Memoirs of Aaron Burr, Volume 1.

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THEODOSIA.

TO MRS. BURR.

Chester, May, 1785.

I joined the commissioners and parties in the woods, near this place,
on Wednesday noon; found the weather severe, and roads bad. Have,
since my arrival, been following the commissioners in their surveys.
Nothing transpires from which we can conjecture their intentions.

This morning came your kind, your affectionate, your truly welcome
letter of Monday evening. Where did it loiter so long? Nothing in my
absence is so flattering to me as your health and cheerfullness. I
then contemplate nothing so eagerly as my return; amuse myself with
ideas of my own happiness, and dwell on the sweet domestic joys which
I fancy prepared for me.

Nothing is so unfriendly to every species of enjoyment as melancholy.
Gloom, however dressed, however caused, is incompatible with
friendship. They cannot have place in the mind at the same time. It is
the secret, the malignant foe of sentiment and love. Adieu.

A. BURR.

FROM MRS. BURR.

New-York, May, 1785.

Your dear letter was handed me this day, at a moment which, if
possible, increased its value. I have a little fever hanging about me,
which tends to depress my spirits for the time. Your moralizing
changed my dulness to a pleasing melancholy. I am mortified at the
interruption it met, and impatient to renew the theme; to renew it in
a more pleasing manner than even your letters afford. When my health
is ill, I find your absence insupportable; every evil haunts me. It is
the last that must take place till term; _that_ I must submit to. I am
pleased with your account of your health and spirits; they are both as
I wish.

When you write again, speak of your return. The uncertainty makes it
more irksome. The company you speak of will be as welcome as any at
this juncture; but my health and mind seem to require the calm
recreation of friendly sympathy; the heart that has long been united
to mine by the tenderest esteem and confidence, who has made every
little anxiety its own, to whom I can speak without reserve every
imaginary wo, and whose kind consolation shall appease those miseries
nature has imposed. But whatever present inconveniences may arise, I
submit to them with perfect resignation, rather than, even in idea, to
expect the one mentioned by you when last at home. My mind is
impressed with a perfect dread of all of that kind. We never can have
one to give us so little trouble as E. W., and yet we found it great.
We must avoid all such invitations, for the sacrifice on my part is
too great.

Friday morning.

I have passed a most tedious night. I went to bed much indisposed. M.
absent; mamma also. Ten thousand anxieties surrounded me till three,
when I fell asleep; waked at six, much refreshed, and in better health
than I could possibly have expected. I flatter myself your task will
end sooner than you expected. Mr. Marvin calls for my letter this
morning, which will be delivered with a pound of green tea I have
purchased for your landlady at two dollars. He has called. I am
hurried. Ten thousand loves

_Toujours la votre_.

THEODOSIA.

TO MRS. BURR.

Jane's in the Mountains, May, 1785.

I wrote my dear Theodosia a long letter of business and nonsense last
evening from Chester. I am now about twelve miles nearer to you, and
shall sleep to-night within thirty-five miles (only six hours' ride),
and shall to-morrow return surlily to Chester.

Our cavalcade is most fortunately composed. Some who abhor fatigue,
others who admire good fare, by which by which combination we ride
slow and live well. We have halted here half an hour to lounge and
take a luncheon. Of the last, I partook reasonably. The time which
others devote to the former, I devote (of right) to you, and thus
lounge with peculiar glee.

By return of Mr. Smith (who is obliging enough to deliver this), I
expect much longer letters from our lazy flock. By the next
opportunity I determine not to write you, but some others who deserve
more attention than I fear they will think I mean to give them.

The girls must give me a history of their time, from rising to night.
The boys any thing which interests them, and which, of course, will
interest me. Are there any, or very pressing calls at the office? The
word is given to mount. I shall have time to seal this and overtake
them. Kiss for me those who love me.

A. BURR.

FROM MRS. BURR.

New-York, April, 1785.

Mrs. Wickham just called to tell me of an opportunity to Chester. How
joyfully I embrace it. I had a most insupportable impatience to
communicate to you my gratitude and thanks for your last visit. It was
a cordial to my health and spirits; a balm to my soul. My mind is
flushed with pleasing hopes. Ten thousand tender thoughts rush to my
pen; but the bearer may prove faithless. I will suppress them to a
happier moment, and anticipate the dear indulgence.

