When I undertook to read a paper on the necessity of a scientific development of the muscles of the hand and arm, apart from the keyboard, I was not aware how fully and admirably the subject had been treated during our last session by Mr. Southgate. The matter is however of such vital importance that it cannot be too frequently insisted upon; and I trust, therefore, those members of our Society who are devoted to branches of the art other than pianoforte-playing will pardon us if we again occupy their time.

Fully aware of the ambiguous character of the title, which for want of a better heading I have ventured to give to the paper I am permitted to read before you upon this occasion, it may be well to explain my general position with regard to the subject-matter I desire now to lay before you.

A variety of causes led me recently to consider attentively the subject of Closes in music, not the least of these causes being the very meagre and superficial way in which the subject is treated in all the theory works with which I am acquainted. Even a satisfactory definition of the term Close or Cadence is hardly to be found, and the sum total of book-information on the subject is to the effect that a Close is the end of a period in music and is distinguished by the occurrence of two particular chords; that the principal kinds of closes are the “perfect,” “plagal,” and “half” close, but that there is also the “imperfect,” “false,” or “deceptive” close; thus we are given at least six technical terms for one thing. If the student searches for the meaning of the term “musical period” he is referred back to “Close,” so that the definition is of the true dictionary type; merely a cross reference.

A few months ago I had the pleasure of meeting your distinguished member, Sir John Stainer, at the breakfast table in the principal hotel in Cambridge; and in the most natural manner possible our conversation drifted into the subject of Organs. As a matter of consequence, seeing that I am a member of the architectural profession. Sir John Stainer feelingly enlarged on the only too obvious snort-comings of modern architects in all matters relating to the accommodation of organs in churches. Perhaps to his surprise he found in his listener a warm supporter in every word of condemnation he uttered, and, indeed, if I remember rightly, I used even stronger language than he, doubtless through kindliness of feeling if not through a certain respect for my calling, ventured to give expression to. Well, it is to this little incident that I have to attribute the kind invitation to occupy my present position to-day, and the honour and privilege of addressing you on a subject of no little interest to all lovers of church music.

Before proceeding with the remarks which I am about to make on the subject of the Viola da Gamba, I ought to say that I propose on the present occasion to treat the subject in its popular rather than its scientific aspect. In doing so, I am possibly taking a course not strictly in accordance with the practice of a society the objects of which I quite understand to be of a scientific rather than a popular character. But I have a reason for doing so, which is, that so little is generally known about the Viola da Gamba, and so completely has this once common instrument passed out of the region of popular use and knowledge, that without some general description, any scientific description and investigation of its nature and properties would be scarcely intelligible. A great deal might be said, and I may perhaps have an opportunity of saying it on some other occasion, on the Viola da Gamba from a scientific point of view—dealing with the nature and quality of its tone, as contrasted with instruments of the violin type, the scope for execution afforded by its mechanism, and the facilities which it offers to the composer for musical purposes generally, as well as for the production of particular effects.

When, a year ago, I accepted the flattering invitation of your assistant secretary to read a paper before you, I did not, I am afraid, sufficiently realize the difficulties of the undertaking. Casting about for a subject, it gradually dawned upon me that any attempt on my part to convey original information would be futile; for, not having a claim to be considered a specialist in any one branch of the musical art, my efforts could only have resulted in the process familiarly known as “carrying coals to Newcastle.” As such a waste of time was not to be thought of, it finally struck me that if I could not impart information, I might at least be the means of eliciting it, by supplying materials for a profitable discussion, which in its turn might stimulate to further enquiry and investigation. This I resolved to do, and as a natural consequence directed myself to the discovery of some neglected or hitherto imperfectly treated subject. I submit that Musical Progress is such a subject, and that its neglect, however easily it might have been accounted for fifty years ago, by the difficulties which would then have stood in the way, is no longer justifiable at the present day.

As an introduction to the immediate subject of this paper—namely, “Rate-Aided Schools of Music,” it is necessary briefly to allude to the present condition of musical education in the kingdom. But as I propose dealing altogether with the relationship of the State to music, no reference need be made to the characteristics of the music teaching obtainable by the classes who can afford to pay for special instruction either at private schools or at home.

The members of this Association, since its foundation, have been again and again both delighted and instructed by discourses on subjects connected with the art and the history of music. Those of us who have ventured to speak on any scientific point have doubtless considered that as the Association was formed for the investigation and discussion of subjects connected not only with the art and history, but also with the science of music, the framers of its constitution had in view a certain object in admitting science. This object I take to be the wholesomeness and desirability of an occasional descent from the realms of art and imagination, and even of a turning aside now and again from the more human and sympathetic interest called up by the study of the history of musicians and their works. I am encouraged to think that this province, the science of music, may be taken to include not only the study of the laws of the art as deduced from our mental perceptions, but also the examination of all those mechanical actions by which music, the conception and thought of one man, becomes a reality to listening thousands.