But
the public likes it.
They greet it with tremendous roars of applause. The artillery,
discharged with uniform promptness several seconds in advance of time,
renders them wild with delight. PAREPA'S voice, rising at intervals
above even the combined din of instruments, voices, and cannon, is
hardly heeded by them. Noise is what they want, and they have a surfeit
of it. It is only after the performance is ended that the vision of
GILMORE'S ecstatic coat-tails, as they danced to the wild whirling of
his maniacal baton, comes back to their memory. Then they smile and say,
"Curious fellow that GILMORE. Knows how to make himself a pleasing and
prominent feature."
But the Boston young lady says in a serious tone, "GILMORE'S band should
have played that piece without any assistance. These New York people do
not understand the potentialities of brass."
Perhaps we don't. And then again perhaps we do.--Boston may have a
monopoly of virtue, but it has hardly a monopoly of brass.
After the patriotic noise comes the _Oberon_ overture, led by CARL ROSA
so daintily that it is the best performance of the evening. By and by
everybody attempts to leave in advance of everybody else, with a view to
a seat in the cars; and the first night of the Centennial is over.
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