R— K————, our Commander-inChief, and a worthier fellow never stepp'd 'twixt stem and stern. This is his cabin-his house I mean. He is a sailor, Sir, and that's saying every thing. But I'm on duty, and mustn't stand speechifying: yet if you wants to know any thing about him, I often sees you here-Ax for Tim Bobstay, and I'll —yes, I'll give you a spell."—"Thank ye, Tim, thank ye, my worthy soul, I'll take you at your word." So he shoulder'd his thing-hum-he (all-but I think they call it,) and stood as erect as a fathom of smoke.

A group of old blades were assembled on the terrace, cutting their jokes and gabbling like wild geese on a common. I stole among them, sat down, and pulling out a book, appeared to be reading with profound attention. "Then you know nothing about it," roared an old rough knot in a laced coat and cocked-up hat. He had left his left arm in the Mediterranean when he lent a fist to thrash the French out of Acre, under Sir Sidney Smith. But that was nothing; he never could be persuaded that it was placed upon the right shoulder, and this did away with the argument. One of his legs too had danced itself off while leading up the middle at Lord Cochrane's attack upon the French fleet in Basque Roads; moreover his starboard eye had sunk into his head, as he used to say, to search for his brains, but it threw no light upon the subject." Then you know nothing about it; Sir Sidney had both a head and a heart, and when alongside of the enemy, would hammer away like a coppersmith. Bless his honest face and his curly wig!-he was none of your fantizzymagoria sort of fellows; and now you'se put me up, I'll e'en sit down and give you a curious antidote about him. D'ye see he had his flag flying in the Foudroyant, at the time the Portugeese court nutmegrated to the Brazils-homograted I mean-and took French-leave of their country. We brought up in Port Praya at St. Jago's, one of the Cape Verds, and after the usual salutes and bon bons the Admiral went ashore to dine with the Governor. Well, he was ushered into the salloon,

6

and introduced to a stranger dress'd in deep black, who had been landed some days before from a Yankee schooner, to collect plants for bottomme I think they calls it. After introduction, Sir Sidney whispered his Headto-come, and the officer immediately withdrew. So, d'ye see they sat down to dinner. Well, just as the disheart was set upon the table, in comes the Officer again, bringing with him the Captain of Marines. The Admiral rose from his seat, turned round, and and pointing to the gemman in black, said, Captain H, you'll consider this person in your charge.' Then changing his position, he slued round: -General,' said he, 'see how fortune changes here; I was your prisoner once, now you are mine.' It was an officer of the French army, who had guarded Sir Sidney when in prison in France, and was now acting as a spy. Well, d'ye see, the Admiral brought him aboard, and they mess'd together like good friends till we arrived at Rio Janeiro, when he was delivered up to the Portugeese government, and then-it makes my ould heart thump against my ricketty timbers to think of it. He was a fine fellow; and though our brave Admiral tried every means to save him, yet he was condemn'd to labour in the mines for life. I'd rather be flogg'd at any time than have my grog stopt; and I think death must have been preferable to that constant sickness of heart arising from hope deferred, as our poet the loblolly-boy used to say. The whole ship's company pitied him; he was our enemy, to be sure, but then he was in our power. Howsomever I arn't much skill'd in the knowledge of that ere idol that so many people worships, called Polly-ticks. My old girl Bet can wash a shirt or sow on a button with any she-goddess in the world, and so can I for matter o' that; and I'll make a sea-pie or cut out a pair of trowsers with the Queen of She-bear any day of the week—and Solomon says she was no fool either. Once more, and then I'll belay. The boats were all ashore at Port Praya watering. Some on you have seen the militia of the island-them as parades the beach with a bag-a-nit stuck on a

mopstick, and a cutlash without a scabbard hung by a strip of green hide; and then there's a whole troop of Light Dragoons mounted on Jerusalem ponies. Well, d'ye see, one of these fellows drew his sword and made a cut at the cock-son of the lanch;-it fell on his head; but Lord bless you, he might just as well have tried to cut into this stone! Flint and steel always strike fire, and he was a precious hot-headed joker; so what does he do but claps the soldier, Rustynante, accoutrements and all into the boat, and takes him alongside with the casks. The hands were turned up, clear-boats-'twas just dusk-the tackles were overhaul'd down, and the falls manned. Mind how you clap on the slings that the butts don't slip out,' said the First Lieutenant. Aye, aye, Sir.'-' Hook on, and not so much noise alongside. You've been foul of the hoggy-dent* again.' 'Silence, I say again! Haul * Aquædente; a powerful liquor.

