patroness Marie Antoinette, whom she remembered in all the glory of her youth, popularity, and loveliness, seated in an open chariot, pale, wan, and grief-stricken, surrounded by a guard of troopers with drawn swords and hooted at by a mob of howling sans-culottes.  Better far to be a mimic queen than to be hurled from the most radiant and splendid place in European royalty, to be the scorn and plaything of the ragged ruffians of Paris, and to finish with the guillotine in the Place de la Greve!  About this time she was freed from the bete noire of her life, her drunken worthless husband, who agreed to trouble her no more if she would settle an annuity on him.  Thenceforward they never met, though she always spoke of him with affection.

Harris, of the Theatre Royal of Dublin, engaged Mara to sing in English opera in 1797.  Despite the fact that her English was so faulty, that her person was unprepossessing, and that the part was associated with some of the most beautiful and accomplished singers on the stage, her performance of Polly Peachum in the “Beggars’ Opera” was a masterpiece of delicious simplicity and archness.  The perfection of her art vanquished all obstacles, and she was acknowledged the equal of Mrs. Crouch, and even of the resplendent Billington, in the part.  Dr. Arnold records that, in spite of the dancing and violent action of the role, her tones were as free, smooth, and perfect as if she had been standing in the orchestra.  Mrs. Billington, who was just to her professional rivals, said she regarded Mara’s execution as superior to her own in genuine effect, though not in compass and complication.  If the rapid vocalization of a singer was praised, Mara would significantly ask, “Can she sing six plain notes?”

As time passed, Mme. Mara’s voice began to decline, and in 1802 she took advantage of an annoying controversy to bid farewell to the English public; for the artist who could sing solemn music with such thrilling effect had the temper of a shrew, though it was easily placated.  Mrs. Billington generously offered her services to assist at her farewell concert; and Mara, bursting into tears, threw her arms about the neck of the greatest of her professional rivals.  She did not sing again in England till 1820.  Speaking of this event, Kelly says, “It was truly grievous to see such transcendent talents as she once possessed so sunk, so fallen.  I used every effort in my power to prevent her committing herself, but in vain.”

“When the incomparable Mme. Mara took leave of me on her return to the Continent,” says Dr. Kitchener, “I could not help expressing my regret that she had not taken my advice to publish those songs of Handel (her matchless performance of which gained her that undisputed preeminence which she enjoyed), with the embellishments, etc., with which she enriched them.  This inimitable singer replied, ’Indeed, my good friend, you attribute