226 THE IRRIGATION AGE. 



and their faults by amalgamation with the course of ages you will have the English 



more intelligent natives of the interior. speaking man, the lover of individual 



The English speaking people is a cos- liberty, the friend of God. That's all 



mopolite one. there is to this so called "Anglo-Saxon" 



Everything that is good is enduring. supremacy. 



Everything that is evil perishes. It is The greatest Englishman of the nine- 



the law of evolution, and the English teenth century wasa Jew! 



speaking man in America, England, Afri- ^ Th&t famous a 



ca, Australia, anywhere and everywhere white Man's hag had to bear his share 



you find him, is a living demonstration of Qf the <^^ man , g burden ,, 



this glorious truth. He is not the off- ., , , . , , ., ,,.,, . 



recently, for certainly most of the "ills to 

 spring of any marauding tribe. He is not ' . , . , ,, . , , . , 



which flesh is heir to" is a burden which 

 the creature of environment. He is the ,, , . ,,. . , 



the "white man" has inflicted upon him- 

 embodiment of the best traits of all races ,, , ,, ,. , . 



self by his reckless disregard of nature, 

 and is superior to all environment. It is , . , , . , 



a burden which his barbarous brother is 

 an insult to the Deity, who is no respector remarkabl free from . 



of persons, to proclaim him a descendant Th& whole civilized wQrld watched the 



of a certain thievish, ignorant, supersti- , , . ,. -, -.. . 



progress of his diaease, and his heroic 

 tious tribe which is obliterated and for- f -^ j u -^ u v * j 



battle with death, with much solicitude, 

 gotten in its own bailiwick. Settle repre- ., . ,. , t 



and drew a deep breath of relief when it 

 sentatives of all nations in a desert island , ^ ^ .. i. \, A A A *v, 



learned that he had conquered death, 

 and let them intermarry, and in the 



IRRIGATION IN RHYME. 



How dear to my heart is the prospect of riches, 

 When dizzy old age comes along by and by, 



A farm in the west with a number of ditches, 

 And life would be one constant Fourth of July. 



How sweet is the sound of swift flowing waters, 

 That coursfe near the fields of alfalfa and oats, 



A sod house to shelter my sons and my daughters, 

 A monster frame barn for the, horses and colts. 



Thus blessed in old age life would be worth living; 



No failure of crops from the desolate drouth, 

 Eacn day would indeed be a day of thanksgiving; 



A prayer in my heart and a song in my mouth. 



The best thing I know of for saving the nation, 

 Is found in the creed of the people now here, 



Whose motto is "ditching," whose pass "irrigation," 

 Who stand up for water as some do for beer. 



No more hot winds will sweep over the prairies 

 To wilt the potatoes and wither the rye, 



When the people dig ditches from Dundy to Cherry, 

 And keep them bank full in the sweet bye and bye. 



There'll be ample cause then for constant rejoicnig, 

 When money is plenty and crops never fail, 



For all will be happy and nobody voicing 

 The gruesome refrain of calamity's wail, 



National Advocate. 



