P. S. I have some fine peaches and apricots on the table before me; Mr. Bowne brings me a pocketful of fruit every time he comes home. I have ate as many as I want to, and have been thinking how much I would give to get them to you, but this early fruit won’t keep at all. I was at the theatre night before last—at Mount Vernon Garden; Hodgkinson is a fine fellow. We commence our Southern journey in about 10 days. Oh, I am sorry—Mr. Bowne just came to tell me the vessel has sailed—well, I must wait for another. Love to Mary Porter, and give her the ring I enclose of my hair; tell her I long to see her, and ask if she means to be _Mary Porter_ when I next come to the Eastward. Love to all friends. ELIZA S. BOWNE. Miss Octavia Southgate. Bethlehem, August 9, 1803. I intended writing before I left New York, but was so much engaged in preparing for our journey, I had no time. My great wish to see this famous Bethlehem[60] is at length gratified. You can scarcely imagine any thing more novel and delightful than every thing about here, so entirely different from any place in New England. Indeed, in travelling thro’ the State of Pennsylvania, the cultivation, buildings, and every thing are entirely different from ours,—highly cultivated country, looks like excellent farmers. Barns twice as large as the houses, all built of _stone_; no white painted houses, as in New England. We crossed the famous Delaware at Easton. It separates New Jersey and Pennsylvania. We saw some beautiful little towns in New Jersey likewise, but in Pennsylvania the villages look so many clusters of _jails_, and the public buildings like the Bastile, or, to come nearer home, like the New York State prison,—all of _stone_, so strong, heavy, and gloomy, I could not bear them; the inhabitants most all Dutch, and such _jargon_ as you hear in every entry or corner makes you fancy yourself in a foreign country. These Bethlehemites are all Germans, and retain many of the peculiarities of their country—such as their great fondness for music. It is delightful: there is scarcely a house in the place without a Piano-forte; the Post Master has an elegant grand Piano. The Barber plays on almost every kind of music. Sunday afternoon we went to the Young Men’s house to hear some sacred music. We went into a hall, which was hung round with Musical Instruments, and about 20 musicians of the Brethren were playing in concert,—an organ, 2 bass viols, 4 violins, two flutes, two French horns, two clarionets, bassoon, and an Instrument I never heard before, made up the Band; they all seemed animated and interested. It was delightful to see these men, who are accustomed to laborious employments, all kinds of mechanics, and so perfect in so refined an art as music.