For some reasons I am very glad that I am here, but for others!... I am very comfortable in my room; there is a roof opposite, and the people walking below look like dwarfs. I am most happy, when I have played to my heartʼs content on Graffʼs magnificent instrument. Now I am going to sleep with your letters in my hand; then I shall dream only of you. The Mazurka was danced, yesterday, at Beyerʼs. Slawick fell down with his partner, an old Countess with a coarse face and a large nose, who daintily held her dress in the old-fashioned way, by the tips of her fingers, her head resting on the flap of his coat. But all respect to the couple, and to the lady in particular, who is sensible and entertaining and knows the _usage du monde_. Among the most popular of the numerous amusements of Vienna are the Garden Concerts, where Launer and Strauss play waltzes while the public sup. After every waltz the musicians receive a boisterous bravo. If an _ad libitum_ is played, introducing favourite operatic melodies, songs, and dances, the enthusiasm of the Viennese knows no bounds. I wanted to send you with this my last Waltz, but the post goes, and I have no time to write it out, so must wait till another opportunity. The Mazurkas, too, I must get copied first; but they are not for dancing. I do not like to say goodbye already; I would gladly write more. If you should see Fontana tell him that he shall soon have a letter from me. Matuszynski will have a long epistle either to-day or by the next post. Farewell, my dearests, Your FREDERIC. [Sidenote: “SECOND ONLY TO PAGANINI.”] TO JOHN MATUSZYNSKI. _Vienna, Sunday, Christmas Morning._ This time last year I was in the Bernhardine church, to-day I am sitting in my dressing gown, quite alone; I kiss my sweet ring and write.[85] DEAR HÄNSCHEN, I have just come from hearing the famous violinist, Slawick, who is second only to Paganini. He takes sixty-nine staccato notes at one stroke of the bow! It is almost incredible! When I heard him I wanted to rush home and sketch out some variations for piano and violin on an Adagio by Beethoven; but a glance at the post office, which I always pass (that I may ask for letters from home), diverted my desires. The tears which this heavenly theme brought to my eyes have moistened your letter. I long, unspeakably, for a word from you; you know why. How any news of my angel of peace always delights me! How gladly would I touch the strings which should awaken not only stormy feelings, but the songs whose half echoes still haunt the shores of the Danube—songs sung by the warriors of King John Sobieski. You advised me to choose a poet. But you know that I am an indecisive being, and only once in my life made a good choice.