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dressed or overdressed, but all so happy and so at 

 ease that to us at least, the children make half the 

 pleasure of the concert ; especially quaint, fat, pic- 

 ture-book Betty, aged three, who sat next us, and 

 whom we love, though we never saw her before 

 or since. 



The children delight the leader too. He keeps 

 one eye on the orchestra, and the other eye and 

 a continuous smile on the little ones bunched 

 in the front seats. The orchestra plays to them 

 and for them and their presence keeps the music 

 from being too heavy for the non-elect like me. 



There is an indescribable charm in these con- 

 certs in the woods, this blending of art and nature, 

 and when the orchestra plays Mendelssohn's 

 Spring Song, one's nerves fairly tingle with joy 

 as he hears the bursting of buds and opening of 

 leaves and the low sound of the roots struggling 

 underground. Birds perch on the branches and 

 trill and twitter. Far away, a coachman is driving 

 slowly up and down among the carriages and 

 automobiles. A white-robed mother is leading 

 her restless little one by the hand, off among the 

 trees. A pair of strolling lovers disappear down 

 the green arched roadway singing their own Spring 

 Song. And these gentle movements only add to 

 the feeling of quiet and repose. 



