dini and I played the part of Count Alma viva alternately; Storace was the Rosina. There were three operas now on the tapis, one by Regini, another by Salieri (the Grotto of Trophonius), and one by Mozart, by special command of the emperor. Mozart chose to have Beaumarchais' French comedy, "Le Mariage de Figaro," made into an Italian opera, which was done with great ability, by Da Ponte. These three pieces were nearly ready for representation at the same time, and each composer claimed the right of producing his opera for the first. The contest raised much discord, and parties were formed. The characters of the three men were all very different. Mozart was as touchy as gunpowder, and swore he would put the score of his opera into the fire if it was not produced first; his claim was backed by a strong party: on the contrary, Regini was working like a mole in the dark to get pre

favours.

The mighty contest was put an end to by his majesty issuing a mandate for Mozart's "Nozze di Figaro," to be instantly put into rehearsal; and none more than Michael O'Kelly, enjoyed the little great man's triumph over his rivals.

Of all the performers in this opera at that time, but one survives-myself. 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 per formance 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.

to me,

I called on him one evening, he said "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 perchè finora farmi VOL. I.-No 10.

languire così." 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 cocked hat, giving the time of the music to the orches

tra.

Figaro's song, "Non più andrai, farfallone 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, alla vittoria, alla 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 distinguisehd mark of enthusiastic applause bestowed upon him.'

One of the principal inducements we have had in bringing these Memoirs before our readers' notice was to introduce to them some anecdotes which the author tells of the late Mr. Sheridan ; and which, although they are very different from the elegant and lively relations of Mr. Moore, are yet satisfactory; and not the less so because they are told of him by a man who did not love him too well. Mr. Kelly, wisely enough, disclaims

any

dislike to him, now that he is dead; but, when he was alive, Sheridan's constant practice of cutting him up, and making him appear more ridiculous than Nature and his own industry could effect, although it made him fear the wit, prevented his loving him. There is, however, not much malice in his stories. The fact of Sheridan's having written a libel on himself, with the intention of refuting it, and of never having done so, is here confirmed; and illustrates, in the most striking manner, that indolence, which did him more real harm than all the malice of his enemies.

No man was ever more sore and frightened at criticism than he was, from his first outset in life. He dreaded the newspapers, and always courted their friendship. I have many times heard him say, 3 M

"Let me

but have the periodical press on my side, and there should be nothing in this country which I would not accomplish."

This sensitiveness of his, as regarded newspapers, renders the following anecdote rather curious:-after he had fought his famous duel at Bath, with Colonel Matthews, on Mrs. Sheridan's (Miss Linley's) account, an article of the most venomous kind was sent from Bath, to Mr. William Woodfall, the editor of the "Public Advertiser," in London, to insert in that paper. The article was so terribly bitter against Sheridan, that Woodfall took it to him. After reading it, he said to Woodfall," My good friend, the writer of this article has done his best to vilify me in all ways, but he has done it badly and clumsily. I will write a character of myself, as coming from an anonymous writer, which you will insert in your paper. In a day or two after, I will send you another article, as coming from another anonymous correspondent, vindicating me, and refuting most satisfactorily, point by point, every particle of what has been written in the previous one." 'Woodfall promised that he would attend to his wishes; and Sheridan accordingly wrote one of the most vituperative articles against himself, that mortal ever penned, which he sent to Woodfall, who immediately inserted it in his newspaper, as agreed upon.

Day after day passed; the calumnies which Sheridan had invented against himself, got circulation, and were in every body's months; and day after day did Mr. Woodfall wait for the refutation which was to set all to rights, and expose the fallacy of the accusations; but, strange to say, Sheridan never could prevail upon himself to take the trouble to write one line in his own vindication; and the libels which he invented against himself, remain to this hour wholly uncontradicted.

I was well acquainted with Mr. Woodfall, who declared to me that this was the fact.

We cannot help suspecting that some of the following particulars have been coloured; but we give them as we find them :

'Another instance of his neglect for his own interest, came (amongst many others) to my knowledge. He had a particular desire to have an audience of his late majesty, who was then at Windsor; it was on some point which he wished to carry, for the good of the theatre. He mentioned it to his present majesty, who, with the kindness which on every occasion he showed him, did him the honour to say, that he would take him to Windsor himself, and appointed him to be at Carlton House, to set off with his royal highness precisely at

eleven o'clock. He called upon me, and said, "My dear Mic, I am going to Windsor with the pince the day after to-mor row; I must be with him at eleven o'clock in the morning, to a moment, and to be in readiness at that early hour, you must give me a bed at your house; I shall then only have to cross the way to Carlton House, and be punctual to the appointment of his royal highness."

