way. "More stones!" cried the men. " More mortar!' But the answer came: "There is no more!" "Then," cried the engineer, "take off your clothes and with them stop the holes in the wall." And so, in the chill and darkness and surf, it was done, and with the workmen's apparel the openings in the wall were partially filled. But still the tide rose, and still the ocean reared itself for more awful strokes, and for the overwhelming of thousands of lives in the villages. "Now we have done all we can," said the engineer; "down on your knees, my men, and pray to God for help." And on the trembling and parting dykes they prayed till the wind changed and the sea subsided, and the vil lages below were gloriously saved. Now, what we want in the work of walling back the oceans of poverty and drunkenness and impurity and sin is the help of more womanly and manly hands. Oh, how the tides come in! Atlantic surge of sorrow after Atlantic surge of sorrow, and the tempests of human hate and Satanic fury are in full cry. Oh, woman of many troubles, what are all the feasts of worldly delight, if they were offered you, compared with the opportunity of helping build and support barriers which sometimes seem giving way through man's treachery and the world's assault? Oh, woman, to the dykes! Bring prayer, bring tears, bring cheerful words! Help! Help! And having done all, kneel with us on the quaking wall until the God of the wind and the sea shall hush the one and silence the other. To the dykes! Sisters, mothers, wives, daughters of America, to the dykes! CADWALADER FRY AND HIS THEORY.* Cadwalader Fry had a mind to try Every experiment foul or fair Which might let him explore the wonders in store *Written expressly for this Collection. Cadwalader Fry he had an eye Suggestive of boiling thoughts within; He considered it frivolous to smile, And idiotic to grin, Although when he preached of the wonders within Many would smile, if they failed to grin, And everybody would stare. For Cadwalader had a theory new Was a denser air, a solider base, A mid-sphere where there certainly was He said there were worlds to discover there, He'd be a Columbus of the air, Though his fight prove our Waterloo. When asked why it was no aeronaut Had ever reported these worlds, he'd scoff He said, as the Northern voyager stops He had tried balloons and flying machines, He said there must be a shock, a rush The attraction of earth, and then we might push He studied few books, he was wiser than they; But he marveled and planned, and dreamed and thought: And his eves boiled more, and his face grew gray As the lower air he fought. He'd queer inventions that cleaved the air At last, one night, a shriek was heard In his little house. When they ran to see He laughed and he laughed, he bellowed, he roared, He said, at last a vision had come,- In his mind he'd discovered a sudden stair That should take him to his longed-for home In the realms of the upper air. That's all he said--he would say no more; But he promised we all should come and see For a week he slept not; he put up a stage There he was, with a great stout pipe Fixed in the stage and a funnel in that; Said he, calling down, "My friends, farewell! You well. I explore the wonders and more "Here in this pipe is an innocent mass- "But farewell! I go,-if I do not return Think of me as onward and upward I fare From town to town in the world I'll be shown In the realms of the upper air. "Now deep in this funnel Ï seat me-so. This fuse I touch to this pipe-" At that That stretched every one of us flat. The stage fell in fragments, the earth was ploughed deep, And then all was silence! We rose in a heap, Thinking Cadwalader near, that we Might explain a few things to him there and then, And teach him the laws of gravity In the hands and the feet of us men. But Cadwalader Fry was nowhere nigh, He and his theory they were not. We hunted and found not a hint, not a sound, Not a tittle, nor yet a jot. They must have gone up, for they hadn't come down, To think of Cad going from town to town ONLY A WOMAN.-TOM MASSON. Her name was quite familiar to the Hottentots and Zulus, And the Comanches and Apaches and Sioux knew all about her; She had furnished Chinese toddlers with the different kind of tulus, And the great unwashed of Java said they couldn't do without her. She figured as the patron of a patent incubator, And her name was spread out broadcast by the chickens as they speeded From the frozen fields of Lapland to the lands of the equator; She supplied a waiting public with the very things it needed. As a sewing-circle leader she achieved a reputation, And her name was like a tocsin in the dry-goods stores around her; She was known in every millinery art association, And an army of dressmakers sent up thanks that they had found her. But she was a total stranger to the art of domesticity, As all matters appertaining to the same were much below her; She could write up tracts by thousands on the home and its felicity For the heathen of all nations. But her husband didn't know her. ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK.*-CHARLES H. TIFFANY. The unfinished love-song quoted here was found on the body of a young sol dier of the Army of the Potomac, who was killed in battle. The calm Rappahannock flowed on to the sea, By the armies that lay in the stillness of sleep; And the silence of night reigned, majestic and deep. His love for his country, for freedom and right. Like a path to the heaven her sweet presence graced. And the calm Rappahannock flowed on to the sea. Is there naught in the innocent joys of life "I would fain think my presence was needed, love, "Art thou thinking of me in my absence, love? Art thou dreaming of joys yet to be, When fate shall have ceased its unkindness to us, *From the "New England Magazine" by permission. |