THEODOSIA TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, June 24, 1802.
We arrived yesterday morning, exactly the eighth day since I left you.
Our passage was pleasant, inasmuch as we had no storms, and the most
obliging, attentive captain. I never met with more unremitted
politeness. He was constantly endeavouring to tempt my appetite by all
the delicacies in his own stores. To the child he proved an excellent
nurse when I was fatigued and the rest sick. We are now in my father's
town-house. Mrs. Allen had gone up the North River before my arrival;
thus I have seen neither her nor her sons. John is to return and be
married in a few days.
I have just returned from a ride in the country and a visit to
Richmond Hill. Never did I behold this island so beautiful. The
variety of vivid greens; the finely-cultivated fields and gaudy
gardens; the neat, cool air of the cit's boxes, peeping through
straight rows of tall poplars, and the elegance of some gentlemen's
seats, commanding a view of the majestic Hudson, and the high, dark
shores of New-Jersey, altogether form a scene so lively, so touching,
and to me now so new, that I was in constant rapture. How much did I
wish for you to join with me in admiring it. With how much regret did
I recollect some rides we took together last summer. Ah, my husband,
why are we separated? I had rather have been ill on Sullivan's Island
with you, than well separated from you. Even my amusements serve to
increase my unhappiness; for if any thing affords me pleasure, the
thought that, were you here, you also would feel pleasure, and thus
redouble mine, at once puts an end to enjoyment. You do not know how
constantly my whole mind is employed in thinking of you. Do you, my
husband, think as frequently of your Theo., and wish for her? Do you
really feel a vacuum in your pleasures? As for your wife, she has bid
adieu to pleasure till next October. When, when will that month come?
It appears to me a century off. I can scarcely yet realize to myself
that we are to be so long separated. Do not imagine, however, that I
mean to beg you to join me this summer. No, my husband, I know your
reasons, and approve them. Your wife feels a consolation in talking of
her sorrows to you; but she would think herself unworthy of you could
she not find fortitude enough to bear them! God knows how delighted I
shall be when once again in your arms; but how much would my happiness
be diminished by recollecting that your advancement and interest
suffered. When we meet, let there be nothing to alloy a happiness so
pure, so unbounded. Our little boy grows charmingly; he is much
admired here. The colour of his eyes is not yet determined. You shall
know when it is.
As our papers were mixed, I left my writing-desk open; pray lock the
drawers and desk both, and keep the key yourself.
Have you any rice on hand yet? It sells here for five dollars cash. If
you have any, had you not better send it? Papa intends writing to you
on the subject.
I began a letter to you this morning in time for the mail, but was
prevented by innumerable visits, which commenced before I was dressed
for breakfast. I am most impatiently waiting for a letter from you. I
hope you wrote soon after my departure. I am counting every minute to
next Wednesday, when I hope to receive one, though I have many fears
it is too early. With how much anxiety do I expect a letter. Maybe,
one of these days, I may tell you of a piece of weakness of mine on
that subject; maybe, for I do not know whether it is quite right for a
wife to display all her foibles in that way to her husband. We have
not determined when or where we shall move in the country. It shall
certainly not be long ere we leave the city.
Anna Pierpont is well. She and husband go on merrily. They love each
other very much, and that is half the battle. She begged me not to
omit giving a thousand loves to you. My love to the Hugers. Tell them
I have seen Nancy. She looks better than they ever saw her. She has
got a colour, and is so much more beautiful that I scarcely recognised
her. Adieu, mon bien aimi.
THEODOSIA.
THEODOSIA TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, June 26, 1802.
When, when will the month of October come? It appears to recede
instead of approaching; and time, which extinguishes all other
sorrows, serves but to increase mine; every moment I feel that I have
lost so much of your society which can never be regained. Ah, my
husband, what can be pleasure to your Theo., unassisted by the charms
of your presence and participation? Nothing. It is an idea which has
no place in my mind unconnected with you.
I send you M'Kenzie; there is no London edition in town more elegantly
bound. Before my departure you complained grievously of the bad cigars
sold in Charleston. In the hope that this city affords better, I send
you a box containing a thousand; the seller took some trouble to
choose the best for me, and I have added some Vanilla and Tonka beans
to them. May the offering please my great Apollo! If you should do so
rash a thing as to visit the city during the summer, pray smoke all
the time you remain there; it creates an atmosphere round you, and
prevents impure air from reaching you.
I wish, also, that you would never be in town before or after the
middle of the day. I have somewhere heard that persons were less apt
to catch infectious disorders at that time than any other, and I
believe it. Have you never remarked how highly scented the air is
before sunrise in a flower-garden, so much so as to render the smell
of any flower totally imperceptible if you put it to your nose? That
is, I suppose, because, when the sun acts with all his force, the air
becomes so rarefied, that the quantity of perfume you inhale at a
breath can have no effect; while, on the contrary, during the night,
the vapours become so condensed that you perceive them in every blast.
May not the same be the case with noxious vapours? It is said that the
fever in Charleston does not arise from that, but the filth of the
streets are quite enough to make one think otherwise. Perhaps I am
wrong both in my reason and opinion. If so, you are able to correct;
only do as you think best, and be prudent. It is all I ask. I imagine
the subject worth a reflection, and you cannot err. Montesquieu says
he writes to make people think; and why may not Theodosia?
