It was with great diffidence that I undertook, at the request of the President of this Association, to write this paper.

I felt, in the first place, that there are many of my brother officers who could have done it much better, and, in the second, that as a very humble amateur, I should be addressing a distinguished body of musicians. I trust, however, they will patiently hear me, as I am actuated by none but sincere and patriotic motives.

In the spring of the present year I received a letter from Mr. Flinders Petrie, who was then in Egypt, telling me of a great find he had come across while excavating in the Fayoum. The letter was partly in answer to one I had written him, begging him to look out for any traces of a musical notation that might possibly have been employed by the ancient Egyptians. I was then engaged in a study of the rise and history of the notation of music. I thought that in Egypt—the mother of civilisation, that wonderful land which has done so much in the way of discovery and development of the arts and sciences—it was quite possible that the art of writing down sounds sung by the voice, or given forth by instruments of music, might have originated; and that the Greeks might have borrowed the idea, as they borrowed and adopted so much, so very many of the arts and customs of this most ancient people. Mr. Flinders Petrie told me that as yet a method of music notation had never been looked for, but that he would keep his eyes open, and should not be surprised, now that its possibility had been suggested, if some such system were to be found in the papyri dealing with religious services, or on the wall-paintings of tombs, where distinguished musicians were buried. And he went on to say he had found in the coffin of a mummy, buried more than 3,000 years ago, a case containing a pair of double-flutes, still in perfect condition, despite the ages and ages that had elapsed since they were buried with their long dead owner. He told me one of these pipes possessed four finger holes, the other three, and he gave me the dimensions of the tubes; roughly each are about eighteen inches long and three-sixteenths of an inch diameter, and he furnished me with the distance of the holes from one another. The singularly small size of the bore surprised me, and I opined that Mr. Petrie had erred in these measurements, for I felt that such slender tubes as these would not have spoken as flutes. The importance of the discovery was very great from a musical point of view; indeed, its significance can hardly be overrated, for I saw that these pipes would most likely supply what had been a matter of speculation for ages past, and is still a mystery—viz., the notes or exact sounds of the old Egyptian scale. I will not detain you by recounting the many guesses by historians and investigators as to how this ladder of sounds was built up, and what was the musical system the Egyptians employed. It is enough to state that it has been generally assumed to resemble the mode now in use in Egypt, a country where very little change occurs; and where they employ a system of quarter tones, third of a tone, and such minute intervals as are used by the Arabs, Persians, Hindoos, and other Eastern people, a system we, with our Western trained ears, cannot appreciate, and which we somewhat hastily (I venture to think) conclude can be nothing more than a fortuitous collection of intervals, possibly fit for a melodic purpose, but one impossible to deal with, so far as harmonic combinations are concerned. The late Carl Engel, in his valuable work “The Music of the most Ancient Nations,” argued with much ingenuity that the Egyptians, in common with the Assyrians and the Hebrews, used the Pentatonic scale—that is to say, our modern diatonic scale less the fourth and the seventh. In this scale there are no semitones, and of course no chromatic intervals are employed. Some few writers have hazarded a guess that Pythagoras obtained the idea of his so-called tetrachordal system from the Egyptians, and thus the music of the Greeks came from an African source. Remembering all this, I was naturally anxious to see these precious flutes so wonderfully preserved, and impatiently waited for the time when Mr. Petrie would bring the results of bis excavation labours to London. I do not propose to speak to you on the music of the ancient Egyptians. The subject is a fascinating one, but I must not stay to describe their various instruments of the string, wind, and percussion types—there are as many as seventeen different kinds of these known to have been employed; nor will I dilate on their music itself, or on their performances. Those who have given any attention, or studied all this, cannot but feel that the music of the Egyptians must have been of a higher and more complete kind than that which obtained among the Greeks, even in their palmiest days. The Greek writers indulge in much hyperbole as to the wonderful effects of their music; the papyri of the Egyptians are silent in this respect. But better than such descriptions, fanciful or real, the Egyptian artists made use of their brushes to such good effect, that in the frescoes which adorn their sumptuous tombs we have pictured for our instruction the daily life of this people, their arts and customs, as they existed two, three, four, and five thousand years ago. These monuments speak a language that cannot be misunderstood : together with their papyri they tell us enough to perceive that a high degree of civilisation and culture existed on the banks of the Nile, when the inhabitants of this island were—well, probably cannibals. So far as music is concerned, we have plenty of evidence proving that the ancient Egyptians were highly susceptible to the art. They employed it to increase the mysteries of their religious worship, to endow their warriors with courage, to minister to the delights of their social entertainments, to enhance the rhythmical effects of their dances, and to please the people in their ceremonies, festivities, official celebrations, and public processions.

