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. Themountains, a moreNorthern latitude, or thegrave, 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.Hereyou 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 isno waydiminished. 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.
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.
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.
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.
MaybeI 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.
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 fromMari, 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. istoujours belle. At Wilmington I did not see friend S. She had gone to church. God bless thee.
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.
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.
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 tobang. Adieu.
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.
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.
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 atmy roomto 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 littlebang.
Philadelphia, June 7, 1803.
As you were informed yesterday, myCelestehas 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.
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 andtres 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 littlebang.
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 aconnoisseurin 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 thatprimo mobileis 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!
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.
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.
Footnotes:
1. Her cousin, Catharine Brown, daughter of Dr. Joseph Brown.
Philadelphia, June 11, 1803.
Continuation of the Story of the Loves of Reubon and Celeste.
Your recollection must be recalled to the fatal and decisive interview of Wednesday. The result only was stated in a former letter. It would have required too much time to compress into the compass of one or two sheets a conversation of two hours. The details are therefore omitted; but a circumstance which will increase your surprise at the incident related yesterday morning is, that, on Wednesday night, Reubon received by the hands of a servant of Celeste, sent for the sole purpose seven miles, a letter from her, couched in civil terms, but expressing "an unalterable determination never to listen again to his suit, and requesting that the subject might never be renewed." Reubon returned home late last evening, and was told that a boy had been three times in the course of the afternoon and evening to deliver him a message, but refused to say from whom he came. The last time the servant of Reubon traced the boy to the house of Celeste in town. It was not known that Celeste had been that day in town, and no conjecture could be formed as to the owner of the boy or the object of his message. The note received by Reubon this morning explains the mystery. The letter which I wrote you by the mail left Reubon puzzling his brain to discover the meaning of that note, and just going out to obey the challenge which it conveyed. He went, as you were apprized, and has just now returned and communicated what you shall now hear.
Some years ago, a worthy country judge, having heard a cause very ingeniously debated by lawyers on each side, when he came to charge the jury, did it in the words following: "Gentlemen of the jury, you must get along with this cause as well as you can; for my part, I am swamp'd." Now Reubon is exactly in the case of this judge, and I am at a loss what to advise him. You could unravel this thing in five minutes. Would to God you were here; but to the story.
He found Celeste with a visitor; some female neighbour, who sat a full half hour. Celeste betrayed considerable agitation when Reubon came in, and the most palpable impatience at the long stay of the lady visitor. At length she went, and the parties were alone. As she had desired the interview, it was her place to speak first. After a pause and several efforts, she, with some trepidation, said that she feared the letter which she had writen had not been expressed in terms sufficiently polite and respectful; she had wished an opportunity to apologize; and here she stuck. Reubon ought in mercy and in politeness to have taken up the conversation; but he, expecting no such thing, was taken by surprise, and remained dumb, with a kind of half grin. The duette, at this moment, would have made a charming subject for the pencil of Vanderlyn. Celeste was profoundly occupied in tearing up some roses which she held in her hand, and Reubon was equally industrious in twirling his hat, and pinching some new corners and angles in the brim. At length he recovered himself so far as to gain utterance. He denied, plumply, that there was want of politeness or respect in the letter; and, after many awkward detours and half-finished sentences, he said he would return the letter, and would consider it as cancelling the determination which it contained, and proposed to call on her in the country to-morrow morning to renew his suit. This wasfaintlyopposed. He changed the course of conversation, without insisting on a formal permission or refusal, and then went into the subject of celibacy and matrimony, and passed an hour tête-à-tête. It may be worth noting that, towards the close of the conversation, some one knocked, and that she went out and ordered the servant to deny her, from which it may be inferred that she was not disagreeably engaged, and that she did not wish to be interrupted.
Now, ma Minerve, is not this a very ridiculous posture for so grave an affair? And is not Reubon in a way to be coquetted, with his eyes open? I rather think he erred in giving to the apology of Celeste any other meaning than she literally expressed. Thus he might have compelled her to be more explicit. On the other hand, if she did in fact repent, and so suddenly, it would seem too harsh and fastidious to shut the door against all treaty and negotiation. Upon the whole, however, I conclude that if she wished, for any kind reason, to retreat, she should have gone further, and held out something like encouragement; in short, have met him half way. It may, I know, be replied, that her habits of life and singular education forbid every thing like advance; and that a lady may always presume that her lover, if sincere, will seize the slightest ground for hope; and that, in the logic of love, an equivocal refusal is assent. Certainly, this last interview has been illy managed on the part of Reubon, but I have not yet resolved what to advise. This is left open till morning, when perhaps a word may be added.
