The two first acts, then, of this disputed book seem to be entirely original. In the third we have some five or six pieces which had appeared in his previous compositions; but these five or six pieces bear a very slight proportion to the whole; and yet his enemies maintain that the whole of the "Occasional Oratorio" was nothing but a compilation. This assertion shows us how every pretence was taken hold of, and exaggerated into a formidable engine against him.

In this oratorio we have the chorus "War shall Cease," which undoubtedly forms the basis of Dr. Arne's "Rule Britannia." This truly national air is generally ascribed to the latter composer, but as the "Masque of Alfred," in which the worthy Doctor at first produced it, did not appear until 1748, or, according to some authorities, 1751, and as the "Occasional Oratorio," which certainly contained it almost note for note, was written in 1746, it follows, as a matter of course, that Handel, instead of being the plagiarist, must have been the composer.

Judas Maccabæus, completed in thirty-two days, was his next work. It was produced at Covent Garden. It has been said, with what truth we cnnnot tell, that this oratorio was written in reference to the war with the Pretender. Whether this be true or not, one thing is certain-political opinion, which ran very high in those days, was enlisted on the side of Judas Maccabæus; a political party took it up, patronised it, and ensured its success, placing a good sum of money in the composer's pocket. Another circumstance, also, contributed to its popularity; bearing, as it did, on a favourite episode of Jewish history, it obtained Israelitish favour, and thus gained the support of religious, as well as public, opinion. To these two frcts we must impute the success of "Judas Maccabæus," and not to its intrinsic, and now justly acknowledged, merit. In connexion with this oratorio, we mention another chorus equally well known with "Rule Britannia."

Who, in olden times (when successful candidates for parliamentary honours were carried before the admiring eyes of their constituents, during the triumphant ceremony of "chairing")-who has not heard the old national air "See the Conquering Hero Comes ?" And now, when the days of "chairing" are over, who has not seen the Teetotallers and Temperance Societies of our present era march to the same tune, and wave their banners to "See the Conquering Hero Comes ?" This well-known air is met with in some of the later editions of "Judas," but it cannot be found in the original manuscript. There seems to be little doubt that it appeared first in "Joshua," which came out the following year, 1748, and that it was subsequently transferred from that oratorio to "Judas Maccabæus."

on in the career he had adopted. "Solomon," completed in about six weeks, “ Susannah," in much the same time, were his next productions. Then came Theodora, which, although it made no great impression on the public, was a favourite with the composer, who considered it one of his best works, and placed it, in point of excellence, side by side with the "Messiah." However, from its want of popularity, he was obliged to discontinue its performance. The failure of this opera brings us to the date of the production of the latter for the benefit of the Foundling Hospital in 1750. From that time his fortune seems to have changed. The extraordinary success of that one oratorio, which we have already noticed, turned the public voice in his favour. Instead of being persecuted, he was now loaded with favours; his compositions, instead of being the sport and mark for envy, became the acknowledged attraction of the day. From some cause or other, human animosity at last seemed over, and at length the fickle-minded public condescended to smile on Handel.

On the 21st January, 1751, he began his last oratorio of "Jephtha," working at it with his usual speed and industry: but in a little while he was compelled, from a most distressing cause, to relinquish his labour. His eyesight, which for some time had been failing, now became obscured, and a painful disease, which defied medical skill, threatened its total destruction. He tried, after all other remedies had failed, change of air, and went to Cheltenham. The waters of that place were thought to have done him good. Whether it were so or not, he became a little better-perhaps it was the rest, and not the Cheltenham waters, which did him good-and returned to London, where he set to work again. "Jephtha" progressed but slowly; for weeks together he did scarcely anything-then an amelioration of his disease enabled him to make some progress. His occupation seemed now to be a race between him and his failing sight. In the following year, we hear of his submitting to the operation of couching. This operation, from which his friends expected so much, was unsuccessful. Their hopes were disappointed, their wishes and prayers, unfulfilled. In a few months he became totally, hopelessly, blind.

Thus he lived. We hear no more of any voluminous or important compositions, but we have evidence of a few small pieces and additions to his

former works, which were written down for him | by one of his old pupils, who acted as an amanuensis.

