Memoirs of Aaron Burr Part 57

There is nothing more certain than that you may form what countenance you please. An open, serene, intelligent countenance, a little brightened by cheerfullness, not wrought into smiles or simpers, will presently become familiar and grow into habit. A year will with certainty accomplish it. Your physiognomy has naturally much of benevolence, and it will cost you some labour (which you may well spare) to eradicate it. Avoid, for ever avoid, a smile or sneer of contempt; never even mimic them. A frown of sullenness or discontent is but one degree less hateful. You seem to require these things of me, or I should have thought them unnecessary. I see, with pleasure I see, that you have engaged in this matter. We shall both be gratified by the result, which cannot fail to accord with our wishes.

R. has a deal of G.o.dly coquetry. It makes a strange medley. I was most hospitably received, and full opportunity given with pretty apparent design. R. has promised to be in Albany in a month. Things are in _statu quo_.

I am unsettled, and at present at Witbeck's. One would think that the town was going into mourning for your absence. I am perpetually stopped in the streets by little and big girls. Where is Miss Burr?

Won't she come up this winter? Oh, why didn't you bring her? &c.

J. B. P. arrived yesterday, he has not given me a letter, or any other thing from you. He suspects, however, that he has at least a letter; a fact which he will endeavour to ascertain in the course of this week.

I wrote you two letters on my way up, addressed to 135 Greenwich-street. Is that right? Adieu, chere amie,

A. BURR.

TO THEODOSIA.

Albany, 11th February, 1799.

On Sat.u.r.day, the 9th, I received Your two letters, from the 1st to the 6th inclusive; the last of which is the only one that has come in due season, or in what is termed the course of post. You now see that a letter can come from New-York in three days; a truth which has been frequently verified by the receipt of my letters, but never before by the despatch of your own.

How very perverse and provoking you are about your correspondence with Mr. Martin. I told you expressly that he was not angry, but, on the contrary, that he sent it laughingly and as a good joke. Pray, from whom did you learn that he was angry? You charge me with not noticing two of your letters, and that I have not given you any directions about heedlessness. With submission, miss, you are mistaken. It is true that I have not repeated the word, but I have intimated several things intended to this point. You expected, I presume, that I should treat the subject scientifically, as Duport does his art, and begin by explanation of terms, and then proceed to divide and subdivide the matter, as a priest does a sermon. Such a dose would, I am sure, have sickened you. I have therefore thought it best to give you very little at a time, and watch, as physicians do with potent medicines, the effect produced. When we meet, which I verily believe will be in five or six days after the receipt of this, you shall have as much as I shall find your stomach will bear.

What the deuse can have got into Madame S. and N., I am utterly at a loss to conjecture, and beg you not to give the remotest hint, but meet them as usual.

My overtures to B. Livingston and Mr. and Mrs. R. were mere volunteers, not produced by any thing you said or wrote; but I thought it might tend to produce a certain effect in your favour. So you have no apologies to make or pardons to ask on this subject. As this, however, is much the best composed part of your letter, I am particularly obliged to you for it, even if you did it to display your eloquence. It is, indeed, very happily expressed.

You seem to have emerged from your lethargy, which, I must confess, was obvious to an alarming degree in several preceding letters. I congratulate you upon it, and hope you will never suffer it again to invade your faculties.

We will talk of houses, &c. about the 19th inst. Henry Walton has gone to New-York by the last stage. He is one of those whose good opinion and esteem I wish you to acquire. He has delicacy, taste, and refinement--very, very rare qualities in this country at this day. He will be often at your house; receive him with courtesy.

I go to bed between 12 and 1, and rise between 7 and 8. For some reasons to me unknown, I cannot drink a single gla.s.s of wine without serious injury; still less can I bear ardent spirits; of course, I am pretty much in the bread and water line; this is the more provoking, as I dine out almost every day, and the dinners are really excellent and well-dressed, not exceeded in New-York. I have dined at home but four days since my arrival in this city. Think of that Miss B., and be hush about hospitality, &c.

Your name to one letter is beautifully written; to the other, _la la_.

The handwriting of the letters various; very good, very bad, and middling; emblematic, shall I say, of the fair auth.o.r.ess? Please to resolve me whether author is not of both genders, for I hate the appendix of _ess?_

What novel of Miss Burney or D'Arblay is that in which the heroine begins by an interesting account of little details on her debut in London, and particularly of a ball where she met Lord Somebody and did twenty ridiculous things? I want such a description of a ball from you. Be pleased to read those first letters of the novel referred to, and take them for a model.

You don't say half enough about the long letter which I wrote you on Sunday of the last week. Adieu, chere amie.

A. BURR.

TO THEODOSIA.

Albany, 26th January, 1800.

