beck, the conductor of the Singverein in Vienna, found it in Gratz. You see, when Schubert was made an honorary member of a society in Gratz, he sent the two movements of this "Unfinished Symphony" to the society, in the care of his friend Hüttenbrenner. Hüttenbrenner forgot about it, and it got buried among his papers. So Herbeck said to himself: "There must be some Schubert manuscripts still not found in Gratz." He went and hunted among Hüttenbrenner's old music, covered with dust, and he found the symphony. The C-major Symphony, you know, was rescued by Schumann, and first played by Mendelssohn.

Mr. Mason. How extraordinary to think of these wonderful works lying neglected so long, and entirely unappreciated while their composer was alive! .. Popular taste is a curious thing, is it not? I don't suppose, now, the Grieg Quartet has to wait for audiences?

Mr. Kneisel. Every year people ask for it.

Mr. Mason. Yet it is not written in the best quartet style, do you think?

Mr. Kneisel. No, it is not polyphonic enough. In the quartet each voice must be interesting. Grieg writes more like Schumann. It is a piano style. Schumann's adagios are very beautiful, but his finales-how tired one gets of those rhythms, kept up so long without change!

Mr. Mason. And the harmony in "bunches," rather than coming from strands of interwoven voices. . . By the way, in Brahms's chamber-music, have you any marked preferences? Are there one or two works that you like better than the others?

Mr. Kneisel. I could not say so. That is one of the wonderful things about him: everything he does, he does perfectly. Each work has its own style, is different from the others; but you could hardly say "better." Beethoven is different there. His string quartets are, I think, the most perfect and greatest compositions ever written; but among his other chamberworks you will find some which may be called weak. . . . And then, the modern quartets: many make a great effect, but (of course with the exception of a few) you soon get tired of them. They are not perfect enough. They surprise or excite you at first, but afterward-[A shrug.]

Mr. Mason. Should you not put the Smetana Quartet "Aus meinem Leben" -above that class? That seems to me a very beautiful work. I heard you play it last year, and noticed that although I dutifully read over the "program" before you began, the actual beauty of the music, the interweaving of the parts, the lovely melody, soon made me forget all about it, and I listened as I do to a purely classical quartet.

Mr. Kneisel. It is a fine thing, certainly. But such a subject is too big for a quartet. It depends too much on "painting."

Mr. Mason. You mean it should be more a beauty of pure line

Mr. Kneisel. It should be kept better. in the frame. There should be some distance. A certain "noblesse" is lacking. If you have a success with a thing of this kind, then you don't feel elevated. With Brahms there is more suggestion.

Mr. Mason. That is all true for the trained musician, but does the audience feel and respond to these more subtle qualities?

Mr. Kneisel. Yes, they do. There are a few hundred people in all the large cities, New York, Boston, Vienna, Berlin, London, Paris, who know just what to look for, and who demand the best. You don't impress them with wrong things. In Paris, perhaps, they are a little more divided into coteries, not so concentrated. But everywhere you find them. New York and Boston are just as good as any place in this matter. There are many people regularly listening, in private houses, to good music. All this prepares our audiences, and we are used to expect the best taste from them, and to know that they go with us in whatever we do.

Mr. Mason. Why is it, then, that our general public taste among the people at large is not better than it is?

Mr. Kneisel. There are many reasons. There is much musical life in Europe that you don't get at all here. Think of the soldiers, and the way they keep before the people the rhythm of the march-not the quick march, but the regular beat of the slow four-four. [Illustrating with ges-tures.]

And then there are the Ländler and the Waltz, the gemuthlich dances of Austria, that we have in the beer-gardens, where a man can take his family and enjoy

an evening of music, with supper and beer, for a few cents. The owners of the beergardens make enough profit on the beer so that they can have the music; but here, where they cannot get a license, the band costs too much, and we have only a few popular concerts in cities like Boston. . . The rhythms of these marches and Ländlers "Grossmutter dances" - are real to us, and when we hear them in the music of classic composers they are vivid to us. But Americans, when they hear a slow minuet of Haydn, for instance, cannot enter into the spirit of it, for they have never seen these things.

Mr. Mason. Whereas our popular music, in the musical comedies and the hurdygurdy pieces, give us no rhythms, virtually, but the lively two-step and the languorous waltz.

Mr. Kneisel. And these are little used in good music, even here. . . . Another bad thing is that Americans won't take time to learn music thoroughly. Pupils come and want to study with me right off, and to begin with pieces. I try to make them study with a teacher who can keep them on exercises for a year or two, and give them a foundation. But, ho; nothing will do but they must study with me straight off! . . . The question of money comes in badly, too. Many teachers take almost any pupil, whether he has ent or not, who can pay well.

any

tal

Mr. Mason. They are almost forced to it, I suppose; the cost of living is so high here.

