Poor
_continental_ is still going down hill. _Fifty-eight_ was refused
yesterday; and I have no doubt it will be _seventy_ for _one_ before
ten days hence. Adieu. As long as you are Aaron Burr, I will be
ROBERT TROUP.
FROM MAJOR R. ALDEN.
I intended to have wrote you a letter in answer to your last, but
neither head or heart will enable me at present. Although I am
answerable for my conduct, yet I cannot govern the animal fluids. I am
so much of a _lunatic thermometer_, that both _moon_ and _atmosphere_
very much influence my _aerial_ constitution. My brain is subject to
such changes, and so much affected by _external_ objects, that I may
be properly compared to a _windmill_. You may make the similitudes as
you please. I have not a single sentiment in my head, or feeling in my
heart, that would pay for expressing. At any rate, my mill will not
grind. What is all this says my friend Aaron? The pleasure I enjoyed
yesterday in feasting in good company, and in a variety of other
agreeables, at the nuptial anniversary of our dear and happy friends,
Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus Burr, has deprived me of that common share of
sensibility which is generally distributed through the days of the
year, and rather destroyed the equilibrium. I set out for camp the
last of this week; may I expect letters from my friend? Be assured of
my warmest friendship, and make me happy by the like assurance, as it
will afford the sincerest pleasure to,
Yours, with affection,
R.
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