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Title: The Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson Compiled From Family Letters and Reminiscences
Author: Randolph, Sarah N.
Language: English
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*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "The Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson Compiled From Family Letters and Reminiscences" ***

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[Illustration: THOMAS JEFFERSON.

_From Portrait by Gilbert Stuart._]




  [Illustration: Jefferson's seal]


  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by


  In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.


I do not in this volume write of Jefferson either as of the great
man or as of the statesman. My object is only to give a faithful
picture of him as he was in private life--to show that he was, as
I have been taught to think of him by those who knew and loved him
best, a beautiful domestic character. With this view I have collected
the reminiscences of him which have been written by his daughter and
grandchildren. From his correspondence, published and unpublished,
I have culled his family letters, and here reproduce them as being
the most faithful witnesses of the warmth of his affections, the
elevation of his character, and the scrupulous fidelity with which he
discharged the duties of every relation in life.

I am well aware that the tale of Jefferson's life, both public and
private, has been well told by the most faithful of biographers in
"Randall's Life of Jefferson," and that much of what is contained in
these pages will be found in that admirable work, which, from the
author's zealous devotion to truth, and his indefatigable industry
in collecting his materials, must ever stand chief among the most
valuable contributions to American history. I propose, however, to
give a sketch of Jefferson's private life in a briefer form than it
can be found in either the thirteen volumes of the two editions of
his published correspondence, or in the three stout octavo volumes of
his Life by Randall. To give a bird's-eye view of his whole career,
and to preserve unbroken the thread of this narrative, I quote freely
from his Memoir, and from such of his letters as cast any light upon
the subject, filling up the blanks with my own pen.

Jefferson's executor having a few months ago recovered from the
United States Government his family letters and private papers, which
had been exempted from the sale of his public manuscripts, I am
enabled to give in these pages many interesting letters never before

No man's private character has been more foully assailed than
Jefferson's, and none so wantonly exposed to the public gaze, nor
more fully vindicated. I shall be more than rewarded for my labors
should I succeed in imparting to my readers a tithe of that esteem
and veneration which I have been taught to feel for him by the person
with whom he was most intimate during life--the grandson who, as a
boy, played upon his knee, and, as a man, was, as he himself spoke of
him, "the staff" of his old age.

The portrait of Jefferson is from a painting by Gilbert Stuart, in
the possession of his family, and by them considered as the best
likeness of him. The portrait of his daughter, Martha Jefferson
Randolph, is from a painting by Sully. The view of Monticello
represents the home of Jefferson as it existed during his lifetime,
and not as it now is--a ruin.

                                                 THE AUTHOR.
  JUNE, 1871.



  Jefferson's Birthplace.--Sketch of his early Life.--Character
  of his Parents.--His Grandfather, Isham Randolph.--Peter
  Jefferson's Friendship for William Randolph.--Randolph dies,
  and leaves his young Son to the Guardianship of Jefferson.--
  His faithful Discharge of the Trust.--Thomas Jefferson's
  earliest Recollections.--His Father's Hospitality.--First
  Acquaintance with Indians.--Life of the early Settlers of
  Virginia: its Ease and Leisure.--Expense of Thomas Jefferson's
  early Education.--Death of his Father.--Perils of his
  Situation.--Letter to his Guardian.--Goes to William and
  Mary College.--Extract from his Memoir.--Sketch of
  Fauquier.--Of Wythe                                          Page 17


  Intense Application as a Student.--Habits of Study kept up
  during his Vacations.--First Preparations made for Building
  at Monticello.--Letters to his College Friend, John Page.--
  Anecdote of Benjamin Harrison.--Jefferson's Devotion to his
  eldest Sister.--He witnesses the Debate on the Stamp
  Act.--First Meeting with Patrick Henry.--His Opinion of
  him.--His superior Education.--Always a Student.--Wide Range
  of Information.--Anecdote.--Death of his eldest Sister.--His
  Grief.--Buries himself in his Books.--Finishes his Course of
  Law Studies.--Begins to practise.--Collection of Vocabularies
  of Indian Languages.--House at Shadwell burnt.--Loss of his
  Library.--Marriage.--Anecdote of his Courtship.--Wife's
  Beauty.--Bright Prospects.--Friendship for Dabney Carr.--His
  Talents.--His Death.--Jefferson buries him at Monticello.--His
  Epitaph                                                           31


  Happy Life at Monticello.--Jefferson's fine Horsemanship.--Birth
  of his oldest Child.--Goes to Congress.--Death of his Mother.--
  Kindness to British Prisoners.--Their Gratitude.--His Devotion to
  Music.--Letter to General de Riedesel.--Is made Governor of
  Virginia.--Tarleton pursues Lafayette.--Reaches Charlottesville.--
  The British at Monticello.--Cornwallis's Destruction of Property
  at Elk Hill.--Jefferson retires at the End of his Second Term as
  Governor.--Mrs. Jefferson's delicate Health.--Jefferson meets with
  an Accident.--Writes his Notes on Virginia.--The Marquis de
  Chastellux visits Monticello.--His Description of it.--Letter of
  Congratulation from Jefferson to Washington.--Mrs. Jefferson's
  Illness and Death.--Her Daughter's Description of the Scene.--
  Jefferson's Grief                                                 48


  Visit to Chesterfield County.--Is appointed Plenipotentiary to
  Europe.--Letter to the Marquis de Chastellux.--Goes North with
  his Daughter.--Leaves her in Philadelphia, and goes to
  Congress.--Letters to his Daughter.--Sails for Europe.--His
  Daughter's Description of the Voyage.--His Establishment and
  Life in Paris.--Succeeds Franklin as Minister there.--Anecdotes
  of Franklin.--Extracts from Mrs. Adams's Letters.--Note from
  Jefferson to Mrs. Smith                                           67


  Jefferson's first Impressions of Europe.--Letter to Mrs.
  Trist.--To Baron De Geismer.--He visits England.--Letter to
  his Daughter.--To his Sister.--Extract from his Journal kept
  when in England.--Letter to John Page.--Presents a Bust of
  Lafayette to chief Functionaries of Paris.--Breaks his
  Wrist.--Letter to Mrs. Trist.--Mr. and Mrs. Cosway.--
  Correspondence with Mrs. Cosway.--Letter to Colonel
  Carrington.--To Mr. Madison.--To Mrs. Bingham.--Her Reply         79


  Death of Count de Vergennes.--Jefferson is ordered to Aix by
  his Surgeon.--Death of his youngest Child.--Anxiety to have
  his Daughter Mary with him.--Her Reluctance to leave
  Virginia.--Her Letters to and from her Father.--Jefferson's
  Letters to Mrs. and Mr. Eppes.--To Lafayette.--To the Countess
  de Tesse.--To Lafayette.--Correspondence with his Daughter
  Martha                                                           101


  Increased Anxiety about his youngest Daughter.--Her Aunt's
  Letter.--She arrives in England.--Mrs. Adams receives her.--
  Letter to Mrs. Eppes.--To Madame de Corny.--To J. Bannister.--
  To his Sister.--Letter to Mr. Jay.--To Madame de Brehan.--To
  Madame de Corny.--Weariness of Public Life.--Goes to
  Amsterdam.--Letter to Mr. Jay.--To Mr. Izard.--To Mrs. Marks.--
  To Mr. Marks.--To Randolph Jefferson.--To Mrs. Eppes             124


  Jefferson asks for leave of Absence.--Character of the Prince
  of Wales.--Letters to Madame de Brehan.--Fondness for Natural
  History.--Anecdote told by Webster.--Jefferson's Opinion of
  Chemistry.--Letter to Professor Willard.--Martha Jefferson.--She
  wishes to enter a Convent.--Her Father takes her Home.--He is
  impatient to return to Virginia.--Letter to Washington.--To Mrs.
  Eppes.--Receives leave of Absence.--Farewell to France.--
  Jefferson as an Ambassador.--He leaves Paris.--His Daughter's
  Account of the Voyage, and Arrival at Home.--His Reception by
  his Slaves                                                       139


  Letters on the French Revolution                                 154


  Washington nominates Jefferson as Secretary of State.--
  Jefferson's Regret.--Devotion of Southern Statesmen to Country
  Life.--Letter to Washington.--Jefferson accepts the
  Appointment.--Marriage of his Daughter.--He leaves for New
  York.--Last Interview with Franklin.--Letters to Son-in-law.--
  Letters of Adieu to Friends in Paris.--Family Letters.           169


  Jefferson goes with the President to Rhode Island.--Visits
  Monticello.--Letter to Mrs. Eppes.--Goes to Philadelphia.--
  Family Letters.--Letter to Washington.--Goes to Monticello.--
  Letters to his Daughter.--His Ana.--Letters to his Daughter.--
  To General Washington.--To Lafayette.--To his Daughter           189


  Anonymous Attacks on Jefferson.--Washington's Letter to him.--
  His Reply.--Letter to Edmund Randolph.--Returns to
  Philadelphia.--Washington urges him to remain in his
  Cabinet.--Letters to his Daughter.--To his Son-in-law.--To
  his Brother-in-law.--Sends his Resignation to the President.--
  Fever in Philadelphia.--Weariness of Public Life.--Letters
  to his Daughters.--To Mrs. Church.--To his Daughter.--Visits
  Monticello.--Returns to Philadelphia.--Letter to Madison.--To
  Mrs. Church.--To his Daughters.--Interview with Genet.--Letter
  to Washington.--His Reply.--Jefferson returns to Monticello.--
  State of his Affairs, and Extent of his Possessions.--Letter to
  Washington.--To Mr. Adams.--Washington attempts to get
  Jefferson back in his Cabinet.--Letter to Edmund Randolph,
  declining.--Pleasures of his Life at Monticello.--Letter to
  Madison.--To Giles.--To Rutledge.--To young Lafayette            213


  Description of Monticello and Jefferson by the Duc de la
  Rochefoucauld-Liancourt.--Nominated Vice-President.--Letter
  to Madison.--To Adams.--Preference for the Office of
  Vice-President.--Sets out for Philadelphia.--Reception
  there.--Returns to Monticello.--Letters to his Daughter.--Goes
  to Philadelphia.--Letter to Rutledge.--Family Letters.--To
  Miss Church.--To Mrs. Church                                     235


  Jefferson goes to Philadelphia.--Letters to his Daughters.--
  Returns to Monticello.--Letters to his Daughter.--Goes back
  to Philadelphia.--Family Letters.--Letters to Mrs. and Miss
  Church.--Bonaparte.--Letters to his Daughters.--Is nominated
  as President.--Seat of Government moved to Washington.--Spends
  the Summer at Monticello.--Letters to his Daughter.--Jefferson
  denounced by the New England Pulpit.--Letter to Uriah Gregory.--
  Goes to Washington                                               254


  Results of Presidential Election.--Letter to his Daughter.--
  Balloting for President.--Letter to his Daughter.--Is
  inaugurated.--Returns to Monticelllo.--Letters to his
  Daughter.--Goes back to Washington.--Inaugurates the Custom
  of sending a written Message to Congress.--Abolishes Levees.--
  Letter to Story.--To Dickinson.--Letter from Mrs. Cosway.--
  Family Letters.--Makes a short Visit to Monticello.--
  Jefferson's Sixtieth Year                                        271


  Returns to Washington.--Letters to his Daughters.--Meets with
  a Stranger in his daily Ride.--Letters to his Daughter.--To
  his young Grandson.--To his Daughter, Mrs. Randolph.--Last
  Letters to his Daughter, Mrs. Eppes.--Her Illness.--Letter to
  Mr. Eppes.--Goes to Monticello.--Death of Mrs. Eppes.--Account
  of it by a Niece.--Her Reminiscences of Mary Jefferson Eppes.--
  Letter to Page.--To Tyler.--From Mrs. Adams.--Mr. Jefferson's
  Reply.--Midnight Judges.--Letters to his Son-in-law              288


  Renominated as President.--Letter to Mazzei.--Slanders against
  Jefferson.--Sad Visit to Monticello.--Second Inauguration.--
  Receives the Bust of the Emperor of Russia.--Letters to and
  from the Emperor.--To Diodati.--To Dickinson.--To his
  Son-in-law.--Devotion to his Grandchildren.--Letter to
  Monroe.--To his Grandchildren.--His Temper when roused.--Letter
  to Charles Thompson.--To Dr. Logan.--Anxious to avoid a Public
  Reception on his Return home.--Letter to Dupont de Nemours.--
  Inauguration of Madison.--Harmony in Jefferson's Cabinet.--Letter
  to Humboldt.--Farewell Address from the Legislature of
  Virginia.--His Reply.--Reply to an Address of Welcome from
  the Citizens of Albemarle.--Letter to Madison.--Anecdote of
  Jefferson.--Dr. Stuart says he is quarelling with the Almighty   310


  His final Return home.--Wreck of his Fortunes.--Letter to Mr.
  Eppes.--To his Grand-daughter, Mrs. Bankhead.--To
  Kosciusko.--Description of the Interior of the House at
  Monticello.--Of the View from Monticello.--Jefferson's
  Grandson's Description of his Manners and Appearance.--
  Anecdotes.--His Habits.--Letter to Governor Langdon.--To
  Governor Tyler.--Life at Monticello.--Jefferson's Studies
  and Occupations.--Sketch of Jefferson by a Grand-daughter.--
  Reminiscences of him by another Grand-daughter                   329


  Letter to his Grand-daughter, Mrs. Bankhead.--To Dr. Rush.--
  To Duane.--Anxiety to reopen Correspondence with John Adams.--
  Letter to Benjamin Rush.--Old Letter from Mrs. Adams.--Letter
  from Benjamin Rush.--Letter from John Adams.--The
  Reconciliation.--Character of Washington.--Devotion to
  him.--Letter to Say.--State of Health.--Labors of
  Correspondence.--Cheerfulness of his Disposition.--Baron
  Grimour.--Catherine of Russia.--Ledyard.--Letter to Mrs.
  Trist.--To John Adams.--Gives Charge of his Affairs to his
  Grandson.--Letter to his Grandson, Francis Eppes.--Description
  of Monticello by Lieutenant Hall.--Letter to Mrs. Adams.--Her
  Death.--Beautiful Letter to Mr. Adams.--Letter to Dr. Utley.--
  Correspondence with Mrs. Cosway.--Tidings from Old French
  Friends                                                          349


  Letters to John Adams.--Number of Letters written and
  received.--To John Adams.--Breaks his Arm.--Letter to Judge
  Johnson.--To Lafayette.--The University of Virginia.--Anxiety
  to have Southern Young Men educated at the South.--Letters on
  the Subject.--Lafayette's Visit to America.--His Meeting with
  Jefferson.--Daniel Webster's Visit to Monticello, and
  Description of Mr. Jefferson                                     378


  Pecuniary Embarrassments.--Letter from a Grand-daughter.--Dr.
  Dunglison's Memoranda.--Sells his Library.--Depressed
  Condition of the Money Market.--Disastrous Consequences to
  Jefferson.--His Grandson's Devotion and Efforts to relieve
  him.--Mental Sufferings of Mr. Jefferson.--Plan of Lottery to
  sell his Property.--Hesitation of Virginia Legislature to grant
  his Request.--Sad Letter to Madison.--Correspondence with
  Cabell.--Extract from a Letter to his Grandson, to Cabell.--
  Beautiful Letter to his Grandson.--Distress at the Death of his
  Grand-daughter.--Dr. Dunglison's Memoranda.--Meeting in
  Richmond.--In Nelson County.--New York, Philadelphia, and
  Baltimore come to his Relief.--His Gratitude.--Unconscious
  that at his Death Sales of his Property would fail to pay his
  Debts.--Deficit made up by his Grandson.--His Daughter left
  penniless.--Generosity of Louisiana and South Carolina           397


  Letter to Namesake.--To John Adams.--Declining Health.--Dr.
  Dunglison's Memoranda.--Tenderness to his Family.--Accounts
  of his Death by Dr. Dunglison and Colonel Randolph.--Farewell
  to his Daughter.--Directions for a Tombstone.--It is erected
  by his Grandson.--Shameful Desecration of Tombstones at
  Monticello                                                       419



  THOMAS JEFFERSON (From Portrait by Stuart) }      _In Front._
  MONTICELLO (The Western View)              }
  JEFFERSON'S SEAL                                _Title-Page._
  JEFFERSON'S COAT OF ARMS                          _On Cover._
  JEFFERSON'S MARRIAGE LICENSE-BOND (Fac-simile)             42
  MARTHA JEFFERSON RANDOLPH (From Portrait by Sully)         65
  JEFFERSON'S HORSE-CHAIR (Still preserved at Monticello)   289
  MONTICELLO (Plan of the First Floor)                      334
  THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA (In 1850)                      386
  JEFFERSON'S GRAVE (Near Monticello)                       432




     Jefferson's Birthplace.--Sketch of his early Life.--Character
     of his Parents.--His Grandfather, Isham Randolph.--Peter
     Jefferson's Friendship for William Randolph.--Randolph dies,
     and leaves his young Son to the Guardianship of Jefferson.--His
     faithful Discharge of the Trust.--Thomas Jefferson's earliest
     Recollections.--His Father's Hospitality.--First Acquaintance
     with Indians.--Life of the early Settlers of Virginia: its Ease
     and Leisure.--Expense of Thomas Jefferson's early Education.--
     Death of his Father.--Perils of his Situation.--Letter to his
     Guardian.--Goes to William and Mary College.--Extract from his
     Memoir.--Sketch of Fauquier.--Of Wythe.

On a long, gently sloping hill five miles east of Charlottesville,
Virginia, the traveller, passing along the county road of Albemarle,
has pointed out to him the spot where Thomas Jefferson was born,
April 13th, 1743. A few aged locust-trees are still left to mark the
place, and two or three sycamores stretch out their long majestic
arms over the greensward beneath, once the scene of young Jefferson's
boyish games, but now a silent pasture, where cattle and sheep
browse, undisturbed by the proximity of any dwelling. The trees are
all that are left of an avenue planted by him on his twenty-first
birthday, and, as such, are objects of peculiar interest to those who
love to dwell upon the associations of the past.

The situation is one well suited for a family mansion--offering from
its site a landscape view rarely surpassed. To the south are seen
the picturesque valley and banks of the Rivanna, with an extensive,
peaceful-looking horizon view, lying like a sleeping beauty, in the
east; while long rolling hills, occasionally rising into mountain
ranges until at last they are all lost in the gracefully-sweeping
profile of the Blue Ridge, stretch westward, and the thickly-wooded
Southwest Mountains, with the highly-cultivated fields and valleys
intervening, close the scene on the north, and present landscapes
whose exquisite enchantment must ever charm the beholder.

A brief sketch of Jefferson's family and early life is given in the
following quotation from his Memoir, written by himself:

     _January 6, 1821._--At the age of 77, I begin to make some
     memoranda, and state some recollections of dates and facts
     concerning myself, for my own more ready reference, and for the
     information of my family.

     The tradition in my father's family was, that their ancestor
     came to this country from Wales, and from near the mountain of
     Snowden, the highest in Great Britain. I noted once a case from
     Wales in the law reports, where a person of our name was either
     plaintiff or defendant; and one of the same name was Secretary
     to the Virginia Company. These are the only instances in which I
     have met with the name in that country. I have found it in our
     early records; but the first particular information I have of
     any ancestor was of my grandfather, who lived at the place in
     Chesterfield called Osborne's, and owned the lands afterwards
     the glebe of the parish. He had three sons: Thomas, who died
     young; Field, who settled on the waters of the Roanoke, and
     left numerous descendants; and Peter, my father, who settled on
     the lands I still own, called Shadwell, adjoining my present
     residence. He was born February 29th, 1708, and intermarried
     1739 with Jane Randolph, of the age of 19, daughter of Isham
     Randolph, one of the seven sons of that name and family settled
     at Dungeness, in Goochland. They trace their pedigree far back
     in England and Scotland, to which let every one ascribe the
     faith and merit he chooses.

     My father's education had been quite neglected; but being of a
     strong mind, sound judgment, and eager after information, he
     read much, and improved himself; insomuch that he was chosen,
     with Joshua Fry, Professor of Mathematics in William and
     Mary College, to run the boundary-line between Virginia and
     North Carolina, which had been begun by Colonel Byrd, and was
     afterwards employed with the same Mr. Fry to make the first map
     of Virginia which had ever been made, that of Captain Smith
     being merely a conjectural sketch. They possessed excellent
     materials for so much of the country as is below the Blue Ridge,
     little being then known beyond that ridge. He was the third or
     fourth settler, about the year 1737, of the part of the country
     in which I live. He died August 17th, 1757, leaving my mother
     a widow, who lived till 1776, with six daughters and two sons,
     myself the elder.

     To my younger brother he left his estate on James River, called
     Snowden, after the supposed birthplace of the family; to myself,
     the lands on which I was born and live. He placed me at the
     English school at five years of age, and at the Latin at nine,
     where I continued until his death. My teacher, Mr. Douglas, a
     clergyman from Scotland, with the rudiments of the Latin and
     Greek languages, taught me the French; and on the death of
     my father I went to the Rev. Mr. Maury, a correct classical
     scholar, with whom I continued two years.

The talents of great men are frequently said to be derived from the
mother. If they are inheritable, Jefferson was entitled to them on
both the paternal and maternal side. His father was a man of most
extraordinary vigor, both of mind and body. His son never wearied of
dwelling with all the pride of filial devotion and admiration on the
noble traits of his character. To the regular duties of his vocation
as a land-surveyor (which, it will be remembered, was the profession
of Washington also) were added those of county surveyor, colonel of
the militia, and member of the House of Burgesses.

Family tradition has preserved several incidents of the survey of the
boundary-line between Virginia and North Carolina, which prove him to
have been a man of remarkable powers of endurance, untiring energy,
and indomitable courage. The perils and toils of running that line
across the Blue Ridge were almost incredible, and were not surpassed
by those encountered by Colonel Byrd and his party in forcing the
same line through the forests and marshes of the Dismal Swamp in the
year 1728. On this expedition Colonel Jefferson and his companions
had often to defend themselves against the attacks of wild beasts
during the day, and at night found but a broken rest, sleeping--as
they were obliged to do for safety--in trees. At length their supply
of provisions began to run low, and his comrades, overcome by hunger
and exhaustion, fell fainting beside him. Amid all these hardships
and difficulties, Jefferson's courage did not once flag, but living
upon raw flesh, or whatever could be found to sustain life, he
pressed on and persevered until his task was accomplished.

So great was his physical strength, that when standing between two
hogsheads of tobacco lying on their sides, he could raise or "head"
them both up at once. Perhaps it was because he himself rejoiced in
such gigantic strength that it was his frequent remark that "it is
the strong in body who are both the strong and free in mind." This,
too, made him careful to have his young son early instructed in
all the manly sports and exercises of his day; so that while still
a school-boy he was a good rider, a good swimmer, and an ardent
sportsman, spending hours and days wandering in pursuit of game along
the sides of the beautiful Southwest Mountains--thus strengthening
his body and his health, which must otherwise have given way under
the intense application to study to which he soon afterwards devoted

The Jeffersons were among the earliest immigrants to the colony,
and we find the name in the list of the twenty-two members who
composed the Assembly that met in Jamestown in the year 1619--the
first legislative body that was ever convened in America.[1] Colonel
Jefferson's father-in-law, Isham Randolph, of Dungeness, was a man of
considerable eminence in the colony, whose name associated itself in
his day with all that was good and wise. In the year 1717 he married,
in London, Jane Rogers. Possessing the polished and courteous
manners of a gentleman of the colonial days, with a well-cultivated
intellect, and a heart in which every thing that is noble and true
was instinctive, he charmed and endeared himself to all who were
thrown into his society. He devoted much time to the study of
science; and we find the following mention of him in a quaint letter
from Peter Collinson, of London, to Bartram, the naturalist, then on
the eve of visiting Virginia to study her flora:

     When thee proceeds home, I know no person who will make thee
     more welcome than Isham Randolph. He lives thirty or forty
     miles above the falls of James River, in Goochland, above the
     other settlements. Now, I take his house to be a very suitable
     place to make a settlement at, for to take several days'
     excursions all round, and to return to his house at night....
     One thing I must desire of thee, and do insist that thee must
     oblige me therein: that thou make up that drugget clothes, to
     go to Virginia in, and not appear to disgrace thyself or me;
     for though I should not esteem thee the less to come to me in
     what dress thou wilt, yet these Virginians are a very gentle,
     well-dressed people, and look, perhaps, more at a man's outside
     than his inside. For these and other reasons, pray go very
     clean, neat, and handsomely-dressed to Virginia. Never mind thy
     clothes; I will send thee more another year.

  [1] The Jeffersons first emigrated to Virginia in 1612.

In reply to Bartram's account of the kind welcome which he received
from Isham Randolph, he writes: "As for my friend Isham, who I am
also personally known to, I did not doubt his civility to thee. I
only wish I had been there and shared it with thee." Again, after
Randolph's death, he writes to Bartram that "the good man is gone to
his long home, and, I doubt not, is happy."

Such was Jefferson's maternal grandfather. His mother, from whom he
inherited his cheerful and hopeful temper and disposition, was a
woman of a clear and strong understanding, and, in every respect,
worthy of the love of such a man as Peter Jefferson.

Isham Randolph's nephew, Colonel William Randolph, of Tuckahoe, was
Peter Jefferson's most intimate friend. A pleasing incident preserved
in the family records proves how warm and generous their friendship
was. Two or three days before Jefferson took out a patent for a
thousand acres of land on the Rivanna River, Randolph had taken out
one for twenty-four hundred acres adjoining. Jefferson, not finding a
good site for a house on his land, his friend sold him four hundred
acres of his tract, the price paid for these four hundred acres
being, as the deed still in the possession of the family proves,
"Henry Weatherbourne's biggest bowl of arrack punch."

Colonel Jefferson called his estate "Shadwell," after the parish
in England where his wife was born, while Randolph's was named
"Edgehill," in honor of the field on which the Cavaliers and
Roundheads first crossed swords. By an intermarriage between their
grandchildren, these two estates passed into the possession of
descendants common to them both, in whose hands they have been
preserved down to the present day.

On the four hundred acres thus added by Jefferson to his original
patent, he erected a plain weather-boarded house, to which he took
his young bride immediately after his marriage, and where they
remained until the death of Colonel William Randolph, of Tuckahoe, in

It was the dying request of Colonel Randolph, that his friend
Peter Jefferson should undertake the management of his estates and
the guardianship of his young son, Thomas Mann Randolph. Being
unable to fulfill this request while living at Shadwell, Colonel
Jefferson removed his family to Tuckahoe, and remained there seven
years, sacredly guarding, like a Knight of the Round Table, the
solemn charge intrusted to him, without any other reward than the
satisfaction of fully keeping the promise made to his dying friend.
That he refused to receive any other compensation for his services
as guardian is not only proved by the frequent assertion of his son
in after years, but by his accounts as executor, which have ever
remained unchallenged.[2]

  [2] In spite of these facts, however, some of Randolph's
  descendants, with more arrogance than gratitude, speak of Colonel
  Jefferson as being a paid agent of their ancestor.

Thomas Jefferson was not more than two years old when his father
moved to Tuckahoe, yet he often declared that his earliest
recollection in life was of being, on that occasion, handed up to a
servant on horseback, by whom he was carried on a pillow for a long
distance. He also remembered that later, when five years old, he
one day became impatient for his school to be out, and, going out,
knelt behind the house, and there repeated the Lord's Prayer, hoping
thereby to hurry up the desired hour.

Colonel Jefferson's house at Shadwell was near the public highway,
and in those days of primitive hospitality was the stopping-place for
all passers-by, and, in the true spirit of Old Virginia hospitality,
was thrown open to every guest. Here, too, the great Indian Chiefs
stopped, on their journeys to and from the colonial capital, and
it was thus that young Jefferson first became acquainted with and
interested in them and their people. More than half a century later
we find him writing to John Adams:

     I know much of the great Ontasseté, the warrior and orator of
     the Cherokees; he was always the guest of my father on his
     journeys to and from Williamsburg. I was in his camp when he
     made his great farewell oration to his people, the evening
     before his departure for England. The moon was in full splendor,
     and to her he seemed to address himself in his prayers for his
     own safety on the voyage, and that of his people during his
     absence; his sounding voice, distinct articulation, animated
     action, and the solemn silence of his people at their several
     fires, filled me with awe and veneration.

The lives led by our forefathers were certainly filled with ease
and leisure. One of Thomas Jefferson's grandsons asked him, on one
occasion, how the men of his father's day spent their time. He
smiled, and, in reply, said, "My father had a devoted friend, to
whose house he would go, dine, spend the night, dine with him again
on the second day, and return to Shadwell in the evening. His friend,
in the course of a day or two, returned the visit, and spent the same
length of time at his house. This occurred once every week; and thus,
you see, they were together four days out of the seven."

This is, perhaps, a fair picture of the ease and leisure of the life
of an old Virginian, and to the causes which produced this style of
life was due, also, the great hospitality for which Virginians have
ever been so renowned. The process of farming was then so simple
that the labor and cultivation of an estate were easily and most
profitably carried on by an overseer and the slaves, the master only
riding occasionally over his plantation to see that his general
orders were executed.

In the school of such a life, however, were reared and developed the
characters of the men who rose to such eminence in the struggles of
the Revolution, and who, as giants in intellect and virtue, must
ever be a prominent group among the great historical characters of
the world. Their devotion to the chase, to horsemanship, and to all
the manly sports of the day, and the perils and adventures to be
encountered in a new country, developed their physical strength,
and inspired them with that bold and dashing spirit which still
characterizes their descendants, while the leisure of their lives
gave them time to devote to study and reflection.

The city of Williamsburg, being the capital of the colony and the
residence of the governor, was the seat of intelligence, refinement,
and elegance, and offered every advantage for social intercourse.
There it was that those graceful manners were formed which made
men belonging to the old colonial school so celebrated for the
cordial ease and courtesy of their address. As there were no large
towns in the colony, the inducements and temptations offered for
the accumulation of wealth were few, while the abundance of the
good things of the earth found on his own plantation rendered the
Virginian lavish in his expenditures, and hence his unbounded
hospitality. Of this we have ample proof in the accounts which have
been handed down to us of their mode of life. Thomas Mann Randolph,
of Tuckahoe, it is said, consumed annually a thousand barrels of
corn at his family stable; while the princely abode of Colonel Byrd,
of Westover, with its offices, covered a space of two acres. The
prices of corn were what seem to us now fabulously low. The old
chroniclers tell us that one year the price rose to the enormous sum
of thirty-three cents a bushel, and that year was ever after known as
the "ten-shilling year"--ten shillings being the price per barrel.

In looking over Colonel Peter Jefferson's account-books, one can not
refrain from smiling to see the small amount paid for his young son's
school education. To the Rev. William Douglas he paid sixteen pounds
sterling per annum for his board and tuition, and Mr. Maury received
for the same twenty pounds. Colonel Jefferson's eagerness for
information was inherited to an extraordinary degree by his son, who
early evinced that thirst for knowledge which he preserved to the day
of his death. He made rapid progress in his studies, and soon became
a proficient in mathematics and the classics. In after years he used
often to say, that had he to decide between the pleasure derived from
the classical education which his father had given him and the estate
he had left him, he would decide in favor of the former.

Jefferson's father died, as we have seen, when he was only fourteen
years old. The perils and wants of his situation, deprived as he was
so early in life of the guidance and influence of such a father,
were very touchingly described by him years afterwards, in a letter
written to his eldest grandson,[3] when the latter was sent from
home to school for the first time. He writes:

     When I recollect that at fourteen years of age the whole
     care and direction of myself was thrown on myself entirely,
     without a relative or friend qualified to advise or guide me,
     and recollect the various sorts of bad company with which I
     associated from time to time, I am astonished that I did not
     turn off with some of them, and become as worthless to society
     as they were. I had the good-fortune to become acquainted very
     early with some characters of very high standing, and to feel
     the incessant wish that I could ever become what they were.
     Under temptations and difficulties, I would ask myself--What
     would Dr. Small, Mr. Wythe, Peyton Randolph, do in this
     situation? What course in it will insure me their approbation? I
     am certain that this mode of deciding on my conduct tended more
     to correctness than any reasoning powers I possessed. Knowing
     the even and dignified lives they pursued, I could never doubt
     for a moment which of two courses would be in character for
     them; whereas, seeking the same object through a process of
     moral reasoning, and with the jaundiced eye of youth, I should
     often have erred. From the circumstances of my position, I was
     often thrown into the society of horse-racers, card-players,
     fox-hunters, scientific and professional men, and of dignified
     men; and many a time have I asked myself, in the enthusiastic
     moment of the death of a fox, the victory of a favorite horse,
     the issue of a question eloquently argued at the bar, or in
     the great council of the nation, Well, which of these kinds
     of reputation should I prefer--that of a horse-jockey, a
     fox-hunter, an orator, or the honest advocate of my country's
     rights? Be assured, my dear Jefferson, that these little returns
     into ourselves, this self-catechising habit, is not trifling nor
     useless, but leads to the prudent selection and steady pursuit
     of what is right.

  [3] Thomas Jefferson Randolph.

After leaving Mr. Maury's school, we find him writing the following
letter to a gentleman who was at the time his guardian. It was
written when he was seventeen years old, and is the earliest
production which we have from his pen:

                               Shadwell, January 14th, 1760.

     Sir--I was at Colo. Peter Randolph's about a fortnight ago, and
     my Schooling falling into Discourse, he said he thought it
     would be to my Advantage to go to the College, and was desirous
     I should go, as indeed I am myself for several Reasons. In the
     first place as long as I stay at the Mountain, the loss of one
     fourth of my Time is inevitable, by Company's coming here and
     detaining me from School. And likewise my Absence will in a
     great measure, put a Stop to so much Company, and by that Means
     lessen the Expenses of the Estate in House-keeping. And on the
     other Hand by going to the College, I shall get a more universal
     Acquaintance, which may hereafter be serviceable to me; and I
     suppose I can pursue my Studies in the Greek and Latin as well
     there as here, and likewise learn something of the Mathematics.
     I shall be glad of your opinion, and remain, Sir, your most
     humble servant,

                                        THOMAS JEFFERSON JR:

     To Mr. John Hervey, at Bellemont.

We find no traces, in the above school-boy's letter, of the graceful
pen which afterwards won for its author so high a rank among the
letter-writers of his own, or, indeed, of any day.

It was decided that he should go to William and Mary College, and
thither he accordingly went, in the year 1760. We again quote from
his Memoir, to give a glance at this period of his life:

     It was my great good-fortune, and what, perhaps, fixed the
     destinies of my life, that Dr. William Small, of Scotland,
     was the Professor of Mathematics, a man profound in most
     of the useful branches of science, with a happy talent of
     communication, correct and gentlemanly manners, and an enlarged
     and liberal mind. He, most happily for me, became soon attached
     to me, and made me his daily companion, when not engaged in the
     school; and from his conversation I got my first views of the
     expansion of science, and of the system of things in which we
     are placed. Fortunately, the philosophical chair became vacant
     soon after my arrival at college, and he was appointed to fill
     it _per interim_; and he was the first who ever gave, in that
     college, regular lectures in Ethics, Rhetoric, and Belles
     Lettres. He returned to Europe in 1762, having previously filled
     up the measure of his goodness to me, by procuring for me,
     from his most intimate friend, George Wythe, a reception as a
     student of law under his direction, and introduced me to the
     acquaintance and familiar table of Governor Fauquier, the ablest
     man who had ever filled that office. With him and at his table,
     Dr. Small and Mr. Wythe, his _amici omnium horarum_, and myself
     formed a _partie quarrée_, and to the habitual conversations on
     these occasions I owed much instruction. Mr. Wythe continued
     to be my faithful and beloved mentor in youth, and my most
     affectionate friend through life.

There must indeed have been some very great charm and attraction
about the young student of seventeen, to have won for him the
friendship and esteem of such a profound scholar as Small, and a seat
at the family table of the elegant and accomplished Fauquier.

We have just quoted Jefferson's finely-drawn character of Small, and
give now the following brilliant but sad picture, as drawn by the
Virginia historian, Burke, of the able and generous Fauquier, and of
the vices which he introduced into the colony:

     With some allowance, he was every thing that could have been
     wished for by Virginia under a royal government. Generous,
     liberal, elegant in his manners and acquirements; his example
     left an impression of taste, refinement and erudition on the
     character of the colony, which eminently contributed to its
     present high reputation in the arts. It is stated, on evidence
     sufficiently authentic, that on the return of Anson from his
     circumnavigation of the earth, he accidentally fell in with
     Fauquier, from whom, in a single night's play, he won at cards
     the whole of his patrimony; that afterwards, being captivated by
     the striking graces of this gentleman's person and conversation,
     he procured for him the government of Virginia. Unreclaimed by
     the former subversion of his fortune, he introduced the same
     fatal propensity to gaming into Virginia; and the example of
     so many virtues and accomplishments, alloyed but by a single
     vice, was but too successful in extending the influence of
     this pernicious and ruinous practice. He found among the
     people of his new government a character compounded of the
     same elements as his own; and he found little difficulty in
     rendering fashionable a practice which had, before his arrival,
     already prevailed to an alarming extent. During the recess of
     the courts of judicature and of the assemblies, he visited the
     most distinguished landholders of the colonies, and the rage of
     playing deep, reckless of time, health or money, spread like a
     contagion among a class proverbial for their hospitality, their
     politeness and fondness for expense. In every thing besides,
     Fauquier was the ornament and the delight of Virginia.

Happy it was for young Jefferson, that "the example of so many
virtues and accomplishments" in this brave gentleman failed to give
any attraction, for him at least, to the vice which was such a blot
on Fauquier's fine character. Jefferson never knew one card from
another, and never allowed the game to be played in his own house.

Turning from the picture of the gifted but dissipated royal Governor,
it is a relief to glance at the character given by Jefferson of the
equally gifted but pure and virtuous George Wythe. We can not refrain
from giving the conclusion of his sketch of Wythe, completing, as it
does, the picture of the "_partie quarrée_" which so often met at the
Governor's hospitable board:

     No man ever left behind him a character more venerated than
     George Wythe. His virtue was of the purest tint; his integrity
     inflexible, and his justice exact; of warm patriotism, and,
     devoted as he was to liberty, and the natural and equal rights
     of man, he might truly be called the Cato of his country,
     without the avarice of the Roman; for a more disinterested
     man never lived. Temperance and regularity in all his habits
     gave him general good health, and his unaffected modesty and
     suavity of manners endeared him to every one. He was of easy
     elocution; his language chaste, methodical in the arrangement
     of his matter, learned and logical in the use of it, and of
     great urbanity in debate; not quick of apprehension, but, with a
     little time, profound in penetration and sound in conclusion. In
     his philosophy he was firm; and neither troubling, nor, perhaps,
     trusting, any one with his religious creed, he left the world
     to the conclusion that that religion must be good which could
     produce a life of such exemplary virtue. His stature was of the
     middle size, well formed and proportioned, and the features
     of his face were manly, comely, and engaging. Such was George
     Wythe, the honor of his own and the model of future times.


     Intense Application as a Student.--Habits of Study kept up
     during his Vacations.--First Preparations made for Building
     at Monticello.--Letters to his College Friend, John Page.--
     Anecdote of Benjamin Harrison.--Jefferson's Devotion to his
     eldest Sister.--He witnesses the Debate on the Stamp Act.--First
     Meeting with Patrick Henry.--His Opinion of him.--His superior
     Education.--Always a Student.--Wide Range of Information.--
     Anecdote.--Death of his eldest Sister.--His Grief.--Buries
     himself in his Books.--Finishes his Course of Law Studies.--
     Begins to practise.--Collection of Vocabularies of Indian
     Languages.--House at Shadwell burnt.--Loss of his Library.--
     Marriage.--Anecdote of his Courtship.--Wife's Beauty.--Bright
     Prospects.--Friendship for Dabney Carr.--His Talents.--His
     Death.--Jefferson buries him at Monticello.--His Epitaph.

Great as were the charms and delights of the society into which
Jefferson was thrown in Williamsburg, they had not the power to draw
him off from his studies. On the contrary, he seemed to find from
his intercourse with such men as Wythe and Small, fresh incentives
to diligence in his literary pursuits; and these, together with his
natural taste for study, made his application to it so intense, that
had he possessed a less vigorous and robust constitution, his health
must have given way. He studied fifteen hours a day. During the most
closely occupied days of his college life it was his habit to study
until two o'clock at night, and rise at dawn; the day he spent in
close application--the only recreation being a run at twilight to a
certain stone which stood at a point a mile beyond the limits of the
town. His habits of study were kept up during his vacations, which
were spent at Shadwell; and though he did not cut himself off from
the pleasures of social intercourse with his friends and family, yet
he still devoted nearly three-fourths of his time to his books. He
rose in the morning as soon as the hands of a clock placed on the
mantle-piece in his chamber could be distinguished in the gray light
of early dawn. After sunset he crossed the Rivanna in a little
canoe, which was kept exclusively for his own use, and walked up to
the summit of his loved Monticello, where he was having the apex of
the mountain levelled down, preparatory to building.

The following extracts from letters written to his friends while he
was a college-boy, give a fair picture of the sprightliness of his
nature and his enjoyment of society.

To John Page--a friend to whom he was devotedly attached all through
life--he writes, Dec. 25, 1762:

     You can not conceive the satisfaction it would give me to have
     a letter from you. Write me very circumstantially every thing
     which happened at the wedding. Was she[4] there? because
     if she was, I ought to have been at the devil for not being
     there too. If there is any news stirring in town or country,
     such as deaths, courtships, or marriages, in the circle of my
     acquaintance, let me know it. Remember me affectionately to
     all the young ladies of my acquaintance, particularly the Miss
     Burwells, and Miss Potters; and tell them that though that heavy
     earthly part of me, my body, be absent, the better half of me,
     my soul, is ever with them, and that my best wishes shall ever
     attend them. Tell Miss Alice Corbin that I verily believe the
     rats knew I was to win a pair of garters from her, or they
     never would have been so cruel as to carry mine away. This
     very consideration makes me so sure of the bet, that I shall
     ask every body I see from that part of the world, what pretty
     gentleman is making his addresses to her. I would fain ask the
     favor of Miss Becca Burwell to give me another watch-paper of
     her own cutting, which I should esteem much more, though it were
     a plain round one, than the nicest in the world cut by other
     hands; however, I am afraid she would think this presumption,
     after my suffering the other to get spoiled.

  [4] His lady-love, doubtless--Rebecca Burwell.

