He says you had not heard of my coming when he left Portland, so he could tell me nothing new. We shall probably leave here on Tuesday or Wednesday, stay at Albany a few days and go to Lebanon again, perhaps to Williamston Commencement. We are engaged to spend the day at Mr. Rensselaer’s, the former L Governor, and one at Mr. Rensselaer’s—his brother, who is Mayor of the City. I know not how long ’twill be before we return to Salem, but I really begin to think of home with a great deal of anxiety. Tell Octavia I never go into the Ball room to dance without wishing for her; how delighted should I be if Horatio and Octavia were here with me! How charming will it be when I get home again! Believe me, my Dear Mother, I shall love home more than ever. I long to sit me down by the instrument some evening after the business of the day is over, with you, my Father, and all round me, or to hear Octavia sing and play. This scene of dissipation may please for a while by its novelty, but it soon satiates—no regular employment, I have never been in the habit of spending my time in idleness; and they say here that the Southern ladies seem more at home here than the Northern ladies and do not appear to think industry necessary to happiness. I hope to find many letters at Albany. I have kept a regular journal which will assist my memory in relating my adventures, when I return home again. I wrote Horatio last week and told him to send the letter home for you to read. I look forward to returning with the greatest pleasure. I suppose you are fixed upon a house and will move by the time I return, let me know as I am anxious to hear about it. Give my best love to all my friends and tell Octavia I have more to say to her than I can gabble in a month. Oh I long to get home again. I find no time to write, if I lock myself in my chamber I have so many knocks at the door—Miss Southgate go and walk—go down to the spring—somebody wants you below,—so many interruptions, ’tis almost impossible. After I retire for the night I am so tired and sleepy and my chamber is so hot, I _cannot_ write; ’tis Sunday to-day (tho’ all days are alike here) and I have determined I would write home. I wonder how it was possible for Martha to write so much,—I hear of her from all the Southern people, they all speak in raptures. Give my love to Mrs. Coffin and kiss all the children—Mamy particularly, what would I give to hear her open my door and run in this moment. Mrs. Derby says I get low-spirited when I write home, the only way is to think as little of it as possible whilst I am so far off. I shall write again from Albany, where I hope to find letters. Ever your affectionate ELIZA. To the care of Robert Southgate, Scarborough, (District of Maine.) [Illustration: THE VAN RENSSELAER MANOR HOUSE ] Albany, August 8, 1802.