The Storyteller.

Waikato Argus, Volume V, Issue 376, 31 December 1898, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

It waa New Year's Eve. I was sitting alone by my fire, listening indifferently to the crackling of the flames and to the swish of the wind as it swept the powdered snow against the window pane and scarified past with a wail that somehow suggested to mo the thought of a troubled spirit wandering homeless through the night. The curtains were drawn and the lamp was turned low. The room was warm and my armchair was comfortable, so I soon began to nod. The wind still blew past the window, but in its place I now heard the swinging peal oE the cathedral bells ringing in my ears. Soon after wards, in some unexplained way, I became among a multitude of people who were assembling in the vestibule of the church. The bells clanged out their last peal, the organ boomed the prelude of a triumphal march. Singly and in family groups the people crowded in through the pillared door, and soon the cathedral was full. As I looked round, I observed that there was not one poor-looking or shabbily-dressed person in the congregation. The glitter of gold and tinsel, the eheen of silks and satins, the froth of feathers were conspicuous in the dresses of the ladies, while the men were all tailored, one and all, in immaculate broadcloth and stiff in polished linen. The choir, followed by the clergy, defiled up the aisle and took their places in the chancel. The dean came forward and, standing at the desk, in a muflied and quavering voice droned out the penitential Tersicles, and proceeded in low and broken accents'to read the confession and absolution. As his voice echoed and died away among the fluted pillars and corrugated arches, a dull apathy settled on every face in the congregation. However, a sudden burst of organ music restored animation to them in a moment, while a half-formed smile of gratification seemed even to hover about the lips of some. The melodious thunder gradually subsided, and was succeeded by legato chords and fluttering scales lhat throbbed and thrilled through the heart of the old cathedral. Once more the wind became audible, not as before beating in fitful gusts, but rising in a steady crescendo. It rose and swelled till the organ music sounded like a feeble wail, and the voices of the choristers quavered and and sank almost to silence. Those in the congregation who had the keenest hearing soon be-. came sensible of an undercurrent of sound audible through the clangour of the storm. Now it broke like a murmur of fierce, yet stifled, anger —now it vibrated like a sharp cry of human anguish. Through these broken voices another and a more continuous sound gradually grew j audible. It increased steadily in volume, as the attendant hearers in the congregation noted with apprehension and alarm. Louder and louder, nearer and nearer it came with a rythmic roar like the measured beat of a mighty army on the march. Meanwhile it had grown dusk in the cathedral. A chilly grey fog had penetrated it, and was spreading rapidly through the building. It crawled up along the aisles, clinging about the pillars, choking the air. ami obscuring the vistas of the transepts and the naive. The lamps which had been lighted in the chancel and here and there in the transepts looked like drops of sickly yellow glimmering through its slimy whiteness. People peered into one another's faces through that fog and drew back again abruptly, frightened at seeing the reflection of their own fears in the eyes of others.

All this time the rumble in the street outside rose momently, like the gathering of a great flood. The rythmic beat as of a million feet grew louder and louder, nearer and nearer, without pause or break. The anxiety and apprehension which were depicted on many faces deepened to terror as it advanced, while there were some that still seemed to suspect no cause of The muffled boom broke suddenly into a mighty roar, loud as if the voices of a multitude that uo man could number had struck in unison on the ono sharp note of pain. It ceased as abruptly as it had risen, and in its place fell a silence which was tense with apprehension. That cry of pain held a menace for many hearts beating within the walls of the church. During the interval of awed suspense which followed on the cry the white-haired dean lifted the chalice in his palsied hands, and the entire congregation fell forward prostrate in a humiliation of prayer. Again the storm thundered outside. The cathedral walls vibrated to the shock, and from the tremulous hands of the priest the chalice fell, the wine overflowing in a thick stream on the ground. Down the aisle into stalls and pews it weltered, dividing into numerous channels on its course through the church,

The ladies drew back their skirts with a look of disgusted horror as it approached them, and hid their faces in perfumed handkerchiefs, for the wine had .the reeking heat and effluvia of freshly-spilled blood. Once more thunder, peeling in rapid detonations, crashed outside. Lightnings flashed in blinding whiteness from window to window. At last the cathedral walls swayed as if shaken by an earthquake. The doors fell in, levelled by the ptorm. The wind rushed after them, blowing out the lights, and a horror of great darkness fell over all within the cathedral. tart n. Light shone again, and the scene was changed, as scenes often change and shift in our dreams. The cathedral walls had disappeared, but in their place stood the grey cliff walls of parallel mountain ranges. Where the pillars had been were now rows of lofty pine trees forming longer aisles and deeper arches than those which they replaced. Transformed though the cathedral was, the new structure still bore a a curious bewildering resemblance to the old one which had passed away. In singular suggestion of the stained glass windows which had been shattered with the downfall of the walls now burned at the end of the nave a sky painted in the red, violet, and gilded scarlet of autumnal sunsets; but the light in it waxed steadily instead of waning in its Bplendour. .... j • A multitude that no man could number —a toil-worn, hunger-bit-ten throng, haggard eyed, hollowcheeked, and famine-stricken, gaunt end emaciated, ragged and threadbare—now swarmed up the aisles, the nave, and the transepts of this new church. As 1 observed them, I called to mind the words of Christ, ' Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the eity, and bring in hither the poor and the maimed and the halt and the blind. ... Go out into the highways and hedges and compel them to "come in that my house may be filled.' Starving and suffering, careworn and sorrowful, as most of the faces 1 saw looked, 1 noted on one and all ofthera an expression in common. It was like the dawn of a pure hope, the quiver of a tender desire. There was ndt one apathetic or blank face among the multitude. As I continued looking it became apparent to me that the entire congregation wa3 moving steadily in the direction of the sunset splendour in the heavens. I looked closely at the countenances of those who passed nearest to me, seeking if I could recognise among them many of ray fellow-worshippers in the old cathedral. Recognition was not easy, and it was some time before I succeeded. At last I recognised a few faces I had known, in spite of the change which transformed them. A tender sensibility—a living sympathy had now taken the place of the hard egotism and inane vanity which before had been stamped upon their countenances. The current of motion setting one way was so strong that I myself was carried steadily along with it, and felt neither the strength nor the inclination for resistance. There was no jostling and no shoving in that crowd ; rather the smooth, soft impulsion with which one floats shoreward upon a flowing tide. As we proceeded I saw that the sacred pictures which had decorated the stained glass windows still remained suspended before our eyes upon a cloudy background. There was Christ feeding the multitude upon the mountain side ; Christ hushing the storm on the Lake of Galilee Christ, a blue-vested, pure-eyed lad, talking with the grey and blind-faced scribes and rabbis in the temple. t i • » ' Through those scones, painted with artists' dreani3, the light of the skj streamed in on the faces of the crowd. Finally, above and beyond the red-gold sunset blaze appeared the sheen of the crystal river flowing onwards towards the light that never shone on land or sea. A m urmur of many voices stirred in thanksgiving. It swelled louder and louder and louder, and finally burst into a inarticulate roar like the thunder of the surf breaking on a rocky shore. The sound woke me, and once more I was alone listening to the wind shrieking past the window and bellowing down the chimney. My fire Was gone out. The morning light poured in wan, chilly streaks through the closed shutters, and in the pauses of the wind I heard the intermittent peal of cathedral chimes heralding in New Year's Day.—M. E. Kennedy, in the Weekly Sun.

DREAMS.