New-York, June 28, 1802.

And do you, indeed, miss your Theo.? Do you really find happiness
indissolubly blended with her presence? Ah! my husband, how much more
amiable you are as the man than as the philosopher! How much better
your wife can love you! The latter character produces a distance
between us; it so resembles coldness, that it annihilates all that
free communication of the heart, that certainty of the most perfect
sympathy and concord of feeling, which affords so much real happiness.
Believe me, it is a very mistaken idea, that to discover sensibility
at parting with a friend increases their sorrow. No; it consoles them.
That apparent indifference, instead of lessening their pain at
separation, only adds to it the mortification of finding themselves
alone; wounds their feelings by the idea that, where they expected the
most sincere reciprocity, they meet with the most calm tranquillity;
and, above all, it is apt to make them involuntarily exclaim--If I am
thus regretted, how little shall I be thought of! How soon forgotten!
Never, then, my beloved, attempt to play the philosopher. If you see a
friend weeping, weep with them. Sympathy is the sovereign cure for all
wounds of the heart.

Your letter of the 16th, which I received yesterday, delighted me the
more as it was unexpected. I did not _hope_ you would have written so
soon; still less did I imagine a letter from Charleston would reach
this on the eleventh day after date. How anxious I am for to-morrow.
Perhaps I may hear from you again.

S. appears more pleased with New-York than any person I ever saw from
South Carolina. With the beauty of the country it is impossible not to