She was fortunate in making her first appearance in the grand Handel commemoration at Westminster Abbey, given under the patronage of George III., who loved the memory of the great composer.  Even in this day of magnificent musical festivals, that Westminster assemblage of musicians would have been a remarkable occasion.  The following is an account of it from a contemporary source:  “The orchestra was led by the Cramers; the conductors were Joah Bates, Dr. Arnold, and Dupuis.  The band consisted of several hundreds of performers.  The singers were, in addition to Mine.  Mara, Signora Storace, Miss Abrams, Miss Poole (afterward Mrs. Dickons), Rubinelli, Harrison, Bartleman, Sale, Parry, Nor-ris, Kelly, etc.; and the chorus, collected from all parts of the kingdom, amounted to hundreds of voices.  The Abbey was arranged for the accommodation of the public in a superb and commodious manner, and the tickets of admission were one guinea each.  The first performance took place on May 20, 1784; and such was the anxiety to be in time, that ladies and gentlemen had their hair dressed over night, and slept in arm-chairs.  The weather being very fine, eager crowds presented themselves at the several doors of the Abbey at nine o’clock, although the door-keepers were not at their posts, and the orchestra was not finished.  At ten o’clock the scene became almost terrifying to the visitors, who, being in full dress, were every moment more incommoded and alarmed by the violence of the crowds pressing forward to get near the doors.  Several of the ladies screamed; others fainted; and the general dismay increased to such an extent that fatal consequences were anticipated.  Some of the more irascible among the gentlemen threatened to burst open the doors; ‘a measure,’ says Dr. Burney, ’which, if adopted, would probably have cost many of the more feeble and helpless their lives, as they must, in falling, have been thrown down and trampled on by the robust and impatient part of the crowd.’  However, except that some went in with ‘disheveled hair and torn garments,’ no real mischief seems to have been done.  The spectacle was gorgeous.  The King, Queen, and all the royal family, were ushered to a superb box, opposite the orchestra, by the directors, wearing full court suits, the medal of Handel struck for the occasion, suspended by white-satin rosettes to their breasts, and having white wands in their hands.  The body of the cathedral, the galleries, and every corner were crowded with beauty, rank, and fashion, listening with almost devout silence to the grand creations of the great composer, not the faintest token of applause disturbing the impressive ceremony.”

The splendid and solemn tones of Mara’s voice enraptured every heart, and her style was the theme of universal admiration.  A few, however, resisted the charm of her singing.  Miss Seward was breakfasting one morning with Mr. Joah Bates, one of the conductors, and delicately flattered his wife’s singing of the Handelian music by saying that Mara put too much gold and fringe upon that solemn robe of melody, “I know that my Redeemer liveth.”  “Do not say gold, ma-dame,” answered the tart musician; “it was despicable tinsel.”