The Kalispell bee. [volume] (Kalispell, Mont.) 1900-192?, 1902-10-14

NOCllUR 10 weep UuL I6dTS,
Nothing to bury but dead.
Nothing to sing but songs,
Oh, we'll, alas! Alack!
Nowhere to go but out
Nowhere to come but back
Nothing to see but sights,
Nothing to quench but thirst,
Nothing to have but what we've got;
Thus through life we are cursed.
Nothing to strike but gait;
Everything moves that goes,
Nothing at all but common sense
Can ever withstand these woes.
In autumn there are some things
which force themselves upon our
minds in a manner yer different
from what they do at any other time
of the year. The air, with it's clouds
and sky, with their forms, colors and
foliage, and the fruits, with their
hues, shapes and uses. These three
features joined with the outlines of
the hills and mountains and with the
ripping streams form the autumnal
landscape. The past week we have
had glorious days, we also had few
stormy ones, but the latter part of
tened to an angels lullaby and
hushed that solemn wall which it
took up at the time of the storm, and
has fallen into sleep softer and
sweeter than an infants repose-a
sleep in which dreams become visi-
BILE of a land and a season when all
care shall end and pain and trouble
shall be forgotten. The sun. broader
faced, but more gentle, looks through
the sleeping air and smiles with a
glow as warm as fancies of heavenly
goodness. The clouds are whittier
than snow; and they float like plumes
or thinnest bits of illusion, which
might have been bridal wells for fair
les. And these clouds, evanescent
and changeable as they are, are re-
pure spiritual blue as compel one to
think of heaven of peace and truth.
An indistinct hum of insects and
the ripping of the little stream down
the hillside, just press the knowledge
of their existence upon our conscious
ness while the twitter of the birds
sitting on the rail fence near by, and
the brightness of the atmosphere, the
subduing sweetness of the sunlight,
the consoling shadows of the clouds,
and the melancholy beauty of the
vast forests make a picture and leave
an impression upon the heart worth
a journey of a hundred miles to see
and feel All things in nature are in
sympathy and seem to be preparing
for translation to the realms of I'm.
alleged blissfulness.
Last night the strong frost lay on
the grass like WOOL, and this morn
ing in a singing air every blade OF
grass and spray of foliage was stiff
as polished metal. But when the Sc
rene sun arose from the gorgeous
work melted into globes of diamonds
and rubes, and as the sun rose high
er in the heavens his grateful warmth
wrought changes more wonderful
than the tabled lamp of Aladdin.
The green of the pine and the black
green of the fir and spruce contrast
beautifully and gloriously with the
brilliant array of flashing hues
spread everywhere over the land
scape. All this gives to autumn seen
cry not only a greater interest to ev
cry beholder, but more distinguish
ing grandeur than to that of any
other season of the year and impart:
a strain of melancholy to all oul
trains of thought and reflections.
These colors are all softened and We
apparently intensified by the haze
that, like veil, rests upon the whole
atmosphere and makes every man ex
perience
"A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only,
AS the mist resembles rain"
But autumn is still more interestin,
on account of the various signs o
abundance everywhere displayed
There are apple trees of rich, darI
green, through whose leaves the rec
yellow, russell. crimson and stripe
fruits CLEAN like the eyes of laughin
nymphs and dryads. What a delicat
aroma does the apple carry with i
as though it had gathered in its lu
cious juices the freshness of sprin
rains, the sweetness of summer SUI
shine, and the crisp, spicy tartnes
of early autumn, and laid them all u
for the time of lazy, contented winte
There are apples, juicy and fine {
the flavor of wine. others, sour, hal
and bitter as trials to young hear
!.