Thomas Sunday Central Park Garden Concert: 7th

“New York, July 5. The popularity of the Thomas Garden Concerts continues undiminished and the attendance there is as large as ever, despite the industrious efforts of some of our newspapers to create an impression to the contrary. The possibility of Thomas being ‘run out’ by such an enterprise as Gilmore’s monstrosity does not deserve serious consideration. It is conceded that by far the largest portion of the audience at the Central Park Garden is now composed of people who come to hear the music. These persons are not likely to be enticed away by the strains of a brass band, or the theatrical splendors of a cascade of ‘real water’ I don’t know how many feet in height. Besides, on the ground of mere comfort, most people prefer a cool resort in which to pass a summer evening. Now there are certain corners, known to those who frequent the Thomas Garden, where, in the warmest weather, there is always a cool breeze. If there is any such spot in the Hippodrome I have never found it. In moderate weather the vast enclosure is warm; in hot weather it is unbearable. So much for the relative advantages of the so called rival institutions. That the Gilmore concerts should draw well is not surprising. They are patronized by thousands every evening and, as the music is not of a character to ‘interrompt ze general conversation,’ it is to be hoped that certain garrulous patrons of the Thomas concerts will betake themselves thither. I am sure that Thomas would gladly be rid of them, for not a week passes without some scathing rebuke from him to these ill bred and ignorant people who keep up a continual buzzing during the performance of the music, to the annoyance of all decent folk. These animals can roam at large over nine tenths of the area of the Garden giving offence to no one, but there is a little space in the hall directly in front of the orchestra, and there the disciples of music usually assemble. For hearing, it is the worst place in the building, the disciple knows this, but meekly accepts the situation, as though he should say: ‘Take the greater part of the hall; take the best seats; take the best position for hearing, even though you will not listen; only I pray you, leave me this little corner where I can listen and be at peace.’

The little band of listeners is assembled, hushed and attentive. The music begins. Then straight to the sacred spot comes the talker, accompanied by the female of his species. They select the seats farthest from the aisle, so as to oblige the greatest number of people to make way for them, and, being snugly ensconced where they can do the most harm, they sit during the remainder of the evening and ‘feebly fabulate and paddle about in the social slush’ with infinite complacency.

The orchestra is playing the Andante to Schubert’s Symphony in C.—a wonderful landscape lies before us in light and shade and dorèe violet hues. Is it so far, so far away? or only dim through the mist of many tears? A sharp, quick grief is tugging at the violins. A sustained chord rolls away and dies like a sob, and then—‘We fry ours in butter!’

Sic transit Gloria!

Now, after allowing the talkers more space than they deserve, let me give a list of the pieces played on Thursday evenings since I last wrote. [See individual concerts for May 27, June 3, 10, and 17]

Mr. Dudley Buck is now acting as assistant conductor at the garden concerts. This gentleman is well known as a distinguished musician and an excellent composer, while his manner of conducting an orchestra is in every respect satisfactory, and meets with great favor.”