This letter is dated in March, 1782, and was written but a short time before he died. Though advanced to the age of eighty-four, his death was unexpected, as the vigour of his constitution, and his vivacity and unbroken powers, promised several years more of life; nor did his nervous indispositions threaten dissolution, for they neither interfered with his sleep nor appetite, nor the enjoyment he both conferred and received in his domestic circle. A fever, attended with weakness and loss of speech, and lethargy, carried him off after an illness of only twelve days. He died tranquilly, and without pain, on the 12th of April, 1782. He left the family of Martinetz his heirs to considerable wealth; his property consisting of about 130,000 florins, in addition to many valuables presented to him by sovereign princes. He was sincerely regretted at Vienna; and Martinetz struck a medal in his honour. Nor was he forgotten in his native country; and the various literary academies of Italy vied with each other in offering poetic testimonials of veneration to his worth and genius. [Footnote 47: "Ah, tu non sai Qual guerra di pensieri Agita l'alma mia. * * * * Trovo per tutto Qualche scoglio a temer. Scelgo, mi pento; Poi d' essermi pentito Mi ritorno a pentir. Mi stanco intanto Nel lungo dubitar, tal che dal male Il ben non distinguo: alfin mi veggio Stetto dal tempo, e mi risolvo al peggio." "Ah, thou knowest not the war of struggling thoughts That agitates my soul. I find in all Some peril still to dread. I choose; and then, My choice repent--and then again regret Having repented; while protracted doubt Wearies my mind, so that the ill from good No longer I distinguish; till at length The flight of time impels me to the worst."] [Footnote 48: We have made no remark on the nature of this kind-hearted and generous woman's attachment. In Italy it is customary to look on such as formed by friendship only, and to consider that they are rendered respectable by constancy. The Italians lavish the greatest praise on Marianna Bulgarelli for her perception of the poet's merits, her zeal in persuading him to, and assisting him in, his arduous career; and the disinterested affection which caused her at once to make a sacrifice of her own feelings, and to advise his journey to Vienna. Her errors are those of her country. Any one who has visited Italy must at once censure, and deeply deplore, the social system there carried on--a system which blights the affections, degrades the moral feeling, and causes almost universal unhappiness. But it is unjust to heap the censure of a system belonging to a whole country, and carried on for centuries, on the head of an individual, whose virtues, we may presume to say, redeemed an error, the very existence of which is, after all, uncertain.] [Footnote 49: Baretti.]