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.
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