In this season I rise (not at four in the morning) but a little before eight; at nine I am called from my study to breakfast, which I always perform alone, in the English style; and, with the aid of Caplin, I perceive no difference between Lausanne and Bentinck Street.  Our mornings are usually passed in separate studies; we never approach each other’s door without a previous message, or thrice knocking; and my apartment is already sacred and formidable to strangers.  I dress at half-past one, and at two (an early hour, to which I am not perfectly reconciled) we sit down to dinner....  After dinner, and the departure of our company, one, two, or three friends, we read together some amusing book, or play at chess, or retire to our rooms, or make visits, or go to the coffee-house.  Between six and seven the assemblies begin, and I am oppressed only with their number and variety.  Whist, at shillings or half-crowns, is the game I generally play, and I play three rubbers with pleasure.  Between nine and ten we withdraw to our bread and cheese, and friendly converse, which sends us to bed at eleven; but these sober hours are too often interrupted by private or numerous suppers, which I have not the courage to resist, though I practise a laudable abstinence at the best furnished tables.  Such is the skeleton of my life....

TO LORD SHEFFIELD

A great work

Lausanne, 20 Jan. 1787.

...  As long as I do not inform you of my death, you have good grounds to believe me alive and well.  You have a general, and will soon have a more particular idea of my system and arrangement here.  One day glides away after another in tranquil uniformity.  Every object must have sides and moments less luminous than others; but, upon the whole, the life and the place which I have chosen are most happily adapted to my character and circumstances:  and I can now repeat, at the end of three years, what I soon and sincerely affirmed, that never in a single instant have I repented of my scheme of retirement to Lausanne....  And though I truly rejoice in my approaching visit to England, Mr. Pitt, were he your friend and mine, would not find it an easy task to prevent my return....

I am building a great book, which, besides the three stories already exposed to the public eye, will have three stories more before we reach the roof and battlements.  You too have built or altered a great Gothic castle with baronial battlements.  Did you finish it within the time you intended?  As that time drew near, did you not find a thousand nameless and unexpected works that must be performed; each of them calling for a portion of time and labour? and had you not despised, nobly despised, the minute diligence of finishing, fitting up, and furnishing the apartments, you would have discovered a new train of indispensable business.  Such, at least, has been my case.  A long while ago when I contemplated the distant prospect of my