A few weeks later, he writes to Page, from Shadwell:

     To tell you the plain truth, I have not a syllable to write to
     you about. For I do not conceive that any thing can happen in my
     world which you would give a curse to know, or I either. All
     things here appear to me to trudge on in one and the same round:
     we rise in the morning that we may eat breakfast, dinner, and
     supper; and go to bed again that we may get up the next morning
     and do the same; so that you never saw two peas more alike
     than our yesterday and to-day. Under these circumstances, what
     would you have me say? Would you that I should write nothing
     but truth? I tell you, I know nothing that is true. Or would
     you rather that I should write you a pack of lies? Why, unless
     they are more ingenious than I am able to invent, they would
     furnish you with little amusement. What can I do, then? Nothing
     but ask you the news in your world. How have you done since I
     saw you? How did Nancy look at you when you danced with her at
     Southall's? Have you any glimmering of hope? How does R. B. do?
     Had I better stay here and do nothing, or go down and do less?
     or, in other words, had I better stay here while I am here, or
     go down that I may have the pleasure of sailing up the river
     again in a full-rigged flat? Inclination tells me to go, receive
     my sentence, and be no longer in suspense; but reason says, If
     you go, and your attempt proves unsuccessful, you will be ten
     times more wretched than ever.... I have some thoughts of going
     to Petersburg if the actors go there in May. If I do, I do not
     know but I may keep on to Williamsburg, as the birth-night will
     be near. I hear that Ben Harrison [5] has been to Wilton: let me
     know his success.

  [5] This Ben Harrison afterwards married Miss Randolph, of
  Wilton, and was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. He
  was fond of the good things of this life, and was a high liver.
  Mr. Madison used to tell, with great glee, the following good
  story about him: While a member of the first Congress, which
  met in Philadelphia, he was on one occasion joined by a friend
  as he left the congressional hall. Wishing to ask his friend
  to join him in a bumper, he took him to a certain place where
  supplies were furnished to the members of Congress, and called
  for two glasses of brandy-and-water. The man in charge replied
  that liquors were not included in the supplies furnished to

  "Why," asked Harrison, "what is it, then, that I see the New
  England members come here and drink?"

  "Molasses and water, which they have charged as _stationery_,"
  was the reply.

  "Very well," said Harrison, "give me the brandy-and-water, and
  charge it as _fuel_."

In his literary pursuits and plans for the future, Jefferson found
a most congenial and sympathizing companion, as well as a loving
friend, in his highly-gifted young sister, Jane Jefferson. Three
years his senior, and a woman of extraordinary vigor of mind, we
can well imagine with what pride and pleasure she must have watched
the early development and growth of her young brother's genius and
learning. When five years old, he had read all the books contained in
his father's little library, and we have already found him sought out
by the royal Governor, and chosen as one of his favorite companions,
when but a college-boy. Like himself, his sister was devoted to
music, and they spent many hours together cultivating their taste and
talent for it. Both were particularly fond of sacred music, and she
often gratified her young brother by singing for him hymns.

We have seen, from his letters to his friend Page, that, while a
student in Williamsburg, Jefferson fell in love with Miss Rebecca
Burwell--one of the beauties of her day. He was indulging fond dreams
of success in winning the young lady's heart and hand, when his
courtship was suddenly cut short by her, to him, unexpected marriage
to another.

In the following year, 1765, there took place in the House of
Burgesses the great debate on the Stamp Act, in which Patrick
Henry electrified his hearers by his bold and sublime flights of
oratory. In the lobby of the House was seen the tall, thin figure of
Jefferson, bending eagerly forward to witness the stirring scene--his
face paled from the effects of hard study, and his eyes flashing
with the fire of latent genius, and all the enthusiasm of youthful
and devoted patriotism. In allusion to this scene, he writes in his

     When the famous resolutions of 1765 against the Stamp Act were
     proposed, I was yet a student of law in Williamsburg. I attended
     the debate, however, at the door of the lobby of the House of
     Burgesses, and heard the splendid display of Mr. Henry's talents
     as a popular orator. They were indeed great; such as I have
     never heard from any other man. He appeared to me to speak as
     Homer wrote.

It was when on his way to Williamsburg to enter William and Mary
College, that Jefferson first met Henry. They spent a fortnight
together on that occasion, at the house of Mr. Dandridge, in Hanover,
and there began the acquaintance and friendship between them which
lasted through life. While not considering Henry a man of education
or a well-read lawyer, Jefferson often spoke with enthusiasm to his
friends and family of the wonders and beauties of his eloquence, and
also of his great influence and signal services in bringing about
unanimity among the parties which were found in the colony at the
commencement of the troubles with the mother-country. He frequently
expressed admiration for his intrepid spirit and inflexible courage.
Two years before his death we find him speaking of Henry thus:

     Wirt says he read Plutarch's Lives once a year. I don't believe
     he ever read two volumes of them. On his visits to court, he
     used always to put up with me. On one occasion of the breaking
     up in November, to meet again in the spring, as he was departing
     in the morning, he looked among my books, and observed, "Mr.
     Jefferson, I will take two volumes of Hume's Essays, and try to
     read them this winter." On his return, he brought them, saying
     he had not been able to get half way into one of them.

     His great delight was to put on his hunting-shirt, collect
     a parcel of overseers and such-like people, and spend weeks
     together hunting in the "piny woods," camping at night and
     cracking jokes round a light-wood fire.

     It was to him that we were indebted for the unanimity that
     prevailed among us. He would address the assemblages of the
     people at which he was present in such strains of native
     eloquence as Homer wrote in. I never heard any thing that
     deserved to be called by the same name with what flowed
     from him; and where he got that torrent of language from is
     inconceivable. I have frequently shut my eyes while he spoke,
     and, when he was done, asked myself what he had said, without
     being able to recollect a word of it. He was no logician. He was
     truly a great man, however--one of enlarged views.

Mr. Jefferson furnished anecdotes, facts, and documents for Wirt's
Life of Henry, and Mr. Wirt submitted his manuscript to him for
criticism and review, which he gave, and also suggested alterations
that were made. We find, from his letters to Mr. Wirt, that when the
latter flagged and hesitated as to the completion and publication of
his work, it was Jefferson who urged him on. In writing of Henry's
supposed inattention to ancient charters, we find him expressing
himself thus: "He drew all natural rights from a purer source--the
feelings of his own breast."[6]

  [6] Kennedy's "Life of Wirt," vol. i., p. 367.

In connection with this subject, we can not refrain from quoting from
Wirt the following fine description of Henry in the great debate on
the Stamp Act:

     It was in the midst of this magnificent debate, while he (Henry)
     was descanting on the tyranny of the obnoxious act, that he
     exclaimed, in a voice of thunder, and with the look of a god,
     "Cæsar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, and
     George the Third--" ("Treason!" cried the Speaker. "Treason!
     treason!" echoed from every part of the House. It was one of
     those trying moments which are so decisive of character. Henry
     faltered not an instant; but rising to a loftier altitude, and
     fixing on the Speaker an eye of the most determined fire, he
     finished his sentence with the firmest emphasis)--"may profit by
     their example. If this be treason, make the most of it."[7]

  [7] Wirt's Life of Henry.

When we think of the wonderful powers of this great man, whose
heaven-born eloquence so stirred the hearts of men, how touching
the meekness with which, at the close of an eventful and honorable
career, he thus writes of himself: "Without any classical education,
without patrimony, without what is called the influence of family
connection, and without solicitation, I have attained the highest
offices of my country. I have often contemplated it as a rare and
extraordinary instance, and pathetically exclaimed, 'Not unto me, not
unto me, O Lord, but unto thy name be the praise!'"[8]

  [8] Ibid.

Jefferson continued to prosecute his studies at William and Mary, and
we have in the following incident a pleasing proof of his generosity:

While at college, he was one year quite extravagant in his dress, and
in his outlay in horses. At the end of the year he sent his account
to his guardian; and thinking that he had spent more of the income
from his father's estate than was his share, he proposed that the
amount of his expenses should be deducted from his portion of the
property. His guardian, however, replied good-naturedly, "No, no; if
you have sowed your wild oats in this manner, Tom, the estate can
well afford to pay your expenses."

When Jefferson left college, he had laid the broad and solid
foundations of that fine education which in learning placed him head
and shoulders above his contemporaries. A fine mathematician, he was
also a finished Greek, Latin, French, Spanish, and Italian scholar.
He carried with him to Congress in the year 1775 a reputation for
great literary acquirements. John Adams, in his diary for that year,
thus speaks of him: "Duane says that Jefferson is the greatest
rubber-off of dust that he has met with; that he has learned French,
Italian, and Spanish, and wants to learn German."

His school and college education was considered by him as only the
vestibule to that palace of learning which is reached by "no royal
road." He once told a grandson that from the time when, as a boy, he
had turned off wearied from play and first found pleasure in books,
he had never sat down in idleness. And when we consider the vast
fund of learning and wide range of information possessed by him, and
which in his advanced years won for him the appellation of a "walking
encyclopædia," we can well understand how this must have been the
case. His thirst for knowledge was insatiable, and he seized eagerly
all means of obtaining it. It was his habit, in his intercourse with
all classes of men--the mechanic as well as the man of science--to
turn the conversation upon that subject with which the man was best
acquainted, whether it was the construction of a wheel or the
anatomy of an extinct species of animals; and after having drawn
from him all the information which he possessed, on returning home
or retiring to his private apartments, it was all set down by him in
writing--thus arranging it methodically and fixing it in his mind.

An anecdote which has been often told of him will give the reader an
idea of the varied extent of his knowledge. On one occasion, while
travelling, he stopped at a country inn. A stranger, who did not
know who he was, entered into conversation with this plainly-dressed
and unassuming traveller. He introduced one subject after another
into the conversation, and found him perfectly acquainted with each.
Filled with wonder, he seized the first opportunity to inquire of the
landlord who his guest was, saying that, when he spoke of the law, he
thought he was a lawyer; then turning the conversation on medicine,
felt sure he was a physician; but having touched on theology, he
became convinced that he was a clergyman. "Oh," replied the landlord,
"why I thought you knew the Squire." The stranger was then astonished
to hear that the traveller whom he had found so affable and simple in
his manners was Jefferson.

The family circle at Shadwell consisted of six sisters, two brothers,
and their mother. Of the sisters, two married early, and left the
home of their youth--Mary as the wife of Thomas Bolling, and Martha
as that of the generous and highly-gifted young Dabney Carr, the
brilliant promise of whose youth was so soon to be cut short by his
untimely death.

In the fall of the year 1765, the whole family was thrown
into mourning, and the deepest distress, by the death of Jane
Jefferson--so long the pride and ornament of her house. She died in
the twenty-eighth year of her age. The eldest of her family, and a
woman who, from the noble qualities of her head and heart, had ever
commanded their love and admiration, her death was a great blow to
them all, but was felt by none so keenly as by Jefferson himself. The
loss of such a sister to such a brother was irreparable; his grief
for her was deep and constant; and there are, perhaps, few incidents
in the domestic details of history more beautiful than his devotion
to her during her life, and the tenderness of the love with which
he cherished her memory to the last days of his long and eventful
career. He frequently spoke of her to his grandchildren, and even in
his extreme old age said that often in church some sacred air which
her sweet voice had made familiar to him in youth recalled to him
sweet visions of this sister whom he had loved so well and buried so

Among his manuscripts we find the following touching epitaph which he
wrote for her:

    "Ah, Joanna, puellarum optima,
    Ah, ævi virentis flore prærepta,
      Sit tibi terra lævis;
      Longe, longeque valeto!"

After the death of his sister Jane, Jefferson had no congenial
intellectual companion left in the family at Shadwell; his other
sisters being all much younger than himself, except one, who was
rather deficient in intellect. It is curious to remark the unequal
distribution of talent in this family--each gifted member seeming to
have been made so at the expense of one of the others.

In the severe affliction caused by the death of his sister, Jefferson
sought consolation in renewed devotion to his books. After a five
years' course of law studies, he was, as we have seen from his
Memoir, introduced to its practice, at the bar of the General Court
of Virginia, in the year 1767, by his "beloved friend and mentor,"
George Wythe. Of the extent of his practice during the eight years
that it lasted, we have ample proof in his account-books. These show
that during that time, in the General Court alone, he was engaged
in nine hundred and forty-eight cases, and that he was employed
as counsel by the first men in the colonies, and even in the

An idea of the impression made by him as an advocate in the
court-room is given in the following anecdote, which we have from
his eldest grandson, Mr. Jefferson Randolph. Anxious to learn how his
grandfather had stood as a pleader, Mr. Randolph once asked an old
man of good sense who in his youth had often heard Jefferson deliver
arguments in court, how he ranked as a speaker, "Well," said the old
gentleman, in reply, "it is hard to tell, because he always took
the right side." Few speakers, we imagine, would desire a greater
compliment than that which the old man unconsciously paid in his

The works which Jefferson has left behind him as his share in the
revision of the laws of the State, place his erudition as a lawyer
beyond question, while to no man does Virginia owe more for the
preservation of her ancient records than to him. In this last work
he was indefatigable. The manuscripts and materials for the early
history of the State had been partially destroyed and scattered
by the burning of State buildings and the ravages of war. These
Jefferson, as far as it was possible, collected and restored, and it
is to him that we owe their preservation at the present day.

While in the different public offices which he held during his life,
Jefferson availed himself of every opportunity to get information
concerning the language of the Indians of North America, and to
this end he made a collection of the vocabularies of all the Indian
languages, intending, in the leisure of his retirement from public
life, to analyze them, and see if he could trace in them any likeness
to other languages. When he left Washington, after vacating the
presidential chair, these valuable papers were packed in a trunk and
sent, with the rest of his baggage, around by Richmond, whence they
were to be sent up the James and Rivanna Rivers to Monticello. Two
negro boatmen who had charge of them, and who, in the simplicity
of their ignorance, took it for granted that the ex-President was
returning from office with untold wealth, being deceived by the
weight of the trunk, broke into it, thinking that it contained gold.
On discovering their mistake, the papers were scattered to the wind;
and thus were lost literary treasures which might have been a rich
feast to many a philologist.

[Illustration: Marriage Licene-Bond (Fac-simile)]

In the year 1770 the house at Shadwell was destroyed by fire, and
Jefferson then moved to Monticello, where his preparations for
a residence were sufficiently advanced to enable him to make it
his permanent abode. He was from home when the fire took place at
Shadwell, and the first inquiry he made of the negro who carried him
the news was after his books. "Oh, my young master," he replied,
carelessly, "they were all burnt; but, ah! we saved your fiddle."

In 1772 Jefferson married Martha Skelton, the widow of Bathurst
Skelton, and the daughter of John Wayles, of whom he speaks thus in
his Memoir

     Mr. Wayles was a lawyer of much practice, to which he was
     introduced more by his industry, punctuality, and practical
     readiness, than by eminence in the science of his profession.
     He was a most agreeable companion, full of pleasantry and
     humor, and welcomed in every society. He acquired a handsome
     fortune, and died in May, 1773, leaving three daughters. The
     portion which came on that event to Mrs. Jefferson, after the
     debts were paid, which were very considerable, was about equal
     to my own patrimony, and consequently doubled the ease of our

The marriage took place at "The Forest," in Charles City County.
The bride having been left a widow when very young, was only
twenty-three when she married a second time.[9] She is described as
having been very beautiful. A little above middle height, with a
lithe and exquisitely formed figure, she was a model of graceful and
queenlike carriage. Nature, so lavish with her charms for her, to
great personal attractions, added a mind of no ordinary calibre. She
was well educated for her day, and a constant reader; she inherited
from her father his method and industry, as the accounts, kept in
her clear handwriting, and still in the hands of her descendants,
testify. Her well-cultivated talent for music served to enhance
her charms not a little in the eyes of such a musical devotee as

  [9] The license-bond for the marriage, demanded by the laws of
  Virginia, of which a fac-simile is given on the opposite page,
  written by Jefferson's own hand, is signed by him and by Francis
  Eppes, whose son afterwards married Jefferson's daughter. It
  will be noticed that the word "spinster" is erased, and "widow"
  inserted in another hand-writing.

So young and so beautiful, she was already surrounded by suitors
when Jefferson entered the lists and bore off the prize. A pleasant
anecdote about two of his rivals has been preserved in the tradition
of his family. While laboring under the impression that the lady's
mind was still undecided as to which of her suitors should be the
accepted lover, they met accidentally in the hall of her father's
house. They were on the eve of entering the drawing-room, when the
sound of music caught their ear; the accompanying voices of Jefferson
and his lady-love were soon recognized, and the two disconcerted
lovers, after exchanging a glance, picked up their hats and left.

The New-year and wedding festivities being over, the happy bridal
couple left for Monticello. Their adventures on this journey of more
than a hundred miles, made in the dead of the winter, and their
arrival at Monticello, were, years afterwards, related as follows, by
their eldest daughter, Mrs. Randolph,[10] who heard the tale from her
father's lips:

     They left The Forest after a fall of snow, light then, but
     increasing in depth as they advanced up the country. They were
     finally obliged to quit the carriage and proceed on horseback.
     Having stopped for a short time at Blenheim, where an overseer
     only resided, they left it at sunset to pursue their way through
     a mountain track rather than a road, in which the snow lay
     from eighteen inches to two feet deep, having eight miles to
     go before reaching Monticello. They arrived late at night, the
     fires all out and the servants retired to their own houses for
     the night. The horrible dreariness of such a house at the end
     of such a journey I have often heard both relate.

  [10] The manuscript from which I take this account, and from
  which I shall quote frequently in the following pages, was
  written by Mrs. Randolph at the request of Mr. Tucker, who
  desired to have her written reminiscences of her father when he
  wrote his life.

Too happy in each other's love, however, to be long troubled by the
"dreariness" of a cold and dark house, and having found a bottle
of wine "on a shelf behind some books," the young couple refreshed
themselves with its contents, and startled the silence of the night
with song and merry laughter.

Possessing a fine estate and being blessed with a beautiful and
accomplished wife, Jefferson seemed fairly launched upon the great
ocean of life with every prospect of a prosperous and happy voyage.
We find from his account-books that his income was a handsome one
for that day, being three thousand dollars from his practice and two
thousand from his farms. This, as we have seen, was increased by the
receipt of his wife's fortune at her father's death.

Of the many friends by whom he was surrounded in his college days
Dabney Carr was his favorite; his friendship for him was strengthened
by the ties of family connection, on his becoming his brother-in-law
as the husband of his sister Martha. As boys, they had loved each
other; and when studying together it was their habit to go with their
books to the well-wooded sides of Monticello, and there pursue their
studies beneath the shade of a favorite oak. So much attached did
the two friends become to this tree, that it became the subject of a
mutual promise, that the one who survived should see that the body of
the other was buried at its foot. When young Carr's untimely death
occurred Jefferson was away from home, and on his return he found
that he had been buried at Shadwell. Being mindful of his promise,
he had the body disinterred, and removing it, placed it beneath that
tree whose branches now bend over such illustrious dead--for this was
the origin of the grave-yard at Monticello.

It is not only as Jefferson's friend that Dabney Carr lives in
history. The brilliancy of the reputation which he won in his
short career, has placed his name among the men who stood first for
talent and patriotism in the early days of the Revolution. Jefferson
himself, in describing his first appearance in the Virginia House of
Burgesses, pays a warm and handsome tribute to his friend. He says:

     I well remember the pleasure expressed in the countenance and
     conversation of the members generally on this débût of Mr. Carr,
     and the hopes they conceived as well from the talents as the
     patriotism it manifested.... His character was of a high order.
     A spotless integrity, sound judgment, handsome imagination,
     enriched by education and reading, quick and clear in his
     conceptions, of correct and ready elocution, impressing every
     hearer with the sincerity of the heart from which it flowed.
     His firmness was inflexible in whatever he thought was right;
     but when no moral principle stood in the way, never had man
     more of the milk of human kindness, of indulgence, of softness,
     of pleasantry of conversation and conduct. The number of his
     friends and the warmth of their affection, were proofs of his
     worth, and of their estimate of it.

We have again from Jefferson's pen a charming picture of the domestic
character of Carr, in a letter to his friend John Page, written in

     He (Carr) speaks, thinks, and dreams of nothing but his young
     son. This friend of ours, Page, in a very small house, with a
     table, half a dozen chairs, and one or two servants, is the
     happiest man in the universe. Every incident in life he so takes
     as to render it a source of pleasure. With as much benevolence
     as the heart of man will hold, but with an utter neglect of
     the costly apparatus of life, he exhibits to the world a new
     phenomenon in life--the Samian sage in the tub of the cynic.

The death of this highly-gifted young Virginian, whose early life
was so full of promise, took place on the 16th of May, 1773, in
the thirtieth year of his age. His wife, a woman of vigorous
understanding and earnest warmth of heart, was passionately devoted
to him, and his death fell like a blight on her young life. She
found in her brother a loving protector for herself and a fatherly
affection and guidance for her six children--three sons and three
daughters--who were received into his family as his adopted children.
Among Jefferson's papers there was found, after his death, the
following, written on a sheet of note-paper:


    Lamented shade, whom every gift of heaven
    Profusely blest; a temper winning mild;
    Nor pity softer, nor was truth more bright.
    Constant in doing well, he neither sought
    Nor shunned applause. No bashful merit sighed
    Near him neglected: sympathizing he
    Wiped off the tear from Sorrow's clouded eye
    With kindly hand, and taught her heart to smile.

                                   MALLET'S _Excursion_.

Send for a plate of copper to be nailed on the tree at the foot of
his grave, with this inscription:

    Still shall thy grave with rising flowers be dressed
    And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast;
    There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow,
    There the first roses of the year shall blow,
    While angels with their silver wings o'ershade
    The ground now sacred by thy reliques made.

On the upper part of the stone inscribe as follows:

                         Here lie the remains of
                              DABNEY CARR,
              Son of John and Jane Carr, of Louisa County,
                         Who was born ----, 1744.
          Intermarried with Martha Jefferson, daughter of Peter
                         and Jane Jefferson, 1765;
                 And died at Charlottesville, May 16, 1773,
                      Leaving six small children.
             To his Virtue, Good Sense, Learning, and Friendship
    this stone is dedicated by Thomas Jefferson, who, of all men living,
                             loved him most.


     Happy Life at Monticello.--Jefferson's fine Horsemanship.--Birth
     of his oldest Child.--Goes to Congress.--Death of his Mother.--
     Kindness to British Prisoners.--Their Gratitude.--His
     Devotion to Music.--Letter to General De Riedesel.--Is made
     Governor of Virginia.--Tarleton pursues Lafayette.--Reaches
     Charlottesville.--The British at Monticello.--Cornwallis's
     Destruction of Property at Elk Hill.--Jefferson retires at the
     End of his Second Term as Governor.--Mrs. Jefferson's delicate
     Health.--Jefferson meets with an Accident.--Writes his Notes on
     Virginia.--The Marquis De Chastellux visits Monticello.--His
     Description of it.--Letter of Congratulation from Jefferson to
     Washington.--Mrs. Jefferson's Illness and Death.--Her Daughter's
     Description of the Scene.-- Jefferson's Grief.

Following the course which I have laid down for myself, I shall give
but a passing notice of the political events of Jefferson's life,
and only dwell on such incidents as may throw out in bold relief the
beauties and charms of his domestic character. Except when called
from home by duties imposed upon him by his country, the even tenor
of his happy life at Monticello remained unbroken. He prosecuted
his studies with that same ardent thirst for knowledge which he had
evinced when a young student in Williamsburg, mastering every subject
that he took up.

Much time and expense were devoted by him to ornamenting and
improving his house and grounds. A great lover of nature, he found
his favorite recreations in out-of-door enjoyments, and it was his
habit to the day of his death, no matter what his occupation, nor
what office he held, to spend the hours between one and three in the
afternoon on horseback. Noted for his bold and graceful horsemanship,
he kept as riding-horses only those of the best blood of the old
Virginia stock. In the days of his youth he was very exacting of
his groom in having his horses always beautifully kept; and it is
said that it was his habit, when his riding-horse was brought up for
him to mount, to brush his white cambric handkerchief across the
animal's shoulders and send it back to the stable if any dust was
left on the handkerchief.

The garden-book lying before me shows the interest which he took in
all gardening and farming operations. This book, in which he began
to make entries as early as the year 1766, and which he continued to
keep all through life, except when from home, has every thing jotted
down in it, from the date of the earliest peach-blossom to the day
when his wheat was ready for the sickle. His personal, household,
and farm accounts were kept with the precision of the most rigid
accountant, and he was a rare instance of a man of enlarged views
and wide range of thought, being fond of details. The price of his
horses, the fee paid to a ferryman, his little gifts to servants,
his charities--whether great or small--from the penny dropped into
the church-box to the handsome donation given for the erection of a
church--all found a place in his account-book.

In 1772 his eldest child, Martha, was born; his second daughter, Jane
Randolph, died in the fall of 1775, when eighteen months old. He was
most unfortunate in his children--out of six that he had, only two,
Martha and Mary, surviving the period of infancy.

In the year 1775 Jefferson went to Philadelphia as a member of the
first Congress.[11] In the year 1776 he made the following entry in
his little pocket account-book: "_March 31._ My mother died about
eight o'clock this morning, in the 57th year of her age." Thus she
did not live to see the great day with whose glory her son's name is
indissolubly connected.[12]

  [11] A gentleman who had been a frequent visitor at Monticello
  during Mr. Jefferson's life gave Mr. Randall (Jefferson's
  biographer) the following amusing incident concerning this
  venerated body and Declaration of Independence: "While the
  question of Independence was before Congress, it had its meetings
  near a livery-stable. The members wore short breeches and silk
  stockings, and, with handkerchief in hand, they were diligently
  employed in lashing the flies from their legs. So very vexatious
  was this annoyance, and to so great an impatience did it arouse
  the sufferers, that it hastened, if it did not aid, in inducing
  them to promptly affix their signatures to the great document
  which gave birth to an empire republic. "This anecdote I had from
  Mr. Jefferson at Monticello, who seemed to enjoy it very much, as
  well as to give great credit to the influence of the flies. He
  told it with much glee, and seemed to retain a vivid recollection
  of an attack, from which the only relief was signing the paper
  and flying from the scene."

  [12] On the opposite page is given a fac-simile of a portion
  of the original draft of the Declaration of Independence; the
  greater portion of this paragraph was omitted in the document as
  finally adopted. The interlineations in this portion are in the
  handwriting of John Adams.

The British prisoners who were surrendered by Burgoyne at the battle
of Saratoga were sent to Virginia and quartered in Albemarle, a
few miles from Monticello. They had not, however, been settled
there many months, before the Governor (Patrick Henry) was urged
to have them moved to some other part of the country, on the plea
that the provisions consumed by them were more necessary for our
own forces. The Governor and Council were on the eve of issuing the
order for their removal, when an earnest entreaty addressed to them
by Jefferson put a stop to all proceedings on the subject. In this
address and petition he says, in speaking of the prisoners,

     Their health is also of importance. I would not endeavor to
     show that their lives are valuable to us, because it would
     suppose a possibility that humanity was kicked out of doors in
     America, and interest only attended to.... But is an enemy so
     execrable, that, though in captivity, his wishes and comforts
     are to be disregarded and even crossed? I think not. It is for
     the benefit of mankind to mitigate the horrors of war as much
     as possible. The practice, therefore, of modern nations, of
     treating captive enemies with politeness and generosity, is not
     only delightful in contemplation, but really interesting to all
     the world--friends, foes, and neutrals.

This successful effort in their behalf called forth the most earnest
expressions of gratitude from the British and German officers
among the prisoners. The Baron De Riedesel, their commander, was
comfortably fixed in a house not far from Monticello, and he and
the baroness received every attention from Jefferson. Indeed, these
attentions were extended to young officers of the lowest rank. The
hospitalities of her house were gracefully and cordially tendered to
these unfortunate strangers by Mrs. Jefferson, and her husband threw
open to them his library, whence they got books to while away the
tedium of their captivity. The baroness, a warm-hearted, intelligent
woman, from her immense stature, and her habit of riding on horseback
_en cavalier_, was long remembered as a kind of wonder by the good
and simple-hearted people of Albermarle. The intercourse between her
household and that at Monticello was that of neighbors.

[Illustration: Part of Draft of Declaration of Independence

When Phillips, a British officer whom Jefferson characterized as "the
proudest man of the proudest nation on earth," wrote his thanks to
him for his generous kindness, we find Jefferson replying as follows:

     The great cause which divides our countries is not to be decided
     by individual animosities. The harmony of private societies
     can not weaken national efforts. To contribute by neighborly
     intercourse and attention to make others happy, is the shortest
     and surest way of being happy ourselves. As these sentiments
     seem to have directed your conduct, we should be as unwise as
     illiberal, were we not to preserve the same temper of mind.

He also had some pleasant intercourse and correspondence with young
De Ungar, an accomplished officer, who seems to have had many
literary and scientific tastes congenial with Jefferson's. He thus
winds up a letter to this young officer:

     When the course of human events shall have removed you to
     distant scenes of action, where laurels not moistened with the
     blood of my country may be gathered, I shall urge my sincere
     prayers for your obtaining every honor and preferment which may
     gladden the heart of a soldier. On the other hand, should your
     fondness for philosophy resume its merited ascendency, is it
     impossible to hope that this unexplored country may tempt your
     residence, by holding out materials wherewith to build a fame,
     founded on the happiness and not the calamities of human nature?
     Be this as it may--a philosopher or a soldier--I wish you
     personally many felicities.

The following extract from a letter, written in 1778 to a friend in
Europe, shows Jefferson's extreme fondness of music:

     If there is a gratification which I envy any people in this
     world, it is, to your country, its music. This is the favorite
     passion of my soul, and fortune has cast my lot in a country
     where it is in a state of deplorable barbarism. From the line
     of life in which we conjecture you to be, I have for some time
     lost the hope of seeing you here. Should the event prove so, I
     shall ask your assistance in procuring a substitute, who may be
     a proficient in singing, etc., on the harpsichord. I should be
     contented to receive such an one two or three years hence, when
     it is hoped he may come more safely, and find here a greater
     plenty of those useful things which commerce alone can furnish.
     The bounds of an American fortune will not admit the indulgence
     of a domestic band of musicians, yet I have thought that a
     passion for music might be reconciled with that economy which we
     are obliged to observe.

From his correspondence for the year 1780 I take the following
pleasantly written letter to General De Riedesel. I have elsewhere
alluded to the pleasant intercourse between his family and
Jefferson's, when he was a prisoner on parole in the neighborhood of

                       _To General De Riedesel._

                                     Richmond, May 3d, 1780.

     Sir--Your several favors of December 4th, February 10th, and
     March 30th, are come duly to hand. I sincerely condole with
     Madame De Riedesel on the birth of a _daughter_,[13] but
     receive great pleasure from the information of her recovery,
     as every circumstance of felicity to her, yourself or family,
     is interesting to us. The little attentions you are pleased
     to magnify so much, never deserved a mention or thought. My
     mortification was, that the peculiar situation in which we
     were, put it out of our power to render your stay here more
     comfortable. I am sorry to learn that the negotiations for
     the exchange of prisoners have proved abortive, as well from
     a desire to see the necessary distresses of war alleviated in
     every possible instance, as I am sensible how far yourself and
     family are interested in it. Against this, however, is to be
     weighed the possibility that we may again have a pleasure we
     should otherwise, perhaps, never have had--that of seeing you
     again. Be this as it may, opposed as we happen to be in our
     sentiments of duty and honor, and anxious for contrary events, I
     shall, nevertheless, sincerely rejoice in every circumstance of
     happiness or safety which may attend you personally; and when a
     termination of the present contest shall put it into my power to
     declare to you more unreservedly how sincere are the sentiments
     of esteem and respect (wherein Mrs. Jefferson joins me) which I
     entertain for Madame De Riedesel and yourself, and with which I
     am, sir, your most obedient and most humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

  [13] Jefferson himself had no son.

Jefferson was made Governor of Virginia in 1779; and when Tarleton,
in 1781, reached Charlottesville, after his famous pursuit of "the
boy" Lafayette, who slipped through his fingers, it was expected that
Monticello, as the residence of the Governor, would be pillaged. The
conduct of the British was far different.

Jefferson, on being informed that the enemy were close at hand, put
Mrs. Jefferson and her children in a carriage and sent them to a
neighbor's, where they would be out of harm's way. Having sent his
horse to the blacksmith's to be shod, he ordered him to be taken to a
certain point of the road between Monticello and Carter's Mountain,
while he remained quietly at home collecting his most valuable
papers. Two hours after the departure of his family, a gentleman
rode up and told him that the British were on the mountain. He then
left the house and walked over to Carter's Mountain, whence he had
a full view of Charlottesville. He viewed the town through a small
telescope which he took with him, and seeing no "red-coats," thought
their coming was a false alarm, and turned with the intention of
going back to the house. He had not gone far, however, when he found
his light sword-cane had dropped from its sheath. He retraced his
steps, found the weapon, and, on turning around again, saw that
Charlottesville was "alive with British." He then mounted his horse
and followed his family.

Captain McLeod commanded the party of British soldiers who were sent
to Monticello to seize the Governor, and he went with "strict orders
from Tarleton to allow nothing in the house to be injured." When he
found that the bird had flown, he called for a servant of the house,
asked which were Mr. Jefferson's private apartments, and, being shown
the door which led to them, he turned the key in the lock and ordered
that every thing in the house should be untouched.

Unprepared for this generous conduct on the part of the British,
two faithful slaves, Martin and Cæsar, were busy concealing their
master's plate under a floor, a few feet from the ground, when the
red-coats made their appearance on the lawn at Monticello. A plank
had been removed, and Cæsar, having slipped down through the cavity,
stood below to receive the plate as it was handed down by Martin.
The last piece had been handed down when the soldiers came in sight.
There was not a moment to lose, and Martin, thinking only of his
master's plate and not of Cæsar's comfort, clapped the plank down on
top of the poor fellow, and there he remained in the dark and without
food for three days and three nights. Martin himself on this occasion
gave a much more striking proof of fidelity. A brutal soldier placed
a pistol to his breast and threatened to fire unless he disclosed his
master's retreat. "Fire away then!" was the slave's ready and defiant

The handsome conduct of the British at Monticello afforded a striking
contrast to that of their forces under the command of Cornwallis,
who visited Elk Hill--Jefferson's James River estate. The commanding
general, Cornwallis, had his head-quarters for ten days at the house
on the estate. This house, though not often occupied by Jefferson
and his family, was furnished, and contained a library. The following
is the owner's account of the manner in which the estate was laid

     I had time to remove most of the effects out of the house, He
     destroyed all my growing crops of corn and tobacco; he burned
     all my barns containing the same articles of the last year,
     having first taken what corn he wanted; he used, as was to be
     expected, all my stock of cattle, sheep, and hogs, for the
     sustenance of his army, and carried off all the horses capable
     of service; of those too young for service he cut the throats;
     and he burned all the fences on the plantation, so as to render
     it an absolute waste. He carried off, also, about thirty slaves.
     Had this been to give them freedom he would have done right, but
     it was to consign them to inevitable death from the small-pox
     and putrid fever then raging in his camp. This I knew afterwards
     to be the fate of twenty-seven of them. I never had news of the
     remaining three, but suppose they shared the same fate. When I
     say that Lord Cornwallis did all this, I do not mean that he
     carried about the torch in his own hands, but that it was all
     done under his eye--the situation of the house in which he was
     commanding a view of every part of the plantation, so that he
     must have seen every fire.[14]

  [14] Jefferson to Dr. Gordon.

Again he writes:

     History will never relate the horrors committed by the British
     army in the Southern States of America. They raged in Virginia
     six months only, from the middle of April to the middle of
     October, 1781, when they were all taken prisoners; and I give
     you a faithful specimen of their transactions for ten days of
     that time, and on one spot only.[15]

  [15] Ibid.

At the end of the second year of his term Jefferson resigned his
commission as Governor. The state of Mrs. Jefferson's health was at
this time a source of great anxiety to him, and he promised her, when
he left public life on this occasion, that he would never again leave
her to accept any office or take part in political life. Saddened
by the deaths of her children, and with a constitution weakened by
disease, her condition was truly alarming, and wrung the heart of
her devoted husband as he watched her failing day by day. He himself
met with an accident about this time--a fall from his horse--which,
though not attended with serious consequences, kept him, for two or
three weeks, more closely confined in the house than it was his habit
to be.

It was during this confinement that he wrote the principal part of
his "Notes on Virginia." He had been in the habit of committing to
writing any information about the State which he thought would be
of use to him in any station, public or private; and receiving a
letter from M. De Marbois, the French ambassador, asking for certain
statistical accounts of the State of Virginia, he embodied the
substance of the information he had so acquired and sent it to him in
the form of the "Notes on Virginia."

A charming picture of Monticello and its inmates at that day is found
in "Travels in North America, by the Marquis De Chastellux." This
accomplished French nobleman visited Jefferson in the spring of 1782.
After describing his approach to the foot of the southwest range of
mountains, he says:

     On the summit of one of them we discovered the house of Mr.
     Jefferson, which stands pre-eminent in these retirements; it
     was himself who built it, and preferred this situation; for
     although he possessed considerable property in the neighborhood,
     there was nothing to prevent him from fixing his residence
     wherever he thought proper. But it was a debt Nature owed to a
     philosopher, and a man of taste, that in his own possessions he
     should find a spot where he might best study and enjoy her. He
     calls his house _Monticello_ (in Italian, Little Mountain), a
     very modest title, for it is situated upon a very lofty one, but
     which announces the owner's attachment to the language of Italy;
     and, above all, to the fine arts, of which that country was the
     cradle, and is still the asylum. As I had no further occasion
     for a guide, I separated from the Irishman; and after ascending
     by a tolerably commodious road for more than half an hour we
     arrived at Monticello. This house, of which Mr. Jefferson was
     the architect, and often one of the workmen, is rather elegant,
     and in the Italian taste, though not without fault; it consists
     of one large square pavilion, the entrance of which is by two
     porticoes, ornamented with pillars. The ground-floor consists
     of a very large lofty saloon, which is to be decorated entirely
     in the antique style; above it is a library of the same form;
     two small wings, with only a ground-floor and attic story, are
     joined to this pavilion, and communicate with the kitchen,
     offices, etc., which will form a kind of basement story, over
     which runs a terrace.

     My object in this short description is only to show the
     difference between this and the other houses of the country;
     for we may safely aver that Mr. Jefferson is the first American
     who has consulted the fine arts to know how he should shelter
     himself from the weather.

     But it is on himself alone I ought to bestow my time. Let me
     describe to you a man, not yet forty, tall and with a mild
     and pleasing countenance, but whose mind and understanding
     are ample substitutes for every exterior grace. An American,
     who, without ever having quitted his own country, is at once a
     musician, skilled in drawing, a geometrician, an astronomer,
     a natural philosopher, legislator, and statesman. A Senator
     of America, who sat for two years in that body which brought
     about the Revolution; and which is never mentioned without
     respect, though unhappily not without regret, a Governor of
     Virginia, who filled this difficult station during the invasions
     of Arnold, of Phillips, and of Cornwallis; a philosopher, in
     voluntary retirement from the world and public business because
     he loves the world, in as much only as he can flatter himself
     with being useful to mankind, and the minds of his countrymen
     are not yet in a condition either to bear the light or suffer
     contradiction. A mild and amiable wife, charming children, of
     whose education he himself takes charge, a house to embellish,
     great provisions to improve, and the arts and sciences to
     cultivate; these are what remain to Mr. Jefferson, after having
     played a principal character on the theatre of the New World,
     and which he preferred to the honorable commission of Minister
     Plenipotentiary in Europe.

     The visit which I made him was not unexpected, for he had
     long since invited me to come and pass a few days with him in
     the centre of the mountains; notwithstanding which, I found
     his appearance serious--nay even cold, but before I had been
     two hours with him, we were as intimate as if we had passed
     our whole lives together; walking, books, but above all, a
     conversation always varied and interesting, always supported
     by the sweet satisfaction experienced by two persons, who, in
     communicating their sentiments and opinions, are invariably in
     unison, and who understand each other at the first hint, made
     four days pass away like so many minutes.

     This conformity of opinions and sentiments on which I insist
     because it constitutes my own eulogium (and self-love must
     somewhere show itself), this conformity, I say, was so perfect,
     that not only our taste was similar, but our predilections
     also; those partialities which cold methodical minds ridicule
     as enthusiastic, while sensible and animated ones cherish and
     adopt the glorious appellation. I recollect with pleasure that
     as we were conversing over a bowl of punch, after Mrs. Jefferson
     had retired, our conversation turned on the poems of Ossian. It
     was a spark of electricity which passed rapidly from one to the
     other; we recollected the passages in those sublime poems which
     particularly struck us, and entertained my fellow-travellers,
     who fortunately knew English well, and were qualified to judge
     of their merits, though they had never read the poems. In our
     enthusiasm the book was sent for, and placed near the bowl,
     where, by their mutual aid, the night far advanced imperceptibly
     upon us.

     Sometimes natural philosophy, at others politics or the arts,
     were the topics of our conversation, for no object had escaped
     Mr. Jefferson; and it seemed as if from his youth he had placed
     his mind, as he has done his house, on an elevated situation,
     from which he might contemplate the universe.[16]

  [16] Chastellux's Travels in America, pp. 40-46.

Mr. Jefferson--continues the Marquis--amused himself by raising a
score of these animals (deer) in his park; they are become very
familiar, which happens to all the animals of America; for they are
in general much easier to tame than those of Europe. He amuses
himself by feeding them with Indian corn, of which they are very
fond, and which they eat out of his hand. I followed him one evening
into a deep valley, where they are accustomed to assemble towards the
close of the day, and saw them walk, run, and bound; but the more I
examined their paces, the less I was inclined to annex them to any
particular species in Europe. Mr. Jefferson being no sportsman, and
not having crossed the seas, could have no decided opinion on this
part of natural history; but he has not neglected the other branches.

I saw with pleasure that he had applied himself particularly to
meteorological observation, which, in fact, of all the branches of
philosophy, is the most proper for Americans to cultivate, from the
extent of their country and the variety of their situation, which
gives them in this point a great advantage over us, who, in other
respects, have so many over them. Mr. Jefferson has made with Mr.
Madison, a well-informed professor of mathematics, some correspondent
observations on the reigning winds at Williamsburg and Monticello.[17]

  [17] Vol. ii., p. 48.

But--says the Marquis--I perceive my journal is something like
the conversation I had with Mr. Jefferson; I pass from one object
to another, and forget myself as I write, as it happened not
unfrequently in his society. I must now quit the friend of nature,
but not Nature herself, who expects me, in all her splendor, at
the end of my journey; I mean the famous Bridge of Rocks, which
unites two mountains, the most curious object I ever beheld, as its
construction is the most difficult of solution. Mr. Jefferson would
most willingly have conducted me thither, although this wonder is
upward of eighty miles from him, and he had often seen it, but his
wife being expected every moment to lie in, and himself being as good
a husband as he is an excellent philosopher and virtuous citizen, he
only acted as my guide for about sixteen miles, to the passage of
the little river Mechum, when we parted, and, I presume to flatter
myself, with mutual regret."[18]

  [18] Vol. ii., p. 55.

The following warm letter of congratulation to General Washington
shows the affection felt for him by Jefferson:

                        _To General Washington._

                             Monticello, October 28th, 1781.

     Sir--I hope it will not be unacceptable to your Excellency to
     receive the congratulations of a private individual on your
     return to your native country, and, above all things, on the
     important success which has attended it.[19] Great as this has
     been, however, it can scarcely add to the affection with which
     we have looked up to you. And if, in the minds of any, the
     motives of gratitude to our good allies were not sufficiently
     apparent, the part they have borne in this action must amply
     convince them. Notwithstanding the state of perpetual solicitude
     to which I am unfortunately reduced,[20]

I should certainly have done myself the honor of paying my respects
to you personally; but I apprehend that these visits, which are meant
by us as marks of our attachment to you, must interfere with the
regulations of a camp, and be particularly inconvenient to one whose
time is too precious to be wasted in ceremony.

