and to prove this, played a rhapsody upon it with no small effect. After the applause had subsided, he informed us however, in a rather transcendental tone, that the cinder came from a subterraneous fire in Abyssinia, and the hair from the tail of a black horse with green eyes, of a mysterious breed, preserved by a certain German baron, a friend of his, and a descendant of Dr Faustus, on his domain in the Harts mountains; a piece of information which seemed to excite as much merriment as wonder in some of his hearers.

After Mr C-le-dge, Mr M-re was universally called upon, who, as soon as he had recovered from his laughing, played us an exquisite old Irish air on the flute, with a pathos that brought the tears into my old eyes. He then attempted a grand Turkish march, with the aid of Turkish bells, which he jingled as an accompaniment; this, however, by no means accorded well with the genius of his instrument. So, suddenly laying down his flute, he seized dancing master's kit, which had belonged to the famous Bath Guide, Anstey, on which he rattled off a humorous divertimento with infinite spirit. Elated with the success of this piece of gayety, he produced a mail-coach horn, and proceeded to amuse the audience with a burlesque of Mr S-th-y's grand trumpet flourish, in which he at last got so personal as to raise a terrible tumult in the gallery. Some groaned, some applauded, some hissed, some catcalled, and some roared go on." Mr J-ff-y, who took his part, had like to have got to loggerheads with our friend Mr Bl-k-d, who was sitting next him. There was no saying how matters might have ended, had not Ensign Odoherty, who had chosen to pack himself in a snug corner of the gallery, luckily hit upon the expedient of volunteering "the Humours of Glen" through a pocket comb, in a most stentorian voice, accompanied by himself, with a pewter pot and two tobacco-pipes, by way of kettle-drum, which at length drowned the clamour. But when the ensign proceeded with a thumb in each side of his mouth, and a finger on each nostril, in order to produce the swells and falls like a pedal, to whistle a Polonoise, (which he called "his Pulley nose,") with original variations good

humour was completely restored. L-d St-gf-d finally mollified every body, by breathing some Portuguese airs, with much sweetness, through a third flute. I observed by the way, that his L-dsh-p played with a "mouth-piece"-which, somebody told me, he had found amongst the remains of Camoëns, when in those parts. In emulation, I presume, of L-ds B-n and St-gf-d, L-d T-w next essayed; but whether some mischievous wag had greased his fiddlestick, or how it happened I cannot tell, but he produced only some uncouth noises, that hardly amounted to tones; so that the ensign, who now took Mr M-re's place as joker, recommended him to the barrel organ on the stairhead. P-cy B-she Sh-l-y succeeded better in out B-ning B-n; for, with a trombone, he horrified us with some of the most terrific passages I ever heard. They became, at last, perfectly disagreeable. The next performer, to my great delight, was Sir W-r St. He blew a clarionet; and whether the mood was Marcia," "Fieramente," or "Pastorale," this fine bold natural player made all ring again. He concluded with a most spirited reveille on the patent bugle. I could not help remarking the strong hankering that Sir W-r seemed to have after a pair of huge old bagpipes, which had last belonged to Allan Ramsay, but which now lay dusty and neglected. Many a joke was launched at this unfortunate instrument. M-re called it, slily, a green bag-and of the worst sort;" and C-le-dge, a "doodle sack," which he said was "the German name, and, like all other German names, highly expressive." Sir W-r stood stoutly up for them; and proved, by some Roman sculptures, the venerable date and good estimation of the instrument. In fine, after regretting the absence of A-1-n Cgh-m, who, he said, would play them better than any man in Scotland, he called upon Mr H-g, the Ettrick Shepherd, to rub up his old craft, and give them a lilt; which he did in a style that set little M-re a dancing, and drew a flood of tears down C-le-dge's cheeks. After Mr H-g had laid down the bagpipes, he pulled out a pandean pipe, and played some strains of extraordinary power and execution, as wild and resonant as

if they had been echoed by a hundred hills. They were only exceeded in fancy by Mr W-n, who, on the hautboy, breathed a lay so soft and imaginative, that I never heard the like. It was the very moonlight of sound. He suddenly passed into a tone of terror, sometimes amounting almost to a scream, mingled with snatches of plaintive lamentation. It reminded me forcibly of the massacre of Glencoe. I took the liberty of asking Mr W-n if he played it? He said he did not. On which I begged to recommend to him Frazer's Highland tunes, amongst which that extraordinary air is to be found, and made bold to assure him, that his hautboy would make more of it than all the other instruments put together; -at which he smiled, and shook his head.

