CHAPTER XII. Positively the Last Appearance of the Broadwood Grand

England is supposed to be unmusical; but without dwelling on the

patronage extended to the organ-grinder, without seeking to found any

argument on the prevalence of the jew's trump, there is surely one

instrument that may be said to be national in the fullest acceptance

of the word. The herdboy in the broom, already musical in the days of

Father Chaucer, startles (and perhaps pains) the lark with this exiguous

pipe; and in the hands of the skilled bricklayer,

'The thing becomes a trumpet, whence he blows'

(as a general rule) either 'The British Grenadiers' or 'Cherry Ripe'.

The latter air is indeed the shibboleth and diploma piece of the

penny whistler; I hazard a guess it was originally composed for this

instrument. It is singular enough that a man should be able to gain

a livelihood, or even to tide over a period of unemployment, by the

display of his proficiency upon the penny whistle; still more so, that

the professional should almost invariably confine himself to 'Cherry

Ripe'. But indeed, singularities surround the subject, thick like

blackberries. Why, for instance, should the pipe be called a penny

whistle? I think no one ever bought it for a penny. Why should the

alternative name be tin whistle? I am grossly deceived if it be made

of tin. Lastly, in what deaf catacomb, in what earless desert, does the

beginner pass the excruciating interval of his apprenticeship? We have

all heard people learning the piano, the fiddle, and the cornet; but

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