Memoirs of Aaron Burr Part 41

Yours, truly and affectionately,

A. BURR.

TO MRS. BURR.

Claverack, 27th June, 1791.

I have just arrived here, and find Mr. B. Livingston about to return to New-York. He informs me that he left home on Sat.u.r.day, and sent you word that he was to meet me here. It was kind in him. I cannot say as much of the improvement you made of his goodness.

It is surprising that you tell me nothing of Theo. I would by no means have her writing and arithmetic neglected. It is the part of her education which is of the most present importance. If Shepherd will not attend her in the house, another must be had; but I had rather pay him double than employ another. Is Chevalier still punctual? Let me know whether you are yet suited with horses, and how?

In your letters, speak of Brooks and Ireson's attendance. I wish you would often step into the office, and see as many as you can of the people who come on business. Does young Mr. Broome attend? Other and more interesting questions have been made and repeated in my former letters; I will therefore, at present, fatigue with no more interrogatories. Adieu.

A. BURR.

FROM MRS. BURR.

New-York, 30th June, 1791.

My letter missed the post yesterday not from my neglect. It waited for Brooks's packet, which was not ready till the mail was gone. Mr. B.

Livingston just handed me the one you intrusted to him. I was the more pleased with it, as he accompanied it with the most favourabie account of your health I have received since your absence, and promises to forward this in the afternoon.

The Edwardses dine with me; they had taken lodgings previous to their arrival, in consequence of a report made them by the little Bodowins (who were at Mrs. Moore's last winter), that my house was too small and inconvenient to admit of a spare bed. I esteem it a lucky escape.

It would have been impossible for me to have borne the fatigue.

Charlotte is worn out with sleepless nights, laborious days, and an anxious mind. Hannah constantly drunk. Except William, who is a mere waiter, I have no servant.

My guests are come to dinner. I have solicited them, and shall again, to stay here; but, if they positively decline it, I will go to Frederick. I will steal a moment after dinner to add another page.

July 2d.

The person Mr. Livingston expected to forward my letter by did not go, nor could I hear of an opportunity, till, this moment, Mr. Williams offered to take charge of this. I had arranged every thing to set out for Frederick this morning, when a mortification was found to have taken place on Charlotte's child, and she could not be moved. As I had carted every thing on board, which I a.s.sure you was no small piece of business, I sent Natie with the three younger children, and kept Louise and Theo to go with me, whenever this disagreeable event is past.

Theo never can or will make the progress we would wish her while she has so many avocations. I kept her home a week in hopes Shepherd would consent to attend her at home, but he absolutely declined it, as his partners thought it derogatory to their dignity. I was therefore obliged to submit, and permit her to go as usual. She begins to cipher. Mr. Chevalier attends regularly, and I take care she never omits learning her French lesson. I believe she makes most progress in this. Mr. St. Aivre never comes; he can get no fiddler, and I am told his furniture, &c. have been seized by the sheriff. I don't think the dancing lessons do much good while the weather is so warm; they fatigue too soon. I have a dozen and four tickets on hand, which I think will double in value at my return. As to the music, upon the footing it now is she can never make progress, though she sacrifices two thirds of her time to it. 'Tis a serious check to her other acquirements. She must either have a forte-piano at home, or renounce learning it. For these reasons I am impatient to go in the country.

Her education is not on an advantageous footing at present. Besides, the playfellows she has at home makes it the most favourable moment for her to be at liberty a few weeks, to range and gain in health a good foundation for more application at our return, when I hope to have her alone; nay, I will have her alone. I cannot live so great a slave, and she shall not suffer. My time shall not be an unwilling sacrifice to others; it shall be hers. She shall have it, but I will not use severity; and without it, at present, I can obtain nothing; 'tis a bad habit, which she never deserves when I have her to myself.

The, moment we are alone she tries to amuse me with her improvement, which the little jade knows will always command my attention; but these moments are short and seldom. I have so many trifling interruptions, that my head feels as if I had been a twelvemonth at sea. I scarcely know what I speak, and much less what I write.

What a provoking thing that I, who never go out, who never dress beyond a decent style at home, should not have a leisure moment to read a newspaper. It is a recreation I have not had since you left home, nor could I get an opportunity by water to send them to you.

Albany will be a more favourable situation for every conveyance. But I don't understand why your lordship can't pay your obeisance at home in this four week vacation. I think I am ent.i.tled to a reason.

Brooks attends regularly. Ireson from six to twelve, and from two to six, as punctual as possible. I should have made the office more my business had I known it would have been agreeable to you. I shall be attentive for the future. Bartow is here every morning. Most people either choose to wait for him, or call at some appointed hour when he can be here. Mr. Broome is here every day.

