LETTER CLXVI.
Washington, Feb. 7, 1820.
Dear Theodore,
I wrote you, a few days ago, perhaps the last letter
that you will ever receive in my handwriting; for it has
pleased Him who gave me sight, to take it away almost entirely.
I must endeavour to be thankful for the little that
is left me of this blessing, as well as for other innumerable
and greater blessings. The state of the roads is such, that
I anticipate the mail by a day, for fear of miscarriage, in requesting
that my horses and Johnny may be ready to set
out at a moment's warning, I mean Roanoke, as well as the
carriage horses. About this time, I suppose, they are just
off a hard journey. Tell Johnny that I expect to find them
in high condition, and shall take no apologies, by condition
he knows that I do not understand fatness, but grooming. I
have no opinion of stalled beeves making good draft cattle.
Have the goodness to get Clay equipped for coming on with
Johnny; I shall probably send or carry him to Philadelphia.
You may imagine how anxious I am to hear from you, and
the topics about which I feel so much interest: take them in
the following order:—
Your own affair—Ca.—Cl.—Plantation affairs, generally—
Essex and Hetty—Nancy, &c.—Pheasants—Partridges—
Summer ducks—fruit trees—Sir Archy Colt and Phillis—
blood stock, generally—tobacco.—Look at this letter when
you write yours.
JOHN RANDOLPH, of Roanoke.
His
x
mark.
I wrote you some days ago that I had received Colonel
M's. letter: thank him for it in my name, and remember
me to him and all our neighbours; if, indeed, we may be
said to have any—I mean W., Cl., Co. S., &c.
