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.
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 Abbé 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.
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 nophilosopher. 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 lâ-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
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
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,
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,
New-York, 27th September, 1785.
I have counted the hours till evening; since that, the minutes, and am still on the watch; the stage not arrived: it is a cruel delay. Your health, your tender frame, how are they supported! Anxiety obliterates every other idea; every noise stops my pen; my heart flutters with hope and fear; the pavement from this to Cape's [4] is kept warm by the family; every eye and ear engrossed by expectation; my mind is in too much trepidation to write. I resume my pen after another messenger, in vain. I will try to tell you that those you love are well; that the boys are very diligent; Ireson gone to Westchester. My new medicine will, I flatter myself, prove a lucky one. Sally amazingly increased. Fream at work at the roof. He thinks it too flat to be secured. The back walls of the house struck through with the late rain. M.Y. still at Miss W. You must not expect to find dancing on Thursday night. I should think it a degree of presumption to make the necessary preparations without knowing the state of your health. Should this account prove favourable, I still think it best to delay it, as the stage is very irregular in its return. That of Saturday did not arrive till Sunday morning; it brought an unfavourable account of the roads. Thus you probably would not partake, nor would I wish spectators to check my vigilance, or divide that attention which is ever insufficient when thou art the object. O, my Aaron, how impatient I am to welcome thy return; to anticipate thy will, and receive thy loved commands. The clock strikes eleven. No stage. My letter must go. I have been three hours writing, or attempting to write, this imperfect scrawl. The children desire me to speak their affection. Mamma will not be forgot; she especially shares my anxiousness. Adieu.
Albany, October 30th, 1785. I have received your two affectionate letters. The enclosed was intended to have been sent by the stage which I met on my way up; but, by untoward accidents (needless to detail), yet lies by me. My disorder has left me almost since I left the city.
The person with whom I had business had gone from this place before my arrival, so that I should have been, ere this, on my return, but that I have suffered myself to be engaged in two land causes (Van Hoesen and Van Rensselaer), which begin to-morrow, and will probably last the whole week. I am retained for Van Hoesen, together with J. Bay and P. W. Yates. Such able coadjutors will relieve me of the principal burden. You may judge with what reluctance I engaged in a business which will detain me so long from all that is dear and lovely. I dare not think on the period I have yet to be absent. I feel it in some sort a judgment for the letters written by the girls to N.W.
Your account of your health is very suspicious; you are not particular enough; you say nothing of the means you use to restore yourself; whether you take exercise, or how you employ your time.
I shall probably leave this on Sunday next; my horse will not take me home in three days. I fear I shall not see you till Wednesday morning of next week; perhaps not even then, for I am engaged to attend the court at Bedford on Tuesday of next week. You shall hear again by the stage.
Will not these continued rains deprive us of the pleasure of the promised visit of the W.'s? How is it possible you can write me such short letters, having so much leisure, and surrounded with all that can interest me? Adieu.
Albany, 2d November, 1785.
I have lived these three days upon the letters I expected this evening, and behold the stage without a line! I have been through the rain, and dark, and mud, hunting up every passenger to catechise them for letters, and can scarce yet believe that I am so totally forgotten.
Our trial, of which I wrote you on Sunday, goes on moderately. It will certainly last till twelve o'clock on Saturday night; longer it cannot, that being the last hour of court. Of course, I leave this on Sunday; shall be detained at Westchester till about Thursday noon, and be home on Friday. This is my present prospect; a gloomy one, I confess; rendered more so by your unpardonable silence. I have a thousand questions to ask, but why ask of the dumb?
I am quite recovered. The trial in which I am engaged is a fatiguing one, and in some respects vexatious. But it puts me in better humour to reflect that you have just received my letter of Sunday, and are saying or thinking some good-natured things of me. Determining to write any thing that can amuse and interest me; every thing that can atone for the late silence, or compensate for the hard fate that divides us.
Since being here I have resolved that you in future accompany me on such excursions, and I am provoked to have yielded to your idle fears on this occasion. I have told here frequently, within a day or two, that I was never so long from home before, till, upon counting days, I find I have been frequently longer. I am so constantly anticipating the duration of this absence, that when I speak of it I realize the whole of it.
Let me find that you have done justice to yourself and me. I shall forgive none the smallest omission on this head. Do not write by the Monday stage, or rather, do not send the letter you write, as it is possible I shall leave the stage-road in my way to Bedford.
Affectionately adieu,
Footnotes:
1. Major Popham, fifty-four years after the date of this letter, attended as a pall-bearer the funeral of Colonel Burr, the friend of his youth.
2. Mrs. Prevost's son.
3. The unfortunate Mrs. Alston, of whom much will be said hereafter.
4. Stagehouse.
New-York, August, 1786.
Your letter was faithfully handed us by the boy from Hall's. Bartow has enclosed the papers. Those you mentioned to me on the night of your departure I cannot forward, as I have forgot the names of the parties, and they cannot guess them in the office from my description, I hope the disappointment will not be irreparable.
