Dedham, September 11, 1794.
My DEAR FRIEND,--The expedient of a journey to Dedham, for the benefit of M.'s health, appears to me judicious. The charming air of September, so cooled and purified by showers as it has been of late, is a cure-all. We have no yellow fevers at Dedham. Laziness is my disease, and it has been too long neglected, I fear, to be cured. I have a string of affairs to talk about, with an exemplary diligence; not one, however, is in train of execution. To dig a cellar, prepare materials for building, and to adjust contracts, are jobs for which I am as ill qualified by inexperience as indolence. Yet they will overwhelm me if neglected, and my time is soon to be claimed for public duty. What immense sacrifices a patriot has to make! and what a bustle the candidates make for the chance!
Of late, the Chronicle seems to droop, and the party is said to be crestfallen on account of Mr. Jay's good reception. The chance of peace is even now such, that it would have been rashness to have lost it by war measures. Yet the chance, though promising, may turn against us. In that case, the event will, as usual, govern opinions; and the wise world will rail against the men of peace. Europe exhibits a scene of confusion and misery, which is contrasted more strongly by the state of America than that of any other part of the world. Yet though we are bystanders, and ought to be impartial, the passions of probably a majority have taken sides. Should the war last another year, I have the most serious apprehensions that the excessive partiality of our citizens for one of the fighting parties, will be played upon to dupe the nation into the whirlpool. How can the war last another season? how can it end? I can answer neither of these queries.
I wish to see you, to commune with you concerning politics and building--your canal, and my fruit trees. The latter are pro tempore my hobby-horse. My knife, for inoculating, is daily in my hands. I hope, at some future day,
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