CHAPTER XVII.
THE ARCTIC NIGHT.
January 20th.
The Morn is coming!
A faint twilight flush mounted the southern sky to-day at the meridian hour, and, although barely perceptible, it was a cheering sight to all of us.
At our usual Sunday gathering, I read from Ecclesiastes these lines:—
"Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eye to
behold the sun."
And this suggested the text for our evening conversation;
and we talked long of the future and of
what was to be done, with the coming again of the
god of day.
We all feel now that the veil of night is lifting, that the cloud is passing away, that the heavy load of darkness is being lightened. The people have exhausted their means of amusement; the newspaper has died a natural death; theatricals are impossible; and there is nothing new to break the weariness of the long hours.
But we shall soon have no need to give thought to these things. There will be ere long neither time nor occasion for amusements. The Arctic night will soon be numbered with the things of the past. We are eager that it shall have an end, and we long for the day and work.
