In these days such a strenuous evasion of publicity is suspicious.
She refuses to answer, she will not even state her business or tell her real name.
For æons (quite a number of æons) this Giddy one has been going round under various male and female aliases such as--Cosmos, Mother Earth, The World, Mrs. Grundy, the Footstool, the Terrestrial Globe.
If you look up her record you will find the following press notices--
"This World is given to Lying." Henry IV.
"The World is too much with us." Wordsworth.
"The World is grown so bad." Richard III.
"The World is not thy friend." Romeo and Juliet.
"This World is all a fleeting show." Moore.
"The weary weight of all this unintelligible World." Wordsworth.
"A World of vile ill-favoured faults." Merry Wives of Windsor.
"Stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this World." Hamlet.
"This dim spot that men call Earth." Milton.
It is possible that the Giddy Globe has read the above clippings and, realizing that she has been discovered, spins round with all her might to avoid being photographed for the Rogues' Gallery of the Universe.
_When I am moved to contemplate_ _The rude and unregenerate state_ _Of that rampageous reprobate_ _The World at large,_ _And as I mark its stony phiz_ _And see it whoop and whirl and whiz,_ _I can but cry--O Lord, why is_ _The World at large?_
Climate is a Theory. Weather is a condition.
Or, to make it clearer to the reader, Climate is a Hypothesis and Weather is a _Reductio ad Absurdum_. This explains why it invariably snows for the first time in years whenever one goes to California.
Everything in Nature is designed to contribute to the needs or pleasures of Mankind.
From the tree of the forest we get the wood from which the nutmeg is made, the wood-alcohol for our Scotch high-ball and the pulp for our newspaper, which, in turn, is transmuted to leather for the soles of our soldiers' boots.
From the sands of the sea we make sugar for sweetening our coffee--that mysterious beverage, the secret of whose manufacture has never been revealed.
From the cotton plant comes the woolen under-garment and the soldier's blanket.
From the lowly cabbage springs the Havana Perfecto, with its gold and crimson band, and from the simple turnip is distilled the golden champagne, without which so many lives will now be empty.