g of careless
players. But Mendelssohn never lost his temper. When his men played
well, as soon as the piece was done he went among them shaking hands,
congratulating and thanking them. This would have been a great stroke of
policy in the eyes of a groundling, for the action never failed to catch
the audience, and then the applause was uproarious. At such times
Mendelssohn seemed to fail in knowing the applause was for him, and
appeared as one half-dazed or embarrassed, when suddenly remembering
where he was, he would seize the nearest 'cello, violin or oboe, and
drag the astonished man to the front to share the honors and bouquets.
If this was artistry it was of a high order and should be ranked as art.

I once heard Henry Irving make a speech at Harvard University, and shall
never forget the tremor in his voice and the half-embarrassment of his
manner. What could have been more complimentary to college striplings?
And then, as usual, he looked helplessly about for Ellen Terry, and
having located her, held out his hand toward her and led her to the
front to receive the homage.

Tears filled my eyes. Was Irving's action art? Ods-bodkins! I never
thought of it: I was hypnotized and all swallowed up in loving
admiration for Sir Henry and the beautiful Lady Ellen.

Felix Mendelssohn was beloved by his players. First, because he never
wrote parts that only seraphs of light could play. In this he was unlike
Wagner, who could think such music as no brass, no wood nor strings
could perform, and so was ever in torments of doubt and disappointment.
Second, he was always grateful when his players did the best they could.
Third, he was graciously polite, even at rehearsals. The extent of his
inclination to rebuke was shown once when he abruptly rapped for
silence, and when quiet came said to his orchestra: "I am sure that any
one of the gentlemen present could write a symphony. I think, too, that
you can all improve on the music of the past--even that of Beethoven.
But this afternoon we are playing Beethoven's music--will you oblige
me?" And every man awoke to the necessity of putting the sweet, subtile,
strong quality of the master into the work, instead of absent-mindedly
sounding the note, fighting bluebottles, and taking care merely not to
get off the key too much.

At the great Birmingham Festival several hundred ladies in the audience
contrived at a given signal to shower the great conductor with bouquets.
And Mendelssoh