he had kindly undertaken to conduct an oratorio, or rather a selection from Handel's works, for the relief of the poor of Stanmore.. Cannons was formerly in the possession of the Duke of Chandos, and the house in which Handel composed some of his finest music. This beautiful place was purchased by Colonel O'Kelly, of turf celebrity, who, at his death, left it to his nephew, Colonel O'Kelly, a particular friend of mine. His father resided with him at Cannons, and was a good-natured, well-meaning Irishman, with a fine Connaught brogue, and a great crony of Father O'Leary's.

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When Mrs. Crouch and myself were at breakfast, he called upon us, and said to me, Arrah, my jewel of a namesake, tell me what tunes are we going to hear at church this morning?"

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Upon

I shewed him the printed bill of the performance, part of which he read, and made his comments on it. In act the first was to be sung, "Lord, what is man?" by Madame Mara. my honour and conscience," said he, mightily mistaken if Madame Mara don't pretty well know without asking."

"I am

The next song announced, was "Total Eclipse," by Mr. Kelly. "That is right, my jewel," said the Colonel, "I like that now; the more you talk about Eclipse the better, for wasn't it Eclipse that bought Cannons ?"

This season, a singer, of the name of Bowden, made his appearance at Covent Garden in “ Robin Hood." I remember going to see his début with Madame Mara, who had known him when he was in a mercantile house at Manchester, and was very much interested in his success: he was received with great applause, his voice was good, and he sang with taste. Johnstone played the part of Edwin, and their voices blended well together in the duet of, "How sweet in the woodlands." Mrs. Billington was the Angelica, looked beautifully, and sang the simple ballad, "I travelled India's barren sands," like a true Angelica. In the same box, with Madame Mara and myself, 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, I suppose, to mortify him), "Aye, aye, 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." This jeu d'esprit produced some merriment.

In August 1790, Mr. and Mrs. Crouch, myself, and a very old friend of Mrs. Crouch, a Mr. M'Donnell, proposed to spend some time at Margate, and thence to go to Paris: Mrs. Billington was at Ramsgate at the same time. In

the churchyard of St. Peter's, are interred the remains of that excellent scholar and actor, Mr. Thomas Sheridan, who died at Margate; his son, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, followed him to the grave, and during his illness paid him the most affectionate and dutiful attention, as I can testify.

The recollection of this place is indelibly stamped upon my mind by a circumstance which deeply interested us all at the time. A poor girl, an inhabitant of it, by an accident, was deprived of the use of her limbs, and reduced to the greatest distress. Mr. Phillips, the father of Mrs. Crouch, then lived at St. Peter's, and took great pains to forward a subscription for the poor sufferer, and drew up a petition to the inhabitants and visitors; the Honourable Wellesley Pole (now Lord Maryborough) and his lady; the Honourable Mr. Villiers and his lady (Mrs. Pole's sister), were then at Margate, highly esteemed for their kindness and philanthropy; and with their usual goodness, they undertook to promote the subscription; and not only made a liberal donation themselves, but in the public library one evening, when the room was crowded with visitors, they went round to every individual to request their charity for the poor girl, and collected an unexpected sum of money.

Mrs. Crouch and I were present; and when it

came to our turn to bestow our mite, I said to Mrs. Crouch, that I thought our best donation would be to play a night at the theatre for the girl's benefit; and as neither of us had ever been seen on the stage at Margate, and the place was very full, 'I hoped we should bring her a good receipt. Mrs. Crouch most cheerfully acquiesced, and the night appointed by the manager was the Saturday week in the course of the next day, the performance was announced, "The Beggar's Opera," Mrs. Crouch, Polly; myself, Macheath: every place in the house was taken, and the whole pit, one row excepted, railed into the boxes.

Two days afterwards, looking out of my window, who should I see, but my old friend and countryman, Jack Johnstone, who told me he had just returned from the Federation at Paris. I mentioned to him that the day after the girl's benefit my party and myself were going there ; "Egad," said he, "I should like to make one of your party, and go with you."

I said, "I should be delighted with your company; but you tell me, that you are only this day returned from Paris."

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That," said he, "makes no difference; I shall be ready to accompany you at an hour's warning; and," added he, "if you think that my playing Mat-o'-the-Mint, for the poor girl, will be of any

use or strength to the performance, you may com mand my services." :

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The offer was most liberal and kind; for the high rank he held in his profession, made it a condescension in him to play such a trivial character. He introduced a song in the thieves' scene at the table, which he sang admirably, and was most loudly applauded,a just tribute to his talents and good nature; indeed, the whole of the performance gave satisfaction to as crowded an T audience as ever filled a theatre. The receipts of the house, and many liberal presents sent to the poor girl, were by her patronesses invested in an annuity, which produced her at least a comfortable subsistence for the remainder of her life.lus ut now While at Margate, Mr. and Mrs. Crouch, and myself, were staying at the Hotel, kept by a man whose manners were as free and easy as any I ever met with. He was proverbial for his non-chalance, and a perfect master of the art of making out a bill One day, Johnstone dined with us, and, we drank our usual quantum of wine. In the course of the evening, our bashful host, who, amongst other good qualities, was a notorious gambler, forced upon us some Pink Champagne, which he wished us to give our opinions of. My friend, Jack John stone, who never was an enemy to the juice of the grape, took such copious draughts of the sparkling

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