I have recently returned from a short excursion to Moscow; the city which rolled back the tide of victory upon Napoleon. St. Petersburg is a cosmopolite city; but at Moscow you see Russia. It is a most picturesque and beautiful city. Its numerous churches surmounted by cupolas of every form and of every color give it a romantic and an Asiatic appearance. Many of these are gilt, and when the rays of the sun are reflected from them, the eye is dazzled with the richness and splendor of the spectacle. From Moscow I made a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Sierge, a distance of forty miles. Going and returning I suppose we saw ten thousand pilgrims upon the way. They were chiefly of the fair sex, and nearly all on foot. This shrine is at the Monastery of the Trinity, a place famous in Russian history, having been at the same time a convent, a palace, and a fortification. Here the family of the czars have often taken refuge. In passing round on the top of the walls with the abbot (which is more than a mile in circumference), he told me in a tone of triumph and national antipathy that these walls had never been taken by the Poles; on taking leave he presented me with a consecrated picture of St. Sierge, and from him I submitted to the operation of being kissed, first on the right cheek, then on the left, and finally plump on the mouth. This is the general custom of the country; but it was my first experiment of the kind. The pious Catharine, although she seized the peasants and the broad acres of this monastery, made a pilgrimage on foot from Moscow to the shrine of St. Sierge. But enough of this bagatelle. On Saturday last, the 29th ultimo, we had news from New York via London up till the 1st, a wonderfully short passage. We then heard of the death of Randolph, and of the appointment of Mr. Duane as Secretary of the Treasury. I have no doubt the latter will make a good officer, and he shows great courage in undertaking the Treasury at the present moment. My best wishes attend him. I think it more than probable that my political life is drawing to a close, and I confess I look upon the prospect without regret. Office is not necessary for my happiness. I can enjoy myself with the blessing of God, under my own vine and my own fig tree. Whoever embarks on the stormy ocean of politics must calculate to make a shipwreck of contentment and tranquility. I have served the old hero faithfully and zealously, and he has done more for me than I could have expected. But I hope ere long to talk over my travels and my ups and downs along with Edwards and yourself and a few other friends in the good old county of Delaware. By the bye, I have a crow to pick with Edwards. I wrote to him and he has never answered my letter. I am obliged to write at full gallop. _Safe_ opportunities are so rare, and when they occur, so much of my time is taken up in writing despatches, that I have but little left for my private friends.