I had no Letter from you Yesterday. As You intended to commence your Journey on the 24th. it is not probable this Letter will meet you, till it returns to this Place. But as it is possible you might not be able to set out so soon, you may receive it at Quincy. Brisler is at Quincy before this, I hope.

Charles is just gone, for N. York— I have communicated to him my Plan of sending my Coachman and Horses to Paulus Hook for You. I shall be obliged to send a Man or Boy with the Coachman and that Man or boy may ride my little Horse, which James rides to N. York.— I Suppose you will give James his Time, with his Cloaths &c. I however shall leave it to you— I fear he will Spoil our whole House, if he comes here. He has been so indulged like a Baby.

Let me know when you shall be at N. York.— You may write me indeed from New York.— The Letter will come to me in a day. But it will take two days for my Horses to go from hence to Paulus Hook.— If however you should by any Letter I may receive next Week, inform me on what day you shall arrive at N. York I could send my Horses early enough to be at Paulus Hook as soon as you will be in the City.

If you have Sold all at Vendue, that is proper to sell and let the Place at any reasonable Price, it will prove the most economical Measure for Us that could have been taken.

I am your ever Affectionate

I think through all the most trying conflicts of my life, I have been called to pass through them separated from the personal condolence and support of my bosom friend, I have been taught to look for support and aid from superior power than man: there is a state of mind, when affliction dries up the source of tears, and almost bids the swollen heart burst. I have left one of those distressing scenes, and come from the house of sorrow, and bitterness, and wo, to the house of silent mourning. The venerable remains of our parent, yet lie uninterred, and the distressing pangs of dissolution of an agonizing nature, are separating the soul from the body of my dear niece, whilst her senses are perfect, and alive to every attention, willing to go, praying to be released, yet requesting her friends and sisters not to leave her dying bed; but to remain by her until she breathes her last. O it is too much to bear! my heart is too big for my bosom; it rends my frame, and you will find me, when I reach you, more emaciated than with a fit of sickness. To-morrow I have 87 the last duties to pay to our venerable parent. I have taken upon me the care and charge of the funeral; and to-morrow she will, for the last time, enter our doors. I have requested Mr. Whitney to attend. It is not for me to say when I will leave here; the will of heaven has detained me; I must not complain.

By the mistake or misarrangement of the mails, you will not receive my letters as I wish, but the detention will only spare you pain. I am, my dearest friend.

Your very afflicted,