If you finish your causes before court is over, cannot you look at us, even should you return to the manor? The two girls followed you to the stagehouse, saw you seated and drive off. Frederick's tooth prevented his attendance. My heart is full of affection, my head too barren to express it. I am impatient for evening; for the receipt of your dear letter; for those delightful sensations which your expressions of tenderness alone can excite. Dejected, distracted with out them; elated, giddy even to folly with them; my mind, never at medium, claims every thing from your partiality.
I have just determined to take a room at aunt Clarke's till Sally recovers her appetite; by the advice of the physician, we have changed her food from vegetable to animal. A change of air may be equally beneficial. You shall have a faithful account, I leave town at six this evening. All good angels attend thee. The children speak their love. Theodosia has written to you, and is anxious lest I should omit sending it. Toujours la vôtre,
Albany, August, 1786.
Your letter of Thursday evening was stuffed into one of the office papers, so that I did not find it for half an hour after I received the packet, during all which time I had the pleasure of abusing you stoutly. But I had only prepared myself for the most delightful surprise. I apologized with great submission.
Why are you so cautiously silent as to our little Sally? You do not say that she is better or worse; from which I conclude she is worse. I am not wholly pleased with your plan of meat diet. It is recommended upon the idea that she has no disorder but a general debility. All the disorders of this season are apt to be attended with fevers, in which case animal diet is unfriendly. I beg you to watch the effects of this whim with great attention. So essential a change will certainly have visible effects. Remember, I do not absolutely condemn, because I do not know the principles, but am fearful.
Every minute of my time is engrossed to repair the loss of my little book. Thank the boys for their attention to the business I left them in charge. I wish either of them had given me a history of what is doing in the office, and you of what is doing in the family. The girls I know to be incorrigibly lazy, and therefore expect nothing from them. The time was—but I have no leisure to reflect.
Thine,
Albany, August, eleven o'clock at night, 1786.
I have this day your letter by my express. I am sorry that you and others perplex yourselves with that office nonsense. Am too fatigued and too busy to say more of it. We began our Catskill causes this morning, and have this minute adjourned to meet at seven in the morning. We shall be engaged at the same disagreeable rate till Saturday evening. I think our title stands favourably; but the jury are such that the verdict will be in some measure hazardous. I have judgment for Maunsel against Brown, after a laboured argument. Inform him, with my regards.
Since writing thus far, I have your affectionate letter by the stage, which revives me. I shall not go to the manor. But, if I succeed in our causes, shall be obliged to go to Catskill to settle with the tenants, make sales, &c. Of this you cannot know till Tuesday evening.
I am wrong to say that I shall not go to the manor. I am obliged to attend a Court of Chancery there. The chancellor had gone hence before my arrival. I cannot be home till Thursday evening. I hope your next will be of the tenour of the last. Your want of cheerfullness is the least acceptable of any token of affection you can give me. Good angels guard and preserve you.
New-York, November, 1787.
What language can express the joy, the gratitude of Theodosia? Stage after stage without a line. Thy usual punctuality gave room for every fear; various conjectures filled every breast. One of our sons was to have departed tomorrow in quest of the best of friends and fathers. This morning we waited the stage with impatience. Shrouder went frequently before it arrived; at length returned—no letter.We were struck dumb with disappointment. Bartow set out to inquire who were the passengers; in a very few minutes returned exulting,—a packet worth the treasures of the universe. Joy brightened every face; all expressed their past anxieties; their present happiness. To enjoy was the first result. Each made choice of what they could best relish. Porter, sweet wine, chocolate, and sweetmeats made the most delightful repast that could be shared without thee. The servants were made to feeltheir lord was well, are at this instant toasting his health and bounty; while the boys are obeying thy dear commands, thy Theodosia flies to speak her heartfelt joys:—her Aaron safe, mistress of the heart she adores; can she ask more? has Heaven more to grant? "Plus que jamais à vous," dost thou recollect it? Do I read right? I can't mistake; I read it everywhere; 'tis stamped on the blank paper; I sully the impression with reluctance; I know not what I write. You talk of long absence. I stoop not to dull calculations; thou hast judged it best; thy breast breathes purest flame. What greater blessing can await me? Every latent spark is kindled in my soul. My imagination is crowded with ideas; they leave me no time for utterance;plus que jamais; but for Sally, I should set out to-morrow to meet you. I must dress and visit to-morrow. I have heard nothing of the W.s. Our two dear pledges have an instinctive knowledge of their mother's bliss. They have been awake all the evening I have the youngest in my arms. Our sweet prattler exclaims at every noise, There's dear papa, and runs to meet him. I pursue the medicine I began when you left us, and believe it efficacious. Exercise costs me a crown a day; our own horse disabled by the nail which penetrated the joint. I have grown less, and better pleased with myself; feel confident of your approbation. W. hastens the first assembly. F. feigns herself lame, that she may not accompany M., who submits to every little meanness, and bears all hints with insensibility. Has called here once. Clement sailed on Monday.
