14 THE 1RRIGA TJOiV A GE. 



to follow in its own time if this be properly taken care of; that irri- 

 gation is the surest and quickest of all foundations for prosperity 

 directly from the soil when the projectors believe in their own game 

 and devote all their business capacity to it. 



In striking contrast to this as an object lesson is the canal 

 on the Mojave, near Dagget. Several hundred inches of water 

 are there flowing today exactly the same as four years ago, coming 

 from the underflow of the largest of Southern California rivers. It 

 is plain that there is ten times (or more) that amount that can be 

 taken in by extension of the drains, an operation both cheap and sim- 

 ple. The water ha.s been flowing four years upon land that has been 

 perfectly proved and has nothing the matter with it. Tens of thou- 

 sands of acres more lie beneath the water. No better proposition lies 

 out of doors, that is for one equally remote from big centers. Every 

 pound of stuff raised there has a freight rate of fifty- six cents a hun- 

 dred in its favor, and four years ago the produce laid down at the 

 single point Dagget, was ninety-seven thousand dollars a year, all of 

 which could have been raised there. The proposition has been ap- 

 proved by every expert who has seen it, yet it lies there a desert to- 

 day. I own, myself, two feet of the water, a hundred inches, and 

 want to put a half section in alfalfa. Yet I won't do it or allow any of 

 my friends to consider it in its present condition. 



What is the matter V Townsites, smelters, waterpowers, stamp 

 mills, electricity and everything in the world but the simplest, 

 surest and quickest way of getting money out of the ground, irriga- 

 tion. That is of the last and least importance. That can take care of 

 itself. All else must be attended to first. That can afford to wait. 



She heard old Winter on her track. 



And running- faster and faster, 

 She tripped upon a slender vine, 



Its scarlet love-knot tying 

 About an oak tree's mossy root 



And sent her treasures flying. 



So now on every sunny hill, 



In every Jittle valley 

 Or meadow, where the amber brocks 



With music love to dally, 

 And all along the winding road, 



With summer dust still hoary, 

 Her scattered garlands blossom yet 



In gold and purple glory. 



