SHEFFIELD.
Dr.Dilettantiwas so kind as to make me a present of a place in the stage coach toSheffieldin my road toYork, 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 theSheffieldmanufacturers, 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 workthe large bellows, like that organ of which there is a print inKempleri 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 ofCecilia’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; “SigniorCollioni,” says he, “your observations inchant me; the most antient music, as you well explain, was made with hammers beating upon anvils,as invented byTubal Cain, and practised in the shop of his successor,Vulcan, tho’Saturnis thought to have been the first of thecastrati.—But this invention was not compleat, SigniorCollioni, 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 thatHeathen,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 danceallemands. 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, youshall 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 KingDavid, and danced like aHeinel. 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 divineHomer.Ulysseshad 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 finishedAlley Croaker,Moggy Lauder, andA lovely Lass to a Fryar came, (which are all antientGreektunes, sir,) thewound 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.Hummingssaid 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, andthen 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.Hummingssaid, that if Dr.Mushimself, and all the musicians of Britain, fiddlers, violoncellos, double violoncellos, trumpets, and trumpet-marinos, together with everyMaestro di CapellainItalyhad 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.Hummingsattributed it entirely to this cause; for the blood stopped before I had finished the first song.