THE TRUE SONG-STUFF.
[A writer in an evening paper describes a certain song as being sung, "sometimes with a lump in the throat and a tear in the eye," all over England.]
If you wish to succeed as a writer
Of songs that undoubtedly count,
By making the atmosphere brighter,
The moral barometer mount,
Then be it your aim and endeavour to try
For the lump in the throat and the tear in the eye.
Scriabine and Stravinsky may flatter
The ears of the brainy élite,
But the musical numbers that matter
Express what is simple and sweet;
You may easily miss, by aspiring too high,
Both the lump in the throat and the tear in the eye.
Though cynics conspire to repress it,
To sentiment, "heavenly link"
(As the Bard of Savoy would address it),
With joy "I eternally drink;"
For it gives us the key, which no science can buy,
To the lump in the throat and the tear in the eye.
But, if you are anti-Victorian
And, scorning the coo of the dove,
Hold the roar of the primitive Saurian
The final expression of love,
You may have, if you choose, an alternative shy
At a tear in the throat and a lump in the eye.
"For 70 years Regent Street has basked in sunshine, and now it is to be cast into shadow again. It will be like a gloomy canon between dour stone walls."—Daily Chronicle.
We have heard of a gloomy Dean, whose habitat answers to the description given. Can this be his understudy?
"The 'brasses' worn by the modern cart-horse are a direct survival of the amulets which bedecked the horses of the time of Julius Cæsar. They are worn on the farthingale as charms against the Evil Eye."—Daily Paper.
You should see our Clydesdale in her crinoline.
