Memoirs of Aaron Burr Part 125

I have often heard your opinion of these congressional nominations.

They are hostile to all freedom and independence of suffrage. A certain junto of actual and fact.i.tious Virginians, having had possession of the government for twenty-four years, consider the United States as their property, and, by bawling "Support the Administration," have so long succeeded in duping the republican public. One of their princ.i.p.al arts, and which has been systematically taught by Jefferson, is that of promoting state dissensions, not between republican and federal--that would do them no good--but schisms in the republican party. By looking round you will see how the attention of leading men in the different states has thus been turned from general and _state_ politics. Let not this disgraceful domination continue.

Independently of the manner of the nomination and the location of the candidate, the man himself is one of the most improper and incompetent that could be selected. Naturally dull and stupid; extremely illiterate; indecisive to a degree that would be incredible to one who did not know him; pusillanimous, and, of course, hypocritical; has no opinion on any subject, and will be always under the government of the worst men; pretends, as I am told, to some knowledge of military matters, but never commanded a platoon, nor was ever fit to command one. "_He served in the Revolutionary War!_"--that is, he acted a short time as aid-de-camp to Lord Stirling, who was regularly ********. Monroe's whole duty was to fill his lords.h.i.+p's tankard, and hear, with indications of admiration, his lords.h.i.+p's long stories about himself. Such is Monroe's military experience. I was with my regiment in the same division at the time. As a lawyer, Monroe was far below mediocrity.

He never rose to the honour of trying a cause of the value of a hundred pounds. This is a character exactly suited to the views of the Virginia junto.

To this junto you have twice sacrificed yourself, and what have you got by it? Their hatred and abhorrence. Did you ever know them to countenance a man of talents and independence? Never--nor ever will.

It is time that you manifested that you had some individual character; some opinion of your own; some influence to support that opinion. Make them fear you, and they will be at your feet. Thus far they have reason to believe that you fear them.

The moment is extremely auspicious for breaking down this degrading system. The best citizens of our country acknowledge the feebleness of our administration. They acknowledge that offices are bestowed merely to preserve power, and without the smallest regard to fitness. If, then, there be a man in the United States of firmness and decision, and having standing enough to afford even a hope of success, it is your duty to hold him up to public view: that man is _Andrew Jackson_.

Nothing is wanting but a respectable nomination, made before the proclamation of the Virginia caucus, and _Jackson's_ success is inevitable.

If this project should accord with your views, I could wish to see _you_ prominent in the execution of it. It must be known to be _your_ work. Whether a formal and open nomination should now be made, or whether you should, for the present, content yourself with barely denouncing, by a joint resolution of both houses of your legislature, congressional caucuses and nominations, you only can judge. One consideration inclines me to hesitate about the policy of a present nomination. It is this--that Jackson ought first to be admonished to be pa.s.sive: for, the moment he shall be announced as a candidate, he will be a.s.sailed by the Virginia junto with menaces, and with insidious promises of boons and favours. _There is danger that Jackson might be wrought upon by such practices_. If an open nomination be made, an express should be instantly sent to him.

This suggestion has not arisen from any exclusive attachment to Jackson. The object is to break down this vile combination which rules and degrades the United States. If you should think that any other man could be held up with better prospect of success, name that man. I know of no such. But the business must be accomplished, and on this occasion, and by you. So long as the present system prevails, you will be struggling against wind and tide to preserve a precarious influence. You will never be forgiven for the crime of having talents and independence.

Exhibit yourself, then, and emerge from this state of nullity. You owe it to yourself, you owe it to me, you owe it to your country, you owe it to the memory of the dead.

I have talked of this matter to your late secretary, but he has not seen this letter.

A. BURR.

Your secretary was to have delivered this personally, but has changed his course on hearing that Jackson is on his way to Was.h.i.+ngton. If you should have any confidential friend among the members of Congress from your state, charge him to caution Jackson against the perfidious caresses with which he will be overwhelmed at Was.h.i.+ngton.

A. B.

New-York, December 11, 1815.

A copy of the preceding went under cover to Dr. Wragg. Since that date things are wonderfully advanced, as your secretary will write or tell you. These will require a written message (letter) from yourself and others (or yourself alone, but three names would look more formal), advising Jackson what is doing; that communications have been had with the Northern states, requiring him only to be pa.s.sive, and asking from him a list of persons in the Western states to whom you may address your letters.

A. BURR.

FROM JOSEPH ALSTON.

Charleston, February 16, 1816.

Your letter of the 20th of November, entrusted to Mr. Phillips, was received through the postoffice about the middle of last month. It was, of course, too late, had circ.u.mstances been ever so favourable, to be acted upon in the manner proposed. Had it even been received, however, in due season, it would have found me utterly incapable of exertion. On my way to Columbia, in November, I had another severe attack of illness, which rendered absolutely impracticable either the immediate prosecution of my journey or my attendance during the session of the legislature. As soon as I was able to bear the motion of a carriage, I was brought by short stages to this place, where I have been confined ever since. Yesterday was the first time for two months that I have been out of the house. So much for the miserable remnant of myself.

With regard to the subject of your letter of the 20th of November, I fully coincide with you in sentiment; but the spirit, the energy, the health necessary to give practical effect to sentiment, are all gone.

I feel too much alone, too entirely unconnected with the world, to take much interest in any thing. Yet, without the smallest solicitude about the result, I shall certainly not fail to discharge my public duty, whenever the opportunity occurs, by giving a very strong and frank expression of my opinion on the subject suggested.

Vanderlyn, I perceive from the papers, has returned to New-York.

