EST EMMA,

I went down to your Opera box two minutes after you left it; and
should have seen you on the morning of your departure--but was
detained in the _arms_ of _Murphy_, as Lady Eden expressed it, and was
too late.

You say nothing of the adorable Queen; I hope, she has not forgot me:
but, as Shakespeare says, "Who doats, must doubt;" and I verily deem
her the very best edition of a woman I ever saw--I mean; of such as
are not in _folio_, and are to be _had_ in _sheets_.

I will come on Friday or Saturday; but our British colony are so
numerous, that my duties obstruct my pleasures.

Ever, and invariably, dearest, dear Emma, most affectionately, your

B.

You see, I am but the second letter of your alphabet, though you are
the first of _mine_.

X.

Milan, 24th November 1798.

I know not, Dearest Emma, whether friend Sir William has been able
to obtain my passport, or not; but this I know--that, if they have
refused it, they are damned fools for their pains: for, never was a
_Malta orange_ better worth squeezing or sucking; and if they leave me
to die, without a tombstone over me, to tell the contents--"_tant pis
pour eux_!"

In the mean time, I will frankly confess to you, that my health most
seriously and urgently requires the balmy air of dear Naples, and the
more balmy atmosphere of those I love, and who love me; and that I
shall forego my garret with more regret than most people of my silly
rank in society forego a palace or a drawing-room.

But I will augur better things from the justice of my neighbour; and
that they will not condemn, against all rules of probability, one of
their best friends, unheard: especially, one who, if he be heard, can
say so much.

My project, then, in case I receive the passport, is to travel on
horseback as far as _Spalato_ in Dalmatia; and, from thence, cross
over to Manfredonia--a passage of a few hours--and which, in the year
1772, I performed with my horses on board; and, afterwards, had a most
delightful jaunt through that unexplored region, Dalmatia; where the
very first object that strikes both the eye and the imagination, is
a modern city built within the precincts of an ancient palace--for
Spalato stands within the innermost walls of Diocletian's palace.
For that wise Sovereign quitted the sceptre for the pleasures of
an architect's rule; and, when he had completed his mansion in that
delightful climate, enjoyed that, and life, to a most advanc