Love in Chief by R.K. Weekes — Read

"_O Medjé, who with thy smiling / Hast enchained my heart, once free_ -- "

Gounod, whose sweet and sensuous church music has something of the quality of _good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke_, has written some acceptable love-songs; such at least was Lucian's opinion. Aided by the night's stillness and the seductive influence of the stream which cradled their boat, Noel Farquhar's fine dramatic voice rang up the valley to the hotel, half a mile away. The twangs and pangs of Lucian's banjo did not travel so far. Farquhar had a powerful voice, thoroughly well trained; he did not tremble in sentimental passion and murder time in the name of liberty, nor yet did he alternately spue out his words and gobble them down. And he had fire; he could sing the very heart out of a song. His native taste in music he usually sacrificed to the general good; he would sing "The Lost Chord" and "The Holy City" and "Beauty's Eyes," and other favourites, to please young ladies such as Angela Laurenson and elderly gentlemen who like a little music after dinner. But Lucian laid a taboo on these; he offered Farquhar the choice between what he called gamey music (meaning the glorious modern discords which we all delight to honour in the abstract) and ditties of the Bank Holiday school, with a chorus in which he expressed his desire to join. Whereupon Farquhar hurriedly embarked upon "Medjé."