I wish, also, that you would never be in town before or after the middle of the day. I have somewhere heard that persons were less apt to catch infectious disorders at that time than any other, and I believe it. Have you never remarked how highly scented the air is before sunrise in a flower-garden, so much so as to render the smell of any flower totally imperceptible if you put it to your nose? That is, I suppose, because, when the sun acts with all his force, the air becomes so rarefied, that the quantity of perfume you inhale at a breath can have no effect; while, on the contrary, during the night, the vapours become so condensed that you perceive them in every blast. May not the same be the case with noxious vapours? It is said that the fever in Charleston does not arise from that, but the filth of the streets are quite enough to make one think otherwise. Perhaps I am wrong both in my reason and opinion. If so, you are able to correct; only do as you think best, and be prudent. It is all I ask. I imagine the subject worth a reflection, and you cannot err. Montesquieu says he writes to make people think; and why may not Theodosia?
We have this evening been to visit Mrs. Caines (late Mrs. Verplanck) at her country place. The marriage was thus published--Married, G.C., Esq., counsellor of law, from the West Indies, _and now having a work in the press_, to Mrs., &c. That work has been the cause of some curiosity and not a little amusement.
I dined the other day with Mrs. Montgomery. The chancellor has sent her out a list of statues, which are to be so exactly imitated in plaster as to leave the difference of materials only. The statues are, the Apollo Belvidere, Venus de Medicis, Laocoon and his children, Antinous, and some others. The patriotic citizens of New-York are now subscribing to the importation of a set here for the good of the public. If they are really perfect imitations, they will be a great acquisition to this city. But, _selon moi_, there is the difficulty. Our son looks charmingly. Adieu.
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.