(_A Growl from a "Quiet Street."_)
["There is a disposition just now to revive discussion upon
a very old subject, namely the curative influence of Music in
cases of mental and bodily disease."--_Daily Telegraph_.]
Curative Music? Just as well expect
An Influenza-cure from Demogorgon!
Some dolts there be, no doubt, who would detect
Anodyne influence in a barrel-organ;
A febrifuge in a flat German Band,
A prophylactic in a street-piano!
Some quackery a man _can_ understand,
But Music I'll _not_ take, even _cum grano_.
I don't believe what classic noodles say,
That Music stopped the hæmorrhage of ULYSSES;
That CATO'S stiffened joints attained free play
From harmony of sounds. Such "rot" sense hisses.
I'd just as soon believe the Theban walls
Were twangled into place by young Amphion.
Bah! Minds made sane by Music's scrapes and squalls?
Not _mine_, though the lyre-thrumber were Arion.
Drums, trumpets, fiddles, organs--_all_ are bad.
And vocal fireworks are far worse than vanity.
Stop, though! _I_'m sane, and they just drive me mad;
So Music _may_ drive _idiots_ into sanity!
* * * * *
[Illustration: AT A SMOKING CONCERT.
_Distinguished Amateur_ (_with good Method but small Voice, suddenly
jumping up from Piano_). "LOOK HERE, ALGY. I DO CALL IT BEASTLY BAD
FORM FOR YOU AND SIKES TO TALK WHEN I'M SINGING!"
_Algy_. "ALL RIGHT, OLD MAN--AWFULLY SORRY--DIDN'T KNOW YOU _WERE_
SINGING, YOU KNOW!"]
* * * * *