RUBINSTEIN'S PLAYING IN NEW YORK.

Temuka Leader, Volume I, Issue 83, 2 October 1878, Page 3

RUBINSTEIN'S PLAYING IN NEW YORK.

He had changed his tune agin. He hopt-light ladies, and tip-toed fine from eend to eend of the key-board. He played soft, and low, and solemn I heard the church bells over the hills. The candles in heaven was lit, one by one, I saw the stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to play from world's end to world's end, and the angels went to prayers. Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that couldn't be thought, and began to drip, drop, drip, drop,—clear and sweet, like tears of joy fallin' into a lake • of glory. It was sweeter than that. It was too sweet. I tell you the audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, like he wanted to say, " Much obleeged, but I'd rather you wouldn't in term p me." He stopped a minute or two to fetch breath. Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeves, he opened his coat-tails a leetle farther, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. He si apt her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he scratched her cheeks till she fairly yelled. He knocked her down and stomped on her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, she bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she squealed like a pig, she squeaked like a rat, tnd then he wouldn't let her up. He run a quarter stretch down the low ground of the base, till he got clean into the bowels of the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after thunder, through the hollows and caves of perdi tion ; and then he fox-chased his righthand with his left till he got away out of the treble into the clouds, whar the notes was finer'n the pints of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but the shaders of 'em. And then he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He for'ard-two'd, he cros't over first gentleman, he cros't over first lady, he chassaded right and left, back to your places, | he all hands'd aroun', ladies to the right, promenade all, in and out, here and there, back and forth, up and clown, perpetual motion, doubled and twisted and turned, and tacked and tangled into forty-'leven thousand double bow knots. By jingo ! It was a mixtery. And then he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He fecht up his right wing, he fecht up his left wing, he fecht up his centre, he fecht up his reserves. He -fired by file, he fired by platoons, by companies, by regiments, and by brigades. He opened his ennnon, siege guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelvepounders yonder, big guns, little guns, middle-size guns, round shot, shells, shrapnells, grape, canister, mortars, mines, magazines, and torpedoes, and every livin' battery and boom agoin' at the same time. The house trembled, the lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor came up, the ceilin' come down, the sky split, the ground rockt—heavens and airth, creation, sweet potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, tonpenny nails, my Mary Ann, hallelujah, Samson in 'sinnmon tree, Jerossal'm, Tump Tomson in a tum'ler cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle ruddle-uddle-udcle-uddle —addle-addle-addle-addle—iddlc-iddle-iddle-iddle—p-r-r-r-v-r-lang'! laug ! per lang ! p-r-r-r-r-lang ! Bang ! With that bang he lilted hisself bodily into the ar', and he came down with his knees, his ten fingures, his ten toes, his elbows, and his nose, striking every single solitary key on that pianner at the same time. The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven thousand hemi-demi-semi-

quavers, a;id I know'd no mo'. When I come tn I were under ground about twenty foot, in a place they call Oyster Bay, tr ati'.i' a Yankee that I never laid eyes on before and never exp"ct to agin. Pay was breaking 1 by the time I got to St. Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my word I didn't know my own name. The man asked me the number of my room, and I told him " Hot music on the half-shell for two! " I pintedly did.—New York Paper.