efore
him. Roseate, indeed, were the hues in which his fancy had painted
that picture, and foremost of all the objects that it contained was
the famous cathedral, with its magnificent spire pointing into the
clouds, its richly-sculptured stones, its glorious nave, flanked by
noble pillars, and its lofty vaulted roof, echoing to the voices of
the choir, or reverberating to the notes of the organ, the whole
flooded by the soft light falling from the painted windows. To picture
all this from the descriptions which had been given to him was to
conjure up a vision of indescribable beauty. And then, the Cantorei
itself--had not his cousin Frankh assured him that he would be taught
singing and to play the clavier and violin by the best masters, in
addition to Latin, writing, and cyphering? Lastly, there was the life
which went on outside the cathedral and the choir-school--the life of
a city within whose walls music had established a home, wherein she
flourished as nowhere else in the wide world could she be said to
flourish.

[Illustration: _St. Stephen's Cathedral, Vienna._]

All this, and more, had the eight-year-old musician learnt from
conversation and report during his two years' sojourn at Hainburg; and
of all this was he thinking as he travelled to Vienna with a heart and
mind yearning to enter into the joys and labours of such an existence.

With what fervour he embarked upon his studies at the Cantorei, as
well as how quickly he progressed under the care of his teachers, may
be imagined. Child though he was, nothing in the shape of learning
came hard to him, and difficulties seemed to be created only in order
to be successfully overcome. Very soon came the desire to compose; but
just here the toughest obstacle of all, perhaps, presented itself--the
studies comprised no instruction in counterpoint. Still, Joseph was
not to be daunted. Seizing upon every scrap of music-paper that he
could find, he covered it with notes. 'If only the paper is nice and
full, it must be right,' he said to himself, as he bent his energies
to the task.

Reutter, however, gave him no encouragement to proceed in this
direction. 'What are you about, Haydn?' inquired the Capellmeister
one day, as he lighted upon the boy suddenly in the midst of a
composition. Joseph looked up with a flush mantling in his cheeks. 'I
am composing, sir,' he answered. 'Let me see it,' requested the
master. It was a sketch of a 'Salve Regina' for twelve voi