I sometimes regretted, however, that the collection was made more in the spirit of a collector than in the interests of science; so that, for example, he has scarcely ever noted the source of his extracts; but much was brought to my notice which would scarcely otherwise have occurred to me, much trouble was spared, and a number of Mozart's letters were made known to me for the first time. I was unfortunately prevented from thoroughly examining Fuchs's valuable collection of Mozart's compositions in their different editions and copies; my time was short, and I hoped to be able to avail myself of a future opportunity for doing so. This hope was frustrated by the death of Aloys Fuchs a few months after I left Vienna. It has been a painful feeling to me not to be able to express my gratitude for so much friendly service by offering to him the book in which I know he would have taken pleasure. The greatest service which he rendered me, however, was the intelligence that all that were preserved of Mozart's letters had been presented to the Mozarteum in Salzburg by the Frau Baroni-Cavalcabo, to whom they were bequeathed by Mozart's son Wolfgang. In November of the same year I repaired, therefore, to Salzburg. I here found the only remains of that complete correspondence which Nissen had edited, viz., the letters between 1777 and 1784, just as he had made use of them; fortunately they embraced the most important period of the biography. A cursory glance convinced me that Nissen had been not only inexact and arbitrary in his selections in matters of detail, but that he had altogether suppressed the most important events affecting the proper understanding of the period. Here, then was much to be done; but it was richly worth the trouble. Through the kind assistance of the secretary of the Mozarteum, Dr. v. Hilleprandt, and of the custodian, Jelinek, I was enabled to give my whole attention to the work. I collated the letters printed by Nissen, like an {LIFE OF MOZART.} (xvi) old schoolman, copying them entire or making voluminous extracts. One may boast of one's industry, and I can offer an unimpeachable witness of mine in old Theresa at the Golden Ox, who afterwards forgot my name, but remembered me as the professor who sat in his room for more than three weeks writing from morning to night. Fortunately, it was bad weather, or it would have been too hard a trial, even for a professor, to sit in his room all day at Salzburg. But the usually hateful task of transcription was on this occasion a real enjoyment. I could fancy myself in intercourse with the man himself as I lived his life again letter by letter.