ALICE'S LETTER TO HER READERS. A LETTER.

Otago Witness, Issue 1979, 28 January 1892, Page 41

ALICE'S LETTER TO HER READERS.

A LETTER.

I wonder if there wi\\ ever ooine a time when the world and human nature will have done with sentiment — when we shall have evolved .into thoroughly practical beings j seeing in nothing any mystical spiritual interpretation, and taking the " facts and figures " of existence as the only real 1 Literature, music, painting, and all the arts revel in suggestion, and Eascinate not so much by what they reveal as by what they imply, so that the world and our own life is made up not so much of what is, and what is manifest, as what may be, what we believe

exists beyond the tangible— what we create by our own faith and desires, and what is suggested to us by the very commonest things of every-day life. If we are, as some contend, mere material, how is it that everything both in the material and sense world has got a third and spiritual significance ? If we dwellers on the earth have given birth to this sentiment, from which part of our nature did it spring ? If we are indeed only material, whence have sprung the million phantasies that people our mind world with a spiritual significance ? The sky is blue ; that is the fact. We take it as a symbol of truth ; we are not content that blue phould be blue, but because it is always blue it must mean something. Therefore because we desire that it should be so, it stands for the emblem of truth, and tbe little blue violet is sent as a token of faithfulness. The language of floweis has come to be regarded with as distinct a meaning as the dictionary, and one at which no one cavils, although it is not made up of "facts," but is simply a spiritualised version of the factflowers. Wherjce, if we are material, does the desire spring to make things mean so much more than they really are ? A rose is a rose ; close to it is a thorn. All the world over the rose is an emblem of love, fragrant and hurting. The lily is an emblem of purity. Summer is the emblem of fall, rich, fragrant life, and spring of youth. Nowhere does an3 r thing mean to us simply its material fact, but always holds a suggestion which appeals stronger to us than tbe fact itself. A hill is a hill composed of parts that ages have been busy in forming. Yet more interesting than the history of the formation of these particles, to any but the mind of the geologist, is the suggestion of the power, and strength, and grandeur of the hill. We see in the clouds on its summit not onlyjnists attracted there by purely natural causes, but an illustration of the thin particles of obscurity which intervene between the lofty mind, or sou], and the sun. The stones, the sea, the trees, the flowers, the clouds, the rain, winds, fields hills, sand, shells, hail, ?now, mud, dust, grass, wheat, the running stream, the moaning wave, the summer breeze, the howling wind, the sunbeams, the moonlight, the sunrisp, and sunset— every fact in Nature from the shooting grasp, even the seed in the dark, warm earth, to the stubble of the field — has been used so often as an illustration of spiritual meaning that they all have a deeper and fuller significance than their actual existence. They speak in a language that has grown around them, but is as real as their dictionary meaning. The very colours have their significance— blue for truth and red for fervour, green for jealousy and white for purity. Even our gems have a language of their own, and one which most women and some men listen to with all faith, so that the pearl, which signifies tears, is looked upon askance