Burke Manuscript

Burke Manuscript: Page 215

Transcript

One of those concerts in the old time was an enjoyable affair. The local basso Mr Merton was always equal to the occasion in the Death of Nelson, and other patriotic airs. The old wooden Town Hall on the site of Strange’s drapery, was used for the purpose, as well as for balls and other amusements. There was a grand one when the Duke honoured Christchurch with a visit, and for the occasion the old Nabob came out excruciatingly with his flute. He was a study as a flutist. It was not alone the music he extracted from it for a delighted audience, but the attitude of the old warrior was a picture. He surpassed himself for the Duke’s enjoyment. At the same concert his niece Miss Cracroft, came out as a vocalist and warbled to the enchanted ears and admiring gaze of His Highness and his henchmen, the Hon. Elliot Yorke, Lord Newry and company, the patriotic strains of God Bless our Sailor Prince. The jovial Yorke, who had as beautiful an eye as ever was fixed in man’s head, little thought in those merry days that in a few short years, after wedding one of the richest heiresses in England, with every prospect of a happy and a long life, that he would lie cold & stiff at so early an age.

Then a great banquet was given to the Duke at the Government buildings, if I remember rightly in the Council Chamber. As may be supposed all the aristocracy of the Province dined with His Highness. Old George Oram was the purveyor. The Duke’s Highland piper attended in all the dignity of bagpipes and kilts and his other gentleman Mr Farquharson[?] was his personal attendant. The gay and voluble Sir George Bowen, now of Hong Kong and the ruined tool of Graham Berry and Black Wednesday, in Melbourne, gave full vent to his capacity for a joke. The guests were delighted and could not get near enough to Royalty to the great annoyance of the Duke’s own man. One gentleman, an amateur military swell, persistently kept in the neighbourhood and the Scotchman full of resource for the occasion, quite pleasantly took him for a waiter and ordered him to pass on the dishes. Fancy the horror of the military, and imagine the merry twinkle of old George Oram’s eye, at the Highlandman’s audacity.