stable destroyed, a crop wasted or a domestic animal drowned.

Hence I hear a call to co-operation in the wrathful notes of these rivers; a cry to men against their too great haste to get rich; a booming signal to the government to more carefully protect its citizens against their own selfishness and hurry.

There are other notes, however, that some of these great rivers now sing. For centuries such streams as the Colorado have flowed, uselessly as it seemed, and civilized mankind has condemned them as of little or no benefit to the race. Like vampires, they have drained the countries through which they passed, and given little in return. But now, a new note in their song is heard a note that men were not ready for before. It is the note of conservation for power and irrigation. These streams have been prepared and waiting, during the centuries, until men needed. them, and now they are being called upon to deliver up their resources of power, and to irrigate the thirsty land that, without them, would have remained desert to the end of time. The Salt River gathering its rich treasures in the mountain ranges of interier Arizona, had poured them out prodigally upon the thirsty sands of the desert valleys, to be swallowed up and lost. Now, restrained by the great Roosevelt dam they generate thousands of horse-power for lighting and turning the wheels of commerce in mill, factory and mine to far away Globe and Miami

in the east, and Phoenix in the west, besides sending forth a rich stream of purest water during the dry season to irrigate the hundreds of thousands of fertile acres of the Salt River Valley. Here a score of towns and villages have sprung into existence and prosperous farmers, with happy contented wives and smiling, healthy children, rejoice in the new song of the river, and themselves heartily join in Singing through Life with God.

This is but the beginning! Millions of arid acres are yet to be reclaimed. Hundreds of millions of acre-feet of water, that now run to waste in the fall and spring, must be conserved, restrained, thus checking its destructive force and at the same time storing it for profitable use when needed. When Congress finds time to consider the Constructive Forces of Peace this and similar matters will engage their attention to the great benefit and joy of the people.

How has your life been in the past, how is it now? Are you like these great vampire rivers of the centuries, receiving all and giving out nothing, pouring forth the riches of your life upon the desert sands of a selfish, luxurious, barren existence? If so, listen to the new song of the rivers. Let it sink into your heart and call you, arouse you, inspire you to a new life. Call upon the powers which God has given you and tell them to sing the new song. Join in the Universal Chorus of Usefulness to your Fellows. Break away from the useless existence of the past. Be a

Giver as well as a Receiver. Let real pride assert itself within you and be too proud to be holding your hands out, like a contemptible beggar, too lazy to work, for the "tips" of life that you may take it easy at the expense of the workers of the land. For sure as fate the new note will sound ere long, with a force and certainty that cannot be misunderstood. The day for drones is past. No man shall eat who will not work. The useless, the non-producer, the shirker, the slacker, shall no longer encumber the earth, and you, my lazy friend, who toil not neither do ye spin, shall be cast into the discard because you refuse to sing the Song of Work, of human brotherhood, our oneness in labor as in enjoyment.

CHAPTER XXII

SONGS OF THE SEA

EACH spring and summer millions of people flock

to the seashore. They are lured thither by the Songs of the Sea. The illimitable expanse of the waters with their mystery; the cool breezes; the roar of the surf; the scintillant dance of the waves; the vessels of every description, especially the gay yachts and the rapid moving motor-boats; the promenade on the beach or the nearby esplanade; the gay throngs on the sands; the children building their mimic forts or houses or levees, only to watch the incoming tide demolish them; the lovers sitting close under the giant umbrella or gay Japanese parasol; and then, the happy, jolly, shouting, screaming, giggling bathers, dancing up and down in the shallow surf, meeting the incoming rollers hand in hand, diving headlong into them, or joyously swimming out beyond; how attractive it all is! These are all true and legitimate songs of the sea, for they sing of renewed health and restored energy, of added vigor and life. Every one can join in these songs to their great benefit.

Every city dweller, and country resident, and especially those whose homes are in the hot, parched,

desert areas of our land, should be privileged to hear the song of the sea-waves for several weeks each year. What a relief it would be to them, both in anticipation and actual reality, and what a joy in retrospect.

But there are other seaside songs that do not fit into the Great Symphony of God-the carousing, the gluttony, the deliberate temptations to an evil life held out to young girls, the open sensuality-these are notes, tones, tunes that jangle, jar and spoil the beautiful melodies and harmonies, the simple and pure pleasures the sea affords.

To the fisherman the sea has other songs to which he listens with enchantment. All the beach towns of the Atlantic and Pacific, and on the Gulf of Mexico, are full of allurement at the proper season to the disciples of Izaak Walton, yet I doubt not the venerable father of angling would look in perfect amaze upon the piscatorial achievements of some of his later-day followers. Fish-story-tellers have a proverbial reputation of which it behooves ordinary men and liars to beware. But the ordinary fish-story-tellers of East and South, North and inland country, of mountain brook, tarn or lake, may better learn early than late that their most startling yarns will fall on dull and deadened ears if they are led to tell them to the Porch Club, on Santa Catalina Island, in Southern California. I know-for I have heard them try to tell their little kindergarten stories to men who reveled