Yesterday I dined with Captain Richards, the gentleman who made me the
present of the brass pistols. We had cherries, strawberries, and green
peas in plenty. The fruits are three weeks earlier here than with you.
Indeed, they are a fortnight earlier on the east than on the west side
of Delaware River. We have had green peas this week past, but they were
brought over the river, from New Jersey, to this market. There are none
grown in the city or on the west side of the river yet. The reason is,
the soil of New Jersey is a warm sand; that of Pennsylvania a cold clay.
So much for peas and berries.
Now for something of more importance. In all the correspondence I have
maintained, during a course of twenty years, at least, that I have been
a writer of letters, I never kept a single copy. This negligence and
inaccuracy has been a great misfortune to me on many occasions. I have
now purchased a folio book, in the first page of which, excepting one
blank leaf, I am writing this letter, and intend to write all my
letters to you in it, from this time forward. This will be an advantage
to me in several respects. In the first place, I shall write more
deliberately. In the second place, I shall be able, at all times, to
review what I have written. Third, I shall know how often I write.
Fourth, I shall discover by this means whether any of my letters to you
miscarry. If it were possible for me to find a conveyance, I would send
you such another blank book as a present, that you might begin the
practice at the same time, for I really think that your letters are much
better worth preserving than mine. Your daughter and sons will very soon
write so good hands that they will copy the letters for you from your
book, which will improve them, at the same time that it relieves you.