The mere idea of another club may be unwelcome in these days of many clubs, yet I am so bold as to desire the existence of a new one; and I would urge all who can, to become members of it as soon as possible.

Unlike most clubs, it will have no officers, nor any rules and regulations; neither will there be initiation fees nor dues to pay.

The object of the club will be the study of art, as it is displayed in Nature’s studio; and the only requisites for membership are a love of beauty and a few minutes’ time each day. The club will be in session every day at sunset, and all members are urged to be present at any place where they can command a view of the western sky. They will thus be enabled to study the latest picture from the brush of that master artist, Nature.

No art gallery on earth can afford its visitors such a succession of masterpieces as will be open to the view of all members of this club. There is no artist so resourceful, none capable of giving such an endless variety of colors and effects as Nature.

To attempt to describe the beauties that are daily set before us would be vain; for who can adequately express in words the marvels of a sunset sky? No mere words, however carefully chosen and accurately used, can convey to the mind its unspeakable glories. These must reach us through our eyes, those “windows of the soul.” Shall it be said of us that we “have eyes and see not”?

This evening the sun went down in a blaze of orange fire, deep and transparent, and a few minutes after the great ball had dropped below the horizon, the orange glow at the base melted into pale green above, then clear yellow and delicate pink, with infinite graduations of exquisite shading. Words fail, and leave me helpless before such a masterpiece I can only hope that many other people were enjoying it with me, as its beauties stirred my inmost soul.

Some days ago the sun’s setting was followed by one great expanse of deep orange red from the horizon up to a bank of cloud which hung like a gray curtain, slightly raised, across the western sky. Another day the afterglow was an inimitable, transparent lemon-yellow, across which were stretched two horizontal bars of rose-colored cloud. In the foreground of these pictures are the beautiful trees, which, having now laid aside their leafy robes, appear in their loveliness and diversity of outline. A good opera glass is a great aid to the fuller enjoyment of the pictures, as it brings out the perspective more clearly, and deepens and intensifies the colors.

When a day has been clouded and dull, some may think it not worth while to attend the meeting of the Sunset Club. But they are mistaken. Who that admires a beautiful picture in black and white—a fine engraving—can fail to see the beauty of this sunset picture; this living picture in half tones, which is so superior, so much more perfect in every detail than the work of man? Nay, never miss a meeting if you can possibly be present: never fear that you will fail to find beauty there if you look for it.

Let us not complain if we cannot possess works of art wrought by human brains and hands, when we often fail even to look at, much less appreciate, the daily art of Nature which is our birthright, and which perhaps we regard but lightly, because it is free to everyone with seeing eyes and beauty-loving soul. Let us rather cast off the scales that blind our eyes and hide from us the visible expression of a Creator’s love, the beauty of Nature.

And our lives shall be enriched an hundred fold.

Anne Wakely Jackson.