_Maybe_ I may write you from Philadelphia; not again from this city, unless I should receive from you something very pretty. Vanderlyn projects to visit Charleston, but I am sure he will not. He is run down with applications for portraits, all of which, without discrimination, he refuses. He is greatly occupied in finishing his Niagara views, which, --indeed, will do him honour. They will be four in number, and he thinks of having them engraved in France. You hear the roaring of the cataract when you look at them. Kiss the dear little boy. Adieu, ma belle.
Your last letter, and the only one received within a month, is dated the 14th inst., and written, I suppose, at your plantation. It gives me the satisfaction of knowing that you and your boy are well, and nothing more. How long you are to remain there, where next to go, and every thing leading to a knowledge of your occupations and intentions, is omitted. One half of the letter is a complaint of my silence, and the other half (nearly) an apology for yours, You know (or am I now to tell you) that you and your concerns are the highest, the dearest interest I have in this world; one in comparison with which all others are insignificant.
Recollect, my dear Theodosia, that in five weeks Congress will adjourn (3d March); that I shall then go in some direction, but in what is yet unsettled; that my movements will depend essentially on yours. Tell me, therefore, where you are to pass the summer, when you are to leave Charleston, and all the details. If these matters should not yet be settled, let it be forthwith done. If you are not to go northward, it is not probable that I shall see you in some time, for I have thoughts of going on a tour through the western country, which, if executed, will consume the whole summer. I offer you and your family Richmond Hill for the season, and will meet you there in May or June, or when you please. Perhaps would come to make the voyage with you, by land or water. Sullivan's Island will not, I hope, be thought of. How is it that I have not a line from _Mari_, in answer to several letters which I wrote him from New-York?
I entreat you to answer this letter distinctly, and in all its parts; for there will not be time for another letter and reply before I shall be off. My love to Kate. You do not say whether she grows handsome or ugly, nor is it any matter which while on the plantation.