The family as you left it. Thy Theodosia's health and spirits increase
daily. Bartow's industry and utility are striking to the family and
strangers. Johnstone returned yesterday. Your letter was as eagerly
read as though I had not seen you. Write when you have leisure; if it
does not reach me immediately, it will serve to divert some tedious
moment in a future absence; even when you are at home, engrossed by
business, I frequently find a singular pleasure in perusing those
testimonies of affection.

I find I am continually speaking of myself. I can only account for it
from my Aaron having persuaded me 'tis his favourite subject, and the
extreme desire I have to please him induces me to pursue it. I take no
walks but up one stairs and down the other. The situation of my house
will not admit of my seeing many visitors. I hope some arrangement
will be accomplished by the next week.

A packet from Sill. He writes like a happy man--not the happy man of a
day, or I am much deceived in him. She is certainly to be ranked among
the fortunate. I wish she may be sensible of her lot.

I have fixed the time of seeing you. Till Saturday I will hope the
best. I cannot extend my calculations beyond it; four days of your
absence is an age to come. My compliments to your chum, and who else
you please. _Pense avec tendresse de la votre_.

THEODOSIA.

TO MRS. BURR.

Chester, May 12, 1785.

Nothing could be more welcome than your affectionate letters by Mr.
Wickham. They met me on Tuesday evening, on our return from a tour
through the mountains. I was for some hours transported home, to
partake of that domestic tranquillity which you so feelingly paint.
Continue to write if opportunity presents. They will cheer me in these
rustic regions. If not, they will not be lost.

This being a rainy day, we have kept within doors. Tomorrow, if fair,
we resume the business of climbing mountains, which will probably be
our employment till about the middle of next week. After which a week
more (at most) will finish the controversy.

Pay Moore nothing till I return, unless you see cause. Let him
rough-cast, if he is confident of succeeding; but tell him I will not
pay him till I am convinced it will bear weather, and last.

If the sheriff of Bergen (Dey) calls for his money, I enclose a note
with a blank for the name. You must speak to either Malcom or Lente
for their assistance, unless you can think of something more
convenient, putting the matter in such light as your address shall
think proper. If for any reasons you should prefer to make use of
Popham's name, do it. The person whose name is put in the note must
endorse it, and the note be dated. Let one of the boys go over to Mrs.
Baldwin for the certificate of the balance of the account, which, if
obtained, a deduction must be made accordingly. Perhaps, by paying
three or four hundred pounds, Mr. Morris will consent to wait my
return. Perhaps, at your instance, he will wait that time without any
payment. All which is humbly submitted. I enclose two notes, that you
may take your choice.

Mr. Watrous's business respecting the land is not very material. If it
should have failed, you may inform him that I have long since filed a
caveat which will cover his claim.

I bear the fatigues of our business to admiration. Have great
appetite, and sleep sound about ten hours a night. I am already as
black as a Shawanese. You will scarce know me if I continue this
business a few days longer. Thank our dear children for their kind
letters. But they are so afraid of tiring either me or themselves (I
suspect the latter), that they tell me few, very few, of those
interesting trifles which I want to know.

Let T. give them any new steps he pleases, but not one before the
others. If any one is behind or less apt, more pains must be taken to
keep them on a par. This I give in charge to you.

I fear you flatter me with respect to your health. You seem a little
studied on that score, which is not very natural to you when speaking
truth. But, if it is not true, it is surely your own fault. Go to bed
early, and do not fatigue your self with running about house. And upon
no account any long walks, of which you are so fond, and for which you
are so unfit. Simple diet will suit you best. Restrain all gout for
intemperance till some future time not very distant.

I do not _nor can_ promise myself all you promise me with respect to
the children. I have been too much mortified on that subject to remove
it at once.

This is the last expedition of the kind I shall ever undertake; and
ever since I have been here I have been planning ways to extricate
myself from it, but am defeated, and shall be absolutely detained
prisoner till the business is concluded. Johnstone can give you an
account of my quarters and mode of life. You haunt me daily more and
more. I really fear I shall do little justice to the business which
brought me here.

The children must pardon my not writing. I have a number of
memorandums of business to make out for Johnstone. Thank them again
for their letters, and beg them not to be so churlish.

Let one of the boys haunt Moore. But you surely can do it without
letting him vex you, even supposing he does nothing. I had much rather
that should be the case than that you should be one minute out of
humour with him.

