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LIGHT AND SHADOW.
No light e’er shines without its shadow easting
A gloom as deep and darlf, the other way.
No earthly beam can make its force solasting,
But that the night may shroud its fading
ray.
No human joy without its shaded sorrow,
To spread as wide and deep its withering
blight;
The fullest pleasures tinges often borrow
From coming grief which darkens like the
night.
No sounds of laughter with their echoes wak
ing
The sunlight air in surges of delight,
But there are moans to show that hearts are
breaking,
As if the transient folly to x-equite.
The chandelier can never in its glowing
Light up the splendor of the halls of pride,
But that the tallow dip is faintly showing
The ghastly squalor where the poor reside.
At the first dawn of the creation,
The evening, and the morning made the
day.
So thro’ the world in every rank and station,
The light ar.d shadow hold alternate sway.
Here though the shades their sombre palls
are casting,
We should not droop or falter thro’despair.
Here though the frosts the sweetest buds
are blasting,
Their shadows come not, for no light is
there.
—ProvideObe Journal.
GRANDMOTHER’S SIGNS
BY J. L. IIAItBOUK.
Wc were all very glad when Graud
mother Ryder came to live at our house.
She was my mother’s mother, and one of
the best-intentioned"Iitt!e old women in
the world. When grandfather died, my
brothers and sisters, as well as myself,
were afraid that grandmother would make
her home at our Uncle Nat’s or at our
Aunt Mary’s, and there was great re¬
joicing she when the letter came in which
wrote:
“I did think at first that I’d better go
to Mary’s, but the grounds in my coffee
cup last never pointed favorably to it, and
three night I had a dream that I've dremp
times running, that made it clear to
my mind that I’d Letter come to you. I
would start to-morrow if it wasn’t Fri¬
day, and I sometimes think the Friday
sign runs into Saturday, too; I will
not start until Monday, which will brino
me to your house on the day the moon
fulls, and I take that to be a good sign.”
An amused smile came into father’s
face as read this letter aloud to us chil¬
dren, and he burst out laughing when I
said:
“I’d just like to know what coffee set¬
tlings and dreams and the moon have to
do with it?”
said “Nothing, mother, my dear; nothing at all,”
grandmother has laughing odd softly, “But
notions that we
need not say anything about, or mind at
all, when she is here.”
We lived in the country on a splendid
larm. On the next Wednesday af ternoon,
to ing our great the long del'ght, we saw father driv¬
up lane leading to our house,
with Grandmother Ryder seated on the
spring She seat by his side.
children waved her handerchief, and six
eager set off on a run to meet
her. W e had not seen her for three
years, and as soon as we were near enough
to hear she began saying:
“Why, bless my soul, how 7 you have
growed which, 1 I declare I don’t know tother
from but I guess that’s Bertie,
and that little girl with the ruffled apron
is Mamie, and that’s Tommy with the
red ribbon to his neck. Looks ’zactly
like the ambrotype of him I’ve got.
Bless all your little hearts, anyhow!
I’ll know which is which ’fore tw 7 o
hours.”
When father helped her out of the
wagon she struck her foot on something,
and would have fallen had he not caught
her.
“Mercy on us!’.’she said. “I’m glad I
stubbed my right toe.. If it had been
the left it’d been a sure sign I was going
where I wasn’t wanted.” -
“\ou know that you arc wanted here,
no matter what the signs say,” said
mother, as she took grandma into her
arms and kissed her many times.
“its, dear, I know it, I know it,”
said grandma; “but all the same, I
couldn't have helped worryin’ some if it
had been the left toe.”
We soon discovered that grandmother
had a signfor everything that happened,
and for much that didn’t happen. When
ay thing unusual occurred grandma sud-
denly recalled something in the manner
in which she had,previously been fore
warned of it. The fact that her signs
and predictions generally failed of fulfil
ment did not disturb her in the least.
