have lived, probably not more than six or eight have attained to an absolutely classic rank.  These few are not in relations with any temporary taste; their music might have been written to-day or a century ago, and it will be as fresh a century hence.  No one of the arts has had fewer great masters.  A new composer, therefore, has a right to claim our attention.  If, perchance, we discover that he has the gift of genius, and is not merely a clever imitator, we cannot rejoice too much.

The work to which we allude is the opera “Omano,”—­the libretto in Italian by Signor Manetta, the music by Mr. L. H. Southard.  We shall not stop now to consider the question, whether American Art is to be benefited by the production of operas in the Italian tongue; it is enough to say, that, until we have native singers capable of rendering a great dramatic work, singers who can give us in English the effects which Grisi, Badiali, Mario, and Alboni produce in their own language, we must be content with the existing state of things, and allow our composers to write for those artists who can do justice to their conceptions.  We hope to live to hear operas in English; but meanwhile we must have music, and, at present, the Italian stage is the only common ground.

Mr. Southard’s opera is founded upon Beckford’s Oriental tale, “Vathek,” with such alterations as are necessary to adapt it for representation.  We are told that the plot is full of dramatic situations, full of human interest, and that its scenes appeal to all the faculties, ranging through comedy, ballet, and melodrama, and leading to the awful Hall of Eblis at last.  The principal characters are the Caliph Omano, baritone; Carathis, his mother, mezzo soprano; Hinda, a slave in his harem, soprano; Rustam, her lover, tenor; and Albatros, basso, a Mephistophelean spirit who tempts the Caliph on to his destruction.  Selections were made from this opera, and were performed by resident artists, without the aid of stage effects or orchestral accompaniments.  Only the music was given, with as much of the harmony as could be played on the grand piano by one pair of hands.  There could be no severer test than this.  The music is generally Italian in form, especially in the flowing grace of the cantabile passages, and in the working up of the climaxes.  But we did not hear one of the stereotyped Italian cadenzas, nor did we fall into old ruts in following the harmonic progressions.  The orchestral figures—­the framework on which the melodies are supported—­are new, ingenious, and beautiful.  The duets, quartette, and quintette show great command of resources and the utmost skill in construction; we can hardly remember any concerted pieces in the modern opera where the “working up” is more satisfactory, or the effect more brilliant.  How far the music exhibits an absolutely original vein of melody, it is perhaps premature to say.  No composer has ever been free at first from the influence