The Aberdeen weekly. [volume] (Aberdeen, Miss.) 1878-1933, 1911-09-01

tiniee Of Tier lost children, Be
dispel3ed Ihe onward course 81
exeuns = ineritable, ard III occur
rences one bound 70 ahide their
periods Of development MorfaIs
are doomed to taste the bitter
dreRs, a. well - the sweets OF
life. The pen of history and the
tongue Of tradition, alike preserv'
only remarkable events from OBJ
livion- Dreams, - well as actual
tiles, go to make up the sum Of
human existence. The happiness
or misery of life is in many IN
stances, influenced by dreams. -
There is a cOneecutiven6B IN the
series of mental operations, SO
governed, apparently, by some
law of our nature, that even our
dreams take up the subject of
our waking thoughts, mbued as
the case may be, with the same
sunshiny tints or tine same cloudy
shadows.
The unhappy ColiDdrina weigh
ed down with sorrow and des-
pondency fell, under the pressure
Of exhaustion, in sleep. luna,
her lost child was the constant
subject of her waking thoughts
and also the burden of her long
dreams. COlmdrina, dreamed she
was In her native land, and that
she was again a. young girl; and
that her guardian and protector
had given her pet bird as white
as snow. in her fondness for it,
she forgot almost every other OBJ
ject. 1t would accompany her to
every place she went. But in a
time, her snow white bird began
to love solitude, and seemed to
court sleep. She loved it too mucl
to arouse it when it slumbered,-
and, so allowed 1T it's own way.
The bird had most lovely eyes,
and when they were closed, she
would watch for hours for it to
open them. But the bird fed on
berries that prodceud sleep and
so it slept nearly the whole time
At length, it acquired the habit
of flying about m sleep. One
day it flew away and did not re-
turn. She fastened to her guard
ian and protector to inform him
of the loss of her sweetbird but
In an instant, the whole scene
is changed Her native land is
melting away, she is in the new
world. her guardian is converted
into Aonteuma. and the lost,
snow white bird into luna, he1
dear lost Snow Cloud She, In
mental distress, felt her pangs
renewed by the dream and cried
out in her sleep: "Iuma is lost
lost; lost.
Tired and exhausted, she could
not awake, and the trUulebd
dream assumed a new place. She
dreamed that she was In the crOO
ded walks Of a pOpulOus city,
and that, at the corner of every
street. she met a woman frantic,
with despair, who was stopping
every passer-by, with the anxious
enquiry
Hast thou seen my child.
There was an anguish In the
waiing voice Of this wretched
mother which meked every one
she met, until a general sympa-
thy for her spread over the
whole city, when the cry was
caught up by every ONE.
A mothre has lost a child.
A mother has lost her child.
Anxious faces hurreid past
the dreamer with the heart pierre
ing cry.
A child is lost. A child is lost,
while the pale, haggard mother
followed on apace, with feeble
utteraAce almost inaudible, yet
distinctly syllabled on her ashy
lips. My child is lost, my child
is list.
In moment, the pale, haggafd
mother accOstcd the dreamer ano
gazing full in her face, made
the enquiry; Hast thou not lost
a child2
A thousand bitter streams, in
an instant, gushed up ia her soul,
and the dreamer realized the ter
rible CONSCIOUSNESS that it was
her own child that was lost, ard
that the pale, haggard mother,
was but faint reflex of her.
self.
The cry of "A child is lost,
still rung from every throat in
every part of the vast city ana
echoed from the surrounding SUI
burbs. The city seemed by de
grees to dissolve, and melt into
a high mOuntain land; and the
cry luna is Lost, the lone SNOW
cloud is lost, burst from the lips
of thousands of the red men in
every valley and ON every noun
tain top.
0 mysterious world, why do
our waking troubles pursue us
in the misty realms Of sleep and
embody Themselves into form and
shape. Why do 4hey pass. the
boundary Of our waking hours,
invade the shadOwy regions of
dreanlaud.
Yaf, sleep on, and dream, UNI
happy Colndrna, great as are
the fortunes and bitter as are
the pangs that haunt thee m
that IDEAL wonld the real waking
world has in store for thee great
e torfwes and the pangs. Fly