The Lone Heart: A Poem

THE HISTORY OF A GREAT CONTENTION. 371 years and six months' time, he dismissed from the army, without honor, a whole battalion, some of whom were admittedly innocent of the offense for which others deserve punishment. For a while it looked as if a serious difference might arise between the President and the Senate on the subject. It was rumored that Congress would pass a bill which would restore the discharged battalion to its place in the army. No question has given rise to more serious differences between the President and the country at' large than the dismissal of these colored sol- diers. While Senator Foraker's resolution merely asking that an investigation of the facts be made without reference to the Presi- dent's legal or constitutional right in the matter was passed, an investigation by the Senate may in time lead to pronounced differ- ences between that body and the President. Mr. Roosevelt's critics may be able to dig up inconsistencies. Strong men, and men in constant habit of doing things, are, as a rule, rather looking for- ward than backward; they are doing things in the light of the present and future needs rather than by the guidance of prece- dence. Salt Lake City, Utah. THE

LONE HEART. Yon are taking her down to the Orphans' Home, this little bit girl, you say; It is sweet she would look with her hair a-curl, and a smile in those eyes of gray. I mind the yard where the hearse drove out with the box, and her one last friend: So there's only the Orphans' Home for her? I've a bit, maybe I might spend. It is all alone in this house am I, but you see the flowers on the lawn And the tabby-cat on the porch a-sleek, and bluebirds that sing at dawn. I would love to fashion a gown of red for a little bit girl like this; Would you put your arms round my neck, wee one, and give to me, dear, a kiss? Oh, it's warm in my heart is the feel I have! You've a look like a child I knew; To be sure her hair it was black, not light, and her eyes of the violet's blue. But there's something that stirs me a thought of her—blue violets cover her breast — You shall hear the songs that I sang to her when I cuddled her down to rest. I will kiss a rose to your cheeks of white, I will find the curl in your hair; And you'll not go down to the Orphans' Home while I have a bit to share! —Youth^s Companion.