Life, art, and letters of George Inness . he cows,crossing that log that spans the brook. Yes, thereis something in these canvases of Inness that fills mewith a sense of rest. The whole story of the genius and the mission ofInness seems to me to be summed up in a little storytold to me by Mr. Thomas B. Clarke. There was a time, said Mr. Clarke, when every-thing in life seemed lost to me. All the sunshine wasgone, and the weight of sorrow was heavy on myheart. One whom I loved dearly had been suddenlystricken and taken from me, and with her going wentall the gladness of life. Your father had of
Life, art, and letters of George Inness . he cows,crossing that log that spans the brook. Yes, thereis something in these canvases of Inness that fills mewith a sense of rest. The whole story of the genius and the mission ofInness seems to me to be summed up in a little storytold to me by Mr. Thomas B. Clarke. There was a time, said Mr. Clarke, when every-thing in life seemed lost to me. All the sunshine wasgone, and the weight of sorrow was heavy on myheart. One whom I loved dearly had been suddenlystricken and taken from me, and with her going wentall the gladness of life. Your father had often talkedto me of his beliefs and of the life beyond, and ofthe message he was trying to send out in his picturesbut I never understood. In the grief that was almost too heavy to bear Iwandered about the house like a lost soul. I was in-consolable. I happened to glance up at a little In-ness which I owned and always loved, A Gray, Low-ery Day, and like a burst of life your fathers mes-sage of hope and eternity came over me. He spoke 278. THE ART OF GEORGE LNNESS through that little canvas, and my soul understoodwhat my mind had not. I was a different man from that hour. It was the only thing that could console me. If that picture had been the only one Inness everpainted, his life would have been worth while andhis destiny fulfilled; but I believe that every livingpicture is giving out the same message, and that In-ness lives forever, speaking to us in his canvases andfulfilling that immortal destiny which was the passionof his life. It is pleasant to travel with Inness on a hot, sultryday, to sit beside the cooling brook, and watch thefallen leaf drift sluggishly by, and wonder how itwill feel when it reaches the mill-dam and is hurledover the brink with a dash that crumples it up in asmother of foam, and finally casts it well out into theplacid pond, to sit and swelter in the sun until thebreeze springs up from that cloud which is lying onthe horizon and comes to waft it to t
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