DURHAM.
Fromthis place toDurhamI was necessitated to travel on foot; and by playing theBlack Joke,Murdoch O’Blaney, and other sentimental tunes to the girls of the villages I pass’d through, procured food and lodging, which my brother of the String had refused me. AtDarlington, I waited on theMaestro di Capella, or clerk of the parish, who I may assert had the finest nasality, or nose-intonation, that ever was given toDavid’spsalms; and the melody of hisAmen, was quite astonishing.
So well was my bassoon received at this church, that the ’Squire’s lady invited me to Dinner. “Good SigniorCollioni,” says she, “you have charmed, you have enraptured me; pray, has the wind which escapes out at the end of your instrument any smell?”——“smell!” says I, “no,madam, not unless I eat onions.” At this all the ladies laughed most extravagantly.
However, the ’Squire after dinner gave me a recommendatory letter to the great Mr.EcchoofDurham, principal performer belonging to that opulent cathedral; and withal told me, that Mr.Ecchohad so long apply’d himself to musical notes, that he had utterly forgot all articulate language. That he preached, conversed, prayed, scolded, swore, talk’d bawdy, and blasphemy, all on the fiddle, without uttering a word, or even making a sign with his fingers.
At my introduction to this great man, I began a long complimental speech, which I had been some time studying.——“Most respectable sir, whose soul is a soul of harmony, and whose body is like a base-viol.”——Here he snatch’d up his fiddle with an air of great complacency, and drawing, the bow gently over the strings said, as plain as if he hadspoke it. “Oh, sir, your most obedient; you compliment me indeed, sir, too much.” I then told him how long a journey I had performed on foot, and that the dusty roads had made me dry. He snatched up his violin, and before he had play’d above a bar or two, in came a footman with a jug of delicate ale. Next I mentioned modestly my having eat nothing all day.——“Trut, trut, bish, bash, bush,” cries the fiddle—“Indeed, sir,” replies I, “I, don’t fast for the sake of devotion”——“ir, er, ar, querr, quorr, quurr”—quoth the fiddle, and in came a surloin of cold beef, and mustard and bread, in the twinkling of a fiddle-stick.
This gentleman, quoth I, is greater thanOrpheusorEurydice, or theSerpent;—no, no,Orpheuscould do no such things as these—ale and beef were a note or two above his fiddle!
Soon after came in Mr.Eccho’s wife, with a “what the deuce are you about, bringing beggars into my house?”—Mr.Ecchocatched up the fiddle, and such a jar did I never hear “arg, erg, urg, gir, gor, gur”—I warrant you madam became as dumb as if she were inchanted.
Indeed, hearing this lady give me the opprobrious name of beggar, I took care to shew the diamond ring on my little finger, which I always wear when I perform in public, which might give her a better opinion of me, tho’ indeed it is only a Bristol stone, and that I pay a silver-smith two pence a week for the use of; and I would have hired a laced waistcoat, but was asked a shilling a week, tho’ I am sure the lace had been twice turn’d; yet, if I had hired it, I dare say Dr.Hiccupwould scarcely have kicked me out of his house.