THE COMРАСТ,

A

DARK German legend survives to this

day,

Which relates to a Göttingen student,
Who came by his talent for music, they say,
At a much higher price than was prudent.
I'd rather not mention the bargain he made,-
But his playing was reckon'd so clever
As even to put Doctor Liszt in the shade,
And extinguish Herr Thalberg for ever.

My hero was anxious his rivals should see
How completely he beat them all hollow;
So he sent round his cards for æsthetics and tea,
With some meerschaums and music to follow.

Then round his respected mahogany met
All the wisdom of Göttingen city;
And History mentions that one of the set
(Not a German) was decently witty.

Of course the disputing and noise was immense,
As is always the case with deep thinkers;
But I hear that the tea showed its excellent sense,
By agreeing with most of its drinkers.

Then the music began, and the guests open'd fire,

With fugues, and sonatas, and such-like;

Which are things that we Englishmen don't much admire. Though they're just what the Germans and Dutch like.

Our hero stepp'd forth, and his countenance shone

With that mixture of stern resolution

And graceful reserve that a martyr puts on,
When he walks to his own execution.

He turn'd back his cuffs and he put back his hair,
And, after these grave preparations,

Sat down and perform'd an original air,

With a dozen superb variations.

When he fancied his audience was growing more warm,

And the interest rapidly height'ning,

He treated the room to an improvised storm,
With abundance of thunder and lightning.
It seemed as if peal after peal rent the sky,
With a rumbling sepulchral and hollow;
And fierce lurid flashes pour'd forth from on high,
With a speed that no mortal could follow.

Of course such a state of affairs could not last,
And the player at length made his mind up,
By a whirlwind of octaves play'd furious and fast,
To bring the display to a wind-up.

He finish'd his piece and look'd modestly round,
Expecting loud cheers and encoring;-

Imagine his utter disgust when he found
Every soul in the company snoring.

He summon'd his tempter in fury, they say,
And accused him of treacherous dealings,

In selling him powers that were quite thrown away,
Amongst wretches who hadn't got feelings.

"Well, I own," said the Fiend, “they are not well-behaved

But you 're certainly one of the flat sort

If you fancy that Christians who hope to be saved

Would be partial to music of that sort!”

THE VISION OF THE ALDERMAN.

AN Alderman sat at his festive board,

Quaffing the blood-red wine,

And many a Bacchanal stave outpour'd
In praise of the fruitful vine.

Turtle and salmon and Strasbourg pie,
Pippins and cheese were there;

And the bibulous Alderman wink'd his

eye,

For the sherris was old and rare.

But a cloud came over his gaze eftsoons,
And his wicked old orbs grew dim;
Then drink turn'd each of the silver spoons
To a couple of spoons for him.

He bow'd his head on the festive board,

By the gaslight's dazzling gleam:

He bow'd his head and he slept and snored,

And he dream'd a fearful dream.

M