“Don’t One day I overheard mother say:
you often notice, grandma, that
your yesterday signs do not come true? You’ said
when you saw the cat scratch
ing the fence, that it would rain, sure,
before night; _ but there was uot a cloud
in the sky all day, and not a drop of rain
fell.”
“Why, Susan!” cried grandma, in a
tone of great surprise. “The morning
paper says there was a perfect flood yes
terday in Alabama.”
The proof was incontrovertible, not
withstanding fiteen hundred the fact that Alabama was
miles from our home.
My youngest old brother was but three
months when grandma became a
member of our family. She was very
fond of baby Danny, and was gratified
to know that the signs she had had re
gardinghim were favorable to his future
happiness.
“if he lives to grow up,” she said,
“he’ll be a smart and a rich man. See
that mole on his neck. That’s a splen
did sign. And he’s going to have a
‘cow-lick’ too; that’s another good sign.
I hope to goodness, Susan, that you
haven’t allowed him to look in a look
don’t yet.”
“I know, I’m sure,” said
mother.
“Why, Susan,” cried grandma, “he
must not. see himself in the glass until
his first birthday! You’ll never raise him
if he does. I’m glad he’s already tumbled
out of bed; it’s a sure sign he’ll never*be
a fool.”
Grauclmother’s signs . and omens were a
source of uneasiness to herself only,
Mother early took occasion, privately,
to instruct us older children on the sub
ject. She told us dreams had no mean
ing, and that “signs” were silly and
meaningless inventions. We were not,
she said, to mind what grandma said,but
were to love and respect her under all
circumstances.
Baby Dan was a winning little fellow,
whom we all loved so dearly that we were
glad grandma’s omens did not portend
anything did disastrous to him, even though
we not believe in signs. But one
day grandma came down to breakfast
without her usual morning smile and
cheery greeting. She looked very solemn,
and spoke soberly when she spoke at all.
“ Are you not well?” asked father.
“I hope this whole family may keep
as well for a year to come as I am now 7 ,”
she said, mysteriously.
grandma’s Baby Dan side, sat in his high . midst chair by
and in the of the
’morning knife meal she suddenly dropped her
and fork, threw her arms around
the baby, and burst into tears.
“ Why, grandma, what is it? ” cried
mother in real alarm.
“Poor little dear,” she cried; “he
ain’t long for this world 1 I’ve dreamed
three nights of white colts. I told you,
Susan, what’d happen if you cut the his other toe
nails of a Sunday, or let
children raise your parasol in the house,
IfoMyou!" evident that
Grandmas distress was so
none of us felt like laughing, and mother
said:
“Don't worry, mother. You know
that Mine all signs fail at said times.” grandma, in
“ don’t,” atone
of deep conviction. “ And as I was lay
ing in bed this morning, a little bird flew
in bedpost. at the window, and what lighted that on my
I know means,
Susan. Danny ain’t going to be here very
long; you’ll see that he isn’t. And the
worst of it is that he’ll be took off sud
den, and in some uncommon way.”
No reasoning could shake and grand- her
mother’s conviction in the least,
continued depression and gloomy predic
tions made us all very uncomfortable,
Indeed, so strong children is a could superstition help look- that
not one of us
ing upon dear little Dan as a doomed
child, in spite of mother’s arguments to
the contrary.
Grandmother had other unfailing signs
indicatiug Danny's early demise. A
white kitten came to the door gloomily. one day,
and grandma shook her head
“But I have always heard that was a
sign of good luck to have a kitten come
to the house,” said father.
