which I availed myself, and passed a great part of my time there. He always received me with kindness and hospitality. He was remarkably fond of punch, of which beverage I have seen him take copious draughts. He was also fond of billiards, and had an excellent billiard-table in his house. Many and many a game have I played with him, but always came off second best. He gave Sunday concerts, at which I was never missing. He was kind-hearted, and always ready to oblige; but so very particular when he played, that if the slightest noise were made he instantly left off."

Mozart's Marriage of Figaro was first produced at Vienna, and its reception was such as might be expected. Kelly was one of the original performers in it.

"It was allowed that never was opera stronger cast. I have seen it performed at different periods in other countries, and well too, but no more to compare with its original performance than light is to darkness. All the original performers had the advantage of the instruction of the composer, who transfused into their minds his inspired meaning. I never shall forget his little animated countenance, when lighted up with the glowing rays of genius; it is as impossible to describe it as it would be to paint sunbeams.

"I called on him one evening: he said to me, 'I have just finished a little duet for my opera-you shall hear it.' He sat down to the piano and we sang it. I was delighted with it, and the musical world will give me credit for being so, when I mention the duet sung by Count Almaviva and Susan, Crudel perche finora farmi languire cosi. A more delicious morceau never was penned by man, and it has often been a source of pleasure to me to have been the first who heard it, and to have sung it with its greatly gifted composer. I remember, at the first rehearsal of the full band, Mozart was on the stage, with his crimson pelisse and gold-laced cockedhat, giving the time of the music to the orchestra. Figaro's song, Non piu andrai, forfallone amoroso, Bennuci gave with the greatest animation and power of voice.

"I was standing close to Mozart, who, sotto voce, was repeating, 'Bravo! Bravo Bennuci ! and, when Bennuci came to the fine passage, Cherubino, allo vittoria, allo gloria militar, which he gave out with stentorian lungs, the effect was electricity itself for the whole of the performers on the stage, and those in the orchestra, as if actuated by one feeling of delight, vociferated, "Bravo! Bravo maestro! Viva! Viva grande

Mozart! Those in the orchestra I thought would never have ceased applauding, by beating the bows of their violins against the music desks. The little man acknowledged, by repeated obeisances, his thanks for the distinguished mark of enthusiastic applause bestowed upon him."

NEAPOLITAN LAZZARONI.

Kelly was at Naples during the memorable eruption of Mount Vesuvius, in 1779, and he relates a singular instance of priestly influence over the Lazzaroni, who demanded of the archbishop to give up their wooden patron saint, St. Januario, that they might place him near the volcano, in order to suppress it. The archbishop refused, and the Lazzaroni finding themselves disappointed, held a council, and Kelly saw them in an immense body march to Pausilippo, whither the king and queen had retired, determined to force the king to order the saint to be given up to them. The king appeared on the balcony to address them, but in vain; the queen also came forward, but without avail. The royal guard and a Swiss regiment were ordered to disperse them, but they were not to be intimidated, for neither entreaties nor menaces could divert them from their purpose. "The saint! the saint give us up our saint!" was the universal cry. Just as popular fury was at its height, a man appeared whom, the moment they saw, the wolves became lambs; the mob fell on their knees bare-headed and in total silence. He addressed them in the following conciliatory terms :—

"What do you come here for? Do ye want to disturb our saint, in his holy sanctuary, by moving him? Think ye that if St. Januario had chosen to have the mountain silent ere this, he would not have commanded it to be so? Hence ! to your homes, ye vagrants! away! be off! lest the saint, enraged at your infamous conduct, should order the earth to open and swallow you up."

This soothing speech, aided by a kick to one, and a knock on the head to another (fairly dealt to all within his reach), dispersed them without a single murmur! So that what the supplication of their sovereign, backed by the soldiery, could not effect, was accomplished by one man, armed, indeed, with superstition, but with nothing else!

This man was Father Rocco, well known to have possessed

the most unbounded power over the lower orders in Naples; of no saint in the calendar (St. Januario excepted) did they stand in such awe as of Father Rocco. He was a sensible, shrewd man, and used the power he possessed with great discretion. He was much in the confidence of Chevalier Acton, and the other ministers.

Previous to his time, assassinations were frequent at night in the streets, which were in utter darkness; the government dared not interfere to have them lighted, lest they should offend the Lazzaroni; but Father Rocco undertook to do it. Before each house in Naples there is a figure of a madonna, or some saint, and he had the address to persuade the inhabitants that it was a mortal sin to leave them in the dark.

TALLY HO! ON THE CONTINENT.