by most engaged maidens. The very days of the week are said to be lucky or unlucky, while in all ages dreams and "signs" have been taken as imbued with a meaning of something invisible. Superstition, another name for belief in things not tangible, may be educated to a higher form, but has not yet died out. Even now the girl will pick to pieces her marguerite, petal by petal, to "He loves me, he loves me not," with an added excitement of tone and manner, although she does not believe that the first man she sees on Valentine's morning will be her lover for the year. Every girl remembers pulling her daisy to pieces with the words " Rich man, poor man, farmer, ploughman, beggarman, thief," and being more than a little anoyed when the decree was " beggarman or thief." The girl may not believe that — The even ash leaf in my hand, The first I meet shall be my man. Or if she put it into her glove : The even ash leaf in my glove, The first I meet shall be my love. But she will go in secret to the revealer of the future, the fortune-teller, and care a good deal about what she will say. Very few would believe that if they crossed their shoes at night and saidHoping this night my true love to see, I place my shoes in the form of a T, tint they would be sure to see their future husband in a dream ; yet they would believe all he might say in his first love letter. It is very evident, try to disguise the fact as we may, that we are not content with life in its actual practicable demonstratioE, but either from some spiritual need or from sheer greediness want more ; and so everything within ourselves and everything without ourselves has been made to yield not only the actual fact but also the suggestion and promise of the infinite, and very strange indeed it ie, if \»e are but material, that these dreamy, intangible ecstacies and promises are more joygiving than the fact. Your lover BendH you a rose. Very well You grow better roses in yourown garden. You know that the rosohe •sent you wou\d be passed by with contempt by a gardener, and would not bo admitted Into a show. As a rose it is a failure ; as a message it it is eloquent. The fact that the fthorna have been removed has a hundred ■suggestions to offer you, and instead of throwing it out on the dust heap you press it and keep in the bcok you love best, aud long after your lo'var ihas been your husband and turned out to be another man altogether to ■what you imagined him, you still treasure the Tose— not because of him, but because of that beautiful faith of yours. If we aie to become as some people pretend to wish we may — mere scientific de- | "velopments— there will be a new book lore, a ;new music lore, and a new picture lore, for the half-suggested, half-revealei? spiritual intuition which points always to the far away ideal would be a dead and meaningless language. If a lover sent his lady the rose and the violet bound together it would not be a gift priceless in its promise of love arid faithlulness, but an insult as costing 2d. The language of Christmas and birthday gifts would not be in the fact that they implied goodwill and rejoicings that you were bom, but in the value of the pasteboard and glass. Let practical people say what they will, the greatest joys in life are in its suggestions, its types of something on a grander scale, and we can ju9t imagine what a charming place the world would be if we were all cut and dried unbelieving, matter-of-fact individuals, like that man whom you can't Bpend 10 minutes with, and that woman " whom nothing can ronse to enthusiasm. Literature would, be wnfinea to newspaper

