Passed the evening with Madame Bonaparte; all very charming.
Came off this morning; fine sleighing. A hundred times he applauded
the wisdom of his plan. Within _six_ miles of the Susquehannah the
snow appeared thin; within _four_, the ground was bare. It had not
thawed, but none had fallen. He dragged on to this place, and here he
is in the midst of the most forlorn dilemma. This is palpable fraud in
_monsieur le tems_, to hold out such lures merely to draw one into
jeopardy. Having neither wife nor daughter near me on whom to vent my
spleen, renders the case more deplorable. It is downright desperation.
After pacing the floor with a very quick step for about five minutes,
I determined to call for a good dinner and a bottle of wine, and,
after the discussion whereof, I hope to be more able to meet the
exigence. You shall presently know.
New-York, February 8, 1804.
Just arrived--all well. The dinner and wine mentioned t'other side
operated so happily, that, before the repast was concluded, I ordered
my horses to the door, drove over the Susquehannah on the ice, and
came that night to the head of Elk. Next day to Chester, having seen
friend Dickenson _en passant_ (the daughters not visible, on account
of the loss of their mother, who died _last summer_), and breakfasted
in Philadelphia on the morning of the 1st of February. The ebullition
of the 30th January was intended to have been finished at Havre de
Grace and sent to the postoffice.
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