Your remark on the shortness of my letters is flattering. This is the last you shall complain of. My spirits and nerves coincide in asking repose. Your daughter commands it. Our dear children join in the strongest assurances of honest love. Mamma will not be forgotten. Sweet sleep attend thee. Thy Theo.'s spirit shall preside. I wish you may find this scrawl as short at reading as I have at writing. I am surprised to find myself obliged to enclose it. Adieu.
New-York, Wednesday, November, 1787.
My health is better. As I fondly believe this the most interesting intelligence I can give thee, I make it my preamble. What would I not give to have but those four small words from thee? Though I had but little hope, I found myself involuntarily counting the passing hours. My messenger met the stage at the door. I need not relate his success. I fancy many ills from the situation of your health when you left home, and pray ardently they may prove merely fanciful. I have still three tedious days to the next stage, when a line of affection shall repay all my anxieties. Ireson returned to-day. The poor boys have really been models of industry. They write all day and evening, and sometimes all night, nor allow themselves time to powder.
I feel as though my guardian angel had forsaken me. I fear every thing but ghosts. Tell me, Aaron, why do I grow every day more tenacious of thy regard? Is it possible my affection can increase? Is it because each revolving day proves thee more deserving? Surely, thy Theo. needed no proof of thy goodness. Heaven preserve the patron of my flock; preserve the husband of my heart; teach me to cherish his love, and to deserve the boon.
Poughkeepsie, 28th June, 1788.
This afternoon the stage will pass through this place. Your letters will not come to me till the morning, so that I can only thank you for them, and the kind things they contain, by anticipation. I have already read them in the same way, and therefore do thank you for them,de plein coeur. I have a convenient room for my business in one house, board at a different house, and bad lodgings at a third house. This is, indeed, not so convenient an arrangement as might be wished; but I could not procure these different accommodations at less than three houses in this metropolis and seat of government.
As the boys will wish to know something of the progress of business here, tell them that the cause of Freer and Van Vleeck has been this day put off by the defendants, on payment of costs, on an affidavit of the want of papers. In Noxon's cause I have a verdict for thirty-four pounds. The evidence clearly entitled Mr. Livingston to three or four hundred pounds, and so was the charge of the judge; but landlords are not popular or favoured in this county. I am now going to court to defend an action of trespass, in which I have been employed here; and shall try Mr. Lansing's cause to-morrow, which will close my business here. With how much regret I shall go further from home. Kiss our dear children.
Poughkeepsie, 29th June, 1788.
I have sat an hour at the door watching the arrival of the stage. At length it comes, and your dear packet is handed to me just in season to be acknowledged by Mr. Johnstone. He will tell you of the further progress of my business and my intended movements. I go this evening to Rhinebeck. How wishfully I look homeward. I like your industry, and will certainly reward it as you shall direct.
My time is much engrossed. My health perfectly good. You say nothing of yours; but your industry is a good omen. You can write to me by Monday's stage, directed to be forwarded to me from Rhinebeck. I shall be then at Kingston. Much love to the smiling little girl. I received her letter, but not the pretty things. I continually plan my return with childish impatience, and fancy a thousand incidents which render it more interesting. Reserve your health and spirits, and I shall not be deceived.
Affectionately,
Albany, August 7th, 1788.
Oh Theo.! there is the most delightful grove—so darkened withweeping willows, that at noonday asusceptiblefancy like yours would mistake it for a bewitching moonlight evening. These sympathizing willows, too, exclude even the prying eye of curiosity. Here no rude noise interrupts the softest whisper. Here no harsher sound is heard than the wild cooings of the gentle dove, the gay thresher's animated warbles, and the soft murmurs of the passing brook. Really, Theo., it ischarming.
I should have told you that I am speaking of Fort Johnson, where I have spent a day. From thisamiablebower you ascend a gentle declivity, by a winding path, to a cluster of lofty oaks and locusts. Here nature assumes a more august appearance. The gentle brook, which murmured soft below, here bursts a cataract. Here you behold the stately Mohawk roll his majestic wave along the lofty Apalachians. Here the mind assumes a nobler tone, and is occupied by sublimer objects. Whattherewas tenderness,hereswells to rapture. It is trulycharming.
The windings of this enchanting brook form a lovely island, variegated by the most sportive hand of nature. This shall be yours. We will plant it with jessamines and woodbine, and call it Cyprus. It seems formed for the residence o£ the loves and the graces, and is therefore yours by the best of titles. It is indeed mostcharming.
But I could fill sheets in description of the beauties of this romantic place. We will reserve it for the subject of many an amusing hour. And besides being little in the habit of the sublime or poetical, I grow already out of breath, and begin to falter, as you perceive. I cannot, however, omit the most interesting and important circumstance; one which I had rather communicate to you in this way than face to face. I know that you was opposed to this journey to Fort Johnson. It is therefore with the greater regret that I communicate the event; and you are not unacquainted with my inducements to it.
In many things I am indeed unhappy in possessing a singularity of taste; particularly unhappy when that taste differs in any thing from yours. But we cannot control necessity, though we often persuade ourselves that certain things are our choice, when in truth we have been unavoidably impelled to them. In the instance I am going to relate, I shall not examine whether I have been governed by mere fancy, or by motives of expediency, or by caprice; you will probably say the latter.
