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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.