ds the baton at
Hanover Square as at Exeter Hall; and under his management, the band
have attained a magnificent precision and _ensemble_ of effect. Its
musical peculiarity over ordinary orchestras is the vast strength of
stringed instruments, which gives a peculiar _verve_ and light vigour
to the performances. The rush of the violins in a rapid passage is
overwhelming in its impetuosity and vigour, and is said, of late years
especially, to beat the 'attack,' as it is technically called, of any
of the continental Philharmonic Societies. The Philharmonic concerts
are very fashionable. It is good taste, socially and artistically, to
be present; and, consequently, the room is always crowded by an
assemblage who display most of the characteristics of an Opera
audience. The musical notabilities of town always muster in full force
at the Philharmonic. Composers, executants, critics, amateurs, and
connoisseurs, are all there, watching with the greatest care the
execution of those famous works, the great effect of which can only be
produced by the most wary and appreciative tenderness of rendering. In
the interval between the first and second parts, the very general hum
of conversation announces how great the degree of familiarity
subsisting among the _habitues_. There is none of the common stiffness
of waiting one sees at ordinary entertainments. Everybody seems to
know everybody else, and one general atmosphere of genial intercourse
prevails throughout the room.

Let us change the scene to a classic concert of quite another kind. In
a quiet West-end street, we are in a room of singular construction. It
is in the form of a right-angled triangle; and at the right angle,
upon a small dais, is placed the pianoforte and the desks, and so
forth, for the performers. The latter are thus visible from all
points; but about one-half the audience in each angle of the room is
quite hidden from the other. Everybody is in evening dress; the ladies
very gay, and the party very quiet--a still, drawing-room sort of air
presides over the whole. Many of the ladies are young--quite girls;
and a good many of the gentlemen are solemn old foggies, who appear
strongly inclined to go to sleep, and, in fact, sometimes do.
Meantime, the music goes on. A long, long sonata or concerto--piano
and violin, or piano, violin, and violoncello--is listened to in
profound silence, with a low murmur of applause at the end of each
movement. Then perhaps comes a li