I have indeed, my dear Sister, been guilty of a neglect, in omitting so long to write to you, which I cannot upon any principle justify to 147my own heart; I am sure it has been totally inconsistent with the ardent and sincere brotherly affection which that heart invariably acknowledges for you, and which no length of time, no absence, no course of circumstances, shall ever impair: I have very frequently wished to write to you. I have many times taken my pen for the purpose, but have as often dropped it from my hand, perswaded that I could write nothing which would afford any gratification to your affection, and equally perswaded that I could not by any expressions that language affords do justice to mine.— I have been unwilling, to fatigue your patience, by a dull uniformity of peevish complaints, and I have been unable to afford pleasure to your friendship and benevolence, by any accounts of my own happiness or success.

I have indeed since I wrote you last entered upon a scene of Life different from any of those to which I have hitherto been used; I am nominally independent, though in reality very far otherwise. I have a profession without employment, and the advantage of increased present expences, with the hope of being able at some future period, (probably somewhat distant) of supporting them myself. My Causes for complaint, have been enlarging, in proportion as I have been advancing upon the Stage of Life, and when I write, I trouble my friends with a mere narrative of fears and disappointments. In this circumstance if you cannot find an excuse, I hope you will perceive at least an alleviation of my fault in having for so long a time apparently neglected you.— But, my dear Sister, better days will come: we shall all in our time, have comforts and enjoyments to boast of, and as time and chance happen to all men, the time must come when some favourable chances will occur to us.

You enquire whence arises the unpopularity of the V.P. There is no such unpopularity here. He has undoubtedly many enemies; and as most of them are equally enemies to the principles of honor and Justice, they will not be scrupulous in using the means of injuring him or his connections. But he has likewise many friends, many admirers, and many supporters who are fully sensible of the obligations for which his country is indebted to him; and of the sacrifices he has made of his own interest to the public welfare.— Excepting the President there is not a man in the United States of so respectable popularity as that which he possesses here; what it may be in the distant States I know not.— But a connection with a man in an eminent Station, who acts upon principles of Patriotism and Integrity, is a real injury, rather than an advantage. For all his enemies will naturally use every endeavour to obstruct, and depress persons 148thus connected, as their success, would not only promote his personal happiness but would tend to strengthen and confirm his public influence. His friends will never be active in their favour, because they will have personal interests and private connections, which will thoroughly counteract all active benevolence from gratitude to him.— It is one of those evils to which a man must submit, when he undertakes the generous though ungrateful task, of devoting himself to the welfare of his fellow creatures. You and I, my dear Sister, shall always find, that our near affinity, to a man, who has sacrificed himself and his family to his country, will be a real impediment to our success in the world.— I should rather have been surprized had it not deprived Coll: S. of an office, to which his merits had given him an indisputable title.—1 And I believe we shall more than once have occasion to suffer by a real partiality exerted against us in order to avoid an appearance of partiality in our favour.— For my own part, I am gradually reconciling myself to my situation. Habit enables us to endure many evils, wh[ich] would appear intolerable if contemplated only at a distance— I am alone in the world; and so long as Fortune retains the aspect in which she now presents herself to me, I shall feel a soothing consolation in the idea, that my sufferings are confined to myself, and that the happiness of no other person is dependent upon mine. I am tolerably sure of a future support for myself, and I shall I am perswaded be able to regulate my expectations and even my wishes, so as to be thoroughly satisfied with that.

I have enquired for the collection of Poems, by Tomkins, but have not as yet been able to procure them. Mr: Dawes tells me he owns them, and that they are principally valuable for the preface at the head of the volume.2 I shall continue occasionally to make enquiry for them, and if I can any where purchase them, send them to you as [soon] as possible

I sincerely sympathise with you upon the removal of our Parents from New-York. Separation from all the dearest connections which give a relish to the pleasures of life, and which alleviate its evils, has been almost constantly my fate from my infancy. Habit however has not rendered me insensible to the domestic attachments, which impart almost every thing that is valuable in this world, and I readily conceive how painful your sensations must be at the departure of your friends. But Charles will remain with you. His disposition was always amiable and his manner always calculated to make him friends. He has lately imbibed a thirst for science which will 149infallibly render him as respectable as he is agreeable. His literary improvement since he left College is very conspicuous even to his friends here in the style of his Letters. Let us take to ourselves joy, that in the midst of all our family misfortunes we can yet glory in unimpeached honour and integrity. Let us hope that the talents which in none of us are despicable, and the virtues which it will always be in our power to retain may yet carry us credibly through the world, and if the eminence of the Parent is not to be attained let us at least resolutely determine, to show ourselves really superior to the humbler stations which Providence has assigned to us.

