light itself— a steady and marvelous improvement in the means of production; and, second, through this, a deep change took place in the habits and customs of the people — an evolution that has been more far-reaching in its effects than we may at present realize. Society and business of many and varied lines have been almost totally changed by the advances that have been made in the production of light, so that at the present time "night" in our large cities means a very different thing from what it did twenty years ago. Today we have five distinct means for the production of light — kerosene, coal gas, gasolene, acetylene gas, and electricity. Of these, the most advanced are acetylene gas and the florescent electric globe. While there mast always be a place for kerosene, coal gas is rapidly being relegated to a thing of the past, and it is a relief to know that the day of the obnoxious smell of gas from leaking pipes, jumping metres and consequent excessive cost, danger of death from "blowing out the gas" and the day of countless other evils that coal gas has made us heir to, is rapidly passing away. If there ever was any poetry in the flickering, unsteady light, we wish it gone—and in its stead we look forward to the many wonderful productions of our day that mark the nineteenth century as one of unparalleled progress. The twentieth century will soon be here, and it will witness many improvements for man's comfort and convenience, but on the question of light, when we keep in mind the recent innovations, it is difficult to see that there is "more beyond."
***
The world is overrun with beautiful theories as a meadow in latter May is overrun with flowers. You look at the blossoming field, where the color riots in the yellow sunshine, under the bending blue, and you wonder if there will be aught for the scythe at mowing time. Bui all the while, down beneath the glory of purple and scarlet and gold, the young, strong grass is growing. When the Maytime passes, the flowers pass, too, and the grass, grown suddenly tall, remains, an emerald field over which the wind sweeps in soft, undulating ripples. And the world is richer for the beauty that has been — for the blossoms that have blown, just as it is a pleasanter abiding-place because of the dreams men dream and the visions they behold when they turn from the things that are to the things that might be. For theories are the silver threads that a man's soul spins out of the inner, the artistic cravings of his own spiritual, or intellectual, nature — moon beams that gild the commonplace and make the real seem ideal. But when the spinner calls his beautiful theory a religion, a thing to live by, to die for, why, he deludes himself and countless others. For he has mistaken the moonlight for the warm, strong light of day.
***
One of the strongest indications that prosperity is not coming, but has already arrived, is to be found in the heavy increase of travel which all the railroad companies report. The business far exceeds that of any past year, and one company has, owing to the pressure of rapidly growing traffic, been compelled to borrow five hundred cars from the East. Even with this addition to its rolling stock it has been unable to handle all its business. The experience of one transcontinental line is the experience of all, and the tide of travel sets steadily and strongly Westward. The North Pacific coast is beginning to be known and recognized as one of the richest sections of the Union. Its natural resources, as yet almost untouched, are beyond question unequalled on this or any other continent.
PRYTHEE, POET, SWEETLY SING.
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Prythee, Poet, sweetly sing,
Budding beauties of the spring,
Summer's wealth of golden grain,
Orchards dotting hill and plain,
Autumn's vintage, winter's cheer,
With the yule-log blazing clear.
Be a seer to the blind;
Be a prophet to thy kind;
Sing of golden hours today;
Sing of well-springs by the way.
Brimming o'er with love and truth,
Fond desire and gentle ruth;
Sing of noble deeds again;
Sing a noble race of men,
Such as God would have us be,
Children of Eternity!
Prythee, Poet, sing, oh sing,
Beauty, joy in everything,
Till the sun shall shine amain
Through grief's bitter, blinding rain.
