Memoirs of Aaron Burr Part 91

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 circ.u.mstances 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 inc.u.mbrances. 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 nonent.i.ty.

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 appet.i.te 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 appet.i.te 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 antic.i.p.ate 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 fort.i.tude 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 lat.i.tude_, 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.