out for sheer artistic enjoyment, twenty would go because he came from Europe and represented the summit of the musical fashion of the day, and the fashionable world could not afford to be absent.

So long as the musical fashion coincided at every point with the true development of musical art in the United States, this condition presented no disadvantage, and caused no harm. But that this fashion and art, although coincident at first, could remain so in a new land sure to rear up arts of its own, was an absolute impossibility; and at the moment when American musical art became of intrinsic worth, and the musical fashion remained fixedly European, musical fashion and musical art in America parted company. To-day the true interests of musical development in the United States have little or nothing to do with the fashionable musical life of our great cities. The facts of our creative musical development are one thing, the events of our social musical life another. Society is not aware of this. It has so long been compelled to import musical art if it wished to have any, that it cannot believe that there is any other source of this art than Europe. Society is not yet prepared to tolerate any interference with this belief, and the purveyors of its musical art are the last to initiate any such interference. Indeed, to do so would be to lose financial support; and therein lies the crux of the situation. The managers of musical enterprises care nothing for our national artistic develop ment; their one concern is to keep secure the patronage of society.

This general condition of affairs in the eastern cities is nothing less than the model and the cue for the social musical life of the entire United States. As it is in New York, so must it be in Butte, Montana, or Pueblo, Colorado. Sane, beautiful, advanced musical art may be growing up about these western cities and towns, but it has not been the occasion of the social musical flurry of the great metropolis, and they must have

"Salome," or something of Debussy. I learned recently that more modern French music is being sold west of the Mississippi than east of it.

What is the immediate universal result of this artificial condition? It means simply that good American singers, pianists, and other artists to say nothing of foreign may place upon their programmes only that which is sanctioned by New York, and that is-European music. Not to do so means to incur the displeasure and lose the support of society. And these same artists, who know good and bad in music as society does not know it, are often ardent admirers of much in American music, but they must admire in private. An orchestral conductor in a secondary capacity, and for the time being in a place where he could do what he pleased, gave a number of performances of the scores of a certain American composer, with great success, and expressed himself very enthusiastically, personally, concerning them, assuring the composer of the pleasure he would have in conducting them in a primary capacity on a more important occasion, when the opportunity should come. The opportunity arrived, and with it the unexpected knowledge that to do as he had promised, under these circumstances, would jeopardize the social support of the orchestra. The composer received a polite note, stating that at some future time he, the composer, would probably do work more satisfactory to himself, by which he would rather become known, and that then it would be time to consider the performance of it. Such instances could be infinitely multiplied on a smaller scale, and would form a voluminous and amusing anthology of episodes of artistic and moral trepidation.

There are, on the other hand, artists of commanding powers and moral courage, who have succeeded in making some headway against the social dictum, but they are the exceptions which prove the rule. The subconscious common sense

of society has immediately applauded such artists and greatly exalted them, not, of course, for this particular action, but for the greatness which made such impudent action safely possible.

First and last, many American compositions come to performance on American programmes. Society has always sanctioned the trivial American work as a foil to the serious European; but never the more significant American work for its own sake. Composers and their friends are able to force hearings here and there, so that the composer will not be wholly without knowledge of the effect of his work upon an audience, or for that matter, upon himself, both to a certain extent necessary things, for only in practice can art and the art-nature grow. Again, certain obviously good and appealing works, not requiring any effort of the understanding, have quickly found their way into public favor, and are safe for an artist to use. But this insistent fact remains, that upon our concert and recital programmes generally, those works which best represent the brains and ideals of our American composers to-day are conspicuous by their absence. The army of persons whose fortune, or whose very sustenance, is assured by the maintenance of our exclusively European musical system, is kept busy explaining to society that if Americans could produce sufficiently good music, artists would place it upon their programmes. This explanation may satisfy the unthinking, but it can no longer satisfy those who see that since the artist will not be paid for performing American compositions requiring real study and work, he cannot afford to stop to master them, even if he be prompted by admiration of the compositions or friendship for the composer. If society, to-day, should turn and support liberally the production of works by our own composers, if it should, by some

whimsical turn of the wheel, announce that it would not support foreign and native artists unless they would give us a good share of the works of our own composers, we would witness a zeal in the world-wide study of American music that would startle the nation. Moreover, we would be no less startled by the intense and varied interest, the high poetic worth, and the magnitude of the achievement of American composers.

