The Arkansaw traveler., 1884-08-16
Foy Tze ASkasJew Tyspel<y.
 DREAMS.
BY 0. E.. L.

c. t.. l-
 Who can explain them: Many have tried and few have succeeded in un- raveling the mystery to their individual satisfaction, but conjecture and theory strike US at every corner, and they who theorize on the nature of dreams are the silliest of dreamers. The poets have sung of dreams of every description. Byron says: And dreams in their de velopments have breath, and tears and tortures, and the touch ofjoy; they come weight upon our waking thoughts ; they make us what we were-not what they will and shake us with the vision that's gone by." Who of us reading this same wayward child of impulse dream of darkness" dream that was not all a dream, can fail to feel the weird spell that bound the soul of the poet when these lines were born. However, Byron may have differed f1om the present poet lureate, and etc, of England, tradition bears me out in the assertion that they, each of them, had "A dream of fair wo- mem" though this same dame rumor has it {: that Tennyson is of cold and indifferent nature. As sometimes in our lives we reach point when hope and faith seem dead, we long for sleep, for rest, and with Mrs. Hemans we say Blu, for me, oh, thou picture-land of sleep. Thou art all one world of affection deep- And wrung from my heart is each flashing
 dye,
 That sweeps o'er thy chambers of imagery.
  Shadow not forth, O, thou land of dreams, The past as i, fled by my own blue streams. Make not thy spirit within me burn,
 From the scenes and the hours that may
 never return"
 That there is at times more than nor. tai dream in the visions that visit our sleeping hours, who can doubt? I'll relate briefly dream that came to me nearly fifteen years ago. For the sad sequel that followed it has become in- delibly fixed in my memory: stood at night by the side of beautiful river. On the opposite bank walked two fair girls with arms entwined about each other. One was the tenderest, dearest, friend of my life, my sister. Mary" called, "~ho is that with you p Distinctly across the water the waves brought the answer back to me, Ella Hampton"
 On the morrow, at breakfast, told the dream which have shortened here, merely giving the outlines. In less than two weeks l saw laid away beneath the purity of the winters snow the loved form of that dear girl. Suddenly she died, in the twinkling of an eye the message came. But her lamp vas trimmed and burning. Asleep in Jesus ve left her, and turned toward home again. Leaving the cemetery, we met funeral process sion entering in. The question was asked, who is dead ?" The answer came, like revelation, "Ella Hampton" My dream, my dream' Two lovely girls of the same age, died of the same fatal disease buried the same day. They walk the beautiful streets beyond the shining river together forever more. But the strange ness of it all lay in the fact, that had never known or heard of the name, Ellen Hampton. She was unknown to us. Her home was in the country, and we lived in town.
 Bonan paints the reality of dreams when he sends forth these words "To dream troubled dream and then awaken to the clear gladness of a summer sky To dream ourselves alone, unloved, for saken, and then to wake amid smiles, and love and joy" Such as tAese is the story of many life, and % it will to the end be told. A dream within a dream E that beautiful work of imagery, Bunyan's Pilgrims Pfogress." And e an olESes to show how voadsrfully the imaginaiion of man can shadow forth the unreal, we have Daness 's 'slnSerno.s And sun. again appsas beautiful ureams in that oae othez unreal vork-that book of hiy iand-ths "Arabian Nlghts-n Il would that with Bryant ve might all say :: 'Whea the end shall come. approach thy
 grave
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him and lies down to pleasant dreams. V