It was more than my heart could
bear.
I could not write as I do, — I could not recall these thoughts
and that time, — if I had not another thought to bring to bear
upon them; a thought which at that time I was not able to
comprehend. It came to me later with its healing, and I have
seen and felt it more clearly as I grew older. I see it very
clearly now. I had not been mistaken in my childish notions of
the loftiness and generosity of my father's character. He was
what I had thought him. Neither was I a whit wrong in my
judgment of the things which it grieved me that he did and
allowed. But I saw afterwards how he, and others, had grown up
and been educated in a system and atmosphere of falsehood,
till he failed to perceive that it was false. His eyes had
lived in the darkness till it seemed quite comfortably light
to him; while to a fresh vision, accustomed to the sun, it was
pure and blank darkness, as thick as night. He followed what
others did and his father had done before him, without any
suspicion that it was an abnormal and morbid condition of
things they were all living in; more especially without a
tinge of misgiving that it might not be a noble, upright and
dignified way of life.
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