., sunrise. ;
A ran sinks iamwmrd thro the iQw mist
Tbat looms scross the valley, fold on fold,
-And sliding thro' the fields that dawn has
kissed,
Willamette trails, a serpent scaled with sold.
frails onward ever, carving as it goes.
Past many a hill and many a flowered lea.
Until it passes where Colombia flows.
Deep tongued. deep chested, to the waiting
Oh, lovely vales thro1 which Willamette slips!
O, vine clad hills that hear its soft voice call!
My heart tnrns ever to those sweet, cool lips
That, passing, press each rock or grassy wall.
Tkro' pasture lands, where mild eyed cattle
feed, -
Thro' marshy flats.' where velvet tales grow.
Past many a rose tree, many a singing reed,
I hear those wet lips calling, calling low.
sun Binks downward thro4 the trembling
haze;
The mist flings glistening needles high and
higher.
And thro' the clouds O, fair beyond all praise!
Mount Hood leaps, chastened from a sea of
lire.
Ella Higgins in West Shore.
A PHANTOM PORTRAIT.
Drak Mike Will yon look in at my shop
this evening? Qniller is in town, and is going
to dine with me at the clnb. I can't- stand an
evening of him alone, bat if yoa and Teddy
O'Brien will support me, with pipes and pota
tions, I think we shall be a match for him.
Come early, and I'm your friend for life.
Dick Gains.
I had nothing particular to do, bo I
sent word round to Dick that I should
Teddy O'Brien, whose studio was in the
tune block, would go also. Qniller we
knew of old, as all the world knew him
a man who had seen everything, done
-everything, been everywhere and these
occasional visits of his were a perpetual
terror to Graves. Why he paid them we
never knew. There was a kind of tra
ditional friendship between the families
certainly, but Quiller was a man who
coffed at .tradition. He was in every
way out of sympathy with a set of ardent
and impecunious painters. As journal
ist, as traveler, as man of the world, he
had outlived his enthusiasms. Life con
tained no new experiences, no surprises
for him. It was only a monotonous
round of the known and the expected.
Dick Graves, who usually shone as a
host, was not at his best that evening.
.He was nervous at first, and' rather
silent, leaving the burden of talk to
Teddy and myself; and we had the ill
lock as the punch circulated to light on
vein of humorous stories, at which we
laughed consumedly ourselves without
evoking even a smile from the guest of
the evening.
"Will you fellows look over my Cornish
sketches," said Graves, suddenly jump
ing up in desperation. "I think there
are some you have not seen" and he be
gan to rummage about among a pile of
old canvases.
Quiller resumed his seat, and sat, half
absently, half contemptuously, watching
us as we turned over the paintings
possibly he was amused by our jargon
of 'tone" and "quality," and the rest.
At length I picked up from the heap a
painting that caught my eye, and propped
it on tne easel near tne lamp, it was
quite unlike Graves' usual work, and 1
stood looking at it for a moment, not
-quite knowing why I did so. It was the
' head of a young woman, pale and slight
ly worn. She was leaning a little for
ward, looking out of the picture, her
month parted by a slight, tremulous
' smile, and in her eyes a look that was a
strange mingling of emotions, as if a
new hope and happiness had come into a
life of sorrow a look half wistful, half
exultant. I turned to speak to Graves
and saw that Quiller had got up, and
was standing gazing at the picture with
a look of fascination or of fear. Here at
last was something that interested him.
' 'Where did you get that?" he asked,
abruptly.
What do you think of it?" said
Graves, slowly.
"It's a good head," said Teddy
O'Brien.
- "It's a wonderful model," said L
"A face to haunt one," said Quiller.
in a tone quite unlike .his. ordinary cyn
ical one.
"Ah, that's it," said Graves.' It's more
than human."
"Who is it?" said Quiller, in his abrupt
way, again. .
- "Pon my soul I can't tell you, for 1
don't know. It's a queer story, and one
I in almost ashamed to ask you to believe.
