At one time, during Haydn's connection with Prince Esterhazy, the latter, from motives of economy, determined to dismiss his celebrated orchestra, which he supported at great expense. Haydn was the leader, and his patron's purpose caused him sore pain, as indeed it did all the players, among whom were many distinguished instrumentalists. Still, there was nothing to be done but for all concerned to make themselves as cheerful as possible under the circumstances; so, with that fund of wit and humour which seems to have been concealed under the immaculate coat and formal wig of the strait-laced Haydn, he set about composing a work for the last performance of the royal band, a work which has ever since borne the appropriate title of the "Farewell Symphony." On the night appointed for the last performance a brilliant company, including the prince, had assembled. The music of the new symphony began gaily enough--it was even merry. As it went on, however, it became soft and dreamy. The strains were sad and "long drawn out." At length a sorrowful wailing began. One instrument after another left off, and each musician, as his task ended, blew out his lamp and departed with his music rolled up under his arm. Haydn was the last to finish, save one, and this was the prince's favourite violinist, who said all that he had to say in a brilliant violin cadenza, when, behold! he made off. The prince was astonished. "What is the meaning of all this?" cried he. "It is our sorrowful farewell," answered Haydn. This was too much. The prince was overcome, and, with a good laugh, said: "Well, I think I must reconsider my decision. At any rate we will not say 'good-bye' now." III. During the thirty years of Haydn's quiet life with the Esterhazys he had been gradually acquiring an immense reputation in France, England and Spain, of which he himself was unconscious. His great symphonies had stamped him world-wide as a composer of remarkable creative genius. Haydn's modesty prevented him from recognising his own celebrity. Therefore, we can fancy his astonishment when, shortly after the death of Prince Nicholas Esterhazy, a stranger called on him and said, "I am Salomon, from London, and must strike a bargain with you for that city immediately." Haydn was dazed with the suddenness of the proposition, but the old ties were broken up, and his grief needed recreation and change. Still, he had many beloved friends, whose society it was hard to leave. Chief among these was Mozart. "Oh, papa," said Mozart, "you have had no training for the wide world, and you speak so few languages." "Oh, my language is understood all over the world," said Papa Haydn, with a smile. When he departed for England, December 15, 1790, Mozart could with difficulty tear himself away, and said, with pathetic tears, "We shall doubtless now take our last farewell."