Sheffield, 7th August, 1776.

MY DEAR BURR,

If you remember, some months since, you and I mutually engaged to
correspond by letter. I told you then that you were not to expect any
thing either entertaining, or in any degree worth the trouble of
perusing. What can a reasonable being expect from an inhabitant of
such an obscure, remote, and dead place as Sheffield, to amuse,
instruct, or even to merit the attention of a young, gay,
enterprising, martial genius? I know you will expect nothing, and I
dare pledge my honour, therefore, that you will not, either now or in
future, in this respect, be disappointed.

You recollect, perhaps, that when I had the pleasure to see you here,
I informed you of a design to visit New-York and the southward. Soon
after my business called me to Boston, and, on my return, I was
obliged to go with the militia to Peekskill; from there I should have
visited the city and my friends, had not some foolish accidents
prevented. I now think, as soon as I can leave home, of making a tour;
but this, like other futurities, is wholly uncertain.

The insignificant figure I make, in my own opinion, in this day of
political and martial exertions, is an humbling consideration. To be
stoically indifferent to the great events that are now unfolding, is
altogether inconsistent, not only with my inclination, but even with
my natural constitution; and to pursue a line of conduct which
indicates such a disposition (I mean my continuance at home), is a
mystery for which I will endeavour to account. Remember, I do not
intend to libel the colony to which I belong.