not give another order until this matter is cleared
up. I fear some roguery.

We have had a fine day, and killed numberless boars; a hundred
and fifty, at least. I have killed four, out of six shot; and am
satisfied, as one is a real monster--the King, thirty--D'Onerato,
eighteen,--and so on, the favoured shooters.

Vincenzo is rather better, but not able to serve me.

My best compliments to Alexander Hamilton. You did well, to invite
Copley.

Adieu! my sweet Em. Ever your's, in deed and in truth,

W.H.

XII.

Persano, Sunday,
Jan. 15, 1792.

You did admirably, my Dear Em. in not inviting Lady A.H. to dine with
the Prince; and still better, in telling her, honestly, the reason. I
have always found, that going straight is the best method, though not
the way of the world.

You did, also, very well, in asking Madame Skamouski; and not taking
upon you to present her, without leave.

In short, consult your own good sense, and do not be in a hurry; and,
I am sure, you will always act right.

We have been at it again, this morning, and killed fifty boars; but
were home to dinner, at one o'clock: and this is the first dinner
I have had, since I left you; for I cannot eat meat breakfasts or
suppers, and have absolutely lived on bread and butter and tea.

As the Prince asked you, you did well to send for a song to
Douglass's; but, in general, you will do right to sing only at home.

The King is very kind to me, and shews every one that he really loves
me: and he commends my shooting; having missed but very few, and
killed the largest of the society. Only think of his not being
satisfied with killing more than thirty, yesterday! He said, if the
wind had favoured him, he should have killed sixty at least.

We must be civil to Mr. Hope, as recommended by Lord Auckland; and
also to Monsieur de Rochement, and Prince Bozatinsky, as recommended
by my friend Saussure. I inclose his letter, as you are mentioned in
it; also Knight's, as you desire. God knows, we have no secrets; nor,
I hope, ever shall.

We have much business between this and Saturday: and we are to shoot,
Saturday morning; so that we shall arrive late.

What say you to a feet washing that night? _O che Gusto_! when your
_prima ora_ is over, and all gone.

Adieu, my sweet Emma! Ever your's,

W.H.

XIII.

Persano, Monday Night,
[Jan. 16th, 1792.]

For your long and interesting letter, I can only write a line, to te