for the last six or eight weeks, the Charleston mail has been twenty
days on the way. Had it not been for the intelligence by water of your
safe arrival, we should have concluded that you and Kate [1] were now
dancing with Amphitrite. How jealous her majesty would have been at
the presence of two such rivals.

The day after you left us, though the weather was mild, not even a
frost, the leaves of the trees about the house began to fall, and in
three days they were as bare as in midwinter, though you may recollect
that you left them in perfect verdure. This, I am sure, was sympathy
and regret. I shall respect these trees for their sensibility. It was
in harmony with my feelings; for, truly, all was dreary.

Yes, I enter into all your little vexations; but while I write, and
long before, they probably have passed away, and are succeeded by new
ones. Kate will help you to laugh them off. Kiss her for me. Not a
word, not a line from your husband since the 30th of October. We
ought, nay, we must, every day add something to our experience, and
usually at some cost.

I expect to leave this in about a week. Henceforth, therefore, address
me at Washington. On my arrival there we will begin to talk of our
spring and summer plans. You did well, very well to give up the
Columbia project. I really wish you had given the pair of horses in
your own name. In all such cases, that which is most grateful to you
will be so to me. Butter shall be sent. The card plate must be
altered.

_Maybe_ I may write you from Philadelphia; not again from this city,
unless I should receive from you something very pretty. Vanderlyn