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it is snowing and very raw so I had to give it up. Uncle W. is in pursuit of a puppy dog still - he had to go to town this morning solely on that account as it is Washington's Birthday and a holiday.—  As usual, he is throwing himself away on Fräulein E. and is not having the reward of hearing her play. She never plays here in the evening since Mrs. L's death, because she will not leave Mary L.- and when she comes to practise in the morning he is always away - or she waits until he goes before she begins. She has considerable awe of him in every way - but he has no idea of that at all. By the way - Aunt Sarah thinks Fräulein is an improvisatrice—  She never is thus - but has a superhuman memory. You can not mention any composition, but she will at once hum some air from it - or go to the piano and play a few bars.  She is practicing my old Ballade a great deal - to play at the Mendelssohn next week. Her hands are very short which makes her no end of trouble. She says she should never have to practise any thing if her fingers were longer. But she does play like a  witch.
We have a letter from Cousin Julia - She is really better. Would come here if it were not for her Aunt Mary. —— I went to see Miss Harriet Wurts yesterday - you may have been told that she has been very ill this winter. She asked much about you. Mother has begun an Afghan for Emily [[St--?]]. I wonder how many that makes!
Aff'ly Aunt Eliza