New-Haven,
however, partook of the common calamity; and, in the evolution of
human events, from a place of safety and repose, was turned into a
place of confusion and war.
You are not contented, my dear Burr, and why are you not? You sigh for
New-Jersey, and why do you not return? It is true we are continually
broken in upon by the sons of tumult and war. Our situation is such
that the one army or the other is almost constantly with us, and yet
we rub along with tolerable order, spirit, and content. Oh! that the
days of peace would once more return, that we might follow what
business, partake of what amusements, and think and live as we please.
As to myself, I am, my dear Burr, one of the happiest of men. The
office I hold calls me too frequently, and detains me too long, from
home, otherwise I should enjoy happiness as full and high as this
world can afford. It is, as you express it, "serene, rural, and
sentimental;" and such, one day, you will _feel_.
"You see no company--you partake of no amusements--you are always
grave." Such, too, has been the life that I have lived for months and
years. I cannot say that it is an unpleasing one. I avoided company;
indeed, I do so still, unless it be the company of chosen friends. I
have been ever fond of my fireside and study--ever fond of calling up
some absent friend, and of living over, in idea, past times of
sentimental pleasure. Fancy steps in to my aid, colours the picture,
and makes it delightful indeed.
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