(Editor's Note.—The following observations, if carefully studied, will enable the intelligent concertgoer to tell the difference between an orchestra and a dress circle.)

The principal instrument in music is the violin. This instrument is held fast under the performer's double chin and then tickled in the gut with a strand of horse hair until it cries out. Which cruel treatment reacts on its disposition, so that, as the little violin grows up into a 'cello, it becomes gloomy and morose; and when, after a life of nagging, it reaches old age as a crabbed double bass and is relegated to the back of the orchestra, it spends its resentment in querulous grumbling.

Further from the conductor than the violins, and, consequently, more intermittent in their playing, are the Tootle family. Grandfather Tootle, the bassoon, spends his time in dozing: all you can hear from him is an occasional snore. Mrs. Tootle, the flute, is of a romantic turn of mind, doting on moonlight and warbling birds and babbling brooks. She prides herself on her limpid utterance, and admonishes her little son Piccolo not to talk through his nose like Cousin Oboe Tootle. Her husband, the bass clarinet, takes himself very seriously—and no wonder, for to him falls the unpleasant duty of announcing bad news, such as that the hero has just died, or that the act is only half over.

Quite remote from the conductor are the mysterious somethings that live in kettle-drums. What they are no one knows; but a watchful keeper bends over and listens to them, and whenever, despite his constant cork-screwing, they show signs of aggressiveness, he beats them into submission with a brace of bottle-mops. If this is not sufficient, he calls in an assistant, who cows them with the roar of a whanging Chinese stewpan.

Somewhat nearer the conductor, but yet far enough away to be able to resist his authority until threatened with his stick, are the horns, the most vehement members of the orchestra. A blast from them, besides waking up the audience, always means something. For example, the martial sound of a trumpet heralds the approach of a conqueror or a scissors-grinder.

The old-fashioned hunting horn, from which the modern orchestral horn is descended, was very simple indeed. In those days every one was supposed to wind his horn, instead of buying it already wound, as we do now.

Yet the modern pretzelized horn is still adapted for hunting purposes. Take as large a horn as you can conveniently carry (a 42-centimetre tuba is preferable) and stand under a tree, with the muzzle pointing up at the bird you desire to hunt. Then play "Silver Threads Among the Gold" for two hours and ten minutes, and the bird will fall lifeless into the horn.