As the sun was understood to be descending the Western horizon (in some rural locality that possesses a horizon,) last Monday afternoon, three horsemen--who had doubtless left their horses at a convenient stable,--might have been seen descending from a Third Avenue car. Before them stood the Rink, glittering with rows of lamps--the last rows--not of summer--but of the American Institute Fair. Passing these lines of Rinked brightness long drawn out, (SHAKESPEARE) the three dismounted horsemen entered the building and seated themselves. A mighty murmur of applause rose from the chorus, as BERGMANN stepped to the front and ordered his orchestral army to advance upon BEETHOVEN'S Sympony in C. This what they heard and saw: FIRST HORSEMAN. "What a noise they make tuning their fiddles When's this thing going to begin?" SECOND HORSEMAN. "Begin! Why, it has begun. This is BEETHOVEN'S Symphony in C." THIRD HOUSEMAN. "Don't you know the Symphony at Sea? It represents a storm, you know." YOUNG LADY FROM BOSTON. "How divinely beautiful! It ought to be played, however, by GILMORE'S Band. They do not understand classical music in New York." ACCOMPANYING FRIEND. "Hush. PAREPA is going to sing." There is a tremulous motion felt throughout the vast building. It is the approach of PAREPA, who skips lightly--like the little hills mentioned by the Psalmist--across the stage. She curtseys, and her skirts expand in vast ripples like the waves of a placid sea when some huge line-of-battle ship sinks suddenly from sight. She smiles a sweet and ample smile. She flirts her elegant fan, and gallant little CARL ROSA--who can lead an orchestra better than the weightiest German of them all--is swept swiftly away, whirling like a rose-leaf before the breath of the gentle zephyr. Then she sings. What is the grand orchestra compared with the exhaustless volume of her matchless voice! What the chorus of three thousand singers or the multitudinous pipes of the great organ! Far above chorus or orchestra or organ soar her clear notes, full, rich, ringing. Her voice, like her majestic presence, was made expressly for Boston Jubilees and BEETHOVEN Centennials. The former can fill the largest building the continent has ever seen; the latter--well, the latter is perceptible at quite a distance. The "_Inflammatus_" is sung, and sung again, and then the programmes rustle, as the audience looks to see who has the rashness to follow PAREPA the peerless. RURAL PERSON. "Now we're goin' to hear somethin' like. The New Jersey Harmonic Society is agoin' to sing 'When first I saw her face in 1616.' I don't like none of your operas. That 'inflammation' may be a big thing,' but give me some old-fashioned toon."