It will be seen that each of the entertainments referred to above consisted of fifteen songs, and must have taxed the singer's powers severely. I was a little surprised at not finding either 'The Heaving of the Lead,' or 'My bonny, bonny Bet, sweet Blossom,' on either list; for the latter especially was a great favourite, and Incledon always had to sing it twice, often three times; but probably this was the very reason why he omitted it from these programmes. I have not been able to put my hand upon more than one example of his talents as a composer, namely, a song called 'Soft as the Morning's blushing Hue,' which he used to sing in 'Family Quarrels' (but Shield used to say that Incledon generally managed to improve _his_ composition). The song mentioned above is a rather pretty, flowing melody, eminently adapted to the remarkable compass and flexibility of Incledon's voice; there is a copy of it at the British Museum, with the initials 'C.I.,' in faded ink, sprawling over the first page. And here it may be well to observe that having added 'Charles' to his Christian name Benjamin, he at length dropped the latter name altogether. Incledon did not confine his musical experiences to England; but occasionally made trips to Ireland, where 'no singer was ever more caressed.' R. W. Procter, in his 'Manchester in Holiday Dress,' says: 'When Incledon was returning home from Dublin, on one occasion, the vessel in which he embarked was upset in passing the bar. Several of the passengers were drowned, but the singer saved himself by climbing, in sailor fashion, to the round top, with his wife lashed to him; Incledon all the while uttering a strange mixture of oaths, prayers, and confessions. They remained in that perilous position for several hours, until rescued by some fishermen.' Once, towards the close of his career, when his powers, enfeebled by his careless manner of life, were on the wane, he even ventured across the Atlantic. In America, however (notwithstanding that a writer in the _New Monthly Magazine_, for 1838, asserts that he made £5,000 by this trip), he is said to have been a failure; though Incledon himself would insist upon it, to the last, that his want of success there was merely an example of the caprice of the public. On his return to England he went to Brighton, where, by a slight attack of paralysis, he received his first warning that his career was nearly closed. The 11th of February, 1826, found him, now sixty-four years old, at Worcester, organizing one of his entertainments. Here he attended a meeting of a local glee-club, but declined, for some reason, to take his part in the music. At his inn, however, 'The Reindeer,' he did sing in the kitchen[49]--to gratify the servants--his last song: 'Then farewell, my trim-built wherry! Coat, and oars, and badge, farewell!'