Why have I not as yet written anything about Misliweczeck? [See No. 43.] Because I was only too glad not to think of him; for when he is spoken of I invariably hear how highly he praises me, and what a kind and true friend he is of mine; but then follow pity and lamentation.  He was described to me, and deeply was I distressed.  How could I bear that Misliweczeck, my intimate friend, should be in the same town, nay, even in the same corner of the world with me, and neither see him nor speak to him?  Impossible! so I resolved to go to visit him.  On the previous day, I called on the manager of the Duke’s Hospital to ask if I might see my friend in the garden, which I thought best, though the doctors assured me there was no longer any risk of infection.  The manager agreed to my proposal, and said I should find him in the garden between eleven and twelve o’clock, and, if he was not there when I came, to send for him.  Next day I went with Herr von Hamm, secretary in the Crown Office, (of whom I shall speak presently,) and mamma to the Duke’s Hospital.  Mamma went into the Hospital church, and we into the garden.  Misliweczeck was not there, so we sent him a message.  I saw him coming across, and knew him at once from his manner of walking.  I must tell you that he had already sent me his remembrances by Herr Heller, a violoncello-player, and begged me to visit him before I left Munich.  When he came up to me, we shook hands cordially.  “You see,” said he, “how unfortunate I am.”  These words and his appearance, which papa is already aware of from description, so went to my heart that I could only say, with tears in my eyes, “I pity you from my heart, my dear friend.”  He saw how deeply I was affected, so rejoined quite cheerfully, “Now tell me what you are doing; when I heard that you were in Munich, I could scarcely believe it; how could Mozart be here and not long ago have come to see me?” “I hope you will forgive me, but I had such a number of visits to make, and I have so many kind friends here.”  “I feel quite sure that you have indeed many kind friends, but a truer friend than myself you cannot have.”  He asked me whether papa had told me anything of a letter he had received.  I said, “Yes, he did write to me,” (I was quite confused, and trembled so much in every limb that I could scarcely speak,) “but he gave me no details.”  He then told me that Signor Gaetano Santoro, the Neapolitan impresario, was obliged, owing to impegni and protezione, to give the composition of the opera for this Carnival to a certain Maestro Valentini; but he added, “Next year he has three at liberty, one of which is to be at my service.  But as I have already composed six times for Naples, I don’t in the least mind undertaking the less promising one, and making over to you the best libretto, viz. the one for the Carnival.  God knows whether I shall be able to travel by that time, but if not, I shall send back the scrittura.  The company for next year is good,