Arthur Nikisch once noted that players of the bassoon were more sensitive than the other members of his orchestra; he found them subject to quick fits of temper, and intolerant of criticism. He attributed this to the delicate mechanism of the instrument which required the nicest apportionment of breath. Clarinet players, he discovered, were less sensitive. One could joke with them in reason; while horn players were as tractable as Newfoundland dogs!--A case of a sensitive pianist comes to mind, brought to bay by as rude an audience as I can recall. Mr. Paderewski was playing Beethoven’s C sharp minor sonata at one of these morning musicales arranged at the smart hotels so that the very rich may see more intimately the well-known artists of the concert and opera stage, when some women started to go out. In his following number, Couperin’s _La Bandoline_, the interruption became intolerable and he stopped playing. “Those who do not wish to hear me will kindly leave the room immediately,” he said, “and those who wish to remain will kindly take their seats.” The outflow continued, while those who remained seated began to hiss. “I am astonished to find people in New York leaving while an artist is playing,” the pianist added. Then some one started to applaud; the applause deepened, and finally Mr. Paderewski consented to play again and took his place on the bench before his instrument. The incident was the result of the pianist’s well-known aversion to appearing in conjunction with other artists. He had finally agreed to do so on this occasion provided he would be allowed to play after the others had concluded their performances. There had been many recalls for the singer and violinist who preceded him and it was well after one o’clock (the concert had begun at eleven) before he walked on the platform. Now one o’clock is a very late hour at a fashionable morning musicale. Some of those present were doubtless hungry; others, perhaps, had trains to catch; while there must have been a goodly number who had heard all the music they wanted to hear that morning. There was a very pretty ending to the incident. Once he had begun, Mr. Paderewski played for an hour and twenty minutes, and the faithful ones, who had remained seated, applauded so much when he finally rose from the bench, even after he had added several numbers to the printed programme, that the echoes of the clapping hands accompanied him to his motor. I have reserved for the last a description of a concert given at the Dal Verme Theatre in Milan by the Italian Futurists. The account is culled from the “Corriere della Sera” of that city, and the translation is that which appeared in “International Music and Drama”: “At the Dal Verme a Futurist concert of ‘intonarumori’ was to be held last night, but instead of this there was an uproarious din intoned both by the public and the Futurists which ended in a free-for-all fight.