Mr. Kneisel. Yes, in one way you cannot blame them. But it is a very bad thing. It wastes a great deal. Why keep

pupils without talent? Tell them the truth. Even if they have talent, they sometimes come to a teacher when already they are too old. To play the violin one must have a certain amount of gymnastic training when one is young, before the muscles are set. . . . But people consider money too much. If you say to a musician who is earning $3000 a year, "Why not do a little less next year, and earn only $2500, so that you can have time to work better?" he is horrified! What! Accept $2500 when you might have $3000?

Mr. Mason. I suppose this is the insidious effect of comfort and luxury. If you have two bath-rooms in your house, you think you cannot get on without three.

Mr. Kneisel. And soon you want a house like that one in -, every room a bath-room! Mr. Mason. Poor America! It certainly has a hard time becoming musical.

But, nevertheless, in spite of the impatience of pupils, which makes them wish to jump over the technical preparation at one leap, and the need, fancied or real, on the part of teachers, which makes them receive and encourage pupils who can pay, but cannot play, instead of those who can play, but cannot pay,-are there any who can do both?-and so breeds incompetence and superficiality-in spite of all this, you do feel, do you not, in the light of your experience here, that we are making some progress?

Mr. Kneisel. More in fifteen years than in Europe for forty or fifty.

Mr. Mason. Then we may certainly look forward with hope to the future.

athletic question in its true light, namely, as a great factor in education. By an abnormal development of athletics in precisely the wrong channels, by placing them in a commercial position, and by sadly neglecting the great mass of boys for the benefit of a few, the schools in general and the colleges in particular have now begun to reap as they have sown. Play is the inalienable right of the child, and he must be taught to play in such a way as to develop in him the qualities of leadership and manliness; otherwise it is not too much to say that our national integrity is in danger of being lowered. After many years of experience both as boy and master at St. Paul's School, I am convinced that a way to these results may be found by a system of local club competition such as we have there.

Sport and athletics in America are vastly different terms. Sport should be play, not work. Athletics as practised in general are too strenuous, too spectacular, and too exclusive. We are not an athletic nation; far from it. We talk athletics, but there is too much grand stand, and too little actual participation in games. The plan of using them as an invigorating influence on mind and body has not been worked out. Speaking generally, the harmonious development of all parts of the body alike has been neglected by the school, and the college has no power to correct the evil. Commercialism, vast ex

penses of teams, multitudes of governing and of players, have well-nigh ruined some of our best games, so that the masses cannot play them. The individual prizes and the false adulation of star athletes, the striving for records, and, lastly, the most serious abuse, -the strenuous rivalry with other schools,-have elimirated play from the life of most schools and have reduced athletics to a cut-anddried work for the few, who are expected to pose as champions for their school and to work as though eternity depended upon their winning. We do not, as a rule, play for the love of playing.

We may be wildly excited over a great intercollegiate contest where twenty-two men are struggling before the eyes of thousands of spectators, or we may be one of thousands to view a professional base-ball game, but these spectacular performances, with their enormous gate receipts, do not make our people athletic, but, on the contrary, debase athletics. We are not an athletic nation as compared with Germany, where, for instance, the annual Turn festivals at Frankfort produce 20,000 active athletes in the field, and there is no grand stand. These men love the sport, and they exercise for that reason.

England is an athletic nation, where the masses play cricket or foot-ball the year round, and the women walk miles for the love of it. We look at England as an overcrowded country, and are apt to think of the masses there as having no time or opportunity for recreation. One has

only to travel through the land once to be convinced of the contrary. Every park and common is crowded during the late afternoon and during the long twilights, the numerous rivers and streams are alive with boats, and one might say that all classes, and, indeed, all ages, play in that land of sport. We may produce a star

who can throw the hammer a few inches farther than their best man, but they can produce one hundred athletes to our one, when it comes to a count. They learn it young, and never having gone to excess, they keep to it late in life.

The few poor fellows that compose the team are told that the honor of their school is at stake. They are coached to the limit of the rules, and too often beyond the spirit of the rules; they are trained to the minute. Is this play? Is it sport? Then add to all this nonsense, the unwholesome notoriety in the newspapers, the coming in contact with the low sporting element, the temptation to unfairness in the excitement of fierce contests, and of commercialism in various ways, to say nothing of the physical harm caused by the strain of these contests between young boys, and specially between teams from day schools, where the proper preparation is necessarily lacking, and we have a fair sample of our American school athletics. The foremost professional trainer of athletes of our generation, "Mike" Murphy, said a few years ago: "More fine athletes have been spoiled than developed, between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, by fierce school competition, carried to excess."

