The two scenes above recorded, are not _all_ that I saw from under my parasol, on that sunny morning. I passed the great bow-windows of the St. Nicholas--those favorite lounging-places for male guests, and other gentlemen, well pleased to criticise lady pedestrians, who, thanks to the inventor of parasols, can dodge their battery of glances at will. Not so, the gentlemen; who weary with travel and sight-seeing, unthinkingly fall asleep in those luxurious arm-chairs, in full view of the public, with their heels on the window-sill, their heads hanging on one side, and their wide-open mouths so suggestive of the----_snore_--that I fancy I hear. Heaven forgive these comical-looking sleepers the cachinatory sideaches they have often given me! Was there _ever_ any thing uglier than a man asleep? Single women who have traveled in railroad cars, need not be too modest to answer! One of the first things I noticed in New York, was the sharp, shrill, squeaking, unrefined, vixenish, _uneducated_ voices of its women. How inevitably such disenchanting discord, breaks the spell of beauty! Fair New Yorkers, keep your mouths _shut_, if you would conquer. By what magnetism has our mention of voices conjured up the form of Dr. LOWELL MASON? And yet, there he is, as majestic as Old Hundred--as popular--and apparently as indestructible by _Time_. I would like to see a pupil of his who does not love him. I defy any one to look at this noble, patriarchal chorister (as he leads the _congregational singing_ on the Sabbath, in Dr. Alexander’s church) with an unmoistened eye. How fitting his position--and oh! how befitting God’s temple, the praise of “_all_ the people.” Should some conquering hero, whose blood had been shed, free as water, for us and ours, revisit our shores, oh, who, as his triumphal chariot wheels rolled by, would _pass over to his neighbor for expression_ the tumultuous gratitude with which his own heart was swelling? That the mantle of the father should have fallen on the son, is not surprising; and they who have listened delightedly at Mr. William Mason’s “Musical Matinée’s” must bear witness how this inherited gift has been enriched by assiduous culture. Nature in giving him the ear and genius for a pianist, has also finished off his hands with such nicety, that, as they dart over the keys, they look to the observer like little snow-white scampering mice. Ah--here is Dr. Skinner! no misnomer that: but what a logician--what an orator! Not an unmeaning sentence--not a superfluous word--not an unpolished period escapes him. In these day of superficial, botched, evangelical apprentice-work, it is a treat to welcome a master workman. Thank Providence, _all_ the talent is not on the side of Beelzebub!