I had no bed to offer him but my own, which I ordered to be got in readiness for him; and he, with his brother-in-law, Charles Ward, came to dinner with me. Among other things at table, there was a roast neck of mutton, which was sent away untouched. As the servant was taking it out of the room, I observed, "There goes a dinner fit for a king;" alluding to his late majesty's known partiality for that particular dish.

The next morning I went out of town, to dine and sleep, purposely to accommodate Mr. Sheridan with my bed; and got home again about four o'clock in the afternoon, when I was told hy my servant that Mr. Sheridan was up stairs still, fast asleep -that he had been sent for, several times, from Carlton House, but nothing could prevail upon him to get up.

It appears that, in about an hour after I had quitted town, he called at the saloon, and told my servant maid, that " he knew she had a dinner fit for a king, in the house, a coid roast neck of mutton," and asked her, if she had any wine. She told him there were, in a closet, five bottles of port, two of madeira, and one of brandy, the whole of which, I found that he, Richardson, and Charles Ward, after eating the neck of mutton for dinner, had consumed on hearing this, it was easy to account for his drowsiness in the morning. He was not able to raise his head from his pillow, nor did he get out of bed until seven o'clock, when he had some dinner.'

Mr. Kelly takes upon himself to contradict the story of the money when he was lying at the point of offered by the king to his old friend, death without common comforts; but we fear his evidence does not go far enough to disprove what we could

wish were untrue.

There were reports industriously circulated through the kingdom, that Mr. Sheridan, in his latter moments, was, left in want of the common necessaries of life; and the malignant propagators of the report, went so far to gratify their own malice, as to assert that he called for a lemon, when exhausted with thirst, and that neither he, nor those about him, had the means of procuring him one. I, amongst

These dealers in malignity stated, that the sum of two hundred pounds was conveyed to Mr. Sheridan in a way that wounded his feelings, and returned by his direction, with the resentment of wounded pride. It is true the money was sent, but in a totally different manner to that described, and returned in a totally different manner to what the world was taught to believe. The real fact is, that Mr. Sheridan's physician, then attending him, and also one of his most intimate friends, undertook to deliver it back to the illustrious donor, and, with all respect, to assure him that Mr. Sheridan was in want of no pecuniary assistance.

'I sent, a few days before he died, for his own man, who was in attendance on him during the whole of his illness, and whom I knew to be faithfully attached to his master. He can testify that I entreated him to inform me if his master was in want of any comforts, for with any thing my means would afford, I would furnish him; but not to let him or the family know it came from me. John assured me that his master was in want of nothing, and that those who had reported to the contrary, and made up libellous and injurious tales upon the subject, spoke falsely, and were base calumniators.

'The loss 1 sustained by Mr. Sheridan's death I can but faintly depict: he was, as a companion and friend, to me beyond measure invaluable; his readiness and taste were conspicuous; his wit, though luxuriant and unbounded, never intrusive; and during the five and twenty years through which I enjoyed his friendship and society, I never heard him say a single word that could wound the feelings of a human being.'

After speaking in this manner of Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Kelly has the bad taste to tell some stories against himself, which are, nevertheless, true enough; and one of which, although it has been often told before, was never yet related publicly by an eye-wit

ness.

"One of Mr. Sheridan's favourite amusements, in his hours of recreation, was that of making blunders for me, and relating them to my friends, vouching for the truth of them with the most perfect gravity. One I remember was, that one night, when Drury Lane Theatre was crowded to excess

full; but how much fuller will it be tomorrow 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.

Of all our poets, Dryden was Mr. Sheridan's favourite; many a time and oft, when sit ing over our wine, have I heard him quote at great length from him. It was truly a treat to hear him recite poetry; he had a powerful voice, and nothing, when animated, could surpass the brilliancy of his countenance, and the fire of his eye.'

Much good remains upon authentic record, relative to Mr. Sheridan, which even his greatest enemies could never deny. Some of the stories which exist against him, however, have a vast deal of humour in them, and one which has often been told, I think worth inserting, because having been an eye-witness of the circumstance, I am enabled to show the very " head and front of his offending."

