I arrived here safely on Sunday the 13th, God be praised!  I travelled in the most agreeable way, and had likewise the inexpressible pleasure to find a letter from you here.  The reason that I did not forthwith answer it was, because I wished to give you sure and precise information as to my departure, for which I had not fixed any time; but I have at length resolved, as the prelate goes to Munich on the 26th or 27th, to be again his companion.  I must tell you, however, that he does not go by Augsburg.  I lose nothing by this; but if you have anything to arrange or transact where my presence is wanted, I can at any time, if you wish it, (being so near,) make a little expedition from Munich.  My journey from Mannheim to this place would have been most agreeable to a man, leaving a city with a light heart.  The prelate and his Chancellor, an honest, upright, and amiable man, drove together in one carriage, and Herr Kellermeister, Father Daniel, Brother Anton, the Secretary, and I, preceded them always half an hour, or an hour.  But for me, to whom nothing could be more painful than leaving Mannheim, this journey was only partly agreeable, and would not have been at all so, but rather very tiresome, if I had not from my early youth been so much accustomed to leave people, countries, and cities, and with no very sanguine hope of soon or ever again seeing the kind friends I left.  I cannot deny, but at once admit, that not only I myself, but all my intimate friends, particularly the Cannabichs, were in the most pitiable distress during the last few days after my departure was finally settled.  We felt as if it were not possible for us to part.  I set off at half-past eight o’clock in the morning, and Madame Cannabich did not leave her room; she neither would nor could take leave of me.  I did not wish to distress her, so left the house without seeing her.  My very dear father, I can safely say that she is one of my best and truest friends, for I only call those friends who are so in every situation, who, day and night, think how they can best serve the interests of their friend, applying to all influential persons, and toiling to secure his happiness.  Now I do assure you such is the faithful portrait of Madame Cannabich.  There may indeed be an alloy of self-interest in this, for where does anything take place—­indeed, how can anything be done in this world—­without some alloy of selfishness?  What I like best in Madame Cannabich is, that she never attempts to deny this.  I will tell you when we meet in what way she told me so, for when we are alone, which, I regret to say, is very seldom, we become quite confidential.  Of all the intimate friends who frequent her house, I alone possess her entire confidence; for I alone know all her domestic and family troubles, concerns, secrets, and circumstances.  We were not nearly so well acquainted the first time I was here, (we have agreed on this point,) nor did we mutually under stand each other so well; but living in the same house affords