The relations subsisting between the works of these two great men can only be said to have assumed the importance of a subject during the last few years. A subject, as such, it certainly is now, and one of real importance and interest.

Clavier playing with the fingers can scarcely have been practised before the middle of the fourteenth century. At the period referred to organ keys varied in width from three inches to six inches; the organ-player was therefore sometimes very accurately called a striker, his method of playing requiring either a stroke with closed fingers or a decided pressure with the whole of the fingers extended; we can see a pictorial representation of the latter method in the “Theorica Musica,” by Gaffurius, published in Milan in 1492.

Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen,—When you did me the honour of asking me to exhibit my metronome this evening I was in hopes of having a new instrument made for the occasion, but my model-maker has found it impossible to get one completed in time. I must, therefore, ask your indulgence for some want of neatness, in size and other matters, in the one on the table, it being the first one of the kind made.

The fifteenth century is a period of peculiar interest to musicians. The great transition from mediaeval bondage to modern freedom had begun. Even the schoolmen, the theoretical writers, were affected by the spirit of the age. The movement must, therefore, have been going on amongst the people for some time, for history shows us that struggles for emancipation always begin from below. It is, however, exceedingly difficult to trace the growth of this movement. We know, as a matter of history, that from an early period the popular taste had, on the whole, rejected the ecclesiastical modes, in spite of the familiarity with their tonality, which must have been engendered by constant attendance at church services and functions throughout the devout Middle Ages. Here and there popular melodies in ecclesiastical modes are preserved, but they are not many, nor do they bear the impress of that freshness which usually characterizes music, which is the spontaneous outgrowth of natural genius.

Of all the Indian arts one of the most popular is that of music, and perhaps of them all the least known to Europeans. Almost every one who has been in India knows that native music exists, but there are comparatively few who recognise the deep hold that it possesses over Indian minds. Europeans, as a rule, leave India with the idea that the national music of the country consists only of noise and incessant drumming, varied, perhaps, by nasal drawling—equally repulsive as unmusical. That there is a real musical art—with an employment of various scales, abounding in rhythmical beauty and full of passionate expression, seems to many almost incredible. And yet this is so.

Before entering upon the subject which is to occupy our attention to-night—viz., that of Chromatic Harmony, I may perhaps be permitted to express my sincere gratitude for the privilege of laying my views upon this subject before so distinguished a body as the Musical Association.

Mr. Chairman, Ladies, and Gentlemen,—After accepting the very flattering invitation to read a paper before your Society, on the subject of Music in our Public Schools, and upon sitting down to consider the matter, I was brought suddenly face to face with the disconcerting fact that I knew little or nothing about it. The history of music in public schools only dates back some twenty years, and during that time I have been so busy minding my own affairs at Sherborne, that I have had few opportunities of inquiring into other people's business. I have, to be sure, heard concerts at Cheltenham, Marlborough, and Harrow, but nowhere else, and this limited knowledge would certainly not qualify me to speak as an authority. For though I have heard it fabled that people do at times lecture upon subjects they are unacquainted with, I am far too timid to embark upon such an adventure before this audience. I propose, therefore, to effect a compromise, and to tell you my experience of music in a public school—namely, Sherborne. I shall, at any rate, be on safe ground, as I spent nineteen years of my life there, during the greater part of which I was responsible for whatever music was studied or performed. I must crave your indulgence beforehand if the little word “I” creeps with too great persistency into my discourse. This paper must necessarily be a fragment of musical autobiography, and the humblest autobiography must necessarily be, like a peacock's tail, all I's. On the other hand, the autobiography of the obscurest individual may teach, at any rate the younger among you, a lesson worth knowing. My paper will, therefore, not be the usual learned and luminous discourse which you are accustomed to listen to, and I can only hope it may serve as a document for some much more authoritative historian and theorist to elaborate on some future occasion.

At a recent meeting I accepted a suggestion made by a member of our Council, and agreed to put together a few notes on the trumpet scale, at the time believing that these notes would merely fill up the few minutes that might remain over from the reading of a more important paper. I now find that my few remarks are to provide the whole subject-matter for this evening's meeting, and can only trust that you will accept them rather as suggestions for discussion and exchange of views, than as forming a paper such as those to which you are accustomed.

The period covered by the life of Samuel Wesley, 1766–1837, is remarkable in the history of modern music, following, as it did, close on the time of Bach and Handel, and being coincident, as it was, with the times of all the most illustrious of those composers whose works have become our classical heritage. To have been eminent amid such surroundings as he lived in implies much, and I hope may justify my endeavour to engage your attention and interest while I speak for a short time this evening upon the life, times, and influence of Samuel Wesley.