The girls must go on with Tetard in his own way till I come, when I
will set all right.

It is already late. I must be up at sunrise. Bon soir, ma chere amie.

A. BURR.

TO MRS. BURR

Chester, 19th May, 2 o'clock P. M., 1785.

We have this day begun the examination of witnesses, which, together
with the arguments, will keep us the greater part, and probably the
whole, of next week. I find myself gaining strength exceedingly since
my return from New-York, though perfectly out of humour with the
business, the distance, and the delay.

My trip to New-York has quite ruined me for business. I cannot confine
my mind to it. I am literally homesick, and think of nothing else. A
witness attending in court informs me of his going to New-York as soon
as his testimony is finished. I desert a moment to tell you that I am
wholly yours.

6 o'clock P. M., 19th May.

Since I wrote you at two o'clock our court is adjourned till nine
to-morrow. We go on briskly and in great good nature. If you were half
as punctual or as fortunate (which shall I call it?), I should
absolutely fancy myself talking with you. It would be some
indemnification for the distance and vexation. Make up in thinking of
me, and taking care of yourself, what you omit in writing. Thine at
all moments.

9 o'clock at night, 19th May.

A thousand thanks for your dear affectionate letter of Tuesday
evening. I was just sitting pensively and half complaining of your
remissness, when your letter is received and dispels every gloomy
thought. I write this from the impulse of my feelings, and in
obedience to your injunctions, having no opportunity in view.

The letters of our dear children are a feast. Every part of them is
pleasing and interesting. Le Jenne is not expected to be in New-York
for some weeks at least. I avoid the subject. I shudder at the idea of
suffering any thing to mar the happiness I promise myself.

There is no possibility of my return till the middle of next week. In
one of my letters I put it to the last of next week, but we have this
day made unexpected progress. If we are equally fortunate and equally
good-natured, we may finish Wednesday night; but this is conjecture,
and perhaps my impatience makes me too sanguine.

I broke off at the bottom of the other page to pay some attention to
those who deserve much from me (our dear children). To hear that they
are employed, that no time is absolutely wasted, is the most
flattering of any thing that can be told me of them. It ensures their
affection, or is the best evidence of it. It ensures, in its
consequences, every thing I am ambitions of in them. Endeavour to
preserve regularity of hours; it conduces exceedingly to industry.

I have just heard of a Mr. Brown who goes down by water. As I may not
have another opportunity, I hazard it by him. He promises to leave it
at old Mr. Rutherford's. Our business goes on very moderately this
morning. Witnesses all tardy. We have adjourned for want of something
to do. Melancholy and vexatious. It has given me a headache. We shall
be holden, I fear, all next week. Adieu.

A. BURR.

TO MRS. BURR.

Chester, 8 o'clock, 20th May, 1785.

Worse and worse. During the whole day we have not been five hours at
business. Our witnesses are so aged, and many so remote, that they
will not be in till Monday, so that, at this rate, we shall eke out
the whole of next week. I have at no time been so completely out of
patience; just now particularly, being a little churlish with my
headache, which, though not very severe, unfits me for any thing but
writing to you.

I wrote you and the whole flock last evening, and added a line to you
this morning, and sent off the packet by a Mr. Brown, who goes by
water, and promised to deliver it him-self. He has business at old Mr.
Rutherford's. If he is punctual, don't forget him in thinking of the
letters. Do say something that will make me a little more content with
this vexatious delay and imprisonment. I am prompted to write a
hundred things which I dare not, for fear I shall not find a safe
conveyance: that was particularly the case last evening and this
morning. It is perhaps fortunate, or I should spend too much time with
you in this way. I believe I do as it is. Adieu, a little while. I am
just going to prepare some hot punch.

Ten o'clock.

I have been till this minute making and sipping punch, and with great
success. It has thrown me into a perspiration, which obliges me to go
to bed. I am very illy reconciled to leave you and bid you good-night,
but so says my hard lot.

Saturday morning, 8 o'clock.

I lay awake till after three o'clock this morning; then got up and
took a large dose of medicine. It was composed posed of laudanum,
nitre, and other savoury drugs, which procured me sleep till now: have
no headache; must eat breakfast, and away to court as fast as
possible.

Saturday Evening.

