The Glenwood post., 1924-02-28

can live through no half-hour vfthou,
msdding where they do not under
stand"
Now Airamon kept silence. He was
lingering the magic colors with which
he blaxooed the first sketches of his
dream. Here was his white. which
was the foam of ocean made solid. and
the black he had wrung from the
burned bones Of nine emperors. Here
was the yellow slime of Scyros, and
crimson cinnabaris composed Of the
mingled blood of behemoths and
dragons. and here was the poisonous
blue sand Of Puteoli. And Miramon,
who was no longer a potent wizard
considered that loveliness and horror
which a moment ago he had known
how to evoke with these pigments, he
who had now no power to lend life to
his designs, and kept just skill enough
1t might be to place the stripings on a
barber's pole.
And Mirainon Lluagor said: at
would be sad happening If 1 were
never again to sway the sleeping of
men, and grant them yet more dreams
Of distinction and clarity, of beauty
and symmetry, of tenderness and
truth and urbanlty. For whether they
like 1t or not, know that 1t is good
for them, and 1t affords to their
starved living that which they lack
and ought to have"
And Miramon said also: "Yet it
would be another sad happening were
my poor wife permitted eternally to
scold the shlvering earthquakes in the
middle of next week. What does 1t
matter that l do not especially like
her1 There is II great deal about my
self that l do not like, such as my
body's flabbiness, and the small nose
which makes ludcrous the face I
wear; but do I banker to be trans
formed Into sturdy man-at-arms? Do
I view the snout of an elephant with
covetousness? Why, but, Ninzian, l
am astonished at your foolish talking
What need have I of perfection?
What would have In common with
anybody who was patient with me and
thought highly Of my doings? No.
Nfnzian, 1t is in vain that you poster
me with your continuous talking, for
am a. used to her shortcomings as I
am to my own shortcomings. re.
gard her tantrums with the resigna-
tion I extend to inclement weather. 1t
is unpleasant. All tempests are un-
pleasant. All, yes, but If life should
hnpnUna ppdlaco rJ of
noon we could not endure 1t; we who
have once been lashed by storms
would cross land and sea to look for
snow and pelting hail. Just so, to
have Gisele about keeps me perpetual
ly fretted, but now that she is gone I
am miserable. No, Ninzian, you may
spare your talking, you need say no
more. for l simply could not put up
with beine left to live in comfort"
Sir Ninzlan had heard him through,
with that patience which is requisite
to trends. And Ninzian, struggling,
said, "Then do you choose Miramon
for your wife and no more Dreams or
for your grt and loneliness7"
"Such Wishing would be overwaste-
full" Aiiramon replied, as he busted
away the third bee. "Since I can bear
to give up neither my wife nor my art,
no matter how destroyingly they work
against each other, wish for every
thing to be put back just where 1t was
an hour ago"
The last bee flew in wide circle,
and returned to the cross. Life re-
awoke in all which had perished in
that hour, and Gauracy's baleful sun
was gone. and the dislodged worlds
and satellites were revolving trinity
IN their former nlaceH And the High