The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1867-03-04
Music Hath Charms.
A benson on that fiddle

A benson on that fiddle!
Yes,-a fiddle-it is certainly nothing more
we should never think OF applying the name
OF violin to so forlorn an instrument. 1t Is
cracked 1t is battered, its staining is worn off,
and 1t has forgotten the uses of varnish. One
OF its strings, too, is often gone, aud to Judge
from the sounds the instrument emits, its
place must be supplied by rather inadequate
substitutes. Its utterances are not musical
in any ordinary sense. 1t squeal1s, IT wheezes,
it walls like banshee, and howls like whole
battalion OF cats in an alley at midnight
Nevertheless, we love it (; and the benediction
we have uttered above is wholly sincere.
For that old fiddle is source of unspeaka-
BILE happiness. Daily, as we wend our way
through that inviting aud fragrant thorough
fare leading from Fore to Commercial street,
and modestly designated as "Fifth Avenue"
our ears are saluted by its piercing strains, IS
suing fiom one Of the board shanties which
adcrn that picturesque locality.
The walls are not very thick, but good
bank of earth in the rear and a comfortable
snow-drift oD one side serve to keep ost good
deal of cold; while a rckety stove in the mid
die of the one apartment glows with fire al
most equal to the requirements of barbecue.
A big dirt-heap lies conveniently near the
door, In and out of which swarm a mixed
company of pigs, ducks, hens and dirty, red
checked children, to say nothing of troop of
small dogs Whose numbers and familiar naDlss
remind one OF the tribe Of Mustard" and
Pepper" which Harry Bertram iound domes-
ticated at "Charlie's Hope" on the first occa-
sion when he accompanied Dandie Oinmont'
to that hospitable abode.
Through the open door, or the small four
paned window, we discern the musician,
sturdy Celt, seated astride of broken-backed
chair, the precious fiddle laid aflectionately
against his unshayen chin, and his brawny
light arm performing most astonishing evolu-
tions in the air as he executes tune bearing
some resemblance to "Lakes of Killarney
Talk of enthusiastic audiences! Not Carl
Rosa when he holds some vast crowd spell
bound with his wonderful melody-not Ca
mile Urso when the gleam of her white arm
and the fash Of her diamond studded bow
keep time to her ETHEREAL strains, is ever lis
tened to with more exquisite delight, with
more entire admiration. Our fiddler's listen
ers are only some three or four of his fellow
hod-carriers, as many rough-haired washer
women with their red, soapy arms crossed
over their wet aprons, and the swarm of
round-eyed, animallooking children who have
only left off playing with the dogs and pigs to
listen for one moment to the "bit fiddle" but
our musician feels the inspiration ofan appre-
ciative audience. The good wife Bridget
pauses in the act of dishing up the potatoes
for dinner, and with her round moon face
turned over one shoulder and all irradiated by
smile of delight, stands listening to strains
which carry her back to thecabin of her child
hood, the companions and scenes which she
invests with as bright halo as can adorn the
early memories of the more cultured and re-
fined. Happy memories, which Paddy in his
exile always cherishes, of that Sweetest isle of
the ocean," whose fields are the greenest,
whose skies are the bluest in all the
wide world, come floating back to all;
the warm Irish heart which however degrad-
ed or encrusted seems always to keep the
springs of domestic affection open, grows ten
der with thoughts of home. Under the spell of
that music, such as it is, every isteneris trans
formed for the moment into different crea-
ture. An hour hence the women may be
brawling over their washing-tubs, and for the
men, every mothers son of them may spend
tonight in the lookup; but for this moment
at least, they are peaceable, and gentle, and
human, and refined. TA
Again we say, bless that fiddle!