UNREQUITED LOVE.

SONG. (PAGE 138.)

If to love, she could not incline,

I told her I'd die in an hour:

To die says she-tis thine,

But to love! is not in my power.

I asked her the reason why,

She could not me approve;
She said it was a task too hard,
To give any reason for love.

105

Thus, in climbing the hill of life, looking for the summit of our wishes, what dire disappointment often comes! -On achieving the hill top, lo! what a glorious sight is unfurled! what a picture hangs before the delighted eyes! In the near ground just beneath, lies Beaumanor, buried in clustering trees. Far on the left, wrapped up in smoke, Derby is but dimly seen, while Nottingham gleams in the bright sunshine. As the eye wanders to the verge of the horizon, where earth and sky unite, lo! Lincoln Minster stands, like a ghostly fabric in another world. Turn where you will, what a radiant orb of life and light appears. Hark! from the vale below, the bugle sounds, and echoes leap from wood to wood, like unseen spirits. Down the dizzy steep the bounding nymphs and corydons dart like fawns to their wonted groves. Now reclining on the grass, how pleasant to partake of the sylvan feast, and reviving glass, when music fills the grove-rousing the listening herds, who draw near to enjoy the vocal sounds. Once more the

steep height is mounted to bid adieu to nature's picture. Alas! how changed is now the scene. As the sun goes down behind yon western hill, the mellow light dies away, and the solemn hues of night draw on, warning us it is time to depart. The carriages freighted, we reluctantly leave the breezy hill to return to the close and smoky town.

CHAPTER XXV.

BARTLEMAN HARRISON-KNYVETT-GREATOREX.

In the summer time, these four sons of harmony used to visit Lord Chesterfield, at Bradby, in Staffordshire. Each had a light boat, easily carried from one portage to another, and, in this way, they navigated themselves from the Thames, through canals and rivers to Burton-upon-Trent, near to his Lordship's mansion. They were not only sons of harmony, but sons of the angle disciples of old Isaac Walton. On the banks of the Trent they had a house where their boats and fishing tackle were lodged, and always ready for their favourite sport. Lord Chesterfield was a great lover of music, and, with King George III., was a director of the ancient concerts, in which the voices of these gentlemen received the plaudits of that monarch. When the season of music closed in town, his Lordship invited them, like so many

school boys, to spend the holidays with him at Bradby, during which (except now and then,) music was to be totally abandoned. Out-door amusements, such as cricket, quoits, and trap-ball were their delight, not forgetting the silent angle. These occupied the day, till the dinner-bell rang, when our devotees to Apollo and Bacchus soon convinced his Lordship how well they could also play their part in the salle-amanger. Under no restraint, the delights of the evening surpassed the sports of the day. If they sang, it was for their own amusement, giving way to sallies of mirth and humour, like a set of wild creatures, compared with their staid and cautious demeanour in town.

The next visit was to Sir Charles Hudson,* at Wanlip, where they met with similar indulgence. Miss Greatorex, then living in Leicester, used to avail herself of such valuable aid at her annual concert. This took place in the assize week, and was fully attended by the county families. As vocalists, they were the most perfect set of English singers that ever joined their voices together. Bartleman, for tone and expression, has never been approached. His enunciation was bold and intrepid, having all the force of elocution, added to the power of song. Hark! my Daridcar, we're call'd below, and the animated strain of Lucinda's Eyes, were fine exhibitions of his rhetorical powers. It may be

* Vide vol. II., p. 526, 641.

said the music of Purcel died with him. The vocal concerts in London were established by this party; and, after they had sung the classical glees threadbare, they introduced, as a novelty, a mawkish sort of composition-ballads, harmonised for four voices-to which they improperly gave the name of glees. These they brought down with them in MS. to Leicester, and, being pretty well known as songs, were much applauded. The following I recollect :-"O, Nanny, wilt thou gang with me?"-" Shepherds, I have lost my love."" My love is like a red, red rose."— “Fair Ellen like a lily grew."

As a song, O Nanny is beautifully expressive, both in words and music; but as a glee, it becomes absurd and ridiculous. In answer to the solicitation, Nanny might reply, ""Tis sufficient I gang with one of youonly let me choose whom I like best."

One morning's entertainment, was a visit to St. Martin's organ, to hear Greatorex perform upon that noble instrument. He excelled in playing Handel's choruses, with a fulness and weight of tone never heard from any other hand: his compact execution was like Doric Architecture, massive and grand! These gifted spirits rusticated with us every year; and in their evening parties, I was enlisted to take a part in the madrigals, and as I could sing at sight, a praise was accorded to me, which I did not expect. One afternoon I walked with them to some grounds of Mr. Heyrick's, to have a game at quoits, in which I was

not so ready to join as in their music. They entered into it with all the animation of a set of schoolboys. On our way, I mentioned to Mr. Greatorex that I had just received, from Hamburgh, a copy of Haydn's Creation, and begged his opinion of it. "Why, sir," he replied, "I think it never will be much performed; it is so difficult, and its lightness of style will never suit the English taste."

CHAPTER XXVI.

WOODBRIDGE.

My friend, of St. John's College, Cambridge, was a facetious, true-hearted fellow, under a silent and grave demeanour. His genius lay in mathematical learning; and when he paid us a visit at Leicester, his company was sought as a distinguished scholar. He was completely wrapped up in the studies of Professor Waring, and the philosopher, Billy Farish, as he was called, who were his tutors. A great trouble to him was his absence of mind, which frequently led him into many laughable mistakes: he seemed to have no room in his thoughts, except for algebra and conic sections.

Woodbridge was a good-looking, well-made bachelor, and our ladies uniformly set their caps at him: