Young Rice, Cale

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276 THE OPEN COURT.black cloth. Then all is packed back into the guitar and the endlocked on. Nothing can be seen from the sound-hole but darkness.The secret of the professional materializing described, I men-tioned in The Open Court once before ; it lies in a secret trap-doorover the cabinet in the ceiling of the seance room. The ceiling ispapered in designs, and certain lines hide the cuts of this secretdoor, which is on hinges and hooked up from the room above.When the music starts, the assistants above, all "made up" for theoccasion, descend on a padded ladder which they slip down intothe cabinet. It cannot be seen in the room for the curtains. Theyretire u}) this ladder, drawing it up and locking the trap from above,at the end of the seance. Nothing can be learned or found by anexamination of the ceiling from below, as the work on the trap isextra well done.The witch "make-up" is done by spreading over the face alayer of ordinary flour dough, freshly rolled out, and soft. Holesare torn for eyes, mouth, and nostrils. As it dries it forms thehideous cracks. I have known a lady to use this "dough-face" atparties with disastrous results. It is not safe without first warningthe guests that they must control their nerves.The Diakka pictures were not taken during a seance, neitherwere those of the witch ; but I had them specially posed at a dif-ferent time. The former are made by the human hand draped withfur. Two burnt matches are used for eyes, and the thumb makesthe tongue, which protrudes and moves about as the mouth widelyopens. This with ventriloquial talking elTects, certainly producesa sensation in a dim and uncertain light. I am indebted to Mrs.May Wheeler for posing these figures specially for me.POEMS OF FINITUDE AND INFINITUDE.BY C.M.E YOUNG RICE.NAQUITA.*'\y AQUITA," he said, "Naquita,i ^ But one thing do I ask :Bear my dust to the wide plainsAnd scatter it to the four winds.That it may ride the mesas,POEMS OF FINITUDE AND INFINITUDE.The buttes and the red arroyas.And not be shut in a small tomb,An inn for all comers—Whose host, the harrowing worm,Sets no fare forth at all,Save for himself, but silence."And so I took his bodyOf death-made alabasterAnd bore it, in obedience.To the place of cruel burning.I gave his lips to a flameStronger than any passion.And his eyes, that held wide heavenAnd all eternity for me.And I went back to the mesas—Bearing the world and GodIn a little urn of dust.And then—oh hunger of love !—I was stricken and could not do it."If I scatter his dust." I said,"I scatter my soul to madness.For if his heart were blowingOn the windy buttes and mesasMy heart would follow after.But here in a grief-gray urnI still can hear it beating,I still can clasp it to me.He still must wait to ride! ""For a little while must wait.Till the flame shall take me too.And our twin dusts commingledOn the swift mount of the windShall follow all trails that fleshCan never, never follow.Yes, over the Plains shall hurtleAfar, flame-wedded atoms:Till the last wind shall cease.And dust no more be dust.And life and death be one."277278 THE OPEN COURT.FLUTTERERS.In the moist limi)i(l niidnijj^ht of our garden,Does the firefly, who hghts there its sundial,Of time's silent mystic numbers know?As little as do wc of heaven's dial.Which God's eternal star-flies enkindleW'itli constellated wandering and glow.At our mute oj)en window does the grey moth.Who beats toward a warm sense of brightness.Conceive the vastity of Life's desire?As httle as do we—whom the strange urgenceOf love ever lures to flit and flutterToward Life's unappeasing blossom-fire.CHANT TERRESTRIAL.How old on the spheral earth is man ?How long was it ere a sudden thoughtSevered him from his brother-beasts,Taught him to walk,Taught him to talk ?Plow old is he on the si)heral earth ?How old shall he be when earth is coldAnd gives to tlic dead moon ray for rayOf blue chill phos|)horcsccnt mould?How old on the spheral earth is man?Does he a thousand earths in spaceInhabit, and uncertain whyFace to the sky.Face, and die?How old is he on the spheral earth ?How old shall he be when time has rolledAcross Creation's birth-expanseThe last star life and death enfold?279SAVAGE LIFE AND CUSTOM.A GAMBLER'S GUESS AT IT.What are the stars but dice of GodP'lung on the night's uncertain sod?What is the stake He lays with FateBut whether Life's for love or hate?\Vhat if He loses to the Foe?Forfeit to Fate we too must go.What if He wins? SecurityFor all through all eternity.SAVAGE LIFE AND CUSTOM.BY EDWARD LAWRENCE.XT. SAVAGE CHARACTER, AS SHOWN BY THEIR MANNERS,MORALS AND PROVERBS.^TO account of savage life and custom would be complete without^ some notice of their moral characteristics. Savage ways arenot our ways, neither are savage ethics our ethics. We have seenthem practising cannibalism ; offering up human sacrifices and put-ting to death their relations, and we are repeatedly assured thatthis is the natural condition of barbaric man. We have been told,over and over again, that races like the South Sea Islanders, livein a state of "revolting depravity" ; that they are thieves and liars,and that their normal condition is one of "brutal licentiousness."The very expression "savage" is a synonym for all that is vile inhuman nature. Yet we have seen how very careful these wildpeople are in training their little children to ways which all of usdeem to be right ; are w-e then to draw the conclusion that all thiseducation is thrown away when riper years are attained? Suchan argum.ent w^ould be absurd, because it is obvious that for thetraining of the young by the ethical standards we have seen, theremust be a body of public opinion which enforces that teaching andlooks for good results to come therefrom for the benefit of thecommunity.

Poems of Finitude and Infinitude.

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Poems of Finitude and Infinitude.

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