Saturday morning.
From the state of things it is obvious that there can, at this hour, be no new fact to communicate; but I have no longer any doubts as to the meaning of the late scene, nor as to the line of conduct to be pursued by Reubon. The note of Celeste is one of those trifling incidents which are too small for calculation, which may have arisen from the trifling motive assigned. Perhaps from a little spirit of coquetry, perhaps a mere piece of sport. He shall, therefore, take no further notice of it; not even to go out this morning to see her, as he had solicited and engaged; and, when he shall next meet her, make some slight apology. Thus the thing is settled.
Philadelphia, June 12, 1803.
I am weary, and so must you be, of this story of Reubon and Celeste. It is, however, closed, and you will, after this letter, hear no more of it.
Reubon agreed to comport himself in the manner advised in my last. Immediately after this determination, Celeste sent a servant to inform him that she was in town! He called to see her; returned the offensive letter, and told her that, as he understood that it was the manner and not the substance of the letter which had induced her to recall it, it would be quite unnecessary for her to take the trouble of writing another. They talked of indifferent matters. Reubon, quite at ease, played the man of the world, and, in my opinion, the man of sense. Before they parted, her face was flushed like a full-blown rose. She begged his permission to destroy the letter, which was certainly a very useless request, considering that the letter was wholly in her power. During the interview, Celeste, having no roses to occupy her hands, twisted off two corners of a pocket-handkerchief.
This reference (the law business), of which I informed you something, has become extremely troublesome and disagreeable. I am apprehensive that it will detain me here nearly the whole of this week.
Binny looks remarkably well, and talks much about you. Dennis and wife, from Savannah, are here.Madame est toujours belle. I can't express to you my impatience to be with you, your husband, and little one. Truly I think with horror of passing five days more here. Pray form no plans of distant rides until my return.
New-York, June 14, 1803.
As to Celeste,voila monopinion. She meant, from the beginning, to say that awful word—yes; but not choosing to say it immediately, she told you thatyouhad furnished her with arguments against matrimony, which in French means, Please, sir, to persuade me out of them again. But you took it as a plump refusal, and walked off. She called you back. What more could she do? I would have seen you to Japan before I should have done so much. I still, however, like your plan. My opinion is not, perhaps, well founded, and it is best to be on the safe side. If she is determined to be kind, she will find out a way of expressing it, or she is not worth having. I am quite pleased with her, and am waiting the arrival of the mail with the utmost impatience.
"Treasure" is well, notwithstanding all predictions on my folly in his dress. You must be home for my birthday, (the 20th inst.), or I'll never forgive you; or, rather, I shall not spend it pleasantly.
Philadelphia, June 16, 1803.
No letter by this mail; being the fourth omission and violation of promise since the 1st inst.
The birthday must be kept. It shall be "honoured by my presence." You will therefore make your preparations, and, among other articles for your feast or party, I recommend two fiddlers, not barbecued or roasted, buten plein vie.
If this should be received on Friday morning, in season to be answered by that day's mail, I beg to have a line from you, if only abon jour; after which, no more letters can be received. You shall not have any distant parties or jaunts until I can partake. I am even jealous of the Fort Washington tour. Indeed, you can't go there without me, for no one can so well show you the ground.
If Mr. Kane and his wife (late Miss Clarke) should be in town, pray call on them immediately, and make them and the sister of the party. Recollect they have many claims to your civilities. His sister, Mrs. Thomas Morris, was very kind to you at Genesee. Mr. Kane himself overwhelmed us with good offices on a certain occasion at Albany, and the frequent hospitalities of John Innes Clarke can never be forgotten. Be prompt, therefore, and courteous.
Ballston, July 20, 1803.
