Atlantic Narratives: Modern Short StoriesNesbit, E. (Edith)
General
Atlantic Narratives: Modern Short Stories
Nesbit, E. (Edith)
Short stories
Waiting for the first bird to chirrup, one had perhaps even a stronger
feeling than in daytime of the unity and communion of all life, of the
subtle brotherhood of living things that fall all together into
oblivion, and, all together, wake. When dawn comes, while moonlight is
still powdering the world's face, quite a long time passes before one
realizes how the quality of the light has changed; so it was day before
I knew it. Then the sun came up above the hills; dew began to sparkle,
and color to stain the sky. That first praise of the sun from every bird
and leaf and blade of grass, the tremulous flush and chime of dawn! One
has strayed so far from the heart of things, that it comes as something
strange and wonderful! Indeed, I noticed that the beasts and birds gazed
at me as if I simply could not be there, at this hour that so belonged
to them. And to me, too, they seemed strange and new--with that in them
'that passed show,' and as of a world where man did not exist, or
existed only as just another form of life, another sort of beast. It was
one of those revealing moments when we see our proper place in the
scheme; go past our truly irreligious thought: 'Man, hub of the
Universe!' which has founded most religions. One of those moments when
our supreme importance will not wash either in the bath of purest
spiritual ecstasy, or in the clear fluid of scientific knowledge; and
one sees clear, with the eyes of true religion, man playing his little,
not unworthy, part in the great game of Perfection.
But just then began the crowning glory of that dawn--the opening and
lighting of the buttercups. Not one did I actually see unclose, yet, all
of a sudden, they were awake, the fields once more a blaze of gold.
HEPATICAS
BY ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK
I
Other people's sons were coming home for the three or four days' leave.
The first gigantic struggle--furious onslaught and grim resistance--was
over. Paris, pale, and slightly shuddering still, stood safe. Calais was
not taken, and, dug into their trenches, it was evident that the
opposing armies would lie face to face, with no decisive encounter
possible until the spring.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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