yet new to the situation, and unaware of the persistence with which "woeful Europe" tugs at the heartstrings of an exile. The "fair mansion-house" of Pennsbury had not yet been begun, but he built the demure little Letitia House for his winter quarters, promising himself, doubtless, many years of peaceful
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"The Demure Little Letitia House"
and congenial labour in the city which owed him her existence. His letter of 1683, to the Free Society of Traders, gives unstinted praise to the new province; its game, its fruit, its abundant crops, its oysters "six inches long," its pure and wholesome water, (alas! alas!) and its charming climate, which we might imagine had altered strangely since those halcyon days, were it not for another letter—a
