ley a
household word in America. They are the setting of Tom Moore's fiery
"Minstrel Boy," and a strange jargon of words called "Love's Sorrow."
In both cases the music is intense and full of fervor, and quick
popularity rarely goes out to more worthy songs.

[Illustration: Autograph of Harry Rowe Shelley]

[Illustration: HARRY ROWE SHELLEY.]

But Shelley would doubtless prefer to be judged by work to which he
has given more of his art and his interest than to the many songs that
he has tossed off in the light name of popularity.

Shelley's life has been largely devoted to church work. Born in New
Haven, Conn., June 8, 1858, and taught music by Gustav J. Stoeckel, he
came under the tuition of Dudley Buck for seven years. His twentieth
year found him an organist at New Haven. Three years later he went to
Brooklyn in the same capacity. He was the organist at Plymouth Church
for some time before Henry Ward Beecher's death. Since 1887 he has
been at the Church of the Pilgrims. He visited Europe in 1887 and
studied under Dvorak when the Bohemian master was here.

Shelley's largest works have been an opera, "Leila," still in
manuscript, a symphonic poem, "The Crusaders," a dramatic overture,
"Francesca da Rimini," a sacred oratorio, "The Inheritance Divine," a
suite for orchestra, a fantasy for piano and orchestra (written for
Rafael Joseffy), a one-act musical extravaganza, a three-act lyric
drama, and a virile symphony. The suite is called "Souvenir de
Baden-Baden." It is a series of highly elaborated trifles of much
gaiety, and includes a lively "Morning Promenade," a dreamy "Siesta,"
a "Conversationshaus Ball," and a quaint "Serenade Orientale" that
shows the influence of Mozart's and Beethoven's marches alla turca.
The orchestration of this work I have never heard nor seen. Its
arrangement for four hands, however, is excellently done, with
commendable attention to the interests of the _secondo_ player.

The cantata is called "The Inheritance Divine," and it is much the
best thing Shelley has done. It begins with a long, slow crescendo on
the word "Jerusalem," which is very forceful. Shelley responds to an
imaginary encore, however, and the word becomes little more than an
expletive.

Page 7--to refer more conveniently than technically--is marked by
sonorous harmonies of especial nobility. Now begins a new idea worked
up with increased richness and growing fervor to a sudden magnificence
of climax in the second m