kinds of variation perpetually. The sea-waves,
resembling each other in general mass, but none like its brother in
minor divisions and curves, are a monotony of the first kind; the great
plain, broken by an emergent rock or clump of trees, is a monotony of
the second.

Sec. XXXV. Farther: in order to the enjoyment of the change in either
case, a certain degree of patience is required from the hearer or
observer. In the first case, he must be satisfied to endure with patience
the recurrence of the great masses of sound or form, and to seek for
entertainment in a careful watchfulness of the minor details. In the
second case, he must bear patiently the infliction of the monotony for
some moments, in order to feel the full refreshment of the change. This
is true even of the shortest musical passage in which the element of
monotony is employed. In cases of more majestic monotony, the patience
required is so considerable that it becomes a kind of pain,--a price
paid for the future pleasure.

Sec. XXXVI. Again: the talent of the composer is not in the monotony, but
in the changes: he may show feeling and taste by his use of monotony in
certain places or degrees; that is to say, by his _various_ employment
of it; but it is always in the new arrangement or invention that his
intellect is shown, and not in the monotony which relieves it.

Lastly: if the pleasure of change be too often repeated, it ceases to be
delightful, for then change itself becomes monotonous, and we are driven
to seek delight in extreme and fantastic degrees of it. This is the
diseased love of change of which we have above spoken.

Sec. XXXVII. From these facts we may gather generally that monotony is,
and ought to be, in itself painful to us, just as darkness is; that an
architecture which is altogether monotonous is a dark or dead
architecture; and, of those who love it, it may be truly said, "they
love darkness rather than light." But monotony in certain measure, used
in order to give value to change, and, above all, that _transparent_
monotony which, like the shadows of a great painter, suffers all manner
of dimly suggested form to be seen through the body of it, is an
essential in architectural as in all other composition; and the
endurance of monotony has about the same place in a healthy mind that
the endurance of darkness has: that is to say, as a strong intellect
will have pleasure in the solemnities of storm and twilight, and in the
broken and