Year: 1861

+ rom Snafpc's magazine.


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS.


I had not been blind from my birth. Sit
ting alone, in the utter darkness, my closed
eyes could make pictures could call back
glories ofnature and glories of art, blue sky,
and wind-swept fields, and, above all, dear
faces, faces whose very memory lightened
my night-time-my father. my gentle mo-
ther, my young, dark-eyed brother. There
was another, too, not of our blood, whose
face saw oftener than any. This was
strange, for Leona Ashland, the daughter
Of my mothers most intimate friend, was
but child Of ten, six years younger than
myself. She was very dear to me, however
She had been in and out of our house as
familiarly as daughter She was the pet
of every one save me but child as she was,
my own feeling for her was too tender and
reverent to admit of gay familiarity I had
never heard any one call her beautiful but
to me her face always seemed that of an
angel. [ used to tremble, lest some day of
summer, God should give her wings, and
we should see her 40 more forever, her fea-
lures, framed in those long brown curls.
seemed so spiritual, so delicate! When I
looked into her thoughtful eyes, at school
or at church, life seemed holier, a more
earnest thing. But the time came when l
could see them no longer


For fifteen years the world had been visi-
bic to me, with its beauty, its mystery, its
romance. Then darkness began to steal
gradually over me. 1t was a whole year
before the last ray of light had faded. I
was stone-blind at sixteen. l was thankful
that it was not sudden stroke. Day after
day had sought in vain for some cherished
object of vision Once it had been the blue
range of the far-of hills; again the familiar
outline of distant tree. After'a time the
darkness came nearer. Day after day some
tender grace would fade out from beloved
face, and 1 could only reproduce it in my
fancy At length I seemed to dwell in a
world of shadows. Shapes, whose dim out
lines could only family catch, foated by
me but still could tell day from night !;
still heavens blessed light was welcome--
But what shall say of the anguish of desc
lation when the last ray was gone-when
they told me the midday sun was shining
clear and bright, and I, alas sat in blind
est, deepest midnight-no light, no hope


had so much to give up. 1t was not
alone the Joy of sight, the dear faces, the
beautiful world /; but all my high hopes, my
plans for the future, my ambition, my pride.
I had meant to be student. | had had
visions of fame. There were months of
stormy, surging discomfort before I could
settle calmly down to my destiny. Sc
cluded myself even from those dearest to
me on earth. The very sound of their voices
maddened me, for it made more intense the
longing to look upon their faces. Day after
day sat alone IN my room, where L had
besought them not to come to me.


Sometimes my mother, who loved me
more than ever in my sorrow and my help
1essness, would steal into the room and sit
for an hour beside me in silence She was
SO still could scarcely hear her breathe
but [ knew that at these times she wept
much. Once, in an irresistible impulse of
maternal tenderness, she folded her arms
around me and drew my head to her bosom
"Oh, my child p she cried, ''my dear child,
BE- comforted! Believe that there is some
thing left in life, or this blow will kill US
BOTH


But my rebellious spirit would not strug-
gle with its despair even though felt that
it was breaking my mothers heart.


Once-and I think this did me more good
than anything-Leona came to me- She
had so long entreated to see me, that at
length my mother consented She came in
alone. [ knew her footstep as soon as it
crossed the threshold but did not speak
She came to my side. She laid her hand
her little child's hand, upon mine knew
as we'll as if had seen it, the sorrowful
pity with which her eyes were lifted to my
face. She seemed striving to gather self
command enough to speak calmly At
length, low and quiet, yet earnest, her
words fell upon my ear: ''Oh, Mr.. Allen,
the rector says God knows just what is best
for every one! He is our father; and he
does not love to make US sorry. This is the
passage Mr. Green told me to say to you
Like as father pitieth them that fear
him."


Her childish voice had dcepened as she
rccited the words Of inspiration. Then she
turned to leave me but detained her.
Already she had comfortcd me-


'.How came Mr.. Green to tell you to say
that to me 2" | asked


You arc not ycxcd: Mr. Allen =