know people who know ever so much about those things; they are not musicians. I know others who learn to sing up and down, loud and soft, fast and slow, but they are not singers. They can know all those things and not be musicians. Not only are you alive, if you are a musician, but you are capable of giving life to others. If my voice is fervent, vital with the song thought—if I sorrow, you will sorrow; if I am glad, your eyes will dry in response. The song voice, the voice of the inner self, the real self, the individual, is unique. In my hand here I hold a piece of paper. It is limited in its length, possibly six or eight inches. If it were a scale of miles on a map of the state, it might represent 500 miles. On a map of the continent it might represent 5,000, but whether inches or miles, it is finite in its capacity, and if I move across it I have to come back again. If I bend it and curve it in form, it is still finite, until I make a complete circle; then it is infinite. Anything can pass around it millions of times. It is the symbol of infinity. Here I will hold in my hand in imagination a bell. I strike it and the vibration will go freely around the bell. All of it will speak and its individuality will be announced. It will say to you, "I am a bell." Listen to it (strikes it)-bell-1-1-1-1-1. It voices itself. Its individuality comes from its completeness. I will take something else, which I will call a gong. In its completeness it voices itself, and says, “I am a gong." Let us see (strikes it)-gong-ng-ng-ng-ng. Take the gong in my hand now and muffle it, so that only half of it can speak.' Strike it and listen to it. Let me take the bell and muffle half of that and strike it. Is there any difference? It says, "chink, chink." When we are fractional, and only part of ourselves, we say, "chink." When we are complete, as the bell, we say, I am a bell, a man, a singer, a child. The singers are altogether too full of chinks. We have not enough of individuality. The people who came in prosaic with everyday work were only a fraction of themselves when they came to hear Patti sing. Among others was the man striving for No. 1, trying to get ahead of everybody else. That is the last possible way of being yourself. Take care of No. 1, and you will never be anything. It is only in going out to others you can be something. These people came in and what did they hear? Patti's voice complete. As that piano responds to my voice, the people responded to Patti's voice, and for a moment they were really themselves, instead of the abnormal halfself which they were when they came into the room. Such was the influence of Patti's voice, in which her completeness so influenced them that for the first time in years they were complete selves. Are we all Pattis? I don't think so. It is not necessary that we should be. It is not necessary that my voice should be as beautiful as Patti's, or that people should flock to hear me. But because my voice is not equal to Patti's, am I denied the right to be myself? Not at all. If my voice is not as beautiful, shall I not then be able to look out with love from my eyes, smile with tenderness, accomplish with enthusiasm; am I to be denied all that because my face is not beautiful, and white, and regular? Not at all. A year or two ago I saw in a "Century Magazine" a picture of Abraham Lincoln. His face is not beautiful, but in that picture I saw a type of fine Americanism, and there can be no more beautiful thing than looked out from his eyes. We have this power to express ourselves, whether or not our voices are as beautiful as Patti's. Another point comes here. Why is the effect so transient? If I had met those listeners as they came out of the concert rushing for a horse-car, and not feeling very well because they had to stand up, could I still see that which came in response to Patti? If it only lasted a few minutes, what is the good of it? Why is it transient? Fifty years ago the lightning illuminated everything for a moment. Is the lightning any good? Why doesn't it continue? Look at the electric lights in this church. Electricity is no greater power than music. God flashes music into our lives, and says: "That is what you ought to be all the time-normal, complete, manly. Individuality, nobility, spirituality, -higher and higher, these are your real qualities." God did not intend we could get this illumination in one minute by hearing a line of Patti's song. He has arranged that we should be seventy years in this world, and there is no patent arrangement for music or anything else that could do God's work in one minute. God said, "So order your life that you may realize permanently what I give you temporarily." If music is so great a power, are people who deal in music more than any others, professional musicians,-are these looked up to as the greatest people in the world? A few years ago, in Chicago, there was a boy singer who sang in one of the Episcopal churches, and sang very well. He made a great deal of money, which the trustees of the church put by for him. When his voice broke he was taken for a journey around the world. After twelve or eighteen months, when the boy was expected back, the people were talking about this boy, wondering how the money could be invested. One said to me: "We have done all this, and now do you know we have just received word from him, and he says he is going to be a musician. It is altogether too bad; it is extra bad because the boy has brains, Mr. Tomlins." We are apt to have the drudgery of prosaic work in everyday life. Cares drag us down, and music comes with balloon-like elasticity to lift us up, that we may better carry our load. It invigorates us, inspires us. I should say that a ballast of prosaics needs this balloon elasticity, but it is just as apt to be all balloon and no ballast, and some of our friends are just that. They indulge in music for some selfish motive. The higher purpose of music does not come to them. It is not connected with their work in life and does not lift it up as it should. The buoyancy of the balloon without the ballast is the result. But Wagner himself, in 1844, made a statement of which I can give you the substance only. He said: "Not to you, supersensitives in music; not to you, great artists, is the future of music intrusted. You go on and up and up, with your higher culture and your supersensitiveness; but the future of music is that it shall come down in harmony, and love, and helpfulness to those who toil in the fields, to the worker, that there shall be fragrance in the life of him who only digs. And to you, who lift up music in its superexcellence as some people take fragrance from the flowers,--the attar of roses, for instance, and leave the dead leaves repulsive,-it was not intended in nature that the leaves should be without fragrance; and it was not intended that lives should be without fragrance; and do you know, supersensitives, that in God's