The above appeared in the _Chemical News_ November 21, 1873, when the adulteration in question was generally believed to be commonly perpetrated, and many unfortunate shop-keepers had been and were still being summoned to appear at Petty Sessions, etc., and publicly branded as fraudulent adulterators on the evidence of the newly-fledged public analysts, who confidently asserted that they found such filings mixed with the tea. Some discussion followed in subsequent numbers of the _Chemical News_; but it only brought out the fact that “finely divided iron” exists in considerable quantities in Sheffield,—may be “begged,” as Mr. Alfred H. Allen (an able analytical chemist, resident in Sheffield,) said. The fact that such finely divided iron is thus without commercial value still further confirms my conclusion that it is not used for the adulteration of tea. If it were, its collection would be a regular business, and truck-loads would be transmitted from Sheffield to London, the great centre of tea-importation. No evidence of any commercial transactions in iron filings or iron dust for such purposes came forward in reply to my challenge. The practical result of the controversy is that iron filings are no longer to be found in the analytical reports of the adulteration of tea. CONCERT-ROOM ACOUSTICS. The acoustics of public buildings are now occupying considerable attention in London. The vast audiences which any kind of sensational performance in the huge metropolis is capable of attracting, is forcing the subject upon all who cater for public amusement or instruction. There was probably no building in London, or anywhere else, more utterly unfit for musical performances than the Crystal Palace in its original condition; but, nevertheless, the Handel Festival of last week was a great success. I attended the first of these immense gatherings, and this last; but nothing of the kind intermediate, and, therefore, am the better able to make comparisons. My recollections of the first were so very unsatisfactory that I gladly evaded the grand rehearsal of Friday week, and went to the “Messiah” on Monday with an astronomical treatise in my pocket, in order that my time should not be altogether wasted. Being seated at the further end of the transept, in a gallery above the level of the general ridge-and-furrow roof of the nave, the plump little Birmingham tenor, who rose to sing the first solo, appeared, under the combined optical conditions of distance and vertical foreshortening, like a chubby cheese-mite viewed through a binocular microscope. Taking it for granted that his message of comfort could not possibly reach my ear, I determined to anticipate the exhortation by settling down for a comfortable reading of a chapter or two, but was surprised to find I could hear every note, both of recitative and air.