We have this evening been to visit Mrs. Caines (late Mrs. Verplanck)
at her country place. The marriage was thus published--Married, G.C.,
Esq., counsellor of law, from the West Indies, _and now having a work
in the press_, to Mrs., &c. That work has been the cause of some
curiosity and not a little amusement.
I dined the other day with Mrs. Montgomery. The chancellor has sent
her out a list of statues, which are to be so exactly imitated in
plaster as to leave the difference of materials only. The statues are,
the Apollo Belvidere, Venus de Medicis, Laocoon and his children,
Antinous, and some others. The patriotic citizens of New-York are now
subscribing to the importation of a set here for the good of the
public. If they are really perfect imitations, they will be a great
acquisition to this city. But, _selon moi_, there is the difficulty.
Our son looks charmingly. Adieu.
THEODOSIA.
THEODOSIA TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, June 28, 1802.
And do you, indeed, miss your Theo.? Do you really find happiness
indissolubly blended with her presence? Ah! my husband, how much more
amiable you are as the man than as the philosopher! How much better
your wife can love you! The latter character produces a distance
between us; it so resembles coldness, that it annihilates all that
free communication of the heart, that certainty of the most perfect
sympathy and concord of feeling, which affords so much real happiness.
Believe me, it is a very mistaken idea, that to discover sensibility
at parting with a friend increases their sorrow. No; it consoles them.
That apparent indifference, instead of lessening their pain at
separation, only adds to it the mortification of finding themselves
alone; wounds their feelings by the idea that, where they expected the
most sincere reciprocity, they meet with the most calm tranquillity;
and, above all, it is apt to make them involuntarily exclaim--If I am
thus regretted, how little shall I be thought of! How soon forgotten!
Never, then, my beloved, attempt to play the philosopher. If you see a
friend weeping, weep with them. Sympathy is the sovereign cure for all
wounds of the heart.
Your letter of the 16th, which I received yesterday, delighted me the
more as it was unexpected. I did not _hope_ you would have written so
soon; still less did I imagine a letter from Charleston would reach
this on the eleventh day after date. How anxious I am for to-morrow.
Perhaps I may hear from you again.
S. appears more pleased with New-York than any person I ever saw from
South Carolina. With the beauty of the country it is impossible not to
be delighted, whether that delight is confessed or not; and every
woman cannot fail to prefer the style of society, whatever she may
say. If she denies it, she is set down in my mind as insincere and
weakly prejudiced.
Pray write your journal this summer; you have little else to do. I
should be charmed to find it finished on my return. Adieu.
THEODOSIA.
TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, July 3, 1802.
Your letter of the 19th of June, covering two for Theodosia, was
received this morning. She, with Lady Nisbett and your boy, sailed
yesterday for Red Hook (120 miles north) on a visit to Mrs. A., who
had solicited this attention in terms and under circumstances which
admitted of no refusal. The boy has grown surprisingly. The mother has
recovered her appetite and spirits. I shall go up to take care of them
in ten or fifteen days.
I desired your father to bring or send a barrel of rough rice (rice
unpounded). The young Scotchman of whom I spoke to him has already
invented a machine which I think will clean ten times as much as your
pounding machine with the same power; that is, ten times as fast. Send
the rice that we may try.
As to the publications of Cheetham and Wood, it is not worth while to
write any thing by way of comment or explanation. It will, in due
time, be known what they are, and what is Dewitt Clinton, their
colleague and instigator. These things will do no harm to me
personally. What effect they may have on the cause is a problem.
I forgot to pay Placide for two or three times bathing. Give him a
guinea for me. Yours, affectionately,
A. BURR.
TO NATALIE.
New-York, July 5, 1802.
Your letter of the 22d of February, announcing your intended marriage,
is this minute received. Nothing could be more grateful to me than
your proposed connexion with Mr. Sumter. I know little of him
personally, but his reputation and standing in society fully justify
your choice, and I pray you to assure him that I shall most cordially
take him to my bosom as a son. With his father I have been long
acquainted, and always greatly respected him. We were fellow-soldiers
during our revolutionary war, in which he acted a most distinguished
part, though we were not then known to each other. We served together
some years in Congress, and laboured in the same party. These
circumstances never fail to generate attachments, and I am truly happy
in being more closely allied to him.
I perceive, and with pleasure, that I shall pass much of my time in
South Carolina, and shall divide it between you and Theodosia; but the
mountains are my favourite residence. Which is my favourite daughter I
have not yet been able to decide. We must not, however, abandon
New-York. I will have you both here, if possible, every year, and at
Richmond Hill you shall renew the recollection of the happy hours of
your childhood.
I have been long impatient, my dear Natalie, to write you on this
subject, but I waited for advice from yourself. I was mortified to
learn from common report _only_ an event so nearly interesting, and
which I had supposed you would have communicated to me the first. Your
letter, however, has been long in America, and has travelled nearly
two thousand miles in pursuit of me, having come in this morning from
Charleston.
I arrived here on the 23d with Theodosia, her boy--a most lovely boy,
and her sister, Lady Nisbett, who salutes you as a sister, and longs
to embrace you. We had a most charming passage of seven days.
This is a great holyday. We are celebrating, with show and much noise,
the 4th of July. This may appear to you a little ridiculous when you
look at the date of this letter; but, _madame_, please to look at your
almanac, and you will see that yesterday was Sunday. I should not have
attempted to write to you amid so much bustle; but the good Mr.
