A Love Story, by a Bushman | Page 8

viols, from
the violin to the double bass,--of instruments of brass, from trombones
and bass kettledrums even unto trumpet and cymbal,--of instruments of
wood, from winding serpents to octave flute,--and of fiddles of
parchment, from the grosse caisse to the tambourine. Nor were ancient
instruments wanting. These were of quaint forms and diverse
constructions. Mr. Græme would descant for hours on an antique
species of spinnet, which he procured from the East, and which he
vehemently averred, was the veritable dulcimer. He would display with
great gusto, his specimens of harps of Israel; whose deep-toned chorus,
had perchance thrilled through the breast of more than one of Judea's
dark-haired daughters. Greece, too, had her representatives, to remind
the spectators that there had been an Orpheus. There were flutes of the
Doric and of the Phrygian mode, and--let us forget not--the Tyrrhenian
trumpet, with its brazen-cleft pavilion. But by far the greater part of his
musical relics he had acquired during his stay in Italy. He could show
the litui with their carved clarions--the twisted cornua--the tuba, a
trumpet so long and taper,--the concha wound by Tritons--and eke the
buccina, a short and brattling horn.
Belliston Græme was an enthusiastic musician; and was in this peculiar,
that he loved the science for its simplicity. Musicians are but too apt to
give to music's detail and music's difficulties the homage that should be
paid to music's self: in this resembling the habitual man of law, who
occasionally forgetteth the great principles of jurisprudence, and invests
with mysterious agency such words as latitat and certiorari. The soul of
music may not have fled;--for we cultivate her assiduously,--worship
Handel--and appreciate Mozart. But music now springs from the head,
not the heart; is not for the mass, but for individuals. With our

increased researches, and cares, and troubles, we have lost the faculty
of being pleased. Past are those careless days, when the shrill musette,
or plain cittern and virginals, could with their first strain give motion to
the blythe foot of joy, or call from its cell the prompt tear of pity. Those
days are gone! Music may affect some of us as deeply, but none as
readily!
Mr. Græme had received from Paris an unpublished opera of Auber's.
Emily seated herself at the piano--her host took the violin--Clarendon
was an excellent flute player--and the tinkle of the Viscount's guitar
came in very harmoniously. By the time refreshments were introduced,
Charles Selby too was in his glory. He had already nearly convulsed
the Orientalist by a theory which he said he had formed, of a gradual
metempsychosis, or, at all events, perceptible amalgamation, of the
yellow Qui Hi to the darker Hindoo; which said theory he supported by
the most ingenious arguments.
"How did you like your stay in Scotland, Mr. Selby?" said Sir Henry
Delmé.
"I am a terrible Cockney, Sir Henry,--found it very cold, and was very
sulky. The only man I cared to see in Scotland was at the Lakes; but I
kept a register of events, which is now on the table in my
dressing-room. If Græme will read it, for I am but a stammerer, it is at
your service."
The paper was soon produced, and Mr. Græme read the following:--
"THE BRAHMIN.
"A stranger arrived from a far and foreign country. His was a mind
peculiarly humble, tremblingly alive to its own deficiencies. Yet,
endowed with this mistrust, he sighed for information, and his soul
thirsted in the pursuit of knowledge. Thus constituted, he sought the
city he had long dreamingly looked up to as the site of truth--Scotia's
capital, the modern Athens. In endeavouring to explore the mazes of
literature, he by no means expected to discover novel paths, but sought
to traverse beauteous ones; feeling he could rest content, could he meet
with but one flower, which some bolder and more experienced
adventurer might have allowed to escape him. He arrived, and cast
around an anxious eye. He found himself involved in an apparent
chaos--the whirl of distraction--imbedded amidst a ceaseless turmoil of
would-be knowing students, endeavouring to catch the aroma of the

pharmacopaeia, or dive to the deep recesses of Scotch law. He sought
and cultivated the friendship of the literati; and anticipated a perpetual
feast of soul, from a banquet to which one of the most distinguished
members of a learned body had invited him. He went with his mind
braced up for the subtleties of argument--with hopes excited, heart elate.
He deemed that the authenticity of Champolion's hieroglyphics might
now be permanently established, or a doubt thrown on them which
would for ever extinguish curiosity. He heard a doubt raised as to the
probability of Dr. Knox's connection with Burke's murders!
Disappointed and annoyed, he returned to his hotel, determined to seek
other means of