German philosophy, however, resembles Italian Opera in one particular: it consists more of sound than of sense. Both have a like effect upon the undersigned, in that they lead him into the paths of innocence and peace; in short, they put him to sleep. A few nights since he went to hear Miss KELLOGG in _Poliuto_. He listened with attention through the first act, drowsily through the second, and from the shades of dreamland in the third. Between the acts he lounged in the lobbies and heard the critics speak with sneering derision of the complimentary notices of the American Nightingale which they were about to write, while they expressed, with sardonic smiles, a longing for the day when they would be "allowed"--such was their singular expression--to "speak the truth about Miss KELLOGG as a prima donna." And while he sat with closed eyes during the third act, wondering whether he should believe the critics in the flesh, or their criticisms in the columns of their respective journals, he saw rehearsed before him a new operatic perversion of MACBETH, as unlike the original as even VERDI'S MACBETTO, and quite as inexplicable to the unsophisticated mind. And this is what he saw: _Scene, the Dark Cave in fourteenth street. In the middle a Cauldron boiling. Thunder--and probably small beer--behind the scenes. Enter three Witches._ _1st Witch_. Thrice the Thomas cat hath yowled. _2d Witch_. Thrice; and once the hedge-hog howled. _3d Witch_. All of which is wholly irrelevant to our present purpose, which is to summon what my friend Sir BULWER LYTTON would call the Scin-Laeca, or, apparition of each living critic from the nasty deep of the cauldron, and to interview him in order to hear what he really thinks of Miss KELLOGG. _lst Witch_ "Round about the cauldron go, In the poisoned whiskey throw Lager, that on coldest stone, Days and nights hast thirty one." _Enter_ MACSTRAKOSCH. "How now, you secret black and midnight hags, what is't you do?" _All_ "A deed that under present circumstances it would be superfluous to name." _MacStrakosch_. "I conjure you by that which you profess, (how'er you come to know it,) answer me to what I ask you." _lst Witch_. "Speak." _2d Witch_. "Proceed." _3d Witch_. "Out with it, old boy." _MacStrakosch_. "What do these fellows really think, whom we compel to write so sweetly of our own Connecticut _prima donna_?" _All_ "Come high or low, come jack or even game, We'll answer all your questions just the same." _Thunder. An apparition of a critic rises._ _MacStrakosch_. "Tell me, thou unknown power, what thinkest thou Of our own native nightingale?" _Apparition_. "Her voice is clear and bright, but far too thin For a great singer.--Such in truth she's not. Dismiss me!" (_Descends_.) _MacStrakosch_. "Dismissed thou shalt be if thy editor Will listen to our singer's and MAECENAS' plaint. But one word more." _Thunder. Second apparition of a critic rises. Apparition_.