Memoirs of Aaron Burr, Volume 2. by Davis, Matthew L. (Matthew Livingston), 1773-1850

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.

A. BURR.

TO THEODOSIA.

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.

A. BURR.

TO THEODOSIA.

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.