Girls must be accomplished, and four or five hours a day must be devoted to music. It is absolutely necessary that they should be taught the use of the keys-not the keys that their grandmother (excellent woman) handled: no -they were suspended in a bunch at her side. For three generations our family has been decidedly unmusical; I speak it with shame and deep humiliation, but it is the truth, and I will be brave enough to own it-for three generations we have possessed (critically speaking) neither voices, ears, nor souls! My grandmother, the lady with the bunch before mentioned, was the pink of notability. She knew how to preserve all the fruits of the earth, how to pickle all the vegetables of the garden: in a culinary point of view, she was decidedly a genius, but of music she knew nothing. To her one tune was just like any other, and she denominated every tune a noise! She knew nothing of the gamut, every thing of the gammon; her bars were the bars of the kitchen grate, her accompaniments were garnishes, her catches were snacks, and her rounds were rounds of beef. Had she lived in these days, she would have been a melancholy and degraded outcast of society; but, in the times of female drudgery and degradation, she was esteemed an excellent housewife, and a proper motherly woman Her daughter (my mother), the second person singularly tuneless in the three generations I have alluded to, was of an equestrian turn. She delighted to ride upon the backs of high trotting horses; the bars her talents surmounted were the bars of gates that possessed five; in a fox chase she would be the running accompaniment of the most daring squire in the country. She knew of no flourishes save those of her whip; and cared not for "dying, dying falls," except when some luckless companion was precipitated over a hedge on the crown of his head. She had neither time nor inclination for home pursuits; she almost lived on horseback; her music was the huntsman's horn; and she was actually in her habit and her hat when I, rather prematurely and unexpectedly, came into the word! Fortunately, neither she nor I was the worse for my extemporaneous debut; I was swaddled, and papped, and gruelled with success, and became in due time a very proper young gendeman, I inherited the unhappy failing of my mother and my grandmother: music, that "softens rocks and bends the knotted oak," softened not and bent not me. For three generations, therefore, have we been an inharmonious race. But there is one point in our favour-a great point-a redeeming one, in the shape of my great-grandmother. SHE was a woman of taste, and played upon the harpsichord. "By the by," thought I, "why should I purchase a grand piano-forte, an article of no small cost, when my greatgrandmother's harpsichord, with a double row of keys, stands up stairs in the lumber-room, and will no doubt answer every purpose?” How well I remember my greatgrandmother. She was an old lady, and I a small boy, at the period of my reminiscence; yet in my mind's eye, I behold her now. She was tall, she was straight, as the poplar tree; her waist was a prodigy for length and diminutiveness; and the brocaded silk of her gown stood out around her, as if afraid to encroach by pressing too closely upon her graceful limbs. On her head rose an unparalleled structure of pure white gauze or lace, and on her forehead her powdered hair was most profusely frizzed. Her gowns were the most independent garments imaginable; for, if the mistress chanced to step out of them, they still stood erect in the innate stability of their structure. She had no idea of undress and full dress, as modern ladies have; changing from a seven shilling muslin of a morning, to a cheap beggarly silk or crape at night. The mistress could then never be mistaken for the maid, nor the maid for the mistress. She was always responsibly attired: her small feet, in their high-heeled shoes, regally reposed under her glossy petticoat, and her snowy elbows modestly peeped from the sheltering canopy of her pure lace ruffles. When she wished to appear in full dress she wore immense diamond earrings, and upon her fingers she placed several brilliant hoop-rings. These splendid auxiliaries were put on in a moment; and let her be surprised by visitors at any hour, she came forth with glittering ears and fingers, curtsyed down to the very ground, and looked as if equipped to grace a court. She was a relic of the oldest school; she emulated the grandeur of baronial state; and in her lodgings in a water ing place, instead of vulgarly rising to ring the bell when she wanted a domestic, she sat patiently and proudly on her sofa, and in a feeble, still, small voice cried, "Who waits?" till by some fortunate chance her maid heard, and attended to the call. Her harpsichord was her delight; it was a two-decker. I know nothing of music, but I know it had two rows of keys; and on these she played alternately, waving to and fro her stately head, and often looking round to me for applause. She played the popular songs of the day; the popular songs-alas! what were they? They are gone, they are forgotten, like the smiles and the roses of the girls who sang them; like the hopes and the affections of the youths who listened to them. The triumphs of the singers of those days, and the popularity of the songs, where are they? 