Connecticut western news., 1904-09-01

day.
 "A Multitude In Unity"
 An artists beauty Is multitude in unity" We know that Samuel Cole ridges, definition In reference to. the painter's easel Is: true. We see 2 "muE titude of colors in unity" when Tur- ~ner, the most brilliant artistic colorist England ever produced, makes the sea a creature of life. Now 1t is beauti- ful boulevard of gold, paving It's way to the throne of setting sun; now perfect pandemonium of furies; now 1t Is a burial scene when Sir David VII kie finds a sepulcher in the mighty deep, whose waves beat themselves in- to pieces on the Gibraltar crags. We see an artists multitude in unity" in the portraits of a Sir Anthony Van dyke and in the mighty mountain peaks of a Bierdstadt and In the pas toral dreams of a Millet. But, though there may be many different tints blending In the colors of a rainbow or in the hectic flush of rose, did you ever stop to realize that all colors come from but three primal colors, just the
 
 vegetable and mineral kingdoms have but sixty-six different basic clements, of which they are all composed. So in the artistic world we find that all colors originally come from but three primary colors-the red, the yellow and the blue. Now, If God can form the artistic beauty of the sky, the sea, the land, out of the simple red, the simple yellow and the simple violet, is 1t ab surd to suppose that God can spiritual ly make us artisttcally beautiful, no matter how crude and sinful we may be, If we only allow our thoughts and lives to be combined In symmetry with his thoughts and with Christ's life? Oh, the beauty of blending colors! From the brilliant pictorials of an au- tumnal leaf let us learn the spiritual lesson for man that God hath made and can make everything beautiful in it's time
 But the musicians oratory and sym metry of sounds have also their analo- gies by which we can find man, In his spiritual beauty, fin tune with the tn- 'fn1te." In the Epistle to the Romans Paul writes, "How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace and glad tidtngs of good things" Aye, beautiful are the feet of the gos- pei messengers, but beautiful are the voices also, for today we find the sym bol of mans thoughts in beautiful sym metry with Gods thoughts, in the sweet throat of a singing thrush, in the signing of the winds among the leaves and in the harvest fields, In the meanings of the seas as well as in the colors of its waters and In all the strange yet harmonious voices of the woods, whether they be the calls of the cuckoo, which musicians declare sound the third note in music, or the shrill whistle of the bobwhite, which, like the voice of the fife, Is heard above every other instrument of the band, or the croonings of the wood dove, which the California Indians used to call "majefla," whose song by day and by twilight both to mate and young was one continuous whispering of "Here, lovel Love, here! Here, love! Love, herew Oh, the beautiful voices of blending harmonies heard in the choruses of the woods! Who can ever listen to them and not find a symbol of mans spiritual beauty? 'In tune with the inf1nitep'
 "In Tune With the InAnite."
 But what, according to the law of sotnd, do we mean by being fin tune th4 inR Rrft I h,JDfir1ar some time ago. As I lay in a dugout by a water hole, hidden by the leaves, waiting for the birds to come down to drink, asked myself these questions: What Is music? Why is 1t that all these voices of the woods have such a wonderful influence over mel Why does not the harsh call of the fish monger hawking his food at my city door, or the deep voice of the fog horn on shipboard off the banks of Newfoundland, or the rasp of saw, or the whining cry of spoiled child, enchant me as now do the voice signal ings of the pheasants, which I can now see way off under yonder trees, or the chirp of the swallows flying over my head, or the beautiful sounds that come to my ear as the harpists of the winds finger the long, slender vines as though they were harp strings? I know that some of the repellent cries I have heard from the fishmonger Richard Wagner has reproduced in his matchfess operas. I know the deep voice of the fog horn rolls and thunders and swells and dies away in the choruses of many a great musical master. I know the rasp of a saw can become part of a lullaby or of a martial march. Then why are not these different sounds at all times pleasing to my carp
 In order to answer the questions I made study of the laws of musical sound. Dudley Buck, the great Amer1- can composer, taught me that sweet music was merely a succession of com binations of sound arranged with such connection and mutual relations as to express to the ear some distinct form or train of thought and awaken cer- tain corresponding emotions" He told me that music is thought expressed In sound, even as a great painting is thought expressed in color. A tumble of colors is daub, not picture. A riot of sounds, promiscuously pushing and jostling each other, even as the stronger limbed members of stam- peding mob knock down and trampIe upon the weaker, is merely collection of discords. It Is only when multi tudes of sounds" are marshaled to- gether in harmonious unity" that we have music. So when began to know what true music meant then I said to myself: Yes, yes; I now know what Ralph Waldo Trine means when he speaks of man being in tune with the infinite" Man in himself may be so distracted by sin as to be like a dis cord In music. His voice in nature may be so discordant by reason of his corrupt condition as to- rend the ear as does the shrilI cry of the vender on the street. But when his nature Is redeemed his voice falls into It's right yrIo iy, ha NP oQ