say they are very pretty: he has some excellent ideas. To-morrow
we are to have a small musical party together, where I am to
play. (Nota bene, on that miserable piano! oh, dear! oh, dear!
oh, dear!) I beg you will excuse my horrid writing, but ink,
haste, sleep, and dreams are all against me. I am now and forever
amen, your dutiful son,

A. W. MOZART.



63.

Munich, Oct. 6, 1777.

Mamma cannot write; in the first place, she is not inclined, and,
secondly, she has a headache. So I must hold the pen for her and
keep faith with her. I am just going with the Professor to call
on Madlle. Keiserin. Yesterday we had in our house a clerical
wedding, or altum tempus ecclesiasticum. There was dancing, but I
only danced four minuets, and was in my own room again by eleven
o'clock, for, out of fifty young ladies, there was only one who
danced in time--Madlle. Kaser, a sister of Count Perusa's
secretary. The Professor thought fit to leave me in the lurch, so
I did not go to Madlle. Keiserin, because I don't know where she
lives. Last Saturday, the 4th, on the stately and solemn occasion
of the name-day of his Royal Highness the Archduke Albert, we had
a select music-party at home, which commenced at half-past three
o'clock and finished at eight. M. Dubreil, whom papa no doubt
remembers, was also present; he is a pupil of Tartini's. In the