  [19] At Yorktown.

  [20] On account of Mrs. Jefferson's health.

I beg you to believe me among the sincerest of those who subscribe
themselves your Excellency's most obedient and most humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The delicate condition of Mrs. Jefferson's health, alluded to in the
preceding letter, continued to be such as to excite the alarm of her
friends, and their worst apprehensions were soon realized. After
the birth of her sixth child she sank so rapidly that it was plain
there was no hope of her recovery. During her illness Jefferson was
untiring in his attentions to her, and the devotion he showed her was
constant and touching. The following account of the closing scenes of
this domestic tragedy I take from Mrs. Randolph's manuscript:

     During my mother's life he (Jefferson) bestowed much time
     and attention on our education--our cousins, the Carrs,
     and myself--and after her death, during the first month of
     desolation which followed, I was his constant companion while we
     remained at Monticello....

     As a nurse no female ever had more tenderness nor anxiety.
     He nursed my poor mother in turn with aunt Carr and her own
     sister--sitting up with her and administering her medicines and
     drink to the last. For four months that she lingered he was
     never out of calling; when not at her bedside, he was writing in
     a small room which opened immediately at the head of her bed.
     A moment before the closing scene, he was led from the room in
     a state of insensibility by his sister, Mrs. Carr, who, with
     great difficulty, got him into the library, where he fainted,
     and remained so long insensible that they feared he never would
     revive. The scene that followed I did not witness, but the
     violence of his emotion, when, almost by stealth, I entered his
     room by night, to this day I dare not describe to myself. He
     kept his room three weeks, and I was never a moment from his
     side. He walked almost incessantly night and day, only lying
     down occasionally, when nature was completely exhausted, on a
     pallet that had been brought in during his long fainting-fit.
     My aunts remained constantly with him for some weeks--I do not
     remember how many. When at last he left his room, he rode out,
     and from that time he was incessantly on horseback, rambling
     about the mountain, in the least frequented roads, and just as
     often through the woods. In those melancholy rambles I was his
     constant companion--a solitary witness to many a burst of grief,
     the remembrance of which has consecrated particular scenes of
     that lost home[21] beyond the power of time to obliterate.

  [21] Mrs. Randolph wrote this after Monticello had been sold and
  passed into the hands of strangers.

Mrs. Jefferson left three children, Martha, Mary, and Lucy
Elizabeth--the last an infant. As far as it was possible, their
father, by his watchful care and tender love, supplied the place of
the mother they had lost. The account of her death just given gives
a vivid description of his grief, and so alarming was the state
of insensibility into which he fell, that his sister, Mrs. Carr,
called to his sister-in-law, who was still bending over her sister's
lifeless body, "to leave the dead and come and take care of the

Years afterwards he wrote the following epitaph for his wife's tomb:

                To the Memory of

                MARTHA JEFFERSON,

            Daughter of John Wayles;

         Born October 19th, 1748, O. S.;

                Intermarried with

                 THOMAS JEFFERSON

                January 1st, 1772;

              Torn from him by Death

               September 6th, 1782:

      This Monument of his Love is inscribed.

         *       *       *       *       *

  If in the melancholy shades below,
  The flames of friends and lovers cease to glow,
  Yet mine shall sacred last; mine undecayed
  Burn on through death and animate my shade.[22]

  [22] These four lines Mr. Jefferson left in the Greek in the
  original epitaph.


_From Portrait by Sully._]


     Visit to Chesterfield County.--Is appointed Plenipotentiary
     to Europe.--Letter to the Marquis de Chastellux.--Goes North
     with his Daughter.--Leaves her in Philadelphia, and goes to
     Congress.--Letters to his Daughter.--Sails for Europe.--His
     Daughter's Description of the Voyage.--His Establishment and
     Life in Paris.--Succeeds Franklin as Minister there.--Anecdotes
     of Franklin.--Extracts from Mrs. Adams's Letters.--Note from
     Jefferson to Mrs. Smith.

A short time after Mrs. Jefferson's death, Jefferson went with
his children to Ampthill, in Chesterfield County, the residence
of Colonel Archibald Cary. This gentleman had kindly offered his
house to him, that he might there have his children inoculated
for the small-pox. While engaged as their chief nurse on this
occasion, he received notice of his appointment by Congress as
Plenipotentiary to Europe, to be associated with Dr. Franklin and
Mr. Adams in negotiating peace. Twice before the same appointment
had been declined by him, as he had promised his wife never again to
enter public life while she lived. Mr. Madison, in alluding to his
appointment by Congress, says:

     The reappointment of Mr. Jefferson as Minister Plenipotentiary
     for negotiating peace, was agreed to unanimously, and without a
     single adverse remark. The act took place in consequence of its
     being suggested that the death of Mrs. Jefferson had probably
     changed the sentiments of Mr. Jefferson with regard to public

  [23] Madison Papers.

Jefferson himself, in speaking of this appointment, says in his

     I had, two months before that, lost the cherished companion of
     my life, in whose affections, unabated on both sides, I had
     lived the last ten years in unchequered happiness. With the
     public interests the state of my mind concurred in recommending
     the change of scene proposed; and I accepted the appointment.

Writing to the Marquis de Chastellux, he says:

                              Ampthill, November 26th, 1782.

     Dear Sir--I received your friendly letters of ---- and June
     30th, but the latter not till the 17th of October. It found me a
     little emerging from the stupor of mind which had rendered me as
     dead to the world as was she whose loss occasioned it.... Before
     that event my scheme of life had been determined. I had folded
     myself in the arms of retirement, and rested all prospects of
     future happiness on domestic and literary objects. A single
     event wiped away all my plans, and left me a blank which I had
     not the spirits to fill up. In this state of mind an appointment
     from Congress found me, requiring me to cross the Atlantic.

Having accepted the appointment, Mr. Jefferson left his two youngest
children with their maternal aunt, Mrs. Eppes, of Eppington, and
went North with his daughter Martha, then in her eleventh year. Some
delay in his departure for Europe was occasioned by news received
from Europe by Congress. During the uncertainty as to the time of
his departure he placed the little Martha at school in Philadelphia,
under the charge of an excellent and kind lady, Mrs. Hopkinson. From
this time we find him writing regularly to his daughters during every
separation from them, and it is in the letters written on those
occasions that are portrayed most vividly the love and tenderness
of the father, and the fine traits of character of the man. That
the reader may see what these were, I shall give a number of these
letters, and, as far as possible, in their chronological order.

The original of the first of the following letters is now in the
possession of the Queen of England. Mr. Aaron Vail, when Chargé
d'Affaires of the United States at the Court of St. James, being
requested by Princess Victoria to procure her an autograph of
Jefferson, applied to a member of Mr. Jefferson's family, who sent
him this letter for the princess. Mr. Jefferson was at this time
again a member of Congress, which was then holding its sessions in

_Thomas Jefferson to Martha Jefferson._

                                 Annapolis, Nov. 28th, 1783.

     My dear Patsy--After four days' journey, I arrived here without
     any accident, and in as good health as when I left Philadelphia.
     The conviction that you would be more improved in the situation
     I have placed you than if still with me, has solaced me on my
     parting with you, which my love for you has rendered a difficult
     thing. The acquirements which I hope you will make under the
     tutors I have provided for you will render you more worthy of
     my love; and if they can not increase it, they will prevent
     its diminution. Consider the good lady who has taken you under
     her roof, who has undertaken to see that you perform all your
     exercises, and to admonish you in all those wanderings from what
     is right or what is clever, to which your inexperience would
     expose you: consider her, I say, as your mother, as the only
     person to whom, since the loss with which Heaven has pleased to
     afflict you, you can now look up; and that her displeasure or
     disapprobation, on any occasion, will be an immense misfortune,
     which should you be so unhappy as to incur by any unguarded
     act, think no concession too much to regain her good-will. With
     respect to the distribution of your time, the following is what
     I should approve:

     From 8 to 10, practice music.

     From 10 to 1, dance one day and draw another.

     From 1 to 2, draw on the day you dance, and write a letter next

     From 3 to 4, read French.

     From 4 to 5, exercise yourself in music.

     From 5 till bed-time, read English, write, etc.

     Communicate this plan to Mrs. Hopkinson, and if she approves of
     it, pursue it. As long as Mrs. Trist remains in Philadelphia,
     cultivate her affection. She has been a valuable friend to you,
     and her good sense and good heart make her valued by all who
     know her, and by nobody on earth more than me. I expect you
     will write me by every post. Inform me what books you read,
     what tunes you learn, and inclose me your best copy of every
     lesson in drawing. Write also one letter a week either to your
     Aunt Eppes, your Aunt Skipwith, your Aunt Carr, or the little
     lady[24] from whom I now inclose a letter, and always put the
     letter you so write under cover to me. Take care that you never
     spell a word wrong. Always before you write a word, consider
     how it is spelt, and, if you do not remember it, turn to a
     dictionary. It produces great praise to a lady to spell well. I
     have placed my happiness on seeing you good and accomplished;
     and no distress which this world can now bring on me would equal
     that of your disappointing my hopes. If you love me, then strive
     to be good under every situation and to all living creatures,
     and to acquire those accomplishments which I have put in your
     power, and which will go far towards ensuring you the warmest
     love of your affectionate father,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

     P.S.--Keep my letters and read them at times, that you may
     always have present in your mind those things which will endear
     you to me.

  [24] Her little sister, Mary Jefferson.

_Thomas Jefferson to Martha Jefferson._--[_Extract._][25]

  [25] We find the key to this and the letter following it in the
  following paragraph of a letter from Mrs. Trist to Mr. Jefferson:
  "Patsy is very hearty; she now and then gives us a call. She
  seems happy, much more so than I expected. When you write, give
  her a charge about her dress, which will be a hint to Mrs. H. to
  be particular with her. De Simitière complains that his pupil
  is rather inattentive. You can be particular to these matters
  when you write, but don't let her know you heard any complaints.
  I fancy the old lady is preparing for the other world, for she
  conceits the earthquake we had the other night is only a prelude
  to something dreadful that will happen."

                                 Annapolis, Dec. 11th, 1783.

     I hope you will have good sense enough to disregard those
     foolish predictions that the world is to be at an end soon.
     The Almighty has never made known to any body at what time he
     created it; nor will he tell any body when he will put an end
     to it, if he ever means to do it. As to preparations for that
     event, the best way is for you always to be prepared for it. The
     only way to be so is, never to say or do a bad thing. If ever
     you are about to say any thing amiss, or to do any thing wrong,
     consider beforehand you will feel something within you which
     will tell you it is wrong, and ought not to be said or done.
     This is your conscience, and be sure and obey it. Our Maker has
     given us all this faithful internal monitor, and if you always
     obey it you will always be prepared for the end of the world; or
     for a much more certain event, which is death. This must happen
     to all; it puts an end to the world as to us; and the way to be
     ready for it is never to do a wrong act.

_Thomas Jefferson to Martha Jefferson._--[_Extract._]

                                  Annapolis, Dec. 22d, 1783.

     I omitted in that letter to advise you on the subject of dress,
     which I know you are a little apt to neglect. I do not wish you
     to be gaily clothed at this time of life, but that your wear
     should be fine of its kind. But above all things and at all
     times let your clothes be neat, whole, and properly put on. Do
     not fancy you must wear them till the dirt is visible to the
     eye. You will be the last one who is sensible of this. Some
     ladies think they may, under the privileges of the _déshabillé_,
     be loose and negligent of their dress in the morning. But be
     you, from the moment you rise till you go to bed, as cleanly
     and properly dressed as at the hours of dinner or tea. A lady
     who has been seen as a sloven or a slut in the morning, will
     never efface the impression she has made, with all the dress
     and pageantry she can afterwards involve herself in. Nothing is
     so disgusting to our sex as a want of cleanliness and delicacy
     in yours. I hope, therefore, the moment you rise from bed, your
     first work will be to dress yourself in such style, as that you
     may be seen by any gentleman without his being able to discover
     a pin amiss, or any other circumstance of neatness wanting.

_Thomas Jefferson to Martha Jefferson._

                                 Annapolis, Jan. 15th, 1783.

     My dear Martha--I am anxious to know what books you read, what
     tunes you play, and to receive specimens of your drawing. With
     respect to your meeting M. Simitière[26] at Mr. Rittenhouse's,
     nothing could give me more pleasure than your being much with
     that worthy family, wherein you will see the best examples of
     rational life, and learn to esteem and copy them. But I should
     be very tender of intruding you on the family; as it might,
     perhaps, be not always convenient for you to be there at your
     hours of attending M. Simitière. I can only say, then, that
     if it has been desired by Mr. and Mrs. Rittenhouse, in such a
     manner as that Mrs. Hopkinson shall be satisfied that they will
     not think it inconvenient, I would have you thankfully accept
     it; and conduct yourself with so much attention to the family
     as that they may never feel themselves incommoded by it. I hope
     Mrs. Hopkinson will be so good as to act for you in this matter
     with that delicacy and prudence of which she is so capable. I
     have much at heart your learning to draw, and should be uneasy
     at your losing this opportunity, which probably is your last.

  [26] M. Simitière was a Frenchman, from whom, as his letters
  show, Mr. Jefferson was anxious for his daughter to take drawing

_Thomas Jefferson to Martha Jefferson._--[_Extract._]

                             Annapolis, February 18th, 1784.

     I am sorry M. Simitière can not attend you, because it is
     probable you will never have another opportunity of learning
     to draw, and it is a pretty and pleasing accomplishment. With
     respect to the payment of the guinea, I would wish him to
     receive it; because if there is to be a doubt between him and me
     which of us acts rightly, I would wish to remove it clearly off
     my own shoulders. You must thank Mrs. Hopkinson for me for the
     trouble she gave herself in this matter; from which she will be
     relieved by paying M. Simitière his demand.

In the spring of this year (1784) Mr. Jefferson received definite
orders from Congress to go to Europe as Minister Plenipotentiary, and
act in conjunction with Dr. Franklin and Mr. Adams in negotiating
treaties of commerce with foreign nations. He accordingly sailed
in July, taking with him his young daughter Martha. The following
description of his voyage, establishment in Paris and life there, is
from her pen. The other two children, Mary and Lucy Elizabeth, were
left with their good aunt, Mrs. Eppes. Mrs. Randolph says, in her

     He sailed from Boston in a ship of Colonel Tracy's (the Ceres,
     Capt. St. Barbe); the passengers--only six in number--of whom
     Colonel Tracy himself was one, were to a certain degree select,
     being chosen from many applying. The voyage was as pleasant as
     fine weather, a fine ship, good company, and an excellent table
     could make it. From land to land they were only nineteen days,
     of which they were becalmed three on the Banks of Newfoundland,
     which were spent in cod-fishing. The epicures of the cabin
     feasted on fresh tongues and sounds, leaving the rest of the
     fish for the sailors, of which much was thrown overboard for
     want of salt to preserve it. We were landed at Portsmouth, where
     he was detained a week by the illness of his little travelling
     companion, suffering from the effects of the voyage. Nothing
     worthy of note occurred on the voyage or journey to Paris.

     On his first arrival in Paris he occupied rooms in the Hôtel
     d'Orléans, _Rue des Petits Augustins_, until a house could
     be got ready for him. His first house was in the Cul-de-sac
     Têtebout, near the Boulevards. At the end of the year he removed
     to a house belonging to M. le Comte de L'Avongeac, at the
     corner of the Grande Route des Champs Elysées and the Rue Neuve
     de Berry, where he continued as long as he remained in Paris.
     Colonel Humphreys, the secretary of legation, and Mr. Short, his
     private secretary, both lived with him. The house was a very
     elegant one even for Paris, with an extensive garden, court, and
     outbuildings, in the handsomest style.

     He also had rooms in the Carthusian Monastery on Mount Calvary;
     the boarders, of whom I think there were forty, carried their
     own servants, and took their breakfasts in their own rooms. They
     assembled to dinner only. They had the privilege of walking in
     the gardens, but as it was a hermitage, it was against the rules
     of the house for any voices to be heard outside of their own
     rooms, hence the most profound silence. The author of Anacharsis
     was a boarder at the time, and many others who had reasons for
     a temporary retirement from the world. Whenever he had a press
     of business, he was in the habit of taking his papers and going
     to the hermitage, where he spent sometimes a week or more till
     he had finished his work. The hermits visited him occasionally
     in Paris, and the Superior made him a present of an ivory broom
     that was turned by one of the brothers.

     His habits of study in Paris were pretty much what they were
     elsewhere. He was always a very early riser and the whole
     morning was spent in business, generally writing till one
     o'clock, with the exception of a short respite afforded by the
     breakfast-table, at which he frequently lingered, conversing
     willingly at such times. At one o'clock he always rode or walked
     as far as seven miles into the country. Returning from one of
     these rambles, he was on one occasion joined by some friend, and
     being earnestly engaged in conversation he fell and broke his
     wrist. He said nothing at the moment, but holding the suffering
     limb with the other hand, he continued the conversation until he
     arrived near to his own house, when, informing his companion of
     the accident, he left him to send for the surgeon. The fracture
     was a complicated one and probably much swollen before the
     arrival of the surgeon; but it was not set, and remained ever
     after weak and stiff. While disabled by this accident he was in
     the habit of writing with his left hand, in which he soon became
     tolerably expert--the writing being well-formed but stiff. A few
     years before his death another fall deprived him in like manner
     of the use of his left hand, which rendered him very helpless in
     his hands, particularly for writing, which latterly became very
     slow and painful to him.... He kept me with him till I was sent
     to a convent in Paris, where his visits to me were daily for the
     first month or two, till in fact I recovered my spirits.

Nothing could have been more congenial or delightful to him than the
society in which Jefferson moved in Paris. At the head of an elegant
establishment, as an American and the friend of Lafayette, his house
was the favorite resort of all the accomplished and gallant young
French officers who had enthusiastically taken up arms in defense of
the great cause of liberty in the New World; while as a philosopher
and the author of the "Notes on Virginia," his society was sought for
and enjoyed by the most distinguished savants and men of science,
who thronged from all parts of Europe to the great French capital.
Nor were the ease and grace of his address, the charms of his
eloquent conversation, and the varied extent of his learning, lost
upon the witty and handsome women who were found at the court of
the amiable young Louis the Sixteenth and of his queen, the lovely
Marie Antoinette--so sadly pre-eminent for beauty and misfortune. His
social intercourse with them, and the pleasant friendships formed for
many, we discover in his gracefully-written letters to them.

Mr. and Mrs. John Adams were in Paris with Jefferson, and Mrs. Adams
pays a graceful tribute to his talents and worth in her letters home,
and in one of them speaks of him as being one of the "choice ones of
the earth." His intercourse with his two colleagues, Dr. Franklin
and Mr. Adams, was of the most delightful character, and by both he
was sincerely loved and esteemed. The friendship then formed between
Mr. Adams and himself withstood, in after years, all the storms and
bitterness of political life, at a time when, perhaps, party feeling
and prejudice ran higher than ever before.

When Franklin returned home, loaded with all the honors and love that
the admiration of the French people could lavish on him, Jefferson
was appointed to take his place as Minister from the United States at
the Court of St. Germains. "You replace Dr. Franklin," said Count de
Vergennes, the French Premier, to him--"I _succeed_ him; no one could
replace him," was Jefferson's ready reply. Perhaps no greater proof
of Jefferson's popularity in Paris could be given, than the fact that
he so soon became a favorite in that learned and polished society in
which the great Franklin had been the lion of the day. I quote from
Jefferson's writings the following anecdotes of Franklin, which the
reader will not find out of place here:

     When Dr. Franklin went to France on his revolutionary mission,
     his eminence as a philosopher, his venerable appearance, and the
     cause on which he was sent, rendered him extremely popular--for
     all ranks and conditions of men there entered warmly into the
     American interest. He was, therefore, feasted and invited to
     all the court parties. At these he sometimes met the old Duchess
     of Bourbon, who being a chess-player of about his force, they
     very generally played together. Happening once to put her king
     into prise, the Doctor took it. "Ah," says she, "we do not take
     kings so." "We do in America," said the Doctor.

     At one of these parties the Emperor Joseph II., then at Paris
     _incog._ under the title of Count Falkenstein, was overlooking
     the game in silence, while the company was engaged in animated
     conversations on the American question. "How happens it, M.
     le Comte," said the Duchess, "that while we all feel so much
     interest in the cause of the Americans, you say nothing for
     them?" "I am a king by trade," said he.

     The Doctor told me at Paris the following anecdote of the Abbé
     Raynal: He had a party to dine with him one day at Passy, of
     whom one half were Americans, the other half French, and among
     the last was the Abbé. During the dinner he got on his favorite
     theory of the degeneracy of animals and even of man in America,
     and urged it with his usual eloquence. The Doctor, at length
     noticing the accidental stature and position of his guests at
     table, "Come," says he, "M. l'Abbé, let us try this question
     by the fact before us. We are here, one half Americans and one
     half French, and it happens that the Americans have placed
     themselves on one side of the table, and our French friends are
     on the other. Let both parties rise, and we will see on which
     side nature has degenerated." It happened that his American
     guests were Carmichael, Harmer, Humphreys, and others of the
     finest stature and form; while those of the other side were
     remarkably diminutive, and the Abbé himself, particularly, was a
     mere shrimp. He parried the appeal, however, by a complimentary
     admission of exceptions, among which the Doctor himself was a
     conspicuous one.

The following interesting quotations from Mrs. Adams's letters, in
which she alludes to Mr. Jefferson, will be found interesting here.
To her sister she writes:

     There is now a court mourning, and every foreign minister,
     with his family, must go into mourning for a Prince of eight
     years old, whose father is an ally to the King of France. This
     mourning is ordered by the Court, and is to be worn eleven days
     only. Poor Mr. Jefferson had to hie away for a tailor to get a
     whole black silk suit made up in two days; and at the end of
     eleven days, should another death happen, he will be obliged to
     have a new suit of mourning of cloth, because that is the season
     when silk must be left off.

To her niece Mrs. Adams writes:

     Well, my dear niece, I have returned from Mr. Jefferson's.
     When I got there I found a pretty large company. It consisted
     of the Marquis and Madame de Lafayette; the Count and Countess
     de ----; a French Count who had been a general in America, but
     whose name I forget; Commodore Jones; Mr. Jarvis, an American
     gentleman lately arrived (the same who married Amelia B----),
     who says there is so strong a likeness between your cousin and
     his lady, that he is obliged to be upon his guard lest he should
     think himself at home, and commit some mistake--he appears a
     very sensible, agreeable gentleman; a Mr. Bowdoin, an American
     also; I ask the Chevalier de la Luzerne's pardon--I had like
     to have forgotten him; Mr. Williams, of course, as he always
     dines with Mr. Jefferson; and Mr. Short--though one of Mr.
     Jefferson's family, as he has been absent some time I name him.
     He took a resolution that he would go into a French family at
     St. Germain, and acquire the language; and this is the only way
     for a foreigner to obtain it. I have often wished that I could
     not hear a word of English spoken. I think I have mentioned Mr.
     Short before, in some of my letters; he is about the stature
     of Mr. Tudor; a better figure, but much like him in looks and
     manners; consequently a favorite of mine.

     They have some customs very curious here. When company are
     invited to dine, if twenty gentlemen meet, they seldom or never
     sit down, but are standing or walking from one part of the room
     to the other, with their swords on, and their _chapeau de bras_,
     which is a very small silk hat, always worn under the arm. These
     they lay aside while they dine, but reassume them immediately
     after. I wonder how the fashion of standing crept in among a
     nation who really deserve the appellation of polite; for in
     winter it shuts out all the fire from the ladies; I know I have
     suffered from it many times.

     At dinner, the ladies and gentlemen are mixed, and you converse
     with him who sits next you, rarely speaking to two persons
     across the table, unless to ask if they will be served with
     any thing from your side. Conversation is never general as
     with us; for, when the company quit the table, they fall into
     _tête-à-tête_ of two and two, when the conversation is in a
     low voice, and a stranger unacquainted with the customs of the
     country, would think that every body had private business to

Mrs. Adams writes to her sister:

     We see as much company in a formal way as our revenues will
     admit; and Mr. Jefferson, with one or two Americans, visits us
     in the social, friendly way. I shall really regret to leave
     Mr. Jefferson; he is one of the choice ones of the earth. On
     Thursday, I dine with him at his house. On Sunday he is to dine
     here. On Monday we all dine with the Marquis.

The intimate and friendly relations which existed between Mr.
Jefferson and Mrs. Adams's family is seen from the following playful
note from him to her daughter, Mrs. Smith:

     Mr. Jefferson has the honor to present his compliments to Mrs.
     Smith and to send her the two pair of corsets she desired. He
     wishes they may be suitable, as Mrs. Smith omitted to send her
     measure. Times are altered since Mademoiselle de Sanson had the
     honor of knowing her; should they be too small, however, she
     will be so good as to lay them by a while. There are ebbs as
     well as flows in this world. When the mountain refused to come
     to Mahomet, he went to the mountain. Mr. Jefferson wishes Mrs.
     Smith a happy new-year, and abundance of happier ones still
     to follow it. He begs leave to assure her of his esteem and
     respect, and that he shall always be happy to be rendered useful
     to her by being charged with her Commands.

  Paris, Jan. 15, 1787.


     Jefferson's first Impressions of Europe.--Letter to Mrs.
     Trist.--To Baron De Geismer.--He visits England.--Letter to his
     Daughter.--To his Sister.--Extract from his Journal kept when
     in England.--Letter to John Page.--Presents a Bust of Lafayette
     to chief Functionaries of Paris.--Breaks his Wrist.-- Letter
     to Mrs. Trist.--Mr. and Mrs. Cosway.--Correspondence with Mrs.
     Cosway.--Letter to Colonel Carrington.--To Mr. Madison.--To Mrs.
     Bingham.--Her Reply.

Jefferson's first impressions of Europe and of the French are found
in the following extracts from his letters written to America at that

_Extract from a Letter to Mrs. Trist._

                                   Paris, August 18th, 1785.

     I am much pleased with the people of this country. The
     roughnesses of the human mind are so thoroughly rubbed off
     with them, that it seems as if one might glide through a
     whole life among them without a jostle. Perhaps, too, their
     manners may be the best calculated for happiness to a people
     in their situation, but I am convinced they fall far short of
     effecting a happiness so temperate, so uniform, and so lasting
     as is generally enjoyed with us. The domestic bonds here are
     absolutely done away, and where can their compensation be
     found? Perhaps they may catch some moments of transport above
     the level of the ordinary tranquil joy we experience, but they
     are separated by long intervals, during which all the passions
     are at sea without a rudder or a compass. Yet, fallacious as
     the pursuits of happiness are, they seem, on the whole, to
     furnish the most effectual abstraction from the contemplation
     of the hardness of their government. Indeed, it is difficult
     to conceive how so good a people, with so good a king, so
     well-disposed rulers in general, so genial a climate, so
     fertile a soil, should be rendered so ineffectual for producing
     human happiness by one single curse--that of a bad form of
     government. But it is a fact in spite of the mildness of their
     governors, the people are ground to powder by the vices of
     the form of government. Of twenty millions of people supposed
     to be in France, I am of opinion there are nineteen millions
     more wretched, more accursed, in every circumstance of human
     existence, than the most conspicuously wretched individual
     of the whole United States. I beg your pardon for getting
     into politics. I will add only one sentiment more of that
     character--that is, nourish peace with their persons, but war
     against their manners. Every step we take towards the adoption
     of their manners is a step to perfect misery.

In a fit of homesickness, he writes to the Baron de Geismer, Sept. 6:

_To Baron de Geismer._

     I am now of an age which does not easily accommodate itself to
     new modes of living and new manners; and I am savage enough to
     prefer the woods, the wilds and independence of Monticello,
     to all the brilliant pleasures of this gay capital. I shall,
     therefore, rejoin myself to my native country with new
     attachments and exaggerated esteem for its advantages; for
     though there is less wealth there, there is more freedom, more
     ease, and less misery. I should like it better, however, if it
     could tempt you once more to visit it; but that is not to be
     expected. Be this as it may, and whether fortune means to allow
     or deny me the pleasure of ever seeing you again, be assured
     that the worth which gave birth to my attachment, and which
     still animates it, will continue to keep it up while we both
     live, and that it is with sincerity I subscribe myself, etc.,

Early in the month of March of the following year (1786) Mr.
Jefferson went for a short while to England. Before leaving, he wrote
a letter of adieu to his daughter Martha, then at school in a convent
in Paris. The following is an extract from this letter:

_To Martha Jefferson._--[_Extract._]

                                     Paris, March 6th, 1786.

     I need not tell you what pleasure it gives me to see you
     improve in every thing useful and agreeable. The more you learn
     the more I love you; and I rest the happiness of my life on
     seeing you beloved by all the world, which you will be sure
     to be, if to a good heart you join those accomplishments so
     peculiarly pleasing in your sex. Adieu, my dear child; lose no
     moment in improving your head, nor any opportunity of exercising
     your heart in benevolence.

The following letter to his sister proves him to have been as devoted
and thoughtful a brother as father:

_To Ann S. Jefferson._

                                    London, April 22d, 1786.

     My dear Nancy--Being called here for a short time, and finding
     that I could get some articles on terms here of which I thought
     you might be in want, I have purchased them for you. They are
     two pieces of linen, three gowns, and some ribbon. They are done
     up in paper, sealed, and packed in a trunk, in which I have
     put some other things for Colonel Nicholas Lewis. They will of
     course go to him, and he will contrive them to you. I heard
     from Patsy a few days ago; she was well. I left her in France,
     as my stay here was to be short. I hope my dear Polly is on
     her way to me. I desired you always to apply to Mr. Lewis for
     what you should want; but should you at any time wish any thing
     particular from France, write to me and I will send it to you.
     Doctor Currie can always forward your letters. Pray remember
     me to my sisters Carr and Bolling, to Mr. Bolling and their
     families, and be assured of the sincerity with which I am, my
     dear Nancy, your affectionate brother,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

While in England, Jefferson visited many places of interest there,
and kept a short journal, of which we give the heading, and from
which we make one quotation:

_Extract from Journal._


_Memorandums made on a Tour to some of the Gardens in England,
described by Whately in his Book on Gardening._

     While his descriptions, in point of style, are models of perfect
     elegance and classical correctness, they are as remarkable for
     their exactness. I always walked over the gardens with his book
     in my hand, examined with attention the particular spots which
     he described, found them so justly characterized by him as to be
     easily recognized, and saw with wonder that his fine imagination
     had never been able to seduce him from the truth. My inquiries
     were directed chiefly to such practical things as might enable
     me to estimate the expense of making and maintaining a garden
     in that style. My journey was in the months of March and April,

     _Blenheim._--Twenty-five hundred acres, of which two hundred
     is garden, one hundred and fifty water, twelve kitchen-garden,
     and the rest park. Two hundred people employed to keep it in
     order, and to make alterations and additions. About fifty of
     these employed in pleasure-grounds. The turf is mowed once in
     ten days. In summer, about two thousand fallow-deer in the park,
     and two or three thousand sheep. The palace of Henry II. was
     remaining till taken down by Sarah, widow of the first Duke of
     Marlborough. It was on a round spot levelled by art, near what
     is now water, and but a little above it. The island was a part
     of the high-road leading to the palace. Rosamond's Bower was
     near where now is a little grove, about two hundred yards from
     the palace. The well is near where the bower was. The water here
     is very beautiful and very grand. The cascade from the lake
     is a fine one; except this the garden has no great beauties.
     It is not laid out in fine lawns and woods, but the trees are
     scattered thinly over the ground, and every here and there small
     thickets of shrubs, in oval raised beds, cultivated, and flowers
     among the shrubs. The gravelled walks are broad; art appears
     too much. There are but a few seats in it, and nothing of
     architecture more dignified. There is no one striking position
     in it. There has been great addition to the length of the river
     since Whately wrote.

In a letter written, after his return to Paris, to his old friend,
John Page, of Virginia, Mr. Jefferson speaks thus of England:

_To John Page._

     I returned but three or four days ago from a two months' trip
     to England. I traversed that country much, and must own both
     town and country fell short of my expectations. Comparing it
     with this, I have found a much greater proportion of barrens, a
     soil, in other parts, not naturally so good as this, not better
     cultivated, but better manured, and therefore more productive.
     This proceeds from the practice of long leases there, and short
     ones here. The laboring people are poorer here than in England.
     They pay about one half of their produce in rent, the English
     in general about one third. The gardening in that country is
     the article in which it excels all the earth. I mean their
     pleasure-gardening. This, indeed, went far beyond my ideas. The
     city of London, though handsomer than Paris, is not so handsome
     as Philadelphia. Their architecture is in the most wretched
     style I ever saw, not meaning to except America, where it is
     bad, nor even Virginia, where it is worse than any other part
     of America which I have seen. The mechanical arts in London are
     carried to a wonderful perfection.

His faithful little pocket account-book informs us that he paid,
"for seeing house where Shakspeare was born, 1_s._; seeing his tomb,
1_s._; entertainment, 4_s._ 2_d._; servants, 2_s._"

In the fall of this year Jefferson, on behalf of the State of
Virginia, presented to the city authorities of Paris a bust of his
distinguished friend, the Marquis de Lafayette, which was inaugurated
with all due form and ceremony and placed in the Hôtel de Ville. A
few months later he wrote the following letter:

_To Mrs. Trist._

     Dear Madam--I have duly received your friendly letter of
     July 24, and received it with great pleasure, as I do all
     those you do me the favor to write me. If I have been long in
     acknowledging the receipt, the last cause to which it should
     be ascribed would be want of inclination. Unable to converse
     with my friends in person, I am happy when I do it in black
     and white. The true cause of the delay has been an unlucky
     dislocation of my wrist, which has disabled me from writing
     three months. I only begin to write a little now, but with
     pain. I wish, while in Virginia, your curiosity had led you
     on to James River. At Richmond you would have seen your old
     friends, Mr. and Mrs. Randolph, and a little farther you would
     have become acquainted with my friend, Mrs. Eppes, whom you
     would have found among the most amiable women on earth. I doubt
     whether you would ever have got away from her. This trip would
     have made you better acquainted too with my lazy and hospitable
     countrymen, and you would have found that their character has
     some good traits mixed with some feeble ones. I often wish
     myself among them, as I am here burning the candle of life
     without present pleasure or future object. A dozen or twenty
     years ago this scene would have amused me; but I am past the
     age for changing habits. I take all the fault on myself, as
     it is impossible to be among a people who wish more to make
     one happy--a people of the very best character it is possible
     for one to have. We have no idea in America of the real French
     character; with some true samples we have had many false ones....

     Living from day to day, without a plan for four-and-twenty hours
     to come, I form no catalogue of impossible events. Laid up in
     port for life, as I thought myself at one time, I am thrown out
     to sea, and an unknown one to me. By so slender a thread do all
     our plans of life hang! My hand denies itself farther, every
     letter admonishing me, by a pain, that it is time to finish, but
     my heart would go on in expressing to you all its friendship.
     The happiest moments it knows are those in which it is pouring
     forth its affections to a few esteemed characters. I will pray
     you to write to me often. I wish to know that you enjoy health
     and that you are happy. Present me in the most friendly terms to
     your mother and brother, and be assured of the sincerity of the
     esteem with which I am, dear madam, your affectionate friend and
     humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

Among the many pleasant friendships formed by Jefferson in Paris,
there was none that he prized more than that of Mr. and Mrs. Cosway.
Both were artists; but the husband was an Englishman, while the
wife was born under the more genial skies of Italy. Possessing all
that grace and beauty which seem to be the unfailing birthright of
an Italian, she united to a bright and well-cultivated intellect
great charms of manner and sweetness of disposition. Her Southern
warmth of manner, and the brilliancy of her wit and conversation,
were fascinations which few could resist, and which made her one of
the queens of Parisian society. In Jefferson she found a congenial
friend, and held his worth, his genius, and his learning in the
highest estimation. When her husband and herself left Paris, she
opened a correspondence with him, and it was at the beginning of this
correspondence that he addressed to her that beautiful and gracefully
written letter, called the "Dialogue between the Head and Heart,"
which is found in both editions of his published correspondence. Mrs.
Cosway's own letters are sprightly and entertaining. I have lying
before me the originals of some that she wrote to Jefferson, from
which I give the following extracts, only reminding the reader that
they are written in a language which to her was foreign, though the
Italian idiom adds grace and freshness to the sweet simplicity of
these letters. Many of them are without date.

_Mrs. Cosway to Thomas Jefferson._

                                          Paris, ----, 1786.

     You don't always judge by appearances, or it would be much to
     my disadvantage this day, without deserving it; it has been the
     day of contradiction. I meant to have seen you twice, and I have
     appeared a monster for not having sent to know how you were the
     whole day.[27] I have been more uneasy than I can express. This
     morning my husband killed my project I had proposed to him, by
     burying himself among pictures and forgetting the hours. Though
     we were near your house, coming to see you, we were obliged
     to come back, the time being much past that we were to be at
     St. Cloud, to dine with the Duchess of Kingston. Nothing was
     to hinder us from coming in the evening, but, alas! my good
     intentions proved only a disturbance to your neighbors, and just
     late enough to break the rest of all your servants, and perhaps
     yourself. I came home with the disappointment of not having
     been able to make my apologies _in propria persona_. I hope you
     feel my distress instead of accusing me; the one I deserve,
     the other not. We will come to see you to-morrow morning, if
     nothing happens to prevent it. Oh! I wish you were well enough
     to come to us to-morrow to dinner, and stay the evening. I
     won't tell you what I shall have; temptations now are cruel
     for your situation. I only mention my wishes. If the executing
     them should be possible, your merit will be greater, as my
     satisfaction the more flattered. I would serve you and help you
     at dinner, and divert your pain after with good music. Sincerely
     your friend,

                                               MARIA COSWAY.

  [27] Mr. Jefferson, the reader will remember, was at this time
  suffering with his broken wrist.

_Mrs. Cosway to Thomas Jefferson._

     I am very sorry indeed, and blame myself for having been the
     cause of your pains in the wrist. Why would you go, and why was
     I not more friendly to you, and less so to myself by preventing
     your giving me the pleasure of your company? You repeatedly said
     it would do you no harm. I felt interested and did not insist.
     We shall go, I believe, this morning. Nothing seems ready, but
     Mr. Cosway seems more disposed than I have seen him all this
     time. I shall write to you from England; it is impossible to
     be wanting to a person who has been so excessively obliging. I
     don't attempt to make compliments--there can be none for you,
     but I beg you will think us sensible to your kindness, and that
     it will be with exquisite pleasure I shall remember the charming
     days we have passed together, and shall long for next spring.

     You will make me very happy if you would send a line to the
     _poste restante_ at Antwerp, that I may know how you are.
     Believe me, dear sir, your most obliged, affectionate servant,

                                               MARIA COSWAY.

The letter from Mr. Jefferson to Mrs. Cosway containing the
"Dialogue between the Head and Heart," though too long to be
given here in full, is too beautiful to be omitted altogether. I
accordingly give the following extracts:

_Thomas Jefferson to Mrs. Cosway._

                                    Paris, October 12, 1786.

     My dear Madam--Having performed the last sad office of handing
     you into your carriage at the Pavillon de St. Denis, and seen
     the wheels get actually in motion, I turned on my heel and
     walked, more dead than alive, to the opposite door, where my
     own was awaiting me. M. Danguerville was missing. He was sought
     for, found, and dragged down stairs. We were crammed into the
     carriage like recruits for the Bastile, and not having soul
     enough to give orders to the coachman, he presumed Paris our
     destination, and drove off. After a considerable interval,
     silence was broken, with a "_Je suis vraiment affligé du depart
     de ces bons gens_." This was a signal for a mutual confession of
     distress. He began immediately to talk of Mr. and Mrs. Cosway,
     of their goodness, their talents, their amiability; and though
     we spoke of nothing else, we seemed hardly to have entered into
     the matter, when the coachman announced the Rue St. Denis,
     and that we were opposite M. Danguerville's. He insisted on
     descending there and traversing a short passage to his lodgings.
     I was carried home. Seated by my fireside, solitary and sad, the
     following dialogue took place between my Head and my Heart.

     _Head._ Well, friend, you seem to be in a pretty trim.

     _Heart._ I am, indeed, the most wretched of all earthly beings.
     Overwhelmed with grief, every fibre of my frame distended beyond
     its natural powers to bear, I would willingly meet whatever
     catastrophe should leave me no more to feel, or to fear....

     _Head._ It would have been happy for you if my diagrams and
     crotchets had gotten you to sleep on that day, as you are
     pleased to say they eternally do.... While I was occupied with
     these objects, you were dilating with your new acquaintances,
     and contriving how to prevent a separation from them. Every soul
     of you had an engagement for the day. Yet all these were to be
     sacrificed, that you might dine together. Lying messages were to
     be dispatched into every quarter of the city, with apologies for
     your breach of engagement. You, particularly, had the effrontery
     to send word to the Duchess Danville, that on the moment we were
     setting out to dine with her, dispatches came to hand which
     required immediate attention. You wanted me to invent a more
     ingenious excuse, but I knew you were getting into a scrape,
     and I would have nothing to do with it. Well; after dinner to
     St. Cloud, from St. Cloud to Ruggieri's, from Ruggieri's to
     Krumfoltz; and if the day had been as long as a Lapland summer
     day, you would still have contrived means among you to have
     filled it.

     _Heart._ Oh! my dear friend, how you have revived me, by
     recalling to my mind the transactions of that day! How well
     I remember them all, and that when I came home at night, and
     looked back to the morning, it seemed to have been a month
     agone. Go on, then, like a kind comforter, and paint to me the
     day we went to St. Germains. How beautiful was every object!
     the Pont de Renilly, the hills along the Seine, the rainbows of
     the machine of Marly, the terras of St. Germains, the chateaux,
     the gardens, the statues of Marly, the pavilion of Lucienne.
     Recollect, too, Madrid, Bagatelle, the King's Garden, the
     Dessert. How grand the idea excited by the remains of such a
     column. The spiral staircase, too, was beautiful....

     _Heart._ God only knows what is to happen. I see nothing
     impossible in that proposition:[28] and I see things wonderfully
     contrived sometimes, to make us happy. Where could they find
     such objects as in America for the exercise of their enchanting
     art? especially the lady, who paints landscapes so inimitably.
     She wants only subjects worthy of immortality to render her
     pencil immortal. The Falling Spring, the Cascade of Niagara,
     the Passage of the Potomac through the Blue Mountains, the
     Natural Bridge; it is worth a voyage across the Atlantic to see
     these objects; much more to paint, and make them, and thereby
     ourselves, known to all ages. And our own dear Monticello--where
     has Nature spread so rich a mantle under the eye?--mountains,
     forests, rocks, rivers. With what majesty do we ride above the
     storms! How sublime to look down into the workhouse of Nature,
     to see her clouds, hail, snow, rain, thunder, all fabricated
     at our feet! and the glorious sun, when rising as if out of
     a distant water, just gilding the tops of the mountains, and
     giving life to all nature! I hope in God no circumstance may
     ever make either seek an asylum from grief!... Deeply practiced
     in the school of affliction, the human heart knows no joy which
     I have not lost, no sorrow of which I have not drunk! Fortune
     can present no grief of unknown form to me! Who, then, can so
     softly bind up the wound of another as he who has felt the same
     wound himself?...

