He dismounted upon arrival opposite the camp, and approached with his usual foppish bow; but we looked on in astonishment: it was not our Paganini, it was ANOTHER MINSTREL! who was determined to sing an ode in our praise.

I felt that this was an indirect appeal to Maria Theresa, and I at once declared against music.
I begged him not to sing; "my wife had a headache--I disliked the fiddle--could He play anything else instead ?" and I expressed a variety of polite excuses, but to no purpose; he insisted upon singing.

If I disliked the fiddle, he would sing without an accompaniment, but he could not think of insulting so great a man as myself by returning without an ode to commemorate our arrival.
I was determined that he should NOT sing; he was determined that he WOULD, therefore I desired him to leave my camp.

This he agreed to do, provided I would allow him to cross the stream and sing to my Tokrooris in my praise, beneath a neighboring tree about fifty yards distant.
He remounted his mule with his violin, to ford the muddy stream, and descended the steep bank, followed by his attendant on foot, who drove the unwilling mule.

Upon arrival at the brink of the dirty brook, that was about three feet deep, the mule positively refused to enter the water, and stood firm with its fore feet sunk deep in the mud.