THE FINE ARTS.

The Opera.—Strange, that Philadelphia, with so much musical taste and cultivation, cannot have an Opera. Once in a while an Operatic troupe wanders along, and rests, for a short time, in our sober town, gives a few representations, then away it goes. Our neighbors of New York manage this thing better—an Opera they will have, even if they run in debt for it. And yet it seems that one, properly managed, might succeed in this concert-loving town of Penn. It must be a moderate one, however; that is, moderate in price. A serious old merchant, well to do in the world, will hesitate at taking even two tickets, at a dollar a-piece, but he would not mind taking a half dozen tickets if they cost only half that sum. The principle is the thing.

Brother Jonathan likes a show of economy, at least. Every politician in Congress, who wishes to be popular in Bunkum, invariably makes speeches against appropriations, mileage, &c., in order to prove that he is anxious to save Uncle Sam’s purse; but, at the same time, this same politician will have his pet appropriations, and not refuse his mileage either.

The small circle of fashionable people may subscribe and talk, but they can do little in this opera matter, without the support of the plain, unpretending portion of the inhabitants, who, after all, make up the audience, and bring in the money; and they have made up their minds to give only a moderate sum, and they will not give any more.

Then the Troupe must be a good one; or, if only a slender one, it must not attempt too much. The Seguins always drew well, because they only attempted Operettes and Vaudevilles. Not that the Philadelphians do not like a higher order of music, but they are fastidious, and know when a good Opera is badly given. They will not go to hear the rich, full music of Norma murdered by a poor Troupe, with worn-out voices, and meagre choruses. Whatever they listen to must be well sung.