His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small closet; and about the
walls of his apartment are hooks to hold his fishing-tackle, whips,
spurs, and a favourite fowling-piece, curiously wrought and inlaid,
which he inherits from his grandfather. He has, also, a couple of old
single-keyed flutes, and a fiddle which he has repeatedly patched and
mended himself, affirming it to be a veritable Cremona, though I have
never heard him extract a single note from it that was not enough to
make one's blood run cold.
From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in the stillness
of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-forgotten tune; for he prides
himself on having a choice collection of good old English music, and
will scarcely have any thing to do with modern composers. The time,
however, at which his musical powers are of most use, is now and then
of an evening, when he plays for the children to dance in the hall,
and he passes among them and the servants for a perfect Orpheus.
His chamber also bears evidence of his various avocations: there are
half-copied sheets of music; designs for needle-work; sketches of
landscapes, very indifferently executed; a camera lucida; a magic
lantern, for which he is endeavoring to paint glasses; in a word, it
is the cabinet of a man of many accomplishments, who knows a little of
everything, and does nothing well.
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