wn native town of Eisenach.

Johann Sebastian's fame grew until it reached to Luneburg, twelve miles
away, and he was invited there to sing in the choir of Saint Michael's.
The pay he received was very slight, but that was not to be considered.
An occasional bowl of soup and piece of rye-bread, and the privilege of
sleeping in the organ-loft, all combined with freedom, made his paradise
complete. He played on the harpsichord in the pastor's study sometimes;
and occasionally the organist, who could not help loving such a
music-loving boy, would allow him to try the big organ, and at every
service he was present to play his violin, or if any of the other
players were absent he would just fill in and play any instrument
desired.

Then we hear of him trudging off to Hamburg, a hundred miles away, with
only a few coppers in his pocket, to hear the great organist Reinke. He
slept in cattle-sheds by the way, played his violin at taverns for
something to eat, or plainly stated his case to sympathetic cooks at
backdoors. One instance he has recorded when all the world seemed to
frown. He had trudged all day, with nothing to eat, and at evening had
sat down near the open window of an inn, from which came savory smells
of supper. As he sat there, suddenly there were thrown out a couple of
small dried herrings. The hungry boy eagerly seized upon them, just as a
dog would. But what was his surprise to find, as he gnawed, in the mouth
of each fish a piece of silver! Some one had read the story of Saint
Peter to a purpose. Young Bach looked in vain for a person to thank, but
perceiving no one he took it as the act of God and an omen that his
pilgrimage to hear the great organist should not be in vain.

The wonders of Reinke's playing and the marvel of the mighty music
filled his soul with awe, and fired his ambition to do a like
performance.

Did the great Reinke know as he played that bright Sabbath morning,
filling the cathedral with thunders of echoing bass, or sounds of sweet,
subtle melody--did he know that away back in the throng stood a dusty,
tawny-haired boy who had tramped a hundred miles just for this event?
And did the organist guess as he played that he was inspiring a human
soul to do a grand and wondrous work, and live a life whose influence
should be deathless? Probably not--few men indeed know when virtue has
gone out of them.

Perhaps Reinke was playing just to suit himself, and had purposely put
the unapprecia