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Updated: May 7, 2025
His teacher can only engage his attention by strenuous efforts, loud, earnest tones, gesticulations and signs, and a constant presentation of some visible object of bright color and striking form. The eye wanders, and the spark of consciousness and intelligence which has been fanned into momentary brightness darkens at the slightest relaxation of the teacher's exertions.
It was, in fact, a lovely situation; perhaps the brighter to me, that its remembrance is associated with days of happiness and freedom from the cares of a world, which, like a distant mountain, darkens as we approach it, and only exhausts us in struggling to climb its rugged and barren paths.
But the war does not pause. The flags still fly. Fresh air-fleets rise, new forms of airship, and beneath their swooping struggles the world darkens scarcely heeded by history.
Hill candidly declares: “Still, however, a cloud hangs over the subject; and there is a difficulty in reconciling the mind to a system, which, after laying this foundation, that special grace is necessary to the production of human virtue, adopts as its distinguishing tenet this position, that that grace is denied to many.” Notwithstanding his most elaborate defence of predestination, he may well say, that “a cloud still hangs over the subject,” and darkens the mercy of God.
To us all, comes, at times, the great note of questioning despair that darkens our horizon and paralyzes our effort: "If there really be a God, if eternal justice really rule the world," we say, "why should life be as it is?
The mourners go; the evening darkens; the wild sunset floats for a while through the western heavens; the cemetery becomes a deep green, and in the wind that blows out of heaven the cypresses rock like things sad and mute. Then the blue night comes with stars in her tresses, and out of those stars angels float softly; their white feet hanging out of blown folds, their wings pointing to the stars.
All was unmoving as if the dawn would never come, the stars would never fade, the sun would never rise any more; all was mute, still, dead as if the shadow of the outer darkness, the shadow of the uninterrupted, of the everlasting night that fills the universe, the shadow of the night so profound and so vast that the blazing suns lost in it are only like sparks, like pin-points of fire, the restless shadow that like a suspicion of an evil truth darkens everything upon the earth on its passage, had enveloped her, had stood arrested as if to remain with her forever.
"It darkens every moment of our lives. Do you suppose that Ted Baldwin has ever forgiven us? If it were not that he fears you, what do you suppose our chances would be? If you saw the look in those dark, hungry eyes of his when they fall on me!" "By Gar! I'd teach him better manners if I caught him at it! But see here, little girl. I can't leave here. I can't take that from me once and for all.
I reply, resolutely, and still with that unmirthful mirth; "what ever else I may be, I will not be a spoil-sport!" "A spoil-sport!" he echoes, passionately, while his face darkens, and hardens with impatient anger; "good God! will you never understand?" Then he hastily leaves the room.
"First, let me view what noxious Nonsense reigns, While yet I loiter on Prosaic Plains; If Pens impartial active Annals trace, Others, with secret Histr'y, Truth deface: Views and Reviews, and wild Memoirs appear, And Slander darkens each recorded year."
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