self, the listening ear supplies it to meet a need. When
we attend to a clock ticking, the tick-tock, tick-tock, however even it
may sound at first, soon resolves itself into a rhythm with the accent
on either the tick or the tock. So does the beat of an engine, or the
hum of a railway train, merge itself into some definite sound picture,
with the accent for relief that the ear demands. Thus out of rhythm
grows very naturally an accentuation which gives balance, structure, and
form. We start with the little units--the ticks and the tocks--and we
build something bigger by grouping these together. This is a principle
which we may see running through the activities of life in a thousand
forms.

Bricks are made to pattern and thus possess a rhythm of their own, but
when they are laid in courses they merge their individual rhythm into
the ordered lines of the courses. These again may be comprehended in
larger units of arches, buttresses, and stories: and all these again
will be grouped and contained in this or that style of architecture. So,
too, Music may begin with notes and tones, but accent quickly groups
these into larger units to satisfy the senses in their demand for
balance and proportion. Thus by increasing the size of our unit we build
the rhythm of form and lay the foundation for the further development of
the Art.

Since Nature is regular, from the beating of our own hearts to the swing
of universes in the heavens, therefore engrained in our very selves is
this claim for ordered progression, balance, and sustained sequence.
When we attain this, whether in Music or otherwise, we derive a measure
of restfulness and satisfaction and we gain a sense of completeness. Any
work of Art should leave us with this conviction, that nothing could be
added or left out without marring the perfect proportion of the whole.
"Jazz," whether in Music or in any other direction, gives just the very
opposite effect, marring the sense of proportion and distorting the
feeling of satisfaction. It exists as a testimony to a morbid
dissatisfaction with life, it gives emphasis to the unbalanced and
neurotic. The true beauty of Art--as of Music--consists on the contrary
of this larger rhythm which makes for wholesomeness and proportion,
which achieves at once the rest and the satisfaction that the soul
craves. Its wholesomeness is health, which again is ease. Its reverse is
disease: and when Music becomes mere noise and discord it is the sam