out among the ice-hummocks about the village, he comes crawling along some sledge-path near the igloos, when he is discovered by the dogs and surrounded. This is likely to be much rougher sport than that of musk-ox hunting, for the boys take their spears and jab away at their brother in the bear robe, until you would think they would break some of his ribs; while the dogs, emboldened by these supposed brave advances, oftentimes take big bites of fur from the dangling edges of the robe. The mock bear rears up on his hind feet and growls in a very ferocious manner, until, worn out at last with his hard work and with having his head so tightly covered up with a heavy robe, he finally falls over at some thrust of a spear and pretends to expire. But the next moment he crawls out from the robe, much to the disgust of the dogs, with their hopes of a fine meal of bear flesh. It is no uncommon event for a polar bear to prowl along the ice-floes of the sea-coast, which is its favorite walk, until it finally stumbles on an Eskimo village; and if the dogs see it or smell it, it is very apt to be brought to bay near by, and then killed by some of the native hunters who have been alarmed by the noise and outcry. A fair fight on the open ice with a large polar bear is somewhat dangerous, for if severely wounded it may tear the hunter to pieces. The Eskimo seldom wound any dangerous animals, for, being a very brave people, that is, personally brave, they generally go so close that, unless some accident with the fire-arms happens, the animal, whether it is bear or musk-ox, is usually killed at the first shot. I once found an old Eskimo hunter, however, in my camp in North Hudson's Bay, whose hair and scalp had been taken completely off by the bite of a wounded bear that he had endeavored to kill; and Toolooah once fired at a big bear, with too hasty an aim, hoping to save one of his dogs that the bear had under its paws. He only wounded the huge animal, which instantly charged him, and was only killed by a lucky shot just as it was close upon the hunter. Toolooah told me that he has seen polar bears climb up places so steep and perpendicular that the natives could not follow them without cutting in the wall of ice niches wherein to put their hands POLAR BEAR KILLING A WALRUS. and feet, and even in some instances, an ice-wall so high that the hunters dared not attempt to climb it on account of the danger of slipping and killing themselves. A British explorer of the Arctic regions says that he once climbed to the top of an iceberg, II. HANDEL. BY AGATHA TUNIS. PROBABLY no musician has a closer hold on the hearts of English-speaking people than Georg Friedrich Handel. He was born at Halle, in Saxony, February 23, 1685. Unlike most of the great musicians, Handel does not seem to have inherited his talent; his father was a barber and surgeon, and nowhere in the family can we discover any special love for music. Handel, however, seems to have been "a born musician"; he turned everything he touched into sound. For some time he astonished and amused his parents and all who heard him; but as his love for music seemed ever to grow within him, his father, who had destined him for the law, banished every musical instrument from the house, and declared that the boy should hear no more of them. The boy, however, managed to smuggle a clavier into the house, and hid it in the attic; and night after night, when all in the house were asleep, he practiced on the muffled keys, teaching himself until he could play upon it with much skill. About this time his father decided to visit a relative attached to the household of the Duke of Saxony at Wessenfels. The Duke was very devoted to music, and Handel, who had probably learned this fact, implored his father to take him, too; but in vain. Nothing daunted by the denial, the persistent little fellow ran after the carriage until his father discovered him and took him in. He became a great favorite at Wessenfels, and one Sunday afternoon, after the choir had finished singing, the organist lifted the child to the stool and told him to play; and play he did, with so much expression and delicacy, that the Duke de manded his name, and sent for his father. He begged the latter to give up the project of making a lawyer of his son, predicted a brilliant future for him if his musical genius were cultivated, and sent the child away with his pockets filled with coin, and the father converted to the idea of a musical education for his son. Arriving at Halle, the father placed Handel under the instruction of Friedrich Zachau, who taught the lad the organ, harpsichord, violin, counterpoint, and fugue, besides all his musical studies. He also entered the Latin school, where he made rapid progress in every branch he undertook. He worked very diligently at his music, always composing scme work for the organ each week. At the end of three years Zachau declared that his pupil knew all he could teach him, and advised that young Handel be sent to Berlin to study; so at the age of eleven the boy found himself in Berlin, where his clavichord-playing caused a great sensation. Here, among other composers, he saw much of Attilio Ariosti and Giovanni