If the composer have too much spirit, too great a devotion to his country's growth in musical art, to accept a pittance for his teaching and neglect for his and his brother's art, what shall he do in this situation? At first he might leave composition for a time and look deeply enough into his country's sociology and economics to learn the true nature of the conditions in the midst of which he exists. He will then learn that his own salvation depends upon the salvation of all. As a next step he might waive all endeavor to exploit his own compositions, and through a study of the works of his brother composers, learn the exact nature and strength of his country's musical art. Then, leaving the society of artists, who cannot help him, he might take his newly gained knowledge to the leaders of society, not the hopelessly lost of the great eastern cities, but the misguided and redeemable throughout the land; and, disinterested himself, win their disinterested help for the sake of a national cause. They are more ready for him than he suspects. Whatever the depth of their regard for the masterpieces of music, their allegiance to mere musical fashions is not of the heart, and they will welcome the opportunity to withdraw their social power from an artificial situation, which can hold for them but little of real life and attainment, and devote it to the satisfying of a living national need.

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DURING the first few years of my practice in the village of Killick Cove, I was not infrequently called in attendance upon Robert Henderson, a brother-inlaw and former shipmate of my especial friend, old Skipper Job Gaskett. Though a considerably younger man than Skipper Job, Henderson was wholly incapacitated for any but the lightest kind of work, by reason of an accident which befell him on shipboard in early manhood. His dark face was still strikingly handsome, though, in view of his pitiable physical condition, it was somewhat difficult to credit the oft-repeated assertion that previous to that frightful mishap at sea Robert Henderson was generally accounted the champion athlete of Killick Cove.

As to any particulars concerning the accident, it seemed that Henderson himself, as well as his usually communicative brother-in-law, was strangely reticent. Indeed, it occurred to me more than once that this indisposition to talk of the matter even extended to the townspeople in general. At all events, for three years after my arrival at the Cove, I had never succeeded in gleaning anything further than that, through a fall from the mast-head of a fishing schooner only a short time before his marriage, Henderson was shockingly deformed, and had since been almost wholly dependent upon his wife for support.

Mrs. Henderson was a large and comely, though somewhat careworn-looking

woman, with the intensely black eyes common to all the Gasketts, and much of the kindly expression of face so characteristic of her brother Job. As time wore on, my admiration steadily increased for the industry and self-sacrificing devotion constantly manifested in the care of her crippled husband. In fact, the wife's daily line of conduct seemed to me nothing less than heroic, though perhaps many of the neighbors had grown to regard it rather too much as a matter of

course.

When able, Robert Henderson appeared to occupy himself chiefly with braiding rag mats for sale, though being an acknowledged expert in the mysteries of "twine," local fishermen sometimes brought their damaged nets to him for repairs. Still, the injury to his spine was such that for long periods he remained helplessly propped in an armchair, neither able to sit erect nor to lie upon his back with any comfort.

But the indomitable wife labored on unceasingly, rising at unheard-of hours and working often far into the night, doing washing, ironing, and sewing at her home, or housework for the villagers when her husband's condition would admit of her leaving him. I had many times noticed old Skipper Job hard at work upon the great pile of spruce cordwood which he regularly hauled to his sister's dooryard during the winter, and learned incidentally that this brotherly kindness was absolutely the only help, outside of desired work, which the plucky woman could be induced to accept from any

hist'ry, and no mistake. The thing of it is, though, sister Susy Mary May down here, she never wanted it should be made no kind of gossup-talk like, 'round amongst folks, though come to the matter of that, every one of the old seedfolks here to this Cove are knowin' to the whole business, and have been, pretty much ever since the thing happened. But you see Susy Mary there, she's always felt so master sore in regards to it, she's kind of queer made like, you know, and, well, you could n't never once beat it out of her head that she was all the one to blame in the fust place for Bob Henderson's losin' his hand-holt aboard of old Skip' Tristam Marston that time, and staving the life outen him on deck, same's he done."