taught!-hoist away! Away danced the men, the fifers playing Drops of Brandy. Well behaved, men-this butt's not full-it comes up very light!' roar'd the Lieutenant, advancing to the gangway-What the deuce have we got here, St. David and his goat? High enough!-bigh enough!-and indeed it was a high rig, for what should it be but the Royal Horse-guard, regularly mounted on his donkey, swinging aloft by the main-yard tackle 'twixt heaven and ocean, in an awful state of suspense. Hungwggh-Hwgwgnwggh(there's no vowel in the bray of an ass) roar'd Jack, while the trooper joined chorus most milodiously till he was safely landed on the deck. The Cockson laid his complaint; and the Officer, thinking the fellow had been sufficiently punished, sent him ashore again, advising him in future to have nothing to do with sharps, for it was a comical thing to fall into the hands of

AN OLD SAILOR."

Go

OLDSMITH, I think, says he seldom heard a young man attempt to sing in company without exposing himself; and it is too true that, owing to various causes, few people of any age can sing a song without grieving their friends. Yet, songs are the delight of mankind. Among ruder nations they are employed to animate heroism or to express sentiments for which common language is too poor; and among people of the greatest refinement they often make an important part, or, as it were, the completion and consummation, of social enjoyment. Old gentlemen, who used to sing, are always delighted to find that vocal music is not yet extinct; old ladies, who used to be sung to, at, or of, are reminded by a skilful voice of the days when they and the world were young and happy; middleaged people of the smallest pretensions to feeling, both men and women, love a song; and the young, who like pleasure in every shape, never object to it in this its most harmonious and seduc13 ATHENEUM VOL. 14.

tive shape of all. There is no part of the country in which singing is not held in estimation. In the southern counties of this island, from the moisture of the air and the fatness of the soil, singers are not abundant, but singing is, perhaps, prized the more on that account. In the central parts, and generally on what is called by geologists London gravel, a voice is more common, but scarcely less admired. In the eastern parts, among marsh-water, reeds, willows, wolds, and rabbit-warrens, singing is a patent of nobility; whilst in Yorkshire and other wild parts of the country it is considered a very exalted proof of gentle breeding;

but among the mountains of Wales, in the glens and by the river sides in Scotland, in the depths and passes of the Highlands to the very remotest parts, and in every nook and corner of Ireland, singing is valued to a degree which less romantic people, and those who live in the plains, must strain their faculties to understand. The Welsh

themselves sing tolerably, but with a certain monotony peculiar, I think, to mountaineers, and which haunts you too in Scotland, and is painfully recognised in the long-drawn and twanging close of an Irish ditty. The natives of Scotland, to speak without partiality, do in general sing in a manner unutter ably frightful; but then you occasionally meet some fair-haired lovely woman in that country, one who might personate the loveliest heroine of Scottish poetry or the Scottish novels, who sings you into the third heaven. The Irish, strange to say, though exquisitely endowed with taste, and excelling on instruments of all kinds, and passionate to excess in all their feelings, are very deficient in vocal music; insomuch that it was acknowledged, in all the four provinces of that kingdom, that one great advantage of the exchange of militias was the importation of singers and songs from England. The French have some of the prettiest songs in the world, if they knew how to sing them; their street-singing is exquisite; and it is a fine thing to hear a whole regiment of their dragoons-officers, sergeants, corporals, privates, "pioneers and all," singing, as they are wont on a march, some grand national air; but on ordinary occasions their nasality is absolutely alarming, and they sing, as Rousseau used to say, as if grievously afflicted with the cholic. As this is not intended to be a treatise on music, it is unnecessary to go on to Italian singing. My present object is to treat especially and particularly of domestic, festival, and aftersupper singing, an art little known on the Continent, but much cultivated in many parts of this country.

