You have a fine imagination and have pictured a chain of delightful events which probably will exist there alone, yet I should have no objection to your being a true prophet. We all can plan delightful schemes, but they rarely ever become realities; but no matter, we enjoy them in imagination. I expect from you a particular account of yourself when you return. You will have many amusing anecdotes to tell me, if you will take the trouble. I have just read your last and picture something in it that at first I did not pay much attention to. You say all you have said on the subject of education was merely the thought of the moment, “written not to be received but laughed at.” What shall I think?—That you think me too contemptible to know your real sentiments? I should be very unwilling to admit such a suspicion, yet what can you mean?—with the greatest apparent seriousness, you speak of the _sincerity_ with which you conduct this correspondence. Was that likewise meant to be laughed at? I had flattered myself, when I commenced this correspondence, to reap both instruction and amusement from an undisguised communication of sentiments. I had likewise hoped you would not think it too great a condescension to speak to me with that openness you would to a male friend. However, I shall begin to think it is contrary to the nature of things that a gentleman should speak his real sentiments to a lady, yet in our correspondence I wished and expected to step aside from the world, speak to each other in the plain language of sincerity. I have much to say on this subject, but unfortunately my ideas never begin to flow until I have filled up my paper. Do not imagine from what I have said that the most disagreeable truths will offend me. I promise not to feel hurt at any thing you write, if ’tis your real sentiment. But, Cousin, don’t trifle with me. Do not make me think so contemptibly of myself as you will by not allowing me your confidence; promise to speak as you think and I will never scold you again. ELIZA. Cousin, I wish you would write a list of your mother’s children, names and ages, those that have died together with the others. We are going to send them out to Uncle Rufus, as he requested it some time since. By Martha it will be a fine opportunity,—as soon as convenient send them over. Mr. Moses Porter, Biddeford. Scarborough, August 6, 1801. Hon. Rufus King.