When noses first were carved for men
Of varied width and height,
Strange smells and sweet were fashioned then
That all might know delight--
Smells for the hooked, the snub, the fine,
The pug, the gross, the small,
A smell for each, and one divine
Last smell to soothe them all.
The baccy smell, the smell of peat,
The rough gruff smell of tweed,
The rain smell on a dusty street
Are all good smells indeed;
The sea smell smelt through resinous trees,
The smell of burning wood,
The saintly smell of dairies--these
Are all rich smells and good.
And good the smell the nose receives
From new-baked loaves, from hops,
From churches, from decaying leaves,
From pinks, from grocers' shops;
And smells of rare and fine bouquet
Proceed, the world allows,
From petrol, roses, cellars, hay,
Scrubbed planks, hot gin and cows.
But there's a smell that doth excel
All other smells by far,
Even the tawny stable smell
Or the boisterous smell of tar;
A smell stupendous, past compare,
The king of smells, the prize,
That smell which floods the startled air
When home-cured bacon fries!
All other smells, whate'er their worth,
Though dear and richly prized,
Are earthy smells and of the earth,
Are smells disparadised;
But when that smell of smells awakes
From ham of perfect cure,
It lifts the heart to heaven and makes
The doom of Satan sure.
How good to sit at twilight's close
In a warm inn and feel
That marvellous smell caress the nose
With promise of a meal!
How good when bell for breakfast rings
To pause, while tripping down,
And snuff and snuff till Fancy brings
All Arcady to Town!
But best, when day's first glimmerings break
Through curtains half withdrawn,
To lie and smell it, scarce awake,
In some great farm at dawn;
Cocks crow, the milkmaid clanks the pails,
The housemaid bangs the stairs;
And BACON suddenly assails
The nostrils unawares.
Noses of varied width and height
Doth kindly Heaven bestow,
And choice of smells for our delight,
That all some joy may know;
Noses and smells for all the race
That on this earth do dwell,
And for a final act of grace
The astounding bacon smell.
But the War has its drawbacks, and owing to its unexpected prolongation
there is a rumour that Mr. H.G. Wells will readjust his ideas on the
subject quarterly instead of twice a week as before.
_July, 1918._
"France's Day" was held on July 14 under the auspices of the British Red
Cross Committee. But this has been France's month, the month in which the
miracle of the first battle of the Marne has been equalled by the second,
and the Germans have been hurled back across the fatal river by the
tremendous counterstroke of General Foch.
[Illustration: HUN TO HUN
ATTILA (to Little Willie): "Speaking as one barbarian to another, I don't
recommend the neighbourhood. I found it a bit unhealthy myself."
(Attila's victorious progress across Gaul was finally checked on the plains
of Châlons.)]
[Illustration: VERY MUCH UP