"We were one day in earnest conversation close to the gate of the path, which was then open to the public, leading across the churchyard of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, from King Street to Henrietta Street, when Mr. Holloway, who was a creditor of Sheridan's to a considerable amount, came up to us on horseback, and accosted Sheridan in a tone of something more like anger than sorrow, and complained that he never could get admittance when he called, vowing vengeance against the infernal Swiss Monsieur François, if he did not let him in the next time he went to Hertford Street.

de Foix, in the Palais Royal, with my two friends, Macarthy and Fagan, and at the same table was seated the notorious republican Tom Paine, and with him the well-known Governor Wall; these two worthy persons were pouring forth to a groupe that crowded round the table, the most horrid invectives against the King and Queen; my blood boiled to hear the miscreants vomit forth their infernal doctrines, and revolutionary principles. In the midst of their harangue a courier entered the coffee room with intelligence, that the King, Queen, and family had been taken prisoners at Varennes; never shall I forget the delight of that caitiff Tom Paine; his Bardolph face blazed with delight, and Governor Wall loudly vociferated curses on their heads.'

Mr. Kelly's theatrical employments threw him into contact with the celebrated Monk Lewis, the circumstances of whose death are thus told.

After his father's decease he went to Jamaica, to visit his large estates. When there, for the amusement of his slaves, he caused his favourite drama, "The Castle Spectre," to be performed; they were delighted, but of all the parts which struck them, that which delighted them most was the character of Hassan, the black. He used indiscreetly to mix with these people in the hours of recreation, and seemed, from his mistaken urbanity and ill-judged condescension, to be their very idol. Presuming on indulgence, which they were not prepared to feel or appreciate, they petitioned him to emancipate them. He told them, that during his lifetime it could not be done, but gave them a solemn promise, that at his death, they should have their freedom. Alas! it was a fatal promise for him, for on the passage homeward he died, it has been said, by poison, administered by three of his favourite black brethren; whom he was bringing to England to make free British subjects of, and who, thinking that by killing their master they should gain their promised liberty; in return for all his liberal treatment, put an end to his existence at the first favourable oppor. tunity.

'This anecdote I received from a gentle man, who was at Jamaica when Mr. Lewis sailed for England, and I relate it as I heard it, without pledging myself to its entire authenticity.

It is, however, notorious that he died at sea; and it has often been remarked, that the death of a person so well known in the circles of literature and fashion, as he was, never created so slight a sensation. This evidently arose from circumstances which had removed him from the imme

diate world with which he had been accus tomed to mix; and having been already absent from it for a length of time, his departure from the general world, was neither felt nor commented upon.'

With one more extract-on the subject of hunting in Ireland—which is so whimsical that we almost wish it were true-we shall conclude.

'One morning, riding with an old friend. of mine, we saw, near the Black Rock, two strapping, shirtless fellows, real sans culottes, on the back of a poor half-starved horse, which seemed to be sinking under the weight, hardly able to crawl along the road. On my friend saying, what a pity it was to load the poor beast with two outside passengers, one of the riders who overheard him, cried out," Please your honour and glory, sir, will you be pleased to tell us, are the hounds far before us?"

The faults of this book are, first, that it ought not to have been written at all, (and here, with the Commandant in Joe Millar, we might stop,) and, secondly, that Mr.Kelly is not a fit man to write it. Encumbered with all the narrow servile notions which usually characterize actors and other people who never think, subjects, which in other hands would have been striking, become flat and unprofitable' when touched by him. He has all the garrulity and tediousness of old age; and nothing to enliven it but the faint recollection of former pertness; which, like an old maid's vivacity, only serves to exhibit the ridiculous more strongly. It is loyal usque ad nauseam. We do not profess to be behind other good subjects in respect and attachment to our monarch; but it is because we really entertain these feelings that it makes us sick to listen to the devout aspirations of this importer of music, and composer of wine,' as Sheridan called him. Upon the whole, while it is inferior to most similar productions, yet it has a certain attraction, because it ministers to that curiosity which every one feels to learn any particulars relating to distinguished persons. With such persons Mr. Kelly's fate has happened well for him that it has been so. to throw him into contact; and it is has, however, set a dangerous example; for, all the pickers up of unconsidered trifles' will immediately set about writing; and every butler or

He