The object of the first trip to Rome, in 1770, was thus attained. Wolfgang had not spared himself, and his father had to keep a watchful eye on him. Uninterrupted labor and earnest occupation had given so serious a turn to his mind--and he was always naturally reflective--that his father thought well to invite some friends to his home while Wolfgang was composing. He asked others to write him jocose letters, in order to divert him. The musical genius and the inner man were ripening side by side. At the age of fifteen he had the maturity of a full-grown youth. Even now the chords of his nature, which lent to his melodies that most fervid of tones which we think we hear even when only Mozart’s name is mentioned, those tender feelings of the heart which made him above all the minstrel of love, are heard in the soft vibrations of his music. In his hearty attachment to his mother and sister, we see the development of what the family-friend already mentioned has told us of his innate craving for affection when only four years old. His little postscripts to his father’s letters about this journey are delightful reading. He never forgets the dear ones at home. He inquires about each one in turn; and even the “weighty and lofty thoughts of Italy,” where he was frequently “distracted by mere business,” do not keep him from doing so. He tells his mamma he kisses her hands a billion times, and Nannerl that he kisses her “cheek, nose, mouth and neck.” On post-days, he goes on, “everything tastes better,” and only the abundance of his bantering in these notes preserved in the Mozarteum can give any idea of his overflowing tenderness for his sweet sister.