This musician, Christopher Smith, who afterwards received a valuable bequest from Handel; was faithfully attached to his poor master, and made himself essentially serviceable to him. From 1752 to 1759 he devoted his energies to the direction of various concerts and oratorios, which were always well attended, and, in consequence, very profitable. But now we come to the closing scene of Handel's career. In 1759 he became extremely feeble; his appetite failed, and bodily weakness was the result. No doubt, the fatigue and anxieties of his life had told on him. No doubt, the mental sufferings he had undergone, although unconfessed by him, had secretly undermined his constitution. Seventy-four is no great age for man; and we may fairly surmise that Handel might, in the common disposal of events, have lived far beyond that age, had not his life been shortened by its disappointments and its miseries. His friends, when they perceived his evidently increasing debility, became alarmed; but not wishing him to see this alarm, they curbed their fears, and presented a favourable picture of his case to him. He, however, was not to be deceived: he knew that his sand was almost runthat his time on earth was drawing to a close; he felt death creeping silently, slowly, surely towards him; the thought excited no fear, no grief. After making all testamentary arrangements, he returned to his daily avocations, as calmly, earnestly, and happily as ever.

The newspapers of that day contain an advertisement of a performance of his favourite oratorio, advertised to take place at the Theatre Royal Covent-garden, on Friday, the 6th of April. It was to be the last performance of the season, and Handel was to preside in person. The evening came; Handel, weak and ill, went through the performance--for the last time he listened to the offspring of his genius-for the last time his mind became wrapt in the strains of that mind's creation. His bodily weakness was forgotten, the real gave place to the ideal; he was living for the time in a world of his own a world of melody. Could mere physical weakness abstract him from that? Never; until physical weakness took from him the power of comprehending either that or any other thing. Unflinchingly he went through that last night of his public life. The curtain fell! The performance was at an end. With weary steps the old man left the house-left it, never to return. Exhausted, he was driven home, the spring of human life was well nigh dried up, in another week it had ceased to flow; then, all joy or sorrow was over, the commendation of friends, the persecution of enemies, could no longer reach or affect him.

It is said, that during the fleeting moments of this last sickness, he expressed a wish that he might be permitted to yield up his life, on the

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anniversary of that one death, which proclaims salvation to mankind. If this be true, that wish was granted him; for on Good Friday, April 13th, 1759, he ceased to breathe. Up to the last, his reason continued clear and unclouded; for those aberrations of intellect of which on two occasions he had been the victim, did not return to dim the last gleam of his life.

After making a few alterations in his previous testamentary disposals of his property, he entered calmly on business discussions. These done, his mission on earth was accomplished, and then in patience and resignation, he awaited the summons of his God.

In accordance with his expressed wish, he was buried in Westminster Abbey, on the 24th of April, 1759. There, in the "Poet's Corner" he lies, among the remains of those bright children of genius, who now live, like him, through fame. The dignitaries of the church united, en masse, with the people, to do honour to his memory; and his funeral, which was meant to be strictly private, became a kind of national ceremony, and was attended by three or four thousand per

sons.

The last nine years of Handel's life, during which the tardy appreciation of his works was granted to him, must have been extremely profitable; for, on the reading of his will, he was discovered to have again realised no less a sum than £20,000. This he divided in legacies between his relations (many of whom he had not even seen for nearly half a century), his friends, and his servants. His manuscript of the "Messiah" he bequeathed to the Foundling Hospital; it is still preserved in the archives of that place. His other manuscripts, together with his organ and harpsichord, he left to his pupil, Christopher Smith. The King of Prussia is said to have offered Smith £2,000 for these, but the offer was refused, and the owner afterwards presented them to George the Third. They are now preserved in Buckingham Palace.

Now that Handel was dead, the public seemed to awake to a sense of what they had lost; and as usual, going from one extreme to another, raved about him whom they had formerly persecuted. They would listen to no music but his, would patronise no performances where his name did not appear in the bills. Portraits of him were raked up and hawked about, gentlemen wore him in their shirt pins, and ladies rubbed their chins against him in their brooches; the Handel furor was at its climax! Pity it was, that a spark of this feeling did not exist during his lifetime; during his misfortunes, during the time of his anxiety and misery; then it would have carried comfort to the galled heart, now it could only contribute to the insane amount of enthusiasm, which was bestowed on his memory. It was the fashion of the day now to rave about Handel; the crowd, of course, followed the fashion; he was everything, to the exclusion of all other candidates for public favour.