Arcambal came in just as I received your letter, and informed me that
there was an immediate and safe opportunity to France, and I was
impatient to express to you and your husband my participation in your
joys, and hearty approbation of your union. God bless you, my dear
child.
A. BURR.
P.S. I have not received a line from your mamma in some years. I am
not at all surprised at her repugnance to your marriage with a
democrat, the son of a rebel. She must hate, above all things,
democrats and rebels. But tell her, as doubtless you have told her a
thousand times, that she is wrong; and that we are not like your
French democrats. Encore, adieu.
A. BURR.
THEODOSIA TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, September 3, 1802.
What a pity minds could not be made sensible of each other's approach!
Why were we not so formed, that when your thoughts, your soul were
with your Theo., hers could be enabled, by the finest sensation of
sympathy, to meet it. How superior to writing would that be! A letter
is a month old before it is received; by that time other thoughts and
subjects engage the writer. The sentiments expressed in it seem no
longer warm from the heart. I have been all this evening divining your
occupation. Sometimes I imagine you writing or reading, and then the
hope that you are thinking of me arises. Pray what have you been
doing? If you can possibly recollect, let me know. After all, it is
more than probable that you have been smoking with Huger, entirely
absorbed in your society and segar.
How does your election advance? I am anxious to know something of it;
not from patriotism, however. It little concerns me which party
succeeds. Where you are, there is my country, and in you are centred
all my wishes.
Were you a Brutus, I should be a Roman. But were you a Caesar, I
should only wish glory to Rome that glory might be yours. As long as
you love me, I am nothing on earth but your wife and your friend:
contented and proud to be that.
Mr. M'Pherson is much better. He sits up--I mean out of bed, a great
part of the day. Mr.----- spent about three hours with him yesterday.
What a Chesterfieldian that is; he has not had the civility to call on
me, although you were so attentive to him. He has grown sentimental.
He caught a moscheto the other day, and kept it under a tumbler to
meditate on, because it reminded him of Carolina, and consequently of
Miss -----. What man under heaven ever before discovered an analogy
between a moscheto and his mistress? I am very happy you have chosen
chess for your amusement. It keeps you constantly in mind how poor
kings fare without their queens. Our little one has been very amiable
to-day. Adieu.
THEODOSIA.
TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, July 19, 1802.
On Saturday (17th) Mr. and Mrs. Alston, Lady Nisbett, and Charlotte
took passage for Red Hook. The wind has been so favourable that they
undoubtedly arrived yesterday before dinner. Charlotte had three or
four fits of ague and fever, but had escaped two days before she
sailed, and was again in health.
You will herewith receive the second book. The malice and the motives
are in this so obvious, that it will tend to discredit the whole. The
charges which are of any moment will be shown to be mere fabrications.
But there seems at present to be no medium of communication. The
printers, called republican in this city (Denniston and Cheetham), are
devoted to the Clintons, one of them (Denniston) being nephew of the
governor, and, of course, cousin to Dewitt. Wood, after absconding for
some time, returned to this city, was put in jail, where he lay some
days and until taken out by _Coleman_. You will shortly receive an
explanation of this controversy, but not from me. Very affectionately
yours,
A. BURR.
TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, August 2, 1802.
Your letter of the 18th is received. Mr. Williams had before shown me
the pamphlet, and had informed me that it had produced all the effect
that the writer could have wished, which is the best evidence of the
merit of the work. It is evidently a hasty performance, and
incorrectly printed, yet it displays ability as a writer, and
sentiments honourable to him as a man.
Wood's book has surprised us. We all expected a new series of abuse
against A.B. It should be entitled "The Confessions of John Wood, one
of the Conspirators lately associated with James Cheetham and Dewitt
Clinton against the vice-president." It shows pretty clearly the
motives and views of this clan.
The enclosed paper will give you the particulars of the affair of
Swartwout and Clinton. You will perceive that the latter indirectly
acknowledges that he is an agent in the calumnies against me.
I am about to take possession of Richmond Hill for the reception of
Theodosia and her boy, and shall go for them in about ten days. We
propose to pass part of September in Orange county.
The letter herewith enclosed came to me under a _blank_ cover; through
inattention, I broke the seal without looking at the superscription.
The first sentence betrayed my error, and I have scolded her a good
deal for her blank cover. Affectionately yours,
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
New-York, August 8, 1802.
With extreme reluctance, _madame_, I am constrained to resign to Dr.
Brown the honour of escorting you hither. The circumstances which have
led to this measure are briefly noted in a letter which I have this
day written you by the mail.
By Tuesday the 9th inst. I shall be settled at Richmond Hill, ready to
receive you and your incumbrances. Tell Mr. and Mrs. Alston, &c., that
I hope there to have the pleasure of accommodating them more to their
satisfaction than was in my power in the little mansion in Broadway.
The moment you shall receive this, send a line for me to the
postoffice, saying how you are, when you will move, &c. Leave with the
postmaster a written direction to forward to New-York all letters for
Mrs. Joseph Alston. I recommend to you to go round by Stockbridge to
see Binney. She is there at the house of Mr. Bidwell. You will also
there see your old great-uncle Edwards. But this is left to your
discretion. If you go through Pittsfield, you should call and see H.
Van Schaack, for whom Dr. Brown has a letter of credence. Make your
journey perfectly at your ease; _id est_, with dignified leisure.
