Seattle daily post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, W.T. [Wash.]) 1881-1888, 1884-04-04
Of EEH SHADOWS.
detroit Free Press.

1t was twllil ht. The red flashes thrown
on the window pane by the setting sun
had slowly faded out and given place IL
the first soft shadows of night, which
bring the cricket from Its hiding place
and send tho bee and the butterfly to
sleep. There was feeling of rest in
the room-a feeling of quiet content
| nsnt and perfect satisfaction. The hum
| of voices from other rooms lulled instead
of ANNOYED: the voices of lildrea On the
street seemed far away and had touch
of pathos.
The old man lay at perfect ease. His
eyes rested ou the wall at the foot OF the
bed-his thin wrinkled hands were fold
ed 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 crlcke I
and the farsiliar cali Ut 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 Il it
back to head procession. Passing
from right to left the procession moves
"A PROCESSION of queer shadows. They
take on faces AZ 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 30 long ago that he had
| forgotten them. This one was a child
that a youth-that fair young girl when
| be stood by and saw the earth cover her
They smile at him and his heart grows
| younger.
One prooes sion 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 hi. b pes
| and sympathized with his sorrows-all
had been his friends. The SEA, the lake
| and the forest gave mp their dead to the
pr 'cession Of shadows. and each face
was recognized and remembered. Th.
procession moves on and on. He is
shocked to realize that 80 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 fee
Bile: mother With wrinkied, patient
face; brothers in youth and middle age;
sisters who weps with him over some
Of the graves. Every face looks as il
did in life: every eye meets his With a
glad look OF Recognition. The shad-
ovs 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
when his snow-white locks had sea rcely
turned gray. Then came the children.
sons and dsughters-five in all. Oie by
one they had grown weary and rested
by the wayside, leaving husband and
father 10 continue the journey alone.
The pro 'ession halts. and every shadow
holds out its hands to the peor old man
AS If in supplication. His heart swslls
tears fill his eyes, and be cries cut to
them:
see Won all / am coming
Back with you. light, But il ia too late.
TIE glare of the lamp filings the twilight
on, of the room with hasty hand, and
the shadows which crept along the wall
are gone forever. No one saw them but
the old man. and yet there is proof of
their presence. His poor old hands are
oatstretched-on his white cheeks are
tears-an his wriukied face a smile of
JOY and eladness.
HIS spirit had joined the shadows!