P EOPLE are growing more and more inclined to yawn at those unhuman creatures in pink tights that, with a superlative skill acquired by life-long practice, perform balancing feats which are entirely inane and uninteresting. These unfortunate folk have devoted their lives to diverting the public, gauging the course of their activities naturally and necessarily by the amount of applause which each turn receives. But the public, once delighted and thrilled, has become sophisticated; it ceases to be fooled by the pretense of danger and difficulty, and turns away, bored. Hence, the acrobatic acts are now termed, in the lingo of continuous vaudeville, chasers; they are used to discourage tight sitters, and clear the seats for new comers. So, the victims of a whim find their life-work suddenly become imbecilic, with nothing to show for their arduous and wearisome training but unnatural and cumbersome muscles. In that more pretentious world of the concert-halls, which maintains a more hushed and dignified sense of its own importance, there are acrobats, too, acrobats of the piano and violin, with a remarkable skill acquired in exactly the same manner, but the magic spell of culture calls them virtuosi, and their skill, technique, with the help of which distinguished passwords the same human need for diversion goes under the name of high art. The most essential difference between the two forms of entertainment is that the one public is disillusioned as to the tricks, and looks elsewhere for something not so entirely devoid of sense as skill for skill's sake, while the other public flocks to the lure of billboards and world renown, pays enormous sums, and beholds, in puerile wonderment and delight, feats which dazzle, and leave in their wake little more than a tingle of stupefaction. This public, which we know so well, seems highly satisfied with that contemptible institution, the concertowith rare exceptions, a mere show case, wherein the soloist may spread forth his technical jewels baldly on black velvet, to be appraised by the connoissueurs. It cares little for a magnificent orchestra, but mainly for the soloist who tries to outdo them in what might be called the birth-struggle between a sonata and a