CONFLICT.

White Ribbon, Volume 36, Issue 426, 18 January 1931, Page 4

CONFLICT.

(By Olive E. Ellison.) Away to the westward the sun was setting in a blaze of glory. Nature seemed to have splashed the sky with every colour of the rainbow, and the sea reflected it in all the splendour of its beauty. The mountains, purple in the distance, stood out in bold relief, their rugged bush-clad ridges etched against the vivid sky. A man was standing on a hill, his gaze fixed on the gorgeous scene. He was lean and spare, and not very tall of stature. —rather insignificant, in fact; u man whom one would pass in a crowd without remembering. The casual observer, if asked for his impression, w’ould have described him as one who was too kind and gentle to push his way through life,—one who would alw'ays stand aside for others, and be too easily imposed upon; in fact, to put it bluntly, one of the world's weaklings and failures. But, just as one can never judge a book by its cover, so one cannot always judge a man's character by outward appearances; for that which appears to be weakness, may be found to be strength; and that which seems to be failure, may really be success. It needs a greater man to give up than to take in life. Yet selfishness can never fully comprehend the magnitude of sacrifice. But in spite of high ideals, human nature is still human nature, w’ith all its faults and failings, which crop up suddenly, no matter how suppressed. The primitive passions- -love and hate —are ver on the watch to escaj>e the bondage of man’s will.

So the man. big-hearted as he was. was often stung to the quick by slights and ingratitude, and sorely disappointed in many whom he had befriended. There were very many who were glad of h t help in adversity, but forgot him in pr si »ity. At arch times he wouid decide v hat he was a fool to sacrifice himself for others. But when peace had once more descended on his soul, he would rise above the hurts and slights, and give u lgrudgingly and freely, without any thought of the gratitude of the recipients. As he stood, now, on the hill, and watched the glory of the sunset, his mind was filled with serenity and peace. A day, he mused, resembled life. The dawn was like the time of youth, when all the future lay ahead. The sky, rose-tinted, was symbolical of hope, visions, dreams, and aspirations. Then came the glare of noonday, resembling the prime of life, when happiness is at

its zenith, and one is strong to labour, and to bear the heat and burden of the day. Then comes sunset —the time of fruition and fulfilment. Life has reached maturity, and is older, wiser. Many of youth’s dreams have been reaMsed, but some have fallen to the ground, like buds which have never blossomed. It is tne eventide of life, when the lights are fading, and the shades of night are falling, for life is drawing to a close. And then, at last, comes night—symbolical of death. I >arkness covers us, as with a pall. We reach out gropingly—fear and loneliness clutching at our hearts. Then we lift our eyes and see the stars —the stars which remain as one life goes and another takes its place. Thy seem to elevate our thoughts, and to call us ever higher. How puny seem the cares and worries which we have allowed to stunt and warp our souls! And what is there to fear in death? It is but a new beginning—a fuller, freer life. We have but to lift our hearts on high, and put our faith and trust in God. Rousing from his reverie, the man suddenly realised that he must have been standing there some time. All the gorgeous colouring had faded, leaving the sky a dull, drab grey. The sun had dropped behind the mountains. They looked dark and sombre in the shades of approaching night. The gaily pointed clouds, resembling bright fairy castles, with many towers and minarets, now looked like a heap of ruins, or a pall of smoke. So it is in life, he thought Many of the castles of our dreams vanish into nothingness. The hopes we bui 1 ' 1 so high in youth, tumble in ruins at jur feet. We learn not to expect too much of life, for fear of disillusionment. Then, as he looked again, he saw that each cloud had a silver lining, symbolical of hope and trust. What though the castles of our dreams fall in ruins round about us! What of the hurts and disappointments, the buried hopes, and lost Illusions! After all, we are never really vanquished, till we have given in. We cannot fully receive till w r e freely give. And the more we do for others, the more we really help ourselves. Thv' wind was getting chilly. Pulling bis shabby coat more closely, the man moved further down the hill, to the shelter of a tree. His coat wi*s getting tiiin -in places, almost threadbare. He told himself he must really buy a new f one He had fully intended to, in fact, that very afternoon; but instead. had given Ted the money to send to his sick mother. Well, he did not regret it. It was better spent that

