Haydn has mentioned on the subject of melody; he said, "It is the air which is the charm of music, and it is that, which is most difficult to produce; patience and study are sufficient for the composition of agreeable sounds, but the invention of a fine melody is the work of genius; the truth is, a fine air needs neither ornament nor accessories, in order to please, would you know whether it really be fine, sing it without accompaniments."

Storace drew overflowing houses, she was quite the rage; she announced a benefit, the first ever given to any performer at Venice; but, being an Englishwoman, it was granted to her. The house overflowed; her mother stood at the door to receive the cash; the kind-hearted and liberal Venetians not only paid the usual entrance money, but left all kinds of trinkets, watch chains, rings, &c., to be given to her; it was a most profitable receipt for her, and highly complimentary to her talents; but, notwithstanding those honours were heaped upon her, a circumstance occurred, which gave her the most poignant annoyance, as well as her mother and her friends.

I have already stated that Stephen Storace was her brother, and that she had no other brother, or a sister; yet, an unprincipled woman came to Venice, and gave out that she was the sister of Signora Storace, took up her abode in a street called

La Calla di Carbone, (a quarter of the town where ladies of her description were obliged to reside,) where she had her portrait hung out of her window, and under it written,-Questo è il ritratto della sorella della Signora Storace (i. e. this is the portrait of Signora Storace's sister). It is almost incredible that people should be so duped; but it is an absolute fact, that the woman's apartments were daily crowded by all ranks, to see the supposed sister of their favourite songstress; and the impostor gained a large sum of money by the price paid for admission to see her. The game was carried on for some time, but on some of Storace's friends. making application to the police, the imposture was detected, and its contriver imprisoned, and subsequently banished the Venetian Republic.

It had been an ancient custom in Venice for personages of this lady's vocation to have their portraits painted, and hung out of the windows of their apartments, to attract notice and visitors. In Mrs. Behn's Comedy of "The Rovers," which was revived and altered by Mr. Kemble, and successfully produced at Drury Lane under the title of "Love in many Masks," is a character drawn of one of those women, whose portrait is seen hanging out of a balcony on the stage.

I was one morning sitting in the Rialto coffeehouse with my long-tailed patron, and stating that

Storace never had a sister, and wondering that the people of Venice could be so imposed upon, when an Abbé, who was sitting close to us, said, "Your observation may be very true, Sir, that the people of Venice, in the instance of which you speak, have proved themselves credulous, but, surely not more so than your own countrymen ;-when I was in London, I was told that they had been taken in by a mountebank, who advertised that he would, at one of their theatres, creep into a quart bottle. The house was crowded to witness this incredible exhibition, but the cunning mountebank, after pocketing the money received at the doors, made off with it, and was on his way to Dover before the humbug was found out.-Now, Sir, I beg to ask you, which of the two nations, English or Venetian, proved itself the greatest dupe?" The question was a puzzler, and I was glad not to proceed further with the subject, remembering, a little too late, the saying, that those who live in glass houses should not throw stones.

I continued, until the end of the Carnival, passing my time with very little variation, living in the lap of luxury, and in a vortex of pleasure. We began the rehearsal of Anfossi's oratorio, and the first week in Lent the performance commenced. I had a song which had been composed purposely for me, and sent from London by Anfossi to Count

Vidiman. Nothing could exceed the brilliancy of Signora de Petris' execution and feeling; she sang divinely, and we repeated the oratorio eight nights to the fashionables invited by the Count and the Signora. There was a particular friend of hers, Signor Gioacino Bianchi, then an amateur, a man of very good family, and a sweet singer; but, owing to some circumstances of a tender nature, he quitted Venice, and went to England, where he became a singing-master of eminence, esteemed by all his friends for urbanity and talent, and highly patronised by the Earl and Countess of Harcourt.

One morning I received a message from His Excellency the Austrian Ambassador, desiring me to go to him in the evening. I waited on His Excellency, who informed me that he had received a letter from Prince Rosenberg, Grand Chamberlain of His Majesty Joseph the Second, Emperor of Germany, directing him to engage a company of Italian singers for a comic opera, to be given at the Court of Vienna; that no expense was to be spared, so that the artists were of the first order; that no secondary talent would be received amongst them, and that characters were to be filled by those engaged, without distinction, according to their abilities; and the will of the director, appointed by the Emperor.

The Italian opera had for a length of time been discontinued at Vienna, and a first-rate French company of comedians substituted. The Emperor and his Court were at Schoenbrunn, and the French company were performing there; apartments in the palace had been appointed for them, and a plentiful table allotted to their exclusive use. One day, while they were drinking their wine, and abusing it, the Emperor passed by the salle à manger, which opened into the Royal Gardens. One of the gentlemen, with the innate modesty so peculiarly belonging to his nation and profession, jumped up from table with a glass of wine in his hand, followed His Majesty, and said,—“ Sire, I have brought your Majesty some of the trash which is given us by your purveyor, by way of wine; we are all disgusted at his treatment, and beg to request your Majesty to order something better, for it is absolutely impossible for us to drink it;—he says it is Burgundy-do taste it, Sire, I am sure you will not say it is."

The King, with great composure, tasted the wine: "I think it excellent," said His Majesty,

at least, quite good enough for me, though, perhaps, not sufficiently high-flavoured for you and your companions; in France, I dare say, you will get much better." He then turned on his heel, and sending immediately for the Grand Chamber