We were interrupted by a wonderfully striking, expressive, and even sweet ditty, which, on turning round, I found to proceed from an elderly clerical-looking personage, who was playing on the hurdy-gurdy. When I saw it was Mr Cbbe, I was not surprised at the pleasure which even this monotonous, not to say vulgar, instrument afforded me. But what cannot genius do? It is reported Mr C

-bbe has some thoughts of training a band of marrowbones and cleavers, and every body says it would be the finest thing that has been heard for a long time. Mr W- -n informed me, that the reverend gentleman sung a ballad to admiration, the which he has been known to accompany with his thumb on the great kitchen table, very successfully, by way of bass. Just as the word ballad was mentioned, a dispute fell out with Mr C- -bbe, Mr S-th-y, Mr C-le-dge, and Mr W-dsw-th, whether "the Cobbler of Bucklersbury," "the Bloody Gardi

ner,"

"Giles Scroggins' Ghost," or "the Babes of the Wood," was the most sublime piece. I thought Mr -bbe seemed to have the advan

Ctage.

Whilst this argument was going on, happening to turn my eyes towards the side of the room, I saw an old musical instrument or two, which I went and examined. There was a violoncello which, Mr Wn informed me, had once been Dryden's, and which, he said, they were very shy of touching now-a-days. It was a strong formid

able-looking instrument. Next to it was a gigantic double bass, with a bow. like that of Ulysses, which, it seems, used to be played upon by Dr Young. Beside it stood an antiquated harp of great dimensions, on which was carved, EDMUND SPENSER; but the greatest curiosity of all, in my mind, was a unique, ebony, old English flute, as big as a blunderbuss, and not very unlike one. It was the flute of Chaucer, and as, Mr W-n said, it had not been touched in the memory of man, the precise gamut was probably lost. I was contemplating this venerable old relic with profound attention, when I got a terrible start with the most hideous noise I ever heard in my life. This, upon examination, I found to come from Mr F-tzg-d, who insist ed upon treating the company with. "God save the King" upon a Chinese gong. The din was so great that I can't say I made much tune out. It was no small relief to hear Mr Cr-k-r play "Lord Wellington," with some, variations for the fife. He also gave. us the "Death of Nelson" very finely. Mr R-g-rs then warbled a beautiful little "dolce" on the double flageolet; and Mr Sp-nc-r, a madrigal on the French flageolet. Mr M-tg-m-y played the “German Hymn" on a celestina, and Mr Fr-re a most ingenious capriccio on the triangle.

These having ended, my attention was attracted by arather conceited London-looking gentleman, who was strumming, with some execution and a good deal of affectation, on an old-fashioned spinnet, or rather virginal; when he turned round I discovered him to be Mr L-gh H-nt, who, when the company congratulated him, informed us that his spinnet was of the true Italian make, and had probably belonged to Tasso. He had himself, however, been obliged to refit and add a good many strings. Upon some one doubting this pedigree, and saying that, after all, the extent of what was known with any certainty about the matter was, that the spinnet had been found in an old house in little Britain, in the occupation of Mr Peter Prig, late eminent pawnbroker, deceased, to whose father it was pawned by an Italian `toyman, I thought Mr H-nt seemed more piqued than the occasion seemed to require. However, he soon recovered himself, and taking L-d

B-n aside, with a jaunty and familiar air, held him by the button, and whispered in his ear for some minutes, during which I overheard the words, "mere malice" and "political rancour," repeated once or twice. Mr H-nt then introduced a young gentleman without a neckcloth, of the name of K-ts, who played a sort of Sapphic ode, in the metre dicolos petrastrophos, upon a lyre, which he said was exactly modelled after that given by ancient sculptors to Apollo. Nor was I displeased with the music, notwithstanding the eccentricity of the instrument. Indeed Mr K-ts hardly had fair-play. The lyre being of his own manufacture, and not put together in the most workmanlike manner, a string or two got loose during the performance, which marred the effect sadly. After him Mr B-rr-y C-rnw-ll favoured us with a serenade on the Spanish guitar, and sung a madrigal of Shakspeare, set by the celebrated old composer, Bird, accompanying himself, and giving this ancient harmony great effect.

