Washington, March 14, 1802.
Your letter of the 1st, postmarked the 3d, was received last evening. I regret that L. N. did not come to town, believing that you only could console her; that she would make you an intelligent companion; and that you could restore the tone of her mind, without diminishing the firmness of your own.
Papa's present was the most gallant and charming thing that could have been imagined. By Mr. Rutledge, who goes to-morrow, I send this papa a little token which has been some weeks waiting for an opportunity. Mr. Rutledge will tell you how I do, and what I do, and, to an hour, when Congress will adjourn. He sets off to-morrow, and will be in Chilton about four days after this letter; of course, I do not write by him.
It is probable that the box went with the ship which took your first cargo; but, as no one paid the least attention to the landing of the articles, nor to compare the delivery with the invoice, it may have been left on board. I will, however, write to New-York.
The story of P. is a fable. We are on the best terms, and he calls very often to see me. The elegy may now be seen in the newspaper, which, considering how nearly it touched you, I thought the best mode of communication. Avoid sights. You say nothing of the progress of housefurnishing and housekeeping.
Your last was sealed, as too often before, on the writing. If your Mari denies you a sheet of paper to enclose a letter, pray lay out one of your four hundred dollars for this purpose. Adieu, ma chere enfante.
A. BURR.
P. S. Somebody (I believe the Spectator) says that a postscript is always the most important part of a lady's letter. This, then, will be feminine.
I have had three letters from Natalie. All full of interest and amusement. Her remarks are equal to those of Lady Mary W. Montague for their truth and spirit, and far superior to any of our diplomatic communications. She is to travel from Nantz to Paris (about four hundred and fifty miles) with her maid and postillion only: an enterprise which no woman in France under forty hath executed without shipwreck during the last hundred years. Yet Natalie will do it without injury and without suspicion. I have taught her to rely on herself, and I rely on her pride.
I have said, and truly, that the story of P. is a fable. It may, however, by remote concatenation, and with the aid of great fancy and a little malice, have grown out of a trifling and ridiculous incident which took place at New-York, and which I am sure you have heard. P. was laughed at, and has behaved better ever since. There are at least twenty (my neighbour, Mrs. Law, says fifty) such anecdotes now circulating in this vicinity, all equally unfounded. Without any appeal, therefore, you may contradict all such as are inconsistent not only with truth, but with probability. A lady of rank and consequence, who bad a great curiosity to see the vice-president, after several plans and great trouble at length was gratified, and she declared that be was the very ugliest man she had ever seen in her life. His bald head, pale hatchet visage, and harsh countenance, certainly verify the lady's conclusion.