Bantock continued his pioneering programmes at New Brighton, devoting entire concerts to the music of Johann Strauss II, Wagner, Mackenzie, Waldteufel, Tchaikovsky, German and Haydn. Having married Helena in March, he was delighted at the birth of his son Julian Richard Granville Bantock on 19 December, but less enamoured with Arthur Hinton's suggestion of forming a Society of British Composers; he also began plans to relaunch the New Quarterly Musical Review. Wallace had begun his Choral symphony Ecclesiastes, an orchestral work The Forty-five, a symphonic poem The Covenanters and the University hymn ‘Carmen Glasguense’, and published two articles in The Idler: ‘Cyrano de Bergerac’, and ‘Richard Wagner and the “Nibelungen Ring”’, as well as contributions to The Outlook. This year marked Newman's first contribution to the Monthly Musical Record, with the short article ‘The Psychology of the Musician’.

28 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO WILLIAM WALLACE

My dear Wallace.

Many thanks for your letter. I was wondering what had become of you. I want you to send me your scores & parts as soon as you can. Why the devil cannot you come and spend your holiday, or at least some of it up here. I want you to conduct some of your works, & can & would introduce you to some of the influential musical people up here. Bye the-bye, I want you to write a few male-voice choruses, like the German Liedertafel, as Goossens has such a choir here in Liverpool, & has asked me to write him some choruses. I have taken the Cavalier Tunes of Browning & one of the critics here is writing me something special & historical. If you will do something in this way, I think I can get it performed for you. But in your own interests, I should like to have you come & stay with us for some of your holidays. I am coming up to London on July 3rd in the evening, as I am examining for the Queen Victoria Scholarship at Trinity College on the 4th; returning here early on the morning of the 5th. I want to see you for a short chat.

WILHELM KRIEGER HAD A PROBLEM. Not even thirty years old, he had joined the Writers Union in December 1981 and now, less than a month later, needed help. Writing to Hermann Kant, he explained that his fiancée, a Bulgarian national, was pregnant, but Bulgarian authorities had not yet approved their marriage license. To make matters worse, the Bulgarian consulate in East Germany had refused to extend her residency permit. “Obviously,” he concluded, “I know that the association cannot solve such a problem. But in case you, with your commanding view, can offer a suggestion, I gladly ask for it.” Kant was no miracle worker, yet his “view” must have revealed an unforeseen option, for five months letter a fresh letter arrived from Krieger announcing the consulate had granted a five-year extension on his fiancée's visa. “I want to thank you very warmly,” he expressed, “for your efforts that possibly led to this outcome.”

It is unclear what role Kant played in this affair, though it was not outside the realm of possibility for him to pull strings to help a member. What is striking is that Krieger did not think it outlandish to ask the head of his professional union to intercede in a matter having nothing to do with literature. For decades GDR denizens cultivated techniques to attain things in a society plagued by shortages. Whether relying on substitutes, using knowledge of official rules, sending petitions, exploiting connections to the powerful, drawing on formal and informal networks, or utilizing black and “gray” markets, East Germans were to a remarkable degree able to overcome many—though certainly not all—obstacles as consumers and citizens. It is thus natural that writers would see their union as a vehicle to do the same. In fact, such requests were expected, and in many cases SV officials tried to help. They might not be able to move mountains, but an institution with strong ties to the state could make a difference in a bureaucratic dictatorship.

The major function of the SV was political, but the union also served a socioeconomic role for members, illustrating Konrad Jarausch's idea of the GDR as a “welfare dictatorship.” As part of the bargain by authors to not challenge the legitimacy of the dictatorship, the union provided members with benefits.

1910 saw the publication of a second shorter episode from Bantock's Christus in vocal score, ‘Gethsemane’, and the first complete performance of Omar Khayyám (15 February). An extract from Wallace's symphonic poem Villon, entitled ‘Françoys Villon's Prayer to Nostre-Dame (Song to the Virgin)’, was published for voice and piano by Schott and Co, and his song setting of his own text, ‘Great Britain over-seas’, was published by Boosey & Co. Wallace also published his English translations of operas by Richard Strauss (Feuersnot) and Edmond de Missa (Muguette) and the lyric drama Le Chemineau by Jean Richepin.

