THE COMING OF DUSK 



AT all seasons the coming of dusk has its spell 

 upon the imagination. Even in cities it puts 

 something of silence into the turmoil, some- 

 thing of mystery into the commonplace aspect 

 of the familiar and the day- worn. The shadow 

 of the great change that accompanies the 

 passage of day is as furtive and mysterious, as 

 swift and inevitable, amid the traffic of streets 

 as in aisles of the forest, or in glens and on 

 hills, on shores, or on the sea. It is every- 

 where the hour of suspense. Day has not 

 receded into the confused past, already a 

 shadow in eternity, and night has not yet come 

 out of the unknown. Instinctively one feels 

 as though crossing an invisible bridge over a 

 gulf, perchance with troubled glances at the 

 already dimming shore behind, or with dream- 

 ing eyes or watchful or expectant gaze on the 

 veiled shore upon which we are almost come. 

 In winter one can see dusk advancing like a 

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