T H E   L A D I E S '   R E P O S I T O R Y .

CINCINNATI, DECEMBER, 1843.

      IT has been said by one who was eminently qualified to judge, and who, doubtless, had been well taught in the school of experience, that

To test the truth of this remark, we have only to look into our own hearts, and commune for a season with the secret monitor within. Life has been fitly called a dream. The strangeness of its incidents, the diversity of its scenes, and the rapidity of its flight amply establish its pretensions to the name; and the experience of all, though unwillingly, must confirm the fact, that the loved and cherished ones do pass away as a vision of the night. Standing as we do, allied to the eternity passed, and the eternity to come, if we turn our gaze in either direction, in order to find the true position which we occupy in relation to both, the thought must, at times, strike the mind that we are but as passing shadows on the stream of time, and our fondest and dearest pursuits are fleeting and transitory as the empty pageants of a dream.

      But do we wish to turn our gaze from the world within to the world around us, and see if the pursuits of the busy myriads of earth are calculated to produce the same conclusions as our silent communings? or in other words, will the busy scenes of life answer in the same manner the question, Is man a dreamer, and is life a dream? Where are the great, the noble, and the mighty--the rulers of the bodies and minds of men? where is the aspirant after earthly power who would bound his dominions by the last habitation of human kind? where the devotee who poured forth his adoration at the shrine of wisdom, and deemed her treasures beyond all price? where the true son of high-born genius, whose heart was the shrine of every lofty thought and ennobling emotion--who scaled fame's loftiest summit, and won a name that shall never die? As our brightest visions fade with the gray light of morning, and all our bright fancies pass away, they have all vanished, though memory and affection may still linger around the moldering urn. Shall we bring to our aid the light of history and tradition, in order to impress our minds more fully with the evanescent nature of earthly things? Let us, then, look down the ever-receding stream of time, and learn from the past the follies of the present. Where are now the lordly monarchs, the mighty conquerors, the barbaric pomp and magnificence which once surrounded the proudest and noblest of our race? Where the trophied column and the triumphal arch, with all the pageantry of human pride? Gone glimmering in the dim twilight of the past--they have almost receded from our vision--like a dimly remembered dream they have passed away. Let us attend to the sage admonitions of our own experience, and by the light of memory retrace the past of our own short existence. Far, far down in its shadowy vistas the scenes of brighter days appear, like dim shades, softened by distance, and mellowed by time, or as the half forgotten faces of those we loved. And are these the objects which we once esteemed as "the real"--which we deemed so durable that time himself would effect no change, but that the pleasant sunshine of prosperity and the chill blasts of adverse fortune would alike strengthen and secure to us their possession? But is it so? In relation to the guardians of childhood, the partakers of every youthful delight, the hours of joy, pure and unmingled, which the heart in its spring-time of innocency loved to cherish, and which we fondly hoped would ever attend our path, we have to ask the mournful question, "Where are they?" Oft in the still twilight we look for the forms which have faded, and listen for the voices which are silent. We see--we hear them not. Tears! fancy's own creation--the recollection of them falls upon our memories like the lengthening shadows of eve. The dark mantle of forgetfulness is fast closing round them; and thus fade our early dreams. Is the future bright before us? Is it a scene of promise, which seems to mark the past, and makes life appear what it has not been, and what it may not be? Have cherished pleasures lost their attendant pains, and are the roses of life now unsurrounded by thorns? In this respect surely, with the experience of the past behind us, and the future in view, the extravagances of our nightly visions are put to the blush by the dreams of the day. What are our fondest pursuits? Will they ever be realized? Do not their hues fade as we approach them, and does not all their fancied loveliness depart? Yes, like the dreamer, all around us seems to bear the resemblance of unalloyed bliss--to us all things seem but as the bright reflection of enjoyment. Pleasure inspires each drowsy pulse, and our thoughts assume the glowing hues of the scenes by which we are surrounded. These are but mockeries. The vision of life, like our dreamy revels, will soon vanish away--every earth-bound joy will fade--the spell will be broken, and man will be mingled with his kindred dust.

[The Ladies' Repository 3 (December 1843): 367.]

      William Baxter's "The Visions of Life" was first published in The Ladies' Repository, and Gatherings of the West: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to Literature and Religion, Vol. 3, No. 12, December 1843, p. 367. This volume, edited by L. L. Hamline, was published in Cincinnati by J. F. Wright and L. Swormstedt for the Methodist Episcopal Church.

      Addenda and corrigenda are earnestly solicited.

Ernie Stefanik
Derry, PA

Created 2 April 2000.
Updated 28 June 2003.