I shan't blame you if you think I'm hum
bugging." We settled ourselves by the fire with
our pipes, and Dick began his story in a
manner, for him, so unusually grave
and impressive that it seemed to leave
"no room for doubt as to his perfect good
Tai t h it, thA mnttAr
"I went into Cornwall, as you know.
at the end of the summer, and after
loafing round Newlyn for a while 1
went to the south coast to try -and find-
(. 8ome place that had been less painted.
I stayed a few days at' Polperro, but it.
was all so much like the smaller exhib-
itions in town that I could not stand it,
and 1 anally landed at , naming
a small- seaport town ''where there
were no painters and not many visitors.
I stayed at the 'Ship Inn,' and looked
around for some place to hang up my
palette.
"After some inquiries I found a small
cottage which had been empty for some
time, due wnicn naa evidently oeen usea
as a studio, for there was a wall knocked
out at one side and a good sized room
added, with a high north light. On the
. mouth, the kitchen and 'parlor,' .which
opened one into the other, had a view of
T.he loveliest little harbor in the world.
The place was just what I wanted, and
the rent was absurd only 10 a year; so
I took it for six months on the under
standing I was to keep it on if I chose.
bought a few things to make the place
comfortable, and got an old woman to
look after it for me; but I lived most of
the time at the 'Ship inn,' and just at
first I spent very little time at the studio,
only taking in my canvases at night.
When October set in, cold and wet, I nad
to do some work indoors, and then it was
1 began to think there was something
oueer about the place. One day 1 had
been painting a young girl from the vil
lage, the granddaughter of my ancient
dame, and I was putting a few touches
to the background, when I heard a sound
close behind me like a very gentle sigh.
I looked around quickly, but there was
no one in sight no one in the room, in
fact. I went on painting with an un
comfortable feeling of something uncan
ny, and in a few minutes the sound was
repeated actually at my ear. I dropped
my brush with the start I made, and than
I went all through the house to see if any
one was in it I knew that Annie and
her grandmother had gone home, and I
thought I . hoped that some poor soul
had crept in to shelter from the rain by
the kitchen fire. Well, there was not a
soul near the place. I locked up care
fully that night when I went back to the
inn, and in the solace of a glass of grog
and a pipe before I went to bed I almost
persuaded myself there was nothing in it.
In the morning I had really forgotten
it, I fancy; but when I got back to the
studio a curious thing had happened.
Right across the face in my picture was
a couple of brush marks, such as you
might make if you were trying the tooth
of a canvas, completely spoiling my work
of the day before. I called up Annie
and her grandmother, and accused them
of playing tricks. They were indignant
at the idea, and I finally had to apologize
for my suspicions. We searched the
house together, but could find no means
by which any one could have entered,
and at last I was obliged to conclude that
I must have done the damage myself
when I let my brushes fall. In - a few
days, however, it became impossible to
explain the thing by this or any other
natural means; constantly my canvases
were tampered with, and I grew to have
the feelinz that after twilight I was
never alone in the room; that faint sigh
which had so startled me at first I came
to listen for and expect, and I began at
last to clothe it with a personality, and
to wish I had some means of comforting
the poor soul who had no other language
to express her despair. I did not think
it was she who had defaced my canvases,
however, and I took to carrying my work
back with me at night to the inn, where
the canvases were secure from inter
ference.
"I suppose the thing would have ended
there but for an accident. There was a
race meeting in the town, and the 'ship'
was invaded by a low set of fellows, who
got drunk and made beasts of themselves
generally. The place became unbearable
and I determined to camp in the studio
until they cleared out. I made up a big
fire, got ray old woman to leave me some
hot water in the kettle, and with the
help of a rug and a pillow stuffed into
the back of my chair I made myself
tolerably comfortable for the night.
How long I slept 1 don't know. I awoke
suddenly, not as one does in bed, with a
drowsy feeling of relief that it is too
early to get up, but with every sense on
the alert, and a curious impression that
something unusual was happening. The
fire was still bright, and made a glow on
the opposite wall; but what made the
room so light was the moon shining in
through the square window in the roof.
I could see everything in the room quite
plainly, but I seemed oppressed by some
weight that made me powerless to move.
