and
sing, all of whom were Fellows of Colleges, Masters of Arts, or at
least members of the University. Amongst them was "Thom. Ken of New
Coll., a Junior" (afterwards Bishop Ken, one of the seven bishops who
were deprived at the Revolution), who could "sing his part." All the
rest played either viol, violin, organ, virginals, or harpsichord, or
were "songsters."

"These did frequent the Weekly Meetings, and _by the help of public
Masters of Musick_, who were mixed with them, they were much
improved."

There seems to have been little that was not pure enjoyment in these
meetings. Only two persons out of the thirty-two mentioned seem to
have had any undesirable quality--viz., Mr Low, organist of Christ
Church, who was "a _proud_ man," and "could not endure any common
Musitian to come to the meeting;" and "Nathan. Crew, M.A., Fellow of
Linc. Coll., a Violinist and Violist, _but alwaies played out of
Tune_." This last gentleman was afterwards Bishop of Durham.

Thus we find that in the 16th and 17th centuries a practical
acquaintance with music was a regular part of the education of both
sovereign, gentlemen of rank, and the higher middle class.

We find Henry VIII. composing church music, and at the same time
enjoying himself singing in the three-part canon composed by his
friend, a gentleman of rank.

We find that a Fellow of Trinity at the same time was expected to
sing "his part" in chapel as a matter of course. We find Edward VI.,
Mary, and Elizabeth to have all been capable players on lute or
virginals. We find that it was the merest qualification that an
Elizabethan bishop should be able to sing well; and that young
University gentlemen of birth thought it nothing out of the way to
learn all the mysteries of both prick-song (a _written_ part) and
descant (an _extempore_ counterpoint), and to solace their weary hours
by singing "in parts."

Immediately after Shakespeare's time, we find a courtier of James I.,
and the ill-fated Prince Charles himself, both enthusiasts in both
church and chamber music; and lastly, two years after the Regicide, we
find the University of Oxford to have been a perfect hotbed of musical
cultivation. Men who afterwards became Bishops, Archdeacons,
Prebendaries, besides sixteen Fellows of Colleges, and sundry
gentlemen of family, were not ashamed to practise chamber music and
singing to an extent which really has no parallel whatever nowadays.

There is plenty of evidence, though m