"I always look for nurseries full of children," said another; "and this winter I have been very fortunate. I am sure children belong especially to us. One evening, looking about in a great city, I saw through the window into a large nursery, where the odious gas had not yet been lighted. Round the fire sat a company of the most delightful children I had ever seen. They were waiting patiently for their tea. It was too good an opportunity to be lost. I hurried away, and gathering together twenty of the best Shadows I could find, returned in a few moments; and entering the nursery, we danced on the walls one of our best dances. To be sure it was mostly extemporized; but I managed to keep it in harmony by singing this song, which I made as we went on. Of course the children could not hear it; they only saw the motions that answered to it; but with them they seemed to be very much delighted indeed, as I shall presently prove to you. This was the song:-- 'Swing, swang, swingle, swuff, Flicker, flacker, fling, fluff! Thus we go, To and fro; Here and there, Everywhere, Born and bred; Never dead, Only gone. 'On! Come on. Looming, glooming, Spreading, fuming, Shattering, scattering, Parting, darting, Settling, starting, All our life Is a strife, And a wearying for rest On the darkness' friendly breast. 'Joining, splitting, Rising, sitting, Laughing, shaking, Sides all aching, Grumbling, grim, and gruff. Swingle, swangle, swuff! 'Now a knot of darkness; Now dissolved gloom; Now a pall of blackness Hiding all the room. Flicker, flacker, fluff! Black, and black enough! 'Dancing now like demons; Lying like the dead; Gladly would we stop it, And go down to bed! But our work we still must do, Shadow men, as well as you. 'Rooting, rising, shooting, Heaving, sinking, creeping; Hid in corners crooning; Splitting, poking, leaping, Gathering, towering, swooning. When we're lurking, Yet we're working, For our labour we must do, Shadow men, as well as you. Flicker, flacker, fling, fluff! Swing, swang, swingle, swuff!' "'How thick the Shadows are!' said one of the children--a thoughtful little girl. "'I wonder where they come from,' said a dreamy little boy. "'I think they grow out of the wall,' answered the little girl; 'for I have been watching them come; first one and then another, and then a whole lot of them. I am sure they grow out of the walls.' "'Perhaps they have papas and mammas,' said an older boy, with a smile. "'Yes, yes; and the doctor brings them in his pocket,' said another, a consequential little maiden. "'No; I'll tell you,' said the older boy: 'they're ghosts.' "'But ghosts are white.' "'Oh! but these have got black coming down the chimney.'