married a shrew, and, between matrimonial discords and ill health
brought on by years of excess, he became the victim of a nervous fever,
which resulted in lunacy and confinement in a mad-house.

Spohr returned to his native town in July, 1803, and his first meeting
with his family was a curious one. "I arrived," he says, "at two o'clock
in the morning. I landed at the Petri gate, crossed the Ocker in a boat,
and hastened to my grandmother's garden, but found that the house
and garden doors were locked. As my knocking didn't arouse any one, I
climbed over the garden wall and laid myself down in a summer-house at
the end of the garden. Wearied by the long journey, I soon fell asleep,
and, notwithstanding my hard couch, would probably have slept for a
long while had not my aunts in their morning walk discovered me. Much
alarmed, they ran and told my grandmother that a man was asleep in the
summer-house. Returning together, the three approached nearer, and,
recognizing me, I was awakened amid joyous expressions, embraces, and
kisses. At first, I did not recollect where I was, but soon recognized
my dear relations, and rejoiced at being once again in the home and
scenes of my childhood."

Spohr was most graciously received by the duke, who was satisfied
with the proofs of industry and ambition shown by his _protege_. The
celebrated Rode, Viotti's most brilliant pupil, was at that time in
Brunswick, and Spohr, who conceived the most enthusiastic admiration
of his style, set himself assiduously to the study and imitation of
the effects peculiar to Rode. On Rode's departure, Spohr appeared in a
concert arranged for him, in which he played a new concerto dedicated to
his ducal patron, and created an enthusiasm hardly less than that made
by Rode himself. He was warmly congratulated by the duke and the court,
and appointed first court-violinist, with a salary more than sufficient