No sooner was it publicly known that Henry could play most enchantingly
upon the violin, than he was invited into many companies where no other
accomplishment could have introduced him. His performance was so much
admired, that he had the honour of being admitted to several tavern
feasts, of which he had also the honour to partake without partaking of
the expense. He was soon addressed by persons of the very first rank and
fashion, and was once seen walking side by side with a peer.
But yet, in the midst of this powerful occasion for rejoicing, Henry,
whose heart was particularly affectionate, had one grief which eclipsed
all the happiness of his new life;--his brother William could _not_ play
on the fiddle! consequently, his brother William, with whom he had shared
so much ill, could not share in his good fortune.
One evening, Henry, coming home from a dinner and concert at the Crown
and Anchor found William, in a very gloomy and peevish humour, poring
over the orations of Cicero. Henry asked him several times "how he did,"
and similar questions, marks of his kind disposition towards his beloved
brother: but all his endeavours, he perceived, could not soothe or soften
the sullen mind of William. At length, taking from his pocket a handful
of almonds, and some delicious fruit (which he had purloined from the
plenteous table, where his brother's wants had never been absent from his
thoughts), and laying them down before him, he exclaimed, with a
benevolent smile, "Do, William, let me teach you to play upon the
violin."
William, full of the great orator whom he was then studying, and still
more alive to the impossibility that _his_ ear, attuned only to sense,
could ever descend from that elevation, to learn mere sounds--William
caught up the tempting presents which Henry had ventured his reputation
to obtain for him, and threw them all indignantly at the donor's head.
Henry felt too powerfully his own superiority of fortune to resent this
ingratitude: he patiently picked up the repast, and laying it again upon
the table, placed by its side a bottle of claret, which he held fast by
the neck, while he assured his brother that, "although he had taken it
while the waiter's back was turned, yet it might be drank with a safe
conscience by them; for he had not himself tasted one drop at the feast,
on purpose that he might enjoy a glass with his brother at home, and
without wronging the company who had invited him."
The affection Henry expressed as he said this, or the force of a bumper
of wine, which William had not seen since he left his father's house, had
such an effect in calming the displeasure he was cherishing, that, on his
brother offering him the glass, he took it; and he deigned even to eat of
his present.
Henry, to convince him that he had stinted himself to obtain for him this
collation, sat down and partook of it.
After a few glasses, he again ventured to say, "Do, brother William, let
me teach you to play on the violin."
Again his offer was refused, though with less vehemence: at length they
both agreed that the attempt could not prosper.
"Then," said Henry, "William, go down to Oxford or to Cambridge. There,
no doubt, they are as fond of learning as in this gay town they are of
music. You know you have as much talent for the one as I for the other:
do go to one of our universities, and see what dinners, what suppers, and
what friends you will find there."