AMATEUR PHOTO BY MRS. W. E. CARLIN. 



THE COMING STORM. 



During the 2 days I had been waiting for 

 this little squirrel to pose for me I had been 

 favored with good weather; but in the 

 afternoon of the second day, just as I ex- 

 posed my fourth plate on him, I saw heavy 

 black clouds banking up in the West. I 

 knew what this meant and made a run for 



camp. I arrived none too soon, for in 5 

 minutes a terrific thunder storm burst on us. 

 Mrs. Carlin had seen the clouds coming 

 up, beyond the lake, and, setting up her lit- 

 tle 4 x 5 Premo, got a beautiful picture of 

 them, on an Eastman film, which is shown 

 herewith. 



MY CATCH. 



LYNN TEW SPRAGUE. 



The day was warm, the fish were shy, 

 The mocking stream rolled, laughing, by. 

 And seated on its grassy brink 

 I watched my fly, and could but think 



Of — not the bass I sought to catch — ■ 

 The girl back in the berry-patch. 

 The clear and bright September skies 

 Were blue as her blue Irish eyes; 



And velvet shadows, here and there, 

 Were dark like her dark Irish hair. 

 The sun-kissed breeze from out the South 

 Was soft as kisses from her mouth, 



And so, beside the purling stream, 

 I fell asleep to sweetly dream. 

 When, suddenly. I start to feel 

 The tight'ning line, the clicking reel, 



And wake with visions of a bass 



To see — my saucy rural lass. 



Her brown hand pulling on my line 



Her eyes with mischief all ashine 



And, what are all the bass e'er weighed 



Beside the witching catch I made. 



