"THESE THINGS REMAIN."

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 96, 24 April 1931, Page 14 (Supplement)

"THESE THINGS REMAIN."

(By Sylvia Brose, 10, Pencar-ow Avenue, Mount Eden; aged lo.)

As I finished reading the last page frhe book slipped from my fingers, it was a peculiar book, a powerful book. 1 seemed suddenly to be impressed with the futility of everything which loomed in the future, came, or did not come, in the present, and slipped unremembered into the past. I began to wonder what part, however insignificant, we all played in the great drama of life unfolding itself around me. As these thoughts passed through my mind I was seated before an open window. Then, even as I watched, its frame became larger, till it appeared to be the front of the stage, and I, the spectator, now saw before me a vast and limitless space with black, black depths. This was the setting, the setting of eternity. Gradually a picture formed. I saw a noble city,"the bright morning sun glinting on its towers and battlements, ginning on the tall, beautiful buildings. I sensed.the throb of life inside its walls, caught a glimpse of hundreds of people, hundreds of people shaping their little lives in their little city. Swiftly the scene changed. A grey shado.w seemed to fall athwart that sinning city; a grey, grey shadow. I saw its people pass into the great forgotten past, the buildings crumble into ruin. Then it faded altogether, and the black curtain seemed to be lowered once more over a limitless void. ■Slowly, a general lightness, like morning breaking after a stormy night, lit up a scene impressive and grand. Stretched away as far as the eye could see, la} sand. Sand, sand, sand, tijl the little knolls .and hills seemed, merged in one great plain. As though borne on the wings of some supernatural power, I was swept over this vast waste, till a green oasis, shaded with palm trees, rose to my view. Below me I saw a fierce desert tribe, glutted with victory and intoxicated with killing. An old white-haired man, with face as ficrce and savage as any, was addressing them. X heard his full, sonorous voice ringing' out over that throng. "You have fought well, my people. Many have you killed. Much spoil have you gathered in this, the hour of /our victory. Your names shall be ing! Yes, children of the desert, as long as your desert shall last your names wiJl be preserved as those who fought a great fight and conquered!" And 1 heard the deep-throated chorus of approval, that followed. Then again that ominous grey shade seemed to pass over this scene, and the all-enduring, iron sons of the desert were gone. No single voice broke the awful silence of that desert space. No name, alas! ' still sounded. No vestige of the conquerors or their descendants disturbed the awful serenity of their ancient home. Everything was lost in the black gulf. I waited now for (the next act in this drama but my mind was confused and lost in hopeless wonderiifgs and questionings. There seemed nothing stable to which to cling in this chaos. Still I waited. Then a picture formed, and another, but all confused. No clearness of vision seemed left me. I could not concentrate. The pictures were not defined. Then from the midst of this disturbance spoke a voice. "Out of Eternity they come. Death casts the shadow of his wings around them. Oblivion throws its black impenetrable veil over them and they depart whence they came —into Eternity." The voice ceased, and I was left with that awful sense of littleness. Then again I was raised on those swift-moving wings and seemingly borne to the top of some mountain. I felt the sweet evening breeze blow over my face. "There," said the voice, "gaze and leavn," and instinctively I .watched the glorious golden moon rising in the deep soft blue of the sky and the little stars twinkling, always twinkling. "These tilings remain. There is the answer to your troubled seeking." • * * * > Once more I sat before the window. The book, fallen on the floor, lay face downwards just as I had left it. Outside, the full, golden moon was rising, the stars twinkling—twinkling— hut I felt nearer than ever .before to the soft blue heavens stretched above me.

An Aberdeen man visited London, and' was handsomely entertained by friends. I Before he returned to Scotland he promised to send his host a chicken. A year later he again went south, and sstayed with the same people. As ae was leaving, his-host said: "Well, what about that chicken?" '"Didn't I tell ye?" "Tell me?' No." "Weel, the chicken got better, ye ken."