reporters, who always tell the tiuth, and even from the name of mother, child, and friend a thousand old beautiful conceits would be stripped, and we Bhould have to paint grim fiends of selfishness and hardness where now we paint angels. We should have to rename most of the things the world is proud of. A hero would be a man who sought distinction ; a mother a woman who obeyed an animal impulse, who, when the animal instincts faded •with age, lacked those tender and protective impulses that the spiritual motherhood sends out after grey hairs. Our friend would be one who enjoyed our company, and any pleasure or honour that our company could bestow, and to whom we might not look in time of disgrace or need. We should gain, certainly, immunity from deceit if we believed in nothing but the tangible, but we should lose infinitely more. The earth, air, sea, and sky, the past, present, and the future, literature and art, all would be as literally swept clear of suggestion as the tower was of phantoms when the bells stopped ringing! How many among you at this very hour Are taking true for false and false for true ? But better the phantoms than to be left alone in the belfry with the dust and the cobwebs. It should not be a question of killing faith, but of educating it. But it takes many of us more than this life to unlearn oar lessons of false for true. We begin with the very small boy, and desire to make him "good." With this end in view we shut him up from the levelling influence of other boys and buy him good books. The stories are full of morals, and wholly destitute of manliness. One tale tells him of two little boys, one born with a predisposition to evil, the other with a predilection to heaven. Both boys go to school, and on the way they pass an orchard, and see apples ripening in the sun. The bad boy and the good boy alike both think they look nice, and both want some. The bad boy gets over the fence, tears . his clothes, and pricks his hands, running ' the risk of the dog and tha farmer's stick, while the good boy waits in the lane, ready to run away on the first alarm. The bad boy is successful, and divides the spoil with the good boy, who eats it and likes it. So far they agree, only the good boy has a conscience and the bad boy has none. Secure in the knowledge that if he confesses he will be pardoned, the good boy tells — not only of himself hit of the bad hoy too, who, not having any conscience to speak of, is punished. What is the true meaning of a tale like this? Why, that the good boy was a sneak. If he had been my boy I would have soundly thrashed him, not because he repented and confessed to his own evil, but because he told on the other boy. As far as his own conscience was concerned it belonged to himself, but to betray his friend was unpardonable. Yet — and no wonder with such morality instilled into them — the good boys grow up and give away the bad ones every day, and people lose faith in what is called the good. Another tale I remember quite well reading was about two other boys. One always went on with his play when women and old folks went by ; the other left a game to be polite. One day he spoilt a cricket match to open a gate for an old man riding a horse, and the boys punched him. Years rolled on, and the boy grew, and the old man died and left him a fortune. Do you believe it ? I don't. Old folks as a rule are not so grateful for sacrifices and services rendered, and if they were ' the principle of the thing is all wrong, 1 because it is holding up as an inducement the reward. It was right of the boy to be kind, and natural of the other boys to punch him, but anything further was an exaggeration. Why, dear me, how many gates we open in a lifetime for other folks to pass through — through our friendship; through our labour ; through our love ; and do any one of them dedicate to our sole use and inheritance the whole of what they possess in themselves for ever 1 Nonsense. A " Thank you," a nod and a smile, or a pat on the head, is all the return, and all we expect, and even for this we risk the punching. On Thursday, as is her, usual custom, Mrs W. H. Reynolds gave a delightful garden party to the Sounds excursionists, on the return of the Tarawera. The day was not all that could be desired, but in spite of this a very pleasant afternoon was spent at Montecillo. Among the guests were the Hon. Richard and Mrs Oliver, Mr and Mrs John Roberts, Dr and Mrs Griffen, Mrs G. M'Lean, the [Rhodes (of Christchurch), Mrs Gibson, Dr and Mrs Colqahoun, Dr and Mrs Ogston, Dr and Mrs Lindo Ferguson, Mrs Sinclair Thompson, Mrs Hoskinq, Mrs P. 0. Neill, the Misses M'Lean, Gibson, MacNei), Teap (2), Sydney, Roberts, Sievwright, Macandrew, and Marten. One of the most exciting of the Lawn Tennis Aflflociation matches was played on Saturday on the Otago courta between the Oarisbrook and Otago Globe. The weather was perfect, and aomo very good play was exhibited on both eidep, the rallies boing exceptionally long. The result of the match was doubtful up to the very end, both clubs keeping equal, but in the end CarisbroQk won by two games. Tea and cake were served during theafternoon to the numerous visitors, among whom wee Mesdames Tennant, MacNeil, Oliver, Royse, E. 0. Reynolds, Haughton, Mackerras, Ridings, Macassey, and the Misses MacNeil, Kemp, Turton, Rattray, Fulton, Stanford. Royse, Macassey, Macandrew, Hale», Reynolds, ard Scott. There are still a good many out of town, Brighton being crowded even yet. On Friday night, thanks to the energy of Mrs Hislop, who is staying there, a concert was got up in aid of the school prizes, and proved a moßt enjoyable affair. Miss Bartleman opened with Trovatore, a song by Mr Cheyne following, Messrs Broadley, Dryden, and Allen then taking part in a trio. Mesdames Hislop and T. Whitson sang a duet which was very much enjoyed, and also solos. Mr Haig contributed two violin solos. Among others who assisted were Miss Cameron, Miss West, Mr F. Cheyne, and Miss Dryden. Each item on the programme was well rendered and thoroughly enjoyed. (To ensure publication In the forthcoming Issue letter* should reach the Witness office not later than Saturday nlglit.) [Description* of balls, Ac, mint he endorsed by either our own correspondent for the district or by the secretary to the hall committee. The MS. of any correspondents who do not comply with thi» rule will be sent to the secretary for endorsement prior to appearing.] SHEARERS' BALL AT HAMILTON. The ball given by the Hamilton station sueavers was held in the Patcaroa schoolroom, and. was a

