Life, art, and letters of George Inness . y changers from the it is said of his pictures that the last one you seealways seems the best, yet his Florida Morning has apeculiar interest that no other picture can ever have. Itwas his last picture—painted in 1894*—not long beforehe went away to foreign lands, and then passed on to thathigher life, for which he was fitted by the patient, loving,trusting work of his life with us here. It was the fare-well color-song of that mystic swan, whose coming broughtblessing, and whose going away left no successor. Inness was ahead of his age in
Life, art, and letters of George Inness . y changers from the it is said of his pictures that the last one you seealways seems the best, yet his Florida Morning has apeculiar interest that no other picture can ever have. Itwas his last picture—painted in 1894*—not long beforehe went away to foreign lands, and then passed on to thathigher life, for which he was fitted by the patient, loving,trusting work of his life with us here. It was the fare-well color-song of that mystic swan, whose coming broughtblessing, and whose going away left no successor. Inness was ahead of his age in translating the cabalaof nature—and it is not strange that the keynote of hislast picture was unique interpretation of divine motherhood. A mother follows her little child, whose outstretched armsand slanting form tell of her eager joy at the first sight ofhome. They have just come up out of the sinking shad-ows into the glory of the morning, and high on the tree-bolesthe sunlight has blazed the pathway to their journeys happy 222. THE PASSING OF GEORGE IXNKSS end. The atmosphere ia full of veiled visions f lomethingsweet to come. It [a the temperate cone flowering in thetropics. You recognize the beautiful place and yet you can-not remember where you ever saw it. The growing gra nod to you, and you know they would flatter your feet. Unseen orange blossoms throw you kisses of trees are familiar friends and woo you to theirinner temples, where they know you delight to go. Theskies sympathize with you, and overshadowed by the divinespirit, promise you the rain that saves. You feel thatthe soul who evoked this vision was not content with theArarat found after many days, and sought Zion, not in restbut in helpful work, while echoing the songs that MotherNature sang. It is a painting full of pictures, all of whichmake melody. Strike your deepest chord on the piano, holdthe keys and listen. Those three tones—the holy trinityof sound—multiply into a weird orches
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