In continuing the subject upon which I had the honour of addressing the Musical Association last January, I should like, first, very briefly to call to your remembrance one topic upon which I then spoke, for, in the present paper, I shall have much occasion to refer to it. I allude to the important requisite that as vocal music is a union between poetry and “harmonised melody,” the most careful attention should be given that, in the combination, the various points demanding accent in the one should be responded to with perfect sympathy in the other. This, for the intelligent singer's sake, who is responsible for the perfection of the outcome. I stated to what notes in the diatonic scale, as well as dissonant notes generally, the accented words and syllables should be set. By the detailed observations I made, I implied, if I did not lay it down as a proposition, that singing was musical oratory, requiring that the delivery of the words should be rich in eloquence and in thorough accord with the sentiment of the music. Further thoughts with respect to this branch of the musical art, which I desire to place before you, will have a passing reference to the elocution of singing —the simple delivery of words; and then, and chiefly, to expression, musical and verbal; the full meaning of which I shall endeavour to show according to the view I take of the comprehension of the word. In the remarks I shall have occasion to make, if I may reckon upon your patience, will be seen the several reasons of my dwelling so much upon it. You will pardon my using very simple language, and giving a few rules well known to all thoughtful musicians who have made this branch a special study, that this paper may present some show of completeness. I shall have to make more than simple reference to translated songs, to transposed songs, and to what occasioned much argument and difference of opinion some few years since—musical pitch.

I come before you once more as the advocate of the Substantial Theory of Sound, and as a letter-in of light upon some of the fallacies and impossibilities of the time-honored mechanical theory, commonly called the Wave Theory of Sound. I come before you with most pleasant recollections of your courteous and patient hearing on the previous occasion, when I introduced the Substantial Theory to your notice for the first time. I took you somewhat by surprise on that occasion, for the subject was new to you; and few were prepared to question, at the moment, the bold statements I then made, to discuss the arguments I advanced, or to see the full force and teaching of the experiments I performed. Now, however, matters are different, for you have had full opportunity of reading and considering my first paper; and many of you have either heard or read my good friend Dr. Pearce's admirable lecture. Some present may have listened to my second lecture, delivered on November 8th, before the National Society of Professional Musicians; and now, with so much additional information and thought, it is probable you have come to some conclusion in your own minds. If, as musicians, you have been content to reflect on your daily experience in matters of sound, and have elected to use the reasoning powers and to exercise the common sense God has given you with an open and unprejudiced mind, I know very well, from my own experience, towards which theory you incline; but if, on the other hand, you have shut your ears to your daily experience, and have blindly pinned your faith to great names with their array of mathematical formulae, then I know how unsubstantial your theory is.

Some months ago, during a conversation on Musical Form, the remark was made to me that the Rondo had been rather scantily treated in theoretical works; and that the portion of that great book on musical composition by Marx, which deals with this form, had never been translated into English. My friend went on to say, “Why should you not write a paper on the Rondo (taking Marx as your basis), and offer it to the Musical Association?” Acting on this suggestion I proceeded to write the paper, which with much diffidence I now offer you; and if it should give rise to a discussion in which further light may be thrown on the subject, I shall feel that it has not been written in vain.

There are musicians who hold that what are termed National characteristics in music are due solely to the peculiarities of the languages, instruments, and scales used in different parts of the world, and that therefore the style and characteristic phrases of a national music are not the outcome of the character and peculiarities of a nation. They tell us that the deeper feelings of mankind are alike all the world over, and that consequently the peculiarities of national music are only national in the narrow and superficial sense of the word, and are therefore unworthy of adoption by composers of distinction. It will be my endeavour to show, however, that the many distinct peculiarities found in the music of various nations have a deeper significance than is commonly supposed. Whilst of course the same emotions are common to all mankind, some nations, owing to their surroundings and vicissitudes, experience certain emotions more frequently than others, and such emotions finally leave their permanent imprints on the whole nation and form what is called a national character. I need hardly say that, viewed from this standpoint, the subject is a very comprehensive one. It embraces the physical and mental peculiarities which distinguish the different races of mankind; the history of the sub-division of races; the resultant character and temperaments produced by the mixture of races; their gradual formation into nations; the alterations in language consequent on its corruption and development; and the effect of climate on religion, mode of thought, customs, and institutions. Obviously I can but touch on these points, but I trust with sufficient clearness to show their relative importance. As my subject is somewhat complex, I should like first to explain what I mean by the terms “race,” “nation,” and “character.”

