Nothing worth remark occur’d in my journey from hence to _York_; but at my approach to this celebrated city, my heart leapt for joy as soon as I beheld the towers of the cathedral; here, says I, I shall be much caressed and followed, I dare believe, as there are so many of the _Dilettanti_ who reside within the precincts of this antient seat of music and superstition. This letter, says I, is of inestimable value, taking it from my pocket, and reading the direction, “For that incomparable Musician and Antiquarian, Dr. _Hiccup_;” doubtless he will pay great attention to his friends at _Lincoln_, who have honoured me with it. The footman shewed me into an elegant parlour, where there was a clock with chimes, so contrived that St. _Peter_, St. _Paul_, and the _Virgin Mary_ were seen striking alternately on the bells, and by a sweet trio announced every hour of the day. Dr. _Hiccup_ was, it seems, at his devotions, which he always performed in imitation of that great and devout musician, King _David_. He was a tall, boney figure, with a swarthy complexion, and blear eyes. As I sat down he took no notice of me, but continued dancing with a harp in his hand, without his breeches, and with his night-gown and shirt tucked up above his waist; and as he turned his brown posteriors this way and that, in the gyrations of the dance, all the women and children that were looking in through the window of his parlour, giggled, and made faces, and shewed variety of indecent gesticulations and noises. None of these, however, interrupted the devotions of this great man. Never were such charming tunes elicited from mortal harp, _Cambrian_ or _Eolic!_ the dance was Devotion itself in human form! After a little refreshment, this illustrious Musician condescended to entertain me with several interesting particulars of the manner of his life, which I begg’d leave to copy in my pocket book in his presence. He rose every morning, when his chime-clock struck eleven, (for, like the famous _Chevalier Gluck_, he is too great a genius to rise early) and generally gaped all the time his lady was putting on his breeches. For breakfast he always eat rolls and butter, whether in summer or winter; and after his breakfast paid a visit to _Cloacina_, but assured me he never used old music books on this occasion on any account. He retired to rest about ten, and seldom fail’d once in a month to compliment his lady for undressing him. He communicated many other particulars to me of less moment, and was so obliging at length to beg I would treat him with an air or two on the bassoon. I thought this a good opportunity to give him a specimen of my poetic talents, as well as of my musical ones, and performed the following song, which I composed at _Gotham_ several years ago. “Some came in a waggon, and some in a cart; And many there were that did nothing but f—t: Oh rare _Nottingham_ town, _Nottingham_ town! _Nottingham_ town; Oh rare _Nottingham_ town!”