praiseworthy, in its way--and wholly negligible.

The music of MacDowell was, almost from the first, in a wholly
different case. In its early phases it, too, was imitative,
reflective. MacDowell returned to America, after a twelve years'
apprenticeship to European influences, in 1888, bringing with him his
symphonic poems, "Hamlet and Ophelia" and "Lancelot and Elaine," his
unfinished "Lamia," his two orchestral paraphrases of scenes from the
Song of Roland, two concertos, and numerous songs and piano pieces.
Not greatly important music, this, measured beside that which he
afterward put forth; but possessing an individual profile, a savour, a
tang, which gave it an immediately recognised distinction. A new voice
spoke out of it, a fresh and confident, an eloquent and forceful,
voice. It betrayed Germanic influences: of that there was no question;
yet it was strikingly rich in personal accent. Gradually his art came
to find, through various forms, a constantly finer and weightier
expression. For orchestra he wrote the "Indian" suite--music of superb
vigour, fantastically and deeply imaginative, wholly personal in
quality; for the piano he wrote four sonatas of heroic and passionate
content--indisputable masterworks--and various shorter pieces, free in
form and poetic in inspiration; and he wrote many songs, some of them
quite flawless in their loveliness and their emotional veracity.

It will thus be seen why the potent and aromatic art of MacDowell
impressed those who were able to feel its charm and estimate its
value. It is mere justice to him, now that he has definitely passed
beyond the reach of our praise, to say that he gave to the art of
creative music in this country (I am thinking now only of music-makers
of native birth) its single impressive and vital figure. His is the
one name in our music which, for instance, one would venture to pair