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.
Cookies on Poetry Cove