books in pieces, and scatter the torn leaves all over the church, even to the covering of the pavement." At Winchester "They enter the church with colours flying, their drums beating, their matches fired, and that all might have their part in so horrid an attempt, some of their troops of horse also accompanied them in their march, and rode up through the body of the church and quire until they came to the altar; there they begin their work; they rudely pluck down the table and break the rail, and afterwards carrying it to an ale-house they set it on fire, and in that fire burnt the books of Common Prayer and all the singing-books belonging to the Quire; they throw down the organ and break the stories of the Old and New Testament curiously cut out in carved work. The troopers ride through the streets in surplesses, carrying Common Prayer books and some broken organ pipes." In Westminster Abbey, in 1643, "Soldiers were quartered who brake down the rail about the altar, and burnt it in the place where it stood; they brake down the organ and pawned the pipes at several ale-houses for pots of ale; they put on some of the singing-men's surplesses, and in contempt of that canonical habit, ran up and down the church; he that wore the surpless was the hare, the rest were the hounds." It would be needless to add to these miserable stories; those who care to read further on the subject, are referred to the quaint old book _Mercurius Rusticus_, from whence the foregoing extracts have been taken. So complete was the destruction of church music-books, that examples of the pre-Commonwealth time are now most rare. Not only were the organs and music destroyed, but musicians, organists, and singers were turned adrift, and had to seek precarious livelihoods by teaching music to the few who cared or were willing to learn the art, or else to escape starvation by adopting some less congenial occupation than that for which they were fitted by nature and education. If tradition may be relied on, the Protector, Cromwell, was himself a lover of music, and not unwilling, when opportunity served, to assist and befriend musicians. Cromwell's secretary, the poet Milton, was no mean performer on the organ, and being the son of an eminent composer,[1] would doubtless, with his passionate love for music, be at all times ready to use his sympathetic voice and counsel on behalf of any distressed and poor musician who might petition the Protector for help or redress.