were industriously circulated by those gossip-mongers who are always in quest of a fresh social sensation.  Mrs. Billington, after remaining for some time in retirement, fled from a scene which was fraught with painful memories, though there is no reason to believe that she deeply lamented the loss of a husband whose only attraction to this brilliant woman was the reflected light of her youth, which invested him with the association of her first girlish love.  At all events, the widow succeeded in becoming desperately enamored in Milan, a short six months after, with an officer of the French commissariat, M. Felican.  He was a remarkably handsome man, and his strong siege of the lovely Billington soon caused her to surrender at discretion.  She declared “she was in love for the first time in her life,” and her marriage took place in 1799 without delay.  Her raptures, however, came to a swift conclusion; for among M. Felican’s favorite methods of displaying marital devotion were beating her, and hurling dishes or other convenient movables at her head when in the least irritated.  The novel character of her honeymoon soon became known to a curious and possibly envious public, and the brutal Felican was publicly flogged at the drum-head by order of General Serrurier, within two months of her marriage, for whipping her so cruelly that she could not appear in the opera of the evening.

The tenor, Braham, sang with Mrs. Billington at Milan during this period, in the opera “Il Trionfo de Claria,” by Nasolini, and an amusing incident occurred in the rivalry of the two, each to surpass the other in popular estimation.  The applause which Braham received at rehearsal enraged Felican, who intrigued till he persuaded the leader to omit the grand aria for the tenor voice, in which Braham’s powers were advantageously displayed.  This piece of spite and jealousy being noised about, the public openly testified their displeasure, and the next day it was announced by Gherardi, the manager, in the bills, that Braham’s scena should be performed; and on the second night of the opera it was received with tumultuous applause.  Braham, justly indignant, avenged himself in an ingenious manner, but his wrath descended on an innocent head.  Mrs. Billington’s embellishments were always elaborately studied, and, when once fixed on, seldom changed.  The angry tenor, knowing this, caught her roulades, and on the first opportunity, his air coming first, he coolly appropriated all her fioriture.  Poor Mrs. Billington listened in dismay at the wings.  She could not improvise ornaments and graces; and, when she came on, the unusual meagerness of her style astonished the audience.  She refused, in the next opera, to sing a duet with Braham; but, as she was good-natured, she forgave him, and they always remained excellent friends.