It is a great while since any Letters have passed between us— perhaps some of them have miscarried. The Season reminds me that I have survived the last year, and that I have left with it a great number who enjoyed more Health and Strength. Many friendly wishes have as usual been reciprocated on this occasion, but it seems to be questionable, whether an average proportion of them will be realized.— public adversity you know is at variance with individual Happiness; and it has not yet become very probable, that this will be a happy Year to our Country. I should rejoice to find myself mistaken, but I cannot be persuaded that general Prosperity will be restored, while our Nation continues to be misled by the Delusions which caused, and which prolong our Calamities.— We have not only declared war unwisely, but have also unwisely (tho’ not unwittingly) excited Disgust and Resentment. How far angry Passions will retard the Return of Peace may be conjectured, rather than calculated. We are yet to learn whether the Result of the Negociations at Vienna, will impede or promote those at Ghent—1 while the former are pending, I suspect that Britain will not be anxious to obviate Delays. To me personally these things cannot long be very interesting, but I feel for those whom I shall leave behind me.— You are in the Way of knowing more about our national affairs than I am; and I sincerely wish that your Views of them may be more consoling than mine are.—

My Health continues to wear away, but I seldom suffer severe pain. Conversation Books and Recollections still enable me, with the Blessing of Providence, to amuse Confinement; and to glide on placidly towards that Ocean, to which the Stream of Time is bearing us all— Tell me how you do? With constant Esteem and Regard I am Dr. Sir yours