nostrils you are as offensive as the leaves are to us?" The going down to the root soil of everyday life— this is to be the future ministry of music. Let us go back to the illustration of the bell. Let us go up in the belfry and strike the large church bell, so that it proclaims the hour to the whole town. Boom-m-m-m, and as that deep tone dies away and grows softer, you will hear the higher harmonics of that bellyou will hear thousands of them like little bells. This is the inner thought, the inner life of the bell, made up of those little sound circles at the top of the bell. It is they that give quality to the tone of the bell. The quality of the bell is, therefore, according to the harmonics of the bell, their number and relationship. The bell is always the same. It is somber or clear-toned according as the harmonics are so. The tone of our voice goes out to the world. But we are different from the bell in this respect, that we may change the harmonics. We may be somber or be joyful, or entreat or command, or make sorrow or joy, or have faith, or hope, or love. The inner quality of the voice in its harmonics may be divided into three parts, which may stand for the thought, the feeling, and the will. The artistic voice must possess these three elements. You cannot have a good song without all three. Some people think love songs, which in singing is not enough. The young man will not succeed with a lady if he goes to her saying: "My dear lady, I think I love you." It is not sufficient in a song. Some people feel a great deal; their voices are quite sympathetic and they are so sorry for everybody, and wish they could help them. This again is not song, for there must be an element of will as well as of feeling. The voice with only domination is masculine to brutality; with only sympathy, it is feminine to effeminacy; both the masculine and feminine must be in the voice. There are three departments in music, as there are the three elements in the voice. Corresponding to the thought in singing is melody; corresponding to feeling is harmony; and corresponding to will is rhythm. These come together in what in music is called a beat. A beat in music is like a step in walking. The singer sings by beats in music, the soldier steps to the beat of the drum. When a recruit is put into the hands of the drill sergeant his chief idea in marching is self-consciousness. He lives on each step. He has no thought of going anywhere. He simply says, "I live on my left foot, I live on my right foot." He simply exists on his feet; he does not live at all. The lowest musicianship is that of the banjo player. He never plays his banjo except he uses his heel. So a soldier marches on his heel. After awhile he has a purpose and the instep comes in play, and then he walks to his sentry duty and back to the barracks. He goes somewhere and comes from somewhere. In the case of the singer, the single pulse becomes a series of impulses; it is an impulse not only like the step of the soldier, which comes from somewhere and goes somewhere, but the impulse remembers the past and expects and hopes a future. This impulse is a little piece of eternity. It has a history in the past which you recognize; it has the destiny of its future, which you feel. All thought is for what purpose? To go out to you, my brother, and in going out with all my strength to you I enlarge my own capacity. In giving I get. This is what music is good for to express brotherhood. The highest form of music is yet to come in the world. Fifty years from now if you look back to 1895 you will think it the dark ages of musical execution, when men sang with contentment for themselves-sang with self-consciousness. There was a rosebud one day in a garden. You know what is the proper experience for rosebuds. As long as they are incomplete and immature, the leaves simply bind over each other and the rose hides itself from the world. When maturity comes, each leaf laps outward and gives what is beauty of form and color to the rose for the world in its garden. But this little rosebud which was so very beautiful, said to itself: "I will have my beauty, fragrance, and color for my own satisfaction." The days went on, and it did not open, but faded away and fell at last to the ground. As it fell apart worms came out of it. It had rotted in its selfishness. Even so there is much danger in dealing with music. If you neglect the use of music, the ministration of music; if you do not go out to your fellows in encouragement, helpfulness, good will, in sympathy, and most of all in love, music may become a very dangerous thing. DISCUSSION. The informal round table which had been arranged for the further discussion of the "Faculty of Music" by Mr. Tomlins, on the day following, grew in proportions, until it was a more formal gathering of several hundred representative kindergartners. Mr. Tomlins gave an hour's discourse, practically illustrating the influence of music-that composite language which utters many qualities of feeling and meaning in a single tone-word. He gave illustrations from the great oratorios, showing how one strain from Handel may express the mingled sentiment of reverence, grief, tenderness, profound conviction or emphatic declaration. He added many practical illustrations of how a teacher may work with children and secure the pure tone, which shall reveal the individual in his truest nature. The quality of tone to be secured through the chorus voice was carefully discussed, Mr. Tomlins indicating how the better part of each individual voice contributes to the beautiful effect of the whole. A KNOWLEDGE OF THE KINDERGARTEN INDISPENSABLE IN PRIMARY INSTRUCTION. BY MISS SARAH L. ARNOLD, SUPERVISOR OF SCHOOLS, BOSTON, MASS. FELLOW TEACHERS: As I have sat looking upon your faces, 1 have been reminded of a poem read over and over again in childhood. I give you simply the thought. A weary man going on his way to his work passed a group of merry to climb up the steps of a schoolhouse. with ice, and they fell back again and again. the other, "It is easier taking hold of hands." easier when we take hold of hands. children, who were trying The happy thing about this gathering is, that the primary teachers and kindergartners are meeting together. They are realizing that they have a common work together. I am happy to take hold of hands with you this afternoon, and to feel for myself new courage and new interest, because I know of the good work you are doing in your place. One of the most beautiful signs of the times is that we are forgetting to cut the education of the child into slices, as though we were concerned with only one year of the child-life, and then to pass him over to some one to take charge of another period of his existence. The university looks down upon the secondary schools and finds help, and the high schools look down upon the primary, and now the National Council has appointed a committee to decide how |