d stop and consider things and examine yourself
you would learn something well worth thinking about.

You would discover that your own ability to put words in the right
order has come from being obedient. First of all, you have been
willing to imitate what others said until you have thereby learned to
speak quite well. Besides that, you have been corrected many times by
those about you at home, and in school, until language is at length a
careful habit in you. Every one knows at once what you mean. You see,
therefore, that you may combine words in such a manner that you will
be easily comprehended by others; or, as in the case of the imaginary
person we began with, they may be combined in a perfectly senseless
way. Consequently, it is not enough to know words alone, we must know
what to do with them. The true art of using words is to put full and
clear meaning into a few of them; to say as much as possible with as
few words as you may select.

Tones may be treated in the same manner as words. One can write tones
in such a manner as to say quite as senseless a thing as "Well day are
to you!" Many do. This teaches you that true and simple
tone-sentences, like similar word-sentences, must have for their
object to say the fullest and clearest meaning in as little space as
possible.

For many hundreds of years thoughtful composers have studied about
this. They have tried in every way to discover the secrets underlying
tone-writing so that the utmost meaning should come out when they are
united. Tones thus arranged according to the laws of music-writing
make sense. To learn this art all great composers have studied
untiringly. They have recognized the difficulty of putting much
meaning in little space, and to gain this ability they have found no
labor to be too severe.

We must remember that there is no end of music in the world which was
not written by the few men whom we usually call the great composers.
Perhaps you will be interested to know about these works. Many of them
are really good--your favorite pieces, no doubt. When we think of it,
it is with composers as with trees of the forest. Great and small,
strong and weak, grow together for the many purposes for which they
are created. They could not all be either great or small. There must
be many kinds; then the young in time take the place of the old, and
the strong survive the weak. Together beneath the same sky,
deep-rooted in the beautiful, bountiful earth, the