Every thing almost stands still. I begin to despair of getting away. I
am sure the whole of next week will not finish our business at the
present rate. To make it more tedious and disagreeable, some of us are
less good-humoured than at first. Not a line from you since that I
have mentioned. I can find no opportunity for this. I am too vexed to
utter one sentiment.

Sunday, 22d May.

No opportunity for this scrawl yet. I begin to be tired of seeing it,
and wish it gone for this reason; and also, because I try to persuade
myself you would be glad to receive it.

To-day we have fine scope to reflect how much better we might have
employed it, had we been active in our business last week. I find the
whole might have been finished by yesterday (if the witnesses on both
sides had been ready) as well as a month hence.

My room is a kind of rendezvous for our side: have seldom, therefore,
time either to think or write, unless at night or early in the
morning. Judge Yates concludes to give us a few days of his company,
and to accept of a room with us. The coming of Le Jeune uncertain; not
probably till fall. You will receive a pail of butter, perhaps, with
this. I have been contracting for the year.

Have you done running up and down stairs? How do you live, sleep, and
amuse yourself? I wish, if you have leisure (or, if you have not, make
it), you would read the Abbe Mably's little book on the Constitution
of the United States. St. John has it in French, which is much better
than a translation. This, you see, will save me the trouble of reading
it; and I shall receive it with much more emphasis par la bouche
d'amour. Adieu. I seal this instantly, lest I be tempted to write
more. Again adieu.

A. BURR.

FROM MRS. BURR.

New-York, May 22d, 1785.

Your letter by Mr. Bayard was brought me on Saturday, and the first I
had received since the one by Mr. Marvin till to-day. Mr. Brown very
punctually and civilly came with your welcome packet of Thursday, nine
o'clock. It was just before dinner; the children were dispersed at
different employments. I furnished the mantelpiece with the contents
of the packet. When dinner was served up they were called. You know
the usual eagerness on this occasion. They were all seated but Bartow,
when he espied the letters; the surprise, the joy, the exclamations
exceed description. The greatest stoic would have forgot himself. A
silent tear betrayed me no _philosopher_. A most joyous repast
succeeded. We talked of our happiness, of our first of blessings, our
best of papas. I enjoyed, my Aaron, the only happiness that could
accrue from your absence. It was a momentary compensation; the only
one I ever experienced. Your letters always afford me a singular
satisfaction;--a sensation entirely my own; this was peculiarly so. It
wrought strangely on my mind and spirits. My Aaron, it was replete
with tenderness! with the most lively affection. I read and re-read,
till afraid I should get it by rote, and mingle it with common ideas;
profane the sacred pledge. No; it shall not be. I will economize the
boon. I will limit the recreation to those moments of retirement
devoted to thee. Of a sudden I found myself unusually fatigued. I
reflected on the cause, and soon found I had mounted the stairs much
oftener than I could possibly have done on any other occasion.

I am vexed with my last letter to you; 'tis impossible for me to
disguise a single feeling or thought when I am writing or conversing
with the friend of my heart. I hope you have attended only to the last
paragraph, and avoided all unnecessary anxiety for her who wishes to
be a constant source of pleasure to thee. I have been in good health
since Saturday morning. Since yesterday, unusually gay and happy;
anticipating a thousand pleasures, studying every little arrangement
that can contribute to thy comfort. This wet weather is a bar to any
essential progress. The walls are still too damp to admit of either
paint or paper. I have a bed ready for the judge; _ne vous genez pas
la-dessus_. I am afraid some foolish reflections in my last will
embarrass you. Your affection and tenderness has put them to flight.
"Let nothing mar the promised bliss." Thy Theo. waits with
inexpressible impatience to welcome the return of her truly beloved.
Every domestic joy shall decorate his mansion. When Aaron smiles,
shall Theo. frown? Forbid it every guardian power.

Le Jeune perplexes me no longer. I am provoked with myself for having
repeated it to you. Your dear little Theo. grows the most engaging
child you ever saw. She frequently talks of, and calls on, her dear
papa. It is impossible to see her with indifference. All moves as you
wish it. All count the passing hours till thy return. Remember, I am
in good health and spirits; that I expect the same account of yours.
To think of me affectionately is my first command; to write me so, the
second. Hasten to share the happiness of thy much loved and much
loving

THEODOSIA.

FROM MRS. BURR.

New-York, August 28th, 1785.

