"Didn't I tell ye so!" broke in my neighbour, as he winced a little under a shaft unusually keen from the singer's quiver.
I was quite ready to praise the song, which, indeed, was remarkable. The cleverest 'Ethiopian minstrel' could not chant his ditty more fluently than that blind fiddler caught up all the telling points of the hour. He touched upon the one who had been turned out, and on my hydropathic prescription, and sundry circumstances which could only be understood by one on the spot. Without pause or hesitation, he produced a dozen stanzas, of which the last two may serve as a specimen:
"Rebecca sits a shellin' peas, ye all may hear 'em pop: She knows who's comin' with a cart: he won't forget to stop: And Frank, and Jem, and lazy Mat, got past the time to think, With ginger-beer and rum have gone and muddled all their drink. With a fol lol, riddle, liddle, lol, lol, lol!
"Here's a genelman fro' Lunnon; 'tis well that he cam' doun; If he'd no coom ye rantin' lads would happen had no tune: Ye fumbled at the fiddle-strings; he screwed 'em tight and strong; Success to Lunnon then I say, and so here ends my song. With a fol lol, riddle, liddle, lol, lol, lol!"
Lusty acclamations and a drink from every man's jug rewarded the fiddler, and a vigorous cry was set up for "The Donkey Races," another of his songs, which, as lazy Mat told me, "had been printed and sold by hundreds." The blind man, nothing loth, rattled off a lively prelude, and sang his song with telling effect. The race was supposed to be run by donkeys from all the towns and villages of the neighbourhood: from Patrington, Hedon, Hull, Driffield, Beverley, and others, each possessed of a certain local peculiarity, the mention of which threw the company into ecstacies of merriment. And when the "donkey from York" was introduced along with his "sire Gravelcart" and his "dam Work," two of the guests flumped from their chairs to laugh more at ease on the floor. The fiddler seemed to enjoy the effect of his music; but his grim smile took no relief; the twinkle of the eye was wanting. He was now sure of his game, for the afternoon at least.
While looking round on the party, I had little difficulty in discerning among them the three principal varieties of Yorkshiremen. There was the tall, broad-shouldered rustic, whose stalwart limbs, light gray or blue eyes, yellowish hair, and open features indicate the Saxon; there was the Scandinavian, less tall and big, with eyes, hair, and complexion dark, and an intention in the expression not perceptible in the Saxon face; and last, the Celt, short, swarthy, and Irish looking. The first two appeared to me most numerous in the East and North Ridings, the last in the West.