Buononcini, both of whom he was to meet later under far different circumstances. Ariosti took great interest in the child, giving him little hints about his music, and delighting to hear him improvise. Buononcini, on the contrary, was envious of the little fellow, and determined he would hear no more of his praises. In order to crush him, he composed a cantata filled with difficulties that would have taxed an artist, and handing it to the boy, he told him to play it at sight, thinking thus to humiliate him. To his surprise Handel executed it, not only with ease, but with all the polish of a veteran musician. The Elector of Hanover recognized his genius, and offered to send him to Italy to complete his musical education, but his father declined the kind offer, *The clavier is the key-board of a clavichord, organ, or pianoforte. and the boy returned home, where, soon after, the father died. Meantime Handel kept on at school, distancing all his school-mates as a Latin scholar, and worked at his music, composing and practicing. In his eighteenth year he accepted a position as organist at the cathedral in Halle, playing the organ at the services, instructing the choir in vocal music, and setting many parts of the service to music. At the end of a year his engagement ended, and he determined to seek his fortunes. He had nothing but genius and goodwill; but that was capital enough for the ambitious youth, who felt that he should some day write music that would be heard by the world. He arrived at Hamburg, the city in which he had determined to settle, and soon obtained a position as second violinist in the orchestra of the opera house. Here he formed an intimacy with a tenor of the opera named Mattheson, who says: "At this time Handel pretended he was a knownothing, and acted as if he could not count five; but one night when the harpsichord player was absent, he slipped into his place and so performed that all knew him for the man I had long felt him to be." Shortly after this Mattheson and Handel had a quarrel, which resulted in a duel, but fortunately neither of the men was hurt. Handel's first opera was produced at this time, and met with very great success; it was followed by two more, which were received with the same unbounded enthusiasm, and his fame soon spread throughout Germany. In 1706 he started for a tour through Italy, visiting all of the principal cities. While there he was constantly composing, and his operas were publicly produced as fast as he could write them. His visit was one continued triumph, and praise and honors came to him from all. At the end of three years he decided to return to Germany and to accept a position as Capellmeister to the Elector of Hanover, on condition that, before assuming his new duties, he should be allowed a year's leave of absence to visit England. This was readily granted, and in the winter of 1710 he arrived at London, the city which was to be his real home and the scene of his greatest work. At this time the musical taste of the public was at a low ebb; Italian operas held the stage, and these only of the poorest kind. The people, therefore, were delighted with Handel's music, and he met with instant success. The first opera which he produced was his "Rinaldo," written by him in twenty-seven days; it charmed the public, and everywhere the airs were whistled, sung, and played. He received every kind of attention, and became the idol of the public. But among all his experiences at this time, none was more singular than his acquaintance with Thomas Britton. This remarkable man carried a coal-sack on his shoulder all day, and at night pored over books until he had educated himself. Music, however, was his favorite pursuit, and this brought him into contact with Handel. His house was very old and shabby; it was entered by outside steps, which were almost a ladder; within, the ceilings were so low that one could touch them; but here Britton lived with his books and his music, and here he entertained cultivated people, evening after evening, with music, conversation, and coffee. Here Handel delighted to go, and when he did so he would play on the harpsichord almost the entire evening. At length Handel's year was up, and he left London very reluctantly and to the regret of the whole people. After returning to Germany he found his heart was still in London, and he again obtained permission to visit England. This he did in 1712. During the following year he wrote an ode for Queen Anne's birthday, a Te Deum and Jubilate, all of which met with unbounded appreciation. With London at his feet, how could Handel return to Hanover? And so he overstaid his leave and lingered on, until, in 1714, Queen Anne died and the Elector, Handel's master, ascended the English throne as George I. Handel was now in much distress as to the action the King might take in regard to him, but he had kind friends at court, who brought his own music to his aid to relieve his distress. Hearing that the King intended taking an excursion on the Thames, Handel wrote the "Water Music," which was played on the boat following the King. The latter was charmed with the strains and wished to know the composer. One of Handel's