Up to that time promenade concerts were associated in the minds of musical people, with the methods of Jullien, Rivi[e']re and their imitators. They took place in the huge theatres of Covent Garden or Drury Lane. The stage was removed, and the ground floor converted into an immense promenade, in the centre of which was built a platform, and upon it was imposed tier upon tier in the style of a Roman amphitheatre, to receive, in addition to the ordinary orchestra, the military bands that were occasionally called upon to carry out the weird ideas the management had conceived. Of these, the most famous and popular was known as the "Army Quadrilles." In order to give effect to it, several of these bands were put in different places on the highest story of the building, and had to march down in succession from their lofty position and gradually converge on the platform and, in combination, produce the amount of sound and provide the spectacular effect that was considered essential to success. All the time this long process was in execution, the conductor, with jewelled b[^a]ton in hand and the limelight focused on him, was strongly in evidence, and little wonder that he sank into his capacious, brilliantly upholstered chair at the end of it, so exhausted as hardly to be able to acknowledge the plaudits that were showered on him! At every possible place on each floor of the theatre, a bar was placed for the supply of alcoholic drinks, and what with the combined fumes of alcohol and tobacco, the atmosphere was of a description more allied to that of a Bacchanalian orgie than to any possible function relating to art. In later years, it is true, the conditions were improved, even to the point that such a musician as Sir Arthur Sullivan was induced to lend the weight of his influence to bring about a state of things more consonant with the dignity of music, but he soon withdrew and thus tacitly admitted failure. What, then, had happened to hold out a promise of better results? Why, evidently, the seed sown by the Philharmonic Society, Richter, Manns and Hall['e], although much may have fallen on barren soil, other had fallen on good ground and was bringing forth good fruit. So, at least, must have thought Sir Henry Wood, or he had scarcely ventured on his daring mission of appeal to the general public with such a programme. He courageously staked his all and worthily won. It is now sixteen years ago that he made his memorable venture. It is only those who know the difficulties, financial and other, in carrying out such a scheme, can adequately estimate what courage, energy and foresight were needed, to say nothing of great musical gifts, to bring about a result so astonishing as that to which the world is witness to-day.