Dublin's scheme was ambitious; for Paganini's fees for the three evening concerts was 500 guineas. Braham and Henry Phillips were among the vocalists engaged, and the latter, in his "Musical Recollections," gives a very interesting and amusing account of Paganini at the festival. No one seemed to know how Paganini arrived in Dublin, which gave rise to a vague idea that he was wafted across by the _Flying Dutchman_. Where he lodged was equally a mystery. He arrived at the stage door of the Theatre Royal on the evening of the first concert, and immediately ordered an apartment to be got ready, and the room to be perfectly darkened. There he paced up and down, playing snatches of his music until the time for his _début_ before a Dublin audience. The Theatre was crammed to suffocation. The Lord Lieutenant and his Suite attended in State, and all the _élite_ of Dublin were in the dress tier. When the Conductor, Sir George Smart, led Paganini to the centre of the stage there was a terrific outburst of applause, followed by breathless silence, as the great artist went through his deliberate process of adjusting his violin, raising his bow, and letting it rest upon the strings before commencing. This was too trying to the mercurial temperament of the occupants of the gallery, and before many seconds there was a stentorian shout, "Well! we're all ready!" The house was convulsed with laughter, peal after peal rang through the theatre. Paganini, stamping with rage, turned to Sir George Smart, and cried, "_Qu'est ce que c'est?_" The explanation seemed to make matters worse, and Paganini left the orchestra. Some time elapsed before he could be induced to return; but when he did so, and began to play, he created the same effect as elsewhere. The next day everybody was exclaiming: "Ah! sure, have you heard the Paganini; och murther! and his fiddle?" Such is the account Henry Phillips gives, but it is not easy to attach credence to all he has put in his book.