And Haydn's eyes flashed and his cheeks glowed, and a heavenly smile
played on his lips while he was writing. But all of a sudden his pen
stopped, and a slight cloud settled on his brow. Some passage, may
be a modulation, had displeased him, in what he had just composed,
for he glanced over the last few lines and shook his head. He looked
down sadly and dropped the pen.

"Help me, O Lord God--help me!" he exclaimed, and hastily seized the
rosary which always lay on his desk, "Help me!" he muttered once
more, and, while hurriedly pacing the room, he slipped the beads of
the rosary through his fingers and whispered an Ave Maria.

His prayer seemed to have the desired effect, for the cloud
disappeared from his forehead, and his eyes beamed again with the
fervor of inspiration. He resumed his seat and wrote on with renewed
energy. A holy peace now settled on his serene features, and reigned
around him in the silent little cabinet.

But all at once this peaceful stillness was interrupted by a loud
noise resounding from below. Vociferous lamentations were heard, and
heavy footsteps ascended the staircase.

Haydn, however, did not hear any thing--his genius was soaring far
away in the realm of inspiration, and divine harmonies still
enchanted his ears.

But now the door of the small parlor was opened violently, and his
wife, with a face deadly pale and depicting the liveliest anxiety,
rushed into the room. Catharine and Conrad, the aged footman,