digger, and his mother Katharina, known as 'Frau Katha,'
who filled the quaint office of official mendicant to the place.

"The old woman was the first to speak: 'Any coaches or mourners coming?'

"A shrug from the driver of the hearse was the only response.

"'Whom have you got there, then?' continued she.

"'A band-master,' replied the other.

"'A musician? they're a poor lot; then I've no more money to look for
to-day. It is to be hoped we shall have better luck in the morning.'

"To which the driver said, with a laugh: 'I'm devilish thirsty, too--not
a kreutzer of drink-money have I had.'

"After this curious colloquy the coffin was dismounted and shoved into
the top of the grave already occupied by the two paupers of the morning;
and such was Mozart's last appearance on earth."

To-day no stone marks the spot where were deposited the last remains
of one of the brightest of musical spirits; indeed, the very grave is
unknown, for it was the grave of a pauper.

IV.

Mozart's charming letters reveal to us such a gentle, sparkling,
affectionate nature, as to inspire as much love for the man as
admiration for his genius. Sunny humor and tenderness bubble in almost
every sentence. A clever writer says that "opening these is like
opening a painted tomb.... The colors are all fresh, the figures are all
distinct."

No better illustration of the man Mozart can be had than in a few
extracts from his correspondence.

He writes to his sister from Rome while yet a mere lad:

"I am, thank God! except my miserable pen, well, and send you and mamma
a thousand kisses. I wish you were in Rome; I am sure it would please
you. Papa says I am a little fool, but that is nothing new. Here we have
but one bed; it is easy to understand that I can't rest comfortably
with papa. I shall be glad when we get into new quarters. I have just
finished drawing the Holy Peter with his keys, the Holy Paul with his
sword, and the Holy Luke with my sister. I have had the honor of kissing
St. Peter's foot; and because I am so small as to be unable to reach it,
they had to lift me up. I am the same old
"Wolfgang."

Mozart was very fond of this sister Nannerl, and he used to write to
her in a playful mosaic of French, German, and Italian. Just after his
wedding he writes:

"My darling is now a hundred times more joyful at the idea of going to
Salzburg, and I am willing to stake--ay, my very life, that you will
rejoice still more in my hap