My dear Theo., arm yourself with all your fortitude. I know you have much of it, and I hope that upon this occasion you will not fail to exercise it. I abhor preface and preamble, and don't know why I have now used it so freely. But I am well aware that what I am going to relate needs much apologyfromme, and will need muchtoyou. If I am the unwilling, the unfortunate instrument of depriving you of any part of your promised gayety or pleasure, I hope you are too generous to aggravate the misfortune by upbraiding me with it. Be assured (I hope the assurance is needless), that whatever diminishes your happiness equally impairs mine. In short, then, for I grow tedious both to you and myself; and to procrastinate the relation of disagreeable events only gives them poignancy; in short, then, my dear Theo., the beauty of this same Fort Johnson, the fertility of the soil, the commodiousness and elegance of the buildings, the great value of the mills, and the very inconsiderable price which was asked for the whole, havenotinduced me to purchase it, and probably never will: in the confidence, however, of meeting your forgiveness,
Affectionately yours,
Albany, 26th October, 1788.
I wrote you a few hours ago, and put the letter into the postofflce. Little did I then imagine how much pleasure was near at hand for me. Judge Hobart has this minute arrived, and handed me your letter of Monday. I cannot thank you sufficiently for all the affection it contains. Be assured it has every welcome which congenial affection can give.
The headache with which I left New-York grew so extreme, that finding it impossible to proceed in the stage, the view of a vessel off Tarrytown, under full sail before the wind, tempted me to go on board. We reached West Point that night, and lay there at anchor near three days. After a variety of changes from sloop to wagon, from wagon to canoe, and from canoe to sloop again, I reached this place last evening. I was able, however, to land at Rhinebeck on Thursday evening, and there wrote you a letter which I suppose reached you on Saturday last.
My business in court will detain me till Saturday of this week, when I propose to take passage in sloop. I have just drunk tea with Mrs. Fairlie, and her daughter, five days old. Thank Bartow for the papers by Judge Hobart. When I wrote him this evening I had not received them.
Yours,
Albany, November, 1788.
I received your affectionate letter just as I was going into court, and under the auspices of it have tried with success two causes. The bearer of this was my client in one of them, and is happy beyond measure at his success. Business has increased upon my hands since I came here. My return seems daily more distant, but not to be regretted from any views but those of the heart.
I hope you persevere in the regular mode of life which I pointed out to you. I shall be seriously angry if you do not. I think you had best take less wine and more exercise. A walk twice round the garden before breakfast, and a ride in the afternoon, will do for the present, and this will be necessary to fit you for the journey to Long Island.
A Captain Randolph will call with Mr. Mersereau:c'est un soldat et honnête homme, donnez eux à boire.They will answer all your questions.
Yours truly,
Albany, 23d November, 1788.
I thank you for your obliging letter of the 19th. It is not, indeed, so long as I had hoped, but your reason for being concise is too ingenious not to be admitted. I have, however, a persuasion that you are at this moment employed in the same manner that I am; and in the hope that your good intentions will not be checked by either want of health or want of spirits, I venture to expect a much longer letter by the coming post.
Your account of the progress of the measles is alarming. I am pleased to find that you yet keep your ground. It persuades me that, notwithstanding what you have written, you do not think the hazard very great. That disorder hath found its way to this city, but with no unfavourable symptoms. It is not spoken of as a thing to be either feared or avoided.
I have no prospect of being able to leave this place before this day week, probably not so soon. You must, by return of post, assure me that I shall find you in good health and spirits. This will enable me to despatch business and hasten my return. Kiss those who love me.
Albany, 26th November, 1788.
The unusual delay of the post deprives me of the pleasure of hearing from you this evening. This I regret the more, as your last makes me particularly anxious for that which I expected by this post.
I am wearied out with the most tedious cause I was ever engaged in. To-morrow will be the eighth day since we began it, and it may probably last the whole of this week. Write me whether any thing calls particularly for my return so as to prevent my concluding my business here. I am at a loss what to write until I have your answer to my letters, for which I am very impatient.
Yours affectionately,
From the commencement of the year 1785 until the year 1788, Colonel Burr took but little part in the political discussions of the day. In the year 1787 the opinion had become universal that the states could not be kept together under the existing articles of confederation. On the second Monday in May, 1787, a convention met in Philadelphia for the avowed purpose of "revising the Articles of Confederation," &c. On the 28th of September following, that convention, having agreed upon a "new constitution," ordered that the same be transmitted to the several legislatures for the purpose of being submitted to a convention of delegates, chosen in each state, for its adoption or rejection.
In January, 1788, the legislature of New-York met, and warm discussions ensued on the subject of the new constitution. These discussions arose on the question of calling a state convention. Parties had now become organized. The friends of the new constitution styled themselvesfederalists. Its opponents were designatedanti-federalists. The latter denied the right of the general convention to form a "new constitution," and contended that they were limited in their powers to "revising and amending the Articles of Confederation." The former asserted that the general convention had not transcended its powers.