I beg you to present my affectionate regards to Coll: Smith, and remind your sons that they have an uncle at a distance, who loves them, though they remember him not. I enclose a Letter for Charles from one of his friends.3 I will soon write to him myself.

Your ever affectionate brother.

I suppose you wish to hear from me and from your little boy. He is very well, and very amusing, as usual; talks of William, and of the other papa; is as fond as ever of the “fosses,” and has a great edition to his amusement and pleasures from a flock of sheep, which are daily pastured by a shepherd and his dog upon the lawn in front of our house. Bush Hill, as it is called, though by the way there remains neither bush nor shrub upon it, and very few trees, except the pine grove behind it,—yet Bush Hill is a very beautiful place. But the grand and sublime I left at Richmond Hill. The cultivation in sight and prospect are superior, but the Schuylkill is not more like the Hudson, than I to Hercules. The house is better finished within; 150but, when you come to compare the conveniences for storeroom, kitchen, closets, &c., there is nothing like it in the whole house. As chance governs many actions of my life, when we arrived in the city, we proceeded to the house. By accident, the vessel with our furniture had arrived the day before, and Briesler was taking in the first load into a house all green-painted, the workmen there with their brushes in hand. This was cold comfort in a house, where I suppose no fire had been kindled for several years, except in a back kitchen; but, as I expected many things of this kind, I was not disappointed nor discomfited. As no wood nor fodder had been provided beforehand, we could only turn about, and go to the City Tavern for the night.1

The next morning was pleasant, and I ventured to come up and take possession; but what confusion! Boxes, barrels, chairs, tables, trunks, &c.; every thing to be arranged, and few hands to accomplish it, for Briesler was obliged to be at the vessel. The first object was to get fires; the next to get up beds; but the cold, damp rooms, the new paint, &c., proved almost too much for me. On Friday we arrived here, and late on Saturday evening we got our furniture in. On Sunday, Thomas was laid up with rheumatism; on Monday, I was obliged to give Louisa an emetic; on Tuesday, Mrs. Briesler was taken with her old pain in her stomach; and, to complete the whole, on Thursday, Polly was seized with a violent pleuritic fever. She has been twice bled, a blister upon her side, and has not been out of bed since, only as she is taken up to have her bed made. And every day, the stormy ones excepted, from eleven until three, the house is filled with ladies and gentlemen. As all this is no more nor worse than I expected, I bear it without repining, and feel thankful that I have weathered it out without a relapse, though some days I have not been able to sit up.

Mrs. Bingham has been twice to see me. I think she is more amiable and beautiful than ever. I have seen many very fine women since I have been here. Our Nancy Hamilton is the same unaffected, affable girl we formerly knew her.2 She made many kind inquiries after you; so did Mrs. Bingham. I have not yet begun to return visits, as the ladies expect to find me at home, and I have not been in a state of health to do it; nor am yet in a very eligible state to receive their visits. I, however, endeavoured to have one room decent to receive them, which, with my own chamber, is as much as I can boast of at present being in tolerable order. The difficulty of getting workmen, Mr. Hamilton pleads as an excuse for the house 151not being ready. Mrs. Lear was in to see me yesterday, and assures me that I am much better off than Mrs. Washington will be when she arrives, for that their house is not likely to be completed this year. And, when all is done, it will not be Broadway.3 If New York wanted any revenge for the removal, the citizens might be glutted if they would come here, where every article has become almost double in price, and where it is not possible for Congress, and the appendages, to be half so well accommodated for a long time. One would suppose that the people thought Mexico was before them, and that Congress were the possessors.

28 November. Sunday.

I wrote you thus far on Sunday last. Polly is on the recovery, but your brother Thomas is very ill, and almost helpless with the rheumatism. You recollect how he formerly had it. It seems as if sickness followed me wherever I go. The President got to town on Saturday; I have not yet seen him or Mrs. Washington. We have had two severe storms; the last was snow. Poor Mrs. Knox is in great tribulation about her furniture. The vessel sailed the day before the first storm, and had not been heard of on Friday last. I had a great misfortune happen to my best trunk of clothes. The vessel sprung a leak, and my trunk got wet a foot high, by which means I have several gowns spoiled; and the one you worked is the most damaged, and a black satin;—the blessed effects of tumbling about the world. Adieu. Write me soon. Love to all.