of Solomon; between the 5th of May and the 19th of June the oratorio of Susannah; between the 11th of July and the 24th of August, towards the close of the same year, he prepared the Firework Music, which was played at night before the king's palace in the Green Park. Let us hope that his love of noise was for once fully gratified. The music ended with the explosion of a hundred and one brass cannons, seventy-one sixpounders, twenty twelve-pounders, and ten twenty-four pounders. There was no lack of hunting-horns, hautboys, bassoons, kettle-drums, and side-drums, besides bass-viols innumerable. Every one seems to have been delighted; and when the magnificent Doric Temple, under the superintendence of that great pyrotechnist the Chevalier Servardoni, went off with a terrific bang, it was thought success could go no further, and the king's library was very nearly burnt down. When in 1749 the Firework Music was repeated at the Vauxhall Gardens by a band of a hundred musicians, twelve thousand persons are said to have attended. was such a stoppage on London Bridge that no carriage could pass for three hours, and the receipts were set down at the fabulous sum of £5,700.

There

In 1749 Handel produced one of his least popular oratorios, Theodora. It was a great favourite with him, and he used to say that the chorus, "He saw the Lovely Youth," was finer than anything in the Messiah. The public were not of this opinion, and he was glad to give away tickets to any professors who applied for them. When the Messiah was again pro

duced, two of these gentlemen who had neglected Theodora applied for admission. "Oh! your sarvant, meine Herren!" exclaimed the indignant composer. "You are tamnable dainty! You would not go to Teodora-dere was room enough to tance dere when dat was perform." When Handel heard that an enthusiast had offered to make himself responsible for all the boxes the next time the despised oratorio should be given-" He is a fool," said he; "the Jews will not come to it as to Judas Maccabæus, because it is a Christian story; and the ladies will not come, because it is a virtuous one."

It is difficult to believe that virtue itself, under so attractive a form, could fail to charm. "Angels ever bright and fair" is probably the highest flight of melody that even Handel ever reached.

But the long struggle was drawing to a close, and the battle was nearly won, as the great ship floated out of the storm into the calm sunset waters. Handel had turned from the nobles to the people, and the people had welcomed him throughout the length and breadth of the land. An aristocratic reaction soon began to take place it was found necessary to produce pasticcio operas by the lately-neglected composer, and to republish numbers of airs as harpsichord pieces which in their original connection had found small favour. Publishers vied with each other in producing works with Mr. Handel's name, and there is reason to fear that unscrupulous persons manufactured music by Handel as freely as Italian artists are in the habit of

attaching the name of Domenichino to their dull and smoky daubs. By the time Handel had reached his sixty-seventh year the merits of rival factions were pretty generally understood, and the last ten years of his life were passed in comparative tranquillity.

No voice was now raised to proclaim the superior charms of Bononcini-no rival composer sent for to ruin the great sacred writer with Italian rubbish-no foreign fiddler announced to supersede Mr. Handel's entertainments on the organ-nor any comic man to grin the Israel or the Judas Maccabæus out of court. The closing years of the great master's life witnessed a general drawing together of adverse parties and reconcilement of private quarrels. Handel at last found his way to an elevation from which no one thought of dislodging him.

It is pleasant, before the last sad short act of his life, to bring him before us as he appeared at this time to those who knew him best, and loved him most. His life of alternate contemplation, industry, and excitement, from beginning to end, is unstained by any suspicion of dishonesty or licentiousness. A few indistinct rumours of unsuccessful love affairs in very early life (unsuccessful on the part of the ladies) reach us; and we hear no more of women, nor of any need of their love experienced by Handel. He lived for the most part very quietly in the house now numbered 57, Brook Street, Hanover Square, and let the charmers of this world go Of no man was it ever truer than of

their way.

Handel, that he was wedded to his art. His recrea tions were few and simple. Occasionally he would stroll into St. Paul's Cathedral, and amuse himself with ineffectual attempts to play the people out; then taking sculls, or when in better circumstances indulging himself in oars, he would be rowed towards the village of Charing, along the banks of the Thames whose waters were then somewhat more transparent than they are now. Not far from his favourite organ at St. Paul's there was a favourite tavern called the Queen's Head." Thither he often resorted at nightfall, and smoked his pipe and drank his beer, with three others,-Goupy, the painter; Hunter, the scarlet dyer; and John Christopher Smith, his secretary. There was an old harpsichord in the tavern, and he would often sit thrumming away to himself and a few musical connoisseurs, who were content to drop in and spend their time over papers, porter, silence, and applause. These were the times of Handel's social exhilaration; and although we have no reason to believe that he indulged in excesses, we have abundant evidence that he despised not conviviality. Surrounded by a circle of familiars, his conversation flowed freely, and sparkled with satire and fun of all kinds. He spoke English, like some Italians, with great fluency and infinite satisfaction to himself, but with a strong accent, and the construction of his sentences was sometimes German, sometimes Italian. He was often passionate, but never ill-natured; no man ever had more rivals, or was less jealous of them. Although he had

numerous acquaintances, he had few friends; and during the last years of his life steadily declined the invitations of the nobles, whose patronage might twice have saved him from ruin, but whose flattery he could now afford to dispense with. His friend Goupy, whose caricatures, although often levelled against himself, never seemed to have offended him, would frequently accompany him to picture-galleries, in which he took the most vivid interest, and it is more than likely that his operas owe as much to the classical inspirations of Poussin and Duval, or the Pastorals of Watteau, as his sacred music undoubtedly does to the great sacred painters of Italy. In his latter years he was a regular attendant at St. George's, Hanover Square, and it was noticed by one who records the fact with affectionate emotion, that on such occasions he appeared to be deeply absorbed by his devotions.

Let us look once more at this noble and portly figure sauntering along with the peculiar rocking motion common to those whose legs are a little bowed; let us note the somewhat heavy but expressive face gathering freshness from the morning air, moved at times with a frown like a thunder-cloud, or with a smile like the sun that bursts from behind it. The

general impression is the right one. There was a man of inflexible integrity, of solid genius and sterling benevolence; a man fitted to cope with the puerilities of fashion, singularly generous to foes, singularly faithful to friends. So, inconscious of the approaching shadow