To Sarah Savage Thatcher

    New York City        30 August, 2 September 1788

    My dear Sally—

    There are certainly times and seasons in which wee feel scarce fit for any thing—a weariness of the mind, and lassitude of body incline us to rest & inaction; And tho I have as few of these spells, perhaps, as any body, I am now overtaken by one of them—It is about two oClock—I felt finely in the morning, & took a Walk to the Hall1—and returned between twelve & one—since which time I have been trying to read but all to no purpose—I cannot understand a word I read—Therefore I have laid aside my book, and am trying my pen—how I shall succeed in writing I must leave you to judge—I have not yet been here four weeks, & believe me, I begin to be very home-sick—I want to see the Children, hear them prattle, and their dear Mamma sing to them & me—I want to see the whole family—Silas [Lee], Tempe [Hedge], Ratchel[,] Charles &c &c—I am convinced, I shall make but an indifferent politician, if I must live from home—And it is necessary for somebody to do it, in order to take care of the public—

    I had a Letter from Mr. [Samuel Allyne] Otis the evening before last dated the 23 inst. in which he sais “he had done himself the pleasure of calling upon you, and tendering his services”—By this I suppose you were in Boston—I am just called to Dinner—

    Tuesday Afternoon. 2 September—This Letter you see was began last week, and my dinner broke it off—By not finishing it before, you must not conclude I have been unmindfull of you—For your Letters of the 15th. 16th. & 21st of August have all come to hand since I began this Letter—This evening I expect to hear from you & friend Silas & that you are, by this time, on your way home to our dear little habitation—I am again called to Dinner—

    After dinner—Why did you not write me that you had lost one of your fore teeth? Had you been a young flurt, & fearfull whether you should ever get an husband I should not wonder of your keeping such an event a secret—But dont you recollect how often I have declared that I thought the loss of a fore too[t]h was a beauty rather than a blemish—that it gave the appearance of good nature? Pray, tell me, since I have heard of the matter, what tooth it is—Is it the old one that has been going many years—or another? I am sorry you did not meet with that reception at —— which was due you—But I think it was perfectly civil & polite for you to call, and I am glad you did—By looking into the Almanack I find that the Court sets at Waldoboro. on next Tuesday—consequently I suppose that our friend Silas will be anxious to get to Biddeford early this Week—indeed I should not wonder if you were at home this very moment—This Evening’s mail will bring me Letters that will inform me pretty exactly where about you are—This will reach you about the eighth of this month—Mr. Lee will then be at Court, & he will return about the time the next mail gets to Biddeford, by which I shall write him, & begin our correspondence—

    Did you, on your arrival to our little seat of Contentment, and after the ravishing delights of squeasing & kissing the dear little children for yourself as much as you wished for, think of kissing them again, about an hundred times, for their dear papa, who is at New-York? If you did not—pray do it now—And if you did—do it again, as I cannot kiss them for myself—

    Tell Tempy & Betsy King I love them—I hope Betsy will be a good Girl, & tarry with you as much as she can—This I know she will do unless she is going to be married—this, as brother [Daniel] Davis sais, always spoils good Girls—adieu, my Love—

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    ALS, TFP