But if the nation as a whole is not athletic, a school which has the club system, as at St. Paul's, in good working order is athletic, because all the boys are competing naturally, and not by compulsion.

In order to insure general exercise for all boys, ample playgrounds, skating-rinks, and an adequate gymnasium have to be provided. And a diversified system of games the year round must be presented, so as to attract all boys naturally. The boy thus gets his exercise; but, coupled with the development of his body, are other requirements which must be supplied, such as sportsmanship, healthy rivalry, unselfishness, and the training of character in general. These are devel

oped in the multitude by local club competition, where every boy from oldest to youngest plays with his equals.

The game is a means of bringing out the best features of athletics, but all will admit that its functions are lost when it is made a mere spectacular performance. The blame for this may justly be placed on the colleges, whose graduate bodies have made the game a piece of business, but where schools have to win interscholastic contests, they too must bear part of the blame. Indeed, I firmly believe that if fifty of the larger schools of the country. would now adopt the club system in its entirety, the game would, to a great extent, assume its former and natural functions.

If the high schools of the country could acquire grounds sufficient for such a system, then we should see at once the greatest athletic revolution. Hundreds of thousands would soon be playing games, and our country would not only become athletic, but, by the broader development of the boys' characters, we should see a moral and social improvement in the nation at large.

Could I command the wealth of some of our philanthropic men, I would devote millions to playgrounds for city schools on condition that every child be given the chance to play, and I think I should die feeling that I had done more for my country than any philanthropist has yet accomplished in a single line of work.

A school should encourage team games such as foot-ball, base-ball, rowing, etc., rather than allow the more individual games to have first place, for in team games a boy's character shows up in a truer way than in any other phase of school life. A boy of low moral character will not ring true in a team game, and a selfish one seldom helps team work, which teaches a boy to work with his fellows and to forget himself. All these advantages and disadvantages must be followed up or checked. Teachers, not professional coaches, should be in the games with the boys. In playing with boys as an equal, a man has open before him a field for influencing the boy of which one who has not tried it has no conception.

Lastly, the fierce rivalry engendered by interscholastic contests is a distinct evil to which we can no longer be blinded. Leav

ing out its pernicious influences on the mass of boys who have to follow the team, such as idle associates, betting, rowdyism in various forms, and financial extravagance, this rivalry is harmful to the schools, and though it produces a "school spirit," we all know that this is often a false spirit which does not last, and the school is often humiliated by its boys, if this spirit is not held in check. But I am now considering the intense rivalry in its relation to the individual player. Of course it produces elements of courage, and if held within bounds, it may do much positive good; but boys are not men, and cannot be expected to withstand the temptations to which they are exposed. Where one team is coached to acquit themselves as gentlemen, win or lose, ten are allowed to go into a contest with little of this preparation, and in the heat of conflict the desire to win is too much for them. The wild applause of their followers, and the notoriety gained in the sporting columns of the press, drive the contestants to extremes, which kill sport, lower morals, and often permanently injure a good athlete physically.

If this is not considered an important educational question, then we are blind to the development of the moral and physical side of our boys. The school is the only place to meet and correct the evil. The college cannot do it.

During fifty years the club system at St. Paul's School has embraced every branch of athletics, and as a result there are proportionately more boys engaged in healthy exercise than in any college or any other school in the country. Virtually every boy of the three hundred and fifty is playing something throughout the year. There are twenty-one regularly organized

foot-ball teams, each playing a series of three matches; there are as many club hockey teams in their respective series of matches during our long period of skating; there are ten eight-oared crews and six fours rowing from January to June; and about one hundred boys training for the various club track teams. Forty-odd tennis-courts, as fine as any in the country, a golf links, lakes and streams for canoeing and swimming, and an ample gymnasium, supply the needs of those who are not in team games during the various seasons.

From practical experience I would suggest the following fundamentals which may be used by any school wishing to institute the club system for home competition:

(1) The playground must be adequate for a large number of boys.

(2) Teachers, or men interested in boys, should be in the games, not professionals.

(3) The whole school should be divided into two clubs which should compete in all sports with first, second, and third teams. The first teams should have a challenge cup to compete for in each sport. Inter-class teams are not as successful as inter-club teams because of the difference in the average ages of classes. The clubs are equal in all respects, the classes are not. (4) Do away with interscholastic games, and encourage in every way interest in the clubs, and if the facilities are adequate, you will be surprised to find how naturally boys take to the plan and how quickly traditions and associations are made. Three years, where properly managed, will convince teachers and boys of its merits, and it will then grow and work out naturally.

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