Write me at every post-town, for I shall have a deal of impatience and
anxiety about you and your little nonentity.
All your friends here are well except George's dog and one of his
South Carolina birds. We are all in the bustle of moving. Heighho! for
Richmond Hill. What a pity you were not here, you do so love a bustle;
and then you, and the brat, and the maid, and thirty trunks would add
so charmingly to the confusion. Adieu.
A. BURR.
TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, September 8, 1802.
The debility and loss of appetite which your wife has experienced
alarmed me; yet I was totally ignorant of the cause. I was first
informed of it by Dr. Bard, who came accidentally to this city about a
fortnight ago. He, with Hosack and Brown, all of whom I consulted,
joined with me in opinion that she ought immediately to wean her child
or provide a wet nurse. This she peremptorily refused, and the bare
proposition occasioned so many tears and so much distress that I
abandoned it. Within the last three days, however, she has such a loss
of appetite and prostration of strength, that she is satisfied of the
necessity of the measure for the sake of the child, if not for
herself; and I have this day sent off a man to the country to find a
suitable nurse. The complaint continued from the period of her
_confinement_ during the whole time that she remained in Charleston.
It is most unfortunate that she left the Springs. While she was there,
either by means of the air or the water, or perhaps both, she had got
quite rid of the complaint, and there is no doubt but that, had she
remained there a fortnight longer, the cure would have been radical.
The ride to Hudson, only thirty miles, brought on a relapse; and, with
slight variations, the affliction was increased and her strength
diminished. Bard advised the Springs, and was quite angry that she
left them.
There is nothing in this disorder which immediately threatens life;
nor is it, at present, attended with pain; but if it should become
fixed upon her, of which there is danger unless speedily cured, it
will unfit her for every duty and every enjoyment in life. The
medicines, which under the direction of Bard she used at Lebanon, have
hitherto proved ineffectual since her return. I have written fully to
Eustis, and expect his answer within two or three days.
The present state of her health and strength will not, I think, admit
of an attempt to take her to either of the Springs, or I should not
hesitate to go off immediately with her. I have, however, strong and
well-grounded hopes that, when she shall have a nurse, and resume the
use of proper remedies, a cure will be effected.
I have thought that you ought to be informed of these facts, as well
to explain the varied accounts which you may have received of her
health, as to anticipate the vague or exaggerated relations which you
may receive through other channels.
Most affectionately yours,
A. BURR.
THEODOSIA TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, September 30, 1802.
Another mail has arrived, but to your Theo. it has brought only
unhappiness. It is now a week since I received your last letter. You
are ill. You have been imprudent, and all my fears are fulfilled.
Without any one near you to feel for you, to attend to you, to watch
every change and share every pain. Your wife only could do that. It is
her whose soul clings to yours, and vibrates but in harmony with it;
whose happiness, whose every emotion, more than entirely dependant on
yours, are exchanged for them. It is she only who forgets herself in
you, and who, in gratifying your wishes or alleviating your pain,
serves the interest nearest her heart. I know you have friends with
you; but, when you lose your vivacity, and your society is robbed of
its usual charms, they will find your chamber dull, and leave it for
some more amusing place. They cannot, like your little Theo., hang
over you in your sleep, and, with a beating heart, listen to every
groan and tremble at every noise. Your son, too, were we with you,
would charm away your cares. His smiles could not fail to sooth any
pain. They possess a magic which you cannot conceive till you see him.
Would we were with you, my beloved. I am miserable about you. Adieu.
Heaven bless my husband, and I am happy.
THEODOSIA.
THEODOSIA TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, October 30, 1802.
I have just received yours of the 21st. You already know the result of
my confinement in bed. It certainly relieved me for some time, which
proves how easily that cure would have succeeded at first. I have now
abandoned all hope of recovery. I do not say it in a moment of
depression, but with all my reason about me. I am endeavouring to
resign myself with cheerfulness; and you also, my husband, must summon
up your fortitude to bear with a sick wife the rest of her life. At
present, my general health is very good; indeed, my appearance so
perfectly announces it, that physicians smile at the idea of my being
an invalid. The great misfortune of this complaint is, that one may
vegetate forty years in a sort of middle state between life and death,
without the enjoyment of one or the rest of the other.
You will now see your boy in a few days, and you will really be very
much pleased with him. He is a sweet little rascal. If Heaven grant
him but to live, I shall never repent what he has cost me. Adieu.
THEODOSIA.
TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, October 15, 1802.
In my letter of yesterday I said nothing of your son. He is well, and
growing as you could wish. If I can see without prejudice, there never
was a finer boy.
Of yourself I have a good deal to say; more than I can find time to
write, and some things which cannot be written. Except the little
practical knowledge which you may have gained by mingling with your
committee-men, &c., your summer and autumn have, I perceive, been
lost--lost, I mean, as to literary acquirements. From your companions,
I presume, little is to be gained save the pastime of a social hour.
Yet time goes on, and you have much to do.
To the execution of any project, however, health is a sine qua non.
Whether you can ever enjoy it in Charleston or on Sullivan's Island
has become a problem in my mind. I was quite shocked with your wan
appearance when I first met you last spring. How different from that
which you took hence the fall preceding. With every advantage
attainable in your climate, you have scarcely been free from fever
during the season. This cannot fail to debilitate both mind and body.