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Even the card and tea parties broke down before the Handelian infatuation; and the respectable old "tabbies" who gave these entertainments, were for the sake of "fashion" obliged to relinquish in part their refreshing little assemblies of whist and scandal, and listen to the great composer's music. He must have been a nauseous dose, a bitter pill to them; but with a grimace indulged in the seclusion of private life alone, they swallowed him! They followed "the fashion," and gulped down Handel, as they would have gulped down any body or thing else, happening to be the "fashion." In 1784, which was supposed to be the centenary of his birth, and when a quarter of that time had elapsed since his death, a festival was given in commemoration of him in Westminster Abbey, under the immediate patronage and superintendence of George III. This festival lasted five days, during four of which the performances were held in the Abbey; on the fifth, in a hall of music styled the Pantheon; the programme consisting exclusively of selections from the works of him whom the festival celebrated.

The attendance, as may be imagined, was very large, the receipts great. After the expenses were paid, the profits, amounting to about seven thousand pounds, were given to the society of decayed musicians, and to the Westminster Hospital; the former of these charities receiving about six thousand pounds, the latter one thousand.

And now we come to a point which, with the fairer part of our readers at any rate, will be esteemed a matter of importance-the personal appearance of the composer.

The portraits of Handel differ in some particulars, but those which may be regarded as the most correct represent him with a noble and expressive cast of countenance, indicative of an unusual amount of intellect. From the bust by Roubiliac, which now stands in the gallery of the Queen's private apartments at Windsor Castle, and which, of course, we may suppose to be tolerably faithful, we gather that, 'as to mere physical conformation, his face was an oval, the mouth small, the eyebrows short and prominent. In person Handel was tall and athletic, and there is every reason to believe, no matter how unpoetical such a supposition may be, inclined to corpulency. With regard to his mind and disposition, we may glean a fair estimate of both from the history of his life-an unwise impetuosity, joined to unbending pride, seem to have been his ruling faults, and many of his misfortunes may be traced either to the one characteristic or the other. When cabal after cabal was formed against him, when every feeling of the public was inimical to him, a little timely concession or conciliation might have won the hostile party to his side, or at any rate have modified their rancour; but such conciliation, such concession, he neither could nor would make. His pride was the stumbling block, which he cared not to overleap; his pride made him prefer suffering to humility and he suffered accordingly.

But while we try to deprecate his pride, we much admire the unflinching sense of honour, the unimpeachable integrity, which accompanied every transaction of his life. We see him under the pressure of his failures and consequent debts, with unceasing efforts seeking to free himself from those pecuniary embarrassments. Never for one moment does he seem to have entertained the idea of escaping from them, by any nefarious means; he remained, after each failure, in the scene, or at any rate near the scene, of that failure, and worked unceasingly until all claims against him were discharged. Look at his noble self-denying generosity, evinced both in his private as well as his public acts; his liberality to all those who in any way were connected with him was well known; while his munificence to the Foundling Hospital is almost a subject of national gratitude; and the readiness with which he always gave his time and his energies to any performance for a charitable purpose, demonstrates his open-hearted tempera

ment.

Among other detractions, it has been urged against him, that he was not a highly educated man; but we cannot agree to this. The very early age at which he adopted music as a profession, making it the earnest purpose of his life, probably prevented his giving as much time to the general cultivation of his intellect as, under other circumstances, he would have done. When we remember however, that he understood four modern languages, together with Latin, which he studied in his childhood, and that he had moreover a very fair knowledge of the literature of the day, we cannot style him an ignorant man. But although we hear very much about him in his public character, the notices we possess of him in a domestic point of view, as a son, are very limited. He left his home early in life; his mother's path and his own lay in different directions; she seems, as far as we can glean, to have been a quiet and homely person; probably as the daughter of a pastor, her mind and character had acquired a serious turn; probably to her Handel owed those seeds of high principle, which sprang up and resisted the choking iufluence of the world's weeds. He supplied her pecuniary wants, and we find that whenever he was able to snatch a few days from his profession, the time was spent with his mother. We have reason to believe that be inherited from her the malady which afflicted him during the latter years of his life, for we find that she died blind in 1730.