We arrived yesterday without accident. To-day I expected Alexis and John; but the stage has arrived without them, and without a line explanatory of the cause of their delay.

On alighting from the stage yesterday, I found at the door of my intended lodgings a number of persons who were impatiently expecting my arrival. I perceive that I shall be day and night engrossed by business. If I should write to you less or less often than usual, you will know the cause.

The ideas, of which you are the object, that daily pa.s.s through my mind, would, if committed to writing, fill an octavo volume; invent, then, and teach me some mode of writing with the facility and rapidity that we think, and you shall receive by every mail some hundred pages.

But to select from a thousand thoughts that which is best and most seasonable; of the variety of att.i.tudes of which every object is susceptible, to determine on that which is most suitable for the thing and the occasion; of all possible modes of expression and language, to discern the most appropriate, _hic labor, hoc opus est_. Yet have we both known persons of a moderate grade of intellect who could write whenever you would put a pen in their hands, and for any length of time you might please, without one moment of reflection or embarra.s.sment. Pray explain to me this phenomenon. All this I confess is not very applicable to you or to my present occupation, for I generally write you what first offers, without considering whether it be the best; and if many obtrude themselves at once, I write you, as at present, of--_nothing_. Indeed, my dear Theodosia, I have many, many moments of solicitude about you. Remember that occupation will infallibly expel the fiend ennui, and that solitude is the bug-bear of fools. G.o.d bless and aid thee.

A. BURR

TO THEODOSIA.

Albany, 30th January, 1800.

At length John and Alexis have arrived; but what gratified me more, and what I looked for with much more impatience was, a letter. I selected yours from the number which they brought me. I was not disappointed. It merits all the eagerness with which I had expected it.

You reflect, and that is a security for your conduct. Our most humiliating errors proceed usually from inattention, and from that mental dissipation which we call heedlessness. You estimate your situation with great truth. Many are surprised that I could repose in you so great a trust as that of yourself; but I knew that you were equal to it, and I am not deceived.

You do right to stay much at home. It will scarcely be worth while to go to V. P.'s. C. is excluded from all rule. I am quite oppressed with the kindness and friendship of _b. b._ towards you. How fortunate you are in such a friend. If their invitations should be so frequent as to interrupt your lessons, you will do well to refuse even them. There is a measure to be observed in the acceptance of the good offices even of our best friends; and at your age, to prefer duty to pleasure when they are in collision, is a degree of firmness rarely exhibited, and, therefore, the more calculated to inspire respect. I perceive that I am not very explicit; but you will reflect and discern my meaning.

Montesquieu said he wrote to make people think, and not to make them read--and why may not A. Br. Perhaps, however, there may be no collisions; and then your good sense will teach you not to wear out good-will.

You indicate a very pleasant mode in which you suppose I may make you happy; but you do not estimate things rightly. What you imagine to be symptoms of love are the mere effusions of politeness, added to respect and esteem.

I forget the plan we projected, but there can be no better one than that of your last letter, to which, therefore, you may adhere, unless indeed you can invent a better.

You may tell C. that as she and I _are on ceremony_, I shall expect the first letter. She knows well that the bare sight of her handwriting would drive Le Guen and the parchments to the antipodes. I do thank you for your constancy about the French ball. Do not be alarmed lest I expect too much. I know your force, and now feel a.s.sured that I shall have reason to be more than satisfied both with your discretion and your attainments. I shall not again find time to write you two pages; so do not expect it. Nevertheless, you will engross much, very much of the thoughts and affections of

A. BURR

Previous to the year 1800, slavery existed in the State of New-York.

Colonel Burr, at different periods, was the owner of slaves. All those that remained in his family for any length of time were taught to read and write. During his absence from home it was his practice to correspond with one or more of them. As a master, he was beloved. A few letters are here given as specimens of this correspondence. They are copied _literally_.

TO COLONEL BURR.

New-York, 3d December.

HONOURED MASTER,

I received your letter December 1st, and we are all happy to hear that you are well. Harry has taken the chair to the coachmaker's, and has gave him directions according to your orders. I have asked James to write to you to know how the venison was to be done; but I will now have it cured as you have ordered. The sashes of the windows were nailed down the day that you went away, and the ladder that you mention belongs to Mr. Halsey, and be has taken it away. All the papers that have any writing on is put into the drawers, and I will take care of the ink that it does not freeze. Colonel Platt was here, and has taken the four red cases that was in the wine-room; and he asked me for a square box, and as you had not told me of it, I said that I had never seen it. There is nothing in the stable; but don't know what is in Sam's room, as he has locked the door. We are happy to hear that Sam, and George, and the horses are in good order, and all the family gives their love to them.

PEGGY GARTIN.

TO COLONEL BURR.

New-York, 17th December.