something more for our increasing family!" Jobst gave a leap of joy, embraced pretty Elschen, and answered, "Come then! I will string anew my fiddle and your harp; every holiday we will take our place on the roadside before the tavern, and play and sing merrily; we will give good wishes to those that listen to and reward us, and let the surly traveller, who stops not to hear us, go on his way!"

The next Sunday afternoon merry Jobst and pretty Elschen sat by the highway before the village inn; Jobst fiddled, and Elschen played the harp and sang to it with her sweet clear voice. Not one passed by without noticing them; every traveller stopped to listen, well pleased, and on resuming his journey threw at least a silver twopence in the lap of the pretty young woman. Jobst and his wife, on returning home in the evening, found their day's work a good one. They practised it regularly with the like success.

After the lapse of a few years, as the old singing-master of a neighbouring town passed along the road one afternoon, he could not help stopping, admiring and amused at what he saw. In the same arbour, opposite the tavern, stood merry Jobst fiddling as before, and beside him pretty Elschen, playing the harp and singing; and between them might be seen a little chubby-faced boy about three years old, who had a small board, shaped like a violin, hung about his neck, on which he played with a willow twig as with a genuine fiddle-bow. The most comical and surprising thing of all was, that the little man kept perfect time, pausing when his father paused and his mother had a solo, then falling in with him again, and demeaning himself exactly like his father. Often, too, he would lift up his clear voice, and join distinctly in the refrain of the song. The song pretty Elschen sang, ran somewhat in this way :

The young mountain shepherd, his shawm he hath wound,

And the maiden steps softly, and follows the sound.

"The bell in yon valley breaks faint on the air, Stranger! haste not away! pause and breathe first a prayer,

And give thanks to our Maker, on whom good men call

Who created in love, and sustaineth us all."

"Is that your boy, fiddler?" asked the teacher, when the song was at an end. Jobst answered,

"Yes, sir, that is my little Seperl."* "The gay fellow seems to have a taste for music."

"Why not? If it depends on me, I will take him, as soon as I can do so, to one who understands it well, and can teach him. But it will be some time yet, as, with all his taste and love for it, he is very little and awkward."

"We will speak further of it," said the teacher, and went his way. Jobst and Elschen began their song anew, and the little Joseph imitated his father on his fiddle, and joined his infant voice with theirs when they sounded the “Hallelujah."

The friend came from this time twice a week to the house of merry Jobst to talk with him about his little son, and the youngster himself was soon the best of friends with the good-natured old man. So matters went on for two years, at the end of which the teacher said to Jobst, "It is now the right time, and if you will trust your boy with me, I will take him, and show him what he must learn, to become a brave lad and a skilful musician."

Jobst did not hesitate long, for he saw clearly how great an advantage the instruction of Master Wolferl would be to his son. And though it went harder with pretty Elschen to part with Seperl, who was her favourite and only child, yet she gave up at last, when her husband observedonly child, we are-Heaven be praised!— "The boy is still our own, and if he is our both young, and love each other!"

So he said to Wolferl, the next time he came "Agreed! here is the boy! treat him well-and remember that he is the apple of our eye."

* The diminutive for "Joseph" in the dialect of the country.

"I will treat him as my own!" replied the teacher. Elschen accordingly packed up the boy's scanty wardrobe in a bundle, gave him a slice of bread and salt, and a cup of milk-embraced and blessed him, and accompanied him to the door of the cottage, where she prayed to Heaven for her child, and then returned to her chamber. Jobst went with them half the way to Haimburg, and then also returned, while Wolferl and Joseph pursued their way till they reached Wolferl's house, the end of their journey.

Wolferl was an old bachelor, but one of the good sort, whose heart, despite his gray hairs, was still youthful and warm. He loved all good men, and was patient and forbearing even with those who had faults, for he knew how too often weak and fickle is the heart of man. But the wholly depraved and wicked he disliked, as he esteemed the good, and shunned all companionship with them; for it was his opinion "that he who is thoroughly corrupt, remains so in this world at least; and his conversation with the good tends not to his improvement, but, on the contrary, to the destruction of both."

Such lessons he repeated daily to the little Joseph, and taught him good principles, also how to sing, and play on the horn and kettledrum; and Joseph profited thereby, as well as by the instruction he received in music, and cherished and cultivated them as long as he lived.