246 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO ERNEST NEWMAN

Dear Will

What do you think of this in tonight's Mail? They are losing no time in pushing our friend, & we shall have to be on the ‘qui vive’.

Yours

Gran

247 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO ERNEST NEWMAN

My dear Newman

You will be doing Mr. Feeney [sic] a service, if you will see him personally, & look at some of his work. He is self taught in his music, & his ideas show considerable originality & promise. The question, however, is concerning his future. He will explain his position.

Yours

Granville Bantock

248 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO ERNEST NEWMAN

I have got the full score of ‘Salome’ for a few days. Come over to Broad Meadow on Sunday for a ‘peep’ at it. Got a Bas-relief for you, if you will come over.

Allah.

249 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO ERNEST NEWMAN

Dear Will

If you have any time to spare on Sunday, you might run over to Broad Meadow, to chat over the Opera scheme & procedure. Of course if you cannot manage it, never mind; but I hope you will attend the meeting here at the Institute on Monday next at 7. PM, as you are the only one, who has seen the actual performances. Your leading article has aroused a considerable amount of interest, & while the iron is hot, it is worth striking.

The following pages will try to prove two basic points. The first of these is that the military operations which Alfonso VII of León-Castile (1126–57) undertook against the Muslims during the long decade between 1145 and 1157 were not random events. These acts of war rather followed the logical strategic guidelines that arose from the readjustment to a new political situation in al-Andalus, of the plan the monarch had been developing since c. 1130 for a gradual attrition of the basis of Almoravid power within the Iberian peninsula. The second point is that Alfonso's conquest of Almería in 1147, and his concern to keep the city under his control down to its loss in 1157, did not spring from crusading ideals, still less from what an influential historiographical trend of recent decades has designated the “international” movement of the Second Crusade. On the contrary, this entire episode was just a product of dynamic strategies in the light of regional concerns.

Background and Context

Alfonso VII is not normally remembered for his military or political achievements against the Muslims. With regard to León and Castile Alfonso VI (1065/72–1109), who conquered the city of Toledo (1085) and dominated the taifa kingdoms, Alfonso VIII (1158–1214), who defeated the Almohads at the famous battle of Las Navas de Tolosa (1212), and Fernando III “the Saint” (1217/30–52), who subdued the territorial heart of al-Andalus, spring more readily to mind. With regard to Aragón, Alfonso I “the Battler” (1104–34), who conquered Zaragoza (1118) and frequently defeated the Almoravids at the height of their military power, and Jaime I (1213–76), accurately named “the Conqueror,” who took Mallorca and Valencia, enjoy similar fame. Another king who deserves to be regarded as a great military leader was Afonso Henriques of Portugal (1139–85) who, within four decades, doubled the territories he had inherited by fighting against the Muslims.

Nevertheless, any contemporary of Alfonso VII would without any doubt have described him as a monarch of formidable stature. Indeed, in 1135 Alfonso was proclaimed emperor on account of the homage he received from every other Christian leaders within the Iberian peninsula and from some beyond the Pyrenees. Until his death in 1157 nobody questioned this status.

1900 saw Bantock's appointment as Principal of the Birmingham and Midland Institute from September, and the birth of his second son, Raymond. His orchestral poem Thalaba the Destroyer was premiered on 4 May, and the full score of Christus was published by Breitkopf & Härtel. Wallace's lack of communication with Bantock led to the souring of their relationship; although no correspondence between the two survives after 1900, subsequent letters to Newman confirm that eventually their relationship was repaired. Newman made his first contribution to the Contemporary Review in 1900 with the essay ‘The Old Music and the New’.

93 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO ERNEST NEWMAN

My dear Newman.

Many thanks for your bulletin. Glad to say Concert was a success in spite of Fowler's predictions of failure, & South African Wars. I have been laid up however since my return with acute pleurodynia, (not brickbats), & have been for four days confined to bed. Rodewald has the score of the Variations, and I have asked him to let you have it for your scalpel. If you care for the Pianoforte arrangement I can send that to you. What an aristocrat you are becoming, moving to Grove Street – ahem! Can you manage to let me have the Scores during the week? I must begin to get ready for our Tower season, & have not yet made my final selection. Can you spare an evening to run over here, as I am still an invalid & confined to the house. I can tell you all the news then.

What a mess you will soon be in! – moving. I pity you. When I came here I had fourteen cases of books & stamps!

