EXT TUESDAY will be Memorial Day. This anniversary is set apart as a day to commemorate the deeds of our young heroes of the distant past. When war’s alarm sounded they responded to the call of their country. They marched to the front and met the foe in deadly array. For four long years they marched and fought and suffered. Thousands fell to rise no more. Other thousands, who returned home, bore on their bodies the lasting marks of deadly strife. Four long years of danger, disease, sacrifices, heroism. And when the war closed, the living came home. They had, with their fallen comrades, and at terrible cost, accomplished their mission. The flag they followed, the flag they fought under, came back with them, proudly floating in triumph, and without the loss of a single star. The present generation knows these veterans—what are left of them— not as young soldiers, full of patriotism and courage, but as old men, feeble in carriage and tottering to the tomb. But the old soldiers—for such they are called, and are—know one thing above all else: That in its direst need, they saved their country from dissolution, when they were young. And on next Tuesday their gallant deeds will be recalled. Their sur viving comrades, who would not, cannot forget, will form in line as in the old days, and with bouquets of freshest flowers, march to the graves of their fallen comrades and gently lay these, blended with the aroma of flowers and memory, on their last resting place.