I suppose no man who has ears to hear will deny that singing is a great advantage to any man. People are often supported through all the formalities of reception at an evening party, and endure all the meagre hospitalities of the occasion, and the arrangement of the card-tables, and the intense heat, and the abortive attempts at sprightly and continuous conversation, and all that must be undergone on these occasions, for hours, in the hope of hearing some vocal gentleman sing a favourite song

at last: and as singers are every where scarce, the singing gentleman is feasted, flattered, coaxed, seduced from the whist-table, and, above all, entreated by all the lovely voices and faces in the room to sing that sweet song which he sung at Mrs. So and So's. Blushing, and delighted, and palpitating, he seems averse to begin, when, in fact, his heart pants for that breathless silence of sweet tongues, without which no man of any vanity can venture, in cold blood, to begin a cherished and valued song. At last the general pause takes place, and that sun-flower conversion of all eyes upon the singer, during which even those who hate him must force their faces into an expression of delighted expectation. This is a moment fatal to the inexperienced, but to a practised and familiarised singer worth six weeks of common existence. Dinner companies also are occasionally collected together, of which, unfortunately, ladies form no part; and after a certain hour in the evening, there being no summons to the drawing-room, a good song is worth its weight in gold. How delightful it is in such circumstances to find that a man who has been sitting next to you, and who ate heartily and drank freely, but was withal heavy, mute, and unimaginative, starts at once into a delightful companion, and, whilst he sings at least, is as good as the rest of the company! To say the truth, however, this seldom happens: the true singer, the man with a voice of various power, and with well-chosen songs, is a man of soul and feeling, and talks as much or more than the other guests: every thing interests him; a thousand things affect him; and what an advantage has such a man, at an hour when the party feels little interest in any thing, and can scarcely be roused by any thing, when eloquence itself is powerless, when wit is exhausted, all activity of mind at an end, and all the softer affections in a state of lethargy, who, by the simple power of his voice and by the aid of song, can call up from the depths of sleepiness all the lively feelings of his hearers, and can kindle them into enthusiasm or soften them into sentiment as he chooses. This the singer can de

with ease; for he is master of a divine art which can throw enchantment over much that would be otherwise mean and insignificant. With what complacent and reviving countenances do the people turn to him! with what reanimated and glistening eyes regard him! acknowledging the mighty supremacy of his harmonious and irresistible accomplishment. There are, besides such things as supper-parties, petits soupers of agreeable people, nearly exploded, it is true, in the economical rage for those unsocial and lower-extremity fatiguing things called Stand-up suppers, but still in existence, after which a song is always desired, often requested, and ever received as a favour of the highest value. And what a reward it is for a singer to behold the glowing faces round the table, all their bloom called forth by good eating and drinking, and all eyes fixed upon him proving that there is still an ungratified desire of pure and celestial harmony, a longing after that minstrelsy, which is one of the things in which we excel the beasts that perish! How pleasant is it to see the gentlemen drinking the delight of singing and their wine at once, and still more to see the females, who refuse the wine, actually intoxicated with a song! Other occasions there are, particularly in mountainous and romantic countries,-long nights of revelry, in which every man sings who can, and every man who cannot sing makes a noise. There are moments of earthly existence yet more precious, in which a song may sway or soften a heart, and bless the singer beyond the power of words or even of songs to express.

Enough has been said to prove the value of a voice. It remains to be told what are the requisites for a domestic, festival, or after-supper singer; what kind of songs he should sing on different occasions and at different hours; and in what manner he should sing them; subjects involving many particulars and of the highest interest.

He who aspires to the character of a social singer, and would sing with comfort and credit in private parties, must possess, 1st. A voice. 2d. A considerable share of modest assurance and

