Yesterday I selected out of a Neighbor's Flock, having none in my own fit for Transportation, a Number of Tunis Sheep, to be sent to S. Carolina by Mr Vaughan, for several Friends there. I set apart the best Ram & Ewe for you. The Ram was desired for the Carolinians, & would have been readily taken. I could have obtained a younger Ram—but of less Blood. I have been obliged to allow 40$ for the Ram; as he is rising 4 Years old; & fit for immediate Bussiness. The Ewe is at the usual Price of 25$. If you think the Price high— think of Merinos—& that Livingston had the Conscience to recieve 3000$ for a Pair. The Ram I have chosen is 7/8ths & the Ewe 3/4 Blood—fine Sheep.

The Merino Wool is the best in the World, but in the Hands of common Farmers the Fleece is very light. Mr L. may, with his Care, get up a Flock to what he relates in his Essay—but I am certain that with the common Care Farmers bestow, the Tunis Sheep will in the End out last them. The Mutton is beyond Comparison preferable; & the Wool, tho not so fine, more abundant. A Friend sent me a Number of Queries. One was "What is the Value & Rate of Sale of Houses & Land in & near Philada"? I gave him Hudibras's Opinion

"The real Value of a Thing,"

"Is just as much as it will bring"— To shew why I could not answer this Query, I got into my old Vein of doggrelising; substituting Rhime for Reason—And, like one top heavy, running my Course, without minding my Feet.

     "The Rate of Sale for House & Land,"

     By no fix'd Principles is scan'd.

     Attempt to av'rage Land & House,

     You'l prove your Skill—not worth a L——se.

     Dan Spee, thro' Whim, will very far go,}

     When Breach of Interdiction & Embargo,}

     Has trebled, by ungodly Gains, his Cargo.}

     He swears, at Custom House, thro' thick & thin,

     That all was fair, both Out & In;

     At Custom House, where Oaths are Pipe-Stems,

     And broke, like faulty Fruit off ripe Stems.

     But he who's caught in Tricks of Trade,

     And all his Schemes—like Ghosts—are lay'd;

     When Duns are plenty— Friends are few—

     And Notes, at Bank or shav'd, are due,

     Brings House & Land to Hammer Sale;

     Preferring Half Price to a Jail.

     Then who can calculate—off Hand—

     "The Rate of Sale for House & Land"?

     The Farmers hold their Acres high;

     But Farmers—unlike Judges¹—die.

     Their Heirs divide—or go to Law—

     Their Land's ingulf'd in Disend's Maw.

     Or if 'tis sold, it runs off cheap,

     Perhaps to feed Merino Sheep.

     Merino Wool, is now the Rage—

     In this our speculating Age.

     The Specs—their Hoards are still encreasing—

     And only change their Modes of fleecing.

     A fev'rish Rage inflates Her Bubble—

     But, while 'tis swelling, Profits double.

     The Paroxism o'er— a Languor follows;

     The Dupe, no more the Potion swallows.

     Disgust ensues the fev'rish Rage,

     And damps Improvement, for an Age.

Thus you have a dogrelised Statistical Account, & two Sheep for $65—Dog cheap. David Caldwell perhaps may not get an Opportunity of sending them off 'till he hears from you. Do as you please. I presume he will send them, if he hears Nothing; or if you choose to forbid the Bans, they may remain in Statis quo. You may think my Account over charged, tho' I shall charge you Nothing. Yours very sincerely