JOSEPHI IN BENICIA

There was a man who spent his mortal life

A-prisoning until there came a war;

And with the war there came an enemy,

And with the enemy came dynamite,

And with the dynamite the engineers

Histed that prison-house, and with it all

That was therein. And when the man came down

And lay a-dying, round the chaplain lit,

And asked him “What of life?” and he replied,

“To me this life has been a blasted cell.”

And so he died like any other man,

And thus it is things work among mankind.

The great Josephi — the piano lord —

When in the land of California

Was duly published for Benicia,

Yet never once put in; and then arose

Dame Rumour with a hundred thousand tongues,

And people said that he had bust his wires,

And had neuralgia in his sounding-board,

And the dyspepsia in his pedal joint,

And the stricnosis in his upper keys,—

Yet all was false, and I will tell you why.

The day before he was to have gone in

Unto his glory in Benicia,

There came a visitor whose sun-grilled face

And grand prize pumpkin air had all the style

Of a Maud Muller’ s father; and this man,

Being shown in, remarked, “I s’ pose you air

Mister Joseephee?” To him in reply

The small piano-smasher nodded “Yes.”

And thus the agriculturist went on:—

“I’ m from Beneesh, I am, and I belong

To the Town Council — that is my posish.

Down here disposin’ of my barley, and

I thort I’ d call and see yer, being as

Yer comin’ down ter-morrer fur to play.”

“Ja, dot is so,” replied the music man.

“Ye see, yer comin’ to a stranger town,

And so I thort I’ d let yer hev some pints

About the programme. We’ re a-payin’ yer

A pot o’ money, and of course yer want

To suit the ordience.” “Vell, vot you like,”

Exclaimed the great musician. “I can blay

Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt — ja! all de crate

Gombosers, and I gifes you vot you shoose.”

“I never heerd them tunes,” replied his guest.

“Do yer know‘ Nancy Lee’?” “Not I, bei Gott!”

“Nor‘ Mary Ann’?” “Nein” ( very haughtily ).

“The‘ Spanish Dona’— the‘ Monastery Bells’?”

“Gott’ s dammerwetter! Himmelspotzen — NEIN!”

“Wall, now, whar did ye learn? My darter Sue

Goes to Miss Lynch’ s, and she knows’ em all,

An’ plays’ em all by heart right straight along.

I never thought her no great shakes, and yet

She’ s clean ahead of you.” A gloomy pause

Ensued, and two long glares. Then he set on,

“What kind o’ dancing music are ye gwine

To fetch along? for that’ s the heavy jerk.”

“Tantz musik!” Oh, the horror of the voice

Of great Josephi when he heard these words.

“Yes, certinly. Ain’ t ye a-goin’ to play

Fur dancing arter supper? Wot d’ ye s’ pose

We’ re gwine to pay yer fur?” ( Here came the squall. )

“Go to der Teufel mit your tantz musik!

Dere-to your tauter also. Sapperment!

Verflucht sei deine Seele — do you dink

I coom to blay fur caddle? I ton’ t go

Unto Benicia. Dell your veller-bigs

Your tauter blays in my blace — in de blace

Of Herr Josephi — do you oonderstand,

You hundert tousend plasted Schweinigel!”

And in the rustic’ s face he slammed the door.

He did not play in fair Benicia,

And in that town he is not popular;

And in its leading circles seven out

Of eight regard him as a German fraud,

Who cannot even play “My Mary Ann.”

And thus it is they think he is a sell,

And thus it is things work among mankind.