A prize of f5, which may be divided, is offered
for an extract of not more than 200 words from a " period" novel dealing with English social life in 1950, and written some 200 years later by an author who has gone to some trouble, but not quite enough, to recapture the authentic flavour of a bygone age.
Entries must be addressed to the Spectator, 99 Gower Street, London, W.C.1, in envelopes marked " Competition," and must be received not later than June 2nd. The results will be published in the Spectator of June 9th.
* * *
1750-1950
[1. S. Bach, died July 28th, 1750]
WHAT though the atom tear the earth awry And threatening discords batter on our ear ; Though the abyss yawns ineluctably,
" Come, gentlemen, old Bach is here."
Horror may seem to drive the human will To tread, unarmed, those labyrinths of fear Which honeycomb the future: still— After two centuries—old Bach is here.
No longer may the sheep in safety graze—
They have forgot their Shepherd standing near ; Yet, for their comfort, pastoral music plays, For still old Bach is here.
Prussia is fallen, Frederick a name No longer terrible ; and yet, this year, We echo his imperial acclaim: " Come, gentlemen, old Bach is here."
KATHARINE WEST.
Previous page
