382 CONFESSIONS OF A MUSIC-HATER. 



ballad-singer, escaped the general carnage, and exclaiming in pitiful 

 strains, 



" The bigots of the iron time 

 Pronounced his harmless art a crime." 



Harmless art ! the art of a fiddler, or an organ-grinder, a harmless art ! 

 Pray, Sir Poet! what may be your opinion of the profession of a 

 cutpurse and incendiary ? 



Suppose we were to try our hand at the " Lay of the last Thief:" we 

 have no doubt we could make an excellent ditty of it. 



" The way was long, the wind was cold, 

 The thief was hungry, weak, and old ; 

 The last of all the thieves was he 

 Who filched a watch, or forged a key ; 

 For, well-a-day ! their date was sped 

 His nimble brethren all were dead, 

 And he, discouraged and opprest, 

 Wished to be with them, and at rest." 



Sir, my wrath at music and musicians is not without reason. It is my 

 lot to have a large circle of friends and relations, and my life is not 

 worth a pin's fee, because of the perpetual onslaught made on my tym- 

 panum, not only with the human voice, but with a greater variety of mu- 

 sical instruments than Nebuchadnezzar had in all his band. What vexes 

 me most is, that they take infinite pains and spare no expense to make 

 themselves perfectly expert at this branch, for such it is, of the science 

 of ingeniously tormenting. The young ladies get up at six, and practise 

 ten hours a-day to inflict their rondos and sonatas upon me as adroitly 

 as possible. Their brothers will actually leave the billiard-tables and 

 racket-courts to master the German flute or key bugle with the same 

 kind purpose. And then I am obliged to listen to the parents and 

 aunts commending the execution how happily does that word execution 

 express the true character of a musical performance ! of these amiable 

 young people ; and what is still more galling, speaking of singing and 

 playing as as what do you suppose? as elegant accomplishments 

 elegant accomplishments bless the mark ! 



I will tell you my sentiments, Sir, on the subject of accomplishments ; 

 I have no objection to French and Italian ; German is no harm, pro- 

 vided the pupil confines himself to the language, and contracts no liking 

 for the flute ; the skipping-rope is not to be spoken against, nor do I 

 impugn the respectability of battle-door and shuttle-cock. Then there 

 is drawing in all its branches a quiet, inoffensive amusement as any I 

 know of it hurts nobody's nerves; it disturbs nobody's nap after 

 dinner ; it neither prevents the lawyer from studying his brief, nor the 

 poor dog of a contributor the " canus impransus" of your Literary 

 Zoological Garden from composing his article. I respect extremely 

 those ladies and gentlemen who wield the pencil or the brush. Their 

 work goes on as smoothly as their own oils ; and there is no more noise 

 in the studio than if the artist were asleep on his own pallet. But the 

 pastime of the musician is selfish and cruel ; he gratifies his ruffianly 

 taste at the cost of incalculable suffering to five-sixths of the miserable 

 beings within the range of his instrument of torture ; for such every 

 musical instrument is ! I ! 



Like Cassius, I do not know what you or other men think, but for 

 myself I never see a lady at a harp or a harpsichord, or a gentleman 



