'Madame BLANCHARD, who ascended the other night in a balloon, has not been heard from! Oh!' replied LUTTERELL, 'on the instant,' she was probably handed out by ENOCH and ELIJAH! We don't know how it may impress the reader; but this celestial translation' by oxygen gas strikes us as bordering on the amusing, somewhat... THAT patriotic Yankee is doubtless remembered by the reader, who while at Naples said, in reply to the complimentary' remark of an Italian touching 'the great and ever-burning Vesuvius,' 'Oh, git eöut with your all-fire'-d mounting!-we've got the Catrack o' Niag'ra to-home, that'd put it out in ten minutes!' A kindred American traveller not a great while since addressed MONT BLANC with a familiar indifference quite as 'cool' as this:

'How de du, MONT BLANC? I vow I'm glad to meet ye;
A thund'rin' grist o' miles I've come to greet ye!
I'm from America, where we've got a fountain
Niagara it's called, where you might lave

Your mighty phiz; then you could shirt and shave
In old Kentucky- -in our Mammoth Cave;

Or take a snooze, when you're in want of rest,

On our big prairies in the far 'Far West;'

Or, when you 're dry, might cool your heated liver

By sipping up the Mississippi river.

As for companions, should you wish for any,

Why, we've the KAATSKILL and the ALLEGHANY :

You may accept them with impunity;

They both stand high in our community.

Give us a call. You'd almost step from hence;

Our folks all long to see Your Eminence.

Come over, BLANC!-don't make the least ado;

Bring Madame JURA with you, and the little glaciers too!"

WE wish that there was an ADDISON OF STEELE among us, to show up those ambitious or ostentatious persons who speak 'great swelling words' in public places; who talk loud of things which should only be mentioned in private or in a whisper. "The Spectator' had the ill fortune, at the theatre where he went to witness the performance of Macbeth,' to sit near a lady whom he found, by the noise she made, to be newly returned from France. A little before the rising of the curtain, she broke out into a loud soliloquy: When will the dear witches come in?' - and immediately upon their first appearance, asked a lady who sat some three boxes from her, on the right hand, if those witches were not charming creatures?' — and immediately after, when the dramatic hero of the night was in one of the finest scenes of the play, she shook her fan at another lady, who sat as far on the left hand, and told her, in a whisper that might have been heard all over the pit, 'We must not expect to see Sir—at this hour, to-night.' We never see any such vulgarity as this in the boxes of the Park-Theatre! Oh, no; by no means! . . . We have before encountered somewhere the main incidents in the story of 'A Yankee Horse-Swapper in Old Kentucky. The Kentuckian, 'ready for a trade,' exchanges his sorrel' for the pedlar's Old Gray;' but finding the latter indisposed to move a peg, after he has secured him, he denounces the Yankee for a swindler, who only laughs at and tantalizes him in return. Presently the 'cute peddler mounts his prize, but 'Sorrel' is as immoveable as the Mammoth-Cave. After trying a long time in vain to start the obstinate animal, the Kentuckian consoles him with: Straänger, you kin start him if you'll only bring some shavin's and kindle a fire under him! That's the way I get him going, mornings!' The affair was brought to a close by a game of 'Old Sledge' to see who should take both of the vicious brutes from off the other's hands.

'LET the multitude hear the Italian Opera, and the republic of Taste is safe. The vulgar performances of a RUSSELL, a DEMPSTER, and the HUTCHINSON family, not to speak of the scarcely less vulgar tribe of Ethiopians,' will no longer meet with popular favor, but will be obliged to seek it among the less intelligent.'

THUS writes the professional musical pedant of our pleasant contemporary, ‘The Evening Gazette' daily paper. To say nothing of classing Mr. DEMPSTER with RUSSELL, whose voice is like the tearing of a strong rag; or with the HUTCHINSONS, whose role is so monotonous and limited; or with the Ethiopians,' whose style and range are so entirely unique; it may not be amiss to speak a few words of Mr. DEMPSTER'S success abroad, now that he has returned once more among us, in full voice, and with new stores of entertainment for his numerous friends. Mr. Dempster, after leaving this his adopted country, first visited his native land of Scotland, in many of the chief cities and towns of which he gave musical entertainments to large and enthusiastic audiences. His success in London was not less striking; and, as in Scotland, the tributes of the public press were awarded to him with an unstinted hand. We have before us numerous Scottish newspapers, and no less than a dozen of the first journals of the British metropolis, in which Mr. DEMPSTER's merits as a composer and as a vocalist are elaborately set forth and cordially commended. We select from these the remarks of the London 'New Monthly Belle Assemblée,' (which is under royal patronage, and may be supposed to render 'court authority' for its criticisms,) because, like MARY HOWITT's kindred comments, they set forth our own views, which are somewhat different from those of the scientific dogmatist whom we have quoted:

