when the oratorio of "Joshua" was performed, the Master decided he
would present his next and best piece outside of England. Jealousy, a
dangerous weapon, has its use in the diplomatic world.

Handel set out for Dublin with a hundred musicians, there to present the
"Messiah," written for and dedicated to the Irish people. The oratorio
had been turned off in just twenty-one days, in one of those titanic
bursts of power, of which this man was capable. Its production was a
feat worthy of the Frohmans at their best. The performance was to be for
charity--to give freedom to those languishing in debtors' prisons at
Dublin. What finer than that the "Messiah" should give deliverance?

The Irish heart was touched. A fierce scramble ensued for seats,
precedence being emphasized in several cases with blackthorns deftly
wielded. The price of seats was a guinea each. Handel's carriage was
drawn through the streets by two hundred students. He was crowned with
shamrock, and given the freedom of the city in a gold box. Freedom even
then, in Ireland, was a word to conjure with. Long before the
performance, notices that no more tickets would be sold were posted. The
doors of the Debtors' Prison were thrown open, and the prisoners given
seats so they could hear the music--thus overdoing the matter in true
Irish style.

The performance was the supreme crowning event in the life of Handel up
to that time.

Couriers were dispatched to London to convey the news of Handel's great
triumph to the newspapers; bulletins were posted at the clubs--the
infection caught! On the return of the master a welcome was given him
such as he had never before known--Dublin should not outdo London! When
the "Messiah" was given in London, the scene of furore in Dublin was
repeated. The wild tumult at times drowned the orchestra, and when the
"Hallelujah Chorus" was sung, the audience arose as one man and joined
in the song of praise. And from that day the custom has continued:
whenever in England the "Messiah" is given, the audience arises and
sings in the "Chorus," as its privilege and right. The proceeds of the
first performance of the "Messiah" in England were given to charity, as
in Dublin. This act, with the splendor of the work, subdued the last
lingering touch of obdurate criticism. The man was canonized by popular
acclaim. Many of his concerts were now for charity--"The Foundlings'
Home," "The Seamen's Fund," "Home for the Aged," hospitals and
impris