Yours

GB

94 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO ERNEST NEWMAN

Dear Newman

Why did you not come on to see me conducting Waltzes!!! etc last evening? Unsympathetic wretch! If you do not come over to the Tower one evening next week – why not Tuesday – I shall not present you with a copy of “Christus” – a few copies of which have just arrived. I have been revelling in “Taras Bulba” and its barbaric savagery.

In 1908 Bantock succeeded Edward Elgar as Peyton Professor of Music at the University of Birmingham. His comedy overture The Pierrot of the Minute was premiered at the Worcester Festival, and there were publications of his Elegaic Poem for cello and orchestra and the cello and piano arrangement of the Sapphic Poem. He also conducted the British premiere of Sibelius's Third Symphony (dedicated to Bantock) in Liverpool on 21 November, and continued to work with Delius over the membership of the Musical League committee. Newman's book Richard Strauss was published, as was Wallace's The Threshold of Music and his ballad setting of his own text for baritone and orchestra, The Outlaw.

227 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO ERNEST NEWMAN

Dear Ali Wali

I am very sorry to hear that you suggest postponing your Lectures until next Session, though your reasons appear to me amply sufficient to justify such a course. There will be a good deal of disappointment, but I can quite understand how you are placed, and will let Hayes & the Committee know the real reason. I think it would be good policy to write Hayes a friendly letter on the subject, and explain your present position to him, so that he can treat your communication as official. You can leave me to soothe him down, if there is any need for it. This would be the proper course, and we can announce that your Lectures have been unavoidably postponed until next Session. I think too that we ought to give a reason, as it may be regarded in some quarters as a slight on you personally, & some people may think that things are not what they are, or seem to be.

I will come & see you about the matter & talk it over with you when I come back from Sheffield on Tuesday.

Regarding Dr. Carroll's letter, which I return to you enclosed, I have thought the matter over, and would be prepared to assist Miss Robinson with her composition, if she could come here regularly one morning a week, and at a fee of a guinea an hour. I would not care to commit myself to any statement regarding the 2nd query in Dr. Carroll's letter.

IN 1971 ERICH HONECKER REPLACED Walter Ulbricht as head of the SED and leader of the GDR, the only major change in East German leadership between 1949 and 1989. Many creative intellectuals hoped the new Party chief would ease restrictions on artistic expression imposed in 1965. The fact that Honecker had masterminded those restrictions was perhaps unknown to them, and his initial steps as leader must have seemed encouraging, for at the 8th Party Congress that June he called for greater diversity in artistic expression to reflect the diversity of life under socialism. More importantly, in a speech at the Central Committee's 4th plenum in December, he declared: “If one proceeds from the firm position of socialism, there can, in my opinion, be no taboos in the field of art and literature.” While likely a cynical gesture that was more about politics than principle, Honecker nonetheless appeared to signal a relaxation of control over artists so long as they remained loyal to socialist principles. Regime officials immediately worried that artists might take liberties with this new course, but authors, like many others in the GDR, understood the speech as a move away from the circumscribed cultural dictates of the 1960s.

All the same, initially there was great confusion as to the precise meaning of “no taboos,” and the shift became the subject of heated debate within the Writers Union. Just weeks after Honecker's speech, in January 1972, the presidium invited high-ranking officials for clarification. Of particular concern was what the new policy meant for authors whom the SED had previously held in contempt. More pointedly, SV leaders complained that the SED was using other literary institutions to reach out to problematic artists in light of the new policy. While supporting reconciliation, Helmut Sakowski was confused as to why the SV was not told about the decision to use the PEN Club for this purpose, suggesting the SED had assigned the two institutions the roles of good cop and bad cop: “one team for criticizing, the Writers Union, the second for caressing, PEN.” Max Walter Schulz agreed, suggesting PEN was being treated as a “medical detachment” with full Party support, even though “he had never before heard of a medical detachment winning a war.” Allegations of favor shown to PEN were nothing new among SV members, but the “no taboos” speech had raised the stakes.

