"The Sunday-night concert at the Boston Theatre last evening was made memorable by the introduction to the Boston public of Señor Joseph White, the Cuban violinist.... The musical fraternity, however, was very fully represented, the musicians knowing something of what was in store for the evening. But not even they were prepared for the wonderful and delightful playing of Señor White.... The first of his work last night was something of a disappointment. There appeared to be a deficiency of tone, owing, as it seemed, to the use of an instrument not loud enough for so large an auditorium. But it was soon evident that the selection of such an instrument was in accordance with the style and taste of the artist. Possessing the most perfect ease and freedom in his command of the resources of the violin, with a fine breadth of style, and an evidently strong and quick sensibility, yet he did not aim to produce his effects on a large scale of tone. He seemed to desire to confine his exhibition of the violin to the range where its fineness and sweetness, rather than its power, may be illustrated, and to check himself inside of the limit where a coarse, scratchy body of tone is obtained at the expense of purity and delicacy. His bow, though 'dividing the strings with fire,' seemed never to touch them. The direction or the position of its stroke, whether up or down, at the beginning or at the end of it, could never be told from any changes in the quality of the sound extracted. The tone flowed as though after the keen incisions of a knife-blade, not as if scraped out by the friction of horse-hair upon catgut. When to this delicious quality of tone was added an exhibition of the most perfect technique, the triumph of the virtuoso was complete. The mysterious flowing softness and smoothness of tone was carried with unflagging facility through the most rapid and difficult chord and harmonic playing; and this, with other wonderful feats of bowing, added new and bewitching charms to the diablerie of violin variations. The reception of the artist was cordial at the outset; but at the close of the first performance, a 'Ballade et Polonaise' by Vieuxtemps, the enthusiasm was overwhelming. In response to the encore, Señor White played a 'Styrienne' of his own arrangement; and this was followed by two more stormy recalls, the audience refusing to be quieted until he had again gratified them, this time with the 'Carnival of Venice,' arranged by himself in an elegant transcription of the familiar commonplace variations. At the conclusion of his second number, Bach's 'Chaconne,' a famous and difficult violin solo, which was played, and interpreted as well, in a most masterly manner, the applause was again equally enthusiastic, notwithstanding the character of the selection; and for an encore the scholarly artist responded with a finely intelligent and daintily clean-cut rendering of a gavotte by Bach. The tumultuous recalls that followed this would be satisfied with nothing less than another performance; and Señor White gave a rich and pleasing arrangement of his own upon a popular air from 'Sonnambula.' With these two 'double encores,' amid such excitement as is rarely witnessed at a concert, Señor White may well add Boston to the other American cities that have 'adopted' him."

And here, for the present, we will take leave of our great violinist.

It is not probable that he obtained, while in this country, a very great pecuniary success; and, from what has been heretofore stated in regard to his characteristics, this will not seem strange. White was not a showman. He has ever been too purely, too entirely devoted to his chosen art to admit of his using the means generally employed by the mere money-seeking musician,—means which seem so out of keeping with those finer aspirations which a contemplation and practice of the noble art of music are expected to promote, and the use of which, detracting as it does from his dignity, lessens the respect, the admiration, which people of culture would fain feel for the gifted performer.

A few months ago our artist sailed for Paris, the scene of his earliest triumphs. He has gone from our shores with his brow laden with new laurels, all honestly won; and he leaves behind an admiring multitude of musical people who will ever watch with deepest interest his future career, and fondly wish for his speedy return. Therefore we do not say to him "Adieu!" but "Au revoir!"

XVIII.

THE COLORED AMERICAN OPERA
COMPANY.

"Who, as they sang, would take the prisoned soul,
And lap it in Elysium."
Milton.