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Otago Witness, Issue 2860, 6 January 1909, Page 73

dim fo'c'sle, where the air is foul with the reek of human bodies, wet oilskins, rank tobacco, and coarse food ; the officers, away aft, with the responsibility of human life ; of cargo, which represents the "united, -yet conflicting, interests of consignees, consignors, and insurance companies, and is the very "raison d'etre" of the whole matter, and, above all, of the good ship herself, Alpha and Omega of success or failure — tJhey are the men who know. To realise even faintly what the power and the spell of the lighthouse light is, we land dullards need a torrent of wordy suggestion, a vocabulary of nouns, plain end garnished in true Whitman fashion, poured upon us. To those who "go down to the sea in ships " the mere thought is enough — the word "light" suggests the experiences of years, the tempe'ste; the gales, the fogs, through) which the kindly light — now fixed, now revolving, now flashing, of lighthouses the world over has warned or beckoned. Far different must be the soldier's professional associations with light — the light of man's invention. Good, beneficent? Can he see that it is "good," that red light of war which belches forth uncorporate with hellish noise, and finds its bloody grave in wounds of dismembered slain? How ,gaily we women, watching the dazzling searchlights making brave illumination from the American battleships, have acclaimed the v?st moving shafts .of brilliance which made the starry distance black as Erebus. Perhaps — just perhaps — same one stood beside us, gay and debonnair, yet not averse to the sweetness of a pretty woman's sympathy, which was not to be awakened by the suggestion of these same searchlights used in battle. For a moment, it may be, a fleeting vision ox the battle of Tushima, and what the searchlights pointed to with silent sinister fingers passed before us, and with it a realisation of what man's modern inventions make for in tbe kingdom of light! Yet, Longfellow, little dreaming of the harnessing of light in the service of death, wrote : The prayer of Ajax was for light; Through all that dark and desperate fight, The blackness of that noonday night, He asked but the return of sight, To see his foeman's face. We too, worshippers of the light, struggle blindly after it, strive to exploit it for our commercial enterprises, crave its protection in the great cities where want and despair breed sin, and only the cold radiance of the electric light gives confidence to the wealthy. Creators of artificial light to warm and work for us, cheer and safeguard us, preserve life and destroy it, we, io our complex civilisation, ■ are as dependent on light for our social happmees as was the cave man on the warmth of the sun he worshipped. Physically and mentally, light is interwoven with life. Poetically, emotionally, spiritually, the word and the thought is an integral part of out existence. Emotionally we revel in the richness of suggestion embodied in the word, and never weary of the world-old phrases round whose jewel-like 'gleam we work our silken embroidery of words, now in great splendid curves of noble lines, now in over-loaded detail or vulgar ornateness. The light of love in youth, of friendship ; that burns brighter in the calmer, atmosphere of middle age, and may even— so the gods smile upon ue— cheer us when "the light of other days has faded." Now and then about the magic word which stirs the blood of men and the hearts of women, the spirit of the artist and the soul of the recluse alike, some genius adds a, cunning scroll, which men detach, from its setting and for its beauty, wit, or harmony fit into their daily speech until it becomes a phrase. Newman's exquisite religious perception gave us '" Lead, kindly light " ; Kipling crystallised the symbol of "The Liorht that Failed": each one will add for himself other and brilliant instances. All of wlidch — the inspiration of the phrase-maker and the keenness of the multitude — coes but to show how deep, how human is the universal love of light. Garden lovers, rest a moment to think of the plants tha&t, left in some overgrown corner, hidden by some careless obstruction, forgotten in some dim corner of shed or outhouse, send their pale- shoots struggling towards the, light — they, like us, know its value. All round us the yearlong changes of Nature show us, wheTeever we are, in town or country, by restless sea or land-locked valley, tussock plain or forest primeval, the charm, the change, the exquisite, beauty of light — light here is colour — not only iteelf, gladsome, uplifting, but the creator and interpreter of colour. Close your eyes, think of a world bleached of colour, sicklied down to one pale monochrome — then realise all that light is to us. Think of the dawn light to the sleep - world, the last glow of sunset light to a tired world, the lijjht that slumbers remotely pure on the distant glaciere, the near and radiant light glitterang through th.s raindrops of tbe storm that is past. Of the green light in the hollow of the breaking wave, of the purple light in the still hollow of the hills. More tender, translucent, and ineffably restful and blessed, think of that last light of all which awaits the glad soul, the Light that never was on land or sea. and of which all earthly lights aie but a dim foreword.