This is the third and final instalment in Hugh Wolff's survey of the six ''Paris'' Symphonies with the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra. And its virtues make me regret once again that Teldec have shot themselves in the foot by offering only two symphonies per full-price disc, making the complete set a very pricey proposition. As with previous issues in the series the playing of the 30-strong orchestra, using modem instruments, is supple and alert, with spruce rhythms and generally well-gauged tempos. The splendid opening movement of No. 82 has a fine drive, with a powerful reach to the development and some deft, shapely woodwind playing—and if the added touch of flute imitation in the recapitulation (6'54'') may offend purists, it would certainly have delighted Sir Thomas Beecham. Wolff brings an engaging rhythmic lift and a touch of pawky humour to the Allegretto, even if there is a hint of haste in the stormy F minor episode. I enjoyed the witty re-phrasings (and the harpsichord embellishments) in the repeats of the minuet, taken at quite a lively tempo—though not everyone will like the lengthy pauses between the minuet and trio sections. The finale, whose opening hurdy-gurdy imitations evoked a dancing bear to contemporary listeners, is fast and fierce, a virtuoso performance but one that leaves little room for humour or geniality. Two general criticisms which will worry some more than others are the relative backwardness of the brass and timpani—especially noticeable alongside the two period-instrument versions listed above—and the lack of really soft playing, with next to no differentiation between piano and pianissimo. In the less consistently inspired No. 84 Wolff brings a sturdy rhythm and a strong sense of direction to the first movement (though the introduction is distinctly swift), and in the beautiful Andante variations combines breadth of phrase with a feeling for the music's dance associations. In the minuet he strikes an ideal tempo, sprightly yet gracious, midway between the pacey period-instrument practitioners and the unaccountably somnolent Dorati (Decca); and, again, Wolff brings new emphases to the repeats of the minuet after the trio. As in No. 82 the finale receives an unusually rapid, fiery reading, its wit stinging rather than sociable—exciting on its own terms though other performances (notably those by Dorati and Kuijken) find more grace—and deeper shadows—in the music. Of the comparisons listed above both the period-instrument versions, by Kuijken (Virgin) and Goodman (Hyperion), also offer No. 83. Goodman scores particularly with a stunning reading of No. 82, realizing more than any other performance on disc what H, C. Robbins Landon has called the ''aggressive, timpani-dominated hardness and excitement'' of the opening movement. Both are persuasive in No. 84, whose first movement, especially, benefits from the lighter articulation and airier textures of period instruments. Dorati's readings of Nos. 82 and 84, from his pioneering complete cycle, are split across two four-disc boxes, so in a sense comparisons are less relevant. Alone among the four conductors Dorati does not use a harpsichord continuo, and if the 1971 recordings are a touch boomy in the bass they still sound remarkably fresh, with considerably more brass impact than the new disc in No. 82. Generally Dorati takes a broader, more elegant view of the music than Wolff, and if his rather larger string band yields to the St Paul orchestra in finesse, his phrasing is often that much more subtle and detailed. Pressed to choose just one version of these symphonies on a single disc my vote would go, by a hair's breadth, to Goodman. But if Teldec were one day to reissue Wolff's vital performances of Nos. 82 and 84 together with his notably fine reading of No. 83 they would have a desirable offering both economically and artistically.'