Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 430 | Page 9

a mixed character, having
pipes for the upper notes, and metal reeds for the bass. The effect is a
succession of sudden hoarse brays as an accompaniment to a soft
melody, suggesting the idea of a duet between Titania and Bottom. But
this is far from the worst of it. The profession of hand-organist having
of late years miserably declined, being in fact at present the next grade
above mendicancy, the element of cheapness has, per force, been
studied in the manufacture of the instrument. The barrels of some are so
villainously pricked that the time is altogether broken, the ear is
assailed with a minim in the place of a quaver, and vice versâ--and
occasionally, as a matter of convenience, a bar is left out, or even one is
repeated, in utter disregard of suffering humanity. But what is worse
still, these metal reeds, which are the most untunable things in the
whole range of sound-producing material, are constantly, from contact
with fog and moisture, getting out of order; and howl dolorously as
they will in token of their ailments, their half-starved guardian, who
will grind half an hour for a penny, cannot afford to medicate their
pains, even if he is aware of them, which, judging from his placid
composure during the most infamous combination of discords, is very
much to be questioned.[1]
2. The monkey-organist is generally a native of Switzerland or the

Tyrol. He carries a worn-out, doctored, and flannel-swathed instrument,
under the weight of which, being but a youth, or very rarely an adult, he
staggers slowly along, with outstretched back and bended knees. On the
top of his old organ sits a monkey, or sometimes a marmoset, to whose
queer face and queerer tricks, he trusts for compensating the defective
quality of his music. He dresses his shivering brute in a red jacket and a
cloth cap; and, when he can, he teaches him to grind the organ, to the
music of which he will himself dance wearily. He wears an everlasting
smile upon his countenance, indicative of humour, natural and not
assumed for the occasion: and though he invariably unites the
profession of a beggar with that of monkey-master and musician, he
has evidently no faith in a melancholy face, and does not think it
absolutely necessary to make you thoroughly miserable in order to
excite your charity. He will leave his monkey grinding away on a
door-step, and follow you with a grinning face for a hundred yards or
more, singing in a kind of recitative: 'Date qualche cosa, signer! per
amor di Dio, eccellenza, date qualche cosa!' If you comply with his
request, his voluble thanks are too rapid for your comprehension; and if
you refuse, he laughs merrily in your face as he turns away to rejoin his
friend and coadjutor. He is a favourite subject with the young artists
about town, especially if he is very good-looking, or, better still,
excessively ugly; and he picks up many a shilling for sitting, standing,
or sprawling on the ground, as a model in the studio. It sometimes
happens that he has no organ--his monkey being his only stock in trade.
When the monkey dies--and one sees by their melancholy comicalities,
and cautious and painful grimaces, that the poor brutes are destined to a
short time of it--he takes up with white mice, or, lacking these,
constructs a dancing-doll, which, with the aid of a short plank with an
upright at one end, to which is attached a cord passing through the body
of the doll, and fastened to his right leg, he keeps constantly on the jig,
to the music of a tuneless tin-whistle, bought for a penny, and a very
primitive parchment tabor, manufactured by himself. These shifts he
resorts to in the hope of retaining his independence and personal
freedom--failing to succeed in which, he is driven, as a last resource, to
the comfortless drudgery of piano-grinding, which we shall have to
notice in its turn.

3. The handbarrow-organist is not uncommonly some lazy Irishman, if
he be not a sickly Savoyard, who has mounted his organ upon a
handbarrow of light and somewhat peculiar construction, for the sake
of facilitating the task of locomotion. From the nature of his equipage,
he is not given to grinding so perpetually as his heavily-burdened
brethren. He cannot of course grind, as they occasionally do, as he
travels along, so he pursues a different system of tactics. He walks
leisurely along the quiet ways, turning his eyes constantly to the right
and left, on the look-out for a promising opening. The sight of a group
of children at a parlour-window brings him into your front garden,
where he establishes his instrument with all the deliberation of a
proprietor of the premises. He is pretty