Ir is pleasant to note how much the intellectual character of popular concerts has advanced of late years. Instead of vapid sentimental songs, and long florid Italian scenas, which were probably unintelligible to one-half the audience, we find good music married to the strains of some of our best poets, whose words are clearly enunciated, without redundant fioriture to mar the simplicity of the ballad style. Vocal music ought to be the expression of the feelings in poetry enhanced by melody, neither being made subservient to the other; and therefore it is that we are glad to see our best composers choosing really fine poetry to embody in their music, as our poets are seeking to illustrate their conceptions by equally high art. Mr. DEMPSTER has followed out this theory in his Ballad Soi rées, and successfully too. Every song he sung was a vocal poem, in which the fine feeling of the composer added to the charm of the verse.'

The critic here goes into a review in detail of several of Mr. DEMPSTER's most popular pieces. MARY HOWITT'S 'Dying Child,' one of his new compositions, is pronounced extremely effective and very beautiful, while those which are more familiar on this side of the Atlantic, are warmly commended. The review concludes with: 'Mr. DEMPSTER, as a vocalist, is unaffected and pleasing in style; his intonation is clear, and his enunciation most distinct. His crowning effort was his own cantata, 'The May-Queen.' No eyes, surely no true woman's eyes, could be free from tears, while listening to TENNYSON's exquisite poem, clothed in music worthy of it. It was most lovely, and charmingly Mr. DEMPSTER sang it. With this he took leave of his audience, not one of whom but must have felt that it left a spell behind. It is an honor to any man only to be the composer of The May-Queen.' Apropos of this touching melody: When Mr. DEMPSTER first arrived in London, TENNYSON came to town expressly to hear it. When the second part was performed, the poet raised his handkerchief to his eyes, with the remark: Why, Sir, you have made me weep! I did not know there was so much feeling in that poem before!' It is to be lamented, perhaps, that TENNYSON had not been told that it was a 'vulgar' performance. It might have made it bad' for the composer and singer! We are soon to have Mr. DEMPSTER in town, when he will treat us to attractive musical things new and old.' He has been singing in Salem and Boston recently to crowded and admiring au

diences.... Powers's Statue of the Greek Slave' is a work of art to be enjoyed, to be felt, but not to be described. It must be seen, to be appreciated.' We wish others to enjoy what we have enjoyed; and here, evidently, is one correspondent who has had that pleasure :'

September, 1847.

'THE GREEK SLAVE.

'NAKED, yet clothed with chastity, SHE stands;
And as a shield throws back the sun's hot rays,
Her modest mien repels each vulgar gaze.
Her inborn purity of soul demands

Freedom from touch of sacrilegious hands,

And homage of pure thoughts. Call her not Slave;
Her soul commands what servitude would crave,

Nor feels the pressure of those iron bands
Clasping her limbs. O! god-like power of Art!-
Beneath whose touch the spirit's inward strife
Reveals itself-even as earth's tides obey
The influence of the moon, so dost thou sway
The deep and passionate waters of the heart,
For the unconscious marble throbs with life!'

