Pittsburg, March 31st 1823.
I WRITE to you from a place, my dear Madam, which only fifty years ago even the colonists of America regarded as the end of the civilized world; in which white men and red men hunted each other by turns like wild beasts; a place where I am opposite to you on the other side of a branch of the Apalachian mountains, the highest in North America, as you are opposite to me on the other side of a branch of the Apennines, some of the highest in Europe. In short, Madam, we are pretty nearly foot to foot, if the world be really a ball. I do not like this. I had much rather be face to face; and am tempted to go over to the party of the reverend father inquisitor, who, in his zeal for burning, wanted to burn the antipodes;--perhaps for the same reason.
Formerly a man who had wandered hither