and noble lords and beautiful ladies would wend their way, attracted by the music and the company they found there. In the morning Britton would be lugging a sack of coal to some customer, and in the afternoon he would be entertaining such personages as Händel, Dr. Pepusch, Jennens (Händel's librettist), Sir Roger L'Estrange, and the Duchess This, the Countess That, and Lady T'other.
The best of music was performed at these informal gatherings. With Händel at the harpsichord, Bannister, the first great English violinist, with his fiddle, and perhaps the famous soprano, Cuzzoni, to sing one of Händel's latest airs, we may imagine that never did another coal warehouse resound to such music or entertain such a company. Not only were musicians here assembled, but also writers, philosophers, and poets came to contribute their quota to this humble salon.
Such a condition of affairs speaks well for the democratic spirit of that day. We doubt if a man of Britton's humble origin and occupation would be thus countenanced by the English aristocracy of to-day, however musical he might be.
Britton came to his death in a peculiar way. One of the attendants at his impromptu concerts was a ventriloquist; and this man one day, in a spirit of fun, called out that Britton would die in a few hours if he did not at once drop on his knees and say the Lord's Prayer. The voice seemed to be intangible, to come from space. Britton, greatly frightened, did as he was bid; but he suffered so from terror that he died a few days after—an ignominious death for an original genius.
106.—SHAKING ALL OVER.
It is well known that Queen Victoria was formerly an excellent pianiste, and is possessed of a remarkably correct ear. Baroness Bloomfield, in her "Reminiscences," relates how on one occasion the Queen asked her to