Colonel Burr, on this point, appears to have assumed a neutral stand; but, in other respects, connected himself with what was termed the anti-federal party. He wished amendments to the constitution, and had received, in common with many others, an impression that the powers of the federal government, unless more distinctly defined, would be so exercised as to divest the states of every attribute of sovereignty, and that on their ruins ultimately there would be erected a splendidnationalinstead of afederalgovernment.
In April, 1788, Colonel Burr was nominated by the anti-federalists of the city of New-York as a candidate for the assembly. The feelings of that day may be judged of by the manner in which the ticket was headed. It was published in the newspapers and in handbills as follows:—
"The sons of liberty, who are again called upon to contend with thesheltered aliens, who have, by the courtesy of our country, been permitted to remain among us, will give their support to the following ticket:—
"William Deming, Melancton Smith, Marinus Willet, and Aaron Burr."
The federalists prevailed by an overwhelming majority. The strength of the contending parties was in the ratio of about seven federalists (or tories) for one anti-federalist (or whig). Such were the political cognomens of the day. The federalists styled their opponentsanti-federalists. The anti-federalists designated their opponentstories.
In April, 1789, there was an election for governor of the State of New-York. The anti-federal party nominated George Clinton. A meeting of citizens, principally federalists, was held in the city of New-York, and Judge Robert Yates was nominated in opposition to Mr. Clinton. Mr. Yates was a firm and decided anti-federalist. He was known to be the personal and political friend of Colonel Burr. At this meeting a committee of correspondence was appointed. Colonel Hamilton and Colonel Burr were both members of this committee.
In their address recommending Judge Yates they state, that Chief-justice Morris or Lieutenant-governor Van Courtlandt were the favourite candidates of the federal party; but, for the sake of harmonizing conflicting interests, a gentleman (Mr. Yates), known as an anti-federalist, had been selected, and they respectfully recommend to Mr. Morris and Mr. Van Courtlandt to withdraw their names, and to unite in the support of Mr. Yates. This address was signed by Alexander Hamilton as chairman. Mr. Clinton, however, was re-elected.
This support of Judge Yates did not diminish Governor Clinton's confidence in the political integrity, or lessen his respect for the talents, of Colonel Burr. A few months after the election the governor tendered to him the office of attorney-general of the state. At first he hesitated about accepting the appointment; but, on the 25th of September, 1789, addressed his excellency as follows:—
In case the office you were pleased to propose should be offered to me, I have, upon reflection, determined to accept it; at least until it shall be known upon what establishment it will be placed. My hesitation arose not from any dislike to the office, but from the circumstances which I took the liberty to suggest in our conversation on this subject.
I have the honour to be
Your excellency's obedient servant,
On the receipt of the above note, Governor Clinton nominated Colonel Burr to the council of appointment as attorney-general of the state, and the nomination was confirmed. This office was rather professional than political. It was, however, at the time, highly important, and imposed the most arduous duties upon the incumbent. Under the new constitution of the United States, after the organization of the government, many intricate questions arose. To discriminate between the claims upon the respective states and those upon the federal government, often required close investigation and no inconsiderable degree of legal astuteness. The claims of individuals who had been in the service of the state during the war of the revolution, or who had otherwise become creditors, were now presented for adjustment. There were no principles settled by which their justice or legality could be tested. All was chaos; and the legislature was about to be overwhelmed with petitions from every quarter for debts due, or for injuries alleged to have been sustained by individuals who had been compelled to receive depreciated money, or whose private property had been taken for public use. In this dilemma the legislature passed an act authorizing the appointment of commissioners to report on the subject. The commissioners were Gerard Bancker, treasurer, Peter T. Curtenius, state auditor, and Aaron Burr, attorney-general.
During the period that Colonel Burr was attorney-general, the seat of government was in the city of New-York. His official duties, therefore, seldom required his absence from home, when his private business, as a professional man, would not have rendered that absence necessary. His correspondence, although more limited, lost none of its interest, and miscellaneous selections from it are therefore continued.
Albany, 21st October, 1789.
I have this moment received your letter of Sunday evening, containing the account of your alarming accident and most fortunate rescue and escape. I thank Heaven for your preservation, and thank you a thousand times for your particular and interesting account of it.
I left my sloop at Kinderhook on Monday morning, and came here that day in a wagon. I wrote you on the passage, and attempted to leave the letter at Poughkeepsie, but the wind not permitting us to stop, I went on board a Rhinebeck sloop, and there found Mrs. Peter R. Livingston, who offered to take charge of my letter.
I am relieved from much anxiety by your management of certain arrangements; I am glad M. W. is content. Mrs. Witbeck met with an accident a little similar to yours; but she lost only her cap and hair.
I am delighted to find that you anticipate as a pleasure that by this post you may write as much as you please. If you set no other bound to your pen than my gratification, you will write me the history every day, not of your actions only (the least of which will be interesting), but of your thoughts. I shall watch with eagerness and impatience the coming of every stage. Let me not be disappointed; you have raised and given confidence to these hopes. We lodge at a neat, quiet widow's, near the Recorder Gansevoort's. Sill invited us very friendly.
