If, one day, some one should say to you, earnestly:  “Well day are to you!” you would scarcely know what to make of it.  You would at once understand that the person had knowledge of words but could not put them together rightly.  And if the person continued to talk to you in this manner you might feel inclined to lose your patience and not listen.  But if you would stop and consider things and examine yourself you would learn something well worth thinking about.

You would discover that your own ability to put words in the right order has come from being obedient.  First of all, you have been willing to imitate what others said until you have thereby learned to speak quite well.  Besides that, you have been corrected many times by those about you at home, and in school, until language is at length a careful habit in you.  Every one knows at once what you mean.  You see, therefore, that you may combine words in such a manner that you will be easily comprehended by others; or, as in the case of the imaginary person we began with, they may be combined in a perfectly senseless way.  Consequently, it is not enough to know words alone, we must know what to do with them.  The true art of using words is to put full and clear meaning into a few of them; to say as much as possible with as few words as you may select.

Tones may be treated in the same manner as words.  One can write tones in such a manner as to say quite as senseless a thing as “Well day are to you!” Many do.  This teaches you that true and simple tone-sentences, like similar word-sentences, must have for their object to say the fullest and clearest meaning in as little space as possible.

For many hundreds of years thoughtful composers have studied about this.  They have tried in every way to discover the secrets underlying tone-writing so that the utmost meaning should come out when they are united.  Tones thus arranged according to the laws of music-writing make sense.  To learn this art all great composers have studied untiringly.  They have recognized the difficulty of putting much meaning in little space, and to gain this ability they have found no labor to be too severe.

We must remember that there is no end of music in the world which was not written by the few men whom we usually call the great composers.  Perhaps you will be interested to know about these works.  Many of them are really good—­your favorite pieces, no doubt.  When we think of it, it is with composers as with trees of the forest.  Great and small, strong and weak, grow together for the many purposes for which they are created.  They could not all be either great or small.  There must be many kinds; then the young in time take the place of the old, and the strong survive the weak.  Together beneath the same sky, deep-rooted in the beautiful, bountiful earth, they grow side by side.  The same sun shines upon them all, the same wind and the same rain come to them, selecting no one before another.  What are they all doing?  Each living its true life, as best it can.  It is true they may not come and go, they may not choose, but as we see them, beautiful in their leaves and branches we feel the good purpose to which they live and, unconsciously, perhaps, we love them.