  [28] That is, Mr. and Mrs. Cosway to visit America.

I thought this a favorable proposition whereon to rest the issue of
the dialogue. So I put an end to it by calling for my night-cap.
Methinks I hear you wish to Heaven I had called a little sooner, and
so spared you the ennui of such a sermon.... We have had incessant
rains since your departure. These make me fear for your health, as
well as that you had an uncomfortable journey. The same cause has
prevented me from being able to give you an account of your friends
here. This voyage to Fontainebleau will probably send the Count de
Moustier and the Marquis de Brehan to America. Danguerville promised
to visit me but has not done it yet. De la Tude comes sometimes to
take family soup with me, and entertains me with anecdotes of his
five-and-thirty years' imprisonment. How fertile is the mind of man,
which can make the Bastile and dungeon of Vincennes yield interesting
anecdotes! You know this was for making four verses on Madame De
Pompadour. But I think you told me you did not know the verses. They
were these:

    "Sans ésprit, sans sentiment,
      Sans être belle, ni neuve,
    En France on peut avoir le premier amant:
      Pompadour en est l'épreuve."

I have read the memoir of his three escapes. As to myself, my health
is good, except my wrist, which mends slowly, and my mind, which
mends not at all, but broods constantly over your departure. The
lateness of the season obliges me to decline my journey into the
South of France. Present me in the most friendly terms to Mr. Cosway,
and receive me into your own recollection with a partiality and
warmth, proportioned not to my own poor merit, but to the sentiments
of sincere affection and esteem, with which I have the honor to be,
my dear Madam, your most obedient, humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following letter, written in a sprightly and artless style, will
be found more than usually interesting, from the allusion in it to
Sheridan's great speech in the trial of Warren Hastings--that scene
of which Macaulay's enchanted pen has left so brilliant a picture. A
few awkward expressions in this charming letter remind us that its
author wrote in a foreign language.

_Mrs. Cosway to Thomas Jefferson._

                                London, February 15th, 1788.

     I have the pleasure of receiving two letters from you, and
     though very short I must content myself, and lament much
     the reason that deprived me of their usual length. I must
     confess that the beginning of your correspondence has made me
     an _enfant-gâtée_. I shall never learn to be reasonable in
     my expectations, and shall feel disappointed whenever your
     letters are not as long as the first was; thus you are the
     occasion of a continual reproaching disposition in me. It is a
     disagreeable one, and it will tease you into a hatred towards
     me, notwithstanding the partiality you have had for me till now,
     for nothing disobliges more than a dissatisfied mind, and that
     my fault is occasioned by yourself you will be the most distant
     to allow. I trust your friendship would wish to see me perfect
     and mine to be so, but defects are, or are not, most conspicuous
     according to the feelings which we have for the objects which
     possess them....

     I feel at present an inclination to make you an endless letter,
     but have not yet determined what subject to begin with. Shall I
     continue this reproaching style, quote all the whats and whys
     out of Jeremiah's Lamentations, and then present you with some
     outlines of Job for consolation? Of all torments, temptations,
     and wearinesses, the female has always been the principal and
     most powerful, and this is to be felt by you at present from my
     pen. Are you to be painted in future ages, sitting solitary and
     sad on the beautiful Monticello, tormented by the shadow of a
     woman, who will present you a deformed rod, broken and twisted,
     instead of the emblematical instrument belonging to the Muses,
     held by Genius, inspired by Wit; and with which all that is
     beautiful and happy can be described so as to entertain a mind
     capable of the highest enjoyments?...

     I have written this _in memoria_ of the many pages of scrawls
     addressed to you by one whose good intentions repay you for your
     beautiful allegories with such long, insipid chit-chat.[29]...
     Allegories, however, are always far-fetched, and I don't like to
     follow the subject, though I might find something which would
     explain my ideas.

  [29] An allusion to the "Dialogue between the Head and Heart."

Suppose I turn to the debates of Parliament? Were I a good
politician, I could entertain you much. What do you think of a
famous speech Sheridan has made, which lasted four hours, which has
astonished every body, and which has been the subject of conversation
and admiration of the whole town? Nothing has been talked of for
many days but this speech. The whole House applauded him at the
moment, each member complimented him when they rose, and Pitt made
him the highest encomiums. Only poor Mr. Hastings suffered for the
power of his eloquence, though nothing can be decided yet. Mr. H.
was with Mr. Cosway at the very moment the trial was going on; he
seemed perfectly easy--talking on a variety of subjects with great
tranquillity and cheerfulness. The second day he was the same, but
on the third seemed very much affected and agitated. All his friends
give him the greatest character of humanity, generosity, and feeling;
amiable in his manner, he seems, in short, totally different from the
disposition of cruelty they accuse him of. Turning from parliamentary
discussions, it is time to tell you that I have been reading with
great pleasure your descriptions of America;[30] it is written
by _you_, but Nature represents all the scenes to me in reality,
therefore do not take any thing to yourself; I must refer to your
name to make it the more valuable to me, but _she_ is your rival--you
her usurper. Oh! how I wish myself in those delightful places! those
enchanted grottoes! those magnificent mountains, rivers, etc., etc.,
etc.! Why am I not a man, that I might set out immediately, satisfy
my curiosity, and indulge my sight with wonders?

  [30] Meaning, doubtless, his "Notes on Virginia."

I go to very few parties. I have a dislike for them, and I have grown
so excessively indolent that I do not go out for months together. All
the morning I paint whatever presents itself most pleasing to me.
Sometimes I have beautiful objects to paint from, and add historical
characters to make them more interesting. Female and infantine
beauty is the most perfect to see. Sometimes I indulge in those
melancholy subjects in which History often represents herself--the
horrid, the grand, the sublime, the sentimental, or the pathetic. I
attempt, I exercise in them all, and end by being witness of my own
disappointment and incapacity for executing the Poet, the Historian,
or the conceptions of my own imagination. Thus the mornings are spent
regretting they are not longer, to have more time to attempt again
in search of better success, or thinking they have been too long, as
they have afforded me many moments of uneasiness and anxiety, and a
testimony of my not being able to do any thing.

I devote my evenings to music, and then I am much visited by the
first Professors, who come to play, often every evening, something
new, and are all perfect in their kind. To complete the pleasure, a
small society of agreeable friends frequently come to see me, and
in this manner you see that I am more attached to my home than to
going in search of amusement out, where there are nothing but crowded
assemblies, uncomfortable heat, and not the least pleasure in meeting
any body, not being able to enjoy any conversation. The Operas are
very bad, tho' Zubenelli and Madame Mosa are the first singers; the
dancers, too, are very bad; all this I say from report, as I have not
been yet. Pray tell me something about Madame De Polignac; they make
a great deal about it here; we hardly hear any thing else, and the
stories are so different from one another that it is impossible to
guess the real one. She is expected in England.

I send this letter by a gentleman whom I think you will like. He
is a Spaniard. I am partial to that nation, as I know several who
are very agreeable. He is going to Paris as Secretary of Embassy at
that Court. He has travelled much, and talks well. If I should be
happy enough to come again in the summer to Paris, I hope we shall
pass many agreeable days. I am in a million fears about it; Mr.
Cosway still keeps to his intentions, but how many chances from our
inclinations to the gratification of our wishes. Poor D'Ancarville
has been very ill. I received a long letter from him appointing
himself my _correspondent_ at Paris. I know a gentleman who causes my
faith to be weak on this occasion, for _he_ flattered me with hopes
that I have seen fail; nevertheless I have accepted this offer, and
shall see if I find a second disappointment.

Is it not time to finish my letter? Perhaps I might go on, but I must
send this to the gentleman who is to take it.

I hope you are quite well by this time, and that your hand will tell
me so by a line. I must be reasonable, but give me leave to remind
you how much pleasure you will give by remembering sometimes with
friendship one who will be as sensible and grateful of it as is,
yours sincerely,

                                               MARIA COSWAY.

In a letter to Colonel Edward Carrington, written early in January,
1787, Jefferson thus notices the meeting of the Notables:

_To Colonel Carrington._

     In my letter to Mr. Jay I have mentioned the meeting of the
     Notables, appointed for the 29th instant. It is now put off to
     the 7th or 8th of next month. This event, which will hardly
     excite any attention in America, is deemed here the most
     important one which has taken place in their civil line during
     the present century. Some promise their country great things
     from it, some nothing. Our friend De Lafayette was placed on the
     list originally. Afterwards his name disappeared; but finally
     was reinstated. This shows that his character here is not
     considered as an indifferent one; and that it excites agitation.
     His education in our school has drawn on him a very jealous eye
     from a court whose principles are the most absolute despotism.
     But I hope he has nearly passed his crisis. The King, who is a
     good man, is favorably disposed towards him; and he is supported
     by powerful family connections, and by the public good-will. He
     is the youngest man of the Notables, except one whose office
     placed him on the list.

In a letter written to Madison a few days later, he gives a few
sketches of character which we quote, only reminding the reader of
Jefferson's great intimacy with Madison, to whom he consequently
wrote more freely of men and measures than to any one else.

_To James Madison._

                                  Paris, January 30th, 1787.

     As you have now returned to Congress, it will become of
     importance that you should form a just estimate of certain
     public characters, on which, therefore, I will give you such
     notes as my knowledge of them has furnished me with. You will
     compare them with the materials you are otherwise possessed of,
     and decide on a view of the whole.

     You know the opinion I formerly entertained of my friend Mr.
     Adams.... A seven months' intimacy with him here, and as many
     weeks in London, have given me opportunities of studying him
     closely. He is vain, irritable, and a bad calculator of the
     force and probable effect of the motives which govern men. This
     is all the ill which can possibly be said of him. He is as
     disinterested as the Being who made him; he is profound in his
     views and accurate in his judgment, except where knowledge of
     the world is necessary to form a judgment. He is so amiable,
     that I pronounce you will love him if ever you become acquainted
     with him. He would be, as he was, a great man in Congress....

     The Marquis de Lafayette is a most valuable auxiliary to me. His
     zeal is unbounded, and his weight with those in power great. His
     education having been merely military, commerce was an unknown
     field to him. But, his good sense enabling him to comprehend
     perfectly whatever is explained to him, his agency has been
     very efficacious. He has a great deal of sound genius, is well
     remarked by the king, and is rising in popularity. He has
     nothing against him but a suspicion of republican principles. I
     think he will one day be of the ministry. His foible is a canine
     appetite for popularity and fame; but he will get over this.
     The Count de Vergennes is ill. The possibility of his recovery
     renders it dangerous for us to express a doubt of it; but he is
     in danger. He is a great minister in European affairs, but has
     very imperfect ideas of our institutions, and no confidence in
     them. His devotion to the principles of pure despotism renders
     him unaffectionate to our governments. But his fear of England
     makes him value us as a make-weight. He is cool, reserved
     in political conversations, but free and familiar on other
     subjects, and a very attentive, agreeable person to do business
     with. It is impossible to have a clearer, better organized head;
     but age has chilled his heart.

     Nothing should be spared on our part to attach this country to
     us. It is the only one on which we can rely for support under
     every event. Its inhabitants love us more, I think, than they
     do any other nation on earth. This is very much the effect of
     the good dispositions with which the French officers returned.
     In a former letter I mentioned to you the dislocation of my
     wrist. I can make not the least use of it except for the single
     article of writing, though it is going on five months since the
     accident happened. I have great anxieties lest I should never
     recover any considerable use of it. I shall, by the advice of
     my surgeons, set out in a fortnight for the waters of Aix, in
     Provence. I chose these out of several they proposed to me,
     because if they fail to be effectual, my journey will not be
     useless altogether. It will give me an opportunity of examining
     the canal of Languedoc, and of acquiring knowledge of that
     species of navigation, which may be useful hereafter.... I shall
     be absent between two and three months, unless any thing happens
     to recall me here sooner; which may always be effected in ten
     days, in whatever part of my route I may be.

     In speaking of characters, I omitted those of Rayneval and
     Hennin, the two eyes of the Count de Vergennes. The former is
     the most important character, because possessing the most of
     the confidence of the Count. He is rather cunning than wise,
     his views of things being neither great nor liberal. He governs
     himself by principles which he has learned by rote, and is fit
     only for the details of execution. His heart is susceptible of
     little passions, but not of good ones. He is brother-in-law to
     M. Gerard, from whom he received disadvantageous impressions of
     us which can not be effaced. He has much duplicity. Hennin is
     a philosopher, sincere, friendly, liberal, learned, beloved by
     every body; the other by nobody. I think it a great misfortune
     that the United States are in the department of the former. As
     particulars of this kind may be useful to you in your present
     situation, I may hereafter continue the chapter. I know it will
     be safely lodged in your discretion. I send you by Colonel
     Franks your pocket-telescope, walking-stick, and chemical-box.
     The two former could not be combined together. The latter could
     not be had in the form you referred to. Having a great desire
     to have a portable copying-machine, and being satisfied, from
     some experiments, that the principle of the large machine might
     be applied in a small one, I planned one when in England, and
     had it made. It answers perfectly. I have since set a workman
     to making them here, and they are in such demand that he has
     his hands full. Being assured that you will be pleased to have
     one, when you shall have tried its convenience, I send you one
     by Colonel Franks. The machine costs ninety-six livres, the
     appendages twenty-four livres, and I send you paper and ink for
     twelve livres; in all one hundred and thirty-two livres. There
     is a printed paper of directions; but you must expect to make
     many essays before you succeed perfectly. A soft brush like a
     shaving-brush is more convenient than the sponge. You can get
     as much paper and ink as you please from London. The paper
     costs a guinea a ream. I am, dear sir, with sincere esteem and
     affection, your most humble and obedient servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following charmingly written letter to one of his lady friends
gives a spirited picture of the life of a Parisian belle:

_To Mrs. Bingham._

                                  Paris, February 7th, 1787.

     I know, Madam, that the twelvemonth is not yet expired; but
     it will be, nearly, before this will have the honor of being
     put into your hands. You are then engaged to tell me, truly
     and honestly, whether you do not find the tranquil pleasures
     of America preferable to the empty bustle of Paris. For to
     what does the bustle tend? At eleven o'clock it is day,
     _chez madame_. The curtains are drawn. Propped on bolsters
     and pillows, and her head scratched into a little order, the
     bulletins of the sick are read, and the billets of the well. She
     writes to some of her acquaintances, and receives the visits
     of others. If the morning is not very thronged, she is able to
     get out and hobble around the cage of the Palais Royal; but
     she must hobble quickly, for the coiffeur's turn is come; and
     a tremendous turn it is! Happy if he does not make her arrive
     when dinner is half over! The torpitude of digestion a little
     passed, she flutters for half an hour through the streets,
     by way of paying visits, and then to the spectacles. These
     finished, another half-hour is devoted to dodging in and out
     of the doors of her very sincere friends, and away to supper.
     After supper, cards; and after cards, bed--to rise at noon the
     next day, and to tread, like a mill-horse, the same trodden
     circle over again. Thus the days of life are consumed, one by
     one, without an object beyond the present moment; ever flying
     from the ennui of that, yet carrying it with us; eternally in
     pursuit of happiness, which keeps eternally before us. If death
     or bankruptcy happen to trip us out of the circle, it is matter
     for the buzz of the evening, and is completely forgotten by the
     next morning. In America, on the other hand, the society of
     your husband, the fond cares for the children, the arrangements
     of the house, the improvements of the grounds, fill every
     moment with a useful and healthy activity. Every exertion is
     encouraging, because to present amusement it joins the promise
     of some future good. The intervals of leisure are filled by
     the society of real friends, whose affections are not thinned
     to cobweb, by being spread over a thousand objects. This is
     the picture, in the light it is presented to my mind; now let
     me have it in yours. If we do not concur this year, we shall
     the next; or if not then, in a year or two more. You see I am
     determined not to suppose myself mistaken.

     To let you see that Paris is not changed in its pursuits since
     it was honored with your presence, I send you its monthly
     history. But this relating only to the embellishments of their
     persons, I must add, that those of the city go on well also. A
     new bridge, for example, is begun at the Place Louis Quinze; the
     old ones are clearing of the rubbish which encumbered them in
     the form of houses; new hospitals erecting; magnificent walls of
     inclosure, and custom-houses at their entrances, etc., etc. I
     know of no interesting change among those whom you have honored
     with your acquaintance, unless Monsieur de Saint James was of
     that number. His bankruptcy, and taking asylum in the Bastile,
     have furnished matter of astonishment. His garden at the Pont
     de Neuilly, where, on seventeen acres of ground, he had laid
     out fifty thousand louis, will probably sell for somewhat less
     money. The workmen of Paris are making rapid strides towards
     English perfection. Would you believe that, in the course of the
     last two years, they have learned even to surpass their London
     rivals in some articles? Commission me to have you a phaeton
     made, and if it is not as much handsomer than a London one as
     that is than a fiacre, send it back to me. Shall I fill the
     box with caps, bonnets, etc.?--not of my own choosing, but--I
     was going to say--of Mademoiselle Bertin's, forgetting for the
     moment that she too is bankrupt. They shall be chosen, then,
     by whom you please; or, if you are altogether nonplused by her
     eclipse, we will call an Assemblée des Notables, to help you out
     of the difficulty, as is now the fashion. In short, honor me
     with your commands of any kind, and they shall be faithfully
     executed. The packets now established from Havre to New York
     furnish good opportunities of sending whatever you wish.

     I shall end where I began, like a Paris day, reminding you of
     your engagement to write me a letter of respectable length,
     an engagement the more precious to me, as it has furnished me
     the occasion, after presenting my respects to Mr. Bingham, of
     assuring you of the sincerity of those sentiments of esteem and
     respect with which I have the honor to be, dear Madam, your most
     obedient and most humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_Mrs. Bingham to Thomas Jefferson._

                                             June 1st, 1787.

     I am too much flattered by the honor of your letter from Paris
     not to acknowledge it by the earliest opportunity, and to assure
     you that I am very sensible of your attentions. The candor with
     which you express your sentiments merits a sincere declaration
     of mine. I agree with you that many of the fashionable pursuits
     of the Parisian ladies are rather frivolous, and become
     uninteresting to a reflective mind; but the picture you have
     exhibited is rather overcharged; you have thrown a strong
     light upon all that is ridiculous in their characters, and you
     have buried their good qualities in the shade. It shall be my
     task to bring them forward, or at least to attempt it. The
     state of society in different countries requires corresponding
     manners and qualifications. Those of the French women are by
     no means calculated for the meridian of America, neither are
     they adapted to render the sex so amiable or agreeable in the
     English acceptation of those words. But you must confess that
     they are more accomplished, and understand the intercourse of
     society better, than in any other country. We are irresistibly
     pleased with them, because they possess the happy art of making
     us pleased with ourselves. Their education is of a higher cast,
     and by great cultivation they procure a happy variety of genius,
     which forms their conversation to please either the fop or the

     In what other country can be found a Marquise de Coigny, who,
     young and handsome, takes a lead in all the fashionable
     dissipations of life, and at more serious moments collects at
     her house an assembly of the literati, whom she charms with her
     knowledge and her _bel esprit_. The women of France interfere
     with the politics of the country, and often give a decided turn
     to the fate of empires. Either by the gentle arts of persuasion,
     or the commanding force of superior attractions and address,
     they have obtained that rank and consideration in society which
     the sex are entitled to, and which they in vain contend for in
     other countries. We are therefore bound in gratitude to admire
     and revere them for asserting our privileges, as much as the
     friends of the liberties of mankind reverence the successful
     struggles of the American patriots.

     The agreeable resources of Paris must certainly please and
     instruct every class of characters. The arts of elegance are
     there considered as essential, and are carried to a state of
     perfection, and there the friend of art is continually gratified
     by the admiration for works of taste. I have the pleasure of
     knowing you too well to doubt of your subscribing to this
     opinion. With respect to my native country, I assure you that
     I am fervently attached to it, as well as to my friends and
     connections in it; there, perhaps, there is more sincerity in
     professions, and a stronger desire of rendering real services,
     and when the mouth expresses the heart speaks.

     I am sensible that I shall tire you to death with the length of
     this letter, and had almost forgotten that you are in Paris,
     and that every instant of your time is valuable, and might be
     much better employed than I can possibly do it. However, I shall
     reserve a further examination of this subject to the period when
     I can have the happiness of meeting you, when we will again
     resume it. I feel myself under many obligations for your kind
     present of _les modes de Paris_. They have furnished our ladies
     with many hints for the decoration of their persons, and I have
     informed them to whom they are indebted. I shall benefit by your
     obliging offer of service, whenever I shall have occasion for
     a fresh importation of fashions; at present I am well stocked,
     having lately received a variety of articles from Paris.

     Be so kind as to remember me with affection to Miss Jefferson.
     Tell her she is the envy of all the young ladies in America,
     and that I should wish nothing so much as to place my little
     girl under her inspection and protection, should she not leave
     Paris before I revisit it. I shall hope for the pleasure of
     hearing from you, and if you accompany another book of fashions
     with any new operas or comedies you will infinitely oblige me.
     It is quite time I bade you adieu; but remember this first of
     June I am constant to my former opinion, nor can I believe that
     any length of time will change it. I am determined to have some
     merit in your eyes, if not for taste and judgment, at least for
     consistency. Allow me to say, my dear sir, that I am sincerely
     and respectfully yours,

                                                 A. BINGHAM.


     Death of Count de Vergennes.--Jefferson is ordered to Aix by
     his Surgeon.--Death of his youngest Child.--Anxiety to have his
     Daughter Mary with him.--Her Reluctance to leave Virginia.-- Her
     Letters to and from her Father.--Jefferson's Letters to Mrs.
     and Mr. Eppes.--To Lafayette.--To the Countess de Tesse.-- To
     Lafayette.--Correspondence with his Daughter Martha.

In a letter written to Mr. Jay on the 23d of February, 1787, Mr.
Jefferson says:

     The event of the Count de Vergennes's death, of which I had
     the honor to inform you in a letter of the 4th instant, the
     appointment of the Count Montmorin, and the propriety of my
     attending at his first audience, which will be on the 27th, have
     retarded the journey I proposed a few days.

The journey above mentioned was a trip to Aix, whither he was ordered
by his surgeon, in order to try the effect of its mineral-waters on
his dislocated wrist. In the letters which he wrote to his daughter
Martha, while absent on this occasion, he alludes frequently to his
youngest daughter, Mary, or Polly, as she was sometimes called. As I
have before mentioned, she and her younger sister, Lucy, were left
by their father in Virginia, with their kind uncle and aunt, Mr. and
Mrs. Eppes. Lucy died in the fall of the year 1784, and her death was
announced to her father in a letter from Mr. Eppes, who writes:

     I am sorry to inform you that my fears about the welfare of our
     children, which I mentioned in my last, were too well founded.
     Yours, as well as our dear little Lucy, have fallen sacrifices
     to the most horrible of all disorders, the whooping-cough. They
     both suffered as much pain, indeed more than ever I saw two
     of their ages experience. We were happy in having had every
     experience this country afforded; however, they were beyond the
     reach of medicine.[31]

  [31] With the tender sensibility of a mother, Mrs. Eppes
  announced this event to Jefferson in the following touching

                              Eppington, October 13th, 1784.

  Dear Sir--It is impossible to paint the anguish of my heart on
  this melancholy occasion. A most unfortunate whooping-cough has
  deprived you and us of two sweet Lucys within a week. Ours was
  the first that fell a sacrifice. She was thrown into violent
  convulsions, lingered out a week, and then died. Your dear angel
  was confined a week to her bed, her sufferings were great, though
  nothing like a fit; she retained her senses perfectly, called me
  a few minutes before she died and asked distinctly for water.
  Dear Polly has had it most violently, though always kept about,
  and is now quite recovered.... Life is scarcely supportable
  under such severe afflictions. Be so good as to remember me
  most affectionately to my dear Patsy, and beg she will excuse
  my not writing till the gloomy scene is a little forgotten. I
  sincerely hope you are both partaking of every thing that can in
  the smallest degree entertain and make you happy. Our warmest
  affections attend you both.

             Your sincere friend,                  E. EPPES.

The death of this child was felt keenly by Jefferson. After
getting established in Paris, he became impatient to have his
little daughter Mary with him. She did not join him, however,
until the year 1787, her uncle and aunt being loath to part with
her, and no good opportunity occurring for getting her across
the Atlantic. The child herself could not bear the thought of
being torn from the kind uncle and aunt, whom she had learned to
love so devotedly, to go to a strange land. I have lying before
me a package of her letters to her father, whose sweet, childish
prattle must be excuse enough for their appearing here, trivial
though they seem. The first was written for her by her aunt. The
others are in the huge, grotesque-looking letters of a child just
beginning to write. The following was written before her father
had left Philadelphia:

  _Mary Jefferson to Thomas Jefferson._

                                EPPINGTON, APRIL 11TH, 1784.

     My dear Papa--I want to know what day you are going to come and
     see me, and if you will bring sister Patsy and my baby with you.
     I was mighty glad of my sashes, and gave Cousin Bolling one. I
     can almost read.

     Your affectionate daughter,

                                            POLLY JEFFERSON.

It is touching to see how gently her father tries to reconcile her,
in the following letter, to her separation from her good uncle and
aunt, and how he attempts to lure her to France with the promise that
she shall have in Paris "as many dolls and playthings" as she wants.

_Thomas Jefferson to Mary Jefferson._

                                    Paris, Sept. 20th, 1785.

     My dear Polly--I have not received a letter from you since
     I came to France. If you knew how much I love you and what
     pleasure the receipt of your letters gave me at Philadelphia,
     you would have written to me, or at least have told your aunt
     what to write, and her goodness would have induced her to take
     the trouble of writing it. I wish so much to see you, that I
     have desired your uncle and aunt to send you to me. I know, my
     dear Polly, how sorry you will be, and ought to be, to leave
     them and your cousins; but your sister and myself can not live
     without you, and after a while we will carry you back again to
     see your friends in Virginia. In the mean time you shall be
     taught here to play on the harpsichord, to draw, to dance, to
     read and talk French, and such other things as will make you
     more worthy of the love of your friends; but above all things,
     by our care and love of you, we will teach you to love us
     more than you will do if you stay so far from us. I have had
     no opportunity since Colonel Le Maire went, to send you any
     thing; but when you come here you shall have as many dolls and
     playthings as you want for yourself, or to send to your cousins
     whenever you shall have opportunities. I hope you are a very
     good girl, that you love your uncle and aunt very much, and are
     very thankful to them for all their goodness to you; that you
     never suffer yourself to be angry with any body, that you give
     your playthings to those who want them, that you do whatever any
     body desires of you that is right, that you never tell stories,
     never beg for any thing, mind your books and your work when
     your aunt tells you, never play but when she permits you, nor
     go where she forbids you; remember, too, as a constant charge,
     not to go out without your bonnet, because it will make you very
     ugly, and then we shall not love you so much. If you always
     practice these lessons we shall continue to love you as we do
     now, and it is impossible to love you any more. We shall hope to
     have you with us next summer, to find you a very good girl, and
     to assure you of the truth of our affection for you. Adieu, my
     dear child. Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_Mary Jefferson to Thomas Jefferson._

     Dear Papa--I long to see you, and hope that you and sister Patsy
     are well; give my love to her and tell her that I long to see
     her, and hope that you and she will come very soon to see us. I
     hope that you will send me a doll. I am very sorry that you have
     sent for me. I don't want to go to France, I had rather stay
     with Aunt Eppes. Aunt Carr, Aunt Nancy and Cousin Polly Carr are
     here. Your most happy and dutiful daughter,

                                            POLLY JEFFERSON.

     Dear Papa--I should be very happy to see you, but I can not go
     to France, and hope that you and sister Patsy are well. Your
     affectionate daughter. Adieu.

                                             MARY JEFFERSON.

     Dear Papa--I want to see you and sister Patsy, but you must come
     to Uncle Eppes's house.

                                            POLLY JEFFERSON.

Mr. Jefferson's anxieties about his little daughter crossing the
ocean, and his impatience to fold her once more in his arms, are
vividly portrayed in the following letter:

_Thomas Jefferson to Mrs. Eppes._

                                     Paris, Sept. 22d, 1785.

     Dear Madam--The Mr. Fitzhughs having staid here longer than they
     expected, I have (since writing my letter of Aug. 30, to Mr.
     Eppes) received one from Dr. Currie, of August 5, by which I
     have the happiness to learn you are all well, and my Poll also.
     Every information of this kind is like gaining another step, and
     seems to say we "have got so far safe." Would to God the great
     step was taken and taken safely; I mean that which is to place
     her on this side of the Atlantic. No event of your life has put
     it into your power to conceive how I feel when I reflect that
     such a child, and so dear to me, is to cross the ocean, is to
     be exposed to all the sufferings and risks, great and small, to
     which a situation on board a ship exposes every one. I drop my
     pen at the thought--but she must come. My affections would leave
     me balanced between the desire to have her with me, and the fear
     of exposing her; but my reason tells me the dangers are not
     great, and the advantages to her will be considerable.

     I send by Mr. Fitzhugh some garden and flower seed and bulbs;
     the latter, I know, will fall in your department. I wish the
     opportunity had admitted the sending more, as well as some
     things for the children; but Mr. Fitzhugh being to pass a long
     road both here and in America, I could not ask it of him. Pray
     write to me, and write me long letters. Currie has sent me one
     worth a great deal for the details of small news it contains. I
     mention this as an example for you. You always know facts enough
     which would be interesting to me to fill sheets of paper. I pray
     you, then, to give yourself up to that kind of inspiration, and
     to scribble on as long as you recollect any thing unmentioned,
     without regarding whether your lines are straight or your
     letters even. Remember me affectionately to Mr. Skipwith, and
     to the little ones of both houses; kiss dear Polly for me, and
     encourage her for the journey. Accept assurances of unchangeable
     affection from, dear Madam, your sincere friend and servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In the letter to Mr. Eppes of August 30th, which Mr. Jefferson
alludes to in the preceding, he writes:

_Thomas Jefferson to Mr. Eppes._

     I must now repeat my wish to have Polly sent to me next summer.
     This, however, must depend on the circumstance of a good vessel
     sailing from Virginia in the months of April, May, June, or
     July. I would not have her set out sooner or later on account
     of the equinoxes. The vessel should have performed one voyage
     at least, but not be more than four or five years old. We do
     not attend to this circumstance till we have been to sea, but
     there the consequence of it is felt. I think it would be found
     that all the vessels which are lost are either on their first
     voyage or after they are five years old; at least there are
     few exceptions to this. With respect to the person to whose
     care she should be trusted, I must leave it to yourself and
     Mrs. Eppes altogether. Some good lady passing from America to
     France, or even England, would be most eligible; but a careful
     gentleman who would be so kind as to superintend her would do.
     In this case some woman who has had the small-pox must attend
     her. A careful negro woman, as Isabel, for instance, if she
     has had the small-pox, would suffice under the patronage of a
     gentleman. The woman need not come farther than Havre, l'Orient,
     Nantes, or whatever port she should land at, because I could
     go there for the child myself, and the person could return to
     Virginia directly. My anxieties on this subject could induce me
     to endless details, but your discretion and that of Mrs. Eppes
     saves me the necessity. I will only add that I would rather live
     a year longer without her than have her trusted to any but a
     good ship and a summer passage. Patsy is well. She speaks French
     as easily as English; while Humphries, Short, and myself are
     scarcely better at it than when we landed....

     I look with impatience to the moment when I may rejoin you.
     There is nothing to tempt me to stay here. Present me with the
     most cordial affection to Mrs. Eppes, the children, and the
     family at Hors-du-monde. I commit to Mrs. Eppes my kisses for
     dear Poll, who hangs on my mind night and day.

Had he been the mother instead of the father of the little girl who
was to cross the Atlantic, he could not have shown more anxiety about
her welfare and safety on the passage. In a letter of Jan. 7th, 1786,
to Mr. Eppes, he writes:

     I wrote you last on the 11th of December, by the way of
     London. That conveyance being uncertain, I write the present
     chiefly to repeat a prayer I urged in that, that you would
     confide my daughter only to a French or English vessel having
     a Mediterranean _pass_. This attention, though of little
     consequence in matters of merchandise, is of weight in the mind
     of a parent which sees even possibilities of capture beyond
     the reach of any estimate. If a peace be concluded with the
     Algerines in the mean time, you shall be among the first to hear
     it from myself. I pray you to believe it from nobody else, as
     far as respects the conveyance of my daughter to me.

A few weeks later he writes:

     I know that Mrs. Eppes's goodness will make her feel a
     separation from an infant who has experienced so much of her
     tenderness. My unlimited confidence in her has been the greatest
     solace possible under my own separation from Polly. Mrs. Eppes's
     good sense will suggest to her many considerations which render
     it of importance to the future happiness of the child that she
     should neither forget nor be forgotten by her sister and myself.

In concluding the same letter, he says:

     How much should I prize one hour of your fireside, where I might
     indulge that glow of affection which the recollection of Mrs.
     Eppes and her little ones excites in me, and give you personal
     assurances of the sincere esteem with which I am, dear Sir, your
     affectionate friend and servant.

In a letter written to Mr. Eppes a year later, he says, "My dear
Poll, I hope, is on the way to me. I endeavor not to think of her
till I hear she is landed." His reasons for insisting upon his little
daughter being sent to him are found in the following letter:

_To Mrs. Eppes._

                                     Paris, Dec. 14th, 1786.

     Dear Madam--I perceive, indeed, that our friends are kinder than
     we have sometimes supposed them, and that their letters do not
     come to hand. I am happy that yours of July 30th has not shared
     the common fate. I received it about a week ago, together with
     one from Mr. Eppes announcing to me that my dear Polly will come
     to me the ensuing summer. Though I am distressed when I think of
     this voyage, yet I know it is necessary for her happiness. She
     is better with you, my dear Madam, than she could be anywhere
     else in the world, except with those whom nature has allied
     still more closely to her. It would be unfortunate through life,
     both to her and us, were those affections to be loosened which
     ought to bind us together, and which should be the principal
     source of our future happiness. Yet this would be too probably
     the effect of absence at her age. This is the only circumstance
     which has induced me to press her joining us.... I am obliged to
     cease writing. An unfortunate dislocation of my right wrist has
     disabled me from writing three months. I have as yet no use of
     it, except that I can write a little, but slowly and in great
     pain. I shall set out in a few days to the South of France, to
     try the effect of some mineral-waters there. Assure Mr. and Mrs.
     Skipwith of my warm affections. Kiss the little ones for me.
     I suppose Polly not to be with you. Be assured yourself of my
     sincere love and esteem.

                     Yours affectionately,
                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

On the eve of his departure for the South of France, we find him
writing the following letter to his devoted friend, Lafayette. In the
advice which he gives of keeping England for a model, we see, on his
part, an apprehension of the dangers ahead in the proceedings of the
Assemblée des Notables.

_To Lafayette._

                                 Paris, February 28th, 1787.

     Dear Sir--I am just now in the moment of my departure. Monsieur
     de Montmorin having given us audience at Paris yesterday, I
     missed the opportunity of seeing you once more. I am extremely
     pleased with his modesty, the simplicity of his manners, and
     his dispositions towards us. I promise myself a great deal of
     satisfaction in doing business with him. I hope he will not give
     ear to any unfriendly suggestions. I flatter myself I shall hear
     from you sometimes. Send your letters to my hotel, as usual,
     and they will be forwarded to me. I wish you success in your
     meeting. I should form better hopes of it, if it were divided
     into two Houses instead of seven. Keeping the good model of your
     neighboring country before your eyes, you may get on, step by
     step, towards a good constitution. Though that model is not
     perfect, yet, as it would unite more suffrages than any new one
     which could be proposed, it is better to make that the object.
     If every advance is to be purchased by filling the royal coffers
     with gold, it will be gold well employed. The King, who means so
     well, should be encouraged to repeat these Assemblies. You see
     how we republicans are apt to preach when we get on politics.
     Adieu, my dear friend.

                        Yours affectionately,
                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

While on this tour though the southern part of France, Jefferson
wrote some of his most charming letters to his daughter and his
friends; among the latter the two most agreeable were to Lafayette
and the Comtesse de Tesse, which we now give:

_To the Comtesse de Tesse._[32]

  [32] This lady was an aunt of Madame Lafayette, and an intimate
  friend of Jefferson's.

                                   Nismes, March 20th, 1787.

     Here I am, Madam, gazing whole hours at the Maison Quarrée, like
     a lover at his mistress. The stocking-weavers and silk-spinners
     around it consider me as a hypochondriac Englishman, about to
     write with a pistol the last chapter of his history. This is the
     second time I have been in love since I left Paris. The first
     was with a Diana at the Château de Laye-Epinaye in Beaujolais,
     a delicious morsel of sculpture, by M. A. Slodtz. This, you
     will say, was in rule, to fall in love with a female beauty;
     but with a house! It is out of all precedent. No, Madam, it is
     not without a precedent in my own history. While in Paris, I
     was violently smitten with the Hôtel de Salm, and used to go
     to the Tuileries almost daily to look at it. The _loueuse des
     chaises_--inattentive to my passion--never had the complaisance
     to place a chair there, so that sitting on the parapet, and
     twisting my neck around to see the object of my admiration, I
     generally left it with a _torti-colli_.

     From Lyons to Nismes I have been nourished with the remains
     of Roman grandeur. They have always brought you to my mind,
     because I know your affection for whatever is Roman and noble.
     At Vienne I thought of you. But I am glad you were not there;
     for you would have seen me more angry than, I hope, you will
     ever see me. The Prætorian palace, as it is called--comparable,
     for its fine proportions, to the Maison Quarrée--defaced by
     the barbarians who have converted it to its present purpose,
     its beautiful, fluted Corinthian columns cut out, in part, to
     make space for Gothic windows, and hewed down, in the residue,
     to the plane of the building, was enough, you must admit, to
     disturb my composure. At Orange, too, I thought of you. I was
     sure you had seen with pleasure the sublime triumphal arch of
     Marius at the entrance of the city. I went then to the Arenæ.
     Would you believe, Madam, that in this eighteenth century, in
     France, under the reign of Louis XVI., they are at this moment
     pulling down the circular wall of this superb remain, to pave a
     road? And that, too, from a hill which is itself an entire mass
     of stone, just as fit, and more accessible! A former intendant,
     a Monsieur de Basville, has rendered his memory dear to the
     traveller and amateur, by the pains he took to preserve and
     restore these monuments of antiquity. The present one (I do
     not know who he is) is demolishing the object, to make a good
     road to it. I thought of you again, and I was then in great
     good-humor, at the Pont du Gard, a sublime antiquity and well
     preserved. But most of all here, where Roman taste, genius, and
     magnificence excite ideas analogous to yours at every step. I
     could no longer oppose the inclination to avail myself of your
     permission to write to you, a permission given with too much
     complaisance by you, and used by me with too much indiscretion.
     Madame de Tott did me the same honor. But, she being only the
     descendant of some of those puny heroes who boiled their own
     kettles before the walls of Troy, I shall write to her from a
     Grecian, rather than a Roman canton; when I shall find myself,
     for example, among her Phocian relations at Marseilles.

     Loving as you do, Madam, the precious remains of antiquity,
     loving architecture, gardening, a warm sun and a clear sky, I
     wonder you have never thought of moving Chaville to Nismes.
     This, as you know, has not always been deemed impracticable;
     and therefore, the next time a _Sur-intendant des bâtiments
     du roi_, after the example of M. Colbert, sends persons to
     Nismes to move the Maison Quarrée to Paris, that they may not
     come empty-handed, desire them to bring Chaville with them, to
     replace it. Apropos of Paris. I have now been three weeks from
     there, without knowing any thing of what has passed. I suppose
     I shall meet it all at Aix, where I have directed my letters to
     be lodged _poste restante_. My journey has given me leisure to
     reflect on the Assemblée des Notables. Under a good and a young
     king, as the present, I think good may be made of it. I would
     have the deputies, then, by all means, so conduct themselves as
     to encourage him to repeat the calls of this Assembly. Their
     first step should be to get themselves divided into two Chambers
     instead of seven--the Noblesse and the Commons separately. The
     second, to persuade the King, instead of choosing the deputies
     of the Commons himself, to summon those chosen by the people for
     the provincial administrations. The third, as the Noblesse is
     too numerous to be all of the Assemblée, to obtain permission
     for that body to choose its own deputies. Two Houses, so
     elected, would contain a mass of wisdom which would make the
     people happy and the King great--would place him in history
     where no other act could possibly place him. They would thus put
     themselves in the track of the best guide they can follow; they
     would soon overtake it, become its guide in turn, and lead to
     the wholesome modifications wanting in that model, and necessary
     to constitute a rational government. Should they attempt more
     than the established habits of the people are ripe for, they may
     lose all, and retard indefinitely the ultimate object of their
     aim. These, Madam, are my opinions; but I wish to know yours,
     which, I am sure will be better.

     From a correspondent at Nismes you will not expect news. Were
     I to attempt to give you news, I should tell you stories one
     thousand years old. I should detail to you the intrigues of the
     courts of the Cæsars--how they affect us here, the oppressions
     of their prætors, prefects, etc. I am immersed in antiquities
     from morning to night. For me the city of Rome is actually
     existing in all the splendor of its empire. I am filled with
     alarms for the event of the irruptions daily making on us by
     the Goths, Visigoths, Ostrogoths, and Vandals, lest they should
     reconquer us to our original barbarism. If I am sometimes
     induced to look forward to the eighteenth century, it is
     only when recalled to it by the recollection of your goodness
     and friendship, and by those sentiments of sincere esteem and
     respect, with which I have the honor to be, Madam, your most
     obedient and most humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Lafayette._

                                     Nice, April 11th, 1787.

     Your head, my dear friend, is full of Notable things; and being
     better employed, therefore, I do not expect letters from you. I
     am constantly roving about to see what I have never seen before,
     and shall never see again. In the great cities, I go to see what
     travellers think alone worthy of being seen; but I make a job of
     it, and generally gulp it all down in a day. On the other hand,
     I am never satiated with rambling through the fields and farms,
     examining the culture and cultivators with a degree of curiosity
     which makes some take me to be a fool, and others to be much
     wiser than I am. I have been pleased to find among the people
     a less degree of physical misery than I had expected. They are
     generally well clothed, and have a plenty of food, not animal,
     indeed, but vegetable, which is as wholesome....

     From the first olive-fields of Pierrelatte to the orangeries of
     Hières has been continued rapture to me. I have often wished for
     you. I think you have not made this journey. It is a pleasure
     you have to come, and an improvement to be added to the many you
     have already made. It will be a great comfort to you to know,
     from your own inspection, the condition of all the provinces
     of your own country, and it will be interesting to them, at
     some future day, to be known to you. This is, perhaps, the only
     moment of your life in which you can acquire that knowledge. And
     to do it most effectually, you must be absolutely incognito, you
     must ferret the people out of their hovels, as I have done, look
     into their kettles, eat their bread, loll on their beds under
     pretense of resting yourself, but in fact to find if they are
     soft. You will feel a sublime pleasure in the course of this
     investigation, and a sublimer one hereafter, when you shall be
     able to apply your knowledge to the softening of their beds, or
     the throwing a morsel of meat into their kettle of vegetables.