Affectionately,
Albany, 24th October, 1783.
With what pleasure have I feasted for three days past upon the letters I was to receive this evening. I was engaged in court when the stage passed. Upon the sound of it I left court and ran to the postoffice; judge of my mortification to find not a line from your hand. Surely, in the course of three days, you might have found half an hour to have devoted to me. You well knew how much I relied on it; you knew the pleasure it would have given me, and the disappointment and chagrin I should feel from the neglect. I cannot, will not believe that these considerations have no weight with you. But a truce to complaints. I will hope that you have written, and that some accident has detained the letter.
Your misfortunes so engrossed me, that I forgot to inquire about Augustine's horses; and to give a caution, which I believe is needless, about the blank checks. Do not part with one till you see it filled up with sum and date. T. P. is apt to make mistakes, and once lost a check which was by accident detected before it was presented for payment. This is my fourth letter. Perhaps I write too much, and you wish to give me an example of moderation.
Yours affectionately,
Albany, 28th October, 1789.
The history of your sufferings, this moment received, is truly unexpected and affecting. My sympathy was wholly with your unfortunate left hand. The distressing circumstances respecting your face must certainly be owing to something more than the mere misfortune of your burn. I cannot help feeling a resentment which must not be in this way expressed. I am sure your sufferings might have been prevented. I had promised myself that they were at an end many days ago.
Forgive my splenetic letter by the last post. I cannot tell you how much I regret it. When I was complaining and accusing you of neglect, you were suffering the most excruciating pain; but I could not have imagined this unfortunate reverse. Impute my impatience to my anxiety to hear from you. I am pleased at the gayety of your letter. Do not think a moment of the consequences which you apprehend from the wound. Let me only hear that you are relieved from pain, and I am happy. This is my fifth letter. Frederick is the laziest dog in the world for not having written me of your situation.
Yours, truly and affectionately,
Claverack, 27th June, 1791.
I have just arrived here, and find Mr. B. Livingston about to return to New-York. He informs me that he left home on Saturday, and sent you word that he was to meet me here. It was kind in him. I cannot say as much of the improvement you made of his goodness.
It is surprising that you tell me nothing of Theo. I would by no means have her writing and arithmetic neglected. It is the part of her education which is of the most present importance. If Shepherd will not attend her in the house, another must be had; but I had rather pay him double than employ another. Is Chevalier still punctual? Let me know whether you are yet suited with horses, and how?
In your letters, speak of Brooks and Ireson's attendance. I wish you would often step into the office, and see as many as you can of the people who come on business. Does young Mr. Broome attend? Other and more interesting questions have been made and repeated in my former letters; I will therefore, at present, fatigue with no more interrogatories. Adieu.
New-York, 30th June, 1791.
My letter missed the post yesterday not from my neglect. It waited for Brooks's packet, which was not ready till the mail was gone. Mr. B. Livingston just handed me the one you intrusted to him. I was the more pleased with it, as he accompanied it with the most favourabie account of your health I have received since your absence, and promises to forward this in the afternoon.
The Edwardses dine with me; they had taken lodgings previous to their arrival, in consequence of a report made them by the little Bodowins (who were at Mrs. Moore's last winter), that my house was too small and inconvenient to admit of a spare bed. I esteem it a lucky escape. It would have been impossible for me to have borne the fatigue. Charlotte is worn out with sleepless nights, laborious days, and an anxious mind. Hannah constantly drunk. Except William, who is a mere waiter, I have no servant.
My guests are come to dinner. I have solicited them, and shall again, to stay here; but, if they positively decline it, I will go to Frederick. I will steal a moment after dinner to add another page.
July 2d.
The person Mr. Livingston expected to forward my letter by did not go, nor could I hear of an opportunity, till, this moment, Mr. Williams offered to take charge of this. I had arranged every thing to set out for Frederick this morning, when a mortification was found to have taken place on Charlotte's child, and she could not be moved. As I had carted every thing on board, which I assure you was no small piece of business, I sent Natie with the three younger children, and kept Louise and Theo to go with me, whenever this disagreeable event is past.
Theo never can or will make the progress we would wish her while she has so many avocations. I kept her home a week in hopes Shepherd would consent to attend her at home, but he absolutely declined it, as his partners thought it derogatory to their dignity. I was therefore obliged to submit, and permit her to go as usual. She begins to cipher. Mr. Chevalier attends regularly, and I take care she never omits learning her French lesson. I believe she makes most progress in this. Mr. St. Aivre never comes; he can get no fiddler, and I am told his furniture, &c. have been seized by the sheriff. I don't think the dancing lessons do much good while the weather is so warm; they fatigue too soon. I have a dozen and four tickets on hand, which I think will double in value at my return. As to the music, upon the footing it now is she can never make progress, though she sacrifices two thirds of her time to it. 'Tis a serious check to her other acquirements. She must either have a forte-piano at home, or renounce learning it. For these reasons I am impatient to go in the country. Her education is not on an advantageous footing at present. Besides, the playfellows she has at home makes it the most favourable moment for her to be at liberty a few weeks, to range and gain in health a good foundation for more application at our return, when I hope to have her alone; nay, I will have her alone. I cannot live so great a slave, and she shall not suffer. My time shall not be an unwilling sacrifice to others; it shall be hers. She shall have it, but I will not use severity; and without it, at present, I can obtain nothing; 'tis a bad habit, which she never deserves when I have her to myself. The, moment we are alone she tries to amuse me with her improvement, which the little jade knows will always command my attention; but these moments are short and seldom. I have so many trifling interruptions, that my head feels as if I had been a twelvemonth at sea. I scarcely know what I speak, and much less what I write.
