volution here as well as in science. The artist
must hunt out new forms of expressing his world-old emotions, or he
will not impress his hearers, and there is no gainsaying Beck's thesis
that the Chinese puzzle of to-day will be the antique simplicity of a
later epoch. But it must never be forgotten, that art should be
complex only to avoid the greater evils of inadequacy and triteness. A
high simplicity of plan and an ultimate popularity of appeal are
essentials to immortal art.

It is my great misfortune never to have heard one of Beck's works
performed, but, judging from a fragment of a deliciously dreamy
moonlight scene from his unfinished music drama, "Salammbo," which he
kindly sent me, and from the enthusiasm of the severest critics, he
must be granted a most unusual poetic gift, solidity and whimsicality,
and a hardly excelled erudition. His orchestration shows a hand lavish
with color and cunning in novel effects. Several of his works have
been performed with great applause in Germany, where Beck spent many
years in study. He was born at Cleveland, in 1856, and is a graduate
of the Leipzig Conservatorium.

In art, quality is everything; quantity is only a secondary
consideration. It is on account of the quality of his work that James
H. Rogers must be placed among the very best of modern song-writers,
though his published works are not many. When one considers his
tuition, it is small wonder that his music should show the finish of
long mastery. Born in 1857, at Fair Haven, Conn., he took up the study
of the piano at the age of twelve, and at eighteen was in Berlin,
studying there for more than two years with Loeschorn, Rohde, Haupt,
and Ehrlich, and then in Paris for two years under Guilmant, Fissot,
and Widor. Since then he has been in Cleveland as organist, concert
pianist, and teacher.

[Illustration: Autograph of James H. Rogers]

His songs are written usually in a characteristic form of dramatic,
yet lyric recitative. His "Album of Five Songs" contains notable
examples of this style, particularly the "Good-Night," "Come to Me in
My Dreams," and the supremely tragic climax of "Jealousy." The song,
"Evening," with its bell-like accompaniment, is more purely lyric,
like the enchanting "At Parting," which was too delicately and
fragrantly perfect to escape the wide popularity it has had. His
"Declaration" is ravishingly exquisite, and offers a strange contrast
to the "Requiescat," which is a dirge of the