During our dinner, two of the Doctor’s servants entertained us with many excellent and solemn pieces of music. Indeed, I was so solicitous to cut and eat my meat in true time, as I thought my character depended on this circumstance, that I unfortunately cut my lips, so that the blood much terrified me; and sweet Miss Ferni was so earnestly attending to the fiddlers, that on their suddenly changing the time from adagio to sestina, she swallowed the ivory spoon out of a mustard pot; which, as it stuck across her throat, I am sure must have given that excellent young lady exquisite pain, yet did she cough, and even vomit repeatedly in most accurate time, and screamed from fear most harmoniously through the whole gamut, from a to g inclusively, long after the spoon was restored to its place.
SHEFFIELD.
Dr. Dilettanti was so kind as to make me a present of a place in the stage coach to Sheffield in my road to York, that I might inquire into the present state of the music of that city and cathedral. Amongst the other passengers, was a gentleman of a grave aspect; who, from his not attending to me at the inn, when I play’d a most inchanting solo on my hautboy, appear’d at first to have no ears, but on further conversation I found him a most agreeable companion. He cry’d up the ingenuity of the Sheffield manufacturers, and told me of a new musical instrument, more complicate, he thought, and louder than an organ. The next day he was so good as to accompany me to hear this new organic instrument. The first thing I could observe was a number of iron pipes, and a water wheel to work the large bellows, like that organ of which there is a print in Kempleri Musurgia. When the wheel was in motion, I observed many of the notes higher than in any organ I had ever heard; and was told, that these ingenious people had found the only way to produce these was, by boring gun-barrels: to these a symphony was adduced by files which cut the teeth of large saws, and the mellow tones of two great hammers, which at intervals struck on large pieces of red-hot iron, made a more tremendous and affecting concert, than all the mingled whittles of Cecilia’s organ.
Having paid a shilling to the performers of this stupendous piece of harmony, at which my grave companion seem’d much delighted, and listen’d to my remarks upon it with the greatest avidity and approbation; “Signior Collioni,” says he, “your observations inchant me; the most antient music, as you well explain, was made with hammers beating upon anvils, as invented by Tubal Cain, and practised in the shop of his successor, Vulcan, tho’ Saturn is thought to have been the first of the castrati.—But this invention was not compleat, Signior Collioni, it was not compleat, till this excellent treble made by boring guns, and cutting saws was added.—It is now become the true antient, celebrated, long-lost, and long-deplored chromatic, which that Heathen, Plato, who had doubtless ass’s ears, expelled from his artificial commonwealth.”
“Doubtless you are right in your conjectures,” reply’d I, “Mr. Hummings, (for that was my kind companion’s name) it was music like this, which could disenchant the moon, and make trees and stones dance allemands. Would you believe it, Mr. Hummings, I once cured a girl bit with a tarantula myself with this simple bassoon?
“Trut, turrut, phub, phub, bush!—This was the air, Mr. Hummings, you shall hear it——trut, turrut, phub, phub, bush:—the girl rising from her melancholy attitude, danced till the sweat ran down to the hem of her scarlet petticoat; and after I had presented her with a bit of money, became so lively as to strip herself like King David, and danced like a Heinel. I can assure you, Mr. Hummings, I drove away the evil spirit, and cured her of her tarantulism that night.
“Not unlike this, is a fact recorded by the divine Homer. Ulysses had a large rent made in his thigh by a wild boar,—a terrible animal, Mr. Hummings:—well, and what happen’d?—why, he only sent for the town-waits, and after the first bar or two were play’d, the blood stopp’d; and as the fiddles proceeded, the wound contracted, and by the time they had finished Alley Croaker, Moggy Lauder, and A lovely Lass to a Fryar came, (which are all antient Greek tunes, sir,) the wound was quite healed, and the cicatrix as smooth as the back of my hand.”
During this conversation, an unfortunate accident had happened near us. One of the performers on the hammer and iron by a fall had broken his leg. A surgeon was sent for with all dispatch, but Mr. Hummings said I had as well try the effect of the bassoon upon him; and pointing to me, told the people that they need seek no farther, for I was superior to any surgeon. Upon this, untying my green bag, the man cry’d out, he begg’d no instruments might be used. “No, (says I,) none but a musical instrument.” So I began with a gentle blast, and played and sung alternately,—“You’ll ne’er go the sooner to the Stygian Ferry. Let not your noble spirits be cast down, but drink, drink, drink, and be merry.”—“Give me some ale, (cries the wounded man) I like this, Doctor.” Afterward I blew till I nearly had burst my cheeks, and then sung, If ’tis joy to wound a lover; but the bone would not knit:—indeed I could not make it knit at all—and I don’t believe, as Mr. Hummings said, that if Dr. Mus himself, and all the musicians of Britain, fiddlers, violoncellos, double violoncellos, trumpets, and trumpet-marinos, together with every Maestro di Capella in Italy had been present, they could have made this bone knit—which, I suppose, was owing to the scorbutic habit of body of the patient; indeed, Mr. Hummings attributed it entirely to this cause; for the blood stopped before I had finished the first song.
YORK.
Nothing worth remark occur’d in my journey from hence to York; but at my approach to this celebrated city, my heart leapt for joy as soon as I beheld the towers of the cathedral; here, says I, I shall be much caressed and followed, I dare believe, as there are so many of the Dilettanti who reside within the precincts of this antient seat of music and superstition. This letter, says I, is of inestimable value, taking it from my pocket, and reading the direction, “For that incomparable Musician and Antiquarian, Dr. Hiccup;” doubtless he will pay great attention to his friends at Lincoln, who have honoured me with it. The footman shewed me into an elegant parlour, where there was a clock with chimes, so contrived that St. Peter, St. Paul, and the Virgin Mary were seen striking alternately on the bells, and by a sweet trio announced every hour of the day. Dr. Hiccup was, it seems, at his devotions, which he always performed in imitation of that great and devout musician, King David. He was a tall, boney figure, with a swarthy complexion, and blear eyes. As I sat down he took no notice of me, but continued dancing with a harp in his hand, without his breeches, and with his night-gown and shirt tucked up above his waist; and as he turned his brown posteriors this way and that, in the gyrations of the dance, all the women and children that were looking in through the window of his parlour, giggled, and made faces, and shewed variety of indecent gesticulations and noises. None of these, however, interrupted the devotions of this great man.