What a provoking thing that I, who never go out, who never dress beyond a decent style at home, should not have a leisure moment to read a newspaper. It is a recreation I have not had since you left home, nor could I get an opportunity by water to send them to you. Albany will be a more favourable situation for every conveyance. But I don't understand why your lordship can't pay your obeisance at home in this four week vacation. I think I am entitled to a reason.
Brooks attends regularly. Ireson from six to twelve, and from two to six, as punctual as possible. I should have made the office more my business had I known it would have been agreeable to you. I shall be attentive for the future. Bartow is here every morning. Most people either choose to wait for him, or call at some appointed hour when he can be here. Mr. Broome is here every day.
God knows the quality of this epistle; but the quantity I am certain you won't complain of. 'Tis like throwing the dice—a mere game at hazard; like all gamblers, I am always in hopes the last will prove a lucky cast. Pray, in what consists the pleasure of a familiar correspondence? In writing without form or reflection your ideas and feelings of the moment, trusting to the partiality of your friend every imperfect thought, and to his candour every ill-turned phrase. Such are the letters I love, and such I request of those I love. It must be a very depraved mind from whom such letters are not acceptable.
Neither the packet you left at Kingston, nor the money and greatcoat by Colonel Gausbeck, have yet reached me. I wish you could have passed that leisure four weeks with me at Frederick's. How pleasant such a party would have been. How much quiet we should have enjoyed.
July 3d.
I was interrupted yesterday by the death of Charlotte's child. Though a long-expected event, still the scene is painful. The mother's tears were almost too much for me. I hope nothing new will occur to impede my journey. I set off to-morrow morning.
I am not so sick as when I wrote you last, nor so well as when you left me. I confess I have neglected the use of those medicines I found relief from. The situation of my family has obliged me to neglect myself, nor can I possibly use them at Frederick's. We shall be too crowded. I will nevertheless take them with me. I live chiefly on ale. I buy very good for one dollar per dozen. I have had twenty-one dozen of your pipe of wine bottled. I think it very good.
I thank you for your remembrance per post of 30th June. It was acceptable, though short. How is it possible you had nothing more to write? I know the head may be exhausted, but I was in hopes the heart never could. I am surprised at your not getting my letters. I fear several have either gone to Albany or are lost. I shall, from this day, keep the dates. I wrote you last Sunday—so did Ireson.
You can have no idea how comfortable the house seems since the small tribe have left it. A few weeks' quiet would restore my head. It really wants rest. You can't know how weak it is. I cannot guide a single thought. Those very trifling cares were ever more toilsome to me than important matters; they destroy the mind. But I am beginning another sheet; I am sure you must be tired of this unconnected medley. I will bid you adieu.
Theo. has begun to write several letters, but never finished one. The only time she has to write is also the hour of general leisure, and, when once she is interrupted, there is no making her return to work. I have nothing more to write, except that I am yours affectionately,
Albany, 17th July, 1791.
I returned yesterday from Johnstown, worn down with heat, fatigue, and bad fare. It is some small consolation that these tedious journeys are not wholly unproductive.
At Johnstown I was very unexpectedly and agreeably surprised by your letter of the 21st June, which was addressed to me at Kingston. It had been intrusted to an Irishman, whom I at length met pretty much by accident. It informs me of the villany of Frederick's servants, and of his wanting a rib. The latter I have equally at heart with you, and never lose sight of it; but, really, the big mother will not do; the father is not much better—reputable and rich, but coarse and disgusting.
On my return to this place I found your letter of Wednesday morning. I fear the bad road near Pelham will discourage you from riding. As you are likely to make considerable use of it, would it not be worth while to have a few days' work done on it? About an hour after the receipt of the last-mentioned letter, I was made happy by the receipt of that of the 10th instant, which came by sloop. You seem fatigued and worried, your head wild and scarcely able to write, but do not name the cause. Whatever it may have been, I am persuaded that nothing will so speedily and effectually remove such sensations as gentle exercise (or even if it is not gentle) in the open air. The extreme heat of the weather, and the uncommon continuance of it, have, I fear, interrupted your good intentions on this head, especially as you are no friend to riding early. I wish you would alter this part (if it is any part) of your system. Walking early is bad on account of the dew; but riding can, I think, in such weather, be only practised with advantage early in the morning. The freshness of the air, and the sprightliness of all animated nature, are circumstances of no trifling consequence. I have no letter from you by the last post, which put me almost out of humour, notwithstanding the receipt of the three above mentioned within forty-eight hours, of which, however, the latest is a week old.
