Most of the celebrated instrument a coe talists of his time have performed songs of joy, telling us that "Rain, under his baton, and many of the bows are lovely things," that "Leafy, greatest composers were his intima ate acquaintances. The dream of his father, with whom he imigrated SBM tae ard from Breslau in the sixties, was to introduce the music-dramas of Wag-sate il " riner ner into their adopted country; after his death Mr. Damrosch the general level of their techni self the same ambition, the act is, I think, rather higher than that ment of which he regards with just-of any other single book, excluding ft ificable pride and satisfaction. His career, indeed, has been so uniform-collected editions, that the poet has there we find ly successful that no great interest attaches to its record.
'The most attractive feature of the what misplaced humour or of a book its its pastiche of anecdotes singular Jack of it, such phrase about well-known figures in the "When the life-force in my blood,' musical world. Mr. Damrosch or "Go to that girl and state your, know TTschaikowsky when he was happy case," or "He sits to break-composing his "Pathetic" Symphbony, of which he was. privileged fo give the first performance; Saint Saéns, at the height of popularity, when his appearance in glistening with dew. Most of 8 Paris boulevard used to be greeted with cheers and Liszt in his de-ini te an cee cline, a kindly old man, sensitive to ape by Sob? am ide imaginary slights, striving patheically {0 Keep up his friendship ith Wagner while that ruthlessly ing personality was busy Belagetel lits och sing his fame,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.