If these hazards are to be annually encountered with similar effects,
and worse may be apprehended, it is a price far beyond the value of
any benefits which Charleston can offer. The _mountains_, a more
_Northern latitude_, or the _grave_, must be your refuge. Pray think
of these things. If I should not go to South Carolina this fall, nor
you come hither, let us meet in Washington next winter. After the
rising of your legislature, you may find time for that journey. But I
should prefer to see you here immediately after your election, if
there be time for your return before the session of the legislature.
Your health must require this change. _Here_ you may freeze out all
your "miasmata" and surplus bile in ten days, and go to Columbia with
nerves well strung and blood well purified.
My solicitude for your frequent appearance in courts is _no way_
diminished. The applause which I heard bestowed upon you sunk into my
heart. I could distinguish that which you merited from the fulsome
eulogy which was uttered through politeness. Your talent for writing
is enviable, and, with cultivation, will be unrivalled (nothing
without cultivation, remember). No one wishes so ardently as I do, not
even you, that these advantages should be improved. But these
considerations are unimportant compared with those which regard your
health.
If you should leave Charleston, give special orders about your
letters, for I may write what I should wish no one but you to see.
Affectionately adieu.
A. BURR.
TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
New-York, November 5, 1802.
The cold weather of the last ten days has had a happy effect on
Theodosia. She is so far restored that I can with confidence assure
you she will return in health. The boy, too, grows fat and rosy with
the frost. They have taken passage in the brig Enterprise, Captain
Tombs, the same with whom we came last June. She will have the control
of the cabin, and will be perfectly well accommodated. I regret she
will sail so soon (the 12th), as well because I cannot attend her as
that I could have wished her health and that of the boy to have been
still more confirmed. Yet I cannot any longer resist her impatience.
You must not delay your journey to Columbia in expectation of her
arrival. It is important that you be on the ground the first day, and
it is to be desired that you could be there two or three days before
the commencement of the session. If you should be gone, she projects
to follow you, of which I advise you, that you may leave your
directions. When you shall see her and son, you will not regret this
five months' separation. I rejoice that you are to meet Major Pinckney
on the floor of your assembly. "_The Citizen_" (Cheetham and
Denniston's), in publishing a list of members chosen in Charleston and
its vicinity, omitted your name; but took care to add, by way of
extract from a pretended letter, that the Alstons were of no
consideration or influence in South Carolina. There is no bound to the
malice of these people. The conspiracy was formed last winter at
Washington. A little reflection will indicate to you the description
of men, the motives, and the object of this combination.
Apologize for me to Ch. Marshall that I do not fulfil my engagement to
accompany him from Charleston to Washington. I hope you will bring him
with you.
Would Charles Lee accept the place of secretary of the Senate? It is
worth twenty-three hundred dollars per annum, and not laborious. The
secretary, you know, is chosen by the Senate. Otis, the present
incumbent, will probably decline. If you should think that Lee would
desire it, and the thing should appear to you proper, it should be
suggested to your senators. Of the legislative subjects mentioned in
one of your letters, I hope to find time to say a word on Sunday (7th
inst.). God bless you.
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
New-York, December 4, 1802.
So you arrived on the 24th, after a passage of ten days; you and the
Charleston packet on the same day. All this I learned last night; not
from you. Vanderlyn and I drank a bottle of Champagne on the occasion.
Though this relieves me from the great anxiety under which I laboured,
still there are many details of your passage, your arrival, &c., on
which nothing but your letter can satisfy me. For some unknown reason,
the mail is now eighteen days on the road.
Vanderlyn has finished your picture in the most beautiful style
imaginable. When it was done, he exclaimed with enthusiasm, "There is
the best work I have ever done in America."
Your letter must be addressed to Washington. The dear little boy, I
hope, made a good sailor. Adieu.
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
New-York, December 16, 1802.
Your letter of the 26th November came yesterday, that of the 25th the
day preceding. You see, therefore, that twenty-one days had elapsed
from the time of your arrival to the receipt of your first letter.
This is not by way of reproach, for it is an unpleasant truth that,
for the last six or eight weeks, the Charleston mail has been twenty
days on the way. Had it not been for the intelligence by water of your
safe arrival, we should have concluded that you and Kate [1] were now
dancing with Amphitrite. How jealous her majesty would have been at
the presence of two such rivals.
The day after you left us, though the weather was mild, not even a
frost, the leaves of the trees about the house began to fall, and in
three days they were as bare as in midwinter, though you may recollect
that you left them in perfect verdure. This, I am sure, was sympathy
and regret. I shall respect these trees for their sensibility. It was
in harmony with my feelings; for, truly, all was dreary.
Yes, I enter into all your little vexations; but while I write, and
long before, they probably have passed away, and are succeeded by new
ones. Kate will help you to laugh them off. Kiss her for me. Not a
word, not a line from your husband since the 30th of October. We
ought, nay, we must, every day add something to our experience, and
usually at some cost.
I expect to leave this in about a week. Henceforth, therefore, address
me at Washington. On my arrival there we will begin to talk of our
spring and summer plans. You did well, very well to give up the
Columbia project. I really wish you had given the pair of horses in
your own name. In all such cases, that which is most grateful to you
will be so to me. Butter shall be sent. The card plate must be
altered.