     You will not wonder at the subjects of my letter; they are the
     only ones which have been presented to my mind for some time
     past, and the waters must always be what are the fountains
     from which they flow. According to this, indeed, I should
     have intermingled, from beginning to end, warm expressions of
     friendship to you. But, according to the ideas of our country,
     we do not permit ourselves to speak even truths, when they have
     the air of flattery. I content myself, therefore, with saying
     once more for all, that I love you, your wife and children. Tell
     them so, and adieu. Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following correspondence between Jefferson and his daughter
Martha will be found unusually interesting. Her letters were
written from the convent of Panthemont, in Paris, where she was at
school. She was at the time fifteen years old, and the artlessness,
intelligence, and warm affection with which she writes to her father
render her letters inexpressibly charming.

_Martha Jefferson to Thomas Jefferson._

     Being disappointed in my expectation of receiving a letter from
     my dear papa, I have resolved to break so painful a silence by
     giving you an example that I hope you will follow, particularly
     as you know how much pleasure your letters give me. I hope your
     wrist is better, and I am inclined to think that your voyage is
     rather for your pleasure than your health; however, I hope it
     will answer both purposes. I will now tell you how I go on with
     my masters. I have begun a beautiful tune with Balbastre, done a
     very pretty landscape with Pariseau--a little man playing on the
     violin--and begun another beautiful landscape. I go on slowly
     with my _Tite Live_,[33] it being in such ancient Italian that I
     can not read without my master, and very little with him even.
     As for the dancing-master, I intend to leave him off as soon
     as my month is finished. Tell me if you are still determined
     that I shall dine at the abbess's table. If you are, I shall
     at the end of my quarter. The King's speech and that of the
     Eveque de Narbonne have been copied all over the convent. As for
     Monsieur, he rose up to speak, but sat down again without daring
     to open his lips. I know no news, but suppose Mr. Short will
     write you enough for him and me too. Madame Thaubeneu desires
     her compliments to you. Adieu, my dear papa. I am afraid you
     will not be able to read my scrawl, but I have not the time of
     copying it over again; and therefore I must beg your indulgence,
     and assure you of the tender affection of yours,

                                               M. JEFFERSON.

  Pray write often, and long letters.
    Panthemont, February 8th, 1787.

  [33] Livy.

_Martha Jefferson to Thomas Jefferson._

     My dear Papa--Though the knowledge of your health gave me the
     greatest pleasure, yet I own I was not a little disappointed in
     not receiving a letter from you. However, I console myself with
     the thought of having one very soon, as you promised to write to
     me every week. Until now you have not kept your word the least
     in the world, but I hope you will make up for your silence by
     writing me a fine, long letter by the first opportunity. _Titus
     Livius_ puts me out of my wits. I can not read a word by myself,
     and I read of it very seldom with my master; however, I hope I
     shall soon be able to take it up again. All my other masters
     go on much the same--perhaps better. Every body here is very
     well, particularly Madame L'Abbesse, who has visited almost a
     quarter of the new building--a thing that she has not done for
     two or three years before now. I have not heard any thing of
     my harpsichord, and I am afraid it will not come before your
     arrival. They make every day some new history on the Assemblée
     des Notables. I will not tell you any, for fear of taking a trip
     to the Bastile for my pains, which I am by no means disposed to
     do at this moment. I go on pretty well with Thucydides, and hope
     I shall very soon finish it. I expect Mr. Short every instant
     for my letter, therefore I must leave you. Adieu, my dear papa;
     be assured you are never a moment absent from my thoughts, and
     believe me to be, your most affectionate child,

                                               M. JEFFERSON.

     March 25th, 1787.

_Thomas Jefferson to Martha Jefferson._

  Aix en Provence, March 28th, 1787.

     I was happy, my dear Patsy, to receive, on my arrival here,
     your letter, informing me of your good health and occupation.
     I have not written to you sooner because I have been almost
     constantly on the road. My journey hitherto has been a very
     pleasing one. It was undertaken with the hope that the
     mineral-waters of this place might restore strength to my wrist.
     Other considerations also concurred--instruction, amusement,
     and abstraction from business, of which I had too much at
     Paris. I am glad to learn that you are employed in things new
     and good, in your music and drawing. You know what have been my
     fears for some time past--that you do not employ yourself so
     closely as I could wish. You have promised me a more assiduous
     attention, and I have great confidence in what you promise.
     It is your future happiness which interests me, and nothing
     can contribute more to it (moral rectitude always excepted)
     than the contracting a habit of industry and activity. Of all
     the cankers of human happiness none corrodes with so silent,
     yet so baneful an influence, as indolence. Body and mind both
     unemployed, our being becomes a burthen, and every object about
     us loathsome, even the dearest. Idleness begets ennui, ennui the
     hypochondriac, and that a diseased body. No laborious person
     was ever yet hysterical. Exercise and application produce order
     in our affairs, health of body and cheerfulness of mind, and
     these make us precious to our friends. It is while we are young
     that the habit of industry is formed. If not then, it never is
     afterwards. The fortune of our lives, therefore, depends on
     employing well the short period of youth. If at any moment, my
     dear, you catch yourself in idleness, start from it as you would
     from the precipice of a gulf. You are not, however, to consider
     yourself as unemployed while taking exercise. That is necessary
     for your health, and health is the first of all objects. For
     this reason, if you leave your dancing-master for the summer,
     you must increase your other exercise.

     I do not like your saying that you are unable to read the
     ancient print of your Livy but with the aid of your master. We
     are always equal to what we undertake with resolution. A little
     degree of this will enable you to decipher your Livy. If you
     always lean on your master, you will never be able to proceed
     without him. It is a part of the American character to consider
     nothing as desperate; to surmount every difficulty by resolution
     and contrivance. In Europe there are shops for every want; its
     inhabitants, therefore, have no idea that their wants can be
     supplied otherwise. Remote from all other aid, we are obliged to
     invent and to execute; to find means within ourselves, and not
     to lean on others. Consider, therefore, the conquering your Livy
     as an exercise in the habit of surmounting difficulties; a habit
     which will be necessary to you in the country where you are to
     live, and without which you will be thought a very helpless
     animal, and less esteemed. Music, drawing, books, invention, and
     exercise, will be so many resources to you against ennui. But
     there are others which, to this object, add that of utility.
     These are the needle and domestic economy. The latter you can
     not learn here, but the former you may. In the country life of
     America there are many moments when a woman can have recourse
     to nothing but her needle for employment. In a dull company,
     and in dull weather, for instance, it is ill-manners to read,
     it is ill-manners to leave them; no card-playing there among
     genteel people--that is abandoned to blackguards. The needle is
     then a valuable resource. Besides, without knowing how to use it
     herself, how can the mistress of a family direct the work of her

     You ask me to write you long letters. I will do it, my dear, on
     condition you will read them from time to time, and practice
     what they inculcate. Their precepts will be dictated by
     experience, by a perfect knowledge of the situation in which
     you will be placed, and by the fondest love for you. This it
     is which makes me wish to see you more qualified than common.
     My expectations from you are high, yet not higher than you may
     attain. Industry and resolution are all that are wanting. Nobody
     in this world can make me so happy, or so miserable, as you.
     Retirement from public life will ere long become necessary for
     me. To your sister and yourself I look to render the evening
     of my life serene and contented. Its morning has been clouded
     by loss after loss, till I have nothing left but you. I do
     not doubt either your affections or dispositions. But great
     exertions are necessary, and you have little time left to
     make them. Be industrious, then, my dear child. Think nothing
     insurmountable by resolution and application, and you will be
     all that I wish you to be.

     You ask if it is my desire that you should dine at the Abbess's
     table? It is. Propose it as such to Madame de Frauleinheim,
     with my respectful compliments, and thanks for her care of you.
     Continue to love me with all the warmth with which you are
     beloved by, my dear Patsy,

                          Yours affectionately,
                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_Martha Jefferson to Thomas Jefferson._

     My dear Papa--I am very glad that the beginning of your voyage
     has been so pleasing, and I hope that the rest will not be less
     so, as it is a great consolation for me, being deprived of the
     pleasure of seeing you, to know at least that you are happy. I
     hope your resolution of returning in the end of April is always
     the same. I do not doubt but what Mr. Short has written you
     word that my sister sets off with Fulwar Skipwith in the month
     of May, and she will be here in July. Then, indeed, shall I
     be the happiest of mortals; united to what I have the dearest
     in the world, nothing more will be requisite to render my
     happiness complete. I am not so industrious as you or I would
     wish, but I hope that in taking pains I very soon shall be. I
     have already begun to study more. I have not heard any news of
     my harpsichord; it will be really very disagreeable if it is
     not here before your arrival. I am learning a very pretty thing
     now, but it is very hard. I have drawn several little flowers,
     all alone, that the master even has not seen; indeed, he advised
     me to draw as much alone as possible, for that is of more use
     than all I could do with him. I shall take up my Livy, as you
     desire it. I shall begin it again, as I have lost the thread
     of the history. As for the hysterics, you may be quiet on that
     head, as I am not lazy enough to fear them. Mrs. Barett has
     wanted me out, but Mr. Short told her that you had forgotten
     to tell Madame L'Abbesse to let me go out with her. There was
     a gentleman, a few days ago, that killed himself because he
     thought that his wife did not love him. They had been married
     ten years. I believe that if every husband in Paris was to do
     as much, there would be nothing but widows left. I shall speak
     to Madame Thaubeneu about dining at the Abbess's table. As for
     needlework, the only kind that I could learn here would be
     embroidery, indeed netting also; but I could not do much of
     those in America, because of the impossibility of having proper
     silks; however, they will not be totally useless. You say your
     expectations for me are high, yet not higher than I can attain.
     Then be assured, my dear papa, that you shall be satisfied in
     that, as well as in any thing else that lies in my power; for
     what I hold most precious is your satisfaction, indeed I should
     be miserable without it. You wrote me a long letter, as I asked
     you; however, it would have been much more so without so wide
     a margin. Adieu, my dear papa. Be assured of the tenderest
     affection of your loving daughter,

                                               M. JEFFERSON.

     Pray answer me very soon--a long letter, without a margin.
     I will try to follow the advice they contain with the most
     scrupulous exactitude.

     Panthemont, April 9th, 1787.

_Thomas Jefferson to Martha Jefferson._

                                    Toulon, April 7th, 1787.

     My dear Patsy--I received yesterday, at Marseilles, your letter
     of March 25th, and I received it with pleasure, because it
     announced to me that you were well. Experience learns us to be
     always anxious about the health of those whom we love. I have
     not been able to write to you as often as I expected, because I
     am generally on the road, and when I stop anywhere I am occupied
     in seeing what is to be seen. It will be some time now, perhaps
     three weeks, before I shall be able to write you again. But this
     need not slacken your writing to me, because you have leisure,
     and your letters come regularly to me. I have received letters
     which inform me that our dear Polly will certainly come to us
     this summer. By the time I return it will be time to expect
     her. When she arrives she will become a precious charge on
     your hands. The difference of your age, and your common loss
     of a mother, will put that office on you. Teach her above
     all things to be good, because without that we can neither be
     valued by others nor set any value on ourselves. Teach her to
     be always true; no vice is so mean as the want of truth, and at
     the same time so useless. Teach her never to be angry; anger
     only serves to torment ourselves, to divert others, and alienate
     their esteem. And teach her industry, and application to useful
     pursuits. I will venture to assure you that, if you inculcate
     this in her mind, you will make her a happy being in herself, a
     most inestimable friend to you, and precious to all the world.
     In teaching her these dispositions of mind, you will be more
     fixed in them yourself, and render yourself dear to all your
     acquaintances. Practice them, then, my dear, without ceasing. If
     ever you find yourself in difficulty, and doubt how to extricate
     yourself, do what is right, and you will find it the easiest
     way of getting out of the difficulty. Do it for the additional
     incitement of increasing the happiness of him who loves you
     infinitely, and who is, my dear Patsy, yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_Martha Jefferson to Thomas Jefferson._

     My dear Papa--I was very sorry to see, by your letter to Mr.
     Short, that your return would be put off. However, I hope not
     much, as you must be here for the arrival of my sister. I wish I
     was myself all that you tell me to make her; however, I will try
     to be as near like it as I can. I have another landscape since
     I wrote to you last, and have begun another piece of music. I
     have not been able to do more, having been confined some time
     to my bed with a violent headache and a pain in my side, which
     afterwards blistered up and made me suffer a great deal, but I
     am now much better. I have seen a physician who had just drawn
     two of my companions out of a most dreadful situation, which
     gave me a great deal of trust in him. But the most disagreeable
     thing is, that I have been obliged to discontinue all my
     masters, and am able now to take only some of them that are the
     least fatiguing. However, I hope to take them all very soon.
     Madame L'Abbesse has just had a _fluxion de poitrine_, and has
     been at the last extremity, but now is better. The _pays bas_
     have revolted against the Emperor, who is gone to Prussia to
     join with the Empress and the Venetians to war against the
     Turks. The plague is in Spain. A Virginia ship coming to Spain
     met with a corsair of the same strength. They fought, and the
     battle lasted an hour and a quarter. The Americans gained and
     boarded the corsair, where they found chains that had been
     prepared for them. They took them, and made use of them for the
     Algerians themselves. They returned to Virginia, from whence
     they are to go back to Algiers to change the prisoners, to
     which, if the Algerians will not consent, the poor creatures
     will be sold as slaves. Good God! have we not enough? I wish
     with all my soul that the poor negroes were all freed.... A
     coach-and-six, well shut up, was seen to go to the Bastile,
     and the Baron de Breteuil went two hours before to prepare an
     apartment. They suppose it to be Madame de Polignac and her
     sister; however, no one knows. The King asked M. D'Harcourt how
     much a year was necessary for the Dauphin. M. D'Harcourt having
     looked over the accounts, told him two millions; upon which the
     King could not help expressing his astonishment, because each of
     his daughters cost him more; so Madame de Polignac had pocketed
     the rest. Mr. Smith is at Paris. That is all the news I know;
     they told me a great deal more, but I have forgotten it. Adieu,
     my dear papa, and believe me to be for life your most tender and
     affectionate child,

                                               M. JEFFERSON.

    Paris, May 3d, 1787.

_Thomas Jefferson to Martha Jefferson._

                                  Marseilles, May 5th, 1787.

     My dear Patsy--I got back to Aix the day before yesterday,
     and found there your letter of the 9th of April--from which I
     presume you to be well, though you do not say so. In order to
     exercise your geography, I will give you a detail of my journey.
     You must therefore take your map and trace out the following
     places: Dijon, Lyons, Pont St. Esprit, Nismes, Arles, St.
     Remis, Aix, Marseilles, Toulon, Hières, Fréjus, Antibes, Nice,
     Col de Tende, Coni, Turin, Vercelli, Milan, Pavia, Tortona,
     Novi, Genoa, by sea to Albenga, by land to Monaco, Nice,
     Antibes, Fréjus, Brignolles, Aix, and Marseilles. The day after
     to-morrow, I set out hence for Aix, Avignon, Pont du Gard,
     Nismes, Montpellier, Narbonne, along the Canal of Languedoc
     to Toulouse, Bordeaux, Rochefort, Rochelle, Nantes, L'Orient,
     Nantes, Tours, Orléans, and Paris--where I shall arrive about
     the middle of June, after having travelled something upwards of
     a thousand leagues.

     From Genoa to Aix was very fatiguing--the first two days having
     been at sea, and mortally sick--two more clambering the cliffs
     of the Apennines, sometimes on foot, sometimes on a mule,
     according as the path was more or less difficult--and two others
     travelling through the night as well as day without sleep. I
     am not yet rested, and shall therefore shortly give you rest
     by closing my letter, after mentioning that I have received a
     letter from your sister, which, though a year old, gave me great
     pleasure. I inclose it for your perusal, as I think it will be
     pleasing for you also. But take care of it, and return it to me
     when I shall get back to Paris, for, trifling as it seems, it is
     precious to me.

     When I left Paris, I wrote to London to desire that your
     harpsichord might be sent during the months of April and May,
     so that I am in hopes it will arrive a little before I shall,
     and give me an opportunity of judging whether you have got the
     better of that want of industry which I began to fear would be
     the rock on which you would split. Determine never to be idle.
     No person will have occasion to complain of the want of time who
     never loses any. It is wonderful how much may be done if we are
     always doing. And that you may be always doing good, my dear, is
     the ardent prayer of, yours affectionately,

                                               TH. JEFFERSON

_Martha Jefferson to Thomas Jefferson._

     My dear Papa--I was very glad to see by your letter that you
     were on your return, and I hope that I shall very soon have the
     pleasure of seeing you. My sister's letter gave me a great deal
     of happiness. I wish she would write to me; but as I shall enjoy
     her presence very soon, it will make up for a neglect that I own
     gives me the greatest pain. I still remember enough of geography
     to know where the places marked in your letter are. I intend to
     copy over my extracts and learn them by heart. I have learnt
     several new pieces on the harpsichord, drawn five landscapes and
     three flowers, and hope to have done something more by the time
     you come. I go on pretty well with my history, and as for _Tite
     Live_ I have begun it three or four times, and go on so slowly
     with it that I believe I never shall finish it. It was in vain
     that I took courage; it serves to little good in the execution
     of a thing almost impossible. I read a little of it with my
     master who tells me almost all the words, and, in fine, it
     makes me lose my time. I begin to have really great difficulty
     to write English; I wish I had some pretty letters to form my
     style. Pray tell me if it is certain that my sister comes in the
     month of July, because if it is, Madame De Taubenheim will keep
     a bed for her. My harpsichord is not come yet. Madame L'Abbesse
     is better, but she still keeps her bed. Madame De Taubenheim
     sends her compliments to you. Pray how does your arm go? I am
     very well now. Adieu, my dear papa; as I do not know any news, I
     must finish in assuring you of the sincerest affection of your
     loving child,

                                               M. JEFFERSON.

    Paris, May 27th, 1787.

_Thomas Jefferson to Martha Jefferson._

                                             May 21st, 1787.

     I write you, my dear Patsy, from the canal of Languedoc, on
     which I am at present sailing, as I have been for a week past,
     cloudless skies above, limpid waters below, and on each hand,
     a row of nightingales in full chorus. This delightful bird had
     given me a rich treat before, at the fountain of Vaucluse.
     After visiting the tomb of Laura at Avignon, I went to see this
     fountain--a noble one of itself, and rendered famous forever
     by the songs of Petrarch, who lived near it. I arrived there
     somewhat fatigued, and sat down by the fountain to repose
     myself. It gushes, of the size of a river, from a secluded
     valley of the mountain, the ruins of Petrarch's château being
     perched on a rock two hundred feet perpendicular above. To add
     to the enchantment of the scene, every tree and bush was filled
     with nightingales in full song. I think you told me that you had
     not yet noticed this bird. As you have trees in the garden of
     the convent, there might be nightingales in them, and this is
     the season of their song. Endeavor, my dear, to make yourself
     acquainted with the music of this bird, that when you return
     to your own country you may be able to estimate its merit in
     comparison with that of the mocking-bird. The latter has the
     advantage of singing through a great part of the year, whereas
     the nightingale sings but about five or six weeks in the spring,
     and a still shorter term, and with a more feeble voice, in the

     I expect to be at Paris about the middle of next month. By
     that time we may begin to expect our dear Polly. It will be a
     circumstance of inexpressible comfort to me to have you both
     with me once more. The object most interesting to me for the
     residue of my life, will be to see you both developing daily
     those principles of virtue and goodness which will make you
     valuable to others and happy in yourselves, and acquiring those
     talents and that degree of science which will guard you at all
     times against ennui, the most dangerous poison of life. A mind
     always employed is always happy. This is the true secret, the
     grand recipe, for felicity. The idle are the only wretched. In a
     world which furnishes so many employments which are useful, so
     many which are amusing, it is our own fault if we ever know what
     ennui is, or if we are ever driven to the miserable resource of
     gaming, which corrupts our dispositions, and teaches us a habit
     of hostility against all mankind. We are now entering the port
     of Toulouse, where I quit my bark, and of course must conclude
     my letter. Be good and be industrious, and you will be what
     I shall most love in the world. Adieu, my dear child. Yours

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following is an extract from a letter to his daughter, dated
Nantes, June 1st, 1787:

     I forgot, in my last letter, to desire you to learn all your
     old tunes over again perfectly, that I may hear them on your
     harpsichord, on its arrival. I have no news of it, however,
     since I left Paris, though I presume it will arrive immediately,
     as I have ordered. Learn some slow movements of simple melody
     for the Celestini stop, as it suits such only. I am just setting
     out for L'Orient, and shall have the happiness of seeing you at
     Paris about the 12th or 15th of this month, and assuring you in
     person of the sincere love of, yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.


     Increased Anxiety about his youngest Daughter.--Her Aunt's
     Letter.--She arrives in England.--Mrs. Adams receives
     her.-- Letter to Mrs. Eppes.--To Madame de Corny.--To J.
     Bannister.-- To his Sister.--Letter to Mr. Jay.--To Madame de
     Brehan.--To Madame de Corny.--Weariness of Public Life.--Goes
     to Amsterdam.-- Letter to Mr. Jay.--To Mr. Izard.--To Mrs.
     Marks.--To Mr. Marks.--To Randolph Jefferson.--To Mrs. Eppes.

While Mr. Jefferson was eagerly expecting the arrival of his little
daughter from Virginia, the child herself was still clinging to the
hope that her father might change his plans for her and agree to her
remaining with her Aunt Eppes, from whom she obstinately refused to
be separated. Towards the close of the month of March, 1787, we find
this kind lady writing to Mr. Jefferson as follows:

_Mrs. Eppes to Jefferson._

     I never was more anxious to hear from you than at present, in
     hopes of your countermanding your orders with regard to dear
     Polly. We have made use of every stratagem to prevail on her
     to consent to visit you without effect. She is more averse to
     it than I could have supposed; either of my children would
     with pleasure take her place for the number of good things she
     is promised. However, Mr. Eppes has two or three different
     prospects of conveying her, to your satisfaction, I hope, if we
     do not bear from you.

On the eve of the child's departure her anxious aunt again writes:

     This will, I hope, be handed you by my dear Polly, who I most
     ardently wish may reach you in the health she is in at present.
     I shall be truly wretched till I hear of her being safely landed
     with you. The children will spend a day or two on board the ship
     with her, which I hope will reconcile her to it. For God's sake
     give us the earliest intelligence of her arrival.

As mentioned in the above extract, her young cousins went on board
the ship with the little Mary, and were her playmates there until she
had become somewhat at home and acquainted with those around her.
Then, while the child was one day asleep, they were all taken away,
and before she awoke the vessel had cut loose from her moorings, and
was fairly launched on the tedious voyage before her.

The bark bearing this precious little charge, and the object of
so many hopes and prayers on both sides of the Atlantic, made a
prosperous voyage, and landed the young child safely in England.
There, at her father's request, she was received by Mrs. Adams, who
treated her with the tenderness of a mother, until he could arrange
to get her across the Channel. Some of his French friends, who were
at the time in England, were to have taken her to Paris, but his
impatience to see her could not brook the delay of their return, and
he sent a servant--Petit, his steward--for her. In the mean time
he announced her safe arrival to her friends in Virginia in the
following letter:

_To Francis Eppes._

                                       Paris, July 2d, 1787.

     Dear Sir--The present is merely to inform you of the safe
     arrival of Polly in London, in good health. I have this moment
     dispatched a servant for her. Mr. Ammonit did not come, but
     she was in the best hands possible, those of Captain Ramsay.
     Mrs. Adams writes me she was so much attached to him that her
     separation from him was a terrible operation. She has now to
     go through the same with Mrs. Adams. I hope that in ten days
     she will join those from whom she is no more to be separated.
     As this is to pass through post-offices, I send it merely to
     relieve the anxieties which Mrs. Eppes and yourself are so good
     as to feel on her account, reserving myself to answer both your
     favors by the next packet. I am, with very sincere esteem, dear
     Sir, your affectionate friend and servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The loneliness of the little girl's situation on her arrival in a
strange land, among strangers, her distress at having parted with her
good aunt, Mrs. Eppes, her gratitude to Mrs. Adams for her kindness,
her singular beauty, and the sweetness of her disposition, are
touchingly and vividly described by Mrs. Adams in a letter to her
sister. She writes:

_From Mrs. Adams._

     I have had with me for a fortnight a little daughter of Mr.
     Jefferson's, who arrived here, with a young negro girl, her
     servant, from Virginia. Mr. Jefferson wrote me some months ago
     that he expected them, and desired me to receive them. I did
     so, and was amply repaid for my trouble. A finer child of her
     age I never saw.[34] So mature an understanding, so womanly a
     behavior, and so much sensibility united, are rarely to be met
     with. I grew so fond of her, and she was so much attached to
     me, that, when Mr. Jefferson sent for her, they were obliged
     to force the little creature away. She is but eight years old.
     She would sit, sometimes, and describe to me the parting with
     her aunt, who brought her up, the obligation she was under to
     her, and the love she had for her little cousins, till the tears
     would stream down her cheeks; and how I had been her friend, and
     she loved me. Her papa would break her heart by making her go
     again. She clung round me so that I could not help shedding a
     tear at parting with her. She was the favorite of every one in
     the house. I regret that such fine spirits must be spent in the
     walls of a convent. She is a beautiful girl too.

  [34] She was in her ninth year.

The following letter written by Mr. Jefferson to Mrs. Eppes describes
the arrival of his little one in Paris, and her visits to the convent.

_To Mrs. Eppes._

                                     Paris, July 28th, 1787.

     Dear Madam--Your favors of March 31st and May 7th have been duly
     received; the last by Polly, whose arrival has given us great
     joy. Her disposition to attach herself to those who are kind
     to her had occasioned successive distresses on parting with
     Captain Ramsay first, and afterwards with Mrs. Adams. She had
     a very fine passage, without a storm, and was perfectly taken
     care of by Captain Ramsay. He offered to come to Paris with her,
     but this was unnecessary. I sent a trusty servant to London
     to attend her here. A parent may be permitted to speak of his
     own child when it involves an act of justice to another. The
     attentions which your goodness has induced you to pay her prove
     themselves by the fruits of them. Her reading, her writing, her
     manners in general, show what everlasting obligations we are
     all under to you. As far as her affections can be a requital,
     she renders you the debt, for it is impossible for a child to
     prove a more sincere affection to an absent person than she does
     to you. She will surely not be the least happy among us when
     the day shall come in which we may be all reunited. She is now
     established in the convent, perfectly happy. Her sister came
     and staid a week with her, leading her from time to time to the
     convent, until she became familiarized to it. This soon took
     place, as she became a universal favorite with the young ladies
     and the mistresses. She writes you a long letter, giving an
     account of her voyage and journey here. She neither knew us, nor
     should we have known her had we met with her unexpectedly. Patsy
     enjoys good health, and will write to you. She has grown much
     the last year or two, and will be very tall. She retains all her
     anxiety to get back to her country and her friends, particularly
     yourself. Her dispositions give me perfect satisfaction, and
     her progress is well; she will need, however, your instruction
     to render her useful in her own country. Of domestic economy
     she can learn nothing here, yet she must learn it somewhere,
     as being of more solid value than any thing else. I answer
     Jack's[35] letter by this occasion. I wish he would give me
     often occasion to do it; though at this distance I can be of no
     use to him, yet I am willing to show my disposition to be useful
     to him, as I shall be forever bound to be to every one connected
     with yourself and Mr. Eppes, had no other connection rendered
     the obligation dear to my heart. I shall present my affections
     to Mr. and Mrs. Skipwith in a letter to the former. Kiss the
     children for me, and be assured of the unchangeable esteem and
     respect of, dear Madam, your affectionate friend and servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

  [35] Mrs. Eppes's son, and little Polly's future husband.

When little Mary Jefferson first went to Paris, instead of "Polly,"
she was called by the French _Mademoiselle Polie_. In a short time,
however, she was called Marie, and on her return to America, the
Virginian pronunciation of that French name soon ran into Maria,
by which name, strange to say, she was ever after called, even by
her father and sister; and Maria, instead of Mary, is the name now
inscribed on the marble slab which rests upon her grave.

The following is a letter written a short while after his return to
Paris, to one of his lady friends, then on a visit to England:

_To Madame de Corny._

                                     Paris, Jane 30th, 1787.

     On my return to Paris it was among my first attentions to go to
     the Rue Chaussée d'Antin, No. 17, and inquire after my friends
     whom I had left there. I was told they were in England. And how
     do you like England, Madam? I know your taste for the works
     of art gives you a little disposition to Anglomania. Their
     mechanics certainly exceed all others in some lines. But be just
     to your own nation. They have not patience, it is true, to sit
     rubbing a piece of steel from morning to night, as a lethargic
     Englishman will do, full-charged with porter. But do not their
     benevolence, their amiability, their cheerfulness, when compared
     with the growling temper and manners of the people among whom
     you are, compensate their want of patience? I am in hopes that
     when the splendor of their shops, which is all that is worth
     seeing in London, shall have lost the charm of novelty, you will
     turn a wishful eye to the good people of Paris, and find that
     you can not be so happy with any others. The Bois de Boulogne
     invites you earnestly to come and survey its beautiful verdure,
     to retire to its umbrage from the heats of the season. I was
     through it to-day, as I am every day. Every tree charged me
     with this invitation to you. Passing by La Muette, it wished for
     you as a mistress. You want a country-house. This is for sale;
     and in the Bois de Boulogne, which I have always insisted to be
     most worthy of your preference. Come, then, and buy it. If I had
     had confidence in your speedy return, I should have embarrassed
     you in earnest with my little daughter. But an impatience to
     have her with me, after her separation from her friends, added
     to a respect for your ease, has induced me to send a servant for

     I tell you no news, because you have correspondents infinitely
     more _au fait_ of the details of Paris than I am. And I offer
     you no services, because I hope you will come as soon as the
     letter could which should command them. Be assured, however,
     that nobody is more disposed to render them, nor entertains for
     you a more sincere and respectful attachment, than him who,
     after charging you with his compliments to Monsieur de Corny,
     has the honor of offering you the homage of those sentiments of
     distinguished esteem and regard, with which he is, dear Madam,
     your most obedient and most humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In a letter to J. Bannister, Jr., he thus speaks of the ill-fated
traveller Ledyard, and of the pleasures of his own recent tour
through the southern part of France:

_To J. Bannister._

     I had a letter from Ledyard lately, dated at St. Petersburg.
     He had but two shirts, and yet, more shirts than shillings.
     Still he was determined to obtain the palm of being the first
     circumambulator of the earth. He says that, having no money,
     they kick him from place to place, and thus he expects to be
     kicked around the globe. Are you become a great walker? You know
     I preach up that kind of exercise. Shall I send you a conte-pas?
     It will cost you a dozen louis, but be a great stimulus to
     walking, as it will record your steps. I finished my tour a week
     or ten days ago. I went as far as Turin, Milan, Genoa; and never
     passed three months and a half more delightfully. I returned
     through the Canal of Languedoc, by Bourdeaux, Nantes, L'Orient,
     and Rennes; then returned to Nantes and came up the Loire to
     Orléans. I was alone through the whole, and think one travels
     more usefully when alone, because he reflects more.

_To Mrs. Bolling._

                                      Paris, July 23d, 1787.

     Dear Sister--I received with real pleasure your letter of May
     3d, informing me of your health and of that of your family. Be
     assured it is, and ever has been, the most interesting thing to
     me. Letters of business claiming their rights before those of
     affection, we often write seldomest to those whom we love most.
     The distance to which I am removed has given a new value to all
     I valued before in my own country, and the day of my return
     to it will be the happiest I expect to see in this life. When
     it will come is not yet decided, as far as depends on myself.
     My dear Polly is safely arrived here, and in good health. She
     had got so attached to Captain Ramsay that they were obliged
     to decoy her from him. She staid three weeks in London with
     Mrs. Adams, and had got up such an attachment to her, that she
     refused to come with the person I sent for her. After some days
     she was prevailed on to come. She did not know either her sister
     or myself, but soon renewed her acquaintance and attachment. She
     is now in the same convent with her sister, and will come to see
     me once or twice a week. It is a house of education altogether,
     the best in France, and at which the best masters attend. There
     are in it as many Protestants as Catholics, and not a word is
     ever spoken to them on the subject of religion. Patsy enjoys
     good health, and longs much to return to her friends. We shall
     doubtless find much change when we do get back; many of our
     older friends withdrawn from the stage, and our younger ones
     grown out of our knowledge. I suppose you are now fixed for life
     at Chestnut Grove. I take a part of the misfortune to myself, as
     it will prevent my seeing you as often as would be practicable
     at Lickinghole. It is still a greater loss to my sister Carr.
     We must look to Jack for indemnification, as I think it was
     the plan that he should live at Lickinghole. I suppose he is
     now become the father of a family, and that we may hail you as
     grandmother. As we approach that term it becomes less fearful.
     You mention Mr. Bolling's being unwell, so as not to write to
     me. He has just been sick enough all his life to prevent his
     writing to any body. My prayer is, therefore, only that he may
     never be any worse; were he to be so, nobody would feel it
     more sensibly than myself, as nobody has a more sincere esteem
     for him than myself. I find as I grow older, that I love those
     most whom I loved first. Present me to him in the most friendly
     terms; to Jack also, and my other nephews and nieces of your
     fireside, and be assured of the sincere love with which I am,
     dear sister, your affectionate brother,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In the autumn of this year (1787) the Count de Moustier was sent by
the Court of St. Germains as minister plenipotentiary to the United
States. In a letter to Mr. Jay, Jefferson recommends the Count and
his sister-in-law, Madame de Brehan, to the kind attentions of Mr.
Jay and his family in the following terms:

_To John Jay._

     The connection of your offices will necessarily connect you in
     acquaintance; but I beg leave to present him to you on account
     of his personal as well as his public character. You will
     find him open, communicative, candid, simple in his manners,
     and a declared enemy to ostentation and luxury. He goes with
     a resolution to add no aliment to it by his example, unless
     he finds that the dispositions of our countrymen require it
     indispensably. Permit me, at the same time, to solicit your
     friendly notice, and through you, that also of Mrs. Jay, to
     Madame la Marquise de Brehan, sister-in-law to Monsieur de
     Moustier. She accompanies him, in hopes that a change of
     climate may assist her feeble health, and also that she may
     procure a more valuable education for her son, and safer from
     seduction, in America than in France. I think it impossible to
     find a better woman, more amiable, more modest, more simple in
     her manners, dress, and way of thinking. She will deserve the
     friendship of Mrs. Jay, and the way to obtain hers is to receive
     her and treat her without the shadow of etiquette.

On the eve of her departure for America, Jefferson wrote the
following graceful note of adieu:

_To Madame de Brehan._

                                   Paris, October 9th, 1787.

     Persuaded, Madam, that visits at this moment must be
     troublesome, I beg you to accept my adieus in this form. Be
     assured that no one mingles with them more regret at separating
     from you. I will ask your permission to inquire of you by
     letter sometimes how our country agrees with your health and
     your expectations, and will hope to hear it from yourself. The
     imitation of European manners, which you will find in our towns,
     will, I fear, be little pleasing. I beseech you to practice
     still your own, which will furnish them a model of what is
     perfect. Should you be singular, it will be by excellence, and
     after a while you will see the effect of your example.

     Heaven bless you, Madam, and guard you under all
     circumstances--give you smooth waters, gentle breezes, and clear
     skies, hushing all its elements into peace, and leading with its
     own hand the favored bark, till it shall have safely landed its
     precious charge on the shores of our new world.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following pleasant letter is to another of his lady friends:

_To Madame de Corny._

                                  Paris, October 18th, 1787.

     I now have the honor, Madam, to send you the Memoir of M. de
     Calonnes. Do not injure yourself by hurrying its perusal. Only
     when you shall have read it at your leisure, be so good as to
     send it back, that it may be returned to the Duke of Dorset. You
     will read it with pleasure. It has carried comfort to my heart,
     because it must do the same to the King and the nation. Though
     it does not prove M. de Calonnes to be more innocent than his
     predecessors, it shows him not to have been that exaggerated
     scoundrel which the calculations and the clamors of the public
     have supposed. It shows that the public treasures have not been
     so inconceivably squandered as the Parliaments of Grenoble,
     Toulouse, etc., had affirmed. In fine, it shows him less
     wicked, and France less badly governed, than I had feared. In
     examining my little collection of books, to see what it could
     furnish you on the subject of Poland, I find a small piece which
     may serve as a supplement to the history I had sent you. It
     contains a mixture of history and politics, which I think you
     will like.

     How do you do this morning? I have feared you exerted and
     exposed yourself too much yesterday. I ask you the question,
     though I shall not await its answer. The sky is clearing, and I
     shall away to my hermitage. God bless you, my dear Madam, now
     and always. Adieu.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In a letter written to Mr. Donald in the year 1788, his weariness of
public life shows itself in the following lines:

_To Mr. Donald._

     Your letter has kindled all the fond recollections of ancient
     times--recollections much dearer to me than any thing I have
     known since. There are minds which can be pleased with honors
     and preferments; but I see nothing in them but envy and enmity.
     It is only necessary to possess them to know how little they
     contribute to happiness, or rather how hostile they are to it.
     No attachments soothe the mind so much as those contracted in
     early life; nor do I recollect any societies which have given
     me more pleasure than those of which you have partaken with me.
     I had rather be shut up in a very modest cottage with my books,
     my family, and a few old friends, dining on simple bacon, and
     letting the world roll on as it liked, than to occupy the most
     splendid post that any human power can give. I shall be glad to
     hear from you often. Give me the small news as well as the great.

Early in March, Mr. Jefferson was called by business to meet Mr.
Adams in Amsterdam. After an absence of some weeks he returned to
Paris. About this time we find him very delicately writing to Mr. Jay
on the subject of an outfit, which, it seems, Congress had not at
that time allowed to its ministers abroad, and the want of which was
painfully felt by them.

_To John Jay._

     It is the usage here (and I suppose at all courts), that a
     minister resident shall establish his house in the first
     instant. If this is to be done out of his salary, he will be
     a twelvemonth, at least, without a copper to live on. It is
     the universal practice, therefore, of all nations to allow the
     outfit as a separate article from the salary. I have inquired
     here into the usual amount of it. I find that sometimes the
     sovereign pays the actual cost. This is particularly the case
     of the Sardinian ambassador now coming here, who is to provide
     a service of plate and every article of furniture and other
     matters of first expense, to be paid for by his court. In other
     instances, they give a service of plate, and a fixed sum for
     all other articles, which fixed sum is in no case lower than a
     year's salary.

     I desire no service of plate, having no ambition for splendor.
     My furniture, carriage, and apparel are all plain; yet they
     have cost me more than a year's salary. I suppose that in every
     country and every condition of life, a year's expense would be
     found a moderate measure for the furniture of a man's house.
     It is not more certain to me that the sun will rise to-morrow,
     than that our Government must allow the outfit, on their future
     appointment of foreign ministers; and it would be hard on me so
     to stand between the discontinuance of a former rule and the
     institution of a future one as to have the benefit of neither.

In writing to Mr. Izard, who wrote to make some inquiries about a
school for his son in France, he makes the following remarks about
the education of boys:

_To Mr. Izard._

     I have never thought a boy should undertake abstruse or
     difficult sciences, such as mathematics in general, till fifteen
     years of age at soonest. Before that time they are best employed
     in learning the languages, which is merely a matter of memory.
     The languages are badly taught here. If you propose he should
     learn the Latin, perhaps you will prefer the having him taught
     it in America, and, of course, to retain him there two or three
     years more.

One of the most beautiful traits in Jefferson's character was the
tenderness of his love for a sister--Ann Scott Jefferson--who
was deficient in intellect, and who, on that account, was more
particularly the object of his brotherly love and attentions. The two
following letters addressed to her husband and herself on the event
of their marriage, while handsome and graceful letters in themselves,
are more interesting and greater proofs of the goodness of his heart
and the sincere warmth of his affections, from the simple character
and nature of those to whom they were addressed.

_To Mrs. Anna Scott Marks._

                                     Paris, July 12th, 1788.

     My dear Sister--My last letters from Virginia inform me of your
     marriage with Mr. Hastings Marks. I sincerely wish you joy and
     happiness in the new state into which you have entered. Though
     Mr. Marks was long my neighbor, eternal occupations in business
     prevented my having a particular acquaintance with him, as it
     prevented me from knowing more of my other neighbors, as I would
     have wished to have done. I saw enough, however, of Mr. Marks
     to form a very good opinion of him, and to believe that he will
     endeavor to render you happy. I am sure you will not be wanting
     on your part. You have seen enough of the different conditions
     of life to know that it is neither wealth nor splendor, but
     tranquillity and occupation, which give happiness. This truth I
     can confirm to you from longer observation and a greater scope
     of experience. I should wish to know where Mr. Marks proposes
     to settle and what line of life he will follow. In every
     situation I should wish to render him and you every service in
     my power, as you may be assured I shall ever feel myself warmly
     interested in your happiness, and preserve for you that sincere
     love I have always borne you. My daughters remember you with
     equal affection, and will, one of these days, tender it to you
     in person. They join me in wishing you all earthly felicity,
     and a continuance of your love to them. Accept assurances of
     the sincere attachment with which I am, my dear sister, your
     affectionate brother,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Hastings Marks._

  Paris, July 12th, 1788.

     Dear Sir--My letters from Virginia informing me of your
     intermarriage with my sister, I take the earliest opportunity
     of presenting you my sincere congratulations on that occasion.
     Though the occupations in which I was engaged prevented my
     forming with you that particular acquaintance which our
     neighborhood might have admitted, it did not prevent my
     entertaining a due sense of your merit. I am particularly
     pleased that Mr. Lewis has taken the precise measures which
     I had intended to recommend to him in order to put you into
     immediate possession of my sister's fortune in my hands. I
     should be happy to know where you mean to settle and what
     occupation you propose to follow--whether any other than that
     of a farmer, as I shall ever feel myself interested in your
     success, and wish to promote it by any means in my power, should
     any fall in my way. The happiness of a sister whom I very
     tenderly love being committed to your hands, I can not but offer
     prayers to Heaven for your prosperity and mutual satisfaction. A
     thorough knowledge of her merit and good dispositions encourages
     me to hope you will both find your happiness in this union, and
     this hope is encouraged by my knowledge of yourself. I beg you
     to be assured of the sentiments of sincere esteem and regard
     with which I shall be on all occasions, dear Sir, your friend
     and servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following is to his only brother:

_To Randolph Jefferson._

                                  Paris, January 11th, 1789.