Behold us,cher pere, at this fountain of health; and now my only wish is to leave it as soon as possible. On arriving here we found that your letter to H. Walton had not been received; but we have been very fortunate in getting a house entirely to ourselves, and one quite as pleasantly situated as that you mentioned. Mr. Walton has been extremely polite to us. We dined there on Monday, and in the evening went to a ball, which surpassed my expectations in brilliancy. I danced twice, but I am unable to tell you whether I looked well or danced well; for you are the only person in the world who says any thing to me about my appearance. Mari generally looks pleased, but rarely makes remarks. On my return, therefore, I wished for you to learn some account of myself; for vanity and diffidence had a combat in which each so well maintained its ground that the affair is still left undecided.
General Smith and family are here. Never was ennui more strongly depicted than in the countenance of madame and sister. They appear absolutely bereft of every thing like exertion. Mr. ——-, on the contrary, while he owns that this is not one of the most pleasant places he has ever seen, is still lively and agreeable. Such are the baneful effects of our education. Put out of our usual sphere of acquaintance, or the old routine of amusement and occupation, we rarely have knowledge of the world enough to discover any pleasant qualification that may exist in a stranger, and to put it to any use if it obtrude itself on our notice; and still less are we taught to create amusements for ourselves.
The boy is pretty well, but I confess I have many doubts as to the healthiness of this place for children. Every morning since our arrival there has been a thick mist, which the sun does not disperse till nine or ten o'clock. I kiss you with all my heart.
Philadelphia, February 3, 1803.
The business of New-Orleans is much talked of here. In my opinion, and it is the opinion of many others, we should immediately take possession, and then treat about it. We have no business to make excuses for the conduct of the Spanish government, by saying that they gave no orders to treat us in this manner. For my own part I do not fear a war with France and Spain. We could do more injury to them than they could do us. If we were at war with them, and Great Britain did not join us, we should have our ports filled with their seamen, and the coasts of France and Spain would soon swarm with our cruisers.
I remember, just before the commencement of the revolutionary war, my mother was disputing with an English officer. He said the Americans, of right, should not go to war; they could do nothing; they could get no person to head them. She replied, that the Americans would have no difficulty in finding some person to command their army; that she had seven sons, and, if necessary, would lead them herself to oppose their army.Twoof her sons fell during the war in the service of their country. I have seven sons, whom I would much sooner lead to the field than suffer our country to be insulted. Your friend,
Virginia, near Port Royal, March 25, 1803,
By your note from the Bowling Green I find you are under two mistakes. One, that I am a candidate for Congress; the other, that I am making a book. As to the first, I have withstood all solicitation; and, although a few gentlemen have been pleased, without my knowledge, to make a stir, as it is called, nothing will come of it, and the old colonel will once more be felicitated.
As to the second, writing is one of my amusements, but in a wild, careless, and desultory way. Judge, then, how unlikely such scraps are to come out a book. Not that I would hesitate to publish any thing which might do these people good, however it might effect my own name, about which the fifty years which have passed over my head have rendered me quite indifferent. My time goes along tolerably enough, one way or another. Fancy furnishes me with passions and amusements, and about one hundred dollars a year more than meets every want I have which money can gratify.
This election affair has, however, exposed me to five or six essays in the newspapers, composed of lies, malice, and nonsense. One writer (an old tory) charges yourself and Colonel Smith with having met in caucus here, to plot the expulsion of Anthony New from Congress. I would have given five guineas had you called again, for it is probable you would have met Smith at my gate, and another pretty piece would have appeared most prodigiously entertaining. Well, if you will call in June, I will give you a hearty welcome to the best I have. May you be happy.
Your friend,
Near Darien, Georgia, March 30, 1803.
The letter you did me the honour of writing, with the accompaniments you so kindly forwarded, have my warm and grateful acknowledgments. The selection often miles squarefor the seat of government appeared to me at the time, and has continued, an excrescence on the Constitution, like a wart on a fair skin. Neither the foreign ministers nor the resident citizens in the federal city have any thing to alarm them under state laws. There is no finger of blood in the laws of Maryland or Virginia. I am of Mr. Bacon's opinion—return the sovereignty to the states. I hope we shall preserve peace with Spain. I observe, with much gratification, that the debates in Congress are much more decorous than they were last session.
The object or end of Mr. Monroe's mission I am ignorant of, as I do not correspond with any public character but yourself. I suppose an explanation with France respecting New-Orleans. I leave my farm in a few days for Philadelphia, where it would afford me pleasure to see you.
