That minds me of our Viscount loon-Sir

Kenneth's kin-the chap

Wi' russia leather tennis-shoon an' spar-decked yachtin'-cap.

I showed him round last week, o'er all-an' at the

last says he:

"Mister McAndrews, don't you think steam spoils romance at sea?"

Damned ijjit! I'd been doon that morn to see what ailed the throws,

Manholin', on my back--the cranks three inches from my nose.

Romance! Those first-class passengers they like it very well,

Printed an' bound in little books; but why don't poets tell?

I'm sick of all their quirks an' turns-the loves an' doves they dream

Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' Steam!

To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime

Whaurto-uplifted like the Just-the tail-rods mark the time.

The crank-throws give the double-bass; the feedpump sobs an' heaves:

An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on

the sheaves.

Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides,

Till hear that note ?-the rod's return whings glimmerin' through the guides.

They're all awa!

True beat, full power, the

clangin' chorus goes

Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamoes.

Interdependence absolute, foreseen, ordained, de

creed,

To work, Ye'll note, at any tilt an' every rate o'

speed.

Fra skylight-lift to furnace-bars, backed, bolted, braced an' stayed,

An' singin' like the Mornin' Stars for joy that they are made;

While, out o' touch o' vanity, the sweatin' thrustblock says:

"Not unto us the praise, or man-not unto us the praise!"

Now, a' together, hear them lift their lesson-theirs an' mine:

"Law, Orrder, Duty an' Restraint, Obedience, Dis

cipline!"

Mill, forge an' try-pit taught them that when roar in' they arose,

An' whiles I wonder if a soul was gied them wi' the blows.

Oh for a man to weld it then, in one trip-hammer

strain,

Till even first-class passengers could tell the meanin' plain!

But no one cares except mysel' that serve an' understand

My seven thousand horse-power here. Eh, Lord!

They're grand-they're grand!

Uplift am I? When first in store the new-made beasties stood,

Were Ye cast down that breathed the Word declarin' all things good?

Not so! O' that warld-liftin' joy no after-fall

could vex,

Ye've left a glimmer still to cheer the Man-the Arrtifex!

That holds, in spite o' knock and scale, o' friction, waste an' slip,

An' by that light-now, mark my word-we'll build the Perfect Ship.

I'll never last to judge her lines or take her curve—

not I.

But I ha' lived an' I ha' worked. All thanks to

Thee, Most High!

An' I ha' done what I ha' done-judge Thou if ill or well

Always Thy Grace preventin' me. . . .

Losh! Yon's the "Stand by" bell. Pilot so soon? His flare it is. The mornin'-watch

is set.

Well, God be thanked, as I was sayin', I'm no Pelagian yet.

I'll

'Morrn, Ferguson. Man, have ye ever thought What your good leddy costs in coal? . . Aurn 'em down to port.

THE MIRACLES.

I SENT a message to my dear

A thousand leagues and more to herThe dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear, And Lost Atlantis bore to her.

Behind my message hard I came,

And nigh had found a grave for me; But that I launched of steel and flame Did war against the wave for me.

Uprose the deep, by gale on gale,
To bid me change my mind again-
He broke his teeth along my rail,
And, roaring, swung behind again.

I stayed the sun at noon to tell
My way across the waste of it;

I read the storm before it fell

And made the better haste of it.