I hope Theo. will learn to ride on horseback. Two or three hours a day at French and arithmetic will not injure her. Be careful of green apples, &c.
I have been persuaded to undertake a laborious piece of business, which will employ me diligently for about ten days. The eloquence which wrought upon me was principally money. I am now at wages. What sacrifices of time and pleasure do I make to this paltry object—contemptible indeed in itself, but truly important and attractive as the means of gratifying those I love. No other consideration could induce me to spend another day of my life in objects in themselves uninteresting, and which afford neither instruction nor amusement. They become daily more disgusting to me; in some degree, perhaps, owing to my state of health, which is much as when I left New-York. The least fatigue brings a slight return of fever.
Your exercise, your medicine, and your reading are three subjects upon which you have hitherto dwelt only in prospect. They must be all, in some degree, within your power. I have a partiality for the little study as your bedroom. Say a word of each of these matters in your next.
Continue and multiply your letters to me. They are all my solace in this irksome and laborious confinement. The six last are constantly within my reach. I read them once a day at least. Write me of all I have requested, and a hundred things which I have not. You best know how to please and interest.
Your affectionate
Pelham, 23d July, 1791.
I have just now received your welcome letter of the 17th inst. The pleasure imparted by so flattering a testimony of your good-will, was tempered with a large portion of alloy in the confession of your ill health. I was apprehensive travelling in the heat and bad accommodations would check your recovery. Do return home as soon as possible; or, rather, come to Pelham; try quiet, and the good air, and the attention and friendship of those who love you. You may command Bartow's attendance here whenever it suits you, and you have a faithful envoy in Frederick, who will go post with your commands as often as you wish. It is, indeed, of serious consequence to you, to establish your healthbefore you commence politician: when once you get engaged, your industry will exceed your strength; your pride cause you to forget yourself. But remember, you are not your own; there are those who have stronger claims than ambition ought to have, or the public can have.
Why did you undertake that very laborious task you mention? 'Tis certain I have a great pleasure in spending money, but not when it is accompanied with the unpleasant reflection of sacrificing your health to the pursuit.
Theo. is much better; she writes and ciphers from five in the morning to eight, and also the same hours in the evening. This prevents our riding at those hours, except Saturday and Sunday, otherwise I should cheerfully follow your directions, as I rise at five or six every day. Theo. makes amazing progress at figures. Though Louisa has worked at them all winter, and appeared quite an adept at first, yet Theo. is now before her, and assists her to make her sums. You will really be surprised at her improvement. I think her time so well spent that I shall not wish to return to town sooner than I am obliged. She does not ride on horseback, though Frederick has a very pretty riding horse he keeps for her; but were she to attempt it now, there would be so much jealousy, and so many would wish to take their turn, that it would really be impracticable. But we have the best substitute imaginable. As you gave me leave to dispose of the old wheels as I pleased, I gave them as my part towards a wagon; we have a good plain Dutch wagon, that I prefer to a carriage when at Pelham, as the exercise is much better. We ride in numbers and are well jolted, and without dread. 'Tis the most powerful exercise I know. No Spring seats; but, like so many pigs, we bundle together on straw. Four miles are equal to twenty. It is really an acquisition. I hope you will see our little girl rosy cheeked and plump as a partridge. I rejoice with you at the poor major's return. I grow lazy, and love leisure; and, above all, the privilege of disposing of my own time with quiet and retirement when it suits me. I have also made choice of the little study for my own apartment; but with so large a family, and so few conveniences, there can be no place of retirement. The vacation hours of school, and Sunday, there is a constant hurlyburly, and every kind of noise, though it is really much better than I feared. I take all things as philosophically as I know how; provided I have no real evil to struggle with, I pass on with the tumult. I am now writing in the midst of it. The variety of sounds almost dim my sight; but I write on, and trust to good luck more than reflection, I find so much to say that I need not hesitate for matter, though I might for propriety of speaking. My spirits are better: as to industry, it is of a very flighty kind, and so variegated that it will not bear description. It required some attention to get mattersen train: it was like moving. My disorder I have not, nor am not able to attend to; 'tis attended with so many disagreeable circumstances that it is not practicable at present; but my general health is greatly improved, and my head much relieved. The hint you give respecting a rib for Frederick is more elating than I can express. You say nothing of B. That part of my petition was not less interesting. I humbly pray your honour may take into consideration the equity and propriety of my prayer, and grant me not only a hearing, but deign to give due consideration to the prayer of your humble petitioner, being confident she will find grace and mercy from your tribunal, with a full grant of all your endeavours to reinstate her in that desired tranquillity whose source is in your breast, to that happiness which is suspended on your will.
The heat and drought exceed all recollection. The town is extremely unhealthy. It is fortunate we are here. There is always air—never heat enough to incommode one. I am certain the child would have suffered in town; she was much reduced; her voice and breast were weak. Adieu. I think you must be tired before this. Attend to yourself. If you love us, you will. You will for your