University of Virginia Library

LETTER LXXXI.

Your scanty letter of one straggling page, serves to convince
me that you have not entirely forgotten me. But why,
my son, do you say nothing of your pursuits, your companions,
or of the few persons whom you see, that are known to me,
by character, at least? Dr. Logan, for instance, or Mr. Walsh.
I know by fatal experience, my child, the fascinations of a
town life—how they estrange the mind from its old habits and
attachments; but I will not permit myself to believe that you
have yielded to their influence. In reminding me of Bloomsbury
and Fidget,[1] you recall to my recollection some unpleasant,
at least mournful recollections. I had intended to accompany
Mr. Parish to Baltimore. But, late on the evening
previously to his departure, a circumstance occurred that detained
me here one day longer. I meant to have written to
you by Mr. P. in order to introduce you to his acquaintance.
He is a gentleman of great worth and intelligence. I hope
he will use my old servants well.

My Virginian friends, except Mr. Leigh and Dr. Brockenbrough,
have scarcely written me a line this winter. By my

old neighbours, and my new ones too, I have been entirely neglected.

You say nothing of Mrs. Clay, or her family. I propose
doing myself the pleasure of seeing them, whenever the state
of things here will allow me to leave Washington, or, rather,
Congress. Present me, very respectfully, to her and her family;
also, to Captain Ashmead, and tell him that no decision
has yet been made on the claim which he transmitted me.

Good night, my son. I feel very low this evening. May
God bless and protect you.