IX.
When, now, the monster spirit of protest begins to show its gigantic figure, high, low, and middle classes are alarmed. Prices fluctuate, business goes down, work and bread are scarce. Behold, in the heavens appear the gruesome phantoms of war. But so far, in every crisis, messengers from worlds beyond have sanctified the impending woe to the world's welfare.
The tides of progress are in the hands of the Infinite, who measures from cycle to cycle their ebb and flow; while the ever rising tide-mark signifies the ultimate inundation of the millenium. How great is God! How small is man in his own councils!
Its all very well for them as can do it,
To strive after learning and try to construe it,
But an ostrich's presumption is, clearly, mere shoddy,
His head is too small for the size of his body."
The snail next emerged from his shell, to announce
His opinion, in words he could scarcely pronounce;
He spake without grace and his voice was not strong,
While his sentences dragged themselves slowly along;
"An estredge," he said, "is er monstrus big creeter,
Who'd kill you all dead, as you'd kill er muskeeter;
Ef he stepped his gret foot on your body and shell,
I'm sure you would never, again, feel so well;"
The snail then withdrew to his shell's deep recesses,
With the same staid demeanor he ever possesses.
The hatter essayed, now, to speak, in his turn,
In serious words, that evinced his concern,
Lest justice miscarry and leave their decision
A subject for mirth, if not open derision.
"My friends," he began, "I'm pleased with your brevity,
But you treat the matter with far too much levity;
Its plainly the duty of those of our station,
To recomend that which deserves commendation;"
"The world is a large one, and all who are in it
Should join in this principle, this very minute,—
That nature, or Providence, made no mistake
In giving an ostrich a head that will ache,
In order that when he slips off from his trolley,
Some well sustained kicks may reveal him his folly."