o, I
suppose, is arrived: if so, receive him well.

Adieu, again! Your's, ever,

W.H.

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.

V.

Sunday Night, [Jan. 8th, 1792.]

We are come in late; and I have but a moment to tell you we are well,
and I have killed three large boars, a fox, and four woodcocks.

Nothing pleases me more, than to hear you do not neglect your singing.
It would be a pity, as you are near the point of perfection.

Adieu, my dearest Emma! Your's, with my whole soul,

W.H.

VI.

Persano, [Monday]
January 10th, [9th] 1792.

Your letter of yesterday, my Sweet Em. gave me great pleasure; as, I
see, all goes on perfectly right for you at Naples.