Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1884-1886, 1884-10-26
SATURDAY MIDNIGHT AND SUNDAY
MORNING.

Alone, We are with the nigh. and with our
own thoughts and with q long, dreary trip
between Us and our home, but with the as
surance of a full days rest when we have
reached there. The morning is weary hours
vet ahead, although the hands of the clock
have scored the highest figure Of the dial
and its tiny bell has sounded in twelve
measured strokes the knell of the day and
| the week that are gone forever. The funeral
train of the dead summer is passing. The
gloom of dying year, intensified by the
| darkness of an autumnal night, enshrouds
! the city. Wailing winds, famed by
black-winged sprites into ftful signs
| and lamentations, sweep up and
down the deserted streets. 4 neglected
tin sign, bearing the legend u. NJ. Steele,
Land and Insurance Agent" which we had
nailed up in the window as a substitute for
4 a broken pane, trembles and struggles IN a
dismal kind Of way TO free itself, in its dumb
language bringing back afresh talks and
feelings of other DAYS. The faint half grown
moon has even deserted her place In the
heavens, and the sky, in sympathy with the
detected scene below, is weeping great tears
that splash against the window and run IN
torturous courses down each pane, to dis
lappear beneath the sill. From
leaf to leaf, and from cave
and roof. we hear these dropping tears
which fall in crystal symbols of regret,
for the flowers that are dead and Tor The
summer that has flown forever. We step to
the window and look out towards the south
ern portion of the city. but only one single
faint light meets our eye and the only souno
which reaches lis through the gloom
that holds the slumbering town in its op,
pressive embrace is the plaintive sough OF
lifting boughs and the rustic of decaying
leaves as they are whirled in eddys along
the deserted walks. A belated kingman
or Clearwater train goes rumbling over the
long bridge which spans the river and rolls
off screeching into the impentrablt
beyond, lending weird cadence
to the solemn symphony of the night pa
geant Every drop Of rain, each falling leaf
every whisper of the wind, each sound Of
this midnight hour, seems in accord witt
our own feelings. There is bond. unity
a response to their plaintive measures, a.
we wonder il, after all, every sound of eartf
F and air, resonant and whispered, may not b'
integral strains of an immeasurabie dlapa
son of some grand eternal oratorio, which
the soul, when once ,infettered, shall inter
pref as the music of the spheres-as III.
voice ofGod. The ''pale descending year.
, the fading woods, the browning
earth, the DEAD HoWers anu VIC
2 dark night of gloom, wha
have they to do with you, dear reader, ant
! us, NAV you ask. Nothing, unless, FER
chance YOU have yourself thus seen and fe!
and communed with nature in her strange
moods.
; But the week is gone, and its work is al
most ended and mayhap the gloom will pas
away with the night, and, the morning
, SUNDAY rnorninglGod's own appointed da,
of rest-will, as you read these lines, hav
| been ushered in with the soft light OF aut
, umn's glory. Almost ended; and what
W eek OF worry and perplexities it has prove
: to many, a week of bitter political words an
5 strife, to some of us, devoid ola single en-
g enlargement or rewarding smile, a wee
of toll of the head and aches of the heart
Almost ended. Across in the composing
room, where ten bright lights han
above ten busy type settlers, we ca
hear the metallic little letters falling int
their places, and others beside ourself ar
saving salmost ended" Now the forema
is telling the mes ,nger boy that the cop
hooks are all dry and he must hurry owe
: 70 the last batch of dispatches that hav
: been coming too slow all night from a
parts of the sleeping world, as he turtle
complains of the hardness OF the asso
, ciate agent ut ST. Louis and wonders II tn
= wires are not down. The boy is off, and tn
foreman sings out again to the pressma
who is half asleep, ''the inside forms ar
a re.dv for press" and all is quiet again, eA
cent the click, click Of the dropping typ'
: the tick. tick, of the faithful clock and tn
: sob, sob OF the sad night winds.