Pullman herald. [volume] (Pullman, W.T. [Wash.]) 1888-1989, 1888-12-29
CRYING FoR The MOON.
The Vain Longings aud Hopes Which
Come to All of Us.


Come to All of Us.
There is no use in denying tit is a
folly we must all plead guilty to, and
which we commit all our lives long,
more or less. AS children it was the
actual moon we wanted-the pale,
silver crescent, or the golden harvest
moon that we could see shining so lar
above us in the clear sky from our
nursery window. So far above us.
Yes; that is, after all, the grand secret
of most of our wishes in childhood, as
well as in later years. What we desire
is so far off, SO difficult of attainment.
As years pass by and we grow Older
though very often not wiser, it Is no
longer the moon itself we want as a
plavthing; we are content by that time
to see it in its proper place, shining
placidly above, and our wondering
fancy leads us in a rowing search after
will-o' the wisps and newer lights.
Sometimes one hears of a man wasting
his whole life in this restless Grazing
for some object totally out of his reach.
Openings of success are given him,
honors, chances of distinguishing him
self lie before him. He has only to
stretch out his hand and take them,
but he passes them carelessly by,
perhaps because they are so accessible,
and fixes his eyes and longings on an
impossibiliSy. He treads ruthlessly
under foot the red roses of life which
grow about his path as he hurries by
in his eager search for blue rCee .1e
is man of one idea, and that foolish
one, and the will-o'-the-wisp that he
follows leads him over marshy ground
and into many dangers; sometimes, it
may be, to his own destruction. Why
is it, | wonder. that this longing for
the unattainable is so strongly i'm
planted in our nature? And is there
not, perhaps, greater pleasure really
in the pursuit than there would be even
in the possession of the desired object
itself? Might it not happen that the
blue roses would wither at a touch,
and the much-coveted golden fruit turn
to dust and ashes. like the apples of the
Dead Sea? How seldom one comes
across person who is perfectly con-
tented with his lot in life, who has alb
solutely no crumpled rose leaf to dis
turb his rest.
Sometimes our moon is riches, some
times fame aud honor, and there have
been known cases of men eating their
hearts out for love that could never
be theirs and wasting their time and
energy in the hooking light of eyes
whose brilliancy was not for them.
Every ones individual case is different
but the fact remains the same. We all
want something we have not got; wheth-
er we should appreciate it if it were
ours j. another question and, as rule,
one rot often proved. 1t is mans ma
ture to wish most ardently for that
which battles his pursuit and the more
obstacles there are in the way so much
the better. He will pass by the modest
wild flower to seek the rare exotic
whose beauty is perhaps intrinsically
less, but whose kind is rarer.
1t must be sad thought at the end
of wasted life to look back ON all the
long years misspent in a vain craving
for something unattainable, and to
think of 4 t many tangible blessings
we have left UNDECIDED as things of
small account.
1t is of no use then to recall the loss
and the might have been, and in that
clearer light which will come to us all
then, we shall see but plainly the insig-
nihcance and folly of our dreams. 1t
will seem so foolish then to have spent
our lives in pursuit of shadow which
always eluded our grasp, and those
wasted years will never, never return
to u.s. From the summit of the steep
hill we have climbed we can see, ere
we feebly totter down the other side,
our children in the golden haze Of the
valley below setting off with buoyant
hearts on the same journey, only to
meet with the same disappointment as
We have. And yet, if we try to i'm
press this on them, does it make them
any the wiser in their turn? 1t may be
folly, and no doubt it is so; but it is a
folly mankind will continue to cling to.
in spite of precepts and cOunsels, and
happy indeed are those few rare eX-
ceptions who obtain their hearts desire.
London Truth.