As any that ever suffered, Suffered and bravely died. So, little maiden Barbara, On that sunny time in May, Let us seek to honor the lonely graves Of the men who wore the Gray. EMILY BAKER SMALLE. [Illustration: LITTLE MAIDEN BARBARA.] _Volume 13, Number 28._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO. _May 15, 1886._ THE PANSY. [Illustration: "WILD MAGGIE" AND I SERVED.] MONUMENTS. IT was my first visit to New York. A few days after my arrival uncle took me to Greenwood, the most beautiful cemetery I ever saw. We visited the many points of interest. As we stood gazing at the fireman's monument, uncle told me the story of his heroism; how in one of the fierce fires this brave man lost his life while rescuing a woman from the flames. Then we spent a long time looking at the monument to Miss Conda, the beautiful young heiress who was thrown from a carriage and killed; and her fortune was built up in this wonderful marble. The next morning aunt said, "You will go with me to-day to another Greenwood and see grander monuments than any you saw yesterday."