I have lately heard one of the most perfectly beautiful creations that ever emanated from the soul of genius—­the opera of Fidelio.  I have caught faint glimpses of that rich world of fancy and feeling, to which music is the golden door.  Surrendering myself to the grasp of Beethoven’s powerful conception, I read in sounds far more expressive than words, the almost despairing agony of the strong-hearted, but still tender and womanly Fidelio—­the ecstatic joy of the wasted prisoner, when he rose from his hard couch in the dungeon, seeming to fuel, in his maniac brain, the presentiment of a bright being who would come to unbind his chains—­and. the sobbing and wailing, almost-human, which came from the orchestra, when they dug his grave, by the dim lantern’s light.  When it was done, the murderer stole into the dungeon, to gloat on the agonies of his victim, ere he gave the death-blow.  Then, while the prisoner is waked to reason by that sight, and Fidelio throws herself before the uplifted dagger, rescuing her husband with the courage which love gives to a woman’s heart, the storm of feeling which has been gathering in the music, swells to a height beyond which it seemed impossible for the soul to pass.  My nerves were thrilled till I could bear no more.  A mist seemed to come before my eyes and I scarcely knew what followed, till the rescued kneeled together and poured forth in the closing hymn the painful fullness of their joy.  I dreaded the sound of voices after the close, and the walk home amid the harsh rattling of vehicles on the rough streets.  For days afterwards my brain was filled with a mingled and confused sense of melody, like the half-remembered music of a dream.

Why should such magnificent creations of art be denied the new world?  There is certainly enthusiasm and refinement of feeling enough at home to appreciate them, were the proper direction given to the popular taste.  What country possesses more advantages to foster the growth of such an art, than ours?  Why should not the composer gain mighty conceptions from the grandeur of our mountain scenery, from the howling of the storm through our giant forests, from the eternal thunder of Niagara?  All these collateral influences, which more or less tend to the development and expansion of genius, are characteristics of our country; and a taste for musical compositions of a refined and lofty character, would soon give birth to creators.

Fortunately for our country, this missing star in the crown of her growing glory, will probably soon be replaced.  Richard S. Willis, with whom we have lived in delightful companionship, since coming here, has been for more than two years studying and preparing himself for the higher branches of composition.  The musical talent he displayed while at college, and the success following the publication of a set of beautiful waltzes he there composed, led him to choose this most difficult but lofty path; the result justifies his early promise and gives the most sanguine