The semi-weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1882-1886, 1883-12-26
Queer Shadows.
Detroit Free Press I

1t was twilight. The red flashes
thrown on the window panes by the
setting SUI had slowly faded out and
given place to the first soft shadows
of night, which bring the cricket
from it's hiding place and send the
bee and butterfly to sleep. There was
a feeling of rest in the room-a feel
ing OF quiet cOntentment and perfect
satisfaction. The hum of voices from
the other rooms lulled instead of an
noyed the voices of children on the
street seemed far away, and had a
touch of pathos.
The old man lay at perfect ease.
His eyes rested on the wall at the
foot of the bed; his thin, wrinkled
hands were folded one over the other;
there was no pain TO deepen the lines
on bis kindly face. He had seen the
sun go down, and he had listened to
tie voice OF the cricket and the call
of the whip-pOor-wilI.
What was that?
A shadow suddenly fitted across
the wall in front Of his eyes. Now
another, and another. Now the first
shadow fit back to head a process
sion. Passing from right to left the
procession mOves-a procession of
queer shadows. They take on faces
as they move along, and the old
mans heart beats faster as each face
comes before him. Here are the
friends of his youth. faces which
grew white in death so long ago that
he had forgotten them. This one
was a child, that a youth, that a fair
girl, when he stood by and saw the
earth cover them. They smile at him
and his heart grows younger.
One procession ends and another
begins. These are the faces of men
and women stricken down in the
noon day of life. Some of them had
shared his hopes and sy1npathized
with his sorroWs-all had been his
friends. The sea, the lake and the
forest gave up their dead to the pro-
cesslOn of shadows, and each face was
recognized and remembered. The
procession move on and on. He is |
shocked to realize that so many of
his friends fell in the battle of life |
while he was spared to grow
old and rest in peace.
Now comes the third procession.
There is 3 father, Old and bent and
* eble !; a mother with wrinkled, pa
tient face; brothers in youth and
middle age; sisters who wept with
him over some OF the graves. Every
face looks as it did in life: every eve
meets him with a glad look of recog-
The shadows wave their
hands and move on, and the old
mans heart grows childish and big.
There is another procession. The
first shadow is that of a loved wife,
who died while the snow-white locks
had scarcely turned gray. Then came
children, sons and daughters,
i've in all. One by one they had
grown weary and rested 10y the way.
tide, leaving husband and father to
pursue the journey alone. The pro-
halts, and every shadow
holds out its hands to the poor old
nan, as if in s%upplication. His heart
wells, tears fill his eyes, and he cries
'ut to them,
II see you all, I'm comingW
Back with your light! But it is too
ate. The glare of the lamp filings
he twilight out of the room with
TASTY hand, and the shadows which
rept along the wall are gone forever. !
10 m saw them but the old man,
nd yet there is proof of their pre- =,
ence. His poor, old hands are out s
tretched, on his white cheeks are
on his wrinkled face a smile of !
~ and gladness.
His spirit had joined the shadows!