I

His New Suit.

REMEMBER well the way

She looked up at me that day

When I first put on the gray,

And said good-by, back there in '63. She and I were sweethearts then, And I hear her voice again,

As she nestled up to me, Saying, in her gentle way:

Ah, how brave you look in gray, And how tall and handsome, too, Gray's the color, dear, for you!"

There's a ragged suit of gray
She has long had laid away,

There are memories that cling around

it, too;

But the years have come and gone,

And at present I have on

A suit of Uncle Sam's beloved blue.

When she saw me yesterday,

She wiped a tear away

For the memory of the gray,

-

That dear, old, ragged suit of '63.

HIS NEW SUIT.

And she sweetly spoke again, -
Spoke more fervently than then, ——
As she nestled up to me,
Saying, in her gentle way:

Ah, how brave you looked in gray!
But you're braver still in blue,
Blue's the color, dear, for you!"

-S. E. Kiser.

to the Flying Squadron.

FIERCE flock of sea gulls, with huge wings of

white,

Tossed on the treacherous blue, Poising your pinions in majestic flight,Our hearts take voyage with you.

Against the soulless, unregarding Sea

Match the high will that dares !

Are ye not driven by mightier gales than she? -
Millions of patriot prayers!

Flock of the terrible talons! - urged by lungs

Monstrous and fury-fed !

Hold your proud course till rot their riotous tongues, Fear-born and treason-bred,

Who at this late and ominous hour declaim

The jargon of the past,

Forgetful fools, that Freedom, that great name,

Hath riven all chains at last.

God save us from war's terrors! May they cease!

And yet one fate how worse!

A bloodless, perjured, prostituting peace,

Glutting a coward's purse!

TO THE FLYING SQUADRON.

Oh, if yon beaks and talons clutch and cling
Far in the middle seas

With those of hostile war birds, wing to wing, -
Our hearts shall fight with these.

God speed you! Never fared crusading knight
On holier quest than ye,

Sworn to the rescue of the trampled Right,
Sworn to make Cuba free! -

Yea, swiftly to avenge our martyred Maine.
I watch you curve and wheel

In horrible grace of battle, scourge of Spain, Birds with the beaks of steel!

The Recompense.

HEY are marching from the Southland, from the

THEY

North, and from the West,

From the sunny hills of vintage, from the crags where eagles nest,

From the altars of devotion, from a mother's loving

breast,

While above them floats Old Glory, boon to all the world oppressed.

They are marching to the ocean where the crimsoned waters cry,

Where the cowards jeered in anger, laughed to see our heroes die,

Little dreaming that in vengeance God was watching from on high,

That he heard the blood-stained billows lift their voices to the sky.

There's a song comes from the forest, there's a song breaks from the sea,

And the echoes ring from heaven in tumultuous

ecstasy;

For the flag floats high in splendor, our old flag of

liberty,