R. B. CA

'LADIES and gentlemen,' that tells the story; it satisfies the sentiment. By the by, it may not be amiss to remark in passing, that it was this identical 'Greek Slave' concerning which the ensuing colloquy took place between the sculptor himself and a successful Yankee speculator, who had come over to see Ew-rope.' Scene, POWERS's studio at Florence: Enter Stranger, spitting, and wiping his lips with his hand: Be yeöu Mr. PEÖWERS, the Skulpture?' I am a sculptor, and my name is POWERS.' 'Y-e-a-s; well, I s'pected so; they tell'd me yeöu was-y-e-ä-s. Look here-drivin' a pretty stiff business, eh?" 'Sir!' 'I say, plenty to du, eh? What d's one o' them fetch ?' Sir!' 'I ask't ye what's the price of one o' them sech as yeöu 're peckin' at neöw.' 'I am to have three thousand dollars for this when it is completed.' 'W-h-a-t!!-heöw much? Three thousand dollars.' 'T-h-r-e-e t-h-e-o-u-s-a-n-d d-o-l-l-a-r-s! Han't statewary riz lately? I was cal'latin' to purchase some; but it's tew high. How's paintin's? 'Guess I must git some paintin's. T-h-r-e-e t-h-e-ö-u-s-a-n-d d-o-l-l-a-r-s! Well, it is a trade, skulpin' is; that's sartain. What do they make yeöu pay for your tools and stuff? S'pect my oldest boy, CEPHAS, could skulp; 'fact, I know he could. He is always whittlin' reöund, and cuttin' away at things. I wish you 'd 'gree to take him as a 'prentice, and let him go at it full chisel. D' you know where I'd be liable to put him eöut? He'd cut stun a'ter a while with the best of ye; he would — and he 'd make money, tew, at them prices. T-h-r-e-e t-h-e-o-u-s-a-n-d d-o-l-l-a-r-s!" And the anxious inquirer' left the presence. ONE of the penalties imposed upon those whose social education has been neglected, but whose wealth has purchased them such a position in metropolitan circles as mere money can command, is the ridicule which must attach to all their efforts to attain the nonchalance and self-possession indispensable to well-bred persons. An eternal forethought, like a sentinel on guard,' is on the qui vive for every word and motion; the danger is of a surprise, either from their own lips or other people's, making their commonest appearance in society a severe mental effort. This laborious preoccupation, however, has its effect on countenance and figure. It stiffens the most natural faces, and makes rigid the most pliable and graceful figures. The envy and rivalry of such ambitions scratch the face like the claws of a cat; for inward thought is the sculptor of the face, and spite of all the affectation in the world, represents upon the outside the thoughts that are habitual within.' THERE was a personage who made, when we did, the tour of the

'LET the multitude hear the Italian Opera, and the republic of Taste is safe. The vulgar performances of a RUSSELL, a DEMPSTER, and the HUTCHINSON family, not to speak of the scarcely less vulgar tribe of Ethiopians,' will no longer meet with popular favor, but will be obliged to seek it among the less intelligent.'

THUS writes the professional musical pedant of our pleasant contemporary, 'The Evening Gazette' daily paper. To say nothing of classing Mr. DEMPSTER with RUSSELL, whose voice is like the tearing of a strong rag; or with the HUTCHINSONS, whose rôle is so monotonous and limited; or with the Ethiopians,' whose style and range are so entirely unique; it may not be amiss to speak a few words of Mr. DEMPSTER'S Success abroad, now that he has returned once more among us, in full voice, and with new stores of entertainment for his numerous friends. Mr. Dempster, after leaving this his adopted country, first visited his native land of Scotland, in many of the chief cities and towns of which he gave musical entertainments to large and enthusiastic audiences. His success in London was not less striking; and, as in Scotland, the tributes of the public press were awarded to him with an unstinted hand. We have before us numerous Scottish newspapers, and no less than a dozen of the first journals of the British metropolis, in which Mr. DEMPSTER's merits as a composer and as a vocalist are elaborately set forth and cordially commended. We select from these the remarks of the London 'New Monthly Belle Assemblée,'(which is under royal patronage, and may be supposed to render 'court authority' for its criticisms,) because, like MARY HOWITT's kindred comments, they set forth our own views, which are somewhat different from those of the scientific dogmatist whom we have quoted:

'It is pleasant to note how much the intellectual character of popular concerts has advanced of late years. Instead of vapid sentimental songs, and long florid Italian scenas, which were probably unintelligible to one-half the audience, we find good music married to the strains of some of our best poets, whose words are clearly enunciated, without redundant fioriture to mar the simplicity of the ballad style. Vocal music ought to be the expression of the feelings in poetry enhanced by melody, neither being made subservient to the other; and therefore it is that we are glad to see our best composers choosing really fine poetry to embody in their music, as our poets are seeking to illustrate their conceptions by equally high art. Mr. DEMPSTER has followed out this theory in his Ballad Soi rées, and successfully too. Every song he sung was a vocal poem, in which the fine feeling of the composer added to the charm of the verse.'

