RAIN IN THE WOODS. Sil.nce first, with gloom o’erhead Not a stir in bush or tree; Woodfolk all tu coverts fled: Dumb the gossip chickadee, i Then a little rustling sigh: Treetops toss, and bushes shake, And a silent wave goes by In the feathered fern and brake. Now a murmur growing loud In the pine tops far and near: And the woods are tossed and bowed, Like a soul in sudden fear. i : ; i Hark! the music of the rain On a thousand leaky roofs, : : : | Like an army o'er a plain i Galloping with silver hoofs i Patter, patter on the ground, Rustle, rustle in the trees; And the beaded bushes round | Drip when shaken by the breeze. Ah! if you wonld nature know Close and true in all her moods, Flee not from the shbw'r, but go Hear the raind {JAMES BUucKHAM, inYouth's Companion. The Picture On 1g Curt. BY rops in the woods! HARRY HOW. I had known month. He was a man worth ing. His honest and genial-l face spoke tr ily of i heart within, and something to be desired. he was clever, very among garded as would be wi A. after his ns particularly me to come the hot iendship was Moreover, and intes was freely re- is fr elev I : nis wi 0 Some much-¢« [ was wien and smoke with him in his studio. | i , cal bHohem a studio situated ‘painting specially His It was : ian gree and, ¢ oth arm, studio, commence or impress me m It was a linen drawn humor for think you yes, and as r it was cuff,” the was ‘Tired of Life 1 told him I rec yenized i as [ saw it. I was walking along vps t ent happ and he reach wall, id the the one which i m years a trying t« a picture, water side for an he 1 . still without an I was j about to turn down the road leading back to my place when I saw a wo- man coming Her eyes seem ed to be fixed upon I never seen such a sorrowful face fore; so pale and so sad; trouble written it was a very heautiful seemed to inspire me in an instant, and the subject I had been in search of appeared to be mine at last. Now, you must know that I have a habit of sketching a striking or charactor- istic face upon my cuffs likely to stand me in good stead for introdue- ing into a picture. Fortunately for me the woman stood quite still for a few moments leaning over the stone- work and gazing dreamily into the water. My pencil was out in an in- stant, and her face was quickly trans- ferred to my cuff. 1 felt very exci- ted. Here, here was my subject! very thing. Bat possibly she might se as a model for me, I thought. Better still, ‘I crossed to her, and, raising my hat, spoke. She started and looked at me with tear and trembling. I apologized to her for the strange in- aspiration that her presence had sug- gested to me. I told her I was an ar tist; that her face had givengme an idea that might possibly bring me | fame and fortune. ‘Tired of Life,’ 1! should cal it. Again I apologized | as I further explained to her my idea. | She stared at me vacantly, ! “It will be the picture of a young | and beautiful woman,” 1 said, “‘ga- | ging dreamily into the water by night, and secing in the dark stream a rest- | ing place for her and her troubles. Would she become a model for my | picture?” I saw how poorly she was clad, so I felt 1 should ing her it 1 told her I would pay her for her services. one day a Fra: upon oh » IE MIT ¢ iden. along the water. there was on every | it ne nest, Bhe looked at me in a way I shali never forget. ** ‘Do you know-—do you know,’ she said, ‘but ho, of course, you cannot, I must go; please let me go. I can- not do as you ask.’ ha “The woman made a movement. ‘* ‘You seem in trouble,’ 1 said, | and putting my hand in my pocket well, the truth is, old fellow, 1 gave her a sovereign. 1 shall never forget the grateful look she gave me: there was a smile there, and tears were in her eyes. She took the money with- out a word, but I read all she wanted to say. 1 gave her my card, and told her if she thought anything more of my proposal to come and see me, and with a thank- ful face turned quickly and hurried away. *Wall, I started and day by day it had to refer to the though I kept it woman's face was on my picture, ! grew, | seldom sketchon my cuff carefully, for the too vividly im- you that at that time we had an old man here, named Glover, who used to clean and dust our anu odd things about the place in general. He was a quiet, say little sort of old fellow—a man, 1 should say, who had evidently seen a bit of well as betterdays. We men used to talk to hi wetty ely, ways evi I a dee rest in t were in- canvasas hewas in my He wa rooms do trouble as and he al- ie ew him so lent about I used SOme- seldom spoke. of a : es when 1 entered my The ‘ easel with wondering gaze, wateh- morning studio for re he would stand before g.and evidently next. come #a% was the river by » woman who wler to me. O sendin the ade 1 tO want h was uo ne Kney It was a suj but I did it—I did nth before I shonld and I set £ agai E was ne no eme eflo Bele to send rk. nted ili + whole ti ¥ Wi 1 pai You rere t= ber what a success i and I think say trul vd ‘Tired o | I am to-day or wis the day be hee—Ex hil King quietly in ird a rap at vin.” The ¢ stood-=the woman | Embankment! Her face was pale, and the Ii of trouble were not entirely effaced, but she ap- | peared more composed and contented. She was better It was such a sudden ne that | practically jumped from my chair, She was the first Oh, sir,’ He oDeEny i HLIOn wis sitting my st when door. 1 eried door opened, and had udain he “iver nes dressed O06, surprise to 1 to speak, she said, ‘forgive me | this; I should have before. Tell me, tell me, have you painted the picture you spoke to me about ? If you have it is all a mistake: it will not be true now. It might have been. but you came to me as a friend in! need. Tell me, sir, have you painted it come wo ¥ There was great anxiety in her voice. | told her that 1 had: that it would be exhibited on the morrow, ‘She fell down on her knees be- fore me, ** “Then, sir, it will all be known to the world 7’ “What ?' 