friends told the King, begging him to forgive the composer for his fault. The King pardoned him on the spot, and in token of his forgiveness added two hundred pounds a year to his pension. During the next year Handel visited Hanover, and on his return to England, accepted a position as director at the private chapel of the Duke of Chandos. Besides playing on the organ and training the choir, he worked industriously at writing, composing constantly Te Deums, anthems, and even producing an oratorio. In 1720 he accepted the directorship of the Royal Academy of Music; some of Handel's compositions were sung, and for a long time the operas were very successful, and Handel ruled everything. But in an evil hour for him, Ariosti and Buononcini were invited to London to compose for the Academy. It was suggested that each of the three composers should write an act of a new opera. Handel's was incom parably superior, and his rivals became very jealous; each composer had his supporters, who were very bitter partisans, and party spirit ran high. The feud gave rise to the following little epigram: "Some say, compared to Buononcini, That Mynheer Handel's but a ninny; 'Twixt Tweedledum and Tweedledee!" The three composers continued to write for the Academy until 1728, when, after an unsuccessful season, the Society failed. Handel now determined to conduct in a theater of his own; and for some years he met with varying success, at one time drawing brilliant audiences, at others seeming almost forgotten by the public. His health at last gave way, and, ruined in purse, he severed all connection with the theater. He now began to compose those mighty works on which his fame rests. In 1740 his "Israel in Egypt," which he had written in twenty-seven days, was performed and proved a failure. After the first night it was announced that Italian choruses would be mingled with the oratorio, but even this proved unsuccessful, and after the third performance it was withdrawn. One can only pity a public that could not appreciate these sublime creations. The tireless composer continued to write, and during this same year set to music, among other poems, Milton's "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso." But Handel still longed for appreciation, and he determined to accept the oft-repeated invitations he had received to visit Ireland. He remained there two years, during which time he received an ovation from the Irish public, which appreciated and loved his works. There his "Messiah," the best loved of all his oratorios, was first given to the world. When first sung in England, it produced a great effect on all who heard it, and as the " Hallelujah Chorus" first broke upon the audience, the King and people involuntarily rose to their feet, —a tribute to genius which still remains, and to this day every one stands when the "Hallelujah Chorus " is sung. After his return to London Handel once more assumed the management of a theater, and again he failed. From this time he devoted himself to composition until his blindness came upon him in 1752. Still, he presided at the organ when any of his oratorios were sung. When "Samson" was first given after his blindness, and the singer came to the lines: "Total eclipse, no sun, no moon, All dark amid the blaze of noon," Handel trembled, and many in the audience were moved to tears. He lingered on a few years longer and conducted a performance of the "Messiah" for the last time, on April 6, 1759, and died on April 14. Handel was tall and dignified in appearance, with a strong, beautiful smile, which lighted his countenance when he was pleased. He wore a white wig which always nodded when the performance went well. He was a highly educated man, speaking French and Italian, and having a fine taste for pictures. He was very humorous, and it is said that had ours been his native language, he would have left behind him many witty sayings. His improvisations on the organ were wonderfully beautiful; his playing on the harpsichord and organ was excelled by that of only one man in his day,— Sebastian Bach. Great, however, as was Handel's execution, his real field was in oratorio, and it is for his achievements in this direction that he is loved by the whole English-speaking people, and for this they love to call him theirs. And he is an Englishman in everything but birth. His life was passed in England, he was English in his tastes, and was molded by English influences. He wrote for the English people, and they now, above every other nation, love and appreciate his works. It is interesting to contrast him with the illustrious Bach, who has never been appreciated by the people, while every musician has mastered him as the A, B, C of music, without which nothing can be done. Handel, on the contrary, speaks to all, and will never cease to appeal to the highest emotions of those who hear his mighty works, but he has never influenced the history of music. It seems as if he had pushed oratorio to its highest limit, and as if his work in this field, like Beethoven's in symphony, can never be excelled in the future, as it has never been excelled in the past. ONE evening, with the falling dew, To early roost the fowls withdraw |