Handel, with all his comparative simplicity, is my favorite. I cannot but look up to him with astonishment and veneration; his "Messiah," I behold as the purest specimen of sublimity ever displayed in the arts: and I can conceive of nothing in poetry with any pretension to be considered its parallel, but the "Paradise Lost" of Milton. The "Hallelujah Chorus" may be esteemed the loftiest work of the imagination. The leading conception is entirely inimitable. The full chorus of other masters is often bold and elevated; but it is only Handel who has the sublime of devotion. Haydn is triumphant and inspiring; but the effect of his chorus is only that of martial music. In listening to Haydn, you seem to hear the shouts of conquerors, proudly entering a vanquished city: in listening to Handel, the shouts seem to break from the clouds; from the triumphant host admitted to the presence of God; and the object of praise gives a character of holiness and purity to the harmony. With Haydn, we exult, we reason not why. With Handel, we can never for a moment forget that we are praising God. The rapid movements and quick transitions of Haydn draw the fullest admiration to the orchestra, and the subject is forgotten. The lighter passages in Handel are only the varied note of praise, expanding only in proportion to the inspiration which the object kindles. In one word,--every thing in Haydn is seen to be accomplished; and every delineation, if I may thus employ the word, is felt to be a resemblance. But in Handel, let what will be described or exhibited,--a battle,--a victory,--the trembling of the earth,--the tottering of a wall,--the moan of sympathy,--the insults and crucifixion of a Savior,--the awful stillness of death,--or, on the other hand, the triumph of the resurrection,--the birth of the Prince of Peace,--or hosannas to the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords,--every thing seems to be done at the command of God himself.