“Is the sincere wish of

“THEO.  BURR ALSTON.”

This letter was probably not ineffectual.  Certain it is that government offered no serious obstacle to Burr’s return, and instituted no further proceedings against him.  Probably, too, Theodosia received some kind of assurance to this effect, for we find her urging her father, not only to return, but to go boldly to New York among his old friends, and resume there the practice of his profession.  The great danger to be apprehended was from his creditors, who then had power to confine a debtor within limits, if not to throw him into prison. “If the worst comes to the worst” wrote this fond and devoted daughter, “I will leave everything to suffer with you.”  The Italics are her own.

He came at length.  He landed in Boston, and sent word of his arrival to Theodosia.  Rejoiced as she was, she replied vaguely, partly in cipher, fearing lest her letter might be opened on the way, and the secret of her father’s arrival be prematurely disclosed.  She told him that her own health was tolerable; that her child, then a fine boy of eleven, was well; that “his little soul warmed at the sound of his grandfather’s name”; and that his education, under a competent tutor, was proceeding satisfactorily.  She gave directions respecting her father’s hoped-for journey to South Carolina in the course of the summer; and advised him, in case war should be declared with England, to offer his services to the government.  He reached New York in May, 1812, and soon had the pleasure of informing his daughter that his reception had been more friendly than he could have expected, and that in time his prospects were fair of a sufficiently lucrative practice.

Surely, now, after so many years of anxiety and sorrow, Theodosia—­still a young woman, not thirty years of age, still enjoying her husband’s love—–­might have reasonably expected a happy life.  Alas! there was no more happiness in store for her on this side of the grave.  The first letter which Burr received from his son-in-law after his arrival in New York contained news which struck him to the heart.

“A few miserable weeks since,” writes Mr. Alston, “and in spite of all the embarrassments, the troubles, and disappointments which have fallen to our lot since we parted, I would have congratulated you on your return in the language of happiness.  With my wife on one side and my boy on the other, I felt myself superior to depression.  The present was enjoyed, the future was anticipated with enthusiasm.  One dreadful blow has destroyed us; reduced us to the veriest, the most sublimated wretchedness.  That boy, on whom all rested,—­our companion, our friend,—­he who was to have transmitted down the mingled blood of Theodosia and myself,—­he who was to have redeemed all your glory, and shed new lustre upon our families,—­that boy, at once our happiness and our pride, is taken from us,—­is dead.  We saw him dead.  My own hand surrendered him to the grave; yet we are alive.  But it is past.  I will not conceal from you that life is a burden, which, heavy as it is, we shall both support, if not with dignity, at least with decency and firmness.  Theodosia has endured all that a human being could endure; but her admirable mind will triumph.  She supports herself in a manner worthy of your daughter.”