"When the itch of scribbling seizes me, I hardly know when to stop.
The fit, indeed, seldom comes upon me; but when it does, though I sit
down with a design to be short, yet my letter insensibly slides into
length, and swells perhaps into an enormous size. I know not how it
happens, but on such occasions I have a knack of throwing myself out
on paper that I cannot readily get the better of. It is a sign,
however, that I more than barely esteem the person I write to, as I
have constantly experienced that my hand but illy performs its office
unless my heart concurs. I confess I cannot conceive how I got into so
scribbling a vein at present. It is now past eleven o'clock at night,
and besides being on horse the greater part of the day, I intend to
start early to-morrow for Philadelphia. There I shall see the races,
and the play, and, what is of more value far than all, there, too, I
shall see Miss -----, you know who.

"The enclosed letter to Spring I commit to your care. I should have
sent it before, as I wrote it immediately after you left this place,
but I really thought you were in New-England long ere now. I know not
his address; perhaps he is at Newport, perhaps he is not. If, on
inquiry, you find that the letter is wrongly directed, pray give it an
envelope, and superscribe it anew. If he is still at Newport, it
would, perhaps, more readily reach him from New-York than from any
part of New-England that you maybe at. I have said that if I am
mistaken in directing the within letter, you should cover it and give
it the proper address. Do, dear Burr, get somebody who can write at
least a passable hand to back it, for you give your letters such a
sharp, slender, and lady-like cast, that almost every one, on seeing
them, would conclude there was a correspondence kept up between my
honest friend Spring and some of the female tribe, which might,