When Kelly was at Vienna an Italian of the name of Botterelli, who had married an Englishwoman, a singer at Vauxhall and Ranelagh, applied to him to get the emperor's patronage to a concert, which he obtained, and the house was crowded. Kelly relates:

"At the end of the first act the beauteous syren was led into the orchestra by her caro sposo,who placed himself just under the emperor's box, the orchestra being on the stage. She requested me to accompany her song on the pianoforte. I of course consented. Her air and manner spoke 'dignity and love.' The audience sat in mute and breathless expectation. The doubt was whether she would melt into their ears in a fine cantabile, or burst upon them with a brilliant bravura. I struck the chords of the symphony--silence reigned, when, to the dismay and astonishment of the brilliant audience, she bawled out, without feeling or remorse, voice or time, or indeed one note in tune, the hunting song of 'Tally-ho!' in all its pure originality. She continued shrieking out Tally-ho! tally-ho! in a manner and tone so loud and dissonant, that they were enough to blow off the roof of the house. The audience jumped up terrified; some shrieked with alarm, some hissed, others hooted, and many joined in the unknown yell, in order to propitiate her. The emperor called me to him, and asked me in Italian what Tally ho! meant. I replied I did not know, and literally, at that time, I did not. "His Majesty the Emperor finding that even I, a native of Great Britain, either could not, or would not, explain the

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purport of the mysterious words, retired with great indignation from the theatre; and the major part of the audience, convinced by his majesty's sudden retreat, that they contained some horrible meaning, followed the royal example. The ladies hid their faces with their fans, and mothers were heard in the lobbies cautioning their daughters on their way out, never to repeat the dreadful expression of 'Tally-ho!' nor venture to ask any of their friends for a translation of it."

BON MOT OF BANNISTER.

A person of the name of Bowden made his appearance at Covent Garden in Robin Hood, and was received with great applause. In the same box, with Madame Mara and Kelly, sat Charles Bannister, who had originally acted the same part of Robin Hood; a person next to him, who was vehemently applauding Bowden, had the bad taste to say to Bannister (purposely, as supposed, to mortify him), "Ay, ay, sir, Bowden is the true Robin Hood, the only Robin Hood;" on which Bannister replied, "Sir, he may be Robin Hood this year, but next season he will be robbing Harris" (of Covent Garden Theatre).

ARIOSTO.

Ariosto (the mad poet) one day passing a potter's shop in Ferrara, heard the owner singing a stanza of the Orlando Furioso. He listened, and found that the potter mangled it miserably, rendering a most beautiful passage rank nonsense. This so enraged the poet, that having a stick in his hand, he broke everything he could reach. When the poor devil of a potter remonstrated with him for destroying the property of a poor man who had never done him any injury, he replied: "'Tis false; you have done me injury; you have murdered my verses, and I have caught you in the fact." When pressed to pay the poor man for his property, his only answer was "Let him learn to sing my poetry, and I will let alone his pottery."

SHERIDAN'S INTENTIONAL, OR KELLY'S REAL, BULLS.

One of Mr. Sheridan's favourite amusements, in his hours of recreation, was that of making blunders for Kelly and relating them to his friends, vouching for the truth of them with the

most perfect gravity. "One I remember," says Kelly, "was, that one night, when Drury Lane Theatre was crowded to excess in every part, I was peeping through the hole in the stage curtain, and John Kemble, who was standing on the stage near me, asked me how the house looked, and that I replied, 'By Heavens! you can't stick a pin's head in any part of it, it is literally chuck full; but how much fuller will it be to-morrow night, when the King comes!'

"Another of Mr. Sheridan's jests against me was, that one day, having walked with him to Kemble's house, in Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, when the streets were very dirty, and having gone up the steps while Mr. Sheridan was scraping the dirt off his shoes, I asked him to scrape for me while I was knocking at the door."

THE TWO SHERIDANS.

Tom Sheridan had a good voice, and true taste for music, which, added to his intellectual qualities and superior accom plishments, caused his society to be sought with the greatest avidity.

The two Sheridans were supping with Kelly one night after the opera, at a period when Tom expected to get into Parlia

ment.

"I think, father," said he, "that many men who are called great patriots in the House of Commons, are great humbugs. For my own part, if I get into Parliament, I will pledge myself to no party, but write upon my forehead, in legible characters, "To be let."

"And under that, Tom," said his father, write Unfurnished.'"

Tom took the joke, but was even with him on another occasion.

Mr. Sheridan had a cottage about half a mile from Hounslow Heath. Tom being very short of cash, asked his father to let him have some.

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Money I have none," was the reply,

"Be the consequence what it may, money I must have," said Tom.

"If that be the case, my dear Tom," said the affectionate parent, "you will find a case of loaded pistols upstairs, and a horse ready saddled in the stable; the night is dark, and you are within half a mile of Hounslow Heath.'

"I understand what you mean," said Tom, "but I tried