alled to Leipzig and elected by the municipal
authorities the Musical Director and Cantor of the Thomas School. For
twenty-seven years he labored here, doing the work he liked best, and
doing it in his own way. He escaped the pitfalls of petty jealousies,
into which most men of artistic natures fall, by rising above them all.
He accepted no insults; he had no grievances against either man or fate;
earnest, religious, simple--he filled the days with useful effort.

He was so well poised that when summoned by Frederick the Great to come
and play before him, he took a year to finish certain work he had on
hand before he went. Then he would have forgotten the engagement, had
not his son, who was Chamber Musician to the King, insisted that he
come. In the presence of Frederick it was the King who was abashed, not
he. He knew his kinship to Divinity so well that he did not even think
to assert it. And surely he was one fit to stand in the presence of
kings. For number, variety and excellence, only two men can be named as
his competitors: these are Mozart and Handel. But in point of
performance, simplicity and sterling manhood, Bach stands alone.

[Illustration: FELIX MENDELSSOHN]

FELIX MENDELSSOHN

The correspondence of Goethe and Zelter displeases me. I always
feel out of sorts when I have been reading it. Do you know that I
am making great strides in water-colors? Schirmer comes to me every
Saturday at eleven, and paints for two hours at a landscape, which
he is going to make me a present of, because the subject occurred
to him whilst I was playing the little "Rivulet" (which you know).
It represents a fellow who saunters out of a dark forest into a
sunny little nook; trees all about, with stems thick and thin; one
has fallen across the rivulet; the ground is carpeted with soft,
deep moss, full of ferns; there are stones garlanded with
blackberry-bushes; it is fine warm weather; the whole will be
charming.

--_Mendelssohn to Devrient_

FELIX MENDELSSOHN

Thirty-eight years is not a long life, but still it is long enough to do
great things. Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy was born in the year Eighteen
Hundred Nine, at Hamburg, and died at Leipzig in the year Eighteen
Hundred Forty-seven. His career was a triumphal march. The road to
success with him was no zigzag journey--from the first he went straight
to the front. Whether as a baby he crowed i