' Then said Joseph, 'Mother, what is it?' 'An ugly thing,
Child, an ugly thing,' said she. 'But, Mother, what is it like?'
said he. ''Tis like I cannot tell what,' said she. And now it was
but a little way off. Then said she, 'It is nigh.'"
"Pilgrim's Progress," Part II.
Where No Fear Was
I
THE SHADOW
There surely may come a time for each of us, if we have lived with
any animation or interest, if we have had any constant or even
fitful desire to penetrate and grasp the significance of the
strange adventure of life, a time, I say, when we may look back a
little, not sentimentally or with any hope of making out an
impressive case for ourselves, and interrogate the memory as to
what have been the most real, vivid, and intense things that have
befallen us by the way. We may try to separate the momentous from
the trivial, and the important from the unimportant; to discern
where and how and when we might have acted differently; to see and
to say what has really mattered, what has made a deep mark on our
spirit; what has hampered or wounded or maimed us.
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