PAGE 2
Joy And Sorrow
by
Sorrow was standing in the door and heard her remark. She hoped the day would never come when she should have to carry woe to her young heart; but her life was so uncertain she knew not who would be the next whom she would have to envelop in clouds. She sighed, plucked a rose, and pressed it to her nostrils, as though it was the last sweetness she would ever inhale.
“How I pity her!” said the grandmother, her warm, blue eyes filling with tears, as she looked at the bowed form in the doorway.
“Ah, good woman, she needs it; for few recognize her mission to them. She is sent by our master to administer woes which contain heavenly truths, while I convey glad tidings. I shall never leave my sister save when our labors are divided.”
Thus spoke Joy, while tears filled the eyes of all.
Then the kind woman went and plucked some roses and gave them to Sorrow, who was weeping.
“I did not half know myself,” she said, addressing the sad form; “I thought I could see God’s angels everywhere, but this time how have I failed! Forgive me,” she said to Sorrow, “and when you are weary and need rest, come to our cottage.”
Sorrow gave her a sad but heavenly smile, and the sisters departed to the next abode.
“Did you ever see them before?” asked the children of their grandparents after the sisters had gone.
“Often: they have been going round the world for ages,” answered their grandparents.
“But Joy looks so young, grandpa.”
“That’s because she has naught to do with trouble. She belongs to the bright side. She carries good tidings and pleasure to all; while Sorrow, her sister, administers the woes.”
“But Joy is good not to leave her sister.”
“She cannot,” said the grandparent.
“Cannot! Why?”
“Because Providence has so ordered it that Joy and Sorrow go hand in hand,–pleasure and pain. No two forces in nature which are alike are coupled. Day and night, sunshine and shadow, pleasure and pain, forever.”
“But I should like to have Joy stay with us,” said Helen, the youngest, to her grandparent.
“We shall ever be glad to see her; but we must never treat her sister coldly or with indifference, as though she had no right to be among us; because, though in the external she is unlovely, within she is equally radiant with her sister,–not the same charm of brilliancy, but a softer, diviner radiance shines about her soul.”
“Why, grandpa, you make me almost love her,” said Marion, the eldest, while Helen looked thoughtful and earnest.
The seeds of truth were dropped which at some future time would bear fruit.
* * * * *
It was a large and elegant house at which the sisters stopped next. A beautiful lawn, hedged by hawthorne, sloped to the finely-graded street; while over its surface beds of brilliant flowers were blooming, contrasting finely with the bright green carpet. They ascended the granite steps which led to the portico, and rang the bell. A servant answered the summons, and impatiently awaited their message.
“We would see the mistress of the mansion,” said Joy.
They were shown into an elegant drawing-room, so large they could scarcely see the farther end. It was furnished in a most dazzling style, and gave none of that feeling of repose which is so desirable in a home. After what seemed a long time, the lady of the mansion appeared, looking very much as though her visitors were intruders.
“A lovely day,” said Joy.
“Beautiful for youth and health,” she answered curtly; “but all days are the same to me.”
“You are ill, then,” said Joy, sympathetically.
“Ill, and weary of this life. Nothing goes well in this world: there is too much sorrow to enjoy anything. But,” she added after a brief silence, “you are young, and cannot enter into my griefs.”