The Close of the Day.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 1, 6 January 1909, Page 48

The Close of the Day.

THE SUNSET AND SOME REFLECTIONS. A stnrv runs amonr the Maoris that in th« lifetime of their great hero. Maui, .the davs were much shorter than now. and that the sun galloped across the skv at a terrific pace. Maui, finding the davs ton short for his many pranks and incantations. «et out one day. accompanied bv his brothers, all armed with ropes, with which to chain the sun. Thor travelled b»- r»v»bf end hid in the daytjme.lest the ogre R a (the sun) should see them, and suspect their object. \A”hen they arrived at the supreme east, and the starting-point of the sun when he arose at the dawn, thev built two hieh mud walls, one on either side of the • ;<¥<• in which the sun the ni"ht. .Across the two walls thev stretched the ropes.and the brother* remained be- ' hind one of the walls, while Maui hid behind the other. At the dawn, up rose the sun. and. as he, got higher and hierher, his head and ! neck, and then his body, were caught ( in the noosp in the ropes. Then Mani and his brothers nulled the ropes tighter and tighter until th- 1 poor sun roared : out with pain. Having secured the i ogm. Maui, who never did anything by halve-, began to belabour him with sticks . until the quite exhausted sun moaned for merer. “You go ton fast.” said Maui, “and ’ vou are to hot. If you promise to f trnvpl much slower. I will let vou go/’ The sun had no opHnn but to p’-o-nl.o i and Maui loosened the noose and let ( him go. ATaui. however, was suspicious, I and. being afraid that the sun might soon forget his promise and go galloping J across the sky again, he tied him to the earth bv means of magical ropes. On a wet day or in a mist a* sunset, vou may often see faint streaks runnin" ' from the sun to the earth. AA'e call • these beams, but th° Alaoris say they • are the ropes with which ■ Maui chained 1 the sun. thus giving travellers to and ■ fro nn the earth longer days in which 4 to accomplish their wanderings. ’ All day long* the wanderer is busv. Sights, and sounds, and thoughts, all I full nf interest and novelty, crowd ’ around, though nne may be merrier in one spot and quieter and less enthusiastic in another, in all there is that I search after novpltv. which, like the ’■umn of curiositbeing largely developed in all fouri'd*. keens one far too t lm<y to permit of homesickness. But ’ there is an hour—a little hour, that • comes in the daily rush and bustle, dur- ■ >ng which the heart cries out for home. I For home and friends, and for the caress • of a hand and of a voice that are far, > far a war. doing the daily duties in the - cornr rnf the world we each know best—at home. I At the hour of sunset, most especi- • allv on a summer dav. there seems to he 1 a lull in the restless activity of nature f and of human life. As the great life- ’ giver dips behind the hills, or drops into ■> the sea. over all the earth there comes a i breathless hush, not that anyone is ■ a feared that he will not return, but beI cause the realisation is borne in upon f nne that another day is gone. Ala*! how often it is a consciousness that anr other day l as been idled away. 3 I have known the most garrulous of ■ men and women, the most egotistical ? of bore*, to grow sil.mf when the heavens grew grey and pi’ik. and the hush of sunset was on the winds. I have . known them to become for an hour honi estly contemplative of a beauty that . was raised above their sillv "ush.and to s come nearer tn a Iwlief in lives • worthier and more noble than their own , proud selfishness allowed. At sea. in the tropics, the. sun sets , quickly—he almost peps into the • -before vou are aware of it. But the • wonderful afterglow—that glorious trail 1 of radiance, which he leaves behind, i draws one and all to the bulwarks. As we lean over the side and look out i across the lonelv expanse of ocean to , the warm glow in the heavens, the very '. beauty nf it all sends a rush nf home t longing tn each heart, and thnughts speed r awav and away to every corner of the earth. So the wanderer thinks longingly nf the peace and comfort and love at home. No wonder a little weariness creeps into his heart—a little weariness of the restlessness of travel. At such times , the most fractious child becomes bids bio. ’ the sternest man a little more humane, t the careless flirt a I'ttle more tender. ‘ perhaps a little more genuine. • In my storehouse of memories there ’ are several sunsets that seemed at the t time almost prophetic, and certainly i were typical. There was a day—the last of an unblemished holiday—when the

nun, setting I»-hind mmbp New hill*, cast a brilliant shadow into a dark river. He were all there—ail who had *pent th«»*e memorable day* together—* and that brilliant golden shadow *f*-me<i, a* we watched it. typical of the bright week* of our holiday. The ."lender dark streaks ca»t on the golden stream marked the* few and pacing worries that had so light \ touched our happine*a. At the furlhermo-t corner of the river was a wide, bright Laud of glistening water, surely a promise of another holiday equ* ally bright, equally golden, equally delightful. a* th one that ws* so >peedily drawing to a close. A clear moonlight night will draw more spo funeous confessions from weary human lips—weary lip* asking for comfort—than the most glowing sunset. But I remember a Norwegian sunset that drew from the lip* of h tired man a tale of a hope les* love. And as we watched the great Hornelen grow dark, and tire radiant rim*on sky .turn to grey, there came cross the *ky a sudden gleam of golden light. ju»t one little vivid golden ray from God's great life giver. It seemed 'o fla-h its brillian< \ right into that man's tired heart, and -nperstitio(i>l\ he t<s»k it as an omen of a coming brightn •-* in hi* grey life: a promise of at hast a flash of happiness somewhere storefl up in the future for him. One has but to drift on to the Rangoon lakes at sunset, ami to watch the masses <»: changing colours in the sky, to understand the Burmese love of colour. How speedily i* the monotony of our days nn the Irrawaddy River forgotten in the memory of the three brilliant sunsets we *a‘w. One night it was a golden sunset—all the wondrous wealth of the world's gold reflected in the skies. The next it was a crimson sunset—all the blood spilt in the fight for the world’s gold dying the soft blue clouds. Then, on the last evening, came the promise of rest from need and strife reflected in the softest fading of brilliant gold through pink to those beautiful purple greys we have all seen at the dawn of a ummer's day As to every day there comes a time of sunset, so in every journey there comes a time when travellers who have met by the way must part. No matter how long the voyage, or how prosperous, there is always the end. which is looked forward to eagerly, ami the day of separation, when regretfully we say good-bye to newfound friends with the hope that we shall meet again. And -o these journeyings of mine must be brought to a close. They have extended much further than I intended when I set out upon the task of writing these notes, and though memories <>f many other places of interest that remain undescribed cmv d in upon me, 1 realise that, however pleasant a voyage may be, it is apt to grow wearisome when too much prolonged: that the most delightful companion* may become tiresome. for man i* inherently a creature .who loves change. Such thoughts in relation to the readers wiio have followed me through these rammings have lately pressed in upon my mind. If for some I have revived memories of golden days that they have themselv - spent in many lands, and for others roused an interest in the far-away countries, and strengthened their desire to see these spots and gain t'.e wider sympathies which travcf undoul tedly bestows, then indeed I am fully satisfied. So. if for no other reason than the danger of becoming tiresome. it is 'veil that we should part for a while, v •’ hope that some day we may set i <>ur travels together again. - Ihe End.)