I sat there staring at what happened as
helpless as if I had been bound. My
painting things were just as I had left
them; my canvas, on which I had sketch
ed in a head, on the easel, and close by.
on a stool, paints, brushes and palette
They had been there, that is to say, for
now there stood in front of the easel
with his back to me, a tall man, with a
stoop in his shoulders and dark 'gray
hair; he had my palette in his hand, and
he was painting with a sort of nervous
intensity that it thrilled me to see. I
looked to see what he was painting, for
he kept glancing over toward the patch
in the moonlight; but at first I could see
nothing.
"Then I heard that little, gentle sigh.
but not, it seemed to me. bo utterly weary
and heartbroken as formerly; it was a
sigh almost of content. And as I pon
dered on this my eyes seemed to become
more accustomed to the light, and there
in the moonlight, on the very chair on
which Annie had sat, was a woman.
leaning slightly forward young, beau
tiful and very pale. But you have seen
the picture. I looked at her now more
than at. him, only glancing now and then
to see how the work went on. As 1
watched her the face changed, and the
sorrowful, worn look gave place to a kind
of wondering happiness he has not quite
got it in the picture; it was as if the
feeling were so intense it made a kind of
radiance round her. I don't know how
long I watched. At last a sound male
me turn and look at the painter. He
had thrown down the palette and brush
es and was standing looking at bis work.
Then he turned slowly, and held out his
hand with a supplicating gesture. She
had risen, too, and come a step forward,
with a wonderful light in her eyes, and
just as she put her hands in his a cloud
crossed over the moon and blotted out
the figures from my sight. When it
passed the patch of moonlight was empty,
and there was only the painted head and
the palette lying on the floor to convince
me I had been dreaming. After that I
must have fallen asleep, for it was broad
daylight when I next remember any
thing, and I heard the welcome and fa
miliar sound of my old womsa prepar
ing my breakfast. - The smell of frying
pilchards was refreshingly mundane,
and I got up stiff and sore from my un
easy couch, prepared to find that my
phantoms of the night before had been
nothing but a. dream. No; there was
the picture, just as you see it, and on
the floor were the palette and brushes.
I picked them up and looked ' anxiously
at them. If youTl believe me I could
never make up my mind to clean the
paint off that palette, and it hangs there
just as that fellow left it." '
We sat silent some minutes when
Graves had done. I confess the story
impressed me a good deal, and glancing
up I could see that Quiller was strangely
moved.-
"And did you never have any explana
tion of the thrngr' said 1 at last.
"No," said Graves. "I never had any
explanation, and I don't suppose I ever
shall."
Quiller had risen, and stood near the
fire.
"I think I can give it," he said, knock
ing the ashes out of his pipe.
Graves stared at him; no one spoke.
and he went on, as if unwillingly.
That must have been Drake s cottage
you had; be was before your time I
dare say you never heard" of him. He
lived there with his wife and that's her
portrait."
Graves stare of surprise became more
profound, and Teddy and I looked on in
silent wonder. . Quiller went on, speak
ing like a man that has been carried
quite out of himself.
"There was a tragic story told about
Drake and bis wife. He was a good deal
older than she, and changeable and
moody in his ways; and she, poor child.
was ambitions to help him to be great.
At first he was tender and thoughtful
toward her, and then he seemed to forget
how fragile and sensitive she was he
neglected her, and grew more and more
morose and moody. He used to get very
savage about his models, and complain
that it was impossible to get any one
with intelligence enough to sit decently.
'"Once his wife asked him whether she
could not sometimes help him by sitting,
and he only laughed at her, I remember,
You you!" he said that was all.
Then the poor child had an illness, which,
if she had been happier, might have end
ed differently, and been a new happiness
to both of them; but Bhe was too worn
out with sorrow and disappointment,
and in the end she died. In her delirium
she was always calling to her husband,
"Let me help you, let me be of some use;
only once, dear paint me only once;"
and poor Drake, who woke up to a sense
of his loss, was heart broken at bis in
ability to satisfy her.- The tenderest and
most passionate tones of his voice never
reached her, and she died without ever
knowing him again. After that Drake
was a changed man; he seemed to have
only one idea to paint the portrait of
his wife. Canvas after canvas he spoiled,
and when I went to see him he would '
say, "She cannot rest until I have done
it. I must succeed; sooner or later I
must satisfy her." At length he became
so unmanageable, eating nothing, and
spending long, sleepless nights walking
about the country, that his friends came
and took him away. He died some
months after in an asylum."
