University of Virginia Library

LETTER LII.

It has not been in my power to answer your letter of
the 2d, by return of post. I was worn out with fatigue, and
benumbed with cold, (having been the whole day surveying,)
when I received it.

I am sorry that your inmates are Virginians. You will
lose one of the great advantages of travel, by associating
only with people the "accent of whose minds, as well as
tongues," are like your own. Endeavour to associate with
young men from the other states from whom you may learn
something, and they also from you. Your money will not
be sufficient, and I shall send you a farther supply. Do not,
my dear boy, attempt too much at once: festina tente. If
you have not time for fencing, discharge your master—after
the quarter shall expire. Your object is not to become a gladiator,
but to learn the use of arms—and that a few lessons
will teach you; practice must do the rest. I would, also,
advise laying aside the clarionet pro tem. You have, I believe,
a turn for music, and it is an art that I would wish
you to excel in, if possible; but any thing short of excellence
(especially on the clarionet or violin) is execrable.—
There are squabbles and intrigues in the College of which
you ought to keep clear. Barton and Rush are at war. The

fact is, that Barton's (on Materia Medica) is one of the
most useful and instructive courses; Wistar's is indispensable—so
is Coxe's (if he be a chemist) and Physick's. The
rest are catch-pennies, and teach nothing that cannot be better
learned without lecturing. He who has access to the
best authors, and, particularly, to the latest periodical publications
on medicine, knows all that Rush, &c., can teach,
without being frozen to death, or stifled in a human bath,
in a lecture room: but then there would be no jobs for professors.
The "graduation" is of the same stamp.

I thank you, my dear Theodore, for your kind wishes
about my health. My hand is nearly well—to appearance;
but subject to severe rheumatic affection, particularly on exposure
to cold: neither have I any strength in it. Its powers
cease on a sudden, and things, which from habit I take
in my right hand, involuntarily drop from it.

This is probably the last letter you will receive from me
until I reach Washington. Tudor and Carter Coupland are
here—both well; and desire to be remembered to you. Carter
sends his love to his brother. Remember me to Tom.