     Dear Brother--The occurrences of this part of the globe are
     of a nature to interest you so little that I have never made
     them the subject of a letter to you. Another discouragement has
     been the distance and time a letter would be on its way. I have
     not the less continued to entertain for you the same sincere
     affection, the same wishes for your health and that of your
     family, and almost an envy of your quiet and retirement. The
     very short period of my life which I have passed unconnected
     with public business suffices to convince me it is the happiest
     of all situations, and that no society is so precious as that
     of one's own family. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you
     for a while the next summer. I have asked of Congress a leave
     of absence for six months, and if I obtain it in time I expect
     to sail from hence in April, and to return in the fall. This
     will enable me to pass two months at Monticello, during which I
     hope I shall see you and my sister there. You will there meet
     an old acquaintance, very small when you knew her, but now of
     good stature.[36] Polly you hardly remember, and she scarcely
     recollects you. Both will be happy to see you and my sister, and
     to be once more placed among their friends they well remember
     in Virginia.... Nothing in this country can make amends for
     what one loses by quitting their own. I suppose you are by this
     time the father of a numerous family, and that my namesake is
     big enough to begin the thraldom of education. Remember me
     affectionately to my sister, joining my daughters therein, who
     present their affectionate duty to you also; and accept yourself
     assurances of the sincere attachment and esteem of, dear brother,

                       Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

  [36] Martha Jefferson.

Six months before writing the above he wrote the following:

_To Mrs. Eppes._

                                     Paris, July 12th, 1788.

     Dear Madam--Your kind favor of January 6th has come duly to
     hand. These marks of your remembrance are always dear to me, and
     recall to my mind the happiest portion of my life. It is among
     my greatest pleasures to receive news of your welfare and that
     of your family. You improve in your trade, I see, and I heartily
     congratulate you on the double blessings of which Heaven has
     just begun to open her stores to you. Polly is infinitely
     flattered to find a namesake in one of them. She promises in
     return to teach them both French. This she begins to speak
     easily enough, and to read as well as English. She will begin
     Spanish in a few days, and has lately begun the harpsichord and
     drawing. She and her sister will be with me to-morrow, and if
     she has any tolerable scrap of her pencil ready I will inclose
     it herein for your diversion. I will propose to her, at the same
     time, to write to you. I know she will undertake it at once, as
     she has done a dozen times. She gets all the apparatus, places
     herself very formally with pen in hand, and it is not till after
     all this and rummaging her head thoroughly that she calls out,
     "Indeed, papa, I do not know what to say; you must help me,"
     and, as I obstinately refuse this, her good resolutions have
     always proved abortive, and her letters ended before they were
     begun. Her face kindles with love whenever she hears your name,
     and I assure you Patsy is not behind her in this. She remembers
     you with warm affection, recollects that she was bequeathed to
     you, and looks to you as her best future guide and guardian.
     She will have to learn from you things which she can not learn
     here, and which after all are among the most valuable parts
     of education for an American. Nor is the moment so distant as
     you imagine; on this I will enter into explanations in my next
     letter. I will only engage, from her dispositions, that you will
     always find in her the most passive compliance. You say nothing
     to us of Betsy, whom we all remember too well not to remember
     her affectionately. Jack, too, has failed to write to me since
     his first letter. I should be much pleased if he would himself
     give me the details of his occupations and progress. I would
     write to Mrs. Skipwith,[37] but I could only repeat to her what
     I say to you, that we love you both sincerely, and pass one
     day in every week together, and talk of nothing but Eppington,
     Hors-du-monde, and Monticello, and were we to pass the whole
     seven, the theme would still be the same. God bless you both,
     Madam, your husbands, your children, and every thing near and
     dear to you, and be assured of the constant affection of your
     sincere friend and humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

  [37] His sister-in-law, Mrs. Eppes's sister.


     Jefferson asks for leave of Absence.--Character of the Prince
     of Wales.--Letters to Madame de Brehan.--Fondness for Natural
     History.--Anecdote told by Webster.--Jefferson's Opinion of
     Chemistry.--Letter to Professor Willard.--Martha Jefferson.--
     She wishes to enter a Convent.--Her Father takes her Home.--He
     is impatient to return to Virginia.--Letter to Washington.--To
     Mrs. Eppes.--Receives leave of Absence.--Farewell to France.--
     Jefferson as an Ambassador.--He leaves Paris.--His Daughter's
     Account of the Voyage, and Arrival at Home.--His Reception by
     his Slaves.

In November, 1788, Mr. Jefferson wrote to Mr. Jay to petition
Congress for a leave of absence of five or six months. He earnestly
desired this leave, that he might return to America to look after his
own private affairs, which sadly needed his personal attention, and
that he might carry his daughters back to Virginia and leave them
with their relations there, as he thought they were now at an age
when they should be associating with those among whom they were to

During the months which elapsed before he received leave to return
home, his correspondence with his friends in America continued to be
interesting. In a letter written to Mr. Jay early in January, 1789,
we find the following sketch of a character then notorious in Europe:

_To John Jay._

     As the character of the Prince of Wales is becoming interesting,
     I have endeavored to learn what it truly is. This is less
     difficult in his case than it is in other persons of his rank,
     because he has taken no pains to hide himself from the world.
     The information I most rely on is from a person here, with whom
     I am intimate, who divides his time between Paris and London--an
     Englishman by birth, of truth, sagacity, and science. He is of
     a circle, when in London, which has had good opportunities
     of knowing the Prince; but he has also, himself, had special
     occasions of verifying their information by his own personal
     observations. He happened, when last in London, to be invited to
     a dinner of three persons. The Prince came by chance, and made
     the fourth. He ate half a leg of mutton; did not taste of small
     dishes, because small; drank Champagne and Burgundy as small
     beer during dinner, and Bourdeaux after dinner, as the rest of
     the company. Upon the whole, he ate as much as the other three,
     and drank about two bottles of wine without seeming to feel it.

     My informant sat next him, and being until then unknown to the
     Prince personally (though not by character), and lately from
     France, the Prince confined his conversation to him almost
     entirely. Observing to the Prince that he spoke French without
     the slightest foreign accent, the Prince told him that, when
     very young, his father had put only French servants about him,
     and that it was to that circumstance he owed his pronunciation.
     He led him from this to give an account of his education, the
     total of which was the learning a little Latin. He has not a
     single element of mathematics, of natural or moral philosophy,
     or of any other science on earth, nor has the society he has
     kept been such as to supply the void of education. It has been
     that of the lowest, the most illiterate and profligate persons
     of the kingdom, without choice of rank or mind, and with whom
     the subjects of conversation are only horses, drinking-matches,
     bawdy-houses, and in terms the most vulgar. The young nobility
     who begin by associating with him soon leave him disgusted by
     the insupportable profligacy of his society; and Mr. Fox, who
     has been supposed his favorite, and not over-nice in the choice
     of company, would never keep his company habitually. In fact,
     he never associated with a man of sense. He has not a single
     idea of justice, morality, religion, or of the rights of men,
     or any anxiety for the opinion of the world. He carries that
     indifference for fame so far, that he probably would not be hurt
     if he were to lose his throne, provided he could be assured of
     having always meat, horses, and women. In the article of women,
     nevertheless, he has become more correct since his connection
     with Mrs. Fitzherbert, who is an honest and worthy woman; he is
     even less crapulous than he was.

     He had a fine person, but it is becoming coarse. He possesses
     good native common sense, is affable, polite, and very
     good-humored--saying to my informant, on another occasion,
     "Your friend such a one dined with me yesterday, and I made him
     damned drunk;" he replied, "I am sorry for it. I had heard that
     your royal highness had left off drinking." The Prince laughed,
     tapped him on the shoulder very good-naturedly, without saying a
     word, or ever after showing any displeasure.

     The Duke of York, who was for some time cried up as the prodigy
     of the family, is as profligate and of less understanding. To
     these particular traits, from a man of sense and truth, it would
     be superfluous to add the general terms of praise or blame in
     which he is spoken of by other persons, in whose impartiality
     and penetration I have less confidence. A sample is better than
     a description. For the peace of Europe, it is best that the King
     should give such gleamings of recovery as would prevent the
     Regent or his ministry from thinking themselves firm, and yet
     that he should not recover.

The following letters were written by Jefferson to his friend
Madame de Brehan, who was still in America. The first is a note
of introduction given to one of his lady friends, and the second
contains an interesting account of the severity of the winter of
1788-'89 and of the sufferings of the poor in Paris.

_To Madame de Brehan._

                                     Paris, Feb. 15th, 1789.

     It is an office of great pleasure to me, my dear Madam, to bring
     good people together. I therefore present to you Mrs. Church,
     who makes a short visit to her native country. I will not tell
     you her amiable qualities, but leave you the pleasure of seeing
     them yourself. You will see many _au premier abord_, and you
     would see more every day of your lives, were every day of your
     lives to bring you together. In truth, I envy you the very gift
     I make you, and would willingly, if I could, take myself the
     moments of her society which I am procuring you. I need not pray
     you to load her with civilities. Both her character and yours
     will insure this. I will thank you for them in person, however,
     very soon after you shall receive this. Adieu, ma chère Madame.
     Agreez toutes les hommages de respect et d'attachement avec
     lesquelles j'ai l'honneur d'être, Madame, votre très humble et
     très obeissant serviteur,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Madame de Brehan._

                                    Paris, March 14th, 1789.

     Dear Madam--I had the honor of writing to you on the 15th of
     February, soon after which I had that of receiving your favor of
     December the 29th. I have a thousand questions to ask you about
     your journey to the Indian treaty, how you like their persons,
     their manners, their costumes, _cuisine_, etc. But this I must
     defer until I can do it personally in New York, where I hope to
     see you for a moment in the summer, and to take your commands
     for France. I have little to communicate to you from this place.
     It is deserted; every body being gone into the country to choose
     or be chosen deputies to the States General. I hope to see that
     great meeting before my departure. It is to be on the 27th of
     next month. A great political revolution will take place in your
     country, and that without bloodshed. A king, with two hundred
     thousand men at his orders, is disarmed by the force of public
     opinion and the want of money. Among the economies becoming
     necessary, perhaps one may be the Opera. They say it has cost
     the public treasury a hundred thousand crowns in the last year.
     A new theatre is established since your departure--that of the
     Opera Buffons, where Italian operas are given, and good music.
     Paris is every day enlarging and beautifying. I do not count
     among its beauties, however, the wall with which they have
     inclosed us. They have made some amends for this by making
     fine Boulevards within and without the walls. These are in
     considerable forwardness, and will afford beautiful rides around
     the city of between fifteen and twenty miles in circuit. We have
     had such a winter, Madame, as makes me shiver yet whenever I
     think of it. All communications, almost, were cut off. Dinners
     and suppers were suppressed, and the money laid out in feeding
     and warming the poor, whose labors were suspended by the rigors
     of the season. Loaded carriages passed the Seine on the ice, and
     it was covered with thousands of people from morning to night,
     skating and sliding. Such sights were never seen before, and
     they continued two months. We have nothing new and excellent
     in your charming art of painting. In fact, I do not feel an
     interest in any pencil but that of David. But I must not hazard
     details on a subject wherein I am so ignorant and you are such
     a connoisseur. Adieu, my dear Madam; permit me always the honor
     of esteeming and being esteemed by you, and of tendering you the
     homage of that respectful attachment, with which I am and shall
     ever be, dear Madam, your most obedient, humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

Jefferson's devotion to the study of Natural History is well
known, and the accuracy of his knowledge in it is most strikingly
illustrated in the following anecdote, which we quote from his
biography by Randall:

     An amusing anecdote is preserved of the subject of his
     correspondence with the celebrated Buffon. The story used to be
     so well told by Daniel Webster--who probably heard it from the
     lips of the New Hampshire party to it--that we will give it in
     his words, as we find it recorded by an intelligent writer, and
     one evidently very familiar with Mr. Webster, in an article in
     Harper's Magazine, entitled "Social Hours of Daniel Webster:"

       "Mr. Webster, in the course of his remarks, narrated a story
       of Jefferson's overcoming Buffon on a question of Natural
       History. It was a dispute in relation to the moose--the
       moose-deer, as it is called in New Hampshire--and in one of
       the circles of _beaux-esprits_ in Paris. Mr. Jefferson
       contended for certain characteristics in the formation of the
       animal which Buffon stoutly denied. Whereupon Mr. Jefferson,
       without giving any one notice of his intention, wrote from
       Paris to General John Sullivan, then residing in Durham, New
       Hampshire, to procure and send him the whole frame of a moose.
       The General was no little astonished at a request he deemed so
       extraordinary; but, well acquainted with Mr. Jefferson, he knew
       he must have sufficient motive for it; so he made a
       hunting-party of his neighbors, and took the field. They
       captured a moose of unusual proportions, stripped it to the
       bone, and sent the skeleton to Mr. Jefferson, at a cost of
       fifty pounds sterling. On its arrival Mr. Jefferson invited
       Buffon and some other _savants_ to a supper at his house, and
       exhibited his dear-bought specimen. Buffon immediately
       acknowledged his error, and expressed his great admiration for
       Mr. Jefferson's energetic determination to establish the truth.
       'I should have consulted you, Monsieur,' he said, with usual
       French civility, 'before publishing my book on Natural History,
       and then I should have been sure of my facts.'"

This has the advantage of most such anecdotes of eminent men, of
being accurate nearly to the letter, as far as it goes. The box of
President Sullivan (he was President of New Hampshire), containing
the bones, horns, and skin of a moose, and horns of the caribou elk,
deer, spiked horned buck, etc., reached Mr. Jefferson on the 2d of
October. They were the next day forwarded to Buffon--who, however,
proved to be out of town. On his return, he took advantage of a
supper at Jefferson's, to make the handsome admissions mentioned by
Mr. Webster.[38]

  [38] See Randall's Life of Jefferson, vol. i., p. 490.

In a letter written early in the summer of the year 1788 to the
Rev. Mr. Madison, of William and Mary College, we find Jefferson
again right and Buffon wrong on a scientific subject. The student of
chemistry will smile at Buffon's opinion, while he can not but admire
Jefferson's wonderful foresight in predicting the discoveries to be
made in that science, even though he should have erred in his opinion
of Lavoisier's chemical nomenclature. We quote the following from the
above-mentioned letter:

_To Rev. Mr. Madison._

     Speaking one day with Monsieur de Buffon on the present ardor
     of chemical inquiry, he affected to consider chemistry but as
     cookery, and to place the toils of the laboratory on a footing
     with those of the kitchen. I think it, on the contrary, among
     the most useful of sciences, and big with future discoveries for
     the utility and safety of the human race. It is yet, indeed, a
     mere embryon. Its principles are contested; experiments seem
     contradictory, their subjects are so minute as to escape our
     senses; and their results too fallacious to satisfy the mind.
     It is probably an age too soon to propose the establishment of
     a system. The attempts, therefore, of Lavoisier to reform the
     chemical nomenclature is premature. One single experiment may
     destroy the whole filiation of his terms, and his string of
     sulphates, sulphites, and sulphures may have served no other end
     than to have retarded the progress of the science, by a jargon,
     from the confusion of which time will be requisite to extricate
     us. Accordingly, it is not likely to be admitted generally.

The letter of which we now give the conclusion shows how closely
and how minutely Jefferson watched and studied the improvements and
progress made in the arts and sciences during his stay in Europe.
This letter--to be found in both editions of his correspondence--was
written in the spring of the year 1789, and addressed to Doctor
Willard, professor in the University of Harvard, which University
had just conferred on Jefferson a diploma as Doctor of Laws. After
mentioning and criticising all the late publications bearing on the
different branches of science and letters, he makes the following
eloquent conclusion:

_To Dr. Willard._

     What a field have we at our doors to signalize ourselves in! The
     Botany of America is far from being exhausted, its mineralogy
     is untouched, and its Natural History or Zoology totally
     mistaken and misrepresented. As far as I have seen, there is
     not one single species of terrestrial birds common to Europe
     and America, and I question if there be a single species of
     quadrupeds. (Domestic animals are to be excepted.) It is for
     such institutions as that over which you preside so worthily,
     Sir, to do justice to our country, its productions, and its
     genius. It is the work to which the young men you are forming
     should lay their hands. We have spent the prime of our lives
     in procuring them the precious blessing of liberty. Let them
     spend theirs in showing that it is the great parent of _science_
     and of virtue, and that a nation will be great in both always
     in proportion as it is free. Nobody wishes more warmly for
     the success of your good exhortations on this subject than he
     who has the honor to be, with sentiments of great esteem and
     respect, Sir, your most obedient humble servant, etc.

Mr. Jefferson, as I have elsewhere noticed, placed his daughters at
school in a convent, and they were there educated during his stay
in Paris. His daughter Martha was now in her sixteenth year. She
had not failed to take advantage of the fine opportunities of being
an accomplished and well-informed woman which had been secured to
her by the most thoughtful and devoted of fathers. She was a good
linguist, an accomplished musician, and well read for her years;
and we doubt whether any of her Virginian or even American female
contemporaries could boast so thorough an education as could the
modest, yet highly-gifted, Martha Jefferson. The gentle and loving
kindness lavished on her by the inmates of the convent won for them
her warmest affection, while the sweet amiability of her disposition,
the charming simplicity of her manner, and the unusual powers of her
mind endeared her to them. Thus her school-days flowed peacefully
and gently by. But while their father had so carefully secured for
his daughters a good mental and moral training by the situation in
which he had placed them, he had overlooked the danger of their
becoming too fond of it. He was startled, therefore, by receiving
a note from Martha requesting permission to enter the convent and
spend the rest of her days in the discharge of the duties of a
religious life. He acted on this occasion with his usual tact. He did
not reply to the note, but after a day or two drove to the Abbaye,
had a private interview with the Abbess, and then asked for his
daughters. He received them with more than usual affectionate warmth
of manner, and, without making the least allusion to Martha's note
or its contents, told his daughters that he had called to take them
from school, and accordingly he drove back home accompanied by them.
Martha was soon introduced into society at the brilliant court of
Louis the Sixteenth, and soon forgot her girlish desire to enter a
convent. No word in allusion to the subject ever passed between the
father and daughter, and it was not referred to by either of them
until years afterwards, when she spoke of it to her children.

Getting more and more impatient for leave to return home for a few
months, we find Jefferson writing to Washington, in the spring of
1789, as follows:

_To George Washington._

     In a letter of November 19th to Mr. Jay, I asked a leave of
     absence to carry my children back to their own country, and to
     settle various matters of a private nature, which were left
     unsettled, because I had no idea of being absent so long. I
     expected that letter would have been received in time to be
     acted upon by the Government then existing. I know now that it
     would arrive when there was no Congress, and consequently that
     it must have awaited your arrival in New York. I hope you found
     the request not an unreasonable one. I am excessively anxious
     to receive the permission without delay, that I may be able to
     get back before the winter sets in. Nothing can be so dreadful
     to me as to be shivering at sea for two or three months in a
     winter passage. Besides, there has never been a moment at which
     the presence of a minister here could be so well dispensed with,
     from certainty of no war this summer, and that the Government
     will be so totally absorbed in domestic arrangements as to
     attend to nothing exterior.

In the same letter we find him congratulating Washington on his
election as President, and seizing that occasion to pay a graceful
tribute to him of praise and admiration, and also of affection. He

     Though we have not heard of the actual opening of the new
     Congress, and consequently have not official information of your
     election as President of the United States, yet, as there never
     could be a doubt entertained of it, permit me to express here my
     felicitations, not to yourself, but to my country. Nobody who
     has tried both public and private life can doubt but that you
     were much happier on the banks of the Potomac than you will be
     at New York. But there was nobody so well qualified as yourself
     to put our new machine into a regular course of action--nobody,
     the authority of whose name could have so effectually crushed
     opposition at home and produced respect abroad. I am sensible
     of the immensity of the sacrifice on your part. Your measure
     of fame was full to the brim; and therefore you have nothing
     to gain. But there are cases wherein it is a duty to risk all
     against nothing, and I believe this was exactly the case. We
     may presume, too, according to every rule of probability, that,
     after doing a great deal of good, you will be found to have lost
     nothing but private repose.

How anxiously Jefferson awaited the arrival of his leave of
absence will be seen from the letter below, written by him to his

_To Mrs. Eppes._

                                     Paris, Dec. 15th, 1788.

     Dear Madam--In my last, of July 12th, I told you that in my next
     I would enter into explanations about the time my daughters
     would have the happiness to see you. Their future welfare
     requires that this should be no longer postponed. It would have
     taken place a year sooner, but that I wished Polly to perfect
     herself in her French. I have asked leave of absence of Congress
     for five or six months of the next year, and if I obtain it in
     time I shall endeavor to sail about the middle of April. As my
     time must be passed principally at Monticello during the two
     months I destine for Virginia, I shall hope that you will come
     and encamp there with us a while. He who feedeth the sparrow
     must feed us also. Feasting we shall not expect, but this will
     not be our object. The society of our friends will sweeten all.
     Patsy has just recovered from an indisposition of some days.
     Polly has the same; it is a slight but continual fever, not
     sufficient, however, to confine her to her bed. This prevents
     me from being able to tell you that they are absolutely well.
     I inclose a letter which Polly wrote a month ago to her aunt
     Skipwith, and her sickness will apologize for her not writing
     to you or her cousins; she makes it up in love to you all, and
     Patsy equally, but this she will tell you herself, as she is
     writing to you. I hope you will find her an estimable friend as
     well as a dutiful niece. She inherits stature from her father,
     and that, you know, is inheriting no trifle. Polly grows fast.
     I should write to Mrs. Skipwith also, but that I rely on your
     friendship to repeat to her the assurance of my affection for
     her and Mr. Skipwith. We look forward with impatience to the
     moment when we may be all reunited, though but for a little
     time. Kiss your dear children for us, the little and the big,
     and tender them my warmest affections, accepting yourself
     assurances of the sincere esteem and attachment, with which I
     am, my dear Madam, your affectionate and humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The long-expected leave of absence came at last, and was received by
Jefferson during the last days of August (1789). October being deemed
the best month in which to be at sea, he postponed his voyage until
that time. He left Paris on the 26th of September, as he thought,
to be absent only a few months, but, as the event proved, never
to return again. We find in his Memoir the following affectionate
farewell to the kind people and the fair land of France:

     I can not leave this great and good country without expressing
     my sense of its pre-eminence of character among the nations of
     the earth. A more benevolent people I have never known, nor
     greater warmth and devotedness in their select friendships.
     Their kindness and accommodation to strangers is unparalleled,
     and the hospitality of Paris is beyond any thing I had conceived
     to be practicable in a large city. Their eminence, too, in
     science, the communicative dispositions of their scientific men,
     the politeness of their general manners, the ease and vivacity
     of their conversation, give a charm to their society to be found
     nowhere else. In a comparison of this with other countries, we
     have the proof of primacy which was given to Themistocles after
     the battle of Salamis. Every general voted to himself the first
     reward of valor, and the second to Themistocles. So, ask the
     travelled inhabitant of any nation, on what country on earth
     would you rather live?--Certainly in my own, where are all my
     friends, my relations, and the earliest and sweetest affections
     and recollections of my life. Which would be your second choice?

Of Jefferson's discharge of his duties as minister at the Court of
St. Germains, Mr. Webster spoke thus:

     Mr. Jefferson's discharge of his diplomatic duties was marked
     by great ability, diligence, and patriotism; and while he
     resided at Paris, in one of the most interesting periods, his
     character for intelligence, his love of knowledge and of the
     society of learned men, distinguished him in the highest circles
     of the French capital. No court in Europe had at that time a
     representative in Paris commanding or enjoying higher regard,
     for political knowledge or for general attainments, than the
     minister of this then infant republic.

So, too, the Edinburgh Review, though no admirer of Jefferson's
political creed, says of his ambassadorial career:

     His watchfulness on every subject which might bear on the most
     favorable arrangement of their new commercial treaties, his
     perseverance in seeking to negotiate a general alliance against
     Algiers, the skill and knowledge with which he argued the
     different questions of national interest that arose during his
     residence, will not suffer even in comparison with Franklin's
     diplomatic talents. Every thing he sees seems to suggest to
     him the question whether it can be made useful in America.
     Could we compare a twelvemonth's letters from our ambassadors'
     bags at Paris, Florence, or elsewhere, we should see whether
     our enormous diplomatic salaries are any thing else than very
     successful measures for securing our business being ill and idly

Jefferson, as I have just mentioned, left Paris the last of
September. The account given below, of his journey home and reception
there, is from the narrative of Martha Jefferson, before quoted:

     In returning, he was detained ten days at Havre de Grace, and,
     after crossing the Channel, ten more at Cowes, in the Isle of
     Wight, which were spent in visiting different parts of the
     island, when the weather permitted: among others, Carisbrook
     Castle, remarkable for the confinement of Charles the First,
     and also for a well of uncommon depth. We sailed on the 23d of
     October, 1789, in company with upwards of thirty vessels who
     had collected there and been detained, as we were, by contrary
     winds. Colonel Trumbull, who chartered the ship for my father
     in London, applied to Mr. Pitt to give orders to prevent his
     baggage from being searched on his arrival, informing Mr. Pitt
     at the same time that the application was made without his
     knowledge. The orders to such an effect were accordingly issued,
     I presume, as he was spared the usual vexation of such a search.
     The voyage was quick and not unpleasant. When we arrived on the
     coast there was so thick a mist as to render it impossible to
     see a pilot, had any of them been out. After beating about three
     days, the captain, a bold as well as an experienced seaman,
     determined to run in at a venture, without having seen the
     Capes. The ship came near running upon what was conjectured to
     be the Middle Ground, when anchor was cast at ten o'clock P.M.
     The wind rose, and the vessel drifted down, dragging her anchor,
     one or more miles. But she had got within the Capes, while a
     number which had been less bold were blown off the coast, some
     of them lost, and all kept out three or four weeks longer. We
     had to beat up against a strong head-wind, which carried away
     our topsails; and we were very near being run down by a brig
     coming out of port, which, having the wind in her favor, was
     almost upon us before we could get out of the way. We escaped,
     however, with only the loss of a part of our rigging. My father
     had been so anxious about his public accounts, that he would
     not trust them to go until he went with them. We arrived at
     Norfolk in the forenoon, and in two hours after landing, before
     an article of our baggage was brought ashore, the vessel took
     fire, and seemed on the point of being reduced to a mere hull.
     They were in the act of scuttling her, when some abatement in
     the flames was discovered, and she was finally saved. So great
     had been the activity of her crew, and of those belonging to
     other ships in the harbor who came to their aid, that every
     thing in her was saved. Our trunks, and perhaps also the papers,
     had been put in our state-rooms, and the doors incidentally
     closed by the captain. They were so close that the flames did
     not penetrate; but the powder in a musket in one of them was
     silently consumed, and the thickness of the travelling-trunks
     alone saved their contents from the excessive heat. I understood
     at the time that the state-rooms alone, of all the internal
     partitions, escaped burning. Norfolk had not recovered from
     the effects of the war, and we should have found it difficult
     to obtain rooms but for the politeness of the gentlemen at the
     hotel (Lindsay's), who were kind enough to give up their own
     rooms for our accommodation.

     There were no stages in those days. We were indebted to the
     kindness of our friends for horses; and visiting all on the
     way homeward, and spending more or less time with them all in
     turn, we reached Monticello on the 23d of December. The negroes
     discovered the approach of the carriage as soon as it reached
     Shadwell,[39] and such a scene I never witnessed in my life.
     They collected in crowds around it, and almost drew it up the
     mountain by hand. The shouting, etc., had been sufficiently
     obstreperous before, but the moment it arrived at the top it
     reached the climax. When the door of the carriage was opened,
     they received him in their arms and bore him to the house,
     crowding around and kissing his hands and feet--some blubbering
     and crying--others laughing. It seemed impossible to satisfy
     their anxiety to touch and kiss the very earth which bore him.
     These were the first ebullitions of joy for his return, after a
     long absence, which they would of course feel; but perhaps it is
     not out of place here to add that they were at all times very
     devoted in their attachment to him.

  [39] Shadwell is four miles distant from Monticello.

A letter written by Mr. Jefferson to his overseer had been the means
of the negroes getting information of their master's return home
some days before he arrived. They were wild with joy, and requested
to have holiday on the day on which he was expected to reach
home. Their request was, of course, granted, and they accordingly
assembled at Monticello from Mr. Jefferson's different farms. The
old and the young came--women and children--and, growing impatient,
they sauntered down the mountain-side and down the road until they
met the carriage-and-four at Shadwell, when the welkin rang with
their shouts of welcome. Martha Jefferson speaks of their "almost"
drawing the carriage by hand up the mountain: her memory in this
instance may have failed her, for I have had it from the lips of old
family servants who were present as children on the occasion, that
the horses were actually "unhitched," and the vehicle drawn by the
strong black arms up to the foot of the lawn in front of the door at
Monticello. The appearance of the young ladies, before whom they fell
back and left the way clear for them to reach the house, filled them
with admiration. They had left them when scarcely more than children
in the arms, and now returned--Martha a tall and stately-looking girl
of seventeen years, and the little Maria, now in her eleventh year,
more beautiful and, if possible, more lovable than when, two years
before, her beauty and her loveliness had warmed into enthusiasm the
reserved but kind-hearted Mrs. Adams.

The father and his two daughters were then at last once more
domiciled within the walls of their loved Monticello. How grateful
it would have been for him never again to have been called away from
home to occupy a public post, the following extract from a letter
written by him before leaving Paris will show. He writes to Madison:

     You ask me if I would accept any appointment on that side
     of the water? You know the circumstances which led me from
     retirement, step by step, and from one nomination to another, up
     to the present. My object is to return to the same retirement.
     Whenever, therefore, I quit the present, it will not be to
     engage in any other office, and most especially any one which
     would require a constant residence from home.


Letters on the French Revolution.

I have thought it best to throw into one chapter the extracts from
Mr. Jefferson's Letters and Memoir which relate to the scenes that
he witnessed at the beginning of the Revolution. These are so
interesting as almost to make us regret, with himself, that he should
have been recalled from France at that most fearfully interesting
period of her history. What pictures his pen would have preserved to
us of scenes, of many of which he would have been an eye-witness, and
how the student of history would revel in his dispatches home, which,
like those he has left us, must have abounded in interesting details
and sketches of character!

In giving these extracts, I shall merely indicate the date of the
letters, and the persons to whom they were addressed:

_To John Jay, February 23d, 1787._

     The Assemblée des Notables being an event in the history of this
     country which excites notice, I have supposed it would not be
     disagreeable to you to learn its immediate objects, though no
     way connected with our interests. The Assembly met yesterday;
     the King, in a short but affectionate speech, informed them of
     his wish to consult with them on the plans he had digested, and
     on the general good of his people, and his desire to imitate
     the head of his family, Henry IV., whose memory is so dear
     to the nation. The Garde des Sceaux then spoke about twenty
     minutes, chiefly in compliment to the orders present. The
     Comptroller-general, in a speech of about an hour, opened the
     budjet, and enlarged on the several subjects which will be under
     their deliberation.

_To James Madison, June 20th, 1787._

     The King loves business, economy, order, and justice, and wishes
     sincerely the good of his people; but he is irascible, rude,
     very limited in his understanding, and religious bordering
     on bigotry. He has no mistress, loves his queen, and is too
     much governed by her. She is capricious, like her brother,
     and governed by him; devoted to pleasure and expense, and not
     remarkable for any other vices or virtues. Unhappily, the King
     shows a propensity for the pleasures of the table. That for
     drink has increased lately, or, at least, it has become more

_To John Jay, August 7th, 1787._

     The Parliament were received yesterday very harshly by the
     King. He obliged them to register the two edicts for the impôt,
     territorial, and stamp-tax. When speaking in my letter of the
     reiterated orders and refusals to register, which passed between
     the King and Parliament, I omitted to insert the King's answer
     to a deputation of Parliament, which attended him at Versailles.
     It may serve to show the spirit which exists between them. It
     was in these words, and these only: "Je vous ferai savoir mes
     intentions. Allez-vous-en. Qu'on ferme la porte!"

_To John Adams, August 30th, 1787._

     It is urged principally against the King, that his revenue
     is one hundred and thirty millions more than that of his
     predecessor was, and yet he demands one hundred and twenty
     millions further.... In the mean time, all tongues in Paris
     (and in France, as it is said) have been let loose, and never
     was a license of speaking against the Government exercised in
     London more freely or more universally. Caricatures, placards,
     bons-mots, have been indulged in by all ranks of people, and
     I know of no well-attested instance of a single punishment.
     For some time mobs of ten, twenty, and thirty thousand people
     collected daily, surrounded the Parliament-house, huzzaed the
     members, even entered the doors and examined into their conduct,
     took the horses out of the carriages of those who did well, and
     drew them home. The Government thought it prudent to prevent
     these, drew some regiments into the neighborhood, multiplied
     the guards, had the streets constantly patrolled by strong
     parties, suspended privileged places, forbade all clubs, etc.
     The mobs have ceased: perhaps this may be partly owing to the
     absence of Parliament. The Count d'Artois, sent to hold a bed
     of justice in the Cour des Aides, was hissed and hooted without
     reserve by the populace; the carriage of Madame de (I forget
     the name), in the Queen's livery, was stopped by the populace,
     under the belief that it was Madame de Polignac, whom they would
     have insulted; the Queen going to the theatre at Versailles with
     Madame de Polignac, was received with a general hiss. The King,
     long in the habit of drowning his cares in wine, plunges deeper
     and deeper. The Queen cries, but sins on. The Count d'Artois
     is detested, and Monsieur the general favorite. The Archbishop
     of Toulouse is made minister principal--a virtuous, patriotic,
     and able character. The Marechal de Castries retired yesterday,
     notwithstanding strong solicitations to remain in office. The
     Marechal de Segur retired at the same time, prompted to it by
     the court.

_To John Jay, October 8th, 1787._

     There has long been a division in the Council here on the
     question of war and peace. Monsieur de Montmorin and Monsieur
     de Breteuil have been constantly for war. They are supported in
     this by the Queen. The King goes for nothing. He hunts one-half
     the day, is drunk the other, and signs whatever he is bid. The
     Archbishop of Toulouse desires peace. Though brought in by the
     Queen, he is opposed to her in this capital object, which would
     produce an alliance with her brother. Whether the Archbishop
     will yield or not, I know not. But an intrigue is already begun
     for ousting him from his place, and it is rather probable it
     will succeed. He is a good and patriotic minister for peace, and
     very capable in the department of finance. At least, he is so in
     theory. I have heard his talents for execution censured.

_To John Jay, November 3d, 1787._

     It may not be uninstructive to give you the origin and nature
     of his (the Archbishop of Toulouse) influence with the Queen.
     When the Duke de Choiseul proposed the marriage of the Dauphin
     with this lady, he thought it proper to send a person to Vienna
     to perfect her in the language. He asked his friend, the
     Archbishop of Toulouse, to recommend to him a proper person. He
     recommended a certain Abbé. The Abbé, from his first arrival at
     Vienna, either tutored by his patron or prompted by gratitude,
     impressed on the Queen's mind the exalted talents and merit of
     the Archbishop, and continually represented him as the only
     man fit to be placed at the helm of affairs. On his return to
     Paris, being retained near the person of the Queen, he kept
     him constantly in her view. The Archbishop was named of the
     Assemblée des Notables, had occasion enough there to prove
     his talents, and Count de Vergennes, his great enemy, dying
     opportunely, the Queen got him into place.

Writing to Mr. Jay on September 3d, 1788, Mr. Jefferson, after
alluding to the public bankruptcy and the moneyless condition of the
treasury, goes on to say:

_To John Jay, September 3d, 1788._

     The Archbishop was hereupon removed, with Monsieur Lambert,
     the Comptroller-general; and M. Necker was called in as
     Director-general of the finance. To soften the Archbishop's
     dismission, a cardinal's hat is asked for him from Rome, and
     his nephew promised the succession to the Archbishopric of
     Sens. The public joy on this change of administration was very
     great indeed. The people of Paris were amusing themselves with
     trying and burning the Archbishop in effigy, and rejoicing in
     the appointment of M. Necker. The commanding officer of the
     City Guards undertook to forbid this, and, not being obeyed, he
     charged the mob with fixed bayonets, killed two or three, and
     wounded many. This stopped their rejoicings for that day; but,
     enraged at being thus obstructed in amusements wherein they had
     committed no disorder whatever, they collected in great numbers
     the next day, attacked the Guards in various places, burnt ten
     or twelve guard-houses, killed two or three of the guards, and
     had about six or eight of their own number killed. The city was
     hereupon put under martial law, and after a while the tumult
     subsided, and peace was restored.

_To George Washington, December 21st, 1788._

     In my opinion, a kind of influence which none of their plans
     of reform take into account, will elude them all--I mean the
     influence of women in the Government. The manners of the
     nation allow them to visit, alone, all persons in office, to
     solicit the affairs of the husband, family, or friends, and
     their solicitations bid defiance to laws and regulations. This
     obstacle may seem less to those who, like our countrymen, are
     in the precious habit of considering right as a barrier against
     all solicitation. Nor can such an one, without the evidence of
     his own eyes, believe in the desperate state to which things are
     reduced in this country, from the omnipotence of an influence
     which, fortunately for the happiness of the sex itself, does not
     endeavor to extend itself, in our country, beyond the domestic

_To Colonel Humphreys, March 18th, 1789._

     The change in this country, since you left it, is such as you
     can form no idea of. The frivolities of conversation have given
     way entirely to politics. Men, women, and children talk nothing
     else; and all, you know, talk a great deal. The press groans
     with daily productions which, in point of boldness, make an
     Englishman stare, who hitherto has thought himself the boldest
     of men. A complete revolution in this Government has, within the
     space of two years (for it began with the Notables of 1787),
     been effected merely by the force of public opinion, aided,
     indeed, by the want of money, which the dissipations of the
     court had brought on. And this revolution has not cost a single
     life, unless we charge to it a little riot lately in Bretagne,
     which began about the price of bread, became afterwards
     political, and ended in the loss of four or five lives. The
     Assembly of the States General begins the 27th of April. The
     representation of the people will be perfect; but they will
     be alloyed by an equal number of the nobility and clergy. The
     first great question they will have to decide will be, whether
     they shall vote by orders or persons. And I have hopes that the
     majority of the nobles are already disposed to join the Tiers
     Etat in deciding that the vote shall be by persons. This is the
     opinion _à la mode_ at present, and mode has acted a wonderful
     part in the present instance. All the handsome young women,
     for example, are for the Tiers Etat, and this is an army more
     powerful in France than the two hundred thousand men of the King.

_To William Carmichael, May 8th, 1789._

     The States General were opened day before yesterday. Viewing
     it as an opera, it was imposing; as a scene of business, the
     King's speech was exactly what it should have been, and very
     well delivered; not a word of the Chancellor's was heard by any
     body, so that, as yet, I have never heard a single guess at
     what it was about. M. Necker's was as good as such a number of
     details would permit it to be. The picture of their resources
     was consoling, and generally plausible. I could have wished him
     to have dwelt more on those great constitutional reformations,
     which his "Rapport au Roi" had prepared us to expect. But they
     observe that these points were proper for the speech of the

_To John Jay, May 9th, 1789._

     The revolution of this country has advanced thus far without
     encountering any thing which deserves to be called a difficulty.
     There have been riots in a few instances, in three or four
     different places, in which there may have been a dozen or twenty
     lives lost. The exact truth is not to be got at. A few days
     ago a much more serious riot took place in this city, in which
     it became necessary for the troops to engage in regular action
     with the mob, and probably about one hundred of the latter were
     killed. Accounts vary from twenty to two hundred. They were the
     most abandoned banditti of Paris, and never was a riot more
     unprovoked and unpitied. They began, under a pretense that a
     paper manufacturer had proposed, in an assembly, to reduce their
     wages to fifteen sous a day. They rifled his house, destroyed
     every thing in his magazines and shops, and were only stopped in
     their career of mischief by the carnage above mentioned. Neither
     this nor any other of the riots have had a professed connection
     with the great national reformation going on. They are such as
     have happened every year since I have been here, and as will
     continue to be produced by common incidents.

In the same letter, in speaking of the King, he says:

     Happy that he is an honest, unambitious man, who desires neither
     money nor power for himself; and that his most operative
     minister, though he has appeared to trim a little, is still, in
     the main, a friend to public liberty.

In a letter to Mr. Jay, June 17, 1789, after alluding to the
continued disagreement between the orders composing the States
General, as to whether they should vote by persons or orders, he says:

_To John Jay, June 17th, 1789._

     The Noblesse adhered to their former resolutions, and even the
     minority, well disposed to the Commons, thought they could do
     more good in their own chamber, by endeavoring to increase
     their numbers and fettering the measures of the majority, than
     by joining the Commons. An intrigue was set on foot between
     the leaders of the majority in that House, the Queen and
     Princes. They persuaded the King to go for some time to Marly;
     he went. On the same day the leaders moved, in the Chamber of
     Nobles, that they should address the King to declare his own
     sentiments on the great question between the orders. It was
     intended that this address should be delivered to him at Marly,
     where, separated from his ministers, and surrounded by the
     Queen and Princes, he might be surprised into a declaration
     for the Nobles. The motion was lost, however, by a very great
     majority, that Chamber being not yet quite ripe for throwing
     themselves into the arms of despotism. Necker and Monmorin, who
     had discovered this intrigue, had warned some of the minority to
     defeat it, or they could not answer for what would happen....
     The Commons (Tiers Etat) having verified their powers, a motion
     was made, the day before yesterday, to declare themselves
     constituted, and to proceed to business. I left them at two
     o'clock yesterday; the debates not then finished....

     It is a tremendous cloud, indeed, which hovers over this nation,
     and he (Necker) at the helm has neither the courage nor the
     skill necessary to weather it. Eloquence in a high degree,
     knowledge in matters of account, and order, are distinguishing
     traits in his character. Ambition is his first passion, virtue
     his second. He has not discovered that sublime truth, that a
     bold, unequivocal virtue is the best handmaid even to ambition,
     and would carry him farther, in the end, than the temporizing,
     wavering policy he pursues. His judgment is not of the first
     order, scarcely even of the second; his resolution frail; and,
     upon the whole, it is rare to meet an instance of a person so
     much below the reputation he has obtained.

_To John Jay, June 24th, 1789._

     My letter of the 17th and 18th instant gave you the progress of
     the States General to the 17th, when the Tiers had declared the
     illegality of all the existing taxes, and their discontinuance
     from the end of their present session. The next day being a jour
     de fête, could furnish no indication of the impression that vote
     was likely to make on the Government. On the 19th, a Council was
     held at Marly, in the afternoon. It was there proposed that the
     King should interpose by a declaration of his sentiments in a
     _seance royale_. The declaration prepared by M. Necker, while
     it censured, in general, the proceedings both of the Nobles and
     Commons, announced the King's views, such as substantially to
     coincide with the Commons. It was agreed to in Council, as also
     that the _seance royale_ should be held on the 22d, and the
     meetings till then be suspended. While the Council was engaged
     in this deliberation at Marly, the Chamber of the Clergy was in
     debate, whether they should accept the invitation of the Tiers
     to unite with them in the common chamber. On the first question,
     to unite simply and unconditionally, it was decided in the
     negative by a very small majority. As it was known, however,
     that some members who had voted in the negative would be for the
     affirmative, with some modifications, the question was put with
     these modifications, and it was determined, by a majority of
     eleven members, that their body should join the Tiers.

