They lived at home, father, son and daughter, a happy family in their own narrow circle. They had, we are glad to say, some true and trusted friends with whom they employed the little leisure which they could afford to take, in the parlor games customary at the time, and other simple pleasures. And this leisure was small indeed, for they had to try to make both ends meet by writing musical compositions and giving instruction in music. The father’s salary amounted to only forty marks, and the son’s to only twenty-five marks a month. No wonder he wrote: “generosity is not our fault.” But their sense of refinement was offended yet more by the rude manner and the coarse tone prevalent in the place. The Salzburgian was looked upon as a fool, and the merry Andrews of Vienna mimicked his dialect. The mode of life and the views of the higher and lower “noblesse” were of a nature still less agreeable and refined. Mozart, who much preferred even the manners of the “boorish Bavarians,” as they were then universally called, to that of the Salzburg nobility, relates, in his letters, how one of the latter expressed so much surprise and crossed himself so frequently at the Munich opera, that they were greatly ashamed of him. It is notorious that Mozart’s real colleagues, the musicians, had a well-merited reputation during the last century, as “drunkards, gamesters and dissipated, good-for-nothing fellows.” This was one of the reasons which inspired him with so great a hatred for Salzburg. “No decent man,” he writes, “could live in such company.” He was ashamed of them, and of the coarse and dissolute music of the court. Michael Haydn himself, Joseph Haydn’s brother, a very clever composer, was not free from at least one of these vices. There was no one in Salzburg but knew Haydn’s little drinking room in the _Stiftskeller_ (monastery wine-cellar). On one occasion, when the organist of one of the city churches, drunk on the organ-seat, was struck with apoplexy, Wolfgang’s father wrote to him asking him to divine who had been appointed his successor. And he proceeds: “Herr Haydn--all laughed. He is, indeed, an expensive organist. He drinks a quart of wine after every part of the mass. He sends Lipp (another organist) to attend the other services--another man,” he adds forcibly enough, “who wants a drink.” How now could it be said that here, in his own real province, the young artist found a reward worthy of his fiery spirit and of his already tested powers?