It is to-day Easter, 1908, and I am writing these lines while my two sons are enjoying themselves in the next room.

My eldest has brought word that my two grandsons are busy spinning one of those new patent tops, with coloured paper discs, that their uncle has presented them with.

My wife, having satisfied herself that her grandsons enjoyed their Easter eggs, is busy preparing supper.

I linger over these last lines till a majestic melody comes from the other room. ‘Tis the opening theme of the overture to Tannhäuser; one is at the piano, the other has taken the ’cello. One piece succeeds another till my wife opens the door: “Come, it is time to stop.” Yes, it is time to stop.