A DARK German legend survives to this

day,

Which relates to a Gottingen 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 aesthetics and tea,

With some meerschaums and music to follow.

Then round his respected mahogany met

All the wisdom of Gottingen 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 heightening,

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!"