to empty air. There was one Colonial officer who was a regular attendant on band days, and whose principal aim in life seemed to be to pose as an authority on music before the uninitiated. As he knew nothing whatever of the science, and had successfully picked up the phrases used in music without in the least understanding their meaning, he frequently entangled himself in the most irretrievable confusion, and was a source of much amusement.
One day the band was playing Gounod's Serenade, and during the performance the critic walked round and round as usual, beating time in the air with his walking-stick, and assailing every inoffensive bystander with a hailstorm of scientific jargon. When the piece was finished he nodded approval and said:—
"Ah! pretty thing—pretty thing. Fine scale of minor fifths. Let me see; what is it called?"
"That? Oh! it's one of Whistler's 'Nocturnes,'" said somebody.
"Yes, yes. Of course it is. Whistler's 'Nocturne.' How stupid of me to forget the name."
It is said that this connoisseur once remarked that the Marquois scale was most difficult for a beginner on the flute; but that, when once learned, it was so beautiful as to well repay all trouble.
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