What was his Motive? going, who first must be left. Luckily two gentlemen had followed by the side of the carriage, and when it stopt took out the ladies as they got to their houses. Our sweet little, trembling, delicate, unprotected fellow sat immovable whilst the two gentlemen that were obliged to walk thro` all the snow and storm carried all the ladies from the carriage. What could be the motive of the little wretch for creeping in with us I know not: I should have thought 'twas his great wish to serve the ladies, if he had moved from the seat, but 'twas the most singular thing I ever heard of. We at length arrived at the place of our destination. Miss Weeks asked Miss Coffin (for that was the unlucky girl's name) to go home with her, which she readily did. The gentlemen then proceeded to take us out. My beau, unused to carrying such a weight of sin and folly, sank under its pressure, and I was obliged to carry my mighty self through the snow which almost buried me. Such a time, I never shall forget it! My great-grandmother never told any of her youthful adventures to equal it. The storm continued till Monday, and I was obliged to stay; but Monday I insisted if there was any possibility of getting to Sister's to set out. The horse and sleigh were soon at the door, and again I sallied forth to brave the tempestuous weather (for it still snowed). . . length we arrived at Sister Boyd's door, and the drift before it was the greatest we had met with; the horse was so exhausted that he sunk down, and we really thought him dead. 'Twas some distance from the gate and no path. The gentleman took me up in his arms and carried me till my weight pressed him so far into the snow that he had no power to move his feet. I rolled out of his arms and wallowed till I reached the gate; then rising to shake off the snow, I turned and beheld my beau fixed and immovable; he could not get his feet out to take another At step. At length, making a great exertion to spring his whole length forward, he made out to reach the poor horse, who lay in a worse condition than his master. By this time all the family had gathered to the window, indeed they saw the whole frolic; but 'twas not yet ended, for, unluckily, in pulling off Miss Weeks' bonnet to send to the sleigh to be carried back, I pulled off my wig and left my head bare. I was perfectly convulsed with laughter. Think what a ridiculous figure I must have been, still standing at the gate, my bonnet halfway to the sleigh and my wig in my hand. However, I hurried it on, for they were all laughing at the window, and made the best of my way into the house. The horse was unhitched and again set out, and left me to ponder on the incidents of the morning. I have since heard of several events that took place that Assembly night much more amusing than mine, — nay, Don Quixote's most ludicrous adventures compared with some of them will appear like the common events of the day. While waiting for breakfast, Aaron Burr writes to his daughter YOUR NEW-YORK, August 6, 1803 JR letter of the 20th of July was received from the post-office on my arrival last evening. There must be some anachronism in the date, for you left NewYork on the 21st. I learned, however, that you arrived, were well, and had danced. Lord, how I should have liked to see you dance. It is so long; how long is it? It is certain that you danced better than anybody and looked better. Not a word of the Spring waters, their effects, &c. I made the journey from Providence by land in four days. Near town, yesterday, P.M., I met Mr. and Mrs. Miss Did Not Come Harper, of Baltimore. They are to breakfast with me this morning; so I must make haste, for it is now eight o'clock. How bad I write to-day. With Mr. and Mrs. Harper was a pretty-looking, black-eyed lass, whose name I did not hear. I hope she is coming out to breakfast, for I like her. There was also that Liverpool merchant, who used to hang on Butler so in Charleston. I hope he wont come. Now I hear the carriage. Bon jour. Be a good girl. Love to H. 'Twas nothing but a cart. L. and her little bang are here (chez nous); how happy are you mothers. She will descant on its beauties by the hour; will point them out to you distinctly, lest they might escape notice. The hair, the nose, the mouth, and, in short, every feature, limb, and muscle, is admirable and is admired. To all which I agreed. Here they come, in earnest. I see only one lady in the carriage; so miss has not come; well, she may stay. A. BURR And in spite of her dilatoriness continues to write NEW-YORK, March 28, 1804 YOUR letter, dated early in this month - I don't YOUR recollect the very day, having left the letter in town; but you write so seldom that a reference to the month is sufficiently descriptive; your letter, then, of March, announcing your removal to the Oaks, the pretty description of your house and establishment, and all that, were very amusing. I had really begun to doubt whether you were not all dead or something worse. I shall get the speech, no thanks to you; there is a copy in Philadelphia, for which I have written, and it will come endorsed by the fair hand of Celeste: truly her hand and arm are handsome. I did not see her on my way through -tant mieux; for I took great affront; thence ensued explanations, &c. Nothing like a quarrel to advance love. La Planche I did see twice in one day; the last a long, very long visit. Lovely in weeds. Ph. Church and Miss Stewart, of Philadelphia, it is said, are to be married; Duer (which Duer I don't know) and Miss M. Denning reported as engaged; Bunner and Miss Church said to be mutually in love; on his part avowed, on hers not denied. The Earl of Selkirk is here; a frank, unassuming, sensible man of about thirty. Whether he thinks of La R. is unknown to the writer. He dines with me on Monday. If you had one particle of invention or genius, you would have taught A. B. A.1 his a, b, c before this. God mend you. His fibbing is an inheritance, which pride, an inheritance, will cure. His mother went through that process. Adieu. A. BURR Washington Irving tries to save the country WE (To Miss Mary Fairlee) E have toiled NEW YORK, May 2, 1807 through the purgatory of an may the day stand for aye accursed on the Kalendar, for never were poor devils more intolerably beaten and discomfited than my forlorn brethren, the Federalists. What makes me the more outrageous is, that I got fairly drawn into the vortex, and before the third day was expired, I was as deep in mud and politics as ever a moderate gentleman would wish to be ; and I drank beer with the multitude; and I talked handbill 1 Her son. The Tug of War fashion with the demagogues, and I shook hands with the mob whom my heart abhorreth. 'Tis true for the two first days I maintained my coolness and indifference. The first day I merely hunted for whim, character, and absurdity, according to my usual custom; the second day being rainy, I sat in the bar-room at the Seventh Ward, and read a volume of Galatea, which I found on a shelf; but, before I had got through a hundred pages, I had three or four good Feds sprawling around me on the floor, and another with his eyes half shut, leaning on my shoulder in the most affectionate manner, and spelling a page of the book as if it had been an electioneering handbill. But the third day- Ah! then came the tug of war. My patriotism all at once blazed forth, and I determined to save my country! Oh, my friend, I have been in such holes and corners; such filthy nooks and filthy corners, sweep offices and oyster cellars! "I have been sworn brother to a leash of drawers, and can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life," -faugh! I shall not be able to bear the smell of small beer or tobacco for a month to come! Truly this saving one's country is a nauseous piece of business, and if patriotism is such a dirty virtue — prythee, no more of it. I was almost the whole time at the Seventh Ward- as you know, that is the most fertile ward in mob, riot, and incident, and I do assure you the scene was exquisitely ludicrous. Such haranguing and puffing and strutting among all the little great men of the day. Such shoals of unfledged heroes from the lower wards, who had broke away from their mammas, and run to electioneer with a slice of bread and butter in their hands. . . |