In the following year, 1737, a second son was bestowed on the happy parents, whom they christened Michael.

talent for art, the more earnestly he sought to find a patron, who might better forward the youthful aspirant towards the desired goal; for he felt that his own strength could reach little further, when he saw the zeal and ability with which his pupil devoted himself to his studies. Providence ordered it in good time that Herr Reuter, chapel-master and music director in St. Stephen's Church, Vienna, came to visit the Deacon at Haimburg. The Deacon then told Herr Reuter of the extraordinary boy, the son of the wheelwright Jobst Haydn, the pupil of old Wolferl, and thus created in the chapel-master a desire to become acquainted with him. The Deacon would have sent for him and his protector, but Herr Reuter prevented him with "No, no, most reverend sir! I will not have the lad brought to me; I will seek him myself, and, if possible, hear him when he is not conscious of my presence or my intentions; for if I find the boy what your reverence states, I will do something, of course, to advance his interests." The next morning, accordingly, Herr Reuter went to Wolferl's house, which he entered quietly and unannounced. Joseph was sitting alone at the organ, playing a simple but sublime piece of sacred music from an old German master Reuter, visibly moved, stood at the door and listened attentively. The boy was so deep in his music that he did not perceive the intruder till the piece was concluded, when accidentally turning round, he fixed upon the stranger his large dark eyes, expressive of astonishment indeed, but sparkling a friendly welcome.

"Very well, my son !" said Herr Reuter at last; "where is your foster-father?" "In the garden," said the boy; "shall I call him?"

"Call him, and say to him that the chapel-master, Herr Reuter, wishes to speak with him. Stop a moment! you are Joseph Haydn, are you not ?” "Yes, I am, Master." "Well then, go."

Joseph went and brought his old master, who, with uncovered head and low obeisance, welcomed the chapel-master and music-director at Saint Stephen's, to his humble abode. Herr Reuter, on his part, praised the musical skill of his protegé, inquired particularly into the lad's attainments, and examined him formally

himself. Joseph passed through the ordeal in such a manner, that Reuter's satisfaction increased with every answer. After this he spent some time in close conference with old Wolferl; and it was near noon before he took his departure. Joseph was invited to accompany him and spend the rest of the day at the Deacon's.

Eight days after, old Wolferl, Jobst, and pretty Elschen, the little Michael on her lap, sat very dejectedly together, and talked of the good Joseph, who had gone that morning with good Herr Reuter to Vienna, to take his place as chorister in St. Stephen's Church.

The clock struck eight, and all were awake in the Leopoldstadt. A busy multitude crowded the bridge-market women and mechanics' boys, hucksters, pedlars, hackney coachmen and elegant horsemen, passing in and out of the city; and through the thickest of the throng might be seen winding his way quietly and inoffensively, the noted Wenzel Puderlein, hairdresser, burgher and house-proprietor in Leopoldstadt. Soon he passed over the space that divides Leopoldstadt from the city, and with rapid steps approached, through streets and alleys, the place where his most distinguished customers resided, and whom he came every morning to serve.

He stopped before one of the best looking houses; ascended the steps, rang the bell, and when the housemaid opened the door, stepped boldly, and with apparent consciousness of dignity, through the hall to a side door. Here he paused, placed his feet in due position, took off his hat modestly, and knocked gently three times.

"Come in!" said a powerful voice. Wenzel, however, started, and hung back a moment, then taking courage, he lifted the latch, opened the door, and entered the apartment. An elderly man, of stately figure, wrapped in a flowered dressinggown, sat at a writing-table; he arose as the door opened, and said

""Tis well you are come, Puderlein! Do what you have to do, but quickly, I request you! for the Empress has sent for me, and I must be with her in half an hour." He then seated himself, and Wenzel began his hairdressing without uttering a word (how contrary to his habit!) well knowing that a strict silence was enjoined on him in the

presence of the first physician to Her Imperial Majesty.

Yet he was not doomed long to suffer this greatest of all torments to him, the necessity of silence. The door of the chamber opened, and a youth of about sixteen or seventeen years of age came in, approached the elderly man, kissed his hand reverently, and bade him good morning.

The old gentleman thanked him briefly, and said, "What was it you were going to ask me yesterday evening, when it struck eleven, and I sent you off to bed ?"

The youth, with a modest smile, replied, "I was going to beg leave, my father, if your time permitted, to present to you the young man I would like to have for my teacher on the piano."

"Very well; after noon I shall be at liberty; but what has recommended him to you?"

"An admirable piece, which I was yesterday so fortunate as to hear him play at the house of Mdlle. de Martinez."

"Ah! your honour means young Haydn," cried Puderlein, unwittingly, and then became suddenly silent, expecting nothing less than that his temerity would draw down a thunderbolt on his head. But, contrary to his expectation, the old nobleman merely looked at him a moment, as if in surprise, from head to foot, then said mildly, “You are acquainted with the young man then; what do you know of him?"

