TO JOSEPH ALSTON.
Washington, November 5, 1804.
I arrived last evening. You will have received my two letters of the 30th ult. and 1st instant, communicating, among other things, some information which I received on the road respecting the feelings in Bergen county, New-Jersey. Since that a grand jury has been empannelled, who have found an indictment of murder. The witness, Parson Mason. The presiding judge, Boudinot, one of the most vehement of vehement federalists. The particulars shall be communicated as soon as I can find time to write them; they will furnish you with new materials for reflection. They talk of making a demand here.
My house and furniture have been sold for about twenty-five thousand dollars. Seven or eight thousand dollars of debts remain unpaid. My agents have not collected any of my debts, nor sold any of the detached lots. The library and the wine remain. They will, I think, become your property.
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
Washington, November 17, 1804.
Shall I write to her to-night, or omit it till to-morrow? Oh! to-night, dear pappy. Well, then, to-night it shall be—"Je vous ecris parceque je n'ai rien a faire," &c. That's not true; fifty unanswered letters on my table pronounce it false.
But when I deliberated about writing, it was with a view to write you sense—grave sense. What a dull thing is sense. How it mars half the pleasure of life, and yet how contemptible is all that has it not. Too much sense, by which I mean only a great deal, is very troublesome to the possessor and to the world. It is like one carrying a huge pack through a crowd. He is constantly hitting and annoying somebody, and is, in turn, annoyed and jostled by every one, and he must be a very powerful man indeed if he can keep upright and force his way. Now there appears to me to be but two modes of carrying this pack with any tolerable comfort to the owner.
Interrupted. A very extraordinary visit; you shall hear as soon as they go.