[Middlebrook, New Jersey, April, 1779]
My affections for you are far from superficial, John Laurens. Despite my reserved demeanor, my heart is truly warm in our friendship. I wish I could demonstrate my love through actions, not mere words. Before your departure, I confess, I scarcely grasped the profound value you had instilled in my heart. It was, my dear friend, a cruel farewell. You are well aware of my general distrust of mankind and my strong desire to remain detached and self-reliant for happiness. You should not have exploited my vulnerability to insinuate yourself into my affections unbidden. However, as we tend to be lenient with those we cherish, I shall pardon your sweet deception. My condition is this: for my sake, if not your own, you must perpetually deserve the partiality you have so skillfully kindled within me.
I have received both your letters, one from Philadelphia and the other from Chester. I am delighted by your success thus far and hope the positive signs preceding your appeal to the Assembly will continue favorably, should circumstances necessitate it, which I fear may be the case. Yet, for both our country’s sake and my own selfish desires, I pray the enemy will have retreated from Georgia before your arrival, compelling your return to the company of your old friends. Regarding the Commission you received from Congress, the consensus must be that your conduct was impeccable. Indeed, your reservations on this matter seem uncharacteristically inaccurate; your scruples were largely unfounded. As Aide-de-Camp to the Commander in Chief, you held the rank of Lieutenant Colonel as much as any officer in the line. Receiving a commission as Lieutenant Colonel, dated from that appointment, does not infringe upon their ranks, unless it were to place you in a specific regiment, violating the right of succession—which is not the case, nor is it an inevitable outcome. Given your impending command of a battalion, a commission was essential. Had this commission been dated after your Aide-de-Camp appointment, I would have deemed it a slight to your previous rank, to mine, and to the entire corps. My sole reservation lies here: Congress, through their actions on both occasions, seems intent on bestowing a privilege, an honor, a distinction upon you, withheld from other gentlemen within the family. This smacks of favoritism, which, while we all genuinely admire your character and military prowess, cannot but stir some unease amongst us. But understand me clearly, my Dear J. Any fault lies squarely with Congress. I reiterate, your conduct has been entirely correct, even commendable. You declined the offer when it was appropriate to decline, and accepted it when acceptance was due—and, might I add, with excessive delicacy. It was crucial for your plans; your plans serve the public good; and I would have acted similarly. Your hesitation is a refinement upon generosity itself.
News here is utterly stagnant, both politically and militarily. Gates has declined the Indian command, and Sullivan is slated to assume it. The former has recently offered further proof of his impudence, folly, and villainy. It is a minor matter, but circumstances prevent me from elaborating.
I can only imagine the joy you must derive from the sweet words of your beloved in the enclosed letters. I trust they are recent. They were brought from New York by General Thompson, delivered to him there by a Mrs. Moore, a self-proclaimed relative of your wife, recently from England. She mentioned your daughter was well when she departed England, perhaps—.
And now, my Dear Laurens, since we are on the topic of wives, I hereby empower and command you to procure one for me in Carolina. The wife I envision will be, I know, a rare find, but success would only underscore your zeal and skill. Let me describe her—She must be young, beautiful (a good figure is paramount), sensible (a touch of learning suffices), well-bred (but she must abhor pretension), chaste and affectionate (my ideals of fidelity and tenderness are fervent), good-natured, and exceedingly generous (she must be averse to both miserliness and nagging, for I equally detest a shrew and a penny-pincher). Politically, her leanings are immaterial; I am confident in my persuasive abilities. Religiously, a moderate inclination will suffice. She must believe in God and dislike religious zealots. As for fortune, the more substantial, the better. You are familiar with my temperament and circumstances and should, therefore, prioritize this aspect in your negotiations. Though I risk no purgatory for avarice, money is nonetheless essential to earthly happiness. Lacking personal wealth and ill-equipped to acquire it through charm or industry, my wife, should I find one, must bring at least enough to indulge her own whims. NB: Remember in your dealings that I harbor no aversion to maidenly beauty and am willing to undertake the associated responsibilities.
Should you not swiftly encounter a lady matching my description, you may simply advertise in the public papers. Doubtless, you will be inundated with candidates for most qualifications, eager to vie for such a prize as myself. To pique their interest, you must depict the suitor—his height, build, mental and physical attributes, accomplishments, prospects, fortune, etc. In portraying me, be kind, dear friend; but ensure you do justice to the length of my nose, and do not forget that I—.
Having reread what I have written, I question my sanity in embarking on this jest. Do I desire a wife? No—I am plagued enough without seeking the ultimate addition to my woes. Were I foolish enough to do so, I would hesitate to employ a proxy. Did I aim to display wit? If so, I have surely missed the mark. Did I merely intend to frolic? In this, I succeeded, yet I achieved more. I have indulged my sentiments by prolonging the sole form of communication available to me with my friend. Farewell.
Yours,
A Hamilton
P.S.—Fleury shall be attended to. All the family sends their love. The General and Mrs. Washington join in this, and, best of all, it is offered with sincerity, not mere formality.