Our applauses were suddenly interrupted by a most extraordinary phenomenon. This was a young gentleman of the name of Sm-th, who professed to play after the manner of the famous Signior What-d'ye-callem, upon ten instruments at once; which he did, to the admiration of all present. I never heard such thunders of applause and laughter; and when, like a full band all playing in concert-" sackbuts and psalteries, -he struck up, and introduced, as finale, the grotesque old ballad-tune of Jingling Geordie," I thought the house would have come down. What pleased me as much as any thing, was to see the most popular poets of the

time, who were thus a sort of outdone, enjoy the joke, and clap, and vociferate, as zealously as any of us.

This it would seem was the concluding performance, and I was still laughing and clapping my hands in ecstasy, when I found a circle round me, politely begging me to favour them with a stave or two. I was unluckily in high glee; and, oh! Mr North, how I longed for my Northumberland small-pipes, with ebony and silver drones, and ivory chanter! I felt as if I could have given them "Over the Border," or 66 the Peacock follows the Hen," with all the fire of Jamie Allan, or Fitzmaurice himself. As I had owned myself a musician, however, they insisted upon my playing something, and forced an instrument into my hands-but whether it was flute, clarionet, pipe, or whistle, I am sure I cannot tell. One imagines, in a dream, that one can do every thing-so I put it to my mouth, and produced some notes of what Pope says is" harmony not understood," that is to say, discord.

Maugre the contortions of the countenances around me, I was still persevering, and getting from bad to worse, when suddenly a voice with a strong Scotch accent, and a tone of most irresistible humour, exclaimed, "Lord safe our lugs-what a guse's thrapple." The whole assemblage burst out a-laughing at this ejaculation of the shepherd, and I awoke in a cold sweat, with my tobacco-pipe in both hands, like a flute, and the candle just expiring in the socket, at a quarter to one in the morning. I am, &c. &c. &c.

JOSIAH SHUFFLEBOTHAM. Gowks-hall, Northumberland, Sept. 20th, A. D. 1820.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Kelso, September 29th.

HONOURED MR NORTH,

You need not shrug your shoulders at the commencement of this epistle. I know well enough how great a bore, as your modern young gentlemen ele gantly term it, it is, in general, to tell one's dreams. "Babbling dreams," Shakspeare calls them; and, to be sure, for the most part, they have all the disadvantage of fiction, joined to the triteness of common-place reality. But this that I am going to give you is, as far as I can see, as agreeable as any realities I have to send you at present from Gowks-Hall, excepting, peradventure, the smoked flitch which accompanies this, and which Dinah says, she hopes is quite equal to that you liked so well when you did us the honour to stop a day or two last backend. However, I must not wander from my subject, considering that I am now only relating a dream, and not dreaming one. Well, I had got comfortably settled the other night, in the old stuffed arm-chair by the fire, after having, at last, sent off to bed your friend Roger, who had been deafening us all the evening with practising "Tantivy," Up in the morning early," and "the Lass of Livingstone,' upon the old French hunting-horn that hangs in the hall; and sister Dinah had left me to enjoy my pipe, ewe-milk cheese, and jug of mulled October, (old John has made a capital brewage of it this year, Mr North, you'll be glad to hear), together with a volume of Anderson's Poets, when, somehow or other, I dropped asleep. VOL. VIII.

Then followed the oddest vision that ever I knew or heard of, all as regular as clock-work, as one may say.

Methought I found myself, all at once, in a long room, with a gallery, like a concert-room, and that, in the gallery, was an audience, as for a concert. I thought, however, that I was in the body of the room, and not in the gallery, and there came in to me a whole company of people, with musical instruments in their hands, whom I knew at once, I cannot tell how, to be poets. To be sure, some of them had an out-of-the-world look enoughbut there's no accounting for these things in dreams. There they all stood at their music-stands, as natural as the life, just as fiddlers do; and, as I remembered, they first all played together the sweetest and wildest harmony I ever heard: indeed, it seemed quite supernatural, and put me into a sort of amaze, and made me gasp for breath, with a feeling such as one re collects to have had, when a boy, in a swing whilst on the return. After that they chimed in, one by one, to play solos, I think, the musicians call them; and some, whose turns were far off, I thought, stood about and came near me, and appeared very affable and familiar. The oddest thing was, that I always knew perfectly who played, though how I came by the knowledge I cannot tell.

The first that played was a pale noble-looking man, whom I knew at first sight to be L-d B-n, and he gave us a solo on the serpent, such as

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