     These proceedings of the Clergy were unknown to the Council at
     Marly, and those of the Council were kept secret from every
     body. The next morning (the 20th) the members repaired to
     the House, as usual, found the doors shut and guarded, and
     a proclamation posted up for holding a _seance royale_ on
     the 22d, and a suspension of their meetings till then. They
     presumed, in the first moment, that their dissolution was
     decided, and repaired to another place, where they proceeded to
     business. They there bound themselves to each other by an oath
     never to separate of their own accord till they had settled a
     Constitution for the nation on a solid basis, and, if separated
     by force, that they would reassemble in some other place. It
     was intimated to them, however, that day, privately, that the
     proceedings of the _seance royale_ would be favorable to them.
     The next day they met in a church, and were joined by a majority
     of the Clergy. The heads of the aristocracy saw that all was
     lost without some violent exertion. The King was still at Marly.
     Nobody was permitted to approach him but their friends. He was
     assailed by lies in all shapes. He was made to believe that
     the Commons were going to absolve the army from their oath of
     fidelity to him, and to raise their pay.... They procured a
     committee to be held, consisting of the King and his ministers,
     to which Monsieur and the Count d'Artois should be admitted.
     At this committee the latter attacked M. Necker personally,
     arraigned his plans, and proposed one which some of his engines
     had put into his hands. M. Necker, whose characteristic is the
     want of firmness, was browbeaten and intimidated, and the King

     He determined that the two plans should be deliberated on the
     next day, and the _seance royale_ put off a day longer. This
     encouraged a fiercer attack on M. Necker the next day; his plan
     was totally dislocated, and that of the Count d'Artois inserted
     into it. Himself and Monsieur de Montmorin offered their
     resignation, which was refused; the Count d'Artois saying to M.
     Necker, "No, Sir, you must be kept as the hostage; we hold you
     responsible for all the ill which shall happen." This change of
     plan was immediately whispered without doors. The nobility were
     in triumph, the people in consternation. When the King passed,
     the next day, through the lane they formed from the Château
     to the Hôtel des Etats (about half a mile), there was a dead
     silence. He was about an hour in the House delivering his speech
     and declaration, copies of which I inclose you. On his coming
     out, a feeble cry of "Vive le Roi" was raised by some children,
     but the people remained silent and sullen. When the Duke of
     Orleans followed, however, their applauses were excessive. This
     must have been sensible to the King. He had ordered, in the
     close of his speech, that the members should follow him, and
     resume their deliberations the next day. The Noblesse followed
     him, and so did the Clergy, except about thirty, who, with the
     Tiers, remained in the room and entered into deliberation. They
     protested against what the King had done, adhered to all their
     former proceedings, and resolved the inviolability of their own
     persons. An officer came twice to order them out of the room, in
     the King's name, but they refused to obey.

     In the afternoon, the people, uneasy, began to assemble in great
     numbers in the courts and vicinities of the palace. The Queen
     was alarmed, and sent for M. Necker. He was conducted amidst the
     shouts and acclamations of the multitude, who filled all the
     apartments of the palace. He was a few minutes only with the
     Queen, and about three-quarters of an hour with the King. Not a
     word has transpired of what passed at these interviews. The King
     was just going to ride out. He passed through the crowd to his
     carriage, and into it, without being in the least noticed. As
     M. Necker followed him, universal acclamations were raised of
     "Vive Monsieur Necker, vive le sauveur de la France opprimée."
     He was conducted back to his house with the same demonstrations
     of affection and anxiety.... These circumstances must wound the
     heart of the King, desirous as he is to possess the affections
     of his subjects....

     _June 25th._--Just returned from Versailles, I am enabled to
     continue my narration. On the 24th nothing remarkable passed,
     except an attack by the mob of Versailles on the Archbishop of
     Paris, who had been one of the instigators of the court to the
     proceedings of the _seance royale_. They threw mud and stones
     at his carriage, broke the windows of it, and he in a fright
     promised to join the Tiers.

_To John Jay, June 29th, 1789._

     I have before mentioned to you the ferment into which the
     proceedings at the _seance royale_ of the 23d had thrown the
     people. The soldiery also were affected by it. It began in the
     French Guards, extended to those of every other denomination
     (except the Swiss), and even to the bodyguards of the King. They
     began to quit their barracks, to assemble in squads, to declare
     they would defend the life of the King, but would not cut the
     throats of their fellow-citizens. They were treated and caressed
     by the people, carried in triumph through the streets, called
     themselves the soldiers of the nation, and left no doubt on
     which side they would be in case of a rupture.

In his Memoir Jefferson writes, in allusion to the spirit among the
soldiery above noticed:

_Extract from Memoir._

     The operation of this medicine at Versailles was as sudden
     as it was powerful. The alarm there was so complete, that in
     the afternoon of the 27th the King wrote, with his own hand,
     letters to the Presidents of the Clergy and Nobles, engaging
     them immediately to join the Tiers. These two bodies were
     debating and hesitating, when notes from the Count d'Artois
     decided their compliance. They went in a body, and took their
     seats with the Tiers, and thus rendered the union of the orders
     in one Chamber complete.... But the quiet of their march was
     soon disturbed by information that troops, and particularly the
     foreign troops, were advancing on Paris from various quarters.
     The King had probably been advised to this, on the pretext of
     preserving peace in Paris. But his advisers were believed to
     have other things in contemplation. The Marshal de Broglio was
     appointed to their command--a high-flying aristocrat, cool, and
     capable of every thing. Some of the French Guards were soon
     arrested under other pretexts, but really on account of their
     dispositions in favor of the national cause. The people of Paris
     forced their prison, liberated them, and sent a deputation to
     the Assembly to solicit a pardon. The Assembly recommended peace
     and order to the people of Paris, the prisoners to the King,
     and asked from him the removal of the troops. His answer was
     negative and dry, saying they might remove themselves, if they
     pleased, to Noyons or Soissons. In the mean time, these troops,
     to the number of twenty or thirty thousand, had arrived, and
     were posted in and between Paris and Versailles. The bridges
     and passes were guarded. At three o'clock in the afternoon of
     the 11th of July, the Count de la Luzerne was sent to notify M.
     Necker of his dismission, and to enjoin him to retire instantly,
     without saying a word of it to any body. He went home, dined,
     and proposed to his wife a visit to a friend, but went in fact
     to his country-house at St. Ouen, and at midnight set out for
     Brussels. This was not known till the next day (the 12th), when
     the whole ministry was changed, except Villederril, of the
     domestic department, and Barenton, Garde des Sceaux....

     The news of this change began to be known at Paris about one
     or two o'clock. In the afternoon a body of about one hundred
     German cavalry were advanced and drawn up in the Place Louis
     XV., and about two hundred Swiss posted at a little distance in
     their rear. This drew people to the spot, who thus accidentally
     found themselves in front of the troops, merely at first as
     spectators; but, as their numbers increased, their indignation
     rose. They retired a few steps, and posted themselves on and
     behind large piles of stones, large and small, collected in
     that place for a bridge, which was to be built adjacent to it.
     In this position, happening to be in my carriage on a visit, I
     passed through the lane they had formed without interruption.
     But the moment after I had passed the people attacked the
     cavalry with stones. They charged, but the advantageous position
     of the people, and the showers of stones, obliged the horses
     to retire and quit the field altogether, leaving one of their
     number on the ground, and the Swiss in their rear not moving to
     their aid. This was the signal for universal insurrection, and
     this body of cavalry, to avoid being massacred, retired towards

After describing the events of the 13th and 14th, and of the
imperfect report of them which reached the King, he says:

     But at night the Duke de Liancourt forced his way into the
     King's bed-chamber, and obliged him to hear a full and animated
     detail of the disasters of the day in Paris. He went to bed
     fearfully impressed.

After alluding to the demolition of the Bastile, he says:

     The alarm at Versailles increased. The foreign troops were
     ordered off instantly. Every minister resigned. The King
     confirmed Bailly as Prévôt des Marchands, wrote to M. Necker
     to recall him, sent his letter open to the Assembly, to be
     forwarded by them, and invited them to go with him to Paris
     the next day, to satisfy the city of his dispositions. [Then
     comes a list of the Court favorites who fled that night.] The
     King came to Paris, leaving the Queen in consternation for his
     return. Omitting the less important figures of the procession,
     the King's carriage was in the centre; on each side of it, the
     Assembly, in two ranks, afoot; at their head the Marquis de
     Lafayette, as commander-in-chief, on horseback, and Bourgeois
     guards before and behind. About sixty thousand citizens, of
     all forms and conditions, armed with the conquests of the
     Bastile and Invalides, as far as they would go, the rest with
     pistols, swords, pikes, pruning-hooks, scythes, etc., lined all
     the streets through which the procession passed, and with the
     crowds of the people in the streets, doors, and windows, saluted
     them everywhere with the cries of "Vive la nation," but not a
     single "Vive le roi" was heard. The King stopped at the Hôtel
     de Ville. There M. Bailly presented, and put into his hat, the
     popular cockade, and addressed him. The King being unprepared,
     and unable to answer, Bailly went to him, gathered some scraps
     of sentences, and made out an answer, which he delivered to the
     audience as from the King. On their return, the popular cries
     were, "Vive le roi et la nation!" He was conducted by a garde
     Bourgeoise to his palace at Versailles, and thus concluded such
     an "amende honorable" as no sovereign ever made, and no people
     ever received.

After speaking of the precious occasion that was here lost, of
sparing to France the crimes and cruelties through which she
afterwards passed, and of the good disposition of the young King, he

     But he had a queen of absolute sway over his weak mind and timid
     virtue, and of a character the reverse of his in all points.
     This angel, so gaudily painted in the rhapsodies of Burke,
     with some smartness of fancy but no sound sense, was proud,
     disdainful of restraint, indignant at all obstacles to her will,
     eager in the pursuit of pleasure, and firm enough to hold to
     her desires, or perish in their wreck. Her inordinate gambling
     and dissipations, with those of the Count d'Artois and others
     of her _clique_, had been a sensible item in the exhaustion of
     the treasury, which called into action the reforming hand of the
     nation; and her opposition to it, her inflexible perverseness,
     and dauntless spirit, led herself to the guillotine, drew
     the King on with her, and plunged the world into crimes and
     calamities which will forever stain the pages of modern history.
     I have ever believed that, had there been no queen, there would
     have been no revolution. No force would have been provoked
     nor exercised. The King would have gone hand in hand with the
     wisdom of his sounder counsellors, who, guided by the increased
     lights of the age, wished only with the same pace to advance the
     principles of their social constitution. The deed which closed
     the mortal course of these sovereigns I shall neither approve
     nor condemn. I am not prepared to say that the first magistrate
     of a nation can not commit treason against his country, or is
     unamenable to its punishment; nor yet that, where there is no
     written law, no regulated tribunal, there is not a law in our
     hearts and a power in our hands, given for righteous employment
     in maintaining right and redressing wrong....

     I should have shut up the Queen in a convent, putting harm out
     of her power, and placed the King in his station, investing
     him with limited powers, which, I verily believe, he would
     have honestly exercised, according to the measure of his

After giving further details, he goes on to say:

     In this uneasy state of things, I received one day a note from
     the Marquis de Lafayette, informing me that he should bring a
     party of six or eight friends to ask a dinner of me the next
     day. I assured him of their welcome. When they arrived they were
     Lafayette himself, Duport, Barnave, Alexander la Meth, Blacon,
     Mounier, Maubourg, and Dagout. These were leading patriots of
     honest but differing opinions, sensible of the necessity of
     effecting a coalition by mutual sacrifices, knowing each other,
     and not afraid, therefore, to unbosom themselves mutually. This
     last was a material principle in the selection. With this view
     the Marquis had invited the conference, and had fixed the time
     and place inadvertently, as to the embarrassment under which
     it might place me. The cloth being removed, and wine set on
     the table, after the American manner, the Marquis introduced
     the objects of the conference.... The discussions began at
     the hour of four, and were continued till ten o'clock in the
     evening; during which time I was a silent witness to a coolness
     and candor of argument unusual in the conflicts of political
     opinion--to a logical reasoning and chaste eloquence disfigured
     by no gaudy tinsel of rhetoric or declamation, and truly worthy
     of being placed in parallel with the finest dialogues of
     antiquity, as handed to us by Xenophon, by Plato, and Cicero....

     But duties of exculpation were now incumbent on me. I waited on
     Count Montmorin the next morning, and explained to him, with
     truth and candor, how it had happened that my house had been
     made the scene of conferences of such a character. He told me
     he already knew every thing which had passed; that, so far from
     taking umbrage at the use made of my house on that occasion, he
     earnestly wished I would habitually assist at such conferences,
     being sure I should be useful in moderating the warmer spirits,
     and promoting a wholesome and practicable reformation.

Nothing of further interest as regards the French Revolution appears
in Jefferson's Memoir.


     Washington nominates Jefferson as Secretary of State.--
     Jefferson's Regret.--Devotion of Southern Statesmen to
     Country Life.--Letter to Washington.--Jefferson accepts
     the Appointment.--Marriage of his Daughter.--He leaves
     for New York.--Last Interview with Franklin.--Letters to
     Son-in-law.--Letters of Adieu to Friends in Paris.--Family

The calls of his country would not allow Jefferson to withdraw
from public life, and, living in that retirement for which he so
longed, abandon himself to the delights of rural pursuits. On
his way from Norfolk to Monticello he stopped to pay a visit, in
Chesterfield County, to his sister-in-law, Mrs. Eppes. There he
received letters from General Washington telling him that he had
nominated him as Secretary of State, and urging him so earnestly
and so affectionately to accept the appointment as to put a refusal
on his part out of the question. He tells us in his Memoir that he
received the proffered appointment with "real regret;" and we can
not doubt his sincerity. In reading the lives of the Fathers of
the Republic, we can but be struck with their weariness of public
life, and their longings for the calm enjoyment of the sweets of
domestic life in the retirement of their quiet homes. This was
eminently the case with our great men from the South. Being for the
most part large land-owners, their presence being needed on their
estates, and agricultural pursuits seeming to have an indescribable
fascination for them, all engagements grew irksome which prevented
the enjoyment of that manly and independent life which they found
at the head of a Southern plantation. The pomps and splendor of
office had no charms for them, and we find Washington turning with
regret from the banks of the Potomac to go and fill the highest
post in the gift of his countrymen; Jefferson sighing after the
sublime beauties of his distant Monticello, and longing to rejoin
his children and grandchildren there, though winning golden opinions
in the discharge of his duties as Premier; while Henry chafed in
the Congressional halls, and was eager to return to his woods in
Charlotte, though gifted with that wonderful power of speech whose
fiery eloquence could at any moment startle his audience to their
feet. But Jefferson, in this instance, had peculiar reasons for
wishing a reprieve from public duties. His constant devotion to
them had involved his private affairs in sad confusion, and there
was danger of the ample fortune which his professional success and
the skillful management of his property had secured to him being
lost, merely from want of time and opportunity to look after it. He
dreaded, then, to enter upon a public career whose close he could
not foresee; and there is a sad tone of resignation in his letter of
acceptance to General Washington, which seems to show that he felt
he was sacrificing his private repose to his duty to his country;
yet he did not know how entirely he was sacrificing his own for his
country's good. I give the whole letter:

_To George Washington._

                          Chesterfield, December 15th, 1789.

     Sir--I have received at this place the honor of your letters of
     October 13th and November the 30th, and am truly flattered by
     your nomination of me to the very dignified office of Secretary
     of State, for which permit me here to return you my very humble
     thanks. Could any circumstance induce me to overlook the
     disproportion between its duties and my talents, it would be the
     encouragement of your choice. But when I contemplate the extent
     of that office, embracing as it does the principal mass of
     domestic administration, together with the foreign, I can not be
     insensible to my inequality to it; and I should enter on it with
     gloomy forebodings from the criticisms and censures of a public,
     just indeed in their intentions, but sometimes misinformed and
     misled, and always too respectable to be neglected. I can not
     but foresee the possibility that this may end disagreeably
     for me, who, having no motive to public service but the
     public satisfaction, would certainly retire the moment that
     satisfaction should appear to languish. On the other hand, I
     feel a degree of familiarity with the duties of my present
     office, as far, at least, as I am capable of understanding its
     duties. The ground I have already passed over enables me to see
     my way into that which is before me. The change of government,
     too, taking place in the country where it is exercised,
     seems to open a possibility of procuring from the new rulers
     some new advantages in commerce, which may be agreeable to
     our countrymen. So that as far as my fears, my hopes, or my
     inclination might enter into this question, I confess they would
     not lead me to prefer a change.

     But it is not for an individual to choose his post. You are
     to marshal us as may be best for the public good; and it is
     only in the case of its being indifferent to you, that I would
     avail myself of the option you have so kindly offered in your
     letter. If you think it better to transfer me to another post,
     my inclination must be no obstacle; nor shall it be, if there is
     any desire to suppress the office I now hold or to reduce its
     grade. In either of these cases, be so good as only to signify
     to me by another line your ultimate wish, and I will conform
     to it cordially. If it should be to remain at New York, my
     chief comfort will be to work under your eye, my only shelter
     the authority of your name, and the wisdom of measures to be
     dictated by you and implicitly executed by me. Whatever you may
     be pleased to decide, I do not see that the matters which have
     called me hither will permit me to shorten the stay I originally
     asked; that is to say, to set out on my journey northward till
     the month of March. As early as possible in that month, I shall
     have the honor of paying my respects to you in New York. In the
     mean time, I have that of tendering you the homage of those
     sentiments of respectful attachment with which I am, Sir, your
     most obedient and most humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

After some further correspondence with General Washington on the
subject, Mr. Jefferson finally accepted the appointment of Secretary
of State, though with what reluctance the reader can well judge from
the preceding letter.

Before setting out for New York, the seat of government, Jefferson
gave away in marriage his eldest daughter, Martha. The wedding took
place at Monticello on the 23d of February (1790), and the fortunate
bridegroom was young Thomas Mann Randolph, of Tuckahoe, the son of
Colonel Thomas Mann Randolph, of Tuckahoe, who had been Colonel Peter
Jefferson's ward. Young Randolph had visited Paris in 1788, and spent
a portion of the summer there after the completion of his education
at the University of Edinburgh, and we may suppose that the first
love-passages which resulted in their marriage took place between the
young people at that time. They were second-cousins, and had known
each other from their earliest childhood.

The marriage ceremony was performed by the Rev. Mr. Maury of the
Episcopal Church, and two people were rarely ever united in marriage
whose future seemed to promise a happier life. I have elsewhere
noticed the noble qualities both of head and heart which were
possessed by Martha Jefferson. It was the growth and development of
these which years afterwards made John Randolph, of Roanoke--though
he had quarrelled with her father--pronounce her the "noblest woman
in Virginia."[40] Thomas Mann Randolph was intellectually not less
highly gifted. He was a constant student, and for his genius and
acquirements ranked among the first students at the University of
Edinburgh. In that city he received the same attentions and held
the same position in society which his rank, his wealth, and his
brilliant attainments commanded for him at home. The bravest of the
brave, chivalric in his devotion to his friends and in his admiration
and reverence for the gentler sex; tall and graceful in person,
renowned in his day as an athlete and for his splendid horsemanship,
with a head and face of unusual intellectual beauty, bearing a
distinguished name, and possessing an ample fortune, any woman might
have been deemed happy who was led by him to the hymeneal altar.

  [40] It was on the occasion of a dinner-party, when some one
  proposing to drink the health of Mrs. Randolph, John Randolph
  rose and said, "Yes, gentlemen, let us drink the health of the
  noblest woman in Virginia."

A few days after his daughter's marriage, Mr. Jefferson set out for
New York, going by the way of Richmond. At Alexandria the Mayor and
citizens gave him a public reception. He had intended travelling in
his own carriage, which met him at that point, but a heavy fall of
snow taking place, he sent it around by water, and took a seat in the
stage, having his horses led. In consequence of the bad condition of
the roads, his journey was a tedious one, it taking a fortnight for
him to travel from Richmond to New York. He occasionally left the
stage floundering in the mud, and, mounting one of his led horses,
accomplished parts of his journey on horseback. On the 17th of March
he arrived in Philadelphia, and hearing of the illness of his aged
friend, Dr. Franklin, went at once to visit him, and in his Memoir
speaks thus of his interview with him:

     At Philadelphia I called on the venerable and beloved Franklin.
     He was then on the bed of sickness, from which he never rose.
     My recent return from a country in which he had left so many
     friends, and the perilous convulsions to which they had been
     exposed, revived all his anxieties to know what part they had
     taken, what had been their course, and what their fate. He went
     over all in succession with a rapidity and animation almost too
     much for his strength. When all his inquiries were satisfied and
     a pause took place, I told him I had learned with pleasure that,
     since his return to America, he had been occupied in preparing
     for the world the history of his own life. "I can not say much
     of that," said he; "but I will give you a sample of what I shall
     leave," and he directed his little grandson (William Bache), who
     was standing by the bedside, to hand him a paper from the table
     to which he pointed. He did so; and the Doctor, putting it into
     my hands, desired me to take it and read it at my leisure. It
     was about a quire of folio paper, written in a large and running
     hand, very like his own. I looked into it slightly, then shut
     it, and said I would accept his permission to read it, and would
     carefully return it. He said "No, keep it." Not certain of his
     meaning, I again looked into it, folded it for my pocket, and
     said again, I would certainly return it. "No," said he; "keep
     it." I put it into my pocket, and shortly after took leave of

     He died on the 17th of the ensuing month of April; and as I
     understood he had bequeathed all his papers to his grandson,
     William Temple Franklin, I immediately wrote to Mr. Franklin,
     to inform him I possessed this paper, which I should consider
     as his property, and would deliver it to his order. He came on
     immediately to New York, called on me for it, and I delivered
     it to him. As he put it into his pocket, he said, carelessly,
     he had either the original, or another copy of it, I do not
     recollect which. This last expression struck my attention
     forcibly, and for the first time suggested to me the thought
     that Dr. Franklin had meant it as a confidential deposit in my
     hands, and that I had done wrong in parting from it.

     I have not yet seen the collection of Dr. Franklin's works that
     he published, and therefore know not if this is among them.
     I have been told it is not. It contained a narrative of the
     negotiations between Dr. Franklin and the British Ministry, when
     he was endeavoring to prevent the contest of arms that followed.
     The negotiation was brought about by the intervention of Lord
     Howe and his sister, who, I believe, was called Lady Howe, but I
     may misremember her title.

     Lord Howe seems to have been friendly to America, and
     exceedingly anxious to prevent a rupture. His intimacy with Dr.
     Franklin, and his position with the Ministry, induced him to
     undertake a mediation between them, in which his sister seems
     to have been associated. They carried from one to the other,
     backward and forward, the several propositions and answers which
     passed, and seconded with their own intercessions the importance
     of mutual sacrifices, to preserve the peace and connection of
     the two countries. I remember that Lord North's answers were
     dry, unyielding, in the spirit of unconditional submission,
     and betrayed an absolute indifference to the occurrence of a
     rupture; and he said to the mediators, distinctly, at last,
     that "a rebellion was not to be deprecated on the part of Great
     Britain; that the confiscations it would produce would provide
     for many of their friends." This expression was reported by the
     mediators to Dr. Franklin, and indicated so cool and calculated
     a purpose in the Ministry as to render compromise impossible,
     and the negotiation was discontinued.

     If this is not among the papers published, we ask what has
     become of it? I delivered it with my own hands into those of
     Temple Franklin. It certainly established views so atrocious in
     the British Government, that its suppression would be to them
     worth a great price. But could the grandson of Dr. Franklin be
     in such a degree an accomplice in the parricide of the memory of
     his immortal grandfather? The suspension for more than twenty
     years of the general publication, bequeathed and confided to
     him, produced for a while hard suspicion against him; and if
     at last all are not published, a part of these suspicions may
     remain with some.

     I arrived at New York on the 21st of March, where Congress was
     in session.

Jefferson's first letter from New York was to his son-in-law, Mr.
Randolph, and is dated New York, March 28th. He gives him an account
of the journey, which speaks much for the tedium of travelling in
those days.

_Jefferson to Thomas Mann Randolph._

     I arrived here on the 21st instant, after as laborious a journey
     of a fortnight from Richmond as I ever went through, resting
     only one day at Alexandria and another at Baltimore. I found my
     carriage and horses at Alexandria, but a snow of eighteen inches
     falling the same night, I saw the impossibility of getting on in
     my carriage, so left it there, to be sent to me by water, and
     had my horses led on to this place, taking my passage in the
     stage, though relieving myself a little sometimes by mounting
     my horse. The roads through the whole way were so bad that we
     could never go more than three miles an hour, sometimes not more
     than two, and in the night not more than one. My first object
     was to look out a house in the Broadway, if possible, as being
     the centre of my business. Finding none there vacant for the
     present, I have taken a small one in Maiden Lane, which may give
     me time to look about me. Much business had been put by for my
     arrival, so that I found myself all at once involved under an
     accumulation of it. When this shall be got through, I will be
     able to judge whether the ordinary business of my department
     will leave me any leisure. I fear there will be little.

The reader, I feel sure, will not find out of place here the
following very graceful letters of adieu, written by Jefferson to his
kind friends in France:

_To the Marquis de Lafayette._

                                   New York, April 2d, 1790.

     Behold me, my dear friend, elected Secretary of State, instead
     of returning to the far more agreeable position which placed
     me in the daily participation of your friendship. I found the
     appointment in the newspapers the day of my arrival in Virginia.
     I had, indeed, been asked, while in France, whether I would
     accept of any appointment at home, and I had answered that, not
     meaning to remain long where I was, I meant it to be the last
     office I should ever act in. Unfortunately this letter had not
     arrived at the time of fixing the new Government. I expressed
     freely to the President my desire to return. He left me free,
     but still showing his own desire. This and the concern of
     others, more general than I had any right to expect, induced me,
     after three months' parleying, to sacrifice my own inclinations.

     I have been here these ten days harnessed in my new gear.
     Wherever I am, or ever shall be, I shall be sincere in my
     friendship to you and your nation. I think, with others, that
     nations are to be governed with regard to their own interests,
     but I am convinced that it is their interest, in the long run,
     to be grateful, faithful to their engagements, even in the
     worst of circumstances, and honorable and generous always. If
     I had not known that the Head of our Government was in these
     sentiments, and his national and private ethics were the same,
     I would never have been where I am. I am sorry to tell you
     his health is less firm than it used to be. However, there is
     nothing in it to give alarm....

     Our last news from Paris is of the eighth of January. So far
     it seemed that your revolution had got along with a steady
     pace--meeting, indeed, occasional difficulties and dangers;
     but we are not translated from despotism to liberty on a
     feather-bed. I have never feared for the ultimate result, though
     I have feared for you personally. Indeed, I hope you will never
     see such another 5th or 6th of October. Take care of yourself,
     my dear friend, for though I think your nation would in any
     event work out her own salvation, I am persuaded, were she
     to lose you, it would cost her oceans of blood, and years of
     confusion and anarchy. Kiss and bless your dear children for me.
     Learn them to be as you are, a cement between our two nations. I
     write to Madame de Lafayette, so have only to add assurances of
     the respect of your affectionate friend and humble servant.

_To Madame de Corny._

                                   New York, April 2d, 1790.

     I had the happiness, my dear friend, to arrive in Virginia,
     after a voyage of twenty-six days only of the finest autumn
     weather it was possible, the wind having never blown harder
     than we would have desired it. On my arrival I found my name
     announced in the papers as Secretary of State. I made light of
     it, supposing I had only to say "No," and there would be an end
     of it. It turned out, however, otherwise. For though I was left
     free to return to France, if I insisted on it, yet I found it
     better in the end to sacrifice my own inclinations to those of

     After holding off, therefore, near three months, I acquiesced. I
     did not write you while this question was in suspense, because
     I was in constant hope to say to you certainly I should return.
     Instead of that, I am now to say certainly the contrary, and
     instead of greeting you personally in Paris, I am to write you a
     letter of adieu. Accept, then, my dear Madam, my cordial adieu,
     and my grateful thanks for all the civilities and kindnesses
     I have received from you. They have been greatly more than I
     had a right to expect, and they have excited in me a warmth
     of esteem which it was imprudent in me to have given way to
     for a person whom I was one day to be separated from. Since it
     is so, continue towards me those friendly sentiments that I
     always flattered myself you entertained; let me hear from you
     sometimes, assured that I shall always feel a warm interest in
     your happiness.

     Your letter of November 25th afflicts me; but I hope that a
     revolution so pregnant with the general happiness of the nation
     will not in the end injure the interests of persons who are
     so friendly to the general good of mankind as yourself and M.
     de Corny. Present to him my most affectionate esteem, and ask
     a place in his recollection.... Your affectionate friend and
     humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To the Comtesse d'Houdetôt._

                                   New York, April 2d, 1790.

     Being called by our Government to assist in the domestic
     administration, instead of paying my respects to you in person
     as I hoped, I am to write you a letter of adieu. Accept, I
     pray you, Madame, my grateful acknowledgments for the manifold
     kindnesses by which you added so much to the happiness of my
     life in Paris. I have found here a philosophic revolution,
     philosophically effected. Yours, though a little more turbulent,
     has, I hope, by this time issued in success and peace. Nobody
     prays for it more sincerely than I do, and nobody will do more
     to cherish a union with a nation dear to us through many ties,
     and now more approximated by the change in its Government.

     I found our friend Dr. Franklin in his bed--cheerful and free
     from pain, but still in his bed. He took a lively interest in
     the details I gave him of your revolution. I observed his face
     often flushed in the course of it. He is much emaciated. M. de
     Crevecœur is well, but a little apprehensive that the spirit of
     reforming and economizing may reach his office. A good man will
     suffer if it does. Permit me, Madame la Comtesse, to present
     here my sincere respects to Monsieur le Comte d'Houdetôt and
     to Monsieur de Sainte Lambert. The philosophy of the latter
     will have been greatly gratified to see a regeneration of the
     condition of man in Europe so happily begun in his own country.
     Repeating to you, Madame, my sincere sense of your goodness
     to me, and my wishes to prove it on every occasion, adding my
     sincere prayer that Heaven may bless you with many years of
     life and health, I pray you to accept here the homage of those
     sentiments of respect and attachment with which I have the honor
     to be, Madame la Comtesse, your most obedient and humble servant,


We find the following interesting passage in a letter from Jefferson
to M. Grand, written on the 23d of April:

     The good old Dr. Franklin, so long the ornament of our country,
     and I may say of the world, has at length closed his eminent
     career. He died on the 17th instant, of an imposthume of his
     lungs, which having suppurated and burst, he had not strength to
     throw off the matter, and was suffocated by it. His illness from
     this imposthume was of sixteen days. Congress wear mourning for
     him, by a resolve of their body.

Nearly a year later we find him writing to the President of the
National Assembly of France as follows:

     I have it in charge from the President of the United States
     of America, to communicate to the National Assembly of France
     the peculiar sensibility of Congress to the tribute paid to
     the memory of Benjamin Franklin by the enlightened and free
     representatives of a great nation, in their decree of the 11th
     of June, 1790.

     That the loss of such a citizen should be lamented by us
     among whom he lived, whom he so long and eminently served,
     and who feel their country advanced and honored by his birth,
     life, and labors, was to be expected. But it remained for the
     National Assembly of France to set the first example of the
     representatives of one nation doing homage, by a public act, to
     the private citizen of another, and, by withdrawing arbitrary
     lines of separation, to reduce into one fraternity the good and
     the great, wherever they have lived or died.

Jefferson's health was not good during the spring of the year 1790,
and although he remained at his post he was incapacitated for
business during the whole of the month of May. He was frequently
prostrated from the effects of severe headaches, which sometimes
lasted for two or three days. His health was not re-established
before July.

I give now his letters home, which were written to his daughters.
Mrs. Randolph was living at Monticello, and Maria, or "little Poll,"
now not quite twelve years old, was at Eppington on a visit to her
good Aunt Eppes. These letters give an admirable picture of Jefferson
as the father, and betray an almost motherly tenderness of love for,
and watchfulness over, his daughters. Martha, though a married woman,
is warned of the difficulties and little cares of her new situation
in life, and receives timely advice as to how to steer clear of them;
while little Maria is urged to prosecute her studies, to be good and
industrious, in terms so full of love as to make his fatherly advice
almost irresistible. The letters show, too, his longing for home,
and how eagerly he craved the small news, as well as the great, of
the loved ones he had left behind in Virginia. I give sometimes an
extract, instead of the whole letter.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]

                                  New York, April 4th, 1790.

     I am anxious to hear from you of your health, your occupations,
     where you are, etc. Do not neglect your music. It will be a
     companion which will sweeten many hours of life to you. I
     assure you mine here is triste enough. Having had yourself and
     dear Poll to live with me so long, to exercise my affections
     and cheer me in the intervals of business, I feel heavily the
     separation from you. It is a circumstance of consolation to know
     that you are happier, and to see a prospect of its continuance
     in the prudence and even temper of Mr. Randolph and yourself.
     Your new condition will call for abundance of little sacrifices.
     But they will be greatly overpaid by the measure of affection
     they secure to you. The happiness of your life now depends on
     the continuing to please a single person. To this all other
     objects must be secondary, even your love for me, were it
     possible that could ever be an obstacle. But this it never can
     be. Neither of you can ever have a more faithful friend than
     myself, nor one on whom you can count for more sacrifices.
     My own is become a secondary object to the happiness of you
     both. Cherish, then, for me, my dear child, the affection of
     your husband, and continue to love me as you have done, and to
     render my life a blessing by the prospect it may hold up to me
     of seeing you happy. Kiss Maria for me if she is with you, and
     present me cordially to Mr. Randolph; assuring yourself of the
     constant and unchangeable love of yours, affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

His daughter Maria, to whom the following letter is addressed, was at
the time, as I have said, not quite twelve years old.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                                 New York, April 11th, 1790.

     Where are you, my dear Maria? how are you occupied? Write me a
     letter by the first post, and answer me all these questions.
     Tell me whether you see the sun rise every day? how many pages
     you read every day in Don Quixote? how far you are advanced in
     him? whether you repeat a grammar lesson every day; what else
     you read? how many hours a day you sew? whether you have an
     opportunity of continuing your music? whether you know how to
     make a pudding yet, to cut out a beefsteak, to sow spinach? or
     to set a hen? Be good, my dear, as I have always found you;
     never be angry with any body, nor speak harm of them; try to let
     every body's faults be forgotten, as you would wish yours to be;
     take more pleasure in giving what is best to another than in
     having it yourself, and then all the world will love you, and I
     more than all the world. If your sister is with you, kiss her,
     and tell her how much I love her also, and present my affections
     to Mr. Randolph. Love your aunt and uncle, and be dutiful and
     obliging to them for all their kindness to you. What would you
     do without them, and with such a vagrant for a father? Say to
     both of them a thousand affectionate things for me; and adieu,
     my dear Maria.


_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                                 New York, April 26th, 1791.

     I write regularly once a week to Mr. Randolph, yourself, or
     Polly, in hopes it may induce a letter from one of you every
     week also. If each would answer by the first post my letter to
     them, I should receive it within the three weeks, so as to keep
     a regular correspondence with each....

     I long to hear how you pass your time. I think both Mr. Randolph
     and yourself will suffer with ennui at Richmond. Interesting
     occupations are essential to happiness. Indeed the whole art of
     being happy consists in the art of finding employment. I know
     none so interesting, and which crowd upon us so much as those of
     a domestic nature. I look forward, therefore, to your commencing
     housekeepers in your own farm, with some anxiety. Till then you
     will not know how to fill up your time, and your weariness of
     the things around you will assume the form of a weariness of one
     another. I hope Mr. Randolph's idea of settling near Monticello
     will gain strength, and that no other settlement will, in the
     mean time, be fixed on. I wish some expedient may be devised for
     settling him at Edgehill. No circumstance ever made me feel so
     strongly the thralldom of Mr. Wayles's debt. Were I liberated
     from that, I should not fear but that Colonel Randolph and
     myself, by making it a joint contribution, could effect the
     fixing you there, without interfering with what he otherwise
     proposes to give Mr. Randolph. I shall hope, when I return to
     Virginia in the fall, that some means may be found of effecting
     all our wishes.

_From Mary Jefferson._

                                 Richmond, April 25th, 1790.

     My dear Papa--I am afraid you will be displeased in knowing
     where I am, but I hope you will not, as Mr. Randolph certainly
     had some good reason, though I do not know it.[41] I have not
     been able to read in Don Quixote every day, as I have been
     travelling ever since I saw you last, and the dictionary is too
     large to go in the pocket of the chariot, nor have I yet had an
     opportunity of continuing my music. I am now reading Robertson's
     America. I thank you for the advice you were so good as to give
     me, and will try to follow it. Adieu, my dear papa. I am your
     affectionate daughter,

                                            MARIA JEFFERSON.

  [41] Mr. Randolph took her to Richmond.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                                     New York, May 2d, 1790.

     My dear Maria--I wrote to you three weeks ago, and have not
     yet received an answer. I hope, however, that one is on the
     way, and that I shall receive it by the first post. I think it
     very long to have been absent from Virginia two months, and
     not to have received a line from yourself, your sister, or Mr.
     Randolph, and I am very uneasy at it. As I write once a week to
     one or the other of you in turn, if you would answer my letter
     the day, or the day after you receive it, it would always come
     to hand before I write the next to you. We had two days of snow
     the beginning of last week. Let me know if it snowed where you
     are. I send you some prints of a new kind for your amusement.
     I send several to enable you to be generous to your friends.
     I want much to hear how you employ yourself. Present my best
     affections to your uncle, aunt, and cousins, if you are with
     them, or to Mr. Randolph and your sister, if with them. Be
     assured of my tender love to you, and continue yours to your

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_From Mary Jefferson._

                                   Eppington, May 23d, 1790.

     Dear Papa--I received your affectionate letter when I was at
     Presqu'il, but was not able to answer it before I came here, as
     the next day we went to Aunt Bolling's and then came here. I
     thank you for the pictures you were so kind as to send me, and
     will try that your advice shall not be thrown away. I read in
     Don Quixote every day to my aunt, and say my grammar in Spanish
     and English, and write, and read in Robertson's America. After
     I am done that, I work till dinner, and a little more after. It
     did not snow at all last month. My cousin Bolling and myself
     made a pudding the other day. My aunt has given us a hen and
     chickens. Adieu, my dear papa. Believe me to be your dutiful,
     and affectionate daughter,

                                            MARIA JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                                    New York, May 23d, 1790.

     My dear Maria--I was glad to receive your letter of April 25th,
     because I had been near two months without hearing from any of
     you. Your last told me what you were not doing; that you were
     not reading Don Quixote, not applying to your music. I hope
     your next will tell me what you are doing. Tell your uncle that
     the President, after having been so ill as at one time to be
     thought dying, is now quite recovered.[42] I have been these
     three weeks confined by a periodical headache. It has been the
     most moderate I ever had, but it has not yet left me. Present my
     best affections to your uncle and aunt. Tell the latter I shall
     never have thanks enough for her kindness to you, and that you
     will repay her in love and duty. Adieu, my dear Maria.

                       Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

  [42] In a letter to his daughter, Mrs. Randolph, after mentioning
  the President's illness and convalescence, he says, "He continues
  mending to-day, and from total despair we are now in good hopes
  of him."

_To Mrs. Eppes._

                                  New York, June 13th, 1790.

     Dear Madam--I have received your favor of May 23, and with great
     pleasure, as I do every thing which comes from you. I have had
     a long attack of my periodical headache, which was severe for a
     few days, and since that has been very moderate. Still, however,
     it hangs upon me a little, though for about ten days past I have
     been able to resume business. I am sensible of your goodness
     and attention to my dear Poll, and really jealous of you; for I
     have always found that you disputed with me the first place in
     her affections. It would give me infinite pleasure to have her
     with me, but there is no good position here, and indeed we are
     in too unsettled a state; the House of Representatives voted the
     day before yesterday, by a majority of 53 against 6, to remove
     to Baltimore; but it is very doubtful whether the Senate will
     concur. However, it may, very possibly, end in a removal either
     to that place or Philadelphia. In either case, I shall be nearer
     home, and in a milder climate, for as yet we have had not more
     than five or six summer days. Spring and fall they never have,
     as far as I can learn; they have ten months of winter, two of
     summer, with some winter days interspersed. Does Mr. Eppes sleep
     any better since the 6th of March. Remember me to him in the
     most friendly terms, and be assured of the cordial and eternal
     affection of yours sincerely,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                                  New York, June 13th, 1790.

     My dear Maria--I have received your letter of May 23d, which
     was in answer to mine of May 2d, but I wrote you also on the
     23d of May, so that you still owe me an answer to that, which I
     hope is now on the road. In matters of correspondence as well
     as of money, you must never be in debt. I am much pleased with
     the account you give me of your occupations, and the making the
     pudding is as good an article of them as any. When I come to
     Virginia I shall insist on eating a pudding of your own making,
     as well as on trying other specimens of your skill. You must
     make the most of your time while you are with so good an aunt,
     who can learn you every thing. We had not peas nor strawberries
     here till the 8th day of this month. On the same day I heard the
     first whip-poor-will whistle. Swallows and martins appeared here
     on the 21st of April. When did they appear with you? and when
     had you peas, strawberries, and whip-poor-wills in Virginia?
     Take notice hereafter whether the whip-poor-wills always come
     with the strawberries and peas. Send me a copy of the maxims I
     gave you, also a list of the books I promised you. I have had a
     long touch of my periodical headache, but a very moderate one.
     It has not quite left me yet. Adieu, my dear; love your uncle,
     aunt, and cousins, and me more than all.

                        Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                                   New York, July 4th, 1790.

     I have written you, my dear Maria, four letters since I have
     been here, and I have received from you only two. You owe me
     two, then, and the present will make three. This is a kind of
     debt I will not give up. You may ask how I will help myself. By
     petitioning your aunt, as soon as you receive a letter, to make
     you go without your dinner till you have answered it. How goes
     on the Spanish? How many chickens have you raised this summer?
     Send me a list of the books I have promised you at different
     times. Tell me what sort of weather you have had, what sort of
     crops are likely to be made, how your uncle and aunt and the
     family do, and how you do yourself. I shall see you in September
     for a short time. Adieu, my dear Poll.

                    Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_From Mary Jefferson._

                                 Eppington, July 20th, 1790.

     Dear Papa--I hope you will excuse my not writing to you before,
     though I have none for myself. I am very sorry to hear that you
     have been sick, but flatter myself that it is over. My aunt
     Skipwith has been very sick, but she is better now; we have been
     to see her two or three times. You tell me in your last letter
     that you will see me in September, but I have received a letter
     from my brother that says you will not be here before February;
     as his is later than yours, I am afraid you have changed your
     mind. The books that you have promised me are Anacharsis and
     Gibbon's Roman Empire. If you are coming in September, I hope
     you will not forget your promise of buying new jacks for the
     piano-forte that is at Monticello. Adieu, my dear papa.

     I am your affectionate daughter,

                                             MARY JEFFERSON.

_From Mary Jefferson._

                                      Eppington, ----, 1790.