No foreigner can fail to be struck by the Church music of Russia. Even if his acquaintance with the country be limited to a short visit—say a fortnight spent in St. Petersburg, with perhaps a flying visit for a few days to Moscow, he is sure to be impressed by the excellent unaccompanied singing of the choirs not only in the large cathedrals and monasteries, but also, if he visit them, in the ordinary parish churches. He will be loud in his praise of the marvellous richness and compass of the voices, and more especially of the deep notes sung by some of the basses, going down to the A, G, and even F of the 16-ft. octave of the organ, voices the like of which are to be heard in no other country. Although there is no organ or instrumental accompaniment of any kind to sustain the voices, the singing is never out of tune. Even the clergy seem to be universally possessed of musical ears. In the long ectenæ, which recur so frequently in every one of the Greek Church services, and which in form somewhat resemble our Litany, neither the deacon who sings the suffrages nor the choir which responds ever seem to lose the right pitch, and get flatter and flatter as we so often hear in this country. In fact, I don't think that anyone who has had the opportunity of comparing the ecclesiastical music of the various nations of Europe will refuse Russia the credit of surpassing all other countries in the general excellence of her church singing.

It is sometimes interesting and useful for individuals to take a retrospective view of their past doings, and it may be that certain valuable lessons can be gathered from a review of past epochs in the history of the art of music—it is a somewhat commonplace observation which we frequently hear that “things were different a hundred years ago.” I propose then to speak for a few minutes on the condition of music and musicians in the year 1791. Let us fancy ourselves standing in Hanover Square in May, 1791; over there at the corner stands the building, originally built in 1774, by Gallini, John Christian Bach, and Abel the viol-di-gambist. There Bach and Abel had been giving concerts until 1782, but in consequence of the withdrawal of the patronage of Lord Abingdon they had been obliged to discontinue them. Art seems at this period to have existed only when patronized by the rich and noble. Bach and Abel having failed pecuniarily, a few professional musicians banded together to give “professional concerts “; these commenced in 1783, but happily a very superior violinist, Salomon, jealous that his excellence and talent had not been recognised by the professional concert-givers, started an opposition in those same rooms in 1786. These rival venturers were energetic in devising means for attracting the musical public, and W. Cramer, the violinist, who headed the “Professional Musicians'” concerts, wrote to Haydn, then in Esterhatz, offering him any terms he chose to ask to appear at their concerts. Salomon, equally on the alert, and anxious to secure the most notable musician of the day, sent Bland, the music publisher, to make an engagement with him. These blandishments for the time had no effect, and Salomon, determined to conquer, went himself to Esterhatz; but owing to the binding nature of Haydn's engagement with Prince Nicolaus, could not prevail. Leaving Haydn he commenced his return journey to England, but on his arrival at Cologne received the news of the death of the Prince; he immediately returned and found Haydn in Vienna. This was the end of the year 1790. The king of Naples was then a visitor in Vienna, and being a performer on the lyre, he had commissioned Haydn to compose a concerted piece for that instrument. Salomon's persuasive tongue and purse prevailed on Haydn to start with him immediately for London, whereupon Haydn requested an audience of the King of Naples in order to present his composition. The King, pleased to receive the MS., said to Haydn : “the day after to-morrow we will try them.” Haydn expressed his sorrow that it would be impossible, as on that day he would start for England. The King very indignantly reminded Haydn he had promised to go to Naples, and forthwith left the room in anger; but shortly afterwards he recovered his good nature and gave Haydn a letter of introduction to his Ambassador in London, the Prince Castelcicala. He also presented the composer with a valuable tabatière. To enhance the interest of this little story, I have brought with me a manuscript of the Notturno, referred to as written and presented to the King of Naples. The MS. is most valuable, being in the handwriting of the composer.

Mr. Chairman, Ladies, and Gentlemen,—It lately occurred to me that it might be interesting to the members of this Association to give a short account of my work in connection with the remarkable sketch Symphony in E of Schubert.

Mr. Chairman, Ladies, and Gentlemen,—It may be in your remembrance that, at our last November meeting, I had the honour to read before the members of the Association a paper on “A pair of ancient Egyptian Double-Flutes,” and thanks to the kindness of Mr. Flinders Petrie, the famous Egyptologist, who had discovered them in the coffin of a mummy, I was enabled to show you these musical relics, still playable though three thousand years has passed since the priestess to whom they belonged had played her last song upon them.