The critic here goes into a review in detail of several of Mr. DEMPSTER's most popular pieces. MARY HOWITT'S 'Dying Child,' one of his new compositions, is pronounced extremely effective and very beautiful, while those which are more familiar on this side of the Atlantic, are warmly commended. The review concludes with: Mr. DEMPSTER, as a vocalist, is unaffected and pleasing in style; his intonation is clear, and his enunciation most distinct. His crowning effort was his own cantata, 'The May-Queen' No eyes, surely no true woman's eyes, could be free from tears, while listening to TENNYSON's exquisite poem, clothed in music worthy of it. It was most lovely, and charmingly Mr. DEMPSTER sang it. With this he took leave of his audience, not one of whom but must have felt that it left a spell behind. It is an honor to any man only to be the composer of The May-Queen.' Apropos of this touching melody: When Mr. DEMPSTER first arrived in London, TENNYSON came to town expressly to hear it. When the second part was performed, the poet raised his handkerchief to his eyes, with the remark: Why, Sir, you have made me weep! I did not know there was so much feeling in that poem before!' It is to be lamented, perhaps, that TENNYSON had not been told that it was a 'vulgar' performance. It might have made it bad' for the composer and singer! We are soon to have Mr. DEMPSTER in town, when he will treat us to attractive musical things new and old.' He has been singing in Salem and Boston recently to crowded and admiring au

diences..

Powers's Statue of the Greek Slave' is a work of art to be enjoyed, to be felt, but not to be described. It must be seen, to be appreciated.' We wish others to enjoy what we have enjoyed; and here, evidently, is one correspondent who has had that pleasure:'

September, 1847.

THE GREEK SLAVE.

'NAKED, yet clothed with chastity, SHE stands;
And as a shield throws back the sun's hot rays,
Her modest mien repels each vulgar gaze.
Her inborn purity of soul demands

Freedom from touch of sacrilegious hands,

And homage of pure thoughts. Call her not Slave;
Her soul commands what servitude would crave,

Nor feels the pressure of those iron bands
Clasping her limbs. O god-like power of Art!-
Beneath whose touch the spirit's inward strife
Reveals itself-even as earth's tides obey
The influence of the moon, so dost thou sway
The deep and passionate waters of the heart,
For the unconscious marble throbs with life!'

'LADIES and gentlemen,' that tells the story; it satisfies the sentiment. By the by, it may not be amiss to remark in passing, that it was this identical 'Greek Slave' concerning which the ensuing colloquy took place between the sculptor himself and a successful Yankee speculator, who had come over to see Ew-rope.' Scene, POWERS's studio at Florence: Enter Stranger, spitting, and wiping his lips with his hand: Be yeöu Mr. PEÖWERS, the Skulpture?' 'I am a sculptor, and my name is POWERS.' 'Y-e-a-s; well, I s'pected so; they tell'd me yeöu was-y-6-ä-s. Look here-drivin' a pretty stiff business, eh?' 'Sir!' 'I say, plenty to du, eh? What d's one o' them fetch ?' Sir!' I ask't ye what's the price of one o' them sech as yeöu 're peckin' at neöw.' 'I am to have three thousand dollars for this when it is completed.' 'W-h-a-t!!-heöw much?' Three thousand dollars.' 'T-h-r-e-e t-h-e-o-u-s-a-n-d d-o-l-l-a-r-s! Han't statewary riz lately? I was cal'latin' to purchase some; but it's tew high. How's paintin's? 'Guess I must git some paintin's. T-h-r-e-e t-h-e-ö-u-s-a-n-d d-o-l-l-a-r-s! Well, it is a trade, skulpin' is; that's sartain. What do they make yeöu pay for your tools and stuff? S'pect my oldest boy, CEPHAS, could skulp; 'fact, I know he could. He is always whittlin' reöund, and cuttin' away at things. I wish you 'd 'gree to take him as a 'prentice, and let him go at it full chisel. D' you know where I'd be liable to put him eöut? He'd cut stun a'ter a while with the best of ye; he would — and he 'd make money, tew, at them prices. T-h-r-e-e t-h-e-ö-u-s-a-n-d d-o-l-l-a-r-s!' And the anxious inquirer' left the presence. ONE of the penalties imposed upon those whose

social education has been neglected, but whose wealth has purchased them such a position in metropolitan circles as mere money can command, is the ridicule which must attach to all their efforts to attain the nonchalance and self-possession indispensable to well-bred persons. An eternal forethought, like a sentinel on guard,' is on the qui vive for every word and motion; the danger is of a surprise, either from their own lips or other people's, making their commonest appearance in society a severe mental effort. This laborious preoccupation, however, has its effect on countenance and figure. It stiffens the most natural faces, and makes rigid the most pliable and graceful figures. The envy and rivalry of such ambitions scratch the face like the claws of a cat; for inward thought is the sculptor of the face, and spite of all the affectation in the world, represents upon the outside the thoughts that are habitual within.' ・ ・ ・ THERE was a personage who made, when we did, the tour of the