     Dear Papa--I have just received your last favor, of July
     25th, and am determined to write to you every day till I have
     discharged my debt. When we were in Cumberland we went to
     church, and heard some singing-masters that sang very well.
     They are to come here to learn my sister to sing; and as I
     know you have no objection to my learning any thing, I am to
     be a scholar, and hope to give you the pleasure of hearing
     an anthem. We had peas the 10th of May, and strawberries the
     17th of the same month, though not in that abundance we are
     accustomed to, in consequence of a frost this spring. As for the
     martins, swallows, and whip-poor-wills, I was so taken up with
     my chickens that I never attended to them, and therefore can not
     tell you when they came, though I was so unfortunate as to lose
     half of them (the chickens), for my cousin Bolling and myself
     have raised but thirteen between us. Adieu, my dear papa.

     Believe me to be your affectionate daughter,

                                            MARIA JEFFERSON.

The following beautiful letter to Mrs. Randolph was called forth by
the marriage of her father-in-law to a lady of a distinguished name
in Virginia. At the time of his second marriage, Colonel Randolph was
advanced in years, and his bride still in her teens. The marriage
settlement alluded to in the letter secured to her a handsome fortune.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                                  New York, July 17th, 1790.

     My dear Patsy--I received two days ago yours of July 2d, with
     Mr. Randolph's of July 3d. Mine of the 11th to Mr. Randolph
     will have informed you that I expect to set out from hence for
     Monticello about the 1st of September. As this depends on the
     adjournment of Congress, and they begin to be impatient, it is
     more probable that I may set out sooner than later. However, my
     letters will keep you better informed as the time approaches.

     Col. Randolph's marriage was to be expected. All his amusements
     depending on society, he can not live alone. The settlement
     spoken of may be liable to objections in point of prudence
     and justice. However, I hope it will not be the cause of any
     diminution of affection between him and Mr. Randolph, and
     yourself. That can not remedy the evil, and may make it a great
     deal worse. Besides your interests, which might be injured
     by a misunderstanding, be assured that your happiness would
     be infinitely affected. It would be a canker-worm corroding
     eternally on your minds. Therefore, my dear child, redouble your
     assiduities to keep the affections of Col. Randolph and his
     lady (if he is to have one), in proportion as the difficulties
     increase. He is an excellent, good man, to whose temper nothing
     can be objected, but too much facility, too much milk. Avail
     yourself of this softness, then, to obtain his attachment.

     If the lady has any thing difficult in her disposition, avoid
     what is rough, and attach her good qualities to you. Consider
     what are otherwise as a bad stop in your harpsichord, and do not
     touch on it, but make yourself happy with the good ones. Every
     human being, my dear, must thus be viewed, according to what it
     is good for; for none of us, no not one, is perfect; and were we
     to love none who had imperfections, this world would be a desert
     for our love. All we can do is to make the best of our friends,
     love and cherish what is good in them, and keep out of the way
     of what is bad; but no more think of rejecting them for it, than
     of throwing away a piece of music for a flat passage or two.
     Your situation will require peculiar attentions and respects to
     both parties. Let no proof be too much for either your patience
     or acquiescence. Be you, my dear, the link of love, union, and
     peace for the whole family. The world will give you the more
     credit for it, in proportion to the difficulty of the task, and
     your own happiness will be the greater as you perceive that you
     promote that of others. Former acquaintance and equality of age
     will render it the easier for you to cultivate and gain the love
     of the lady. The mother, too, becomes a very necessary object of

     This marriage renders it doubtful with me whether it will be
     better to direct our overtures to Col. R. or Mr. H. for a farm
     for Mr. Randolph. Mr. H. has a good tract of land on the other
     side of Edgehill, and it may not be unadvisable to begin by
     buying out a dangerous neighbor. I wish Mr. Randolph could have
     him sounded to see if he will sell, and at what price; but
     sounded through such a channel as would excite no suspicion that
     it comes from Mr. Randolph or myself. Col. Monroe would be a
     good and unsuspected hand, as he once thought of buying the same
     lands. Adieu, my dear child. Present my warm attachment to Mr.

                            Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.


     Jefferson goes with the President to Rhode Island.--Visits
     Monticello.--Letter to Mrs. Eppes.--Goes to Philadelphia.--
     Family Letters.--Letter to Washington.--Goes to Monticello.--
     Letters to his Daughter.--His Ana.--Letters to his Daughter.--
     To General Washington.--To Lafayette.--To his Daughter.

In the month of August (1790) Jefferson went with the President on a
visit to Rhode Island. In his recent tour through New England, the
President had not visited Rhode Island, because that State had not
then adopted the new Constitution; now, however, wishing to recruit a
little after his late illness, he bent his steps thither. On the 1st
of September Jefferson set out for Virginia. He offered Mr. Madison
a seat in his carriage, and the two friends journeyed home together,
stopping at Mount Vernon to pay a visit of two days to the President.
He arrived at Monticello on the 19th, and found his whole family
assembled there to welcome him back after his six months' absence.

On the eve of his return to the seat of government he wrote a letter
to Mrs. Eppes, from which I give the following extract:

     The solitude she (Mrs. Randolph) will be in induces me to leave
     Polly with her this winter. In the spring I shall have her at
     Philadelphia, if I can find a good situation for her there. I
     would not choose to have her there after fourteen years of age.
     As soon as I am fixed in Philadelphia, I shall be in hopes of
     receiving Jack. Load him, on his departure, with charges not to
     give his heart to any object he will find there. I know no such
     useless bauble in a house as a girl of mere city education. She
     would finish by fixing him there and ruining him. I will enforce
     on him your charges, and all others which shall be for his good.

After enjoying the society of his children and the sweets of domestic
life for not quite two months, Jefferson reluctantly turned his
back upon home once more, and set out for the seat of government on
the 8th of November. Mr. Madison again took a seat in his carriage
on returning, and they once more stopped at Mount Vernon, where
Washington still lingered, enjoying the repose of home life on the
peaceful banks of the Potomac.

After having established himself in his new abode in Philadelphia,
Mr. Jefferson began his regular weekly correspondence with his family
in Virginia; and I give the following letters to tell the tale of his
life during his absence from home on this occasion, which continued
from the 8th of November, 1790, to the 12th of September, 1791.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                               Philadelphia, Dec. 1st, 1790.

     My dear Daughter--In my letter of last week to Mr. Randolph,
     I mentioned that I should write every Wednesday to him,
     yourself, and Polly alternately; and that my letters arriving
     at Monticello the Saturday, and the answer being sent off on
     Sunday, I should receive it the day before I should have to
     write again to the same person, so as that the correspondence
     with each would be exactly kept up. I hope you will do it, on
     your part. I delivered the fan and note to your friend Mrs.
     Waters (Miss Rittenhouse that was), she being now married to
     a Dr. Waters. They live in the house with her father. She
     complained of the _petit format_ of your letter, and Mrs. Trist
     of no letter. I inclose you the "Magasin des Modes" of July. My
     furniture is arrived from Paris; but it will be long before I
     can open the packages, as my house will not be ready to receive
     them for some weeks. As soon as they are opened, the mattresses,
     etc., shall be sent on. News for Mr. Randolph--the letters from
     Paris inform that as yet all is safe there. They are emitting
     great sums of paper money. They rather believe there will be
     no war between Spain and England; but the letters from London
     count on a war, and it seems rather probable. A general peace is
     established in the north of Europe, except between Russia and
     Turkey. It is expected between them also. Wheat here is a French
     crown the bushel.

     Kiss dear Poll for me. Remember me to Mr. Randolph. I do not
     know yet how the Edgehill negotiation has terminated. Adieu, my
     dear. Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                               Philadelphia, Dec. 7th, 1790.

     My dear Poll--This week I write to you, and if you answer my
     letter as soon as you receive it, and send it to Colonel Bell
     at Charlottesville, I shall receive it the day before I write
     to you again--that will be three weeks hence, and this I shall
     expect you to do always, so that by the correspondence of Mr.
     Randolph, your sister, and yourself, I may hear from home once a
     week. Mr. Randolph's letter from Richmond came to me about five
     days ago. How do you all do? Tell me that in your letter; also
     what is going forward with you, how you employ yourself, what
     weather you have had. We have already had two or three snows
     here. The workmen are so slow in finishing the house I have
     rented here, that I know not when I shall have it ready, except
     one room, which they promise me this week, and which will be my
     bed-room, study, dining-room, and parlor. I am not able to give
     any later news about peace or war than of October 16th, which
     I mentioned in my last to your sister. Wheat has fallen a few
     pence, and will, I think, continue to fall, slowly at first, and
     rapidly after a while. Adieu, my dear Maria; kiss your sister
     for me, and assure Mr. Randolph of my affection. I will not tell
     you how much I love you, lest, by rendering you vain, it might
     render you less worthy of my love. Encore adieu.

                                                      TH. J.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                               Philadelphia, Dec. 23d, 1790.

     My dear Daughter--This is a scolding letter for you all. I have
     not received a scrip of a pen from home since I left it. I think
     it so easy for you to write me one letter every week, which will
     be but once in the three weeks for each of you, when I write one
     every week, who have not one moment's repose from business,
     from the first to the last moment of the week.

     Perhaps you think you have nothing to say to me. It is a great
     deal to say you are all well; or that one has a cold, another
     a fever, etc.: besides that, there is not a sprig of grass
     that shoots uninteresting to me; nor any thing that moves,
     from yourself down to Bergère or Grizzle. Write, then, my dear
     daughter, punctually on your day, and Mr. Randolph and Polly on
     theirs. I suspect you may have news to tell me of yourself of
     the most tender interest to me. Why silent, then?

_To Mary Jefferson._

                               Philadelphia, Jan. 5th, 1791.

     I did not write to you, my dear Poll, the last week, because I
     was really angry at receiving no letter. I have now been near
     nine weeks from home, and have never had a scrip of a pen, when
     by the regularity of the post I might receive your letters as
     frequently and as exactly as if I were at Charlottesville. I
     ascribed it at first to indolence, but the affection must be
     weak which is so long overruled by that. Adieu.

                                                      TH. J.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                               Philadelphia, Feb. 9th, 1791.

     My dear Martha--Your two last letters are those which have
     given me the greatest pleasure of any I ever received from you.
     The one announced that you were become a notable housewife;
     the other, a mother. The last is undoubtedly the key-stone of
     the arch of matrimonial happiness, as the first is its daily
     aliment. Accept my sincere congratulations for yourself and Mr.

     I hope you are getting well; towards which great care of
     yourself is necessary; for however advisable it is for those in
     health to expose themselves freely, it is not so for the sick.
     You will be out in time to begin your garden, and that will
     tempt you to be out a great deal, than which nothing will tend
     more to give you health and strength. Remember me affectionately
     to Mr. Randolph and Polly, as well as to Miss Jenny. Yours

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_From Mary Jefferson._

                              Monticello, January 22d, 1791.

     Dear Papa--I received your letter of December the 7th about
     a fortnight ago, and would have answered it directly, but my
     sister had to answer hers last week and I this. We are all well
     at present. Jenny Randolph and myself keep house--she one week,
     and I the other. I owe sister thirty-five pages in Don Quixote,
     and am now paying them as fast as I can. Last Christmas I gave
     sister the "Tales of the Castle," and she made me a present of
     the "Observer," a little ivory box, and one of her drawings; and
     to Jenny she gave "Paradise Lost," and some other things. Adieu,
     dear Papa. I am your affectionate daughter,

                                            MARIA JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                          Philadelphia, February 16th, 1791.

     My dear Poll--At length I have received a letter from you. As
     the spell is now broken, I hope you will continue to write every
     three weeks. Observe, I do not admit the excuse you make of not
     writing because your sister had not written the week before; let
     each write their own week without regard to what others do, or
     do not do. I congratulate you, my dear aunt, on your new title.
     I hope you pay a great deal of attention to your niece, and
     that you have begun to give her lessons on the harpsichord, in
     Spanish, etc. Tell your sister I make her a present of Gregory's
     "Comparative View," inclosed herewith, and that she will find
     in it a great deal of useful advice for a young mother. I hope
     herself and the child are well. Kiss them both for me. Present
     me affectionately to Mr. Randolph and Miss Jenny. Mind your
     Spanish and your harpsichord well, and think often and always
     of, yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

     P.S.--Letter inclosed, with the book for your sister.

_From Mary Jefferson._

                            Monticello, February 13th, 1791.

     Dear Papa--I am very sorry that my not having written to you
     before made you doubt my affection towards you, and hope that
     after having read my last letter you were not so displeased as
     at first. In my last I said that my sister was very well, but
     she was not; she had been sick all day without my knowing any
     thing of it, as I staid up stairs the whole day; however, she is
     very well now, and the little one also. She is very pretty, has
     beautiful deep-blue eyes, and is a very fine child. Adieu, my
     dear papa. Believe me to be your affectionate daughter,

                                            MARIA JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                              Philadelphia, March 9th, 1791.

     My dear Maria--I am happy at length to have a letter of yours
     to answer, for that which you wrote to me February 13th came to
     hand February 28th. I hope our correspondence will now be more
     regular, that you will be no more lazy, and I no more in the
     pouts on that account. On the 27th of February I saw blackbirds
     and robin-redbreasts, and on the 7th of this month I heard
     frogs for the first time this year. Have you noted the first
     appearance of these things at Monticello? I hope you have, and
     will continue to note every appearance, animal and vegetable,
     which indicates the approach of spring, and will communicate
     them to me. By these means we shall be able to compare the
     climates of Philadelphia and Monticello. Tell me when you shall
     have peas, etc., up; when every thing comes to table; when you
     shall have the first chickens hatched; when every kind of tree
     blossoms, or puts forth leaves; when each kind of flower blooms.
     Kiss your sister and niece for me, and present me affectionately
     to Mr. Randolph and Miss Jenny.

                  Yours tenderly, my dear Maria,

                                                      TH. J.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                             Philadelphia, March 24th, 1791.

     My dear Daughter--The badness of the roads retards the post,
     so that I have received no letter this week from Monticello. I
     shall hope soon to have one from yourself; to know from that
     that you are perfectly re-established, that the little Anne is
     becoming a big one, that you have received Dr. Gregory's book
     and are daily profiting from it. This will hardly reach you
     in time to put you on the watch for the annular eclipse of the
     sun, which is to happen on Sunday se'nnight, to begin about
     sunrise. It will be such a one as is rarely to be seen twice in
     one life. I have lately received a letter from Fulwar Skipwith,
     who is Consul for us in Martinique and Guadaloupe. He fixed
     himself first in the former, but has removed to the latter. Are
     any of your acquaintances in either of those islands? If they
     are, I wish you would write to them and recommend him to their
     acquaintance. He will be a sure medium through which you may
     exchange souvenirs with your friends of a more useful kind than
     those of the convent. He sent me half a dozen pots of very fine
     sweetmeats. Apples and cider are the greatest presents which
     can be sent to those islands. I can make those presents for you
     whenever you choose to write a letter to accompany them, only
     observing the season for apples. They had better deliver their
     letters for you to F. S. Skipwith. Things are going on well
     in France, the Revolution being past all danger. The National
     Assembly being to separate soon, that event will seal the whole
     with security. Their islands, but more particularly St. Domingo
     and Martinique, are involved in a horrid civil war. Nothing can
     be more distressing than the situation of their inhabitants, as
     their slaves have been called into action, and are a terrible
     engine, absolutely ungovernable. It is worse in Martinique,
     which was the reason Mr. Skipwith left it. An army and fleet
     from France are expected every hour to quell the disorders. I
     suppose you are busily engaged in your garden. I expect full
     details on that subject as well as from Poll, that I may judge
     what sort of a gardener you make. Present me affectionately to
     all around you, and be assured of the tender and unalterable
     love of, yours,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_From Mary Jefferson._

                                Monticello, March 6th, 1791.

     According to my dear papa's request I now sit down to write. We
     were very uneasy for not having had a letter from you since six
     weeks, till yesterday I received yours, which I now answer. The
     marble pedestal and a dressing-table are come. Jenny is gone
     down with Mrs. Fleming, who came here to see sister when she
     was sick. I suppose you have not received the letter in which
     Mr. Randolph desires you to name the child. We hope you will
     come to see us this summer, therefore you must not disappoint
     us, and I expect you want to see my little niece as much as you
     do any of us. We are all well, and hope you are so too. Adieu,
     dear papa. I am your affectionate daughter,

                                            MARIA JEFFERSON.

     P.S. My sister says I must tell you the child grows very fast.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                             Philadelphia, March 31st, 1791.

     My dear Maria--I am happy to have a letter of yours to answer.
     That of March 6th came to my hands on the 24th. By-the-by, you
     never acknowledged the receipt of my letters, nor tell me on
     what day they came to hand. I presume that by this time you have
     received the two dressing-tables with marble tops. I give one
     of them to your sister, and the other to you: mine is here with
     the top broken in two. Mr. Randolph's letter, referring to me
     the name of your niece, was very long on the road. I answered it
     as soon as I received it, and hope the answer got duly to hand.
     Lest it should have been delayed, I repeated last week to your
     sister the name of Anne, which I had recommended as belonging to
     both families. I wrote you in my last that the frogs had begun
     their songs on the 7th; since that the bluebirds saluted us on
     the 17th; the weeping-willow began to leaf on the 18th; the
     lilac and gooseberry on the 25th; and the golden-willow on the
     26th. I inclose for your sister three kinds of flowering beans,
     very beautiful and very rare. She must plant and nourish them
     with her own hand this year, in order to save enough seeds for
     herself and me. Tell Mr. Randolph I have sold my tobacco for
     five dollars per c., and the rise between this and September.
     Warehouse and shipping expenses in Virginia, freight and storage
     here, come to 2_s._ 9_d._ a hundred, so that it is as if I had
     sold it in Richmond for 27_s._ 3_d._ credit till September, or
     half per cent. per month discount for the ready money. If he
     chooses it, his Bedford tobacco may be included in the sale.
     Kiss every body for me. Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                             Philadelphia, April 17th, 1791.

     My dear Daughter--Since I wrote last to you, which was on the
     24th of March, I have received yours of March 22. I am indeed
     sorry to hear of the situation of Walter Gilmer, and shall hope
     the letters from Monticello will continue to inform me how he
     does. I know how much his parents will suffer, and how much he
     merited all their affection. Mrs. Trist has been so kind as to
     have your calash made, but either by mistake of the maker or
     myself it is not lined with green. I have, therefore, desired
     a green lining to be got, which you can put in yourself if you
     prefer it. Mrs. Trist has observed that there is a kind of veil
     lately introduced here, and much approved. It fastens over the
     brim of the hat, and then draws round the neck as close or open
     as you please. I desire a couple to be made, to go with the
     calash and other things. Mr. Lewis not liking to write letters,
     I do not hear from him; but I hope you are readily furnished
     with all the supplies and conveniences the estate affords. I
     shall not be able to see you till September, by which time the
     young grand-daughter will begin to look bold and knowing. I
     inclose you a letter to a woman who lives, I believe, on Buck
     Island. It is from her sister in Paris, which I would wish you
     to send _express_. I hope your garden is flourishing. Present me
     affectionately to Mr. Randolph and Polly.

                             Yours sincerely, my dear,
                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

I find among his letters for this month (March) the following
friendly note to Mr. Madison:

_Jefferson to Madison._

     What say you to taking a wade into the country at noon? It will
     be pleasant above head at least, and the party will finish
     by dining here. Information that Colonel Beckwith is coming
     to be an inmate with you, and I presume not a desirable one,
     encourages me to make a proposition, which I did not venture as
     long as you had your agreeable Congressional society about you;
     that is, to come and take a bed and plate with me. I have four
     rooms, of which any one is at your service. Three of them are
     up two pair of stairs, the other on the ground-floor, and can be
     in readiness to receive you in twenty-four hours. Let me entreat
     you, my dear Sir, to do it, if it be not disagreeable to you.
     To me it will be a relief from a solitude of which I have too
     much; and it will lessen your repugnance to be assured it will
     not increase my expenses an atom. When I get my library open,
     you will often find a convenience in being close at hand to it.
     The approaching season will render this situation more agreeable
     than Fifth Street, and even in the winter you will not find it
     disagreeable. Let me, I beseech you, have a favorable answer to
     both propositions.

                                           March 13th, 1791.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                             Philadelphia, April 24th, 1791.

     I have received, my dear Maria, your letter of March 26th.
     I find I have counted too much on you as a botanical and
     zoological correspondent, for I undertook to affirm here that
     the fruit was not killed in Virginia, because I had a young
     daughter there who was in that kind of correspondence with
     me, and who, I was sure, would have mentioned it if it had
     been so. However, I shall go on communicating to you whatever
     may contribute to a comparative estimate of the two climates,
     in hopes it will induce you to do the same to me. Instead of
     waiting to send the two veils for your sister and yourself round
     with the other things, I inclose them with this letter. Observe
     that one of the strings is to be drawn tight round the root of
     the crown of the hat, and the veil then falling over the brim of
     the hat, is drawn by the lower string as tight or loose as you
     please round the neck. When the veil is not chosen to be down,
     the lower string is also tied round the root of the crown, so
     as to give the appearance of a puffed bandage for the hat. I
     send also inclosed the green lining for the calash. J. Eppes is
     arrived here. Present my affections to Mr. R., your sister, and

                            Yours with tender love,
                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

  April 5. Apricots in bloom,
           Cherry leafing.
    "   9. Peach in bloom,
           Apple leafing.
    "  11. Cherry in blossom.

_From Mary Jefferson._

                               Monticello, April 18th, 1791.

     Dear Papa--I received your letter of March 31st the 14th of
     this month; as for that of March 9, I received it some time
     last month, but I do not remember the day. I have finished Don
     Quixote, and as I have not Desoles yet, I shall read Lazarillo
     de Tormes. The garden is backward, the inclosure having but
     lately been finished. I wish you would be so kind as to send me
     seven yards of cloth like the piece I send you. Adieu, my dear

                 I am your affectionate daughter,
                                            MARIA JEFFERSON.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]

                                Philadelphia, May 8th, 1791.

     I thank you for all the small news of your letter, which it
     is very grateful for me to receive. I am happy to find you
     are on good terms with your neighbors. It is almost the most
     important circumstance in life, since nothing is so corroding
     as frequently to meet persons with whom one has any difference.
     The ill-will of a single neighbor is an immense drawback on the
     happiness of life, and therefore their good-will can not be
     bought too dear.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                                Philadelphia, May 8th, 1791.

     My dear Maria--Your letter of April 18th came to hand on the
     30th; that of May 1st I received last night. By the stage which
     carries this letter I send you twelve yards of striped nankeen
     of the pattern inclosed. It is addressed to the care of Mr.
     Brown, merchant in Richmond, and will arrive there with this
     letter. There are no stuffs here of the kind you sent. April
     30th the lilac blossomed. May 4th the gelder-rose, dogwood,
     redbud, azalea were in blossom. We have still pretty constant
     fires here. I shall answer Mr. Randolph's letter a week hence.
     It will be the last I shall write to Monticello for some weeks,
     because about this day se'nnight I set out to join Mr. Madison
     at New York, from whence we shall go up to Albany and Lake
     George, then cross over to Bennington, and so through Vermont
     to the Connecticut River, down Connecticut River, by Hartford,
     to New Haven, then to New York and Philadelphia. Take a map and
     trace this route. I expect to be back in Philadelphia about
     the middle of June. I am glad you are to learn to ride, but
     hope that your horse is very gentle, and that you will never be
     venturesome. A lady should never ride a horse which she might
     not safely ride without a bridle. I long to be with you all.
     Kiss the little one every morning for me, and learn her to run
     about before I come. Adieu, my dear. Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following letter from Jefferson to his brother-in-law, Mr. Eppes,
gives us a glimpse of young Jack Eppes, his future son-in-law:

_To Francis Eppes._

                               Philadelphia, May 15th, 1791.

     Dear Sir--Jack's letters will have informed you of his arrival
     here safe and in health.... Your favors of April 5th and 27th
     are received. I had just answered a letter of Mr. Skipwith's on
     the subject of the Guineaman, and therefore send you a copy of
     that by way of answer to your last. I shall be in Virginia in
     October, but can not yet say whether I shall be able to go to

     Jack is now set in to work regularly. He passes from two to four
     hours a day at the College, completing his courses of sciences,
     and four hours at the law. Besides this, he will write an hour
     or two to learn the style of business and acquire a habit of
     writing, and will read something in history and government. The
     course I propose for him will employ him a couple of years. I
     shall not fail to impress upon him a due sense of the advantage
     of qualifying himself to get a living independently of other
     resources. As yet I discover nothing but a disposition to apply
     closely. I set out to-morrow on a journey of a month to Lakes
     George, Champlain, etc., and having yet a thousand things to do,
     I can only add assurances of the sincere esteem with which I am,
     dear sir, your affectionate friend and servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

    FRANCIS EPPES, Esq., Eppington.

In a letter of the same date to Mrs. Eppes, he writes:

_To Mrs. Eppes._

     I received your favor of April 6th by Jack, and my letter of
     this date to Mr. Eppes will inform you that he is well under
     way. If we can keep him out of love, he will be able to go
     straight forward and to make good progress. I receive with real
     pleasure your congratulations on my advancement to the venerable
     corps of grandfathers, and can assure you with truth that I
     expect from it more felicity than any other advancement ever
     gave me. I only wish for the hour when I may go and enjoy it
     entire. It was my intention to have troubled you with Maria when
     I left Virginia in November, satisfied it would be better _for
     her_ to be with you; but the solitude of her sister, and the
     desire of keeping them united in that affection for each other
     which is to be the best future food of their lives, induced me
     to leave her at Monticello.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                             Lake Champlain, May 31st, 1791.

     My dear Martha--I wrote to Maria yesterday while sailing on
     Lake George, and the same kind of leisure is afforded me to-day
     to write to you. Lake George is, without comparison, the most
     beautiful water I ever saw; formed by a contour of mountains
     into a basin thirty-five miles long, and from two to four miles
     broad, finely interspersed with islands, its water limpid as
     crystal, and the mountain sides covered with rich groves of
     thuja, silver fir, white pine, aspen, and paper birch down to
     the water-edge; here and there precipices of rock to checker
     the scene and save it from monotony. An abundance of speckled
     trout, salmon trout, bass, and other fish, with which it is
     stored, have added, to our other amusements, the sport of
     taking them. Lake Champlain, though much larger, is a far less
     pleasant water. It is muddy, turbulent, and yields little game.
     After penetrating into it about twenty-five miles, we have been
     obliged, by a head wind and high sea, to return, having spent a
     day and a half in sailing on it. We shall take our route again
     through Lake George, pass through Vermont, down Connecticut
     River, and through Long Island to New York and Philadelphia.
     Our journey has hitherto been prosperous and pleasant, except
     as to the weather, which has been as sultry and hot through
     the whole as could be found in Carolina or Georgia. I suspect,
     indeed, that the heats of Northern climates may be more powerful
     than those of Southern ones in proportion as they are shorter.
     Perhaps vegetation requires this. There is as much fever and
     ague, too, and other bilious complaints on Lake Champlain as on
     the swamps of Carolina. Strawberries here are in the blossom,
     or just formed. With you, I suppose, the season is over. On
     the whole, I find nothing anywhere else, in point of climate,
     which Virginia need envy to any part of the world. Here they are
     locked up in ice and snow for six months. Spring and autumn,
     which make a paradise of our country, are rigorous winter with
     them; and a tropical summer breaks on them all at once. When
     we consider how much climate contributes to the happiness of
     our condition, by the fine sensations it excites, and the
     productions it is the parent of, we have reason to value highly
     the accident of birth in such a one as that of Virginia.

     From this distance I can have little domestic to write to you
     about. I must always repeat how much I love you. Kiss the little
     Anne for me. I hope she grows lustily, enjoys good health, and
     will make us all, and long, happy as the centre of our common
     love. Adieu, my dear.

                        Yours affectionately,
                                          TH. JEFFERSON.[43]

  [43] This letter, as a matter of curiosity probably, was written
  in a book of the bark of the paper birch, having leaves seven
  inches long by four wide. (Note from Randall's Jefferson.)

The allusion in the following letter to the Duke of Dorset, and
to his niece, the charming Lady Caroline Tufton, deserves a word
of explanation. The Duke was British Minister in France during
Mr. Jefferson's stay there. The two became acquainted and warm
personal friends, and an intimate friendship sprang up between
Martha Jefferson and Lady Caroline. On her return to America, Martha
requested her father to call one of his farms by her friend's name,
which he did, and a fine farm lying at the foot of Monticello bears
at this day the name of Tufton.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]

                               Philadelphia, June 23d, 1791.

     I wrote to each of you once during my journey, from which I
     returned four days ago, having enjoyed through the whole of it
     very perfect health. I am in hopes the relaxation it gave me
     from business has freed me from the almost constant headache
     with which I had been persecuted during the whole winter and
     spring. Having been entirely clear of it while travelling,
     proves it to have been occasioned by the drudgery of business.
     I found here, on my return, your letter of May 23d, with the
     pleasing information that you were all in good health. I wish I
     could say when I shall be able to join you; but that will depend
     on the motions of the President, who is not yet returned to this

     In a letter written to me by young Mr. Franklin, who is in
     London, is the following paragraph: "I meet here with many who
     ask kindly after you. Among these the Duke of Dorset, who is
     very particular in his inquiries. He has mentioned to me that
     his niece has wrote once or twice to your daughter since her
     return to America; but not receiving an answer, had supposed she
     meant to drop her acquaintance, which his niece much regretted.
     I ventured to assure him that was not likely, and that possibly
     the letters might have miscarried. You will take what notice of
     this you may think proper." Fulwar Skipwith is on his return to
     the United States. Mrs. Trist and Mrs. Waters often ask after
     you. Mr. Lewis being very averse to writing, I must trouble Mr.
     Randolph to inquire of him relative to my tobacco, and to inform
     me about it. I sold the whole of what was good here. Seventeen
     hogsheads only are yet come; and by a letter of May 29, from
     Mr. Hylton, there were then but two hogsheads more arrived at
     the warehouse. I am uneasy at the delay, because it not only
     embarrasses me with guessing at excuses to the purchaser, but is
     likely to make me fail in my payments to Hanson, which ought to
     be made in Richmond on the 19th of next month. I wish much to
     know when the rest may be expected.

     In your last you observed you had not received a letter from
     me in five weeks. My letters to you have been of Jan. 20,
     Feb. 9, March 2, 24, April 17, May 8, which you will observe
     to be pretty regularly once in three weeks. Matters in France
     are still going on safely. Mirabeau is dead; also the Duke de
     Richelieu; so that the Duke de Fronsac has now succeeded to the
     head of the family, though not to the title, these being all
     abolished. Present me affectionately to Mr. Randolph and Polly,
     and kiss the little one for me.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                              Philadelphia, June 26th, 1791.

     My dear Maria--I hope you have received the letter I wrote you
     from Lake George, and that you have well fixed in your own mind
     the geography of that lake, and of the whole of my tour, so as
     to be able to give me a good account of it when I shall see you.
     On my return here I found your letter of May 29th, giving me
     the information it is always so pleasing to me to receive--that
     you are all well. Would to God I could be with you to partake
     of your felicities, and to tell you in person how much I love
     you all, and how necessary it is to my happiness to be with
     you. In my letter to your sister, written to her two or three
     days ago, I expressed my uneasiness at hearing nothing more of
     my tobacco, and asked some inquiries to be made of Mr. Lewis on
     the subject. But I received yesterday a letter from Mr. Lewis
     with full explanations, and another from Mr. Hylton, informing
     me the tobacco was on its way to this place. Therefore desire
     your sister to suppress that part of my letter and say nothing
     about it. Tell her from me how much I love her. Kiss her and
     the little one for me, and present my best affections to Mr.
     Randolph, assured of them also yourself, from yours,

                                                      TH. J.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                              Philadelphia, July 31st, 1791.

     The last letter I have from you, my dear Maria, was of the 29th
     of May, which is nine weeks ago. Those which you ought to have
     written the 19th of June and 10th of July would have reached
     me before this if they had been written. I mentioned in my
     letter of the last week to your sister that I had sent off some
     stores to Richmond, which I should be glad to have carried to
     Monticello in the course of the ensuing month of August. They
     are addressed to the care of Mr. Brown. You mentioned formerly
     that the two commodes were arrived at Monticello. Were my two
     sets of ivory chessmen in the drawers? They have not been found
     in any of the packages which came here, and Petit seems quite
     sure they were packed up. How goes on the music, both with your
     sister and yourself? Adieu, my dear Maria. Kiss and bless all
     the family for me.

                        Yours affectionately,
                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_From Mary Jefferson._

                                Monticello, July 10th, 1791.

     My dear Papa--I have received both your letters, that from Lake
     George and of June the 26th. I am very much obliged to you
     for them, and think the bark that you wrote on prettier than
     paper. Mrs. Monroe and Aunt Bolling are here. My aunt would have
     written to you, but she was unwell. She intends to go to the
     North Garden. Mr. Monroe is gone to Williamsburg to stay two
     or three weeks, and has left his lady here. She is a charming
     woman. My sweet Anne grows prettier every day. I thank you for
     the pictures and nankeen that you sent me, which I think very
     pretty. Adieu, dear papa.

                  I am your affectionate daughter,
                                            MARIA JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                            Philadelphia, August 21st, 1791.

     My dear Maria--Your letter of July 10th is the last news I have
     from Monticello. The time of my setting out for that place is
     now fixed to some time in the first week of September, so that I
     hope to be there between the 10th and 15th. My horse is still in
     such a condition as to give little hope of his living: so that
     I expect to be under the necessity of buying one when I come to
     Virginia, as I informed Mr. Randolph in my last letter to him. I
     am in hopes, therefore, he will have fixed his eye on some one
     for me, if I should be obliged to buy. In the mean time, as Mr.
     Madison comes with me, he has a horse which will help us on to
     Virginia. Kiss little Anne for me, and tell her to be putting on
     her best looks. My best affections to Mr. Randolph, your sister,
     and yourself. Adieu, my dear Maria,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In a letter written to Mrs. Randolph in July he announced the arrival
of his French steward, Petit,[44] who he said accosted him "with the
assurance that he had come pour rester toujours avec moi," he goes
on, as follows:

     The principal small news he brings is that Panthemont is one of
     the convents to be kept up for education; that the old Abbess
     is living, but Madame de Taubenheim dead; that some of the nuns
     have chosen to rejoin the world, others to stay; that there are
     no English prisoners there now; Botidorer remains there, etc.,
     etc. Mr. Short lives in the Hôtel d'Orleans, where I lived when
     you first went to Panthemont.

  [44] This servant had made himself invaluable to Mr. Jefferson;
  and in a previous letter he wrote to Mrs. Randolph, "I have been
  made happy by Petit's determination to come to me. I did not look
  out for another, because I still hoped he would come. In fact, he
  retired to Champaigne to live with his mother, and after a short
  time wrote to Mr. Short 'qu'il mourait d'ennui,' and was willing
  to come."

The following extract from a letter of Jefferson to Washington,
written early in the spring of this year (1791), shows the warmth of
his affection for him, and betrays a touching anxiety for his welfare:

     I shall be happy to hear that no accident has happened to you in
     the bad roads you have passed, and that you are better prepared
     for those to come by lowering the hang of your carriage, and
     exchanging the coachman for two postilions, circumstances which
     I confess to you appeared to me essential for your safety; for
     which no one on earth more sincerely prays, both from public and
     private regard, than he who has the honor to be, with sentiments
     of the most profound respect, Sir, your most obedient and most
     humble servant.

Mr. Jefferson left Philadelphia for Virginia on the 2d of September,
and arrived at Monticello on the 12th. He remained there just one
month, leaving for the seat of government on the 12th of October.
His regrets at leaving home were on this occasion lessened by the
pleasure of being accompanied on his return to Philadelphia by his
beautiful young daughter, Maria. His establishment in Philadelphia
was one suitable to his rank and position. He kept five horses, and
besides his French steward, Petit, who presided over the ménage of
his house, he had four or five hired male servants and his daughter's

In a letter to Mr. Randolph written on the 25th of October, he writes
thus of his journey:

     The first part of our journey was pleasant, except some
     hair-breadth escapes which our new horse occasioned us in going
     down hills the first day or two, after which he behaved better,
     and came through the journey preserving the fierceness of his
     spirit to the last. I believe he will make me a valuable horse.
     Mrs. Washington took possession of Maria at Mount Vernon, and
     only restored her to me here (Philadelphia). It was fortunate
     enough, as we had to travel through five days of north-east
     storm, having learned at Mount Vernon that Congress was to
     meet on the 24th instead of the 31st, as I had thought. We got
     here only on the 22d. The sales at Georgetown were few, but
     good. They averaged $2400 the acre. Maria is immersed in new
     acquaintances; but particularly happy with Nelly Custis, and
     particularly attended to by Mrs. Washington. She will be with
     Mrs. Pine a few days hence.

In a later letter to Mrs. Randolph, he says:

     Maria is fixed at Mrs. Pine's, and perfectly at home. She has
     made young friends enough to keep herself in a bustle, and has
     been honored with the visits of Mrs. Adams, Mrs. Randolph, Mrs.
     Rittenhouse, etc., etc.

Towards the close of this year Jefferson began to keep his "Ana," or
notes on the passing transactions of the day.

The tale of his life will be found pleasantly carried on in the
following letters to his daughter:

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                           Philadelphia, January 15th, 1792.

     My dear Martha--Having no particular subject for a letter, I
     find none more soothing to my mind than to indulge itself in
     expressions of the love I bear you, and the delight with which I
     recall the various scenes through which we have passed together
     in our wanderings over the world. These reveries alleviate the
     toils and inquietudes of my present situation, and leave me
     always impressed with the desire of being at home once more,
     and of exchanging labor, envy, and malice for ease, domestic
     occupation, and domestic love and society; where I may once more
     be happy with you, with Mr. Randolph, and dear little Anne,
     with whom even Socrates might ride on a stick without being
     ridiculous. Indeed it is with difficulty that my resolution will
     bear me through what yet lies between the present day and that
     which, on mature consideration of all circumstances respecting
     myself and others, my mind has determined to be the proper one
     for relinquishing my office. Though not very distant, it is
     not near enough for my wishes. The ardor of these, however,
     would be abated if I thought that, on coming home, I should
     be left alone. On the contrary, I hope that Mr. Randolph will
     find a convenience in making only leisurely preparations for a
     settlement, and that I shall be able to make you both happier
     than you have been at Monticello, and relieve you of désagrémens
     to which I have been sensible you were exposed, without the
     power in myself to prevent it, but by my own presence. Remember
     me affectionately to Mr. Randolph, and be assured of the tender
     love of, yours,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                          Philadelphia, February 26th, 1792.

     My dear Martha--We are in daily expectation of hearing of your
     safe return to Monticello, and all in good health. The season
     is now coming on when I shall envy you your occupations in the
     fields and garden, while I am shut up drudging within four
     walls. Maria is well and lazy, therefore does not write. Your
     friends, Mrs. Trist and Mrs. Waters, are well also, and often
     inquire after you. We have nothing new and interesting from
     Europe for Mr. Randolph. He will perceive by the papers that the
     English are beaten off the ground by Tippoo Saib. The Leyden
     Gazette assures that they were only saved by the unexpected
     arrival of the Mahrattas, who were suing to Tippoo Saib for
     peace for Lord Cornwallis. My best esteem to Mr. Randolph, and
     am, my dear Martha, yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                              Philadelphia, March 22d, 1792.

     My dear Martha--Yours of February 20th came to me with that
     welcome which every thing brings from you. It is a relief to be
     withdrawn from the torment of the scenes amidst which we are.
     Spectators of the heats and tumults of conflicting parties, we
     can not help participating of their feelings. I should envy you
     the tranquil occupations of your situation, were it not that I
     value your happiness more than my own, but I too shall have my
     turn. The ensuing year will be the longest of my life, and the
     last of such hateful labors; the next we will sow our cabbages
     together. Maria is well. Having changed my day of writing from
     Sunday to Thursday or Friday, she will oftener miss writing, as
     not being with me at the time. I believe you knew Otchakitz, the
     Indian who lived with the Marquis de Lafayette. He came here
     lately with some deputies from his nation, and died here of a
     pleurisy. I was at his funeral yesterday; he was buried standing
     up, according to their manner. I think it will still be a month
     before your neighbor, Mrs. Monroe, will leave us. She will
     probably do it with more pleasure than heretofore, as I think
     she begins to tire of the town and feel a relish for scenes of
     more tranquillity. Kiss dear Anne for her aunt, and twice for
     her grandpapa. Give my best affections to Mr. Randolph, and
     accept yourself all my tenderness.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In the following extract from a letter to General Washington, written
on the 23d of May (1792), Jefferson makes an eloquent appeal to him
to remain for another term at the head of the Government. After
speaking of the evil of a dissolution of the Union, he goes on to

_To George Washington._

     Yet, when we consider the mass which opposed the original
     coalescence; when we consider that it lay chiefly in the
     Southern quarter; that the Legislature have availed themselves
     of no occasion of allaying it, but, on the contrary, whenever
     Northern and Southern prejudices have come into conflict, the
     latter have been sacrificed and the former soothed; that the
     owners of the debt are in the Southern, and the holders of it in
     the Northern division; ... who can be sure that these things
     may not proselyte the small number that was wanting to place the
     majority on the other side? And this is the event at which I
     tremble, and to prevent which I consider your continuing at the
     head of affairs as of the last importance. The confidence of the
     whole Union is centred in you. Your being at the helm will be
     more than an answer to every argument which can be used to alarm
     and lead the people in any quarter into violence and secession.
     North and South will hang together if they have you to hang on;
     and if the first correction of a numerous representation should
     fail in its effect, your presence will give time for trying
     others not inconsistent with the union and peace of the State.

     I am perfectly aware of the oppression under which your present
     office lays your mind, and of the ardor with which you pant
     for domestic life. But there is, sometimes an eminence of
     character on which society have such peculiar claims as to
     control the predilections of the individual for a particular
     walk of happiness, and restrain him to that alone arising from
     the present and future benedictions of mankind. This seems to
     be your condition, and the law imposed on you by Providence in
     forming your character, and fashioning the events on which it
     was to operate; and it is to motives like these, and not to
     personal anxieties of mine or others, who have no right to call
     on you for sacrifices, that I appeal, and urge a revisal of it,
     on the ground of change in the aspect of things.... One or two
     sessions will determine the crisis, and I can not but hope that
     you can resolve to add more to the many years you have already
     sacrificed to the good of mankind.

     The fear of suspicion that any selfish motive of continuance in
     office may enter into this solicitation on my part, obliges me
     to declare that no such motive exists. It is a thing of mere
     indifference to the public whether I retain or relinquish my
     purpose of closing my tour with the first periodical renovation
     of the Government. I know my own measure too well to suppose
     that my services contribute any thing to the public confidence
     or the public utility. Multitudes can fill the office in which
     you have been pleased to place me, as much to their advantage
     and satisfaction. I have, therefore, no motive to consult but
     my own inclination, which is bent irresistibly on the tranquil
     enjoyment of my family, my farm, and my books. I should repose
     among them, it is true, in far greater security if I were to
     know that you remained at the watch; and I