For Mr. Innes’s ambition was to restore the liturgical chants of the early centuries, from John Ockeghem, the Flemish silver-smith of Louis XI., whose recreation it was to compose motets, to Thomas da Vittoria; and, after having made known the works of Palestrina and of those who gravitated around the great Roman composer, he hoped to disinter the masses of Orlando di Lasso, of Goudimel and Josquin des Pres, the motets of Nannini, of Felice Anerio, of Clemens non Papa....  He would go still further back.  For before this music was the plain chant or Gregorian, bequeathed to us by the early Church, coming down to her, perhaps, from Egyptian civilisation, the mother of all art and all religion, an incomparable treasure which unworthy inheritors have mutilated for centuries.  It was Mr. Innes’s belief that the supple, free melody of the Gregorian was lost in the shouting of operatic tenors and organ accompaniments.  The tradition of its true interpretation had been lost, and the text itself, but by long study of ancient missals, Mr. Innes had penetrated the secret of the ancient notation, vague as the eyeballs of the blind, and in the absence of a choir that could read this strange alphabet of sound, he cherished a plan for an edition of these old chants, re-written by him into the ordinary notation of our day.  But impassable obstacles intervened:  the apathy and indifference of the Jesuits, and their fear lest such radical innovations should prove unpopular and divert the congregation of St. Joseph’s elsewhere.  He had abandoned hope of converting them from their error, but he was confident that reaction was preparing against the jovialities of Rossini, whose Stabat Mater, he said, still desecrated Good Friday, and against the erotics of M. Gounod and his suite.  And this inevitable reaction Mr. Innes strove to advance by his pupils.  Many became disciples and helped to preach the new musical gospel.  He induced them to learn the old instruments, and among them found material for his concerts.  Though a weak man in practical conduct, he was steadfast in his ideas.  His concerts had begun to attract a little attention; he was receiving support from some rich amateurs, and was able to continue his propaganda under the noses of the worthy fathers in whose church he was now serving, but where he knew that one day he would be master.

But, unfortunately, Mr. Innes could only give a small part of his time to these concerts.  Notwithstanding his persuasiveness, there remained on his hands some intractable pupils who would not hear of viol or harpsichord, who insisted upon being taught to play modern masses on the organ, and these he could not afford to refuse.  For of late years his wife’s failing health had forced her to relinquish teaching, and the burden of earning their living had fallen entirely upon him.  She hoped that a long rest might improve her in health, and that in some months—­six, she imagined as a sufficient interval—­she would be able