"By Jove!" said Teddy O'Brien when
Quiller had finished, and then relapsed
into silence. .
I looked at Graves, but he was lost in
a wonderment too deep for words.
"The portrait's, very like her," said
Quiller, with a strange awe in his tone.
"I'm glad poor Drake succeeded at last."
"You think" said I, and broke off.
' Quiller was putting on his coat. He
answered my unfinished question with
solemnity for which I was not prepared.
"For twenty-two years those two pool
ghosts have been waiting their oppor
tunity. Let us be thankful that in the
end they found it."
He seemed to forget to take leave oi
us in any way, and went without an
other word. As the door closed each of
us drew a deep breath of relief. Dick
raised his head with an air of stupefac
tion. "That's a rum story," said Teddy
O'Brien; "why did you never tell it be
fore?" "The rummiest thing about it is the
sequel," said L "Dick, old man, is youi
part true?"
- "I don't know," said Dick; "I begin to
think it must be."
"Great Scotland Yard!" said Teddy
O Bnen, "did you make it up?"
"Every word of it on the spur of the
moment.
"Did you know it?"
"Not a word. Quiller seemed struck
by that picture, and it was the only sign
of Jiuman interest he had shown, so 1
thought I'd humor him. I didn't mean
a ghost story when I began, but it some
how developed into that. I would have
given a good deal to take a rise out of
him, but I never hoped for anything so
complete as this.
"It was a curious coincidence that you
should have taken Drake s cottage," said
O Bnen.
"Yes," said Dick dryly; "but the most
curious part of it all is that the cottage
was made up too.
"Great Scotland Yard!" said Teddy
O Bnen again.
'"And who painted the head?"
"I painted it myself," said Dick, "and
I begin to think it must be a deuced
good picture." Cornhill Magazine.
Showers of Blood.
Showers of blood "from the sky are
very rare in this day and age of the
world, a fact which makes their com
paratively common , occurrence in the
olden times only that much more ex
traordinary and unaccountable. In the
"Annals of Remarkable Happenings in
Kome mention is made of fourteen dif
ferent showers of blood and other sub
stances, mixed between the years 319
A. D. and 1170. Besides these there
were two "showers of much intensity.
of which the liquid resembled pure blood
ana was not intermixed with other mat
ter as heretofore reported." In 1222 we
find record of a shower of blood and
dust over the larger part of Italy. " li.
1228 snow fell in Syria, "which presently
turned into targe pools or gore.
- A monk who wrote in 1251 tells of a
three days' shower of blood all over
southern Europe. In the same year a
loaf freshly taken from the. oven "did
bleed like a new wound" when sliced at
the table. In 1348 the great chasms made
by the earthquake at Yillach- Austria.
"sent forth blood and a great pestilence
followed." Burgundy had a bloody show
er in i9oi, ana JJeaford&lure, England,
witnessed tne Bame phenomenon in 1450,
In 1688 hailstones fell in Wurtemburg
wnicn contamea noiiow cavities filled
with blood. The last bloody shower on
record occurred in Siam ' in 1803. St.
Louis Republic
Society's Share.
Visitor Do you devote much space is
your paper to society intelligence?
Editor No; society doesn't have more
than about a stickful of intelligence at
best. West Shore.
S10PES & HWLY,
WMesale ail Mail Dmiists.
-DEALEK8 1N-
Fine Imported, Key West and Domestic
PAINT.
Now is the time to paint your house
and if you wish to get the best quality
and a fine color use. the .
Sherwin, Williams Co.'s Paint.
For those wishing to see the quality
and color of the above paint we call their
attention to the residence of S. L. Brooks,
Judge Bennett, Smith French and others
painted by Paul Kreft. '
Snipes & Kinersly are agents for the
above paint for The Dalles, Or.
Don't Forget the
EflST EIID MOIL
MacDonali Bros., Props.
THE BEST 'OF
Wines, Liquors and Cigars
ALWAYS ON HAND.
Real Estate,
Insuranee,
and Itoan ,
AGENCY.