Nothing, I trust, has prevented his bringing back the portrait [2] you left with him. Let me again entreat you to use your influence with him in procuring me a good copy. I received some days since, through the kindness of Mr. John B. Prevost, a miniature, which appears to have been taken from Vanderlyn's portrait. The execution is good, but in expression it is by no means equal to the portrait. There was a small portrait of Natalie which you took with you, of which, if Vanderlyn embraces that kind of painting in his present plan, I should be glad also to obtain of him a copy. The original picture, I think, was the best portrait I ever saw.

Yours affectionately,

JOSEPH ALSTON.

In this depressed state of mind and debilitated state of body Governor Alston remained until summer, when he died. Whatever may have been appearances to the contrary, it is highly probable that, after the death of his son and wife, he never enjoyed happiness. Their loss continually preyed upon him. To Colonel Burr, and, it would seem, to him alone, he unbosomed himself. All his letters breathe a deep and settled gloom, bordering on despondency--a gloom which time could not subdue or change.

FROM WILLIAM A. ALSTON.

Rosehill, near Georgetown, October 4, 1916.

SIR,

It was enjoined on me, and my brother John A. Alston, verbally, by our late brother Joseph Alston, to send a certain trunk to you, which he never had the courage to open, containing, as he said, some things that belonged to your daughter Theodosia; and to send a certain collection of other articles (of dress, I believe), that had also been hers, to the eldest daughter of Mr. J. B. Prevost. Pray point you out the way, sir, in which our trust is to be executed.

In his will, of which a copy shall be sent you if desired, my brother has given all demands up to you that he had against you. Very respectfully,

WILLIAM A. ALSTON.

P. S. These are alone the words relating to you in the will: "To my father-in-law, Aaron Burr, I give, devise, and bequeath all demands I may have against him, whether by judgment or otherwise."

The trunk and other articles above referred to were subsequently transmitted to Colonel Burr. Among the private papers of Theodosia there are some fragments and sc.r.a.ps of much interest. In the summer of 1805 she was dangerously ill, and she appears, from the following letter, to have been greatly depressed in mind.

FROM THEODOSIA TO JOSEPH ALSTON.

August 6, 1805.

Whether it is the effect of extreme debility and disordered nerves, or whether it is really presentiment, the existence of which I have been often told of, and always doubted, I cannot tell; but something whispers me that my end approaches. In vain I reason with myself; in vain I occupy my mind, and seek to fix my attention on other subjects ; there is about me that dreadful heaviness and sinking of the heart, that awful foreboding, of which it is impossible to divest myself.

Perhaps I am now standing on the brink of eternity; and, ere I plunge in the fearful abyss, I have some few requests to make.

I wish your sisters (one of them, it is immaterial which) would select from my clothes certain things which they will easily perceive belonged to my mother. These, with whatever lace they find in a large trunk in a garret-room of the Oaks house, added to a little satinwood box (the largest, and having a lock and key), and a black satin embroidered box, with a pincus.h.i.+on; all these things I wish they would put together in one trunk, and send them to Frederic, with the enclosed letter. I prefer him, because Bartow's wife would have little respect for what, however trifling it may appear, I nevertheless deem sacred.

I beg Sister Maria will accept of my watch-ring. She will find a locket which she gave me, containing the hair of her mother; she had better take it. If the lace in my wardrobe at the Oaks will be of any use to Charlotte, I beg she will take it, or any thing else she wishes. My heart is with those dear amiable sisters, to give them something worth preserving in recollection of me; but they know that a warm friends.h.i.+p is all I have to give.

Return to mamma the eagle she gave me. Should an opportunity to Catharine Brown ever occur, send her a pearl necklace, a small diamond ring, a little pair of coral tablets, which are among my trinkets at the Oaks. I pray you, my dear husband, send Bartow's daughter some present for me, and to himself and Frederic a lock of my hair. Return Natalie the little desk she gave me, accompanied by a.s.surances of my affectionate recollection, and a ring of my hair. Remember me to Sally, who is truly amiable, and whom I sincerely esteem.

I beg, also, you will write immediately to New-York, for warding some money for the comfortable support of _Peggy_ until my father can provide for her. Do not permit grief at the loss of me to render you forgetful of this, for the poor creature may expire of want in the mean time. I beg this may be attended to without delay.

To you, my beloved, I leave our child; the child of my bosom, who was once a part of myself, and from whom I shall shortly be separated by the cold grave. You love him now; henceforth love him for me also. And oh, my husband, attend to this last prayer of a doting mother. Never, never listen to what any other person tells you of him. Be yourself his judge on all occasions. He has faults; see them, and correct them yourself. Desist not an instant from your endeavours to secure his confidence. It is a work which requires as much uniformity of conduct as warmth of affection towards him. I know, my beloved, that you can perceive what is right on this subject as on every other. But recollect, these are the last words I can ever utter. It will tranquillize my last moments to have disburdened myself of them.

I fear you will scarcely be able to read this scrawl, but I feel hurried and agitated. Death is not welcome to me. I confess it is ever dreaded. You have made me too fond of life. Adieu, then, thou kind, thou tender husband. Adieu, friend of my heart. May Heaven prosper you, and may we meet hereafter. Adieu; perhaps we may never see each other again in this world. You are away, I wished to hold you fast, and prevented you from going this morning. But He who is wisdom itself ordains events; we must submit to them. Least of all should I murmur.

I, on whom so many blessings have been showered--whose days have been numbered by bounties--who have had such a husband, such a child, and such a father. Oh pardon me, my G.o.d, if I regret leaving these. I resign myself. Adieu, once more, and for the last time, my beloved.

Speak of me often to our son. Let him love the memory of his mother, and let him know how he was loved by her. Your wife, your fond wife,

THEO.

Let my father see my son sometimes. Do not be unkind towards him whom I have loved so much, I beseech you. Burn all my papers except my father's letters, which I beg you to return him. Adieu, my sweet boy.