'Tis a lesson for a modern chansonnier. I used to dine now and then with my great-grandmother, and by way of amusing me, she would sit down and play me a minuet, or some endless sonata; her high-heeled shoe pressed the pedals and she rambled over the doable-decks of keys with infinite self-possession. She thought me, I believe, a very dull boy, for I never could contrive to seem pleased with her playing. But when she sent me home, she generally slipped a little golden coin into my hand, and I left her gaily and contentedly, for my play-time was at hand. But to return to my reverie. Why," thought I, "should I buy a piano, when I already possess an instrument which I have frequently heard my great-grandmother say was unrivalled." I went up stairs to a dark, dusty lumber-room, and there lay the twodecker, with a broken leg and an unsound sounding-board. I had it carefully conveyed below, and it creaked, and groaned, and threatened to fall to pieces at every step. A carpenter mended the wounded limb; and I then sent for the learned professor, who was in future to be my daughters' musicmaster, and with pride exhibited to him the instrument which had been declared by my great-grandmother (a musical paragon in her day) to be the sweetest and the best she ever heard. The professor smiled. "It is as an antiquarian you value it, I presume?" said he. "How so, sir?" said I. nouncing a favourable judgment upon it as a musical instrument," he replied. Thought I, he knows I am not musical, and he is sneering at me. "Sir," said I, "have the goodness to put that invaluable instrument into perfect tune, and commence instructing my daughters." The professor actually spun round upon my music-stool, and after staring at me increduously for a moment, he burst into a fit of laughter. I only wished my great-grandmother had been present. "I beg your pardon, sir," at length said the professor, "but the instrument is not-I must be candid-it is only fit for "Fit for what, sir?" said I. "For firewood," replied the professor. He was right: and to prove that he was so, he vigorously thumped the two rows of keys. The appeal was unanswerable. I stopped my ears, and then stopped his proceedings. The professor was immediately commissioned to choose for me a grand piano-forte, with all the new patents, the extra-octaves, the additional keys, the supernumerary pedals, and every other "invention of the enemy," to silence tranquillity and repose. The professor left me, and I then gazed upon the once dearly prizel and carefully preserved instrument. What would my great-grandmother say thought I, could she know that thou art to be chopped up into fuel to warm the frigid fingers of her great-great-grand-daughters. Her husband bought the instrument for her in the first year of their marriage; it was meant as a surprise, and was placed in her sitting room very early on the morning of her birthday, that she might unexpectedly find it it there when she came down to breakfast. This happened long before I was born; but the old lady in her widowhood told me of it with tears in her eyes; and, without being told, I can imagine the delight of the young bride on receiving the gift. How often has her husband leant over her when she touched those now discoloured keys! How often has she looked laughingly up in his face, playing some lively air, which she knew he loved, because they had danced together to its melody! I am no musician, and I have no love for old harpsichords, nor for new grand pianos; but I cannot bear to see the "I mean, you are not seriously pro- tokens, hallowed by the best and purest Girls must be accomplished, and four or five hours a day must be devoted to music. It is absolutely necessary that they should be taught the use of the keys-not the keys that their grandmother (excellent woman) handled: no -they were suspended in a bunch at her side. For three generations our family has been decidedly unmusical; I speak it with shame and deep humiliation, but it is the truth, and I will be brave enough to own it-for three generations we have possessed (critically speaking) neither voices, ears, nor souls! My grandmother, the lady with the bunch before mentioned, was the pink of notability. She knew how to preserve all the fruits of the earth, how to pickle all the vegetables of the garden: in a culinary point of view, she was decidedly a genius, but of music she knew nothing. To her one tune was just like any other, and she denominated every tune a noise! She knew nothing of the gamut, every thing of the gammon; her bars were the bars of the kitchen grate, her accompaniments were garnishes, her catches were snacks, and her rounds were rounds of beef. Had she lived in these days, she would have been a melancholy and degraded outcast of society; but, in the times of female drudgery and degradation, she was esteemed an excellent housewife, and a proper motherly woman Her daughter (my mother), the