Opera House Block, 3d St.
Chas. Stubling,
PROPRIETOR OF THE
: New Yogt Block, Second St.
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL -
Liquor v Dealer,
MILWAUKEE BEER ON DRAUGHT.
Health is Wealth !
Dr. E. C. West's Nerve anb Brain Treat
ment, a guaranteed specific for Hysteria, Dizzi
ness, Convulsions, Fits, Nervous Neuralgia,
Headache, Nervous Prostration caused by the use
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sanity and leading to misery, decay and death,
Premature Old Age, Barrenness, Loss of Power
in either sex. Involuntary Losses and Spermat
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abuse or over indulgence. Each box contains
one month's treatment. $1.00 a box, or six boxes
for $5.00, sent by mail prepaid on receipt of price.
WK GUARANTEE SIX BOXES
To cure any case. With each order received by
us for six boxes, accompanied by $5.00, we will
send the purchaser our written guarantee to re
fund the money if the treatment does not effect
a cure. Guarantees issued only by
BLAKELEY HOUGHTON.
Prescription Drug-gists,
175 Second St. Tne Dalles, Or.
YOU SUED BUT ASK
The S. B. Headache and Ltveb Cube taken
according to directions will keep your Blood,
Liver ana Kidneys in good order.
THE 8. B. Coram fnu for Colds. Conehs
and Croup, in connection with the Headache
vure, is as near perl eel as anytmng Known. -
The 8. B. Alpha Pain Cure for internal and
external use, in Neuralttia, Toothache. Crams
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it Dufor. Oregon. For sale by all druggists
TfiR Mies
is here and has come to stay. It hopes
to win its way to public favor by ener
gy, industry and merit; and to this end
we ask that you give it a fair trial, and
if satisfied with its course a generous
support.
The Daily
four pages of six columns each, will be
issued every evening, except Sunday,
ana will be delivered m the city, or sent
by mail for the moderate sum of fiftv
cents a month.
Its Objects
will be to advertise the resources of the
city, and adjacent country, to assist in
developing our industries, in extending
and opening up new channels for our
trade, in securing an open river, and in
helping THE DALLES to take her prop
er position as the
Leading City of Eastern Oregon.
The paper, both daily and -weekly, will
T J 1 J 1 " i " i . ..
ue liiuepeiiaeiii m pontics, ana in its
criticism of political matters, as in its
handling of local affairs, it will be
JUST. FAIR AND IMPARTIAL.
We will endeavor to give all the lo
cal news, and we ask that your criticism
of our object and course, be formed from
the contents of the paper, and not from
rash assertions of outside parties.
THE WEEKLY,
sent to any address for $1.50 per year.
It will contain from four to six eight
column pages, and we shall endeavor
to make it the equal of the best. Ask
your Postmaster for a copy, or address.
THE CHRONICLE PUB. CO.
Office, N. W. Cor. Washington and Second Sts.
THE DALLES.
The Grate City of the Inland Empire is situated at
the head of navigation on the Middle Columbia, and
is a thriving, prosperous city.
ITS TERRITORY.
It is the supply city for an extensive and rich agri
cultural an grazing country, its trade reaching as
far south as Summer Lake, a distance of over twe
hundred miles.
THE LARGEST WOOL MARKET.
The rich grazing country along the eastern slope
of the the Cascades furnishes pasture for thousands
of sheep, the "wool from which finds market here.
The Dalles is the largest original -wool shipping
point in America, about 5,000,000 pounds being
shipped last year.
ITS PRODUCTS.
The salmon fisheries are the finest on the Columbia,
yielding this year a revenue of $1,500,000 which can
and "will be more than doubled in the near future.
- The products of the beautiful Klickital valley find
market here, and the country south and east has this
year filled the warehouses, and all available storage
places to overflowing with their products.
ITS WEALTH
It is the richest city of its size on the coast, and its
money is scattered over and is being usea to develop,
more farming country than is tributary to any other
city in Eastern Oregon.
Its situation is unsurpassed! Its climate delight
ful! ' Its possibilities incalculable! Its resources un
limited! And on these corner stones she stands.
Rfiliiilfi