great success. At about 8 o'clock people were seen flocking from all parts of the district, and fully 50 couples were present. I shall describe a few of the dresses worn on the occasion. Miss Nellie Hirlihy, pale blue ; Miss Greer, white dress, black collar and cuffs ; Miss Irvine, black grenadine relieved with blue and white; Miss Whitehead, black dress with pale blue sash and ribbons; Misses B. and M. Hirlihy, pink ; Miss Crane, brown dress; Miss Hall, blue with white gingham ; Miss Maggie Hirlihy, black dress and pink sash; Miss Mary Greer, pale blue dress; Miss Georgina Pearson, white body and pink skirt; Miss Cowie, white; Miss Kate Hirlihy, pale blue; Miss Pearson, grey dress; Miss Ferguson, lace overskirt with cream body; Miss Bruhns, navy blue and pink ribbons; Miss Henderson, white dress and pink ribbons; Miss Matheson, white dress; Miss Tops Glen, white dress trimmed with black, Spanish vest; Miss 0. Edmonds, white dress with sash and ribbons; MLss Edmonds, pale blue with cream silk. Songs were contributed by Messrs King and Russell, and music by Messrs Churnside, Schcrick, and Perry. The shearers are to be congratulated on the success of their ball.— Nutmeo.

I told you, dear, that I should write, So here's the promised letter, And if it takes me half the night, So much am 1 the better; For without you whatever is I have one feeling only, No matter how I talk and laugh, And that is—l am lonely. How is it there beside the sea ? Are waves and sea shells talking? Like everything I chance to see Whene'er I go awalking. I The little trees all seem to say, j When hanging boughs them smother With over-reaching foliage, j " This big free is my mother. "And when it rains the heavy drops Fall first on her, and reach me Only when they have wet her through, And just enough to teach melt can't be sunshine all life long, Nor does the hot sun fret me; For her green boughs do shadow me As when the rain would wet me." And in the murmuring of those boughs (They always fall to talking Whenever I am not with you And by myself go walking) I hear an answer like to this : " Stay near and nestle under; While I am taller than you are I shield you from the thunder. " You see I know what storm clouds are, And wind may bend me truly, But if its full force fell on you, 'Twould bend or break unduly. My branches may be out of shape, And cold winds may en wreath me, But till you grow a full-sized tree Take shelter here beneath me." A little further on the way, A garden full of flowers Had many pretty things to say Of many sunny hours ; But while I listened to the rose Tell much in summer's praisea, I liked the history disclosed By one sweet bunch of daisies. For 'twas a family group of flowers— The full-grown simple mother With half a dozen little ones Her soft green leaves did cover. And one dead bud lay on the ground, And the poor daisy mother Was bending low as though in grief, And sought her grief to smother. I haven't told you half the news ; Your bird has left off singing " She's gone away, she's gone away," The bells are always ringing ', The old clock ticks, " She's by the sea | The kitten's left off running,— She sits and blinks her eyes at me, As though 'twere no use funning. The house is always tidy now, So neat and quiet—only Your books and hat, your bag and gloves, Do look a little lonely. The half-knit stockings in the box Wonder " when she'll make us "; Your cups and saucers said to me, 111 wish she'd come and break us. 1' You know I love a tidy house, So write it in my letter, But, oh, I love my little girl, Who tumbles things, far better; And if—well never mind that now— You know my fondest wishes; You haven't told me of the sea, Nor all about the fishes. It moans as ever I—sings you sayIt never leaves off singing? 'Tis strange it has a sadder lay, My recollection bringing. 'Tis always laughing as it runs ? And never does it tire, " And when the tide comes in, each wave Reaches a little higher. Till over sand and stones and rocks, The waters, singing, pour, " Aud all the rough and jagged ends Are visible no more." Accomplishment! 'tis that they teach — A triumph over pain ? O little one ! a few more hours The tide goes out again. " And takes the seaweed with it too, And washes clean the beach ; It carries off the ugly things, And leaves them out of reach." 0 ebbing tide of my resolve, Come back unto the land, And with thy broken murmuring waves Take refuse from the sand, And carry it and bury it Far out, and lose it there; So action-sweeping memory Will leave it cleaned and fair. " I like to think," you answer me, With inexperience. True, 'Tits nice to think, but, best of all, I like to think of you. And so, good night; dream me a queen, And I will try to reign ; Or dream that we are both in heaven, And don't wake up again. But if you stayed and 1 woke up, My little daughter true, Well, if- would only be my prayer, The best had come to you. —Alice.