He took up his residence with Sir George Smart, where everything that could add to his comfort, or soothe his illness, had been provided by anticipation.  He found his table covered with cards from visiters who had called before his arrival, and a splendid pianoforte in his room from one of the first makers, with a request that he would make use of it during his stay.

“The whole day,” he writes to his wife, “is mine till five—­then dinner, the theatre, or society.  My solitude in England is not painful to me.  The English way of living suits mine exactly; and my little stock of English, in which I make tolerable progress, is of incalculable use to me.

“Give yourself no uneasiness about the opera (Oberon), I shall have leisure and repose here, for they respect my time.  Besides, the Oberon is not fixed for Easter Monday, but some time later; I shall tell you afterwards when.  The people are really too kind to me.  No king ever had more done for him out of love; I may almost say they carry me in their arms.  I take great care of myself, and you may be quite at ease on my account.  My cough is really a very odd one; for eight days it disappeared entirely; then, upon the 3rd (of March) a vile spasmodic attack returned before I reached Calais.  Since that time it is quiet again.  I cannot, with all the consideration I have given it, understand it at all.  I sometimes deny myself every indulgence, and yet it comes.  I eat and drink every thing, and it does not come.  But be it as God will.

“At seven o’clock in the evening we went to Covent Garden, where Rob Roy, an opera after Sir Walter Scott’s novel, was played.  The house is handsomely decorated, and not too large.  When I came forward to the front of the stage-box, that I might have a better look of it, some one called out, Weber!  Weber is here!—­and although I drew back immediately, there followed a clamour of applause which I thought would never have ended.  Then the overture to the Freyschuetz was called for, and every time I showed myself the storm broke loose again.  Fortunately, soon after the overture, Rob Roy began, and gradually things became quiet.—­Could a man wish for more enthusiasm, or more love?  I must confess that I was completely overpowered by it, though I am of a calm nature, and somewhat accustomed to such scenes.  I know not what I would have given to have had you by my side, that you might have seen me in my foreign garb of honour.  And now, my dear love, I can assure you that you may be quite at ease, both as to the singers and the orchestra.  Miss Paton is a singer of the first rank, and will play Reiza divinely; Braham not less so, though in a totally different style.  There are also several good tenors; and I really cannot see why the English singing should be so much abused.  The singers have a perfectly good Italian education, fine voices, and expression.  The orchestra is not remarkable, but still very good, and the choruses particularly so.  In short, I feel quite at ease as to the fate of Oberon.”