The enemies of Handel have accused him of piracies and plagiarisms, but this we also dispute. It cannot be believed that a man who possessed the inventive genius of Handel, whose thoughts flowed so rapidly that his fingers could scarcely convey those thoughts to paper, would condescend to borrow from the compositions of others. It is true that he frequently transferred an air or a chorus from one work to another, but that air or chorus, as the case might be, was invariably his

his ardent temperament. About 1709, he left the Eternal City, and, after a brief sojourn in Hanover, appeared again in England. Years passed on. Royal honours were showered upon him; royal favours strewed his path; his name became known in the world, fortune proclaimed him her favourite the poor and penniless boy had, as a man, become the recipient of her gifts, and in addition to the royal pension of £600 per annum, he was, in 1729, the fortunate possessor of £10,000. But the picture changed. Sorrow, disappointment, misery cross his path; foes arise on every side; malice hurls her poisoned darts at him; oppression casts her load on him; all contribute to his distress, all work successfully for his ruin; and in 1737, only eight years after the season of his prosperity, he was a bankrupt in fortune, an alien to the kindly feeling of the public, an unjustly, cruelly persecuted man. Time again rolls on. After years of labour and anxiety, his debts are again paid, his liabilities met. But, in an evil hour, another speculation tempts him, he enters on it, it fails, and in 1745 we find him obliged to suspend his payments for the second time. This misfortune threatened to crush him; but once more he recovered, grappled with his circumstances, advanced undaunted to the contest, armed by the power of mind, supported by the strength of wil!. Persecution and envy only urged him to more determined efforts, every difficulty served but as a stimulus to new exertion; health, life, strength were thrown into the cause; until, by his own efforts, he had a second time paid his debts, and once more stood clear before the world. And now his triumph was at hand, for the world succumbed to him. He owed this triumph to himself alone, and therefore it was the more welcome; he had

received no help in his successful battle, he had fought and conquered for himself, and by himself.

The Royal patronage, which has been so much vaunted, did little or nothing but supply him with that money which he lavished on the object of his life. In his days of prosperity, he never voluntarily sought the favour of royalty; and when adversity came, he forbore to avail himself of the protection which royalty might then perhaps have afforded him.

True to himself, he scorned any adventitious aid to eminence, and for its attainment he adopted such means only as his self-respect would permit. During the latter years of his life, although one source of misery vanished, although human cruelty seemed glutted, human animosity satisfied, a dread scourge remained for the composer. The hand of God fell heavy on him; and, by the dimming of a tiny speck, accomplished that which the united efforts of a multitude had failed to do. Blindness smote him, and, as we have seen, the labour of his life was at an end.

All toil now over; the object he had struggled for fully attained, he stands forth to the world, an example of what the force of will can accomplish -an imperishable monument to the power of genius, combined with perseverance.

Thus must we think of Handel; and while we applaud him as a musician-while we yield to him in his professional character the praise he deserves -we shall learn to admire him for his more intrinsic qualities of heart and mind.

In esteem for his unbending integrity, and boundless generosity, in admiration of his unflaging industry, his indomitable will, we take our leave of George Frederick Handel, who has been so emphatically called the Giant of Harmony.

SEEING THE WORLD.

SEEING the world

which is a curious sight,

And very much unlike what people write,

is a process which is not always agreeable in proportion to the curiousness of the spectacle. To large classes of minds it is no doubt painful as well as exciting. Between your Dr. Primrose and your thorough "man of the world, sir, by Jove!" comes in another order of natures: so far unlike the former that they do, after some confusion and bewilderment, arrive at a sort of understanding of the seething whirlpool called society,

and, appreciating what is going on all about them, decline to be "done" by cosmogonymongers and perpetrators of humbug in general; so far unlike the latter that they never fall into the ranks of the regularly drilled and hardened self-seekers of the street, the library, (library? Alas, yes!) and the drawing room; never become "of the earth, earthy." If such persons were to write down, before they faded into indistinctness, their first experiences in life, we might gather useful lessons by noting the things which jar most rudely upon comparatively unsophisticated minds, when the world begins to be a burden and a mystery.

One of the earliest and rudest surprises of a