presence of mind. 3d. Excellent wind. 4th. Good taste in the selection of his songs. 5th. Good understanding, that he may know what he sings. 6th. Imagination and passion, that he may feel what he sings. A public singer may be destitute of all these qualifications except the first and second, and yet by the direction of others, by management and by imitation, may pass very well; but no man can be a good private singer without them all. His voice must be powerful, that it may be heard, that it may affect, that it may move, that it may overpower; yet not too loud, lest it should annoy, and torture, and distress, and deafen. He should be able to sing boldly and freely, but no less able to sing faintly, sweetly, and as it were dyingly. By an excellent wind, it is not meant that he should merely be able to sing " voce magna et bonis lateribus," for every carpenter can do as much but that he should have that power, that compass and variety, that height, and breadth, and depth of voice, which may no less express every pathetic feeling, than every manly sentiment, avoiding the boisterous extreme on one hand and contemptible whining on the other. There is great art in commencing a song in the proper key; yet cleverness in that particular is indispensable, otherwise the singer seems to be running a race or paying a penalty, rather than singing for amusement. Time should be ordered not by beating it, for that is unpardonable, but by favouring the expression in such a manner as to excuse any liberties that may be taken in this particular. The singer must cunningly profit by every sentimental pause to collect his scattered breath; yet this should be done without gasping as the tragedians do, without that perpetual winking of both eyes, so commonly af fected among public singers, and without any ungentlemanly effort or straining. Nothing hurts a singer so much as not thinking well enough of himself. He should know his own value, and sing upon it; without overrating either his efforts or his merit. If he fancies his sounds are never to be forgotten, he is mistaken; and he may be assured, let him sing as well or as ill as he choo

ses, his song will soon be thought of no more. But it behoves him to cast out all fear and trembling, to begin calmly, collectedly, courageously; let him be spirited where he ought, and insinuating where he may, but let all be done coolly and with something of dignity, so as to seem to say that, however delightfully he may sing, singing is rather the result of his other accomplishments than his only excellence.

The selection of songs is a very important point, for which no intelligible rules can be given which do not presuppose taste, judgment, and discrimination. I do not mean merely the selection according to the composition of the audience, for that is a matter in which the common sense of men will commonly guide them safely; but the disposition and arrangement, especially where, as will frequently happen, there is only one singer in the company. Let the singer beware of that fault ever committed by ladies who perform, albe it superlatively, on the pianoforte, who, to the destruction of ears and the ruin of the fine mechanism of the nerves, will go on playing one piece after another in the same style and time until men who hate music have an opportunity of rejoicing over the tortures of those who presume to think they admire it. Let him rather consider the disciplined art of bands of military music, which ever intersperse airs of different measure and expression; now a solemn march, and now a spirited and enlivening strain. This is the great secret of making a musical-party productive of pleasure; and the neglect of it the true and only cause of all the trouble of the entertainers being generally productive of weariness and pain to their visitors as well as themselves. This rule being kept in mind as regards singing, it is only necessary to avoid singing such songs as, for private or public reasons, nobody present can sympathize in. Í remember the officers of a marching regiment being invited, when at Yarmonth, to dine on board the admiral's ship, on which occasion the gentlemen of the navy were much distressed by the incredible length and monotony of some old fighting songs of some persevering old captains, and the officers of

the land-service were exceedingly disturbed by a succession of sea-songs retorted upon them by their most vociferous entertainers. In general, in a mixed company, there are some who sympathize with songs of both these descriptions, but a succession of either is a proof of the worst possible taste. In the same way, four or five lovesongs, or four or five Scotch songs, or four or five Irish melodies, are very afflicting; besides that the style of songs ought to depend, not on professional feelings or personal attachments, but on the style of the voice; a matter in which many singers grievously offend. There are men of great gravity who have the misfortune to think themselves pleasant in a comic song: I know a country gentleman, with a most effeminate throat, who is sadly addicted to hunting-songs; and another, whose

voice would command attention at the Westminster-hustings, who is never so happy as when he is demolishing some simple ballad or soft and plaintive ditty. Men of this mistaken taste have a great aversion to solos: whatever they hear well sung, they fancy they could sing well; and to prove it, they make choruses where none are intended, and, with the best intentions in the world, drive a sensitive singer to the brink of insanity.

It is the custom of some singers always to put forth their best song first; but these, if they go on, please less and less as they proceed: others too cautiously husband their best song so long that it is never asked for at all. The best song, and every man who sings has his best, should be sung not the first nor yet the last in the evening: it may more properly be placed second; always remembering that the first song, which it is my advice be a short one, be of so sweet and enticing a character that it may become the sure cause, of the second being asked for; then the singer may give full scope to his genius, then "With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running,"

he may extasiate his audience, and then if he has any power, that power will assuredly be deeply felt.

I must be allowed to add a few words