n (a long run in those days) the house
was crowded with an enthusiastic audience, and the charming airs which
were first uttered within the walls of the Haymarket Theatre were
afterwards wafted to the furthest corners of the three kingdoms. Even
to-day, when many of us hear for the first time the airs 'Lascia ch'io
pianga' and 'Cara sposa,' we seem to fall at once under the spell of
their charm; and can we not imagine the effect which these beautiful
songs produced upon the Londoners of nearly two centuries ago, as they
were voiced by the great singer Nicolini? We have mentioned but two of
the airs which have ever remained popular, but the opera abounded in
graceful melodies that could not fail to captivate the ear of a people
who had been languishing for the sunshine.

It is interesting to recall the manner in which the opera was put upon
the stage in those days. Every effort seems to have been made to
render the scenes as realistic as possible, though occasionally this
straining after effect was carried to an excess that excited ridicule.
Thus, in the scene for Act II of 'Rinaldo,' representing the garden of
Armida, the stage was filled with living birds, which were let loose
from cages. As the opera was produced in the winter months, the only
birds available were sparrows--a fact which gave rise to sarcastic
comments in the papers. The practice, however, might have been justly
condemned on account of its cruelty.

Handel was now firmly established in the favour of English
music-lovers. They had expected great things of him, and they were
not disappointed. There was a body of true musicians in London at that
time to whom the presence of the composer must have given special
delight. Regular concerts, where amateur musicians could meet for the
purpose of playing and hearing the best music, were unknown, and it
was left to the enterprising zeal of one humble individual to
originate the idea of the regular weekly concerts in London which
later on became so widely known and appreciated. In a small shop near
Clerkenwell Green lived a small-coal dealer named Thomas Britton. In
those days 'small-coal,' or charcoal, was extensively used amongst the
poorer classes, and regularly each morning Britton would shoulder his
large sack of the fuel and go his round through the streets, disposing
of his burden in pennyworths to the inhabitants. When the round was
finished he returned home, changed his clothes, forgot that he was a
sma