The history of middle and late Saxon England was shaped by the Viking invasions and the military responses of English kings, in particular, those of the two kings who have become respectively bywords for success and failure: Alfred the Great and Æthelred II “Unræd.” Thirty years have passed since Simon Keynes in an influential article ruled direct comparisons of the two “out of court,” and warned against the temptation “to ask […] why [Æthelred] failed where Alfred had succeeded.” Keynes makes a cogent argument against judging “one king in the light of the other,” aptly pointing out the disparate quality of the sources that have survived for the two men's reigns. Alfred is unique among Anglo-Saxon rulers in the quantity and quality of the sources we have for his reign, much of which originated in his court, whereas Æthelred was less fortunate in the chronicler of his reign, who wrote in the wake of defeat and under the shadow of his declining posthumous reputation. But I disagree with Keynes that the military challenge each faced, and their responses to those threats, are not comparable.

The thesis of this paper will not surprise those familiar with my previous work, namely that Alfred's success was based on his ability to plan strategically on a grand scale, and that Æthelred II's failure was due, at least in part, to his and his advisors’ inability to develop a coherent strategy against a similar threat. Alfred developed and expanded the military institutions he inherited into a new civil defense system that represented a defense-in-depth strategy tailored to meet the particular threat offered by the Great Heathen Army. The threat that Æthelred II faced between 980 and 1016 was in many respects similar, as were some of the main elements in his strategic responses. He too refurbished and constructed burhs and forts, strove to improve the effectiveness of royal armies, and ordered the construction of a royal fleet. As did Alfred, Æthelred II and his advisors understood the Viking threat as a divine punishment for sins, and, like Alfred, attempted to appease God by a program of spiritual reform. The strategic responses of both kings, moreover, evolved along with the changing threat posed by the Viking invaders. But in the end, Æthelred II failed. His responses were piecemeal and ad hoc and, ultimately, ineffective.

BY THE LATE 1980S THE SCRIPT for writers congresses was familiar: they were part business conference, part propaganda showpiece where prominent authors gathered to discuss literary issues and demonstrate support for the SED. The tenth congress was to be no different. As with previous congresses, it would begin with a brief opening ceremony and a perfunctory vote on the schedule, followed by the reading of Honecker's welcome and Kant's keynote speech. Before the congress opened on November 24, 1987, there was little evidence of anything amiss. Perhaps the presence, for the first time at any artist congress, of the Western media should have been a cause for concern, but it was hoped that by limiting access to the plenary sessions, they would ensure that foreign journalists would merely witness the normal chorus of pro-SED acclamations by delegates. There had been rumblings at district election meetings before the congress, but the presidium was confident they would be able to frame discussions to eliminate any controversies.

Yet when the congress began, hints of turmoil surfaced immediately. Stephan Hermlin opened the meeting by recalling the First Writers Congress forty years earlier. As it convened in 1947, workers were still clearing rubble outside while delegates cleared away “intellectual ruins.” He then pivoted to the delicate subject of those who had gone West in recent years, including “several essential writers.” This exodus was “certainly connected with bureaucratic or dogmatic obstacles,” he observed, “but I don't believe that the responsibility is found only on one side.” Hermlin's speech was a thoughtful consideration of the differences that had driven the two sides apart, and by contrasting the current divide with the united sense of purpose that had prevailed at the first congress, he suggested that the failure to resolve disputes was irresponsible. He was not explicitly critical of the GDR, but his careful words opened the door for others to do so.

Returning to the script, Henniger spoke next, asking delegates for comments on the printed schedule and list of discussion topics. This was pure formality, with attendees expected to nod their approval. But on this day the silence was broken by Horst Matthies, a forty-eight-yearold author from the Rostock district whose critical views had drawn Stasi attention over the years.

In September 1894 Bantock embarked upon a world tour with George Edwardes’ Theatre Company; the same year saw the publication of his opera The Pearl of Iran (based on his own libretto) and the piano arrangement of his symphonic overture Saul, plus three scenes from his project The Curse of Kehama in vocal/piano score: ‘The Funeral’, ‘The Curse’ and ‘The Recovery’. Wallace's article ‘Music and Pessimism’ was published in the February issue of NQMR, and his overture In Praise of Scottis Poesie was premiered at the Crystal Palace on 17 November. Newman married Kate Eleanor Woollett on 3 February, and in the same year was appointed President of the Liverpool Branch of the National Secular Society.

8 Granville Bantock to William Wallace

My dear Wallace.