second person singularly tuneless in the three generations I have alluded to, was of an equestrian turn. She delighted to ride upon the backs of high trotting horses; the bars her talents surmounted were the bars of gates that possessed five; in a fox chase she would be the running accompaniment of the most daring squire in the country. She knew of no flourishes save those of her whip; and cared not for "dying, dying falls," except when some luckless companion was precipitated over a hedge on the crown of his head. She had neither time nor inclination for home pursuits; she almost lived on horseback; her music was the huntsman's horn; and she was actually in her habit and her hat when I, rather prematurely and unexpectedly, came into the word! Fortunately, neither she nor I was the worse for my extemporaneous debut; I was swaddled, and papped, and gruelled with success, and became in due time a very proper young gen dleman, I inherited the unhappy failing of my mother and my grandmother: music, that "softens rocks and bends the knotted oak," softened not and bent not me. But For three generations, therefore, have we been an inharmonious race. there is one point in our favour-a great point-a redeeming one, in the shape of my great-grandmother. SHE was a woman of taste, and played upon the harpsichord. "By the by," thought I, "why should I purchase a grand piano-forte, an article of no small cost, when my greatgrandmother's harpsichord, with double row of keys, stands up stairs in the lumber-room, and will no doubt answer every purpose?" a How well I remember my greatgrandmother. She was an old lady, and I a small boy, at the period of my reminiscence; yet in my mind's eye, I behold her now. She was tall, she was straight, as the poplar tree; her waist was a prodigy for length and diminutiveness; and the brocaded silk of her gown stood out around her, as if afraid to encroach by pressing too closely upon her graceful limbs. On her head rose an unparalleled structure of pure white gauze or lace, and on her forehead her powdered hair was most profusely frizzed. Her gowns were the most independent garments imaginable; for, if the mistress chanced to step out of them, they still stood erect in the innate stability of their structure. She had no idea of undress and full dress, as modern ladies have; changing from a seven shilling muslin of a morning, to a cheap beggarly silk or crape at night. The mistress could then never be mistaken for the maid, nor the maid for the mistress. She was always responsibly attired: her small feet, in their high-heeled shoes, regally reposed under her glossy petticoat, and her snowy elbows modestly peeped from the sheltering canopy of her pure lace ruffles. When she wished to appear in full dress she wore immense diamond earrings, and upon her fingers she placed several brilliant hoop-rings. These splendid auxiliaries were put on in a moment; and let her be surprised by visitors at any hour, she came forth with glittering ears and fingers, curtsyed down to the very ground, and looked as if equipped to grace a court. She was a relic of the oldest school; she emulated the grandeur of baronial state; and in her lodgings in a water ing place, instead of vulgarly rising to ring the bell when she wanted a domestic, she sat patiently and proudly on her sofa, and in a feeble, still, small voice cried, "Who waits?" till by some fortunate chance her maid heard, and attended to the call. Her harpsichord was her delight; it was a two-decker. I know nothing of music, but I know it had two rows of keys; and on these she played alternately, waving to and fro her stately head, and often looking round to me for applause. She played the popular songs of the day; the popular songs-alas! what were they? They are gone, they are forgotten, like the smiles and the roses of the girls who sang them; like the hopes and the affections of the youths who listened to them. The triumphs of the singers of those days, and the popularity of the songs, where are they? Tis a lesson for a modern chansonnier. I used to dine now and then with my great-grandmother, and by way of amusing me, she would sit down and play me a minuet, or some endless sonata; her high-heeled shoe pressed the pedals and she rambled over the doble-decks of keys with infinite self-possession. She thought me, I believe, a very dull boy, for I never could contrive to seem pleased with her playing. But when she sent me home, she generally slipped a little golden coin into my hand, and I left her gaily and contentedly, for my play-time was at hand. But to return to my reverie. "Why," thought I, "should I buy a piano, when I already possess an instrument which I have frequently heard my great-grandmother say was unrivalled." I went up stairs to a dark, dusty lumber-room, and there lay the twodecker, with a broken leg and an unsound sounding-board. I had it carefully conveyed below, and it creaked, and groaned, and threatened to fall to pieces at every step. A carpenter mended the wounded limb; and I then sent for the learned professor, who was in future to be my daughters' musicmaster, and with pride