THE AWAKENING.

Otago Witness, Issue 1851, 30 March 1904, Page 65

THE AWAKENING.

"So many dreams: such deep awakenings: and how brief seems Uie longest dream when we reach the moment of awakening !" When we picli up the threads of Time, in whose waip and woof Life has woven his subtle design, it sometimes seems that the loveliest things in it are the dreams ; the poorest and ugliest, the realities. &&d yet again, where the dreams have been but idle and self-centred, their hues have faded! to ona dull monotone, and the bitter awakenings alone stand out sharp and clear from the dull background to which those fairy dreams have faded. In childhood — happy childhood, daydreams have little part. Each day rounds itself, a little life m miniature. Wise as the oldest philosopher of ancient Greece, the child lives in the present. The world is so immense that we shelter cosily in oar tiny corner of it, ai.d all beyond is as tmeonsidered as the star-sown, sapphireblue vault through which the guardian angels float down to keep their watch around us. Dreoms come sometimes, certainly, in those dear nights of childhood : ■ho even have special nightmaies of our own which become as familiar to us as everyday happenings, yet. strangely enough, lose none of their terror by familiarity. The dreams have faded long, long ago ; the awakening, never. Never # less comforting, never" less endearing. is the memory of the beloved voice that bade us. "Waken, my darling! — waken! Here's mother — you are only dreaming." Never in all the after years was any M'ch wholesouled peace and protection as we found in the circle of those soft arms thot could hold us safely against all tho •'woogies" of Christendom.

The later years of childhood had ohher awakenings. No longer that pimple physical awakening, simply soothed by the comfort of protecting arms and beloved voice. Spiritual or emotional awakenings ; faint forej-hadowings of life's deeper dreams and more pitiful awakenings. These were born of experience — small, yet to the point. And inevitable ; or they, might be the result of the too instructive companionship of older people, in which case they were lamentable. You remember Punch's old sad joke :

"Why, darling, what IS the matter? Why are you crying xoT'

"800-hoo-hoo ! the world's hollow ; and my doll's stuffed with sawdust !'*

There was the sad little affair of the heart of that small boylover who proved faithless when brought to bask in the smiles of our own especial princess — rich and pretty and adorable, to whom he instantly transferred, his allegiance. That was bad enough, but a more cruel awakening by far was when the dearest chum of school days, the recipient of ouv most sacred con" Sciences, bartered our friendship for the miserable mess of pottage offered by Belinda Burt. Belinda was fat, and loud, and vulgar ; she over-di\?ssed and over-ate herself ; but she loaded her friends with. presents — costly presents which aav&vtised her wealth, and chained them with obligations at the same time. It was a dreary and puzzling awakening, too, fiom hometaught standard of honour, to ii»d the model pupils using a key, the dvx 1 of our room copying, cheating, and sandwiching ber French literature 'with copied translations ! "

So we learnt the world's lessons in miniature, yet still rejoiced in the mere physical awakenings which these easy Essays in Emotion were powerless to affect. What a fresh and excellent worJd it still was which welcomed us each day to all its joys! Spring, summer, autumn, winter — • all were delightful, if unconsidered. Morning, noon, and night, sleeping ?nd waking, were not the less happy because iv was left to later years to lealise their happiness. The joy of the young harbaiian, touched at rare- points, by such awakenings as the faithlessness of the boy lover, the desertion of the dearest friend, the shattering of ideals of truth and honour, but occupied most with the uneonsidered delights of the day and the hour. But as we pass to those* wonderful years of the teens, the pearl-hued walls of" content which compassed our little world are pj-srecd with lights from v.-ithout : soft, dim pathways, leading we know not whither ; faintly realised voices singing siren songs whose subtle music strangely stirs the heart ; whose half-heard mystery baffles us with vague desire. * "The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." No longer are we wise as the philosopher ; r.o longer live in to-day. It is the future which now holds us. of which we dream ; it is to-morrow :

A dream-craft, rose-hued as the dawn, Glad ferry for far Lotus-land; It baiely greets to-day's dull strand. Then slips its moorings, and is gone.

Love, ambition, a career ; art, wealth, fame, a noble profession — all possibilities lie in those rose-tinted mists whence float the dreams that now haunt us, waking and sleeping.

Yet there is always the awakening! Whether it be to the plaudits- ol Success, or the silence of Failure, whether -we have gained the prize or lost it, There ip, dear heart of mine, the awakening.

Even if we realise our dreams, there is phvays, I take it, a subtle difference beIveen Dream and Reality. Something of the ideal — the spiritual — melts and is dissoVed in the searching alchemy of lealisalion. It must be so. Therefore ato. crnnot dieam too high. We cauno' set cur ideal too purely, and our hopes with too much sir»rle-hcartednes-\ snowing that in th-nr I 'Trillion from che&ms to realities rh ■; 3 i* -ilways that nv.ter'slising tiutfcss. But k-r ibis yen reason it it

inevitable that much of our aAvakening is more or less tinged with sadness, since even the awakening from the long dream of success to the reality of success finds us toil-worn — the wear and tear of strife upon our spirit, the dint of battle on our armour. Some subtle essence that lighted our dreams with mother- o'-peai I radiance has vanished ; some heavy, clogging drawback which we had never forecast is there to temper our triumph. What dreams of fruitless foreboding do some of us torment ourselves with ! The plain girl who dreams that no love fancies will ever come her way not infrequently awakens — oh, sweet awakening ! — to find \ herself the desire of some good man's life. The mother who doubts and desponds . and dreams a thousand deaths for her beloved ones awakens to find them all grown to health and vigour, and herself the derelict of nerves and health, wrecked on a sea of dreams. What dread awakenings, .alas ! "we can most of us recall — after some crushing blow of sorrow or adversity — the momentary iwcertainty, the instant's hope that it is all a dream. . . . the sudden, overwhelming certainty of remembrance — all, all true! It is the dreams of youth which, we share with our chosen friends, iirging one another on to greater effort, heartening one another in failure, rejoicing with one another in success. So the dreams take their natural place in the open, sunlit, ■wind-blown spaces of life. It is the awakenings which sink to the depths of silence. They cling to the memory, informing the heart and mind of many things which take no wings of speech to fly away from us, but abide, a. hidden store of rejoicing or of .sorrow, until Death whispers to us that the dream of life is j over and the awakening of eternity at hand.