At length I have a few moments to myself & take the opportunity of writing you. Ever since our arrival here, every minute has been occupied with work one way or the other. The production over here has met with a great success, so much so that we are assured a triumphant progress through America. I enclose you a list of the tour, in order that you may know my whereabouts. The orchestra that I am conducting here is an excellent one. All are splendid instrumentalists, & I find great pleasure in the work. I have just heard from home, that my new Opera “Die Perle von Iran” has been received from Breitkopf & Härtel, but I have not yet received a copy of it. I have engaged a room with piano at 236 West 25th Street where I am going to live next week, as I find Hotel life too expensive. Twenty dollars a week is rather severe. I shall not pay more than nine dollars in the other place.

I find the Americans a charming set of people & exceedingly hospitable. I have been made a member of the Lambs’ Club, the Bohemian Club of New York. Last Sunday I went up the Hudson River to West Point, & enjoyed the trip immensely. The scenery reminded me greatly of the Rhine, only on a larger scale.

In England when medieval warfare is mentioned almost everybody immediately thinks of the longbow. It is the iconic weapon in English military experience and the symbol of victory. To discuss it evokes memories of Crécy and Agincourt. Its status was already long established when it was fixed in people's minds by Laurence Olivier's famous film of Shakespeare's Henry V with the thrilling scenes of Agincourt. Significantly, this was essentially a propaganda film, made during the Second World War. A well-known account of Agincourt speaks of the volleys of arrows making “a weird clanking and banging” as they struck the armor of French men-at-arms. By Tudor times the romance of the longbow was well established. Latimer, bishop of Worcester, preaching in 1549 proclaimed,

“The art of shooting has been in times past much esteemed in this realm. It is a gift of God […] whereby he hath given us many victories against our enemies.” It was probably conservatism and the prestige of the weapon which account for its continuing use in England to the end of the sixteenth century. In 1596 Sir John Smythe was still drilling companies of archers and pikemen in Essex. He was admittedly an eccentric, and his fondness for the bow owed much to its association with the decisive campaigns of the past which he contrasted with the long and indecisive conflicts of the late Elizabethan period. Bows still had limited uses, moreover, notably at long range against cavalry. But by this time England was relatively backward, and continental armies, notably the Spanish Army of the Netherlands, seem almost to have forgotten the weapon.

Underlying the nostalgia of Smythe and others, however, was a reality. There is no doubt that in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the longbow was highly important on the battlefield, and archers were a vital part of English armies. Modern academic studies have stressed the role of the heavily-armored men-atarms of the English armies. It was the shrewd combination of these arms and new battle tactics which maximized possibilities of late medieval armies and brought victories. As Clifford Rogers explains of dismounted knights in the tight close-order English formations, “What made these horsemen on foot so effective was their integration with the archers. Because the English formations had missile superiority, their dismounted men-at-arms could not be dispersed by enemy archers.”

IN DECEMBER 1984, HERMANN KANT ANNOUNCED he was taking a leave of absence as president. The reason—a health crisis—seemed plausible enough as Kant had endured persistent medical problems since taking over in 1978. News of his decision was soon made public, as was the appointment of Gerhard Holtz-Baumert as acting president. Six months later Kant resumed his post, holding it until after the fall of the Berlin Wall. When measured against the great cultural political events of the Honecker era, Kant's absence at first glance appears entirely insignificant. Yet an examination of Stasi and SED files reveals that not all was as it seemed.

As it turns out, many union members expressed doubt in the explanation given for Kant's leave, especially as he was spotted just two days after his announcement at an award ceremony and continued to attend public events over the next several months. Speculation on his true motives soon became rampant. Some suggested the decision was caused by growing conflict with the SED over cultural policy; others saw a familiar pattern of Kant threatening to resign unless granted concessions. Hager preferred to attribute Kant's decision to the breakneck pace he maintained, while Henniger suspected problems in his private life.

Here was a mystery Kant's colleagues, the SED, and the Stasi could not solve. What precisely was Kant's motivation? Did he intend to resume his post or did he hope to make this a permanent hiatus? And if it were the latter, to what end? Taking a longer view of the incident reveals a presidency and union in crisis. Rocked by expulsions and kept off-balance by a destabilizing peace campaign, by the mid-1980s a host of new issues generated discontent within the union, adding to the strain on its leaders. As disaffected members utilized the rhetorical tactics they had learned in the peace campaign, they began to call attention to new problems and demand new reforms. Surprisingly, though, it was not just nonconformists who called for change, but loyalists as well, as unexpected shifts in SED policy and the failure to address long-standing concerns created disillusionment among even the staunchest regime supporters.

In this chapter I trace the growing dissatisfaction in four sections. First, I examine how authors used the peace campaign to call attention to an equally urgent problem—environmental degradation.

Several of Bantock's works were published in 1920: the full score of the Hebridean Symphony (which he conducted with the LSO on 25 May) by Stainer & Bell, the Sonata in F major for viola and pianoforte by Chester, along with several works for solo piano published by Swan & Co. – the ‘personal impression’ The Cloisters at Midnight. New College Oxford, the suite A Marionette Show and the miniatures that made up the Arabian Nights. Bantock completed the Songs of Arcady, Caristiona and revisions to The Sea Reivers and conducted the premiere of the latter at the Queen's Hall on 21 February (where he also met Delius); there were also performances of the Overture to a Greek Tragedy on 27 January (conducted by Hamilton Harty), the Hebridean Symphony (conducted by Tovey) in Edinburgh on 21 February, ‘Pan in Arcady’ in Birmingham (3 November), Part I of Omar Khayyám in Huddersfield (12 November) and The Sea Reivers on 15 December. Bantock was busy as an adjudicator in Huddersfield, Nottingham, Abergavenny, Kirkcaldy, Glasgow, Birmingham and Scunthorpe, and notable visits included those from Francis Brett Young, Holst, Edward Carpenter and the British composer Geoffrey Shaw. In 1920 Newman left The Observer to join the The Sunday Times as music critic, where he remained for the rest of his career, apart from a brief hiatus in 1923 when he was guest critic at the New York Evening Post; he also published The Piano-Player and its Music.

293 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO ERNEST NEWMAN

Dear Will

I am sorry I missed you & Vera last Saturday. I did not expect you would be at the Concert, & cleared off after the Songs. Mullings got up the Songs having only seen them for the first time on the Friday night, as the other man – Hyde's substitute – was impossible. Mullings was a brick, & saved the situation. The piano was damnable, & I felt rather ashamed of the whole affair. It is a relief and a consolation to hear that you liked the songs. I hope however to see something of you next time I get up to London on or about Feb 20–21.

Bantock continued to promote the work of young British composers in London in 1897, organising a chamber music concert on 11 May which included his own Songs of Japan, and planning an orchestral concert; he also worked on his oratorio Christus. However, there were two particularly significant events for Bantock in 1897: his engagement to Helena von Schweitzer (who published her first book of verse, The Love-Philtre and Other Poems, in the same year) and his appointment as Musical Director at the Tower, New Brighton in June. He soon began to offer concert programmes at New Brighton dedicated to single composers, including an all-Wagner concert on 10 September and an all-Mackenzie concert on 4 August and 17 September. Wallace began work on the incidental music to Pelléas et Mélisande (later converted into an orchestral suite) and an Overtura Appassionata (subsequently incorporated into the Creation Symphony) and completed his third symphonic poem, Sister Helen (also originally in the form of incidental music); there were premieres of his orchestral Suite in Olden Style by the Runcorn Music Society on 17 November and the Choral ballad The Massacre of the Macpherson by the Leeds Musical Union. Under the pseudonym Hugh Mortimer Cecil, Newman published his Pseudo-Philosophy at the End of the Nineteenth Century. Both Wallace and Newman also contributed to the short-lived journal The Musician.

16 GRANVILLE BANTOCK TO WILLIAM WALLACE

My dear Wallace

Very many thanks for your expected letter, and for the sound and ably expressed views that it contains.

In the main you are absolutely right, but a ruse is often successful, if carried forward co-operatively so to speak. I liken your position and mine to that of two generals. We have started a revolution, and we have a following behind us. It therefore bef behoves us to act most deliberately yet cautiously before taking the next step. As agreed upon the Chamber Concert shall only include those, whom we choose, viz the original six with perhaps Lane Wilson. Steggall is going to write an Agnus Dei for Solo voice, Harp and Violin, and John Thomas, Harpist Esq to her Majesty Queen Victoria, will I think be induced to appear on the occasion. But here comes the crux.