son happy and pleased, and you know that I could never be more so than in Munich; being so near Salzburg, I could constantly visit you.  That Madlle.  Weber, or rather my dear WEBERIN, should now receive a salary, and justice be at last done to her merits, rejoices me to a degree natural in one who feels such deep interest in all that concerns her.  I still warmly recommend her to you; though I must now, alas! give up all hope of what I so much wished,—­her getting an engagement in Salzburg,—­for the Archbishop would never give her the salary she now has.  All we can now hope for is that she may sometimes come to Salzburg to sing in an opera.  I had a hurried letter from her father the day before they went to Munich, in which he also mentions this news.  These poor people were in the greatest distress about me, fearing that I must be dead, a whole month having elapsed without any letter from me, (owing to the last one being lost;) an idea that was confirmed by a report in Mannheim that my poor dear mother had died of a contagious disease.  So they have been all praying for my soul.  The poor girl went every day for this purpose into the Capuchin church.  Perhaps you may laugh at this?  I did not; on the contrary, I could not help being much touched by it.

To proceed.  I think I shall certainly go by Stuttgart to Augsburg, because I see by your letter that nothing, or at least not much, is to be made in Donaueschingen; but I will apprise you of all this before leaving Strassburg.  Dearest father, I do assure you that, were it not for the pleasure of soon embracing you, I would never come to Salzburg; for, with the exception of this commendable and delightful impulse, I am really committing the greatest folly in the world.  Rest assured that these are my own thoughts, and not borrowed from others.  When my resolution to leave Paris was known, certain facts were placed before me, and the sole weapons I had to contend against or to conquer these, were my true and tender love for my kind father, which could not be otherwise than laudable in their eyes, but with the remark that if my father had known my present circumstances and fair prospects, (and had not got different and false impressions by means of a kind friend,) he certainly would not have written to me in such a strain as to render me wholly incapable of offering the least resistance to his wish; and in my own mind I thought, that had I not been exposed to so much annoyance in the house where I lived, and the journey come on me like a sudden thunder-clap, leaving me no time to reflect coolly on the subject, I should have earnestly besought you to have patience for a time, and to let me remain a little longer in Paris.  I do assure you that I should have succeeded in gaining fame, honor, and wealth, and been thus enabled to defray your debts.  But now it is settled, and do not for a moment suppose that I regret it; but you alone, dearest father, you alone can sweeten the