[The Queen's Hall is at present free from the smell of
cooking hitherto "the inseparable accompaniment of orchestral
music."--_Times, Nov. 27._]
Seated to-day at a concert,
I am weary and ill at ease,
Though LLOYD and ALBANI are singing,
Or anyone else you please;
I know not what they are doing,
For something is wanting there--
That old-fashioned concert-hall odour
Which throbbed in the scented air.
It flooded the place, like one of
BEETHOVEN'S sonatas might,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of wild delight;
It quieted pain and sorrow,
It thrilled the enraptured sense,
A song without words--or music--
That travelled one knew not whence;
It linked all delightful odours
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into soup-plates
As if it were loth to cease.
I have sought--but I seek it vainly--
That one lost smell sublime,
Which came from adjacent kitchens
At dinner or supper time.
It may be that CHOPIN is severed
From scents which with music we group,
It may be that SCHUBERT is parted
For ever from odours of soup.
* * * * *
The Belfry of Bruges Overlooked.
["A more silent city than Bruges does not
exist."--_Standard._]
What? Bruges a silent city!
Now, nay a thousand times!
If deaf, accept our pity;
If not,--oh dear! those chimes!
* * * * *
NEW LEGAL WORK. (_By the author of "In Silk Attire."_)--"The Briefless
Junior; or, Plenty of Stuff to Spare."
* * * * *