The Helena independent. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1875-1943, 1890-04-27

Felicity again that NV LADY and myself
know without music Sunset Cheerful
ness, Night in Venice and thine thy
playing from afar. Facing out upon the
stool he resumed.
I'm Dresden there was a painter born Of
the canaille who loved the poor even after
becoming famous in his art. He had such
genius that no painters have ever produced
copies to compare with his original work.
All his paintings were willed to the COM
them gallery on the cite of his old home
which is forever free to all. There are
probably hundred pictures. The largest
one is in the gallery end flooded with soft
light and before it used to stand and gaze
for hours. It represents man who has
emerged from sombre forest in which no
path is traced. He is torn, bleeding, almost
naked and hopeless from having fought his
way alone through that forest of obstacles,
and stands upon the ragged edge of plain
that is hedged around by eternity. be
yond, above, there is another world, glowing
with roseate, luminous light, floating IN
space, too far for him to reach alone, yet,
wishing to bring it down within his grasp,
he reaches with all his strength and rests
his finger tips upon its surface.
Alone he would have failed and fallen off
the plain into unfathomable darkness, but
at his side with her arms around him, lift
ing and holding him up is the woman who
loves him.
''That picture fascinated yet tortured me,
because knew all praise I ever won was
due the wife who eased my toll few happy
years before passing to that brighter world
toward which she raised me up"
SECRET SORROW.
The duke was pacing the long room,
pausing oftentimes to finger some cut
face as, laying his hand upon the princes
arm, he said: ''My friend, believe me that
to have loved one dead is not the worst of
life. My lady, this little song I've named
"A Violet's Tear will you sing now?"
After it, the restless duke, pacing again,
plucked violet from its vase, and, stand
ing where the window curtains fell apart,
told this tale of An Occult Odor.' There
is in Paris rabid socialist who regularly
rouses incipient revolutions by preaching
incendiarism. He is continually being ar
rested for teaching his vicious doctrines,
yet, with all his violent insanity, the man
possesses! most delicate fancies. One of
simulated by odors, and that
among them the perfume of
violets is symbolicai Of friendship. That
odor comes to us at times in unexpected
places when we are far away from its flower,
yet even in things. that pertain to friends.
We find 1t in good wines, in fine fruit, in
boquet where the violet is not. In the
midst of forest walk the breeze will watt
it to us from friendly shades. and even in
autumn it greets US from dead leaves nest
ling at our feet, like old friends passed from
sight.
among the million solar systems that
belle what a fool saith in his heart, the
planets are devoted to different sentiments,
and ours is given to friends. Friendships
form we know not how. A little kindness
shown by look or word, little kindness
shown by look or word. letter bidding
hope abide, an instinct toward a passing
face, perchance tone within a friendly
voice, will bind two hearts in unison.
al friends, and as our planet grand goes
cycling on, each luminary knows our path
because earth permeates all space with
friendships perfume rare-sweet odor of
the violet '-Carol Grouse.