And Caridori her mellifluous throat Might stretch in vain to make him learn a note. Of common tunes he knows not anything, He rail at Handel! He the gamut quiz! In Mrs. Cowden-Clarke's account of her visit to the Lambs after her marriage in 1828, she tells many capital stories of Charles's love of fun and his practical jokes, which often involved most preposterous mendacity. She says: "I have often heard him say that he never stammered when he told a lie." His "hospitality" was characteristically shown one day "by his starting up from dinner, hastening to the front garden gate, and opening it for a donkey that he saw standing there and looking, as Lamb said, as if it wanted to come in and munch some of the grass growing so plentifully behind the railing." After Shelley's death his widow came back to England and was a frequent visitor at the Novello house: "It was while we lived at Shacklewell that my father and mother received letters from Leigh Hunt (who was then in Italy), introducing the widowed Mrs. Shelley and Mrs. Williams, who were returning to England after their terrible bereavement. He described Mrs. Wollstonecraft's daughter as inclining, like a wise and kind being, to receive all the consolation which the good and kind can give her'; adding: She is as quiet as a mouse, and will drink in as much Mozart and Passiello as you choose to afford her.' Accordingly, many were the occasions when delicious hours of music and quiet but animated and interesting talk were planned for the two beautiful young women, able and willing to enjoy such delights,' and choosing not unwisely to interpose them oft."" 6 Mrs. Cowden-Clarke gives us not a few interesting reminiscences of the famous composers and musicians whom she met at her father's house and elsewhere. She was present at the first performance of Carl Maria Weber's opera of Oberon, when he himself conducted the orchestra. The following account of a memorable musical evening is worth quoting: "It was just after Malibran's marriage with De Beriot, and they both came to a party at our house. De Beriot played in a stringed quartet by Haydn, his tone being the loveliest I ever heard on the violin-not excepting that of Paganini, who certainly was a marvellous executant. Then Malibran gave, in generously lavish succession, Mozart's 'Non più di fiori,' with Willman's obligato accompaniment on the corno di bassetto; a Sancta Maria' of her host's composition (which she sang at sight with consummate effect and expression); a tenderly graceful air, Ah, rien n'est doux comme la voix qui dit je t'aime'; and lastly a spirited mariner's song, with a sailorly burden, chiming with their rope-hauling. In these two latter she accompanied herself; and when she had concluded, amid a rave of admiring plaudits from all present, she ran up to one of the heartiest among the applauding guests-Felix Men 6 delssohn-and said in her own winning and playful manner (which a touch of foreign speech and accent made only the more enchanting),'Now, Mr. Mendelssohn, I never do nothing for nothing; you must play for me now I have sung for you.' He, 'nothing loath,' let her lead him to the piano, where he dashed into a wonderfully impulsive extempore-masterly, musician-like, full of gusto. In this marvellous improvisation he introduced the several pieces Malibran had just sung, working them in with admirable skill one after the other, and finally in combination, the four subjects blended together in elaborate counterpoint. When Mendelssohn had finished playing, my father turned to a friend near him and said, 'He has done some things that seem to me to |