XVI.
Venasso, Friday, 27th January 1794.
MY DEAR EM.
By having grumbled a little, I got a better post to-day; and have killed two boars and a sow, all enormous. I have missed but two shot since I came here; and, to be sure, when the post is good, it is noble shooting! The rocks, and mountains, as wild as the boars.
The news you sent me, of poor Lord Pembroke, gave me a little twist; but I have, for some time, perceived, that my friends, with whom I spent my younger days, have been dropping around me.
Lord Pembroke's neck was very short, and his father died of an apoplexy.
My study of antiquities, has kept me in constant thought of the perpetual fluctuation of every thing. The whole art is, really, to live all the days of our life; and not, with anxious care, disturb the sweetest hour that life affords—which is, the present! Admire the Creator, and all his works, to us incomprehensible: and do all the good you can upon earth; and take the chance of eternity, without dismay.
You must tell the Archbishop, that he will have the Leyden gazettes a week later; as I cannot read them time enough to send by this messenger.
The weather is delightful; and, I believe, we shall have done all our business, so as to return on Thursday.
Pray, find out if the Queen goes to Caserta. Here, all is a profound secret.
I must work hard, myself, at translating, when I return; for I believe the language-master totally incapable of it.
I dined, this morning, at nine o'clock; and, I think, it agreed better with me than tea. I found myself growing weak, for want of a good meal, not daring to eat much at supper.
Adieu, my sweet love! adieu. Divert yourself—I shall soon be at you again. Your's, ever,