G.o.d knows the quality of this epistle; but the quant.i.ty I am certain you won't complain of. 'Tis like throwing the dice--a mere game at hazard; like all gamblers, I am always in hopes the last will prove a lucky cast. Pray, in what consists the pleasure of a familiar correspondence? In writing without form or reflection your ideas and feelings of the moment, trusting to the partiality of your friend every imperfect thought, and to his candour every ill-turned phrase.

Such are the letters I love, and such I request of those I love. It must be a very depraved mind from whom such letters are not acceptable.

Neither the packet you left at Kingston, nor the money and greatcoat by Colonel Gausbeck, have yet reached me. I wish you could have pa.s.sed that leisure four weeks with me at Frederick's. How pleasant such a party would have been. How much quiet we should have enjoyed.

July 3d.

I was interrupted yesterday by the death of Charlotte's child. Though a long-expected event, still the scene is painful. 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.

Theo. has begun to write several letters, but never finished one. The only time she has to write is also the hour of general leisure, and, when once she is interrupted, there is no making her return to work. I have nothing more to write, except that I am yours affectionately,

THEO. BURR.

TO MRS. BURR.

Albany, 17th July, 1791.

I returned yesterday from Johnstown, worn down with heat, fatigue, and bad fare. It is some small consolation that these tedious journeys are not wholly unproductive.

At Johnstown I was very unexpectedly and agreeably surprised by your letter of the 21st June, which was addressed to me at Kingston. It had been intrusted to an Irishman, whom I at length met pretty much by accident. It informs me of the villany of Frederick's servants, and of his wanting a rib. The latter I have equally at heart with you, and never lose sight of it; but, really, the big mother will not do; the father is not much better--reputable and rich, but coa.r.s.e and disgusting.

On my return to this place I found your letter of Wednesday morning. I fear the bad road near Pelham will discourage you from riding. As you are likely to make considerable use of it, would it not be worth while to have a few days' work done on it? About an hour after the receipt of the last-mentioned letter, I was made happy by the receipt of that of the 10th instant, which came by sloop. You seem fatigued and worried, your head wild and scarcely able to write, but do not name the cause. Whatever it may have been, I am persuaded that nothing will so speedily and effectually remove such sensations as gentle exercise (or even if it is not gentle) in the open air. The extreme heat of the weather, and the uncommon continuance of it, have, I fear, interrupted your good intentions on this head, especially as you are no friend to riding early. I wish you would alter this part (if it is any part) of your system. Walking early is bad on account of the dew; but riding can, I think, in such weather, be only practised with advantage early in the morning. The freshness of the air, and the sprightliness of all animated nature, are circ.u.mstances of no trifling consequence. I have no letter from you by the last post, which put me almost out of humour, notwithstanding the receipt of the three above mentioned within forty-eight hours, of which, however, the latest is a week old.

I hope Theo. will learn to ride on horseback. Two or three hours a day at French and arithmetic will not injure her. Be careful of green apples, &c.

I have been persuaded to undertake a laborious piece of business, which will employ me diligently for about ten days. The eloquence which wrought upon me was princ.i.p.ally money. I am now at wages. What sacrifices of time and pleasure do I make to this paltry object--contemptible indeed in itself, but truly important and attractive as the means of gratifying those I love. No other consideration could induce me to spend another day of my life in objects in themselves uninteresting, and which afford neither instruction nor amus.e.m.e.nt. They become daily more disgusting to me; in some degree, perhaps, owing to my state of health, which is much as when I left New-York. The least fatigue brings a slight return of fever.

Your exercise, your medicine, and your reading are three subjects upon which you have hitherto dwelt only in prospect. They must be all, in some degree, within your power. I have a partiality for the little study as your bedroom. Say a word of each of these matters in your next.

Continue and multiply your letters to me. They are all my solace in this irksome and laborious confinement. The six last are constantly within my reach. I read them once a day at least. Write me of all I have requested, and a hundred things which I have not. You best know how to please and interest.

Your affectionate

A. BURR.

FROM MRS. BURR.

Pelham, 23d July, 1791.

I have just now received your welcome letter of the 17th inst. The pleasure imparted by so flattering a testimony of your good-will, was tempered with a large portion of alloy in the confession of your ill health. I was apprehensive travelling in the heat and bad accommodations would check your recovery. Do return home as soon as possible; or, rather, come to Pelham; try quiet, and the good air, and the attention and friendship of those who love you. You may command Bartow's attendance here whenever it suits you, and you have a faithful envoy in Frederick, who will go post with your commands as often as you wish. It is, indeed, of serious consequence to you, to establish your health _before you commence politician_: when once you get engaged, your industry will exceed your strength; your pride cause you to forget yourself. But remember, you are not your own; there are those who have stronger claims than ambition ought to have, or the public can have.