BLUE BIRD ESSAY

Evening Post, Volume LXXXV, Issue 110, 10 May 1913, Page 10

BLUE BIRD ESSAY

PRIZE WINNER AGED FIFTEEN MAETERLINCK'S INTERPRETER. The winner of the two-guinea prize in connection with Mr. J. C. Williamson's "Blue Bird" essay competition is Miss Amy Denton, of Thompson-street, Wellington, aged 15 years. So remarkable is it in imagination and expression, for a child so young, that wo publish it in full, as follows: — Witnessed upon the stage or read thoughtlessly, this dream presents such a simple story, told so simply, that a child's mind may follow it. But who is there among those who desire to read it thoughtfully, and so understand it, who can comprehend to the uttermost the wealth of meaning, the beautiful truths embodied in "The Blue Bird"? We all desire and seek happiness, for this is the wine of life. Sitting in our humble homes, perchance we feel discontented and restless. We are tired of our estate in life, our obscure position does not satisfy us. Closing our eyea, we let our thoughts dwell upon the "rich children" — those who have been blessed by Fortune with a rich endowment of the world's goods. We peep out of the casement of our poverty and smallness, and imagine ourselves in the position of the favoured ones. If we, too, had luxury, ease, amusements, popularity, fair possessions, how happy we could be I The Blue Bird would surely be ours. But while we dream, and envy, and long, a voice arouses us, bidding us perform some small duty. We are back again in our obscurity and smallness, and the Blue Bird, which seemed to be fluttering about our dream, has flown away. We must find the Blue Bird, however long it may take us. . What have we to aid us in our search? Only humble, homely, every-day things — bread, milk, sugar, Water, fire, sight ; things which are so ordinary that we do not appreciate their worth. Weary of the present, and of our futile search for happiness, we send our thoughts back into the past — into the dim Land of Memory, where dwell dear ones departed, happy hours forever fair scenes we may see no more on earth. We drift back among the things that have been, and perhaps for a brief hour we are satisfied. We cheat ourselves into thinking that the Blue Bird dwells in Land of Memory. " But we cannot live in ,the past ; the present claims us, and 10, the" Blue Bird has changed — it has become black. ( Alas ! We have once more failed in our search. Then, perchance, the forest calls us. Wo wander idly among the giant treetrunks, we pull handfulls of wild flowers, we breathe the scented air — and we. are happy. Yes, a strange, indescribable joy is ours, here in the soft green glamour of the forset. There is some sort of happiness here — the happiness that comes of peace. Is the Blue Bird here, among the trees? How are we to find it? Pei haps old Father Oak holds it close within his mighty arms. The Blue Bird is his. We ask him for it, but he holds it in his breast, and will not part with it< We beg him to tell us the secret of the happiness cf tho forest, but he is silent. So we must needs go home, for it grows dark, and we cannot remain here. Oh, Blrie Bird, we are , Lecoming so cad ' cencf "' disheartened! No, we cannot find happiness here. Perhaps we .will find, it .in dreaming of the ..future, and. wbai it may bring us. We think of all the children yei to bo born. Surely there will be socio amon^ them 'who will make us happy — some little, fair-faced children, who \vill, with eager hands, hold the Blue Bird towardn us. New souls are continually being brought down to earth in tho galley of Father Time. Among Lhem all, vi dream of a cmile that will make na glad. We are transposed to the foturc, but v;e may not stay there for kwg. Our visions fade; the Blue Bird that has brooded over ouv'dreun g.'owo dim. We find ourselves beside n. rindow — not 'the golden One of tho future, bul the leaden orie of the present. Whers, then, can the Blue Bird be ! Will wo' ever have it, to hold in our arms? Blue Bird, longed-for, rought-foi. 1 little Blue Bird, why are jou so elusive ; to near sow, now so fa: 1 A\vd,y \ It is night. Gazing into the vclve*. face of the sky, with ii f s myriad little siaiy, our souls are tianspo-tcd. Aiourid us, oa the earth, ax 3 all mrnner of evils abroad — sickneos, bad spirits, coldn, sorrows. But wo think not of thet>o, for our eyes aro on the stars. We letr the sordid thoughts of earth drop away from us, like a heavy cloak, and we softly open the gate of night. Here' Wo find numerous Blue Birds, wit'i throbbing breasta and wing 3of blue, sheeny, aoft. We will be good tomorrow, we say , then wo shall le happy. Everybody xrill be kind and nice, and we shall at last find people pleasant. We think of our friends, as we lift our eyes to the sky. Our thoughts dwell upon all that is beautiful and peaceful. We have found the Blue Bird behind the portals of night — in fact, we have found, many Blue Birds. At last, at last, little elusive Bird^ It is morning ; the sun is up. We rise from our beds, and begin our daily round. It is so uninteresting, and all the world is cross with us. VVe grumble and groan, and work unwillingly. Suddenly, we remember with a pang our good resolutions of the night; last night we found arhifuls of Blue Birds behind the dusky portals. Where are they now ? Dead ! The tender blue things, brought into the blaze of tho commonplace, into the light of toil, are dead. Dead and cold ! Ah, elusive little Blue Bird, you are breaking our hearts! Shall we ever find you? We are in our simple home. Our neighbour's little one is ill. We will visit her, and take a small gift. We look round the humble room. The canary in his cage ! We will take it to tho little one. So we make our way to tho sick room, and as we place our canary in the thin little hands, 10, it seems to have become blue ! Why, it is the Blue Bird we thought so elusive, and it has been .hanging in our cottage the while we roamed in search of it lh places afar off! Ah, how blind wo have been ! At last we realise the true meaning of Happiness. It is found in the giving of the cup of cold water to the one athirst; the kind word, the understanding glance, tho little gift. We no longer count as small those things which a.re given us to aid our search. Light, bread, milk, sugar, water, fire — how good they all are to us. the dear, homely things ! They aro all we need to help us find the Blue Bird, if we go about it in the right way. Why did we wander so far afield? Yes, we have been very blind. And now that we have found the Blue Bird, may it hang in its cage at our cottage window and sing forever !