Your friend,
New-York, July 30, 1803.
It was kind to announce to me, by the earliest opportunity, your safe arrival at Lebanon. Tell me more precisely the movements and intentions of the family, as they will in some measure control mine. I am negotiating for the possession of Richmond Hill, by exchanging with Colonel F. for my house in town. It will be interesting indeed to have you and your boy at the house where you have been once so happy. We will trace back our childish sports and our more grave amusements. In the sale of this estate I reserve the house and a due portion of the ground about it; yet a good price will tempt me to part with it.
Some obscure hints in one of your letters have saddened my heart. Fromson pereI have merited neither suspicion nor reserve. Is it, then, criminal that a person of mature age should converse on a subject most highly interesting with the friend most likely informed? Yet did I not even give advice; invariably and inflexibly I declared that I would never interfere in the matter unless son pere concurred. Have you forgotten the mad project of going to England? the anxiety and misery it cost us for some days? I should have thanked the man who had thus treated my child. Indeed, my dear Theodosia, such things sink into my soul. They seem to invade the very sanctuary of happiness. Had I any thing so much at heart as to render him happy? That I love him, you best know. God bless my dear Theodosia.
Providence, R. I., August 1, 1803.
I left New-York two days after you, that is, on Saturday, and had a pretty little passage of forty-eight hours. We were, on board, a British custom-house officer, a sensible, pleasant man, who played chess with me; two ladies, rather pretty, who did not molest us,point exigentes, bien amiable; five little children, who neither cried nor quarrelled the whole way! yet cheerful and playful.
Six days have I passed here very pleasantly. To-morrow I go, whither is not determined. You may, however, address me at New-York, which will most probably be my destination.
All those you saw when you were last here inquire about you with great civility and interest, and say pretty things of you. Don't be vain, madam, for I take this to be a kind of flattery to me, or to be so intended. Miss C. talks much of you, and L. N., and Miss A. Can you imagine what are Miss C.'s occupations and arrangements? Never; so I'll tell you. Why, she instructs two nieces and a nephew (things of twelve or thirteen) in astronomy, natural philosophy, and principles of botany! Her boudoir has globes, several mathematical instruments, &c. All this I discovered by accident; for she denies it all most strenuously, and with some pretty, unaffected embarrassment. Be assured this is an amiable, sensible girl. I don't believe you know her value: so I pray you to study her. She left town yesterday with her mother for Lebanon. Mr. C. went on Friday to New-York. What care you for all that?
Are you a good girl? Do you drink the waters, and bathe, and ride, and walk? I hear Mrs. W. is handsomer than during her widowhood, of which I am very glad. Mr. Russel left this on Thursday, intending to pass through Albany and Ballston on his way to Niagara. If he should come into your vicinage, desire Mr. Alston to recollect him. His wife is with him. I never saw her.
Tell me who you see, and what you do, and what are your plans. You had best return by Boston and Providence if you should have time. Can you make littlechosedrink the water? I dare say not. If I were there I would force some down his little throat. God bless you all.
New-York, August 6, 1803.
Your letter of the 20th of July was received from the postoffice on my arrival last evening. There must be some anachronism in the date, for you left New-York on the 21st. I learn, however, that you arrived, were well, and had danced. Lord, how I should have liked to see you dance. It is so long; how long is it? It is certain that you dance better than anybody and looked better. Not a word of the Spring waters, their effects, &c.
I made the journey from Providence by land in four days. Near town, yesterday, P.M., I met Mr. and Mrs. Harper, of Baltimore. They are to breakfast with me this morning; so I must make haste, for it is now eight o'clock. How bad I write to-day. With Mr. and Mrs. Harper was a pretty-looking, black-eyed lass, whose name I did not hear. I hope she is coming out to breakfast, for I like her. There was also that Liverpool merchant, who used to hang on Butler so in Charleston. I hope he won't come.
I wrote you from Providence, on Monday last, all I had to say of it and its inhabitants. I found the whole country, from Providence to this place, greatly alarmed about the yellow fever, said to be in New-York, and dreadful stories in circulation, as usual. There have been some suspicious cases, and some decided instances of yellow fever. Our practising physicians, however, our mayor and police-officers deny its existence. There is no alarm in town. The coffee-house is attended as usual. This length of intolerable heat has, I fear, prepared an atmosphere for the kind reception, if not for the generation of the fever. Now I hear the carriage.Bon jour. Be a good girl. Love to H. 'Twas nothing but a cart.
