ion on the
Thames. So he set to work to compose music for the occasion, which he
arranged to have performed on a boat which followed the king's barge.
As the king floated down the river he heard the new and delightful
"Water-Music." He knew that only one man could have composed such music;
so he sent for Handel, and sealed his pardon with a pension of two
hundred pounds a year.

II.

Let us take a glance at the society in which the composer moved in the
heyday of his youth. His greatness was to be perfected in after-years
by bitter rivalries, persecution, alternate oscillations of poverty
and affluence, and a multitude of bitter experiences. But at this time
Handel's life was a serene and delightful one. Rival factions had not
been organized to crush him. Lord Burlington lived much at his mansion,
which was then out of town, although the house is now in the heart of
Piccadilly. The intimate friendship of this nobleman helped to bring the
young musician into contact with many distinguished people.

It is odd to think of the people Handel met daily without knowing that
their names and his would be in a century famous. The following picture
sketches Handel and his friends in a sprightly fashion:

"Yonder heavy, ragged-looking youth standing at the corner of Regent
Street, with a slight and rather more refined-looking companion, is
the obscure Samuel Johnson, quite unknown to fame. He is walking with
Richard Savage. As Signor Handel, 'the composer of Italian music,'
passes by, Savage becomes excited, and nudges his friend, who takes only
a languid interest in the foreigner. Johnson did not care for music; of
many noises he considered it the least disagreeable.

"Toward Charing Cross comes, in shovel-hat and cassock, the renowned
ecclesiastic Dean Swift. He has just nodded patronizingly to Bononcini
in the Strand, and suddenly meets Handel, who cuts him dead. Nothing
disconcerted, the dean moves on, muttering his famous epigram:

'Some say that Signor Bononcini,
Compared to Handel, is a ninny;
While others vow that to him Handel
Is hardly fit to hold a candle.
Strange that such difference should be
'Twixt tweedledum and tweedledee.'

"As Handel enters the 'Turk's Head' at the corner of Regent Street,
a noble coach and four drives up. It is the Duke of Chandos, who is
inquiring for Mr. Pope. Presently a deformed little man, in an iron-gray
suit, and with a face as keen as a razor, hob