1 asked. “* ‘What I was going to do. Yes, 1 was tired of life—oh, so tired. I thought I should find rest in the | river, and a home for my troubles there. . You won't let my face be seen——yout won't let tite people know “Well, 1 argued with her quietly. Told her that the world was wide, and in this great seething crowd of fighting humanity she would not be known or recognized. * “There is one though,’ she cried. “Who ?' 1 asked. “My father. “Her father ! T seemed to realize the whole thing at once. Her tather was the man Glover—the man who who mighs, caused me ceascless toil and anxiety. Here, then, wns the cause of his spoiling my picture. He, too, recog- nized the face on the canvas, and he did not want those features to be given to the world. ‘Tired of Life!’ and a father living, a daughter fore gotten and forsaken. This, then, was the motive of hig erime, ‘* ‘My father,’ she said, ‘whom I want to see again, He was 80 good to me; but I left home for one who has deceived me, and I cannot face But IT want to: I him, to take his dear hand and fall on my knees at his feet and “Take your Mary home again, father, for she loves you still. Forgive your Mary, father, for she loves you more than ever now. Oh, forgive me, dear, dear father? “My heart was touched, 1 told her to rise to her feet again. 1 took her by the hand and sat her down in my chair. I had made up my mind exactly what I would Glover knew for which exhibition my picture was intended. He evidently destroy- ed my work thinking I should not be able to paint ier in its place in Possibly, I argued to my- have had his and I should not be surpriced if on the morrow he was there to whether 1 had once more conveyed his erring daughter's face to the caa- want to kiss say, do, anotl the time. self, he might doubts 800 furned to weep ame. I 2 f Mary Then i Was rignt., WHS bo-morrow Bui wh come y knows happen Do F came i kent ; i I there was Glover ts f sfce ¢ crowd. 1 shall never { when he saw that only gave one went deadly pale rroom. | streets to on Garden, Hee », and I soon a a iis & ined that Was no band ot to Big Be Rrarba f Ti ired aca ns at this ere Ih * { ross time to lose: €hn IR wi r obeved me with a as careful a way as | could i had found i her father thing £3 door, te the It on the tal With pulled back the me standing there, He a felt sorry for the seemed to ile. hand he SAW tle 1w0t speak. stared ny. I a ir old fellow '—and had me nost all given fade away, his knees, but [ stayed him, ‘Never mind, Mr. Glover,’ I said as well as | i, for there was a great lump in my throat that made it difficult for me to speak. ‘Never mind, I understand all.’ ‘Thank God!’ the old ma t sets} COR n eried. i i SOMEWHAT STRANGE. i ISSTRANGER THAN FICTION. Queer Facts and Thrilling Adventures Which Show that Truth is Stranger Than Fiction. A Litirurian electric light hag been invented for the benefit of now spaper reporters, It is fastened to the end of a pencil, so that the reporter may earry his own light with him, and be able to make his notes even in the darkness, AX ordinary-sized man bears con- stantly upon his body a pressure of about fourteen but pressure is in all directions within outwards as well without inwards, the compensation is perfect and reduces the actual pressure to practicaily nothing, 1 iu tons, ns this and from ns from THE jewelry found recently in an excavation near one of the pyramids of old Egypt, ex} about as much skill in working gold and precio now although foun wade 4,800 The fame Cor bits Memphis, Ones ists, us eX articles i Bonn on ein f } TWAS enti Ky snake, which ng disturbed His fel- BILE MK colored snal and eovery tnat it healt pain. evident he h y i¥ gone bluish co gh In what ba biuish-looking water the & rang tile home. Mr. (rage savH that at night the snake coils up and appears to Pl ¢ Pe has his © a on the landing below. [1 heard her hurrying footsteps up the stairs, and at their tread the old man started. He stood as one afraid to move, but when be saw the form of his child he flew out of the doorway and eaught her in his arms, “That's all, old fellow. I couldn't tell you anything more——save that I found the tears trickling down my face just then. I often hear from You are not surprised I keep that old linen cuff, are you? = {London Million. —— Wool Fat. A recent discovery in Australia goes to show that the sheep is evena more valuable animal than it has been generally esteemed. Its latest to man's welfare is a fatty substance called wool fat, de. rived from the grease that is skimmed from the scouring vats, It is used ns a basis for the ointe ments for medical purposes, and is the skin than any other oll or fat known. It is able also to adhere to moist surfaces, which no other un. guent in, present use willdo. The sheep owners of Australian are cares fully saving the refuse of their vats for this purpose,—{ New York World, wg A BOA Raggedy Wayside—Why dd you swipe dat scientific paper when der witiz lots wid gals’ pictures in dem lyin’ "round? ; Wandering Willle=