L. and her little bang are here (chez nous); how happy are you mothers. She will descant on its beauties by the hour; will point them out to you distinctly, lest they might escape notice. The hair, the nose, the mouth, and, in short, every feature, limb, and muscle, is admirable and is admired. To all which I agreed.
Jerome Bonaparte is not here; nor is it certain that he is on the continent. The French consul, whom I met in the road, told me, withune maniere mysterieuse, that he had something to communicate on that subject. Maybe he is come, maybe he isn't. I conjecture that he is come or coming.
Here they come, in earnest. I see only one lady in the carriage; so miss has not come; well, she may stay.
New-York, August 8, 1803.
Your amiable letter of the 1st inst. has not yet come to hand, and therefore cannot yet be acknowledged; perhaps it has not yet been written.
Indeed, we are about to be scourged with the plague called yellow fever. John Bard dead; but, to keep the account good, Billy B. has twins (boys). Catharine Church Cruger (Mrs. Peter C.) has a son. But of the deaths. We die reasonably fast. Six or eight new cases reported yesterday. Of those who take the fever three fourths die. The coffee-house was, nevertheless, pretty well attended. No appearances of alarm until to-day. Several families have removed from the neighbourhood of the Tontine Coffee-house, and five times the number will remove to-morrow. Laight claimed Mr. Alston's promise of Montalto, and I have admitted his pretensions. He will take possession to-morrow or next day. Our pretty (beautiful) Mrs. Talbot, late Miss Truxton, more lately Mrs. Cox, is in my neighbourhood.
I write in town, and in the most outrageous hurry, having nothing to do, but having, according to custom, omitted writing till the moment of closing the mail. Mr. and Mrs. Harper did come, and with them that black-eyed young lady, which proved to be Miss Chase, of Baltimore. Mr. ——- came also.
Do you know Miss Joanna Livingston? Pray recollect all her good and amiable qualities. Reflect profoundly. Adieu, ma chere amie.
Washington, October 16, 1803.
We arrived here yesterday somewhat fatigued. I was, however, very happy to find myself at Washington, for we had, in the morning, been near taking quite a different route. Some part of our harness having broken on the top of a pretty long descent, fortunately the leaders were frightened by the wheel horses crowding on them; and running aside, one got his leg over the pole and was stopped, or you would not have had the pleasure of receiving this interesting scribleriad, and thepoor worldwould have been deprived of the heir-apparent to all its admiration and glory.
Our friend L. I have not seen. She was not to be seen. She has gone to Lancaster, and intends returning by the way of Harper's Ferry. Her journey is taken with a view to recruit herself after a severe attack of the bilious fever; with which, also, her little daughter has been at the point of death—literally, I am told. Lest I might lose the pleasure of seeing her by some mistake, I would not trust to the information of Tunnecliffe as to her absence, but made him send directly to her house. There; is not that little incident related in the true heroic style? Mrs. Madison and myself have made an interchange of visits to-day. She is still pretty; but oh, that unfortunate propensity to snuff-taking. We drank tea with Mr. and Mrs. Gallatin by invitation. Nobody asked us to eat. The markets are bad, I hear. We live very well, however, and, if you have not engaged lodgings, I advise to apply here also.
To-morrow takes us to Dumfries, and the next day beyond Fredericksburgh.Le pereis at Bowling Green. I bear travelling remarkably well. Headaches have disappeared, and my appetite increases; but poor littlegampydoes not like the confinement of the carriage.
On inquiry, we find that the one-eyed Nicholas who was in Congress is named John, and has only three brothers, Wilson, Robert, and Normond; so your man is an impostor, consequently you have been imposed on and cheated out of fifty dollars. Wade Hampton arrived here this evening.
Petersburgh, October 21, 1803.
We reached this last night without any accident or even incident, but with great fatigue. Mr. Alston appears so distressed and worn out with the child's fretting, that it returns on me with redoubled force.
