The dilution of the romantic spirit--Grieg and his songs--Minor romantic lyricists; Peter Cornelius, Adolph Jensen, Eduard Lassen, Georg Henschel, and Halfdan Kjerulf; Dvořák’s songs--French song-writers: Gounod and others; Saint-Saëns and Massenet; minor French lyricists--Edward MacDowell as song-writer; Nevin and others--Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky--English song. I Every great burst of genius in any department of art is followed by widespread imitation. The genius (the _seer_, as Carlyle calls him) _sees_ his way to new objects and achievements which lesser men are blind to. Before the genius has done the thing, the thing seems impossible; after he has done it, it seems divinely simple. The genius seems to have taught people how. Every second-rate talent can now follow the formula and produce the same results. Of course, the second-rate talent cannot produce _quite_ the same results, easy as it may seem. But the first-rate talent (and geniuses following) can produce fine results and can even produce results that are more thorough and more refined, because they are building upon the work of genius. So the impulse spreads. Many men take up the work that had formerly been the unique property of one. The genius has done the pioneer work. The new department of art is advertised by him, made popular, even made profitable. Lesser men can get something like the same results with less sacrifice, less effort. The imitators, in turn, have their imitators. The great initial impulse, as it spreads, also weakens. Fine strokes of genius are imitated until they become only formulas. People are familiar with the style and are satisfied with less convincing results than formerly. The art-form may even become so codified and formulated that first-rate men will become disgusted and refuse to give their serious efforts to it. Then the small fry are left in full possession of the field.