Cedar Falls gazette. [volume] (Cedar Falls, Iowa) 1860-1895, 1861-02-22
LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS.
From Sharpe's Magazine.


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS.
From sharpe's Magazine.
had not been blind from my birth. Sit
ting alone, in the utter darkness, my closed
eyes could make pictures. could call back
glores of nature and glories of art, blue sky,
and wind swept fields, and, above all, dear
faces, whose very memory lightened my
nighttime my father, my gentle mother,
my young. dark-eyed brother. There was
another, too, not of our blood, whose face
saw oitener than any. This was strange,
for Leona Ashland, the daughter of my
mothers most intimate friend, was but a
child of ten-siX years younger than myself
She was. very dear to me, however She had
been in and out of our house as famarly as
a daughter. She was the pet of every one.
save me; but child as she was, my own
feeling for her was too tender and reverent
to admit of gay familiarity. had never
heard any one call her beautiful but to me
her face always seemed that of an angel |
used to tremble, lest, some day Of summer,
God should give her wings, and we should
see her no more forever, her features, framed
in those long brown curls, seemed so spirit
ual, so delicate When | looked into her
thoughtful eyes, at school, or at church, life
seemed holier, more earnest thing. But
the time came when | could see them no
longer. ... ..a. ..t ...-
For fifteen years the world had been yisi-
bic to me with its beauty, its mystery, and
its romance. Then darkness began to steal
gradually over me. 1t was a whole year be-
fore the last ray of light had faded. / was
stone-blind at sixteen. | was thankful that
it was not sudden stroke. Day after day |
had sought in vain for some cherished object
OF vision. Once It had been the blue range
Of the far-of hills again, the familiar out
| line of distant tree. After time the dark
ness came nearer. Day after day some ten
der grace would fade out from beloved face,
| and could only reproduce it in my fancy.
| At length seemed to dwell in world Of
shadows. Snaps, whose dim outlines |
could only family catch, hoated by me; but
still could tell day from night; still h. av-
EMS blessed light was welcome. But what
shall say OF the anguish of desolation when
the last ray was gone-when they told me
the midday sun was shining clear and bright,
and |, alas! sat in blindest, deepest midnight
no light, no hope?
| had so much to give up! 1t was not
| alone the JOY of sight the dear faces, the
beautiful world; but all my high hopes, my
plans for the future. my ambition, my pride
| had meant to be a student had had Wis
! ons OF fame. Th re were months of stormy,
surging discomfort before could settle calmly
down to my destiny. secluded myself even
| from those dearest to me on earth. The very
sound OF their voices maddcned me, for il
made more intense the longing to look upon
their faces. Day after day sat alone in my
room where | had bcsought them not to come
| t. me.
| Sometimes my mother, who loved me more
than ever in my sorrow and my hclplcssness,
would stca! into my room, and sit for an
hour beside me in silence. She was so still
] could scarcely hear her breathe; but knew
that at these times she wept much. Once, in
an irresistible impulse of material tender
ness, she folded her arms around me and
drew my head to her bosom. 80, my childr'
she cried. "uy dear ctild. be comfort.d =
Believe that tn re is something left in life, or
this blow will kill us both" II,
But my rcbelious spirit would not strus-
gle with its despair, even though I felt that
it was breaking my moth RS heart
Once-and think this did me more good
than anything-Leona came to me. She had
so long entreated to see me, that at length
my mother consented She came in alone.
I knew her footsttp as soon as it crossed the
threshold, but did not speak She came to
my side. She laid her hand, her little child's 4
hand, upon mine. | knew. as well as if !
had seen it, the sorrowful pity with which
her eyes were lifted to my face She seemed
striving to gather self-command enough to
speak calmly. At length, low and quiet yet
| l,c eli
Mr.. Allen, the rector says God knows Just
what is best for every one He is our Father,
and He does not love to make us sorry.-
This is the passage Mr.. Greene told me to saw
10 you: Like as a father pitieth his child
ren, so tn Lord piteth them that fear him" /"
Her chi dish voice had de"pened AS She re-
cited the words of inspiration. Then she
turned to leave me. but detained her. AL
ready she had comforted me.
How came Mr.. Greene to tell you to say
that to me?' asked
. You are not vexed, Mr. AllnnW ri
No; am grateful b only wished to
know how it happened" .{o.
He was at our house last night. and hn
spoke of you. He pitied you very ,n,,cf. but
he said you had great deal left vet If vo,,
would not despair. After while. mother
went out Of the room, and told him ron had
heen very good to me, and wanted to tell
you something to make you feel better. Then
he said I might repeat that verse tn you
Does it no you good?"H % . 4ea3G
=" (" Much good, blrssed child! Your words
have helped me more than you can ever
/ know
She left me then. did not strive to.keep
her / felt the need Of solitudeito rrceiv2
lreverentlyl the light, brighter than earthly
i davnino which uas rising nn0n NV snirit