"No she never once! Not a mite! Not a single mite!" the Skipper broke in vehemently. "She done every namable thing in God's world to hender him and me too, from ever once steppin' foot aboard the vessel, anyways. She hung right to it from the fust commencement that the old Desire was tetched, and always had been, and always would be, and seems 's though she had the rights of it, too, for it turned out there never was no such a Jonah ever went out of this Cove as what she was. Plague on the old jade, she never earnt no man a dollar, not ary once in the world, and seems's though there would n't be no end to the folks that kep' gittin' drownded and killt

and all stove up aboard of her jes' long's she stayed atop o' water. Yes sir, Susy Mary May had got wind of what she was, from way back; I'm tol'ble satisfied of that. Susy wa'n't anyways scairt to up and talk it right out in meetin' neither, as any God's quantity ashore here can tell ye to-day. I think's likely there was others besides her that misdoubted if the vessel wa'n't going to be a reg'lar-built Jonah, but seems's though Susy was about all the one that dasst up and spit it right out good and plain, them days." "Yet you say she felt responsible for Henderson's accident," I said. "This beats me all hollow. I won't try to guess again."

"No, doctor," said Job, "you'd full better take and give it up right off now, for 't ain't anyways likely ever you'd hit it, not if you kep' guessin' stiddy for a month of Sundays. I cal'late now to turn to and tell you what about the whole thing, for Susy she allowed only jest this morning she did n't know as she cared any great if you was to hear, bein' as you've always tended out on Bobby so reg'lar, and then again, prob'ly would git holt of some of it sooner or later, anyways. All is, says she, while you're at it, take and tell him the whole of it without nothin' skipped nor anyways changed 'round. That's Susy all over, you know, - she always did talk it jes' so up and down, like. Seems's though she cal❜lates the plain truth'll make out to stand its own weight any day in the week.

"So to take and go clean away back to the fust commencement like," the Skipper went on, with his piercing black eyes intently fixed upon mine, "Bob Henderson in them days was about the best lookin' and the likeliest young buck ever was raised to this Cove. He stood jest six foot in his stockin'-feet, and was withey as ary wild-cat. Lord sakes, we had folks here them days that run away of the idee they was some wras'lers, till maybe they'd ketch holt of Bob Henderson, and git hove so quick they'd cal'late the devil hisself kicked 'em on end! But come to

take it aboard vessel was where he'd most gin'ally cut up the greatest monkeyshines and ructions, after all. I rec❜lect one little trick of hisn in pertik'ler was to take and lay a bate along of somebody aboard, how many seconts time he'd be a-going from the end of the main-boom aloft, and chock down to the bowspreetend again, that is, you know, take it when we'd be layin' to anchor some place or other. Set-fire! He'd swarm up the topping-lift hand-over-hand like a streak; skip right acrosst the spring-stay to the foremast on the dead run, and slide down the jib-stay afore ever you'd say Jack Robinson! That's jest how spry he was. And come to take him all togged out in his Sunday best, with his hair oiled up good and curly like, with his shirtcollar hove wide open, and a blame' great big black silk tie streamin' loose much as two foot long, why, you would n't make out to scare up a smarter appearin' young feller nowheres.

"Come to that, he was smart, too smart's a whip. He'd been high-line aboard vessel nigh every trip, till we come to ship aboard that plague-gone old Jonah of Deacon Parkinson's there, and he could got a vessel of his own took up for him here to this Cove the time he was twenty year old, easy as rolling offn a log, if only he 'd a mind to, and had said the word. But the way he looked at it, there was a plenty time for that ahead, and he'd lievser not git tied down sofashion yit-a-while, nor turn to and git married yit, ary one. Kind of happy-golucky, like, you see Bobby always was in them days, and I think's prob'le that was one thing made him so ter❜ble takin' amongst the gals ashore here.

"He'd lost his mother afore there was much of any bigness to him, you un'stand, and seems's though him and the old sir never hitched hosses to home there extry good, so's Bobby he was pretty much on his own hook, you may say, and loved to heave his money right and left in all manner of fool-works, till the heft of the gals ashore here all cal'lated there wa'n't no