“Not a white k tten,” replied is Grand
ma. “A black or gray kitten a good
sign, but a white one is a sign of"—
She stooped over, caught Danny up in
her arms, and hastily left the room.
tv old white rooster that we had,
crowed on the doorstep that day, and
grandma ordered his instant execution
as the only means of averting his share
of the disaster threatening multiplied Danny. fast, and
. Grandma’s signs
were of a positive, never-failing charac
ter. She came down to breakfast one
beautiful June morning, bowed down
with the dreadful conviction that the
end would come that very day. -
Danny’s condition did not warrant an
expectation of death from disease, at all
events. He seemed to be snapping his
little pink fingers at all kinds of signs asf
he lay in his cradle, kicking up his heels
and crowing gleefully. He was almost
a year old at this time, and grandma
had said that he would never live to see
his first birthday,
by During several the forenoon we were visited
of our relatives who had
driven a distance of ten miles to spend
the day at our house. We were delighted
to see them and gave ourselves up to a
day of enjoyment. Even grandma joined
in our pleasure, seeming to forget her
doleful prophecies of what the day would
bring forth.
After dinner, which was the great
event of the day, the entire family, with
the exception of grandma and baby Dan,
strolled out into the orchard with our
visitors. From the orchard we went on
over a narrow bit of meadow land in
search of wild strawberries, which were
abundant.
Then we went up a grassy hillside and
into a little grove of oaks and elms,
There we all sat down on the grass and
enjoyed what we called “a real sociable
time,” until father, bethought him to
look at his watch, and said:
have “Why, it’s nearly four o'clock. We
been away three hours. Danny
will have quite worn grandmother out
with the care of him. We must hurry
home.”
When we reached the house wc found
grandma fast asleep in her rocking-chair
on the piazza, a lock of her gray hair
blown over her face by the June wind,
and her wrinkled hands crossed peace
fully in the sunshine that fell across her
lap. She heard our footsteps and was
awake in an instant,
“Where is Danny?” asked the mother,
“It isn’t possible that he has slept all
this time.”
“I guess he has,” said grandma; “I
haint heard a sound from him.”
Mother stepped hurriedly into the
room in which Danny always took his
uoonday nap. and She came out instantly,
quite pale, saying, in a trembling
voice: “He isn’t there; he’s gone!”
“What—did—you—say, Susan? ’ asked
grandmother rising to her feet and speak
ing with painful deliberation.
“He's gone!”said mother again,
Grandmother gave a low moan, sank
back in her chair, and said solemnly: “I
knew it would be so. You laughed at
my signs, Susan. You wouldn’t hear
to them. I feel in my bones that Danny
Bertram will never be seen again on this
earth. The signs don’t fail me.”
I semember that I set up a dreadful
howl, in which I was joined by my
brothers and sisters. Father and our
friends began an immediate and thor
ough search for Danny, but no trace of
him could be found,
Grandmother encouraged us by saying,
from time to time, between her broken
sobs: “It’s no use to hunt for him. He’s
gone. He’ll never be seen again on this
earth.”
Mother broke down entirely after a
short time, and lay crying on a lounge,
with one of my aunts soothingly bathing her. her tem
pies and talking everywhere—in to that
We looked places
the little feet could never have strayed
into.
.ij n the highest and the lowest and the lone
They liestspot, sought, but they found
eagerly ’ him
not ‘
“It looks tome like a case of kidnap
ping,” said one of my visiting uncles to
father.
“So it does,” said father; “and yet it
don’t seem possible that”—
“It ain’t possible, David,” interrupt
cd grandmother. “I'm satisfied that I
hadn’t been asleep ten minutes when
you folks came home, and I know that
no one was near the house before you
came. No, no, David, human hands
never touched our Danny. I didn’t
dream of white colts with four wings
apiece, for nothing.”
“What on earth would colts of any
kind want with Danny?” asked one of
my aunts,
An hour and more hurried passed, and the Danny
was not found. We to near
est suspicious neighbors. characters They had in the not neighbor- seen any
hood, disappearance. and knew 7 nothing about Danny’s house
They came to our and
harrowing in great numbers, full of sympathy similar dis¬
reminiscenses of
appearances in which the missing chil
dren were either found dead or were
never found at all.
The evening drew on. The sun went
dow 7 n. Mother had said over and over
again that w T e must find her baby befure
night the came on. She could not endure
the thought darkness of having him away when
came. Father began to
grow pail and his voice trembled when
he spoke.
