BY EMERSON HOUGH
“UPON what couch,” I asked the Singing Mouse, “may one have the most noble dreams?”
The Singing Mouse sat for a time and looked at me with its bright eye, and it seemed to me that the walls opened and widened. I saw that I was within a great palace, whose walls were hung in tapestries, and whose doors were of golden panelings, and whose windows were of curious crystals, and whose furnishings were rich and wonderful, and around whose stately limits swam wide gardens of strange flowers, full of deep perfumes. I heard soft voices of birds and the music also of gentle human voices singing, and tenderly played instruments of silken and silvern strings. It seemed to me that I lay upon a great couch of thrice-piled down, and touched hands with delights in all manners that one could think. But alas! I did not dream as I lay upon this couch.
Then I saw these walls fade away in turn, and in their stead arose a vast cathedral of the woods. A music was in the trees, and a solemn mountain stood as orator to the sky for me. My couch was that of the earth and the leaves, and my jewels were upon the grasses all about. I touched hands with delights; and so I dreamed, and was very happy and content.
Again the place changed, and I lay in my own small room, with naked walls and little cheer or comfort, as you may see. The couch was hard and narrow, and that which covered it over was worn and threadbare, and by no means cloth of woven silk and golden tracery. But it seemed to me that upon the walls were pictures. And here and there were shadows of things which I had wished—many things, very sweet and precious. Upon this couch, as upon that of the earth, it seemed to me that I dreamed….
“There were once some leaves and grasses in this couch,” said the Singing Mouse, “and that is why you dreamed. Around this manner of resting-place often arises the House of Dreams, and not, as many have supposed, about the couch of down and silken tapestries. Always, near a House of Dreams, must be a mountain or a sea, and trees, and grasses, with the sky also, and the stars, which are the candles of our dream houses. See, you had not noticed it, but there is a star in your candle.”
I looked, and it was as the Singing Mouse had said. A star was at the candle top. By its light I could dream nobly, and many things seemed true which have not yet come true when the star in the candle does not shine. But they are true in the land of the Singing Mouse. In that country it is not palaces alone that are Houses of Dreams. I know this thing is true. Wherefore, all ye who have come hither, let your hope and your joy be strong; and by no means despair, for better than despair are hope and joy.