The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-02-04
T1e 0n)elet.
Translated from the French or Gustave Droz
 bU Walter Learned.

The rain which had been falling since morning seemed to have worn itself out, and had become so fine that it resembled the light mist that one sometimes sees at evening over the prairie. We had just finished dining. Baby, who had grown sleepy at des- sert, had been put in his cradle, and we two, Louise and I, were standing before the open window and singing softly as we watched the clouds.
 "Shall we go out of the ark, Father Noah?" said my wife.
 "I don't see the bow of promise, my dear"
 "The best of reasons; let us go and find it."
 She went out and soon returned wrapped in her hood, booted and gloved. She took my arm, clinging to it and leaning against me as she did in the happy days when we met after a long absence.
 "Ah! how happy 1 am to go out l! Do you scent the fresh air? l want Io walk and walk. Can we take a long walk? The day is still bright"
 And saying this she leaned against me laughing, taking long strides to regulate her steps with mine. We loved it so much, our dear forest. At that hour'it was quiet, wet and drip ping. The moss swollen with moist ure, yielded to the foot like a sponge, and from each leaf of the heavy boughs hung a transparent drop just ready to fall.
 "You will get wet, my dear," said to Louise, stopping moment.
 "Bah! I have on my thick boots. Let us go on."
 So we walked on through the thick woods, which softly dripped like the beard of some marine god.
 I was pleased that my wife was in so courageous mood on that evening, for nothing in the world is more beau tiful than the forest after a rain; at that hour in the day above all, when everything is so quiet and peaceful, when the wind has ceased and the weary clouds have fled, when sleep is stealing over the birds that are plum ing their wet wings. How charming then for the two who are one, and would feel themselves alone, to walk together through the great green aisles, to breathe the penetrating odor of the wet forest, to strike the great trunks of the oak trees with one's cane till the hollow sound comes echo- ing back from tree and tree, to listen to the sound of breaking branch, or to the murmur of the drops of water which from time to time whisper as they fall from leaf to leaf, to fill the lungs with air washed pure by the rain, and to hear with the eyes, if may so phrase it, harmony delicate in every fine and subtitle tone.
 It is not for the pleasure of string ing out words that have used met aphor grown commonplace by reason of it's truth. At the close of charm ing day, when the sun sinks towards the horizon, over everything there is a glow and color like the flush on the face of lovely girl who spins before the fire. The tones are warm and ami mated nature is instinct with life. One feels that through the day she has loved much, played much, worked much. The forest is warm, and its foliage is sprinkled with emeralds, ru- bies and diamonds, while the sunlight paints golden plaques upon the messy trunks. It is an orchestra complete, a rich harmony, and it dazzles like a casket of regal jewels thrown suddenly open, like a cathedral where the trumpets sound while all the people sing hallelujah. On 8 gray and som- bre day it is quite another thing :; without animation, with no hum of life, without drum or trumpet, but with humid eyes, nature seems to rest and even to yawn little. On such 8 time the violins, charged with the duty of lulling a restless world, play slowly and with mutes upon their strings; the bows with gentle touch scarce graze the strings; one has to listen with attentive ear for music that resembles a dream. But the sound is so sweet, the harmony so deli- cate, that the sympathetic stroller who loves the music of the eyes would find 1t hard to choose between the trumpets and the violins, between the forest yelled in gray or dazzling in golden shadows.
 We were passing under some bseches when light wind caressed the tree tops far above our heads till they whispered together, and, lightly shak- ing themselves like wet bird, they threw down upon us . deluge of dia- monds.
 "Good heavens p cried Louise. ston.