I sent you a packet by N. Hazard, and from that time to this I have
not had the most distant prospect of conveying a letter to you.
However, I have written a number of scrawls, the substance of which
you shall now have.
The times with me are pretty much as usual; not so full of action as I
could wish; and I find this propensity to action is very apt to lead
me into scrapes. T. B. has been here since I wrote you last; he came
very unexpectedly. You will conclude we had some confab about Miss
-----. We had but little private chat, and the whole of that little
was about her. He would now and then insinuate slyly what a clever
circumstance it would be to have such a wife, with her fortune.
T. BURR, [2] by his kindness to me, has certainly laid me under
obligations, which it would be the height of ingratitude in me ever to
forget; but I cannot conceive it my duty to be in the least influenced
by these in the present case. Were I to conform to his inclination, it
could give him pleasure or pain only as the consequence was good or
bad to me. The sequel might be such as would inevitably cause him the
most bitter anguish; and, in all probability, would be such if I
should consult his fancy instead of my judgment. And who can be a
judge of these consequences but myself? But even supposing things
could be so situated that, by gratifying him, I should certainly be
the means of his enjoying some permanent satisfaction, and should
subject myself to a bare probability of misery as permanent, would it
not stagger the most generous soul to think of sacrificing a whole
life's comfort to the caprice of a friend? But this is a case that can
never happen, unless that friend has some mean and selfish motive,
such as I know T.
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