_Maybe_ I may write you from Philadelphia; not again from this city,
unless I should receive from you something very pretty. Vanderlyn
projects to visit Charleston, but I am sure he will not. He is run
down with applications for portraits, all of which, without
discrimination, he refuses. He is greatly occupied in finishing his
Niagara views, which, --indeed, will do him honour. They will be four
in number, and he thinks of having them engraved in France. You hear
the roaring of the cataract when you look at them. Kiss the dear
little boy. Adieu, ma belle.
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
Washington, January 26, 1803.
Your last letter, and the only one received within a month, is dated
the 14th inst., and written, I suppose, at your plantation. It gives
me the satisfaction of knowing that you and your boy are well, and
nothing more. How long you are to remain there, where next to go, and
every thing leading to a knowledge of your occupations and intentions,
is omitted. One half of the letter is a complaint of my silence, and
the other half (nearly) an apology for yours, You know (or am I now to
tell you) that you and your concerns are the highest, the dearest
interest I have in this world; one in comparison with which all others
are insignificant.
Recollect, my dear Theodosia, that in five weeks Congress will adjourn
(3d March); that I shall then go in some direction, but in what is yet
unsettled; that my movements will depend essentially on yours. Tell
me, therefore, where you are to pass the summer, when you are to leave
Charleston, and all the details. If these matters should not yet be
settled, let it be forthwith done. If you are not to go northward, it
is not probable that I shall see you in some time, for I have thoughts
of going on a tour through the western country, which, if executed,
will consume the whole summer. I offer you and your family Richmond
Hill for the season, and will meet you there in May or June, or when
you please. Perhaps would come to make the voyage with you, by land or
water. Sullivan's Island will not, I hope, be thought of. How is it
that I have not a line from _Mari_, in answer to several letters which
I wrote him from New-York?
I entreat you to answer this letter distinctly, and in all its parts;
for there will not be time for another letter and reply before I shall
be off. My love to Kate. You do not say whether she grows handsome or
ugly, nor is it any matter which while on the plantation.
I can't conceive how you all stow yourselves in that little wreck of a
mansion. Please to write over, in some way, the erased part of your
letter. You must be very destitute of wit and contrivance. No essence
in Washington. I still prefer musk, but not to be had. One would think
you had suffered some injury from perfumes. Your message and
commission to Mrs. Madison will be delivered. My mode of life,
establishment, &c., are the same as last year, except that I bought a
chariot, having some hope of seeing you and your husband here. As I
shall not write again until I hear where you are, I may as well say
now all that occurs to me.
On my way through Philadelphia I rode out to Lansdown, to see our
beautiful little K. and Mrs. L. They appear to love you with all their
hearts. K. especially talked of you with an interest which could not
be affected. The ladies find fault with her dress, her person, her
manners; in short, with every thing appertaining to her. Mrs. L. has
also her full share of the eulogium. K. is _toujours belle_. At
Wilmington I did not see friend S. She had gone to church. God bless
thee.
A. BURR
TO DR. JOHN COATS.
Washington, February 23, 1803.
It is from me, my dear sir, that apologies are due; but you have
kindly anticipated all I could make. I thank you for this instance of
your goodness; for your friendly recollection; above all, for the
justice you do to my heart and feelings. Your last letter has been
received. It is without date, and came by the mail of yesterday. You
see that I am resolved not to furnish a new occasion for apologies by
further negligence. Whether, after the adjournment, I shall go North
or South, is yet undetermined. If northward, I propose to take the
route which you had the goodness to describe, and to pass at least
some hours with you. I shall insist on a dish of lillipee, in order to
give a more dramatic effect to the review which we will take of past
scenes.
Dearborn, now minister of war, was our fellow-traveller through the
wilderness. If you will designate more particularly the papers you
wish to recover, I will with pleasure make search for them. Accept, I
pray you, the assurance of my undiminished regard and esteem.
A. BURR.
FROM THEODOSIA.
Clifton, March 17, 1802.
Ever since the date of my last letter, for it was not forwarded till
some days after, I have been quite ill; till within these two or three
days totally unable to write. The whole family, as well as myself, had
begun to think pretty seriously of my last journey; but, fortunately,
I have had the pleasure of keeping them up a few nights, and drawing
forth all their sensibility, without giving them the trouble of
burying, mourning, &c.
I was one night so ill as to have lost my senses in a great measure;
about daylight, as a last resource, they began plying me with old
wine, and blisters to my feet. But, on recovering a little, I kicked
off the blisters, and declared I would be dressed; be carried in the
open air, and have free use of cold water. I was indulged. I was
carried below, where I drank plentifully of cold water, and I had my
face, neck, and arms bathed with it, and it assisted most
astonishingly in recovering me. The day before yesterday I was put on
a bed in a boat and brought here. The change of air and scene have
assisted me wonderfully. I am again getting well. Indeed, the rapidity
with which I gain strength surprises the whole family. The secret is,
that my constitution is good. I exert myself to the utmost, feeling
none of that pride, so common to my sex, of being weak and ill.
Delicacy and debility are sometimes fascinating when affected by a
coquette, adorned with the freshness of health; but a pale, thin face;
sunken, instead of languishing eyes; and a form, evidently tottering,
not gracefully bending, never, I suspect, made, far less could they
retain a conquest, or even please a friend. I therefore encourage
spirits, try to appear well, and am rewarded. In a few days I shall be
on the high road to health. Mari is well, and the boy charming. Adieu.
