its embankment was two-thirds of a 

 mile in width. Efforts to close it were 

 ineffective except in low water, and 

 when it was at last almost accomplished 

 the celestials had a narrow but con 

 stantly deepening breach to mend, 

 its depth during the last days of the 

 work being so great that a torrent 

 sixty feet deep fought with gigantic 

 might against the endeavors of the 

 men. At times the bed of this river 

 has actually stood above the level of 

 the surrounding country, its walls hav 

 ing risen with the rise of the bed due 

 to the deposit of mud till it seemed as 

 if the great river had risen to take a 

 look over the surrounding plain to see 

 where it could wreak the direst ven 

 geance on those who prevented it from 

 running unvexed to the sea. 



We may learn from the wide experi 

 ence of the Chinese that there is no 

 safety for us in merely building higher 

 the walls to restrain the Mississippi. 

 The nation must take hold of the mat 

 ter with a strong hand. Possibly forty 

 or fifty millions will be necessary to 

 construct the works which will moder 

 ate the flow and distribute its waters 

 to those who need it in their irrigating 

 ditches. Even though it cost thrice 

 the sum paid to Spain in settlement of 

 the Philippine question, the people 

 would more gladly give it. 



Nothing short of a great ship canal 

 along the bed of the Mississippi will 

 satisfy Americans. There is but one 



objection to the work, and that is its 

 great expense. But we have recently 

 seen that the cost of one great inunda 

 tion along the Brazos was far more 

 than the figures here named, and no 

 account need be made of the loss of 

 life and the suffering that followed 

 that great disaster. 



Our great river must be controlled. 

 Not in the Chinese fashion, which we 

 know to be merely the storing of wrath 

 against the day of wrath, but it must 

 be done intelligently and with pa 

 tience, with faith in ourselves and a de 

 termination to prevent the great loss 

 of life which will be imminent every 

 time there happens to be the coming 

 of a flood from the eastern mountains 

 and another from the western at the 

 same time. 



Our great water way, whe'n properly 

 controlled and protected by permanent 

 revetments and masonry, will furnish 

 the farmers of the great plains a nat 

 ural outlet to the sea for all their prod 

 uce. This will be monopolized by no 

 railway trust; no combination of steam 

 boat men will put the farmer into the 

 hands of corporations seeking to rob 

 him of the best part of his crop on the 

 way to market, for there will be docks 

 along every man's water front, and 

 the rudest flatboat will always rely 

 upon the favoring current to bear its 

 cargo to the sides of independent ves 

 sels plying the seas to the uttermost 

 parts of the earth. 



INDIAN SUMMER. 



Withal there comes a time when summers 



wane, 

 When from the sunshine something- seems 



withdrawn, 

 And pensive shadows lengthen on the 



lawn; 



White bindweed wanders lonely in the lane, 

 The one sweet thing that now unwithered 

 doth remain. 



But there is beauty in autumnal bough 

 No less than in dear April's dewy leaves, 

 When with its. store of golden-girdled 



sheaves 

 Piled stands the wain where one time passed 



the plow, 



And ripened labor reaps fulfillment of its 

 vow. 



Then, though no more the oblivious cuckoo 



calls 



Prom land to land, nor longer on the spray 

 Of yellowing elm the throstle vaunts his 



lay, 



The ringdove's mate, as fades the leaf and 



falls, 

 Reiterates its note of love that never palls. 



Though fluttereth still the soul-like lark 



aloft, 



There is a quiet in the woodland ways, 

 The retrospective hush of vanished days^ 

 And around garden close and orchard croft 

 A something in the air celestially soft. 



From hamlet roofs blue spires of smoke 



once more, 



As dies the day in mist along the dale, 

 And widowed evening weeps behind her 



veil, 

 From log-replenished ingle heavenward 



soar, 



And lamps are early lit, and early latched 

 the door. 



Alfred Austin. 



176 



