What grave nonsense, you will say, or at least think, if this should find you, as is probable, surrounded by admirers uniting to persuade you that you are already perfect; and in such company how stupid a compliment will it seem to tell you that you may still improve; that there are no limits to the improvement and approaches which you may make towards perfection. Such, however ungallant, will be the language of your admirer and friend,
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
New-York, May 8, 1804.
I think I have answered, or at least have noticed, your letter of the 17th, being the last which has been received, and, as usual, postmarked nine days after its date.
The affair of La G. is becoming serious. After due reflection, this does appear to me to be the most discreet thing—prudence, cheerfulness, and good-temper are ingredients of importance. I will offer homage. Are you content? Answer quickly.
Madame Bonaparte and husband are here. I have just seen them and no more. For reasons unknown to me (doubtless some state policy), we are suddenly become strangers.
Of all earthly things I most want to see your boy. Does he yet know his letters? If not, you surely must want skill, for, most certain, he can't want genius. You must tell me of all his acquirements.
It ought to have been mentioned that I have not seen my inamorata since the time of which I wrote you, which you may think passing strange.
May 26, 1804.