figures shot up as high as the aurora, but
instantly settled down again to human size, as if overmastering their
feelings, out of respect to him who had roused them. One who had
bounded to the highest visible icy peak, and as suddenly returned, now
elbowed his way through the rest, and made himself spokesman for them
during the remaining part of the dialogue.

"Excuse our agitation, your majesty," said he. "I see your majesty has
not yet thought proper to make himself acquainted with our nature and
habits."

"I wish to do so now," replied the king.

"We are the Shadows," repeated the Shadow solemnly.

"Well?" said the king.

"We do not often appear to men."

"Ha!" said the king.

"We do not belong to the sunshine at all. We go through it unseen, and
only by a passing chill do men recognize an unknown presence."

"Ha!" said the king again.

"It is only in the twilight of the fire, or when one man or woman is
alone with a single candle, or when any number of people are all
feeling the same thing at once, making them one, that we show
ourselves, and the truth of things."

"Can that be true that loves the night?" said the king.

"The darkness is the nurse of light," answered the Shadow.

"Can that be true which mocks at forms?" said the king.

"Truth rides abroad in shapeless storms," answered the Shadow.

"Ha! ha!" thought Ralph Rinkelmann, "it rhymes. The Shadow caps my
questions with his answers. Very strange!" And he grew thoughtful
again.

The Shadow was the first to resume.

"Please your majesty, may we present our petition?"

"By all means," replied the king. "I am not well enough to receive it
in proper state."

"Never mind, your majesty. We do not care for much ceremony; and indeed
none of us are quite well at present. The subject of our petition
weighs upon us."

"Go on," said the king.

"Sire," began the Shadow, "our very existence is in danger. The various
sorts of artificial light, both in houses and in men, women, and
children, threaten to end our being. The use and the disposition of
gaslights, especially high in the centres, blind the eyes by which
alone we can be perceived. We are all but banished from towns. We are
driven into villages and lonely houses, chiefly old farm-houses, out of
which, even, our friends the fairies are fast disappearing. We
therefore petition our king, by the power of his art, to restore us to
our rights in the house itself, and in the hearts of its inhabi