Capital journal. (Salem, Or.) 1893-1895, 1894-09-25


cd water which is only waiting 20 be-
called up TO irrisate the surface. What
irrigation has done for Egypt and China
and IS doing for tho American desert
wlil be done for the lille acreage OF
Australia. It has been demonstrated
again and again that better than the
rainfall 1t is to have waters gathered
into reservoirs, and so drouRhts and
freshets are avoided, and when you
want water you turn it on, and when
you want it to stop you turn it of. If
you say there are not enough hills in
Australia to pour down the water upon
the lands, / reply by asking, Where is
tho-power of machinery? Science and
enterprise will invent pump that
could spout up the subterraneous and
hidden rivers, lakes and oceans of Aus
tralia Irrigation will yet abolish the
American desert, the Arabian desert,
the great Sahara desert and the Austria
lian desert. All hail TO the agriculture
and mining and merchandise and man.
ufacture and art and opulence and re-
ligion of the coming generations Of
Australia After awhile America, the
focus of emigration from all lands, will
be occupied. and then, if not before,
Australia will call the millions Of the
earth who want more room and better
chance and easier livelihood to pass
through the same ocean gate that open
ed for us few days ago, and to feel
the welcome blooming from the same
skies, and reaching out from the same
Hawkesbury sandstone, and breathing
in the balsamic atmosphere, and fash
ing from the depths Of the same match
less harbor
While debating this letter to Ste
nographer in Sydney and looking off
upon its harbor hear the chimes of the
bells from the tower Of the postoffice
1t is tho only postoffice that 1 have ever
known to be graced by such charnl of
harmonies. But how appropriate, for the
postoffice of every city rings out more
music or tolls more sadness than any
other building. There are the piles of
letters with joyful tidings and hilarious
surprises and marriage announcements,
and every postoff1oe ought to have
chime Of wedding bells. But every post
Office has piles of letters with stories Of
sadness and bereavement and loss and
death and burial, and therefore such
building ought to have bells to sound
the knell and bells to toll the grief.
Ring on, ye bells Of Sydney postofice,
and sound over yonder harbor your mer-
riment or sadnessl -Four times every
hour that tower showers its chimes. At
each quarter hour the air is stirred with
its melodies, but at the close of each
full hour the effect is very peculiar.
Tinkle and clash and jingle and roll go
the sweet metallic voices, as much as
to say: "Be CHEEKY while the moments
go by. Move as briskly as you can and
let the passing moments keep step with
the sounding joy" But, while you are
listening, suddenly there comes in the
mighty stroke of the postoffioe clock in
deepest and most reverberating tone, let
ting you know that one more hour Of
time is forever past. and it sounds sol
emn and tremendous, as though at every
stroke it said of the hour just departed:
"Gonel Gonel Gonep'
The deep bass of that last sound over
powering the merry sopranos that pre-
ceded it. So the gladnesses and solem-
mites commingle. But perhaps may
have misinterpreted the utterances of
that heavy and mighty clock in the post
office tower. 1t seemed like the death
knell of the hour and seemed to say,
"Gone, gonep' But, now that think 1t
over, that bell might have been in diff
ferent mood from what / thought, for
bells have moods, and they weep, and
they laugh, and they dance, and they
groan. It may be that the resounding
and overpowering stroke in that tower
might have been one Of invitation, and
that because this harbor is the ocean gate
of an almost infinitude of opportunity,
and the mines are waiting for more
and the pasturage is waiting
for more hocks, and the hillsidee are
waiting for more cities, and the pio-
turesque is waiting for more artists, and
the fields are waiting for more plows,
and the printing presses are waiting
for moro authors, and the fora is wait
ing for more botanists, and the skies
are waiting for more astronomers, and
the churches are waiting for more wor-
shippers, and these lands are waiting for
more occupants. and this harbor is wait
ing for more merchantmen, the bell of
the postoffice tower is really sending |
forth welcome word to the people Of
all lands and the voyagers Of all seas,
saying, Come, come, comei"
T. DE WITT TALMAGE.
The Gold Fever.