It will be readily conceived, that a person of Mr. Rittenhouse’s delicate constitution, and regularity in his mode of living when at home, must have experienced much inconvenience and felt many privations of comfort, while climbing rugged mountains, traversing vast uncultivated forests, and sleeping in a tent, for successive months, as he was necessarily obliged to do, when employed on occasions of this kind. For, although the government afforded to the gentlemen engaged in these arduous services, very liberal accommodations, there were, nevertheless, numerous conveniencies which the nature of the duty to be performed rendered unattainable. Yet it is a fact, that Mr. Rittenhouse always returned from these excursions with a better stock of health, than he sat out with; notwithstanding the hardships he sometimes endured, and the many unpleasant circumstances in regard to weather, diet, bedding, &c. which he was compelled to encounter. The two following letters, written by him to his wife, while he was engaged in the service of establishing the boundary-line last mentioned, will enable the reader to form a pretty good judgment of the kind of life he then passed. They will at the same time serve to shew, in some degree, the bent of his mind and the disposition of his heart. The first of those letters, dated at “Wheeling Creek,” June 30th 1785, is in these words. “My dearest H, “I have not heard one word from Philadelphia, since I left you. About a month ago I wrote to you from Union Town, and I promise myself a letter from you by the first messenger from that place, who is now daily expected. To-morrow Mr. Armstrong sets off for Hanna’s Town, where he expects to meet brother Isaac Jacobs, so that I write in confidence of my letter reaching you. “If I were to view only the dark side of my situation, I should complain that I am here secluded from the society of those I love, deprived of books and every other of my most favourite amusements; confined to homely fare by day, and a hard bed at night; and obliged, by our business, to take rather too much exercise. But these inconveniences are in some measure counterbalanced by several advantages: I am not condemned to hear that eternal din for money, which it pains me to think you are every day perplexed with;[222] politics have no existence here; constant and regular exercise causes me to sleep much better at nights, than I did at home;—we have a woman to cook for us, so that our bread is good, and every thing else tolerable. Colonel Porter is attentive, and cousin Benjamin[223] has recommended himself as an agreeable companion, to all of us; and I could almost call Mr. Ellicott a congenial soul.