At one of these Westminster Abbey performances a striking coincidence
occurred. The morning had been threatening a storm; but instantly the
grand chorus "Let there be light, and light was over all" commenced, the
sun burst forth and gilded every dark nook of the solemn old Abbey with
a flood of splendor. On another occasion, while a chorus descriptive of
a storm was being sung, a hurricane burst over the Abbey, and the fierce
rattling of hailstones, accompanied by peals of thunder, kept time to
the grand music of Handel. During the performance of the chorus "The
Lord God Omnipotent Reigneth," the audience was so moved that King,
Queen, royal family, and all present, rose by a common impulse to their
feet--a practice which has been preserved in English audiences to this
day during the singing of this mightiest of all musical choruses. Mme.
Mara gave great offense by remaining seated.

Shortly afterward she sang at a musical festival of Oxford University,
whither the report of her supposed bad temper and intractability had
preceded her. The gownsmen were as riotous then as now; and as one or
two things happened to irritate their lively temper, a row soon became
imminent. Mara got angry and flung a book at the head of one of the
orchestra, when Dr. Chapman, the Vice-Chancellor, arose and said that
Mme. Mara had conducted herself too ill to be allowed to sing before
such an audience. Instantly a wicked wag cried out, "A riot, by
permission of the Vice-Chancellor!" A scene of the utmost confusion
ensued, and the agitated cantatrice quitted the theatre, amid hisses and
yells, in high dudgeon. A deputation of gentlemen waited upon her, and
promised that she should do exactly as she pleased if she would only
return. She did return, and sang the airs allotted to her, but remained
seated as usual while the choruses were being sung. A cry arose of "Turn
Mara out!" Not comprehending, she smiled, which provoked the audience