Parties of men and boys were search¬
ing drag the neighboring woods and planning
to the streams. It was nearly dark,
and we were sitting, tearful and anxious,
in mother’s room, when we heard a loud
commotion outside.
In a moment the door was thrown open
and there stood our big, jolty Uncle
Darius Bertram, and, high on his shoul¬
der, laughing and making a desperate
effort to talk, sat—Danny!
“Well, such a time and nobody to it 1”
said Uncle Darius, as he put Danny into
mother's outstretched arms.
“O Darius! where did you find him .”
cried mother.
“I found him lying in his bed about
half-past and three driving this afternoon. My wife
I were into town and called
here to see you, but found no one at
home but grandmother and baby. Grand¬
mother was asleep and baby seemed to
be having a lonely sort of time of it
kicking wife up his heels in his cruel e. So
and I thought we’d take him out
for an airing, the day beiuu so fine. I
wrote a little note on a leaf of my pocket
diary, telling you we had him. Didn’t
you find it ?”
“No,” said father: “where did you
put it?”
didn’t -“Why, I pinned it to baby’s i'or pillow,
I? I know wife said me to.
But I’m such a forgetful fellow that I
don’t know really where I did put that
note. It was written on a small leaf like
this.” He drew out h's pocket-diary as
lie spoke, opened it and sat down look¬
ing very foolish.
“Well, I swan!” he said ; “cf I didn’t
clean forget to tear the no'.e after I’d
written it. I must he getting loony!”
“We were detained in the village much
longer than we expected,” said Aunt
Harriet, Uncle Darius’s wife: “and I was
afraid you would worry about baby, but
he and has been seemed just as good the as he ride could be,
he to enjoy so very
much. I couldn’t find It’s cloak to put
on him, but I had a light shawl with me,
and I found his little ever-day sunbon
netout in the yard. It was good enough
to wear. To think of the anxiety the
little chap’s ride has cost you!” her knees
Grandnmther was down on
crying over Danny, and of course not
one of us said a word to her about those
unfulfilled omens. It was months be¬
fore the words ‘‘signs” and -‘omens'’
passed her lips. Then she spoke of them
as though they wc.e things beneath her
notice.
They certainly had no power over
Danny, for I have often heard him tell¬
ing this story to his own children.—
Youth's Com. an. 01 .
Scared Gr zzles.
J. H. Inman, a former fur contracting
agent of the Hudson’s Bay Company,
said to a New York Sun reporter:
“While I believe that a grizzly bear
will in a majority of ea-cs wait for a
fight with a man and lake pains to get
in the way of one, there are times when
it will seem to think better of it and
back out. A remarkable instance of this
kind I heard of once, where a famous
Manitoba guide grizzlies, courageously old advanced and
upon three an she one
tw T o half-grown young bears, and by a
series of-ridiculous monkey-shines and
acrobatic rod maneuvers on the bears ground filled with¬ them
in a or two of the
with such astonishment and apparent
fear shat the three retreated into the
woods with all rapidity. The guide's
gun had snapped tho in old both bear barrels, he hav¬ the
ing drawn on before
young ones appeared. He afterward said
that it was turning in a fit of desperation that he
tried the and of down, a handspring flopping and his
jumping hands, and up resorting other unhunter¬
to
like measures. He had been told once
that a hunter had frightened a mountain
lion away by similar absurd movements, perfection
and he found that it worked to
in the ease of the bears, although he did
not encourage anyone to go hunting than
grizzlies armed with nothing more
a capacity to turn somersaults,”
England has thirty-four Judges who
are each $25,000 in receipt $50,000, of a salary and together ranging
from to
draw $010,000 a year from the Treasury.
The eighty Judges iu the courts of the
United States are paid from $318,000. $3,500 to
$10,500a year,.an aggregate of
Professor Proctor thinks the interest in
astronomy ia on the wane.