Dearest girls, publish it not in Gath, if I whisper the homespun confession, and tell you in depth of secrecy, that pleasure is a stranger to me at our concerts. I hear compositions so chromatic, modulations so unnatural, transitions so violent, and harmony so entirely divested of the character which I have been in the habit of attaching to it, that, were it not for information to the contrary, I should not be aware that I was listening to music at all, but should imagine myself introduced to a new and wonderful mechanism for exhibiting the muscular powers to their utmost extent, and also trying how far it is practicable to exert the licence of caprice without ever touching on the borders of melody. In the same spirit of confidential avowal I may add, that there seems to be a strict covenant between the modern composers and the instrument-makers to murder music, and prevent a concerto, as well as the piano-forte on which it is performed, from a longer existence in the fashionable world than will be allotted to the preposterous flat hats, which only require poles supporting their circumference, to give the Regent's-park exactly the air of an encampment. Another musical observation which I have made, is, that every young lady on first setting down, and running over the keys of the finest Stoddart or Broadwood, piped, barred, and dandified, according to the very latest vogue, declares the instrument to be out of tune. Quere, is this to make boast of an exquisite ear, or is it done to bespeak mercy for imperfect execution? In either case, to produce effect it should not be a general fashion; and there should be at least a foundation of truth in the complaint; but it literally happened yesterday evening, that Louisa's magnificent instrument had been put into the highest order only half an hour before the company arrived, and yet the fair competitors for fame were not a whit the better satisfied. Perhaps after all it is necessary to talk a little nonsense, and tumble over the leaves of whatever music is open on the desk, to gain time for shaking back the manacles which load the wrists of a fashionable lady with such shekels of gold that their weight is apt to determine the blood towards her finger tops. This is an inconvenience, and certainly an alloy to the pleasure of exhibiting richer ornaments than were ever à la mode till now, but what advantage is there without its counterpoise? It is unlucky too that necklaces are out, as they afforded great opportunity in perpetual fiddling with them to regulate the circulation, and shew off bracelets and rings in the best possible position for securing white hands and arms, during the time being.
Dearest mother, do I see you shake your head, and call this ill nature? If I thought that a shadow of displeasure glanced over that brow on which I pray unceasingly that I may never be the means of gathering a cloud, I would make a vow against opening my eyes to the ridiculous while I remain in London; but I hope that even you will laugh with me at the absurdities which we must be blind not to see, and dumb not to tell of. If the sisters imagine that my heart is likely to be perforated like a cullender, tell them that not a single missile has reached it as yet,
"Th' invaders dart their jav'lins from afar."
Nevertheless, I am safe, and likely to remain unscathed by any lightning from London eyes. This is fortunate; for what chance would a poor Kerry bog-trotter have of meeting "sweet return" in this meridian blaze—this dazzling glare?
"For sight no obstacle found here, or shade,
But all sunshine; as when his beams at noon
Culminate from the Equator."
I love our dear Glen better than any scenery that I have met with since I left its sunny lawns and tangled dells; and, if I may be allowed to compare the moral with the physical world, there is an enchanting refreshment in the lights and shades of a refined yet natural character, beyond all the glow of fashion's artificial splendour to impart.
Last night I sat for a short time by a young lady who had something pensive in her countenance, which brought Emily to my mind: and feeling a sort of attraction towards her, I listened to her conversation, in which, hearing some words through the din of voices, that bespoke a love of painting and sculpture, I determined on getting alongside, as the sailors say. I did so, and we talked of the Exhibition, the Elgin Marbles, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Chauntry, Canova, &c. but talk it was, aye, "vox et preterea nihil." Not a particle of enthusiasm had reached her mind, it only flickered round her lips. She had been in Rome, had seen Naples, visited the Louvre, ransacked every atelier of every celebrated artist in her travels; and, as a matter of course, is come back discontented with every thing in England. I sought as vainly for a single grain of taste in her conversation as I generally do for a strain of sweetness in the music which I daily hear: no;—terms of art and fashionable echoes met my ear, but not a sentiment that originated in feeling: no description drawn by a pencil dipped in the heart.
I ventured to say something, I know not what, but my remark was my own; I was not to be found, I suppose, in the common-place book acknowledged at present, as the reception that it encountered was a rude burst of laughter, in which my fair antagonist's mamma, who came to present Lord Oldfield to her daughter, joined immediately, and I should have been the butt of the company, I conclude, if my happy stars had not sent a nobleman to my rescue, who so entirely engrossed the attention of both mother and ma'mselle, that a mouse would have been a greater object than I was. Otway's lines rushed on my memory as I gazed indignantly on this vulgar pair; for how can I give them any more appropriate epithet? When I looked around me, and rested my eyes on the wool-pack, matrons lounging in their easy chairs so large and languid, I could not help mentally exclaiming,