Richmond Oct: 18th 1815
Thanks, my dear cousin, for your most acceptable letter. It came this morning, like a reprieve to a condemned criminal, who had made up his mind not to hope for any other reprieve than the halter. If I had known the many [torn page]od reasons you had for not writing, particularly the last, is that you didn’t choose it. I should have troubled my brain no more about the causes of your silence. I think it a little uncharitable in you to have undeceived me so cruelly. I made no doubt you were sick, and I had worked myself up into as fine a strain of sympathy as heart could desire. It would have done your heart good to take [its] restorative draughts and agreeable decoctions which I, a skillful physician in my dreams, had prepared for you. Not [torn page] ache nor a pain, nor a twitch nor a stitch, nor any [torn] affection bodily nor mental, but I had its specifick [torn page] short, no Sangrado was ever so great in his own conceit
as I was in reality. I mean in imagination, and I [torn page] paid your exhausted system with a rapidity truly [torn page] when cruel to tell, your letter comes as health [torn page] as ever went on its travels. Then what becomes of [torn page]? Where are my blooming laurels, my civic [torn page] saving a citizen to the commonwealth!” Gone [torn page] of all the Capulets,” and I am a mock do [torn page] me tell you that if you are well, you are [torn page] if so great a physician supposes you to [torn page] his irregular and selfwilled health, is what a [torn page] while insult to the faculty, and nothing but [torn page] nature could excuse it by any means [torn page] shall pay one for my medical [torn page] I would I had a talent [torn page] sever to make his [torn page] something agreed


