The state of the Merry Monarch's exchequer in 1662, according to an extract from the Emoluments of the Audit Office, seems to have been singularly prosperous. An order runs as follows: "These are to require you to pay, or cause to be paid, to John Bannister, one of His Majesty's musicians in ordinary, the sum of forty pounds for two Cremona Violins, by him bought and delivered for His Majesty's service, as may appear by the bill annexed; and also ten pounds for strings for two years ending 24th June, 1662."

The King's band was led in 1663 by the above-named John Bannister, who was an excellent Violinist. His name is associated with the earliest concerts in England, namely, those held at "four of the clock in the afternoon" at the George Tavern, in Whitefriars. Roger North informs us the shopkeepers and others went to sing and "enjoy ale and tobacco," and the charge was one shilling and "call for what you please."

In the year 1683, Henry Purcell, organist of the Chapel Royal, published twelve sonatas for two Violins and a Bass. These famous instrumental compositions were written, the author tells us, in "just imitation of the most famed Italian masters, principally to bring the seriousness and gravity of that sort of musick into vogue." Purcell, in conformity with an age of dedications, thus addressed the Merry Monarch:—

"May it please your Majesty, I had not assum'd the confidence of laying ye following compositions at your sacred feet, but that, as they are the immediate results of your Majestie's Royal favour and benignity to me (which have made me what I am), so I am constrained to hope I may presume amongst others of your Majestie's over-obliged and altogether undeserving subjects that your Majesty will, with your accustomed clemency, vouchsafe to pardon the best endeavours of your Majestie's

"Most humble and obedient subject and servant,
"H. PURCELL."

Charles II. is said to have understood his notes, and to sing in (in the words of one who had sung with him) a plump bass, but that he only looked upon music as an incentive to mirth, not caring for any that he could not "stamp the time to." The endeavour of his accomplished and gifted young organist to lead the King and his people to admire what he terms "the seriousness and gravity" of Italian music, and "to loathe the levity and balladry of our neighbours," was indeed worthy of England's greatest musician.

In the year 1678, Thomas Britton, known as the "musical small-coal man," gave concerts in this country, and a long series it was, extending over a period of forty-six years. The shape the movement took was that of a musical club, which was maintained at Britton's expense.

The concert-room of Tom Britton was over his coal-shop in Aylesbury Street, leading from Clerkenwell Green to St. John Street. From the year 1678 to the time of his death, in 1714, the concerts of Britton were attended by persons of all ranks.

"Tho' mean thy rank, yet in thy humble cell,
Did gentle peace and arts unpurchased dwell.
Well pleased, Apollo thither led his train,
And Music warbled in her sweetest strain.
Cyllenius too, so fables tell, and Jove
Came willing guests to poor Philemon's grove.
Let useless pomp behold, and blush to find
So low a station, such a liberal mind."3