_ToMariaCosway_

　　_Paris，July1，1787_

　　Youconclude，Madam，frommylongsilencethatIamgonetotheotherworld。Nothingelsewouldhavepreventedmywritingtoyousolong。Ihavenotthoughtofyoutheless，butItookapeeponlyintoElysium。Ientereditatonedoor，&cameoutatanother，havingseen，asIpast，onlyTurin，Milan，&Genoa。IcalculatedthehoursitwouldhavetakentocarrymeontoRome，buttheywereexactlysomanymorethanIhadtospare。Wasnotthisprovoking?

　　InthirtyhoursfromMilanIcouldhavebeenattheespousalsoftheDogeandtheAdriatic，butIamborntoloseeverythingIlove。Whywereyounotwithme?Somanyenchantingsceneswhichonlywantedyourpenciltoconsecratethemtofame。WheneveryougotoItalyyoumustpassattheColdeTende。YoumaygoinyourchariotinfulltrotfromNicetoTurin，asiftherewerenomountain。Buthaveyourpallet&pencilready：foryouwillbesuretostopinthepassage，atthechateaudeSaorgio。Imaginetoyourself，madam，acastle&

　　villagehangingtoacloudinfront，ononehandamountaincloventhroughtoletpassagurglingstream；ontheotherariver，overwhichisthrownamagnificentbridge；thewholeformedintoabason，it’ssidesshaggedwithrocks，olivetrees，vines，herds，&c。I

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