hearted amiability (_La
complaisance_) and even languor (_Les tendres langueurs_). The
suite, while it combined several dances in one general form,
shows only a trace of _design_. There was more design in one
of the small programme pieces already quoted than in most of
the suites of this period (see, for example, Loeilly's "Suite").

Bach possessed instinctively the feeling for musical speech
which seemed denied to his contemporaries whenever they had no
actual story to guide their expression; and even in his dance
music we find coherent musical sentences as, for instance,
in the _Courante_ in A.

In art our opinions must, in all cases, rest directly on the
thing under consideration and not on what is written about
it. In my beliefs I am no respecter of the written word,
that is to say, the mere fact that a statement is made by
a well-known man, is printed in a well-known work, or is
endorsed by many prominent names, means nothing to me if the
thing itself is available for examination. Without a thorough
knowledge of music, including its history and development,
and, above all, musical "sympathy," individual criticism is,
of course, valueless; at the same time the acquirement of this
knowledge and sympathy is not difficult, and I hope that we may
yet have a public in America that shall be capable of forming
its own ideas, and not be influenced by tradition, criticism,
or fashion.

We need to open our eyes and see for ourselves instead
of trusting the direction of our steps to the guidance of
others. Even an opinion based on ignorance, frankly given,
is of more value to art than a platitude gathered from some
outside source. If it is not a platitude but the echo of some
fine thought, it only makes it worse, for it is not sincere,
unless of course it is quoted understandingly. We need
freshness and sincerity in forming our judgments in art, for
it is upon these that art lives. All over the world we find
audiences listening suavely to long concerts, and yet we do
not see one person with the frankness of the little boy in
Andersen's story of the "New Clothes of the Emperor." It is
the same with the other arts. I have never heard anyone say
that part of the foreground of Millet's "Angelus" is "muddy"
or that the Fornarina's mysterious smile is anything but
"hauntingly beautiful." People do not dare admire the London
Law Courts; all things must be measured by the straight lines
of Grecian architecture. Frankness! Let