The enclosed was to have gone yesterday, but the intended bearer
disappointed me. Young ---- and his companions have just left us; at
tasting your Madeira he pronounced you a d----d clever fellow. Your
merit increased with the number of glasses; they went away in
good-humour with themselves and the hostess. O my love, how earnestly
I pray that our children may never be driven from your paternal
direction. Had you been at home to-day, you would have felt as fervent
in this prayer as your Theo. Our children were impressed with utter
contempt for their guest. This gave me real satisfaction.

I really believe, my dear, few parents can boast of children whose
minds are so prone to virtue. I see the reward of our assiduity with
inexpressible delight, with a gratitude few experience. My Aaron, they
have grateful hearts; some circumstances prove it, which I shall
relate to you with singular pleasure at your return. I pity A. C. from
my heart. She will feel the folly of an over zeal to accumulate.
Bartow's assiduity and faithfullness is beyond description. My health
is not worse. I have been disappointed in a horse; shall have Pharaoh
to-morrow. Frederick is particularly attentive to my health; indeed,
none of them are deficient in tenderness. All truly anxious for papa's
return; we fix Tuesday, beyond a doubt, but hope impossibilities.

I had a thousand things to write, but the idea of seeing you banishes
every other thought. I fear much the violent exertions you are obliged
to make will injure your health. Remember how dear, how important it
is to the repose, to the life of

THEODOSIA.

FROM MRS. BURR.

New-York, August 29th, 1785.

As soon as Tuesday evening came, I sent repeated messages to Cape's,
who persevered in the answer of there being no letter. I slept ill;
found my health much worse in the morning; rode out; in spite of
exercise, continued ill till your dear letter was handed me. I
immediately called for refreshment, and imagined I had recovered my
health; my sensations still tell me so. Ten thousand thanks for the
best prescription that ever physician invented. I ride daily;
breakfasted with Clem. Clarke this morning, who has scarce a trait of
himself. He neither knows nor cares for anybody but his son, who is
three years and a half old, fair hair, but not handsome; much
humoured; is introduced as a pet of the first value. Aunt more in
temper than was expected. He dines here to-morrow with the two Blakes.
I felt no other compulse to notice them than your wish.

Our little daughter's health has improved beyond my expectations. Your
dear Theodosia cannot hear you spoken of without an apparent
melancholy; insomuch that her nurse is obliged to exert her invention
to divert her, and myself avoid to mention you in her presence. She
was one whole day indifferent to every thing but your name. Her
attachment is not of a common nature; though this was my opinion, I
avoided the remark, when Mr. Grant observed it to me as a singular
instance.

You see I have followed your example in speaking first of myself. I
esteemed it a real trait of your affection, a sympathy in the
feelings, the anxiety of your Theo., who had every fear for your
health; more than you would allow her to express.

The garden wall is begun. I fear the front pavement will not answer
your intention. I write you again tomorrow. Much love awaits thee.
Thine, unchangeably,

THEODOSIA BURR.

FROM MRS. BURR.

New-York, 25th September, 1785.

Your dear letter of Saturday morning has just reached me. I was
relieved, delighted, till the recollection of the storm you have since
weathered took place. How have you borne it? Ten thousand fears alarm
me. I pursued thee yesterday, through wind and rain, till eve, when,
fatigued, exhausted, shivering, thou didst reach thy haven, surrounded
with inattention, thy Theo. from thee. Thus agitated, I laid my head
upon a restless pillow, turning from side to side, when thy kindred
spirit found its mate. I beheld my much-loved Aaron, his tender eyes
fixed kindly on me; they spake a body wearied, wishing repose, but not
sick. This soothed my troubled spirit: I slept tolerably, but dare not
trust too confidently. I hasten to my friend to realize the delightful
vision; naught but thy voice can tranquillize my mind. Thou art the
constant subject of love, hope, and fear. The girls bewail the
sufferings of their dear papa; the boys wish themselves in his place;
Frederick frets at the badness of the horse; wishes money could put
him in thy stead. The unaffected warmth of his heart delights me. If
aught can alleviate thy absence, 'tis these testimonies of gratitude
and affection from the young and guileless to the best of parents.
They feel the hand that blesses them, and love because they are
blessed. Thy orders shall be attended to. Mamma joins in the warmest
assurances of sincere affection. Theodosia and Sally in perfect
health. Beyond expression,

Yours,

THEODOSIA BURR.

FROM MRS. BURR.

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