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Through curtains half withdrawn,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.
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