"I know him!" answered Puderlein. "Oh, very well, your honour; I know him well. What do I know of him? Oh, much; for observe, your honour, I have had the favour to be hairdresser for many years to the chapel-master, Herr Reuter, in whose house Haydn has long been an inmate-it must now be ten or eleven years. I have known him, so to speak, from childhood. Besides, I have heard him sing a hundred times at St. Stephen's, where he was chorister, though it is now a couple of years since he was turned off."

"Turned off? and wherefore?"

"Ay; observe, your honour, he had a fine clear voice, such as no female singer in the opera; but getting a fright, and being seized with a fever, when he recovered, his fine soprano was gone! And because they had no more use for him at St. Stephen's, they sent him away."

"And what is young Haydn doing now?" asked the Baron.

"Ah, your honour, the poor fellow must find it hard to live by giving lessons, playing about, and picking up what he can; he also composes or what do they call it?sometimes. Well, what avails it that he torments himself? He lives in the house with Metastasio, not in the first story, like the court poet, but in the fifth; and when it is winter, he has to lie in bed and work, to keep himself from freezing; for, observe, he has indeed a fireplace in his chamber, but no money to buy wood to burn therein."

.

"This must not be! this shall not be !" cried the Baron von Swieten, as he rose from his seat. "Am I ready?"

66

"A moment, your honour-only the string around the hair-bag."

"It is very well so; now begone about your business!" Puderlein vanished. "And you, help me on with my coat; give me my stick and hat, and bring me your young teacher this afternoon." Therewith he departed, and young von Swieten, full of joy, went to the writing-table to indite an invitation to Haydn to come to his father's house.

Meanwhile, Joseph Haydn sat, sorrowful, and almost despairing, in his chamber. He had passed the morning, contrary to his usual custom, in idle brooding over his condition; now it appeared quite hopeless, and his cheerfulness seemed about to take leave of him for ever, like his only friend and protectress, Mdlle. de Martinez. That amiable young lady had left the city a few hours before. Haydn had instructed her in singing, and in playing the harpsichord, and by way of recompense, he enjoyed the privilege of board and lodging in the fifth story, in the house of Metastasio. Both now ceased with the lady's departure; and Joseph was poorer than before, for all that he had earned besides, he had sent conscientiously to his parents, only keeping so much as sufficed to furnish him with decent, though plain clothing.

Other patrons and friends he had none ! Metastasio, who was nearest him, knew him only by his unassuming exterior, and was too indolent to inquire particularly into his circumstances, or to interest himself in his behalf. He had briefly observed to the poor youth, that since Mdlle.

Martinez had left Vienna and his lessons were over, he could look about till the end of the month for other lodgings; and Joseph was too retiring, if not too proud, to answer anything else than that "he thanked the Signor for the privilege hitherto enjoyed, and would look out for another home." But where? thought he now, and asked himself, sobbing aloud, "Where without money?" Just then, without any previous knocking, the door of his chamber was opened, and with bold carriage, and sparkling eyes, entered Master Wenzel Puderlein.

"With me!" cried the friseur, while he stretched his curling-irons like a sceptre towards Joseph, and pressed his powderbag with an air of feeling to his heart, "With me, young orphan! I will be your father, I will foster and protect you! for I have feeling for the grand and the sublime, and have discerned your genius-and what you can, with assistance, accomplish; I know, too, your inability to cope yet with the world,-for you have not my experience of men. I will lead you to art-I myself; and if before long you are not in full chase, and have not captured her, why you must be a fool, and I will give you up!"

"Ah, worthy Master von Puderlein !" cried Haydn surprised; "you would receive me now, when I know not where to go, or what to do? Oh! I acknowledge your goodness! but how have I, a poor musician, deserved it? and how shall I thank you?"

"That is nothing to you!" said Puderlein shortly; "all that will appear in due time! Now sit you down on the stool, and do not stir till I give you leave. I will show the world what a man of genius can make of an indifferent head!"

"Are you determined, then, to do me the honour of dressing my hair, Master von Puderlein?"

"Ask no questions, but sit still."

Joseph obediently seated himself, and Wenzel began to dress his hair according to the latest mode. When he had done, he said with much self-congratulation, "Really, Haydn, when I look at you and think what you were before I set your head right, and what you are now, I may, without presumption, call you a being of my own creation. But I am not so conceited; and only remark to you, that though you have walked so long like a man on two legs, you have first been