that I cannot help fearing he will soon have written himself dry.
If the resources of any human composer could be inexhaustible, I
should suppose Haydn's would; but as, after all, he is but mortal, I
am afraid he must soon get to the bottom of his genius-box. My friend
Mr. Tindal is come to settle (for the present at least) in this
neighbourhood. He is going to succeed me in the curacy of Fordham. He
plays the Fiddle well, the Harpsichord well, the Violoncello well.
Now, sir, when I say 'well,' I can't be supposed to mean the wellness
that one should predicate of a professor who makes the instrument his
study; but that he plays in a very ungentlemanlike manner, exactly in
time and tune, with taste, accent, and meaning, and the true sense of
what he plays; and, upon the Violoncello, he has execution sufficient
to play Boccherini's quintettos, at least what may be called very
decently. But ask Fisin, he will tell you about our Fiddling, and
vouch for our decency at least. I saw in one of the public prints an
insinuation that Haydn, upon his arrival in London, had detected some
forgeries, some things published in his name that were not done by
him. Is that true? It does not seem very unlikely."

[Footnote 10: James Fisin was born in Colchester; was intimate with
Dr. Burney, and well known as a Professor of Music.]

. . . . .

Haydn left Vienna December 15, 1790, and arrived with Salomon in
London on New Year's Day, 1791. The Rev. Thomas Twining's
interrogations addressed to Dr. Burney respecting him were therefore
made but a few weeks after Haydn's first arrival in England. Between
the months of January and May much had been seen and heard of Haydn,
information of which Dr. Burney gave to his friend, as seen in the
following letter:--

"COLCHESTER, _May_ 4, 1791.

"To DR. BURNEY,--

"How good it was of you to gratify me with another canto of the
'Haydniad'! It is all most interesting to me. I don't know
anything--any musical thing--that would delight me so much as to meet
him in a snug quartett party, and hear his manner of playing his own
music. If you can bring about such a thing while I am in town, either
at Chelsea, or at Mr. Burney's, or at Mr. Salomon's, or I care not
where--if it were even in the Black Hole at Calcutta (if it is a good
hole for music)--I say, if by hook or crook you could manage such a
thing, you should be my Magnus Apollo for the rest of your life. I
mention