twice. The young American composer has not been idle lately."

_The New York Colony._

In every period where art is alive there must be violent faction, and
wherever there is violent faction there is sure to be a _tertium quid_
that endeavors to bridge the quarrel. The Daniel Websters call forth
the Robert Haynes, and the two together evoke the compromisers, the
Henry Clays.

In the struggle between modernity and classicism that always rages
when music is in vitality, one always finds certain ardent spirits who
endeavor to reconcile the conflicting theories of the different
schools, and to materialize the reconciliation in their own work. An
interesting example of this is to be found in the anatomical
construction of one of the best American piano compositions, the
fantasy for piano and orchestra by Arthur Whiting.

The composer has aimed to pay his respects to the classic sonata
formula, and at the same time to warp it to more romantic and modern
usages. The result of his experiment is a form that should interest
every composer. As Whiting phrases it, he has "telescoped" the sonata
form. The slow introduction prepares for the first and second
subjects, which appear, as usual, except that they are somewhat
developed as they appear. Now, in place of the regular development,
the pastoral movement is brought forward. This is followed by the
reprise of the first and second subjects. Then the finale appears. All
of these movements are performed without pause, and the result is so
successful that Whiting is using the same plan for a quintette.

Handwriting experts are fond of referring to the "picture effect" of a
page of writing. It is sometimes startling to see the resemblance in
"picture effect" between the music pages of different composers. The
handsomely abused Perosi, for instance, writes many a page, which, if
held at arm's length, you would swear was one of Palestrina's. Some of
Mr. Whiting's music has a decidedly Brahmsic picture effect. This
feeling is emphasized when one remembers the enthusiasm shown for
Brahms in Whiting's concerts, where the works of the Ursus Minor of
Vienna hold the place of honor. The resemblance is only skin deep,
however, and Whiting's music has a mind of its own.

The fantasy in question (op. 11) is full of individuality and
brilliance. The first subject is announced appassionato by the
strings, the piano joining with arabesquery that follows the general
outlines. After this