Le pere et frereare here.Toujours honnête et bon. They breakfasted with us, for we are obliged to take separate lodgings, and my husband has now gone to the races with them; a party of pleasure I was very willing to resign for you and repose. The longer I live, the more frequently the truth of your advice evinces itself, and never was there any thing more true than that occupation is necessary to give one command over themselves. I confess I feel myself growing quite cross on the journey, and it is really to be feared that, unless we soon finish it, the serene tranquillity of my placid temper may be injured. Novel reading has, I find, not only the ill effect of rendering people romantic, which, thanks to my father on earth, I am long past, but they really furnish no occupation to the mind. A series of events follow so rapidly, and are interwoven with remarks so commonplace and so spun out, that there is nothing left to reflect upon. A collection of images, which amuse only from their variety and rapid succession, like the pictures of a magic lantern; not like a piece of Vanderlyn, where the painter makes fine touches, and leaves to your vanity at least the merit of discovering them. Oh! would I had my friend Sterne. Half he says has no meaning, and, therefore, every time I read him I find a different one.
The boy has perfectly recovered. He remembers you astonishingly. He is constantly repeating that you are gone, and calling after you. When I told him to call Mr. Alston grandfather—"Grandfather gone," says he. I kiss you from my heart.
Lumberton, S. C., October 29, 1803.
Thank Heaven, my dear father, I am at Lumberton, and within a few days of rest. I am sick, fatigued, out of patience, and on the very brink of being out of temper. Judge, therefore, if I am not in great need of repose. What conduces to render the journey unpleasant is, that it frets the boy, who has acquired two jaw teeth since he left you, and still talks ofgampy. We travel in company with the two Alstons. Pray teach me how to write two A's without producing something like anAss.
We expect to reach Georgetown on the 1st of November. There we shall remain three or four days, and then proceed to Charleston. Adieu.Mille baises.
Clifton, November 8, 1803.
You are surprised at my date, but my last must have prepared you for it in some degree. I received such warm and repeated solicitations to come here, that I accepted. We came on the 3d, and shall remain here till the day after to-morrow, when-oh!-oh! I go to Hagley, where we shall remain till Natalie's arrival, which will carry me to Charleston. It might appear ill-natured and ungrateful for the kindness John and Sally show me to regret residing at Hagley. But you, who always put the best construction on my words and deeds, will allow, that a place in which we have suffered much and run a risk of suffering more must be unpleasant.
We have visited the Oaks house since our arrival. The lazy workmen have been wasting their time, and have not yet finished what two Northern workmen would have done in a month. They are in the act of plastering, and that will not be dry enough to admit us in some time. Thus I shall remain with John till Mr. Alston returns from Columbia. Do you not think we may safely enter the house then? The plastering will be finished in less than a week hence; and the legislature, you know, adjourns at Christmas. I am particular on this subject, because I have known persons to suffer much from inhabiting a house too newly finished, and I wish to have your opinion.
I am extremely anxious to hear from you. When we parted you were engaged in talking over a bargain with Mr. Astor. Pray tell me the event of your deliberations. I had almost forgotten to tell you that we have every prospect of a capital crop.
New-York, November 7, 1803.
Your letter from Chester was received in due time; that from Washington came only yesterday, having lain there fourteen days before it was put into the office. By this time you must have received all those which I have written to you since your departure—not a single one. This is the first time that I have put pen to paper at you; but I have been too busy, selling. All is sold, and well sold; not all, however. The house, outhouses, and some three or four acres remain. Enough to keep up the appearance, and all the pleasant recollections of your infantine days, and some of your matronly days also, are reserved with interest. This weighty business, however, is completed, and a huge weight it has taken from the head and shoulders, and every other part, animal and intellectual, of A. B.
Mr. M'Kinnon wrote me, last June, a letter, which I received a few days ago, and with it came two shawls or cloaks (a kind of worked muslin, all the rage in Paris and London at that date), some visiting cards, and ornamented message paper. Half his letter is to you and of you. He begs you to accept one of the shawls, and to give Frances the other. I executed his instructions by giving F. one. Surely it is not worth while to send the other to the Oaks for the admiration of your Africans. It is, in my opinion, beautiful; though, at first sight, I thought so little of it that I was going to give it to Peggy or Nancy. Of the cards I enclose a sample.
If littlegampcould read, I should write to him volumes. I find my thoughts straying to him every hour in the day, and think more of him twenty fold than of you two together. Mrs. Laight and child are well. They move to town in six or eight days. Anna is well. Cath. C. la la.