THEODOSIA.
TO THEODOSIA.
Philadelphia, June 3, 1903.
I have only to announce my safe arrival yesterday noon. Went forthwith
to see the B.'s. They were all out of town. Will be back to-day.
Send me the number of volumes of the American Encyclopedia. I wish to
complete the set, and must, therefore, know the deficiencies. I have
seen none of your acquaintance save the Biddles. To-morrow (if I
should in the mean time receive a letter from you) I shall add
something. You are the two most spiritless young persons I ever knew.
Pray muster up energy enough to do something more than lounge on
sofas. Go on Sunday to Ludlow's. Ask some of your friends often to
dine with you. There is a little boy right opposite my window who has
something of the way of "mammy's treasure." Don't be jealous; not half
so handsome. I have had him over to my room, and have already taught
him to _bang_. Adieu.
A. BURR.
FROM THEODOSIA.
New-York, June 4, 1803.
Encore stupid. For Heaven's sake, what do you imagine I can find to
say once a day that is worth saying, shut up thus, either tinkling on
the harp or holding a tête-à-tête conversation? You must, indeed, have
a high opinion of my genius and the fertility of my imagination.
Pray how do you advance? Heavy business, is it not? I beg you will
perform your promise, and write me the history of it. I'll bind it in
red morocco, and keep it for the advantage and instruction of the boy.
Adieu. Do not forget my commission, and return soon.
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
Philadelphia, June 5, 1803.
I received yesterday your first letter. Pray no more apologies about
your stupidity, &c., because on that subject I am perfectly informed.
Be pleased to recollect that your letters cannot be answered the day
they are received. We are now even. I wrote you on Friday.
I went this morning to see L. and Keene. The former, as usual, polite,
friendly, and cheerful. The latter something improved by a very slight
acquisition of embonpoint; so very slight, however, as not to be
obvious to common optics. They will pass their summer at their present
residence, and I have almost promised that you shall make them a
visit.
But I should have narrated in the order of events according to their
dates or in the order of the importance. Neither hath been observed,
which argues ill of my temper of mind for the principal pursuit. Cette
----- spoils me. From that intercourse I return faintly to the line of
duty. On Friday I saw the inamorata, and it happened as we had feared;
for really I did not know whom I had the honour to address; nor could
I, with certainty, discover during the interview, for I saw but one.
The appearance was pleasing. There was something pensive and
interesting. It exceeded my expectations. It was a visit of ceremony,
and passed off as such. This day I met the whole four at dinner. My
attentions were pointed, and met a cheerful return. There was more
sprightliness than before. Le pere leaves town to-morrow for eight
days, and I am now meditating whether to take the fatal step
to-morrow. I falter and hesitate, which you know is not the way. I
tremble at the success I desire. You will not know my determination
till Wednesday. In the mean time I crave your prayers.
I entreat you to ride about. Your monotonous life can never restore
your health; nay, it is hostile to recovery. The business part of my
journey assumes some importance, but the result is uncertain. Adieu.
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
Philadelphia, June 6, 1803.
The plot thickens, and I do not find it possible to communicate
faithfully the details, without hazarding too much in case of loss of
the letter. Something, however, may be said.
I called at the house this morning; before I had asked for any one in
particular, the servant bid me in, and in a few minutes Inamorat sole
appeared. This looked like secret understanding or sympathy; perhaps,
however, it was only as head and representative of the family. She
looked well; but, unfortunately, a trifling carelessness in dress had
nearly concluded the farce. Recollecting, however, that they were
packing up for a temporary removal, to take place this very day, an
apology was obvious. Having made to myself the apology, I went
further, and found that there was politeness, _at least_, in receiving
me, and in so prompt an attendance under such circumstances. After ten
minutes le pere came in; conversation became general, and I took
leave.
Returning home, and pondering on the subject most profoundly for full
five minutes, I boldly took up my pen, and wrote le pere that I wished
a few minutes' conversation with him at his own house in the course of
the day. Within an hour he was at _my room_ to receive the
communication. Now paint to yourself a desperate miscreant on the
point of committing self-murder, trembling with anxiety, choking for
want of utterance, &c. Having formed the portrait to your own taste, I
must tell you that there was no such figure. The salutations, on
meeting, passed as usual. An expression or two of sensibility to the
courtesy which anticipated so promptly the intended visit, and then
some unembarrassed direct questions and monosyllabic answers. "Is
----- under any engagement?" _None_. "Would it be agreeable to you
that ----- should make overtures?" &c. _Certainly_. A very
complimentary thing, however, was said by le pere. It was agreed that
the suiter should make known his pretensions, he (le pere) declining
to intermeddle. _End of the first act_.
I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your two letters, both
dated June 4. Evidently they cost you great labour.
June 7.
I left this open that I might acknowledge the receipt of one by this
morning's mail. I am gratified to have it in my power. The accident to
the harp has been very fortunate, inasmuch as it enabled you to make
out a long letter on the subject. However it may be broken, nothing is
so easy to be repaired. Kiss dear little _bang_.
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
Philadelphia, June 7, 1803.
As you were informed yesterday, my _Celeste_ has gone with the family
(le pere excepted) to pass a fortnight six miles from town. I go
to-morrow morning to recommend myself; and that no time may be wasted,
and these six mile rides may not be too often repeated to no purpose,
I shall not go much round about the subject, but come pretty directly
to the point; of all which you will be duly informed.
