IV.
Persano, Saturday Night,
[January 7th, 1792.]
This has been one of the cruel days which attend the King's chasse.
All the posts—except the King's, Prince Ausberg, D'Onerato, and
Priori—bad.
We have been out all day, in cold rain, without seeing a boar. The King has killed twenty-five, and a wolf; and the other good posts, in proportion.
Why not rather leave us at home, than go out with the impossibility of sport? But we must take the good and bad, or give it up.
Lamberg is too delicate for this business; he has been in bed, with a slight fever, all to-day.
You will have another boar, to-day; which boar being a sow, I have made a bull! The sows are much better than the boars; so you may keep some to eat at home, and dispose of the rest to your favourite English.
I am glad all goes on so well. I never doubted your gaining every soul you approach.
I am far from being angry at your feeling the loss of me so much! Nay, I am flattered; but, believe me, the time will soon come, that we shall meet. Years pass seemingly in an instant; why, then, afraid of a few days?
Upon the whole, we are sociable here; but we go to bed at nine, and get up at five o'clock. I generally read an hour, to digest my supper; but, indeed, I live chiefly on bread and butter.
Salandra desires his compliments to you, as does Lamberg and Prince
Ausberg.
Adieu, my dear Emma! Ever your's, and your's alone,
W.H.
I send you back your two letters. Dutens was very satisfactory. I send the papers to Smith; who will give them to you first, if you have not read them.
The cold and fatigue makes my hand something like your's—which, by the bye, you neglect rather too much: but, as what you write is good sense, every body will forgive the scrawl.