New-York, November 22, 1803.
My last went by water, in care of young Gibbs, the baker's son, with the curricle box, and some other articles which I have forgotten. The letter contained some samples of M'Kinnon's present. The shawl is still retained as being too precious to be sent by sea or land. Is this right?
Mr. Astor left with me some days ago for Mr. Alston a very beautiful map of Lower Canada, pricetendollars, and two views of Montreal and its vicinity,two guineas. I am particularly charged by Mr. Astor to inform Mr. Alston that his landlord at Montreal paid to him (Mr. Astor), for the account of Joseph Alston, Esq., the sum ofone half guinea; the said landlord having discovered, after the departure of the said Joseph Alstonet ux., that they had not taken with them two bottles of Madeira wine which the said landlord had charged in the bill of the said Joseph Alston, and for which he had received payment. Thus I have discharged myself of a commission which has been enjoined upon me at least ten times.
Roger Morris's place, the large handsome house on the height beyond Mrs. Watkins, is for sale. I can get it for Richmond Hill withfouracres. Shall I exchange? R. M.'s has one hundred and thirty acres. If I leave Richmond Hill, however, had I not better buy in town, that you may have a resting-place there ? Dear littlegampy; tell me a great deal about him, or I shall not value your letters. Indeed, I will return them unopened. Is not that good Irish?
Mr. Law has arrived. Miss Wheeler [1] is also at Washington, and A. B. at New-York-tant mieux. Would you think it? I have been coquetted by a rich widow, and really I had some thoughts of yielding.
Jerome Bonaparte is here, and he will keep me three days to dine him. We have exchanged visits, but have not yet met. I think I have mixed up here every thing I have to say to T. B. A. or J. A. No one word of politics; but, on further reflection, Mari will be at Columbia when this arrives.
Washington, December 4, 1803.
I arrived this afternoon, and found here your three letters from Petersburgh, Lumberton, and Georgetown. The last is dated the 2d of November. How very long ago. These letters are very satisfactory, except on the article of your health; of that you must speak a little more plainly. How long are you to stay in Charleston? Without knowing this, I am at a loss where to address you. I shall conclude that you will remain there till the return of Mr. Alston from the legislature.
The manner of your letters pleases me "prodigiously." There is ease, good sense, and sprightliness. That from Petersburgh merits still higher encomium. Tell dear littlegampythat I have read over his letter a great many times, and with great admiration. Mrs. Law, to whom I showed it, thinks it a production of genius.
That good and ill fortune never come in single strokes, but in sequences, you have heard since you were four years old. Since we parted I have been almost daily surprised by some pleasant occurrence or discovery of a personal nature. I pray it may continue a little longer; even till a bust is found and obtained.
Mrs. Law was vexed and mortified beyond measure at missing you. She has bid me say more things than this sheet would hold. The Misses Butler are all here. I shall see them to-morrow. Mary Allen, that was, now Mrs. Livingston; that beautiful little Miss Gray, whom we saw in Boston; she became Mrs. Dobel, then a widow, and now Mrs. Payne.
At Philadelphia Mrs. Lenox and K. almost quarrelled with me for your passing their gate without calling. They had made some preparation, and, in good faith, desired your visit. Miss Boadley, too, talked of you with great interest. At Wilmington I saw no one of your acquaintance; nor at Baltimore, except Susan Smith, who is there on a visit from Princeton.
To go back to New-York. All things are much as you left them, except that what regards gamp is a good deal better. Mrs. Laight, and child, and sisters all in good condition and in high spirits. Have already been dancing—I believe twice. At Mrs. General G.'s I met by accident Mrs. Rogers. She is a pleasant, cheerful, comely woman, to appearance not past thirty-eight or forty. You know we had heard otherwise. Eustis has sprained his ankle, which puts him, for the present, out of the gay world. I have not been abroad except to dine with Mrs. L. I am rejoiced at what you tell me of La Gree.
Pray take immediately in hand some book which requires attention and study. You will, I fear, lose the habit of study, which would be a greater misfortune than to lose your head. M'Kinnon has sent me out a beautiful picture of the celebrated Madame Ricammier. It is a good deal like your pretty widow, Mrs. Wright.Bon soir.