. Walt Mason : his book. behind; a myriad worlds are whirling,concealed by the nearer spheres; and therethey have coursed their orbits a million mil-lion years. I gaze at the spangled spaces,the bed of a billion stars, from the luminousveil of Venus, to the militant glare of Mars,and wonder, when all is ended, as ended allthings must be, if the Captain will then re-member a poor little soul like me. Im tiredof the endless questions that come, and willnot begone, when I face to the East and wit-ness the miracle of the dawn; the march ofthe shining coursers oer forest and sea andland; the splend
. Walt Mason : his book. behind; a myriad worlds are whirling,concealed by the nearer spheres; and therethey have coursed their orbits a million mil-lion years. I gaze at the spangled spaces,the bed of a billion stars, from the luminousveil of Venus, to the militant glare of Mars,and wonder, when all is ended, as ended allthings must be, if the Captain will then re-member a poor little soul like me. Im tiredof the endless questions that come, and willnot begone, when I face to the East and wit-ness the miracle of the dawn; the march ofthe shining coursers oer forest and sea andland; the splendor of gorgeous colors ap-plied by the Captains hand; the parting ofcrimson curtains afar in the azure steep; thehush of a world-wide wonder, when eventhe zephyrs sleep. And I look on the birthof morning as millions have gazed before,and question the wave that questions therocks and the sandy shore. When all ofthese things are ended, as ended these thingsmust be, will the Captain of all remembera poor little soul like me?. ^ a Walt Mason TEN MILLION bones, said goodJohn Dee, will reach the SunnySouth from me; this hookwormscourge, that ruins men, and lays a countrywaste again, must be suppressed at any cost—those broken men must not be lost! Tomake them feel like men once more, todrive gaunt Famine from their door, tomake them like strong Saxons live, ten mil-lion bones Ill freely give. The victims ofthe hookworm scourge, the toilers at theloom and forge, the humble yeoman at hisplow, may see some ray of comfort now I Ishudder when I read the tales of ruin inthose Southern vales; too tired to do thesimplest chores, men lounge all day abouttheir doors, and when the suns low in theWest, the whole caboodle go to rest. Andthus these tillers of the soil burn mightylittle of my oil. When this outrageousworm decamps, theyll trim the wicks andlight the lamps, and read the books theyhave in stock, and all sit up till one hookworms acted very mean in shut-ting off the kerosen
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