The mother's tears
were almost too much for me. I hope nothing new will occur to impede
my journey. I set off to-morrow morning.
I am not so sick as when I wrote you last, nor so well as when you
left me. I confess I have neglected the use of those medicines I found
relief from. The situation of my family has obliged me to neglect
myself, nor can I possibly use them at Frederick's. We shall be too
crowded. I will nevertheless take them with me. I live chiefly on ale.
I buy very good for one dollar per dozen. I have had twenty-one dozen
of your pipe of wine bottled. I think it very good.
I thank you for your remembrance per post of 30th June. It was
acceptable, though short. How is it possible you had nothing more to
write? I know the head may be exhausted, but I was in hopes the heart
never could. I am surprised at your not getting my letters. I fear
several have either gone to Albany or are lost. I shall, from this
day, keep the dates. I wrote you last Sunday--so did Ireson.
You can have no idea how comfortable the house seems since the small
tribe have left it. A few weeks' quiet would restore my head. It
really wants rest. You can't know how weak it is. I cannot guide a
single thought. Those very trifling cares were ever more toilsome to
me than important matters; they destroy the mind. But I am beginning
another sheet; I am sure you must be tired of this unconnected medley.
I will bid you adieu.
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