The daily Cairo bulletin. (Cairo, Ill.) 1878-1???, 1883-12-29
Queer Shadows.

1t was twilight. The red flashes
thrown on the window-panes by the
setting sun had slowly faded out and
given place to the first soft shadows of
night, which bring the cricket from its
hiding-place and send the bee and the
butterfly to sleep. There was feeling
of rest in the room-a feeling OF quiet
contentment and perfect satisfaction.
The hum of voices from other rooms
lulled instead of annoyed; the voices OF
children on the street seemed far away
and had touch of pathos. r-
The old man lay in 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 his
kindly face. He had seen the sun go
down, and he had listened for the voice
of the cricket and the call of the whip
poor-will.
What was that?
A shadow suddenly fitted across the
wall in front of his eyes. Now another
and another. Now the first shadows
fit back to head procession. Passing
from right to left the procession moves
"a procession Of queer shadows. They
take on faces as the 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
child-that ayouth-that fairyoung
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 be-
gins. These are the faces of men and
women stricken down in the MONDAY
of life. Some of them had shared his
hopes and sympathized with his sor-
rows-all had been his friends. The
sea, the lake and the forest gave up
their dead to the procession Of shadows,
and each face was recognized and
remembered. The procession moves
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 a father, old and bent and
feeble; a mother with wrinkled, patient
face; brothers in young and middle
age; sisters who wept with him over
some of the graves. Every face looks
as it did in life; every eye meets his
with glad look of recognition. 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 loved wife,
who died while the snow-white locks
had scarcely turned gray. Then came
the children-sons and daughters-fv
in all. One by one they had grown
weary and rested by the wayside,
leaving husband and father to pursue
the journey alone. The procession
halts, and every shadow holds out its
hands to the poor old man as if in
duplication. His heart swells tears
fill his eyes, and he cries out to
them:
81 see you ALL am coming"
Back with your light! But il is toe
late. The glare of the lamp Hings the
twilight out of the room with hasty
hand, and the shadows which crepI
along the wall are gone forever. Nc
one saw them but the old man, and YET
there is proof of their presence, Hi'
poor old hands are outstretched-or
his white cheeks are tears-on his
wrinkled face smile of JOY ant
gladness.
His spirit had joined the shadows!