PEN-TRAILS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2812, 5 February 1908, Page 85

PEN-TRAILS.

By Robt.

Our dearest interests aie /associated with pen-trails. Our hearts, otherwise divided by mile 3of wasteland, of bushlaud, of towns, cities, and country lanes — by lone stretches of that vast estranging sea, — by silence and misunderstanding, — have been linked together by black, uneven, scrawling lines — pen-trails Along through the country places, cities, and towns, from my home to youis and back from yours to mine run parallel lines. —

lines twisting, wriggling, straightening, turning, winding, but ever 'keeping parallel with each other, — lines which, with the aid of an engine, van, carriages, and minor details carry us to each other's homes and hearts, and bring us nearer together. These railways aid us to meet and touch our friends, to see and kiss them ; yet. on the other hand, these pen-trails — cold, irregular scrawls of ink, — oan they never be anything more to us than irregular scrawls, cold, unfeeling, and uninspiring? Ah! my chums, indeed they can. On the one hand- we have the magnetism of touch, the thrill of coming into contact with those we love; the electricity 111 their veins meets that in ours, and we are happy, a most contented. On the other hand, we are apart, — silence and separation and the ache: we have not time to visit oui friends; or we are weak, and caniioi face the journey ; we cannot leave an ailing mother, a. sick sister, an enfeebled fathei ; pressure of business or lack of gold prevents our leaving home ; and we are lonely, longing for kindred voice". But pen-trails! a clean, white sheet of paper and a pen ; a little quivering of the lips, moistening of the eyes;, a heart that blesses the inventor of ■writing; o. hand that trembles as the fingers close round the pen, and — pen-trai's! cold, uninspiring, lifeless, — are they? Ah' "could you but \ee the recipient ird the wiiter 1 For a brief hour they are heart to heait, hand to hand, soul to soul, linked together by living pen-trails. The writer seals her letteT, stamps, and addresses it. and, sa\e for her bliss in knowing what golden moments for her friend she has- closed away in that envelope, her part is o'er ; but her friend far away receives the missive, her heart leaps, here eyes Eparkles, her hopes soar high. With trembling fingers she opens the envelope, draws out. unfolds the letter, and pen.- trails! who dare call them cold and lifeless? Each littte, irregular trail, twining, twisting, wriggling, winds itself aiound her heart-strinss, forming itself into words — living, breathing words, full of warmth, love, sweet-feeling, and music, breathing the spnit of her friend; picturing the little beauties of individuality that make her so dear, delicately portraying her love, her sweetness. and embodying her voice, her laugh, her smile, her form. Ber love and svrnpathy. Pen-trails! Ah! who does not love to follow the pen-trails of a dear one?