LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 614, 7 June 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

‘BACHELOR BEN.’

{Concluded.') At last, however, there came a lull, Mr Moses and young lady No 1 finished their song, and the dancing instructor and his pupil, knocking off at the same time, betook themselves eagerlj to some drinkables on the table : the gentlemen patronising a pot of porter, the lady a little neat gin proffered her by the buxom dame with the satin shoe, who I found was Mrs Moses. Soon after, the trombone player struck work, so that Mr Redmond was enabled to exchange greetings with all present, and to introduce me to Mr Moses,

Mr Moses was a short squat personage, with strongly-markedjj Jewish features, and

was very nearly, though not quite, as broach as he was long. 11 e was dressed in a pair 61 black trousers, through which he had thrust his little bow legs considerably too far, a ragged old night shirt, and a black swallowtailed coat, split half way up the back. This ‘get-up’ certainly struck mo as singularly ill-adapted for the imposing morning levee which I found him holding. While chatting to him, in walked Mr Seaton, and, after a few preliminaries, we adjourned to the piano, and Mr Redmond played and sung our song. Fortunately the room was pretty clear by this time, so that Mr Seaton had a fair chance of hearing what the music was like.

Ho expressed himself highly pleased with both words and air, but said that he could not give a decided answer as regarded purchasing the song until the end of the next week. Having arranged that he should communicate his decision to Mr Redmond, and that this worthy should apprise me of the same, our conference broke up. But, as before, weeks passed by, and I received no intelligence whatever. At length 1 called on him at the new address he had given me, but found that he had no satisfactory intelligence to communicate. Mr Seaton, I found, had after much haggling finished up by declining to purchase the aoug. Mr Redmond had since made application to several other professionals, but with the like disap pointing result. But still he felt certain that music and words were worthy of pelf, and assured me that if I would only have patience ‘Bachelor Ben’ was bound to be produced in the end. After this interview with Mr Redmond I saw but little of him for about six mouths. I came across him occasionally, it is true, but our intercourse was of the slenderest description, and consisted almost entirely of questions respecting ‘ Bachelor Beu’ ou my part, aud disappointment-producing replies on his.

At last, about a year after I had first made his acquaintance, I received a note from him, informing me that he had disposed of the song to a Mr Sam Brunei, who was at that time fulfilling an engagement at the PJiormio, ‘ Bachelor Ben’ would in all probability be sung by him in a week or so’a time.

This epistle fanned the almost-expiring embers of my expectations again into full dame, and I now began to be really convinced that my song was near its birth. Waiting three weeks, f proceeded, brimful of hope, to the Phormio, and securing a stall, I awaited impatiently for Mr Brunei’s appearance. At last his name was announced by the chairman, and the orchestra struck up a symphony, but it was not that of ‘ Bachelor Ben. ’ The song was finished, and again did the orchestra play, but still not what I panted to hear. This Was the case a third time, then a fourth, and finally Mr Brunei made his farewell bow for the night. Intensely disgusted, I made my way to the bar and waited for him to come out. At length he emerged from the stage door, and pushed his way to where I was disconsolately standing. I introduced myself to him, and inquired when he intended to sing my son g. ' Well,’ replied he, ‘ I intended doing so before now ; but I’ve got such a lot of new things in hand just at present; however, I mean to bring it out as soon as 1 can. Drop in again in a week or two ; I daresay I shall be working it by then.’ I did drop in in a week or two, but my song was still unsung. I felt so savage this time that I made no attempt to see Mr Brunei, and walked home hurling anathemas at the head of every comic singer under the sun. Still I did not entirely abandon hope, for in a month’s time I again presented myself at the scene of Mr Brunei’s labours. His ‘turn’ arrived, but a dashing young lady tripped on to the stage in hia stead. _ I inqui ed the meaning of this, and was informed that Mr Brunei was unwell, and that the dashing young lady was deputising for him. Another week came and went, and then I wended my way to the Phormio for the fourth time. Mr Brunei did appear on this occasion, but still my song was unheard. This was too much, so I waited for him as before at the bar.

‘O,’ said he, when he saw me; ‘come about ‘'Bachelor Ben,” I suppose? Well, I’m really very sorry that I’ve not been able to bring 'it out as yet; still I hope to do so in about ten days. Look here, give me your address, and I’ll let you know the first night 1 sing it. ’ 1 handed my card to Mr Brunei, and he, on wishing me good-night, assured me that before a fortnight was over my song should be in full swing. I had been so often disappointed that I did not pay so much heed to this promise as 1 otherwise should have done ; but, about a fortnight having elapsed, I actually heard from him to the effect that he was going to sing ‘ Bachelor Ben’ for the first time on the following Wednesday.

It is needless to state that I journeyed to the Phormio betimes on that eventful Wednesday night. I got there shortly after the doors opened, and before entering the hall, I walked into the front bar to have a look at the evening paper. Here, to my great surprise, 1 found quite a crowd assembled, and in the centre of it no less a personage than ]\J r Sam Brunei. He was dressed in a brandnew suit of clothes and a large white hat, had half a dozen rings on his fingers, and was most emphatically three sheets in the wind He was propped up against the barcounter, and was actively engaged in tossing cigars to all assembled from an open box in his hand. Champagne and sherry bottles loaded the counter, and ‘ liquoring up’ on a most extensive scale was going on on all sides.

1 asked the meaning of what I saw. The answer came from Mr Brunei* whose eye at this juncture lighted upon me. ‘Hallo!’ he roared, ‘how are you, old son ? What are you going to have ? Call for any mortal thing you like; I can pay for it. My uncle Jim’s just dead, and left me twenty thousand quid. What do yon think of that, eh ? You won’t catch me singing any of your mouldy comic songs any more. 1 pitched all the blooming band parts into the fire this morning ; but never you mind that, old cock. What’ll you take to drink ? Give it a name.’

This was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. I drank Mr Brunei’s health in one glass of champagne, accepted a cigar, and then, going straight home, I solemnly consigned my solitary copy of 1 Bachelor Ben ’ to the flames.