became
totally blind, due no doubt, to the great strain he had always put
upon his eyes, in not only writing his own music, but in copying out
large works of the older masters. Notwithstanding this handicap he
continued at work up to the very last. On the morning of the day on
which he passed away, July 28, 1750, he suddenly regained his sight. A
few hours later he became unconscious and passed in sleep.

Bach was laid to rest in the churchyard of St. John's at Leipsic, but
no stone marks his resting place. Only the town library register tells
that Johann Sebastian Bach, Musical Director and Singing Master of the
St. Thomas School, was carried to his grave July 30, 1750.

But the memory of Bach is enduring, his fame immortal and the love his
beautiful music inspires increases from year to year, wherever that
music is known, all over the world.

III

GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL

While little Sebastian Bach was laboriously copying out music by pale
moonlight, because of his great love for it, another child of the same
age was finding the greatest happiness of his life seated before an
old spinet, standing in a lumber garret. He was trying to make music
from those half dumb keys. No one had taught him how to play; it was
innate genius that guided his little hands to find the right harmonies
and bring melody out of the old spinet.

The boy's name was George Frederick Handel, and he was born in the
German town of Halle, February 23, 1685. Almost from infancy he showed
a remarkable fondness for music. His toys must be able to produce
musical sounds or he did not care for them. The child did not inherit
a love for music from his father, for Dr. Handel, who was a surgeon,
looked on music with contempt, as something beneath the notice of a
gentleman. He had decided his son was to be a lawyer, and refused
to allow him to attend school for fear some one might teach him his
notes. The mother was a sweet gentle woman, a second wife, and much
younger than her husband, who seemed to have ruled his household with
a rod of iron.

When little George was about five, a kind friend, who knew how he
longed to make music, had a spinet sent to him unbeknown to his
father, and placed in a corner of the old garret. Here the child loved
to come when he could escape notice. Often at night, when all were
asleep, he would steal away to the garret and work at the spinet,
mastering difficulties one by one. The strings of the instrument ha