The sweetness of the notes on my bassoon, an instrument whose tone is so like the sound it was to represent, ravished his ears, which he hung quite down on each shoulder, during the whole time of my performance. I slept this night at Dr. _Hiccup_’s house, and borrowed a shirt and pair of stockings of him. At breakfast I took an opportunity to tell him of the narrowness of my circumstances; but he was suddenly taken with a rapturous fit of devotion, and pulling up his night-gown to his waist, began to sing, and dance, and caper, and kick, to such a degree, that no one in the room was safe: I ran towards the door to save my shins, and the Doctor rising with both feet in the air like a Harlequin, gave me such a horse-kick on my rump, singing at the same time the _March in Saul_, that I descended into the street down five steps, head foremost, and cracked my bassoon in twenty places. Six hours I attended at the door, but was told by a servant out of a window, that the Doctor was still performing his dance of devotion; and for aught I know, that great man may dance till doom’s-day, as I never after could get any other answer at his door. On more mature reflexion, I thought this kind of treatment very hard from a brother musician, and one to whom I was so well recommended; but I consoled myself with considering, that though my bassoon was broken in sundry places, yet I had retained the Doctor’s shirt and stockings; and that it was very likely my great prototype, Dr. Mus himself, had frequently met with the same treatment, tho’ his modesty had inclined him to conceal it. DURHAM. From this place to _Durham_ I was necessitated to travel on foot; and by playing the _Black Joke_, _Murdoch O’Blaney_, and other sentimental tunes to the girls of the villages I pass’d through, procured food and lodging, which my brother of the String had refused me. At _Darlington_, I waited on the _Maestro di Capella_, or clerk of the parish, who I may assert had the finest nasality, or nose-intonation, that ever was given to _David_’s _psalms_; and the melody of his _Amen_, was quite astonishing. So well was my bassoon received at this church, that the ’Squire’s lady invited me to Dinner. “Good Signior _Collioni_,” says she, “you have charmed, you have enraptured me; pray, has the wind which escapes out at the end of your instrument any smell?”——“smell!” says I, “no, madam, not unless I eat onions.” At this all the ladies laughed most extravagantly. However, the ’Squire after dinner gave me a recommendatory letter to the great Mr. _Eccho_ of _Durham_, principal performer belonging to that opulent cathedral; and withal told me, that Mr. _Eccho_ had so long apply’d himself to musical notes, that he had utterly forgot all articulate language. That he preached, conversed, prayed, scolded, swore, talk’d bawdy, and blasphemy, all on the fiddle, without uttering a word, or even making a sign with his fingers.