exhibited to him the instrument which had been declared by my great-grandmother (a musical paragon in her day) to be the sweetest and the best she ever heard. The professor smiled. "It is as an antiquarian you value it, I presume?" said he. "How so, sir?" said I. nouncing a favourable judgment upon it as a musical instrument," he replied. Thought I, he knows I am not musical, and he is sneering at me. "Sir," said I, "have the goodness to put that invaluable instrument into perfect tune, and commence instructing my daughters." The professor actually spun round upon my music-stool, and after staring at me increduously for a moment, he burst into a fit of laughter. I only wished my great-grandmother had been present. "I beg your pardon, sir," at length said the professor, "but the instrument is not-I must be candid-it is only fit for "Fit for what, sir?" said I. "For firewood," replied the professor. He was right: and to prove that he was so, he vigorously thumped the two rows of keys. The appeal was unanswerable. I stopped my ears, and then stopped his proceedings. The professor was immediately commissioned to choose for me a grand piano-forte, with all the new patents, the extra-octaves, the additional keys, the supernumerary pedals, and every other "invention of the enemy," to silence tranquillity and repose. The professor left me, and I then gazed upon the once dearly prized and carefully preserved instrument. What would my great-grandmother say thought I, could she know that thou art to be chopped up into fuel to warm the frigid fingers of her great-great-grand-daughters. Her husband bought the instrument for her in the first year of their marriage; it was meant as a surprise, and was placed in her sitting room very early on the morning of her birthday, that she might unexpectedly find it it there when she came down to breakfast. This happened long before I was born; but the old lady in her widowhood told me of it with tears in her eyes; and, without being told, I can imagine the delight of the young bride on receiving the gift. How often has her husband leant over her when she touched those now discoloured keys! How often has she looked laughingly up in his face, playing some lively air, which she knew he loved, because they had danced together to its melody! I am no musician, and I have no love for old harpsichords, nor for new grand pianos; but I cannot bear to see the "I mean, you are not seriously pro- tokens, hallowed by the best and purest affections of one generation, tossed about with contempt and turned into ridicule by another. It is thus with my greatgrandmother's portrait. There it hangs; a shepherdess's hat at the back of her head, a dove on her right forefinger, and a half-blown cabbage-rose in her left hand. Every body who looks at it now, laughs at the outre dress, or the stiff attitude, or the antiquated expression. Those for whom we have our portraits painted, should they happen to outlive us, ought to make a point of burning us in effigy before they die, or of carrying our canvas representatives with them to the grave. When my relative sat for that portrait, nobody knows what pains she took about her looks and the arrangement of her dress; and now it is undeniable that the picture is a quiz.When the first faggot of her dilapidated harpsichord crackles on the hearth, it would be charitable to throw the portrait into the blaze. Mutual affections and countless associations endear such memorials to our contemporaries, and to those who immediately survive us; but when those friends have followed us on the dark path from which there is no return, our portraits become the mere records of bygone fashions, and the features that are clothed in them are a marvel and a mockery. The best of all possible grand pianofortes has been selected, and the professor has commenced his instructions. Morning, noon, and night, my daughters are practising; and when practice has at length rendered them perfect mistresses of the instrument, it is to be hoped they will marry men who have souls, and leave me (unmusical as I am) a quiet house. A time will no doubt arrive, when the novelties of the present day will, in their turn, become obsolete; and my daughters' great-grandchildren will perhaps make faggots of the grand piano, as we have most undutifully made light of my great-grandmother's harpsichord. We must conclude our selections from the Forget-me-Not, a volume which cannot but maintain its high character, with a pretty little poem by Haynes Bayley, entitled, THE FALSE ONE. I knew him not,- I sought him not,He was my father's guest; I gave him not one smile more kind Than those I gave the rest: He sat beside me at the board, The choice was not my own, I sought him not,-he led me forth Alas! I might have guess'd the cause; And what could make me braid my hair, The form that he had deign'd to praise ?— Oh! little knew I of the world, And less of man's career; I thought each smile was kindly meant, And little dreamt how oft before That sweet voice had deceived. And in the same sweet tone As the second on our list, we turn to an old friend, Friendship's Offering. |