Then to quiet them comes their father
And stills the riot of pain and grief,
Saying, "Little ones, go and gather
Out of my garden a cabbage leaf.
"You will find on it whorls and clots of
Dull grey eggs that, properly fed,
Turn, by way of the worm, to lots of
Radiant Psyches raised from the dead."
* * * * *
"Heaven is beautiful, Earth is ugly,"
The three-dimensioned preacher saith,
So we must not look where the snail and the slug lie
For Psyche's birth ... And that is our death!
"WIRELESS"
"It's a funny thing, this Marconi business, isn't it?" said Mr. Shaynor,
coughing heavily. "Nothing seems to make any difference, by what they tell
me--storms, hills, or anything; but if that's true we shall know before
morning."
"Of course it's true," I answered, stepping behind the counter. "Where's
old Mr. Cashell?"
"He's had to go to bed on account of his influenza. He said you'd very
likely drop in."
"Where's his nephew?"
"Inside, getting the things ready. He told me that the last time they
experimented they put the pole on the roof of one of the big hotels here,
and the batteries electrified all the water-supply, and"--he giggled--"the
ladies got shocks when they took their baths."
"I never heard of that."
"The hotel wouldn't exactly advertise it, would it? Just now, by what Mr.
Cashell tells me, they're trying to signal from here to Poole, and they're
using stronger batteries than ever.
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