way. After all, he could make bis coat last a little longer He liked Ted. A nice bright boy. He had come from the country, and was now an office-boy m one of the firms in the city. Having found a sheltered nook beside the trunk of a tree, he continued his train of thought, as the stars came out, and the city's lights shone below like myriads of glow-w’ornis. How calm and peaceful it was up nere away from all the noise and bustle, li was hard to believe that in so short a time it would be Christmas once again. How quickly the years seemed to pass, w r hen one is growing older, —like re ■ volving wheels, gaining in velocity. Suddenly the sound of voices broke in upon his meditation. “So you see, we'll be able to have a bonzer tune —a regular spree! Fleeced the old chap easily for a fiver! Just spun him a hard luck yarn about my mother being sick! Fell for it at once! Ha, ha! And my mother’s as strong as a horse! But play upon his pity, and he'll fork out at once, no matter how he stints himself. Geoff says they call him ‘Old Threadbare!’ As soft as tinv make ’em! Goes in rags himself to give away to others, Quite nutty on the subject. Sort of hobby with him. Oh. well, if he doesn’t mind, I’m not complaining! Well, so long! See you to-morrow!" The man in the shadow of the tree stood as if stunned. From his face had vanished the look of serenity and peace. So that was it, was it? That was what they thought of him —soft and gullible! Many of those who had accepted of his charity had openly sneered at him, —as it were, taken with the one hand, and hit him with the other! Even a young boy like Ted! Ted- whom he had always thought as honest as the day! Although he had become immune to slights and ingratitude, he had not known till then that they had ridiculed him! How he had denied himself that he might give f j others! Was his creed all wrong? leashed into fury by his thoughts, his soul w’as filled wdth bitter, fierce resentment. What a fool he had been spending himself for others, to be made a laughing-stock by the very ones w’hom he had helped! Well, it was ove now! He was through with them foi good and all! Henceforward he would live his life for himself alone. Piu not the selfish always prosper, and the unselfish get pushed to the wall? Gone were all the sublime and uplifting thoughts of so short a time ago. Just as if they had never been, were all the fierce battles of renunciation. The

ego in his nature, which for so long had been crushed and repressed, had at last asserted itself. His body seemed inhabited with many evil demons, which had been kept in leash, all straining to be free. Well —he would not restrain them longer. Had he not, always, reineml>ering that thoughts are forces for either good or evil —sent out kind and helpful thoughts to others, sternly repressing those which might hurt or hinder? Well, now, instead, he would send out strong thoughts of hatred, malice, and revenge, against all those who had ever hurt him! Thoughts speeding through the ether, and hitting out with the force of a sledge-hammer. He beat the air with his arms in the frenzy of his anger. He laughed harshly. It sounded ugly in his ears. But he gloated in his spirit’s new-found liberty,' as it shook off the restraining shackles. Down the track he hastened, stumbling blindly in mad rage. Suddenly he heard a moan, and peered through tl»o darkness. It came from almost at his feet —a form beside the track —huddled in some bushes. “For God’s sake help me!’ came a voice, in agony. “I slipped and broke my leg. It’s twisted under me." The man laughed horribly—a laugh of triumph and derision. Already his thoughts of vengeance had accomplished something! It was Ted himself— Ted, who a little while ago had gone bounding down the track, with a 3Cornful laugh on his lips— now lying helpless there, Imploring his assistancee! “Oh. no!” he gloated over him. “You need expect no help from me! ‘Old Threadbare’s’ not so soft as you think him! I overheard by accident all you said of me a little while ago. It was a great joke, wasn’t it? Ha, ha! Now it’s my turn to laugh!” With that he left him, and went on. How strange his own voice had sounded! The boy was calling after him; but the evil demons urged him on. He left the Hill Track behind him, and was soon down in the city. How his fevered brain was throbbing with thoughts of retaliation against all those who had ever hurt him!

A clock was chiming in the distance. Mechanically he raised his eyes to glance at the time. Suddenly his gaze was rivetted. From the angle where he looked a cross, surmounting the spire of a church, stood out between him and the luminous face of the clock. It seemed to pull him up with a sudden jerk, and to cool his fevered brain. Was it not the cross of Christ, symboli-

cal of sacrifice? Who, more than Christ Himself, had tasted the bitterness of man’s scorn and ingratitude? Yet, had that deterred Him in His giving? Had he not given His very life? And had He not —even from the cross — prayed for those who crucified Him? So what though our work seem 3 done in vain! We must still persevere—and not grow weary' in w'ell-doing! We must not stay our hands from giving, nor refuse to sue our those in need In a little while it w'ould be Christmas, with the Christmas message, “Peace on Earth! Goodwill towards men!" How iar he had fallen short in emulating Christ’s example! How sadly he had stumbled in carrying His cross! How far away he had wandered! How much there was to overtake! All his mad frenzy had new left him. But he must act quickly. There was not a moment to lose. He hurried to the corner to the nearest public telephone, and dropped a penny in the slot. "That the Hospital? There has been an accident —a boy broken one of his legs—up on the Hill Track. Please send an ambulance at once. Yes- I will be there, waiting its arrival.” Ted had fainted when he reached him. Having nothing to revive him, he gently loosened the boy’s collar. Many thoughts sped through his brain, as he waited there in silence. Peace had once more descended on his soul; but rememl>ering—he bowed his head in shame. There was no one there besides themselves. The Hill Track was little used, even in the daytime. The cool night wind presently revived the l>oy. Suddenly he stirred and moaned. The man bent closer, and gently patted his head. “It’s all right, Ted, old boy. I m here lieslde you, and I’ve sent for help.” “You?” said the boy, in amazement. "You came back to help me—after all you heard!” Then he added with a sob: “I’ve been through Hell! I’ve suffered such remorse!”

"Never mind, Ted, old man. That’s all forgiven and forgotten. I myself need forgiveness! Ah! there. I see the lights of the ambulance! I’ll go down to meet them, to show’ them where you are!’