Musings and Meditations

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 19, 6 May 1908, Page 4

Musings and Meditations

By

Dog Toby

GODS RIDDLE.

w. Y horse Ivad knocked up, and, to ftyl iny intense annoyance, I found I ■ myself compelled to sjiend SunI fl day in the small hotel of the V little township. In the morning I wandered aimlessly round inspecting the scenery. There were one or two pretty fruit farms, but the land seemed of poor quality, an-d stunted ti-tree and gorse met the eye on every side. In the afternoon 1 went up to the little building that did duty as a church. It was very plainly furnished, with a platform at one end, on which stood a table and a- harmonium. Quite a number of. people were present, considering the size of the settlement, ami I noticed that the presence of a stranger seemed to occasion considerable interest. The congregation all joined heartily in the service, and at the close one or two came up and spoke to me. One man who had acted as organist asked me where 1 was staying, and when 1 explained that I had put up at the hotel for a day or two to give my horse a spell, he very kindly asked me to bring my things and stay at his place. He had a very pretty little farm. and. though he was a bachelor. everything in the house was beautifully neat and tidy. He was evidently very fond of music, ami he appeared to have a number of other hobbies besides, as I noticed some water-colour sketches on the wall, ami a book of photos, that he had taken himself lay on the table. He talked interestingly on a variety of different topics, and somehow or other the conversation drifted round to the Fubjeet of marriage. A look of wistful sadness seemed to pome into his face, ami I feared I had touched some tender memory. But. after smoking in silence for some little time, he turned to me, and said: “I am -only a plain man. mister, brought up to a rough, hard-working country life, ami 1 can’t express myself very well, hut I would like to talk to you for a bit, if you don’t mind, and tell yon why I never married. Aly fat-heu bought this place when he came out t-o the -colony. It was quite in the rough, and we had a hard struggle to live while we were getting it in order. My mother died, worn out by the isolation and the privations, and the unceasing toil of piomer life. My father was never the same man afterwards, and he often used bitterly to curse the day when he had brought my mother away from the oomforts of English town life to the dreary monotony of the hush. Ho told me no woman should be called upon to live such a life. He died when 1 was just twenty-two, and I found myself alone on the place. I could not bring myself to Fill it. though 1 often thought about it, as it held for me many happy associations and memories as well as the sad ones, and I also fi lt that it at any rate secured me a home, and a competence which I might lind it difficult to obtain elsewhere. But 1 felt' terribly lonely, ami 1 used to *pcnd h good deal of my time visiting the different settlers round. Then the inevitable happened. One fam ily I used to g«» and see had a very pretty daughter, a gill of about twenty ono, with the I rob beauty and natural grace, and kindliness ol manner of those unspoilt by city life. A lonely lad. my •wlmle heart went out towards her, and I loved her with the love th it only comes lo a man once in his lifetime. 1 was >y tins time fairly well to do, my place

had considerably increased in value; and I was making good money as things go in the country. I pictured my future life as one of perfect happiness, in which even the sorrows would be sweetened by mutual trust and love. And then a young fellow from the city earne to spend a holiday in the township. He met the girl at a dance given in the schoolroom, and I could see she was ta-ken with his assumption of knowledge and his city manners, so different from those of our country lads. He was a clerk in some office or other, and assumed a patronising manner towards the rest of us. He stayed for some time in the place, and used frequently to come down from Saturday to Monday, and during the various holidays, which city men get so freely given them. And the girl got dissatisfied with the country, she longed to see some of 'the town life which he used to describe : he was a hero in her eyes, and she gave him of her love, though he was only amusing himself with her. She told me she would never marry if she could not marry him. He came down one Saturday and called at my place. I noticed he looked worried, and he had lost the jaunty air he generally affected. He told me lie had been in difficulties, and had stolen money from his employers, hoping to repay it out of the dividend on a horse he had backed, but the horse had lost, and unless the money was repaid on Monday the theft would be discovered and he would be arrested. I fought a hard battle with myself. If I refused to help hinr I might win the girl. But would she be happy with me? ’ Could I not better prove my love by trying to secure her happiness? I told him I would give him the money on condition he married her. She never knew, nobody ever knew. The young fellow kept his billet and prospered, and they were married at the end of the year. They are now living in Wellington, and 1 only hope that she is happy. My own life is lonely, and I often think on the past and all life might have been for me had things been different. But 1 feel I was not worthy of her. I had had no education and no city manners. I am. as you see, just a rough and ready country settler, with none of the pretty ways that please women. But, oh. 1 did love her, and God forgive me I love her still! 1 think of her .as she was when I first knew her —with her fresh girlish beauty, her ready smile, her free and frank welcome with which she used to greet me. 1 think of her surrounded by simple, honest, kindly neighbours; I picture her in her country home amid the green fields and the fruit blossoms, sb unaffected and yet so gracious, and I can only pray that in finding the social anil intellectual life I could never have given her. she has also found a love as great as mine.” 1 did not care to break in upon his thoughts. My eye wandered round the sketches on the wall. I saw they told their own talc. There was the farm, the orchard, the shady creek, and in every picture the same faec, a face of rare beauty idealised by the hand of love. When 1 was in Wellington 1 got an introduction to the people he had been talking about. I gathered the husband was looked upon as a pushing, ambitious man, but cold, calculating and not over < rupulous, and people thought his wife didn’t lead a very happy life.

I found him much as represented. He was a good talker, but too egotistical to be entertaining, and he was always snubbing his wife for her ignorance. He told me he could have done much better for himself if he had married money and got a wife who' could have taken a more prominent part in society. She, poor woman, had a look of settled sadness and disappointment. She was listless in every movement, and bore but few traces of her early beauty. She said she was afraid she didn’t understand her husband. She tried to help- him as much as she could, but she never seemed to do the right thing, and the women she met in society were so different from what she had expected. They always appeared to adopt a patronising, artificial tone towards her, and the really friendly people her husband disapproved of as not being socially eligible. Also, she seemed somehow to have got out of touch with her own relations. They were proud of her having married well, but they appeared olit of place and ill at ease when they came to visit her, and her husband who had been glad enough to meet them in the country seemed a little bit ashamed of them when they camo to town. I knew and T understood. I thought of my honest, kindly settler friend with his simple, unaffected, self-sacrificing devotion. I saw her life as it might have been, a life of perfect happiness in a peaceful, prosperous home, surrounded by friends tried and true, and ever hallowed by a holy heartfelt love. And there they both were—the one lonely and bereft, the other eating the bitter fruit of disappointed hope and affection unrequited. God knows what is best for His children. but His riddles are often hard to