e as
when beauty becomes ugliness and health vanishes in sickness.

The second element of Music is melody, and this corresponds to the
outline in Nature. Things have their shapes and their forms, even as our
very lives consist of ups and downs, varied with occasional runs along
the level. The country has its outlines, its hills that rise and climb,
its valleys that fall and fade. There is the even line of the horizon,
topped by the swelling clouds: there are curves and sweeps in the
swaying of trees and grasses, in the flight of birds, and in the grace
of the human form. It is significant that Nature's handiwork so abounds
in curves, whilst that of man is fashioned so much upon straight lines
with consequent sharp points and angles. Is it not obvious that Art has
had but scanty share in designing our towns and manufactories? Right
angles, no doubt, stand for utility in a commercial age, but Nature with
her longer purview has little use for them and prefers a more rounded
way of progress. Nature inspires, but not in square-cut periods. It is a
safe plan to turn to Nature, as to the diagram of God, if we find
ourselves in any doubt as to the way.

"Let your air be good, and your composition will be so likewise, and
will assuredly delight," says tuneful Father Haydn, and Music's outline
in melody limns, as does that of Nature, the beauty of her design. It
speaks of wood or stream, of billowed sky, and now of sombre shadow. It
ripples in dainty dance, or tumbles down in cascades of joy. Music's
melody vies with the drive and bluster of the wind, sobbing and
sighing, whistling round corners and playing pranks. Then, maybe, it
sinks to silence, and the white mist creeps up: and now there is no
melody, no outline, but just the one still sameness over all.

We live in a three dimensional world, and in its length, breadth, and
solidity do we disport ourselves. Music also has its three-fold manner
of expression, its rhythm, its melody, and now its harmony. The rhythm
is for balance, the melody for the outline, while the harmony
constitutes the texture. Here again in other directions we may trace the
same essentials: there is a texture of colouring, a style in Literature,
and an appropriate technique for harmony in every branch of Art, just as
there is an harmonic scheme in Music. This may be airy, light, and
gossamer, or turgid and obscure: it may be commonplace or ponderous.
Like Nature, it may have a thousand or a myriad shad