once more to have a home, and to leave the
weary rambling life I had so long led.

"I had great success that day, and the people thronged to hear the
wandering Italian musician. Many were the jugs of beer and glasses of
wine offered to me, and my plate was soon full of shillings. As I left
off playing, an old greyheaded man pressed through the crowd, and
gazed earnestly at me. His eyes filled with tears, and he was
evidently much moved.

"'What a likeness!' he exclaimed. 'He is the very picture of my
Amadeus. I could fancy he had risen out of the sea. The same features,
the sane voice and manner.'

"He came up to me and took my hand. 'If you do not fear a high
staircase,' said he with a kindly smile, 'come and visit me. I live on
the tower of St Nicholas's Church. Your clarinet will sound well in
the free fresh air, and you will find those there who will gladly
listen.' So saying, he left me.

"The old man's name was Elias Kranhelm, better known in Stralsund as
the old Swede; he was the town musician, and had the care of the bells
of St Nicholas. The next day was Sunday, and I hastened to visit him.
His kind manner had touched me, unaccustomed as I was to kindness or
sympathy from the strangers amongst whom I always lived. When I was
halfway up the stairs leading to the tower, the organ began to play
below me, and I recognised a psalm tune which we used often to sing
for our old schoolmaster at Marienberg. I stopped a moment to listen,
and thoughts of rest and home again came over me.

"I was met at the tower door by old Kranhelm, in his Sunday suit of
black; large silver buckles at his knees and shoes, and a round black
velvet cap over his long white hair. His clear grey eyes smiled so
kindly upon me, his voice was so mild, and his greeting so cordial,
that I thought I had never seen a more pleasing old man. He welcomed
me as though I had been an old friend, and without further preface,
asked me if I should like to become his substitute, and perform the
duties for which his great age had begun to unfit him. His only son,
on whom he had reckoned to take his place, had left him some time
previously, to become a sailor on board a Norwegian ship, and had been
drowned in his very first voyage. It was my extraordinary likeness to
this son that had made him notice me; and the good, simple-hearted old
man seemed to think that resemblance a sufficient guarantee against
any risk in admitting a perfect stranger into his ho