Truly, if my head be as confused as my narrative, it will be of little
use to me in the negotiation. I should have begun by relating what
happened this morning. There are, however, two ways of telling a
story. One by beginning with the oldest event, and so travelling down
to the close of the tale, and this is the mode commonly used by
philosophers and historians. The other, is by commencing with the most
recent fact or earliest incident, which is the mode universally
practised by lovers, and, generally, by poets. I could even quote
Homer and Virgil as authorities in support of this latter method.
Further I may add, that this retro-progressive arrangement seems more
congenial with the temper and feelings of the fair sex. Thus, you see,
most ladies turn first to the last chapter of a novel or romance. In
defence of this practice I could dilate to the utmost extent of many
sheets; but, intending soon to publish an essay on the subject, I
leave for the present the residue to your reflections, and return to
the interview of this morning.
I was admitted without hesitation, and was presently joined by
Celeste, though I had not particularized any one as the object of my
visit. For some minutes she led the conversation, and did it with
grace and sprightliness, and with admirable good sense. I made several
attempts to divert it to other subjects--subjects which might have
nearer affinity, again, to others; unsuccessfully, however; yet,
whether I was foiled through art or accident, I could not discover. Be
assured she is much superior to l'ainée.
"I would be wooed, and, not unsought, be won."
So I conjectured she thought, and she was right.
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
Philadelphia, June 8, 1803.
I told you the negotiation should not be long. It is
finished--concluded--for ever abandoned--_liber sum_. Celeste never
means to marry; "firmly resolved." I am very sorry to hear it, madam;
had promised myself great happiness, but cannot blame your
determination. "No, certainly, sir, you cannot; for I recollect to
have heard you express surprise that any woman would marry, &c., and
you gave such reasons, and with so much eloquence, as made an
indelible impression on my mind." Have you any commands to town,
madam? I wish you a good-morning. _End of the second and last act_.
The interview was about an hour. Celeste was greatly agitated;
behaved, however, with great propriety. The parting was full of
courtesy, and there is reason to hope that there will be no hanging or
drowning.
I dined to-day chez Rush. The two elder daughters are in Canada. The
little Julia, now about ten, is growing up very lovely and _tres
gentile_. Afterward called to see your friend, Mrs. Stewart, and her
beautiful daughter. She is really beautiful. To-morrow I dine chez la
Raz.
The law business goes on slowly; may be finished about Tuesday next,
after which I shall hasten to those who love me, when I shall
endeavour to rouse them from their lethargy, and give them a little
zest for life. Just now I recollect that I have no letter from you
this morning, at which I was confoundedly vexed. I stop, therefore,
and shall withhold even this for a day, by way of punishment. You will
say that you were not well, that you were engaged in company, that the
servant neglected to take the letter, or some such trite thing. All
nonsense. Bon soir.
Thursday morning.
Your letter of Tuesday, containing the history of the dinner, is
received this morning. Truly, I think that Mr. and Mrs. Moore and Clem
might, with any tolerable aid, have made the dinner gay. Mr. and Mrs.
Moore have both a great deal of wit, and are both well bred. Clem is
by no means deficient. It must, therefore, have been the fault of
yourself and husband. If the harp is not essentially injured, I would
not purchase a new one. Kiss little _bang_.
A. BURR.
FROM THEODOSIA.
New-York, June 9, 1803.
I received yesterday your three letters of the 5th and 6th. They made
me laugh, yet I pity you, and have really a fellow feeling for you.
Poor little Rippy, so you are mortgaged! But you bear it charmingly;
do you think this courage will last, or is it only a spasm? Spasmodic
love. It is really quite new. The trifling incident in relation to
dress you must pardon. I am a _connoisseur_ in these things, and can
assure you they are very pardonable.
I am all anxiety and impatience for to-day's mail. But it surprises me
that _primo mobile_ is forgotten. Pray, have you lived altogether on
pepper? We shall ride to Montalto this afternoon, and you shall know
our reception. I am too anxious for my letters to add a word more.
Poor Starling!
THEODOSIA.
TO THEODOSIA.
Philadelphia, June 10, 1803.
Yesterday I dined chez la Raz; a very pleasant party. The farce of
eight days past had been forgotten, or recollected only as a dream.
Just as I sit down to write to you I receive a note from Celeste,
advising me that she is in town for a few hours, and will be happy to
see me. What in the name of love and matrimony can this mean? The
conclusion was definitive, and a mutual promise that neither would
ever renew the subject. I am all impatience, and I go to hear. You
shall know to-morrow.
A. BURR.
FROM THEODOSIA.
New-York, June 10, 1803.
My apology for not writing this morning is enclosed. We have been
dining with Mrs. Laight to-day, and have been much amused. We are to
take them, with Miss Laight and Miss Brown, in curricle and coachee to
Montalto to-morrow afternoon. We are absolutely two demonstrations of
two laws in mechanics. When we repose it requires a great exertion to
move us, and when put in motion we go on.
My interruption last evening prevented me from wishing you joy at the
declaration of independence. What are your plans now. Cher petit pere,
the boy kisses you; but I do not, because you remain so long in
Philadelphia.
THEODOSIA.
Footnotes:
1. Her cousin, Catharine Brown, daughter of Dr. Joseph Brown.