You are anxious, my Dear Mother, to hear from my own hand how I am. Octavia has told you all my complaints: my cough is extremely obstinate, I have occasionally a little fever, tho’ quite irregular and sometimes a week without any. I have a new Physician to attend me; he is a Frenchman of great celebrity, particularly in Pulmonary complaints, and has been wonderfully successful in the cure of coughs; he keeps me on a milk diet, but allows me to eat eggs and oysters. He does not give any opiates; Paregoric and Laudanum he entirely disapproves of; he gives no medicine but a decoction of Roots and Flowers;—the _Iceland Moss_ or _Lichen_ made in a tea he gives a great deal of, and for cough I take a white Pectoral lotion he calls it, made principally of White Almonds, Gum Arabic, Gum Tragacanth (or something like it), the Syrup of Muskmelon seeds. He thinks I am much better already. I have no pain at all, and have not had any. My cough seems to be all my disorder. He thinks he can cure that; indeed he speaks with perfect confidence, and says he has no doubt as soon as I get to warmer weather, my cough will soon leave me. Mr. Browne got here last night, and we shall probably sail by Sunday at farthest. Octavia will write particularly. You will hear from me, my Dear Mother, often,—at present my mind seems so occupied; leaving my children, preparing to go, and making arrangements to shut up my house. ’Tis quite a trial to leave my little ones; I leave them at their Grandmother’s. My little Mary[95] has a wet-nurse; she is a fine, lively child, and thrives fast. Adieu, my Dear Mother; I did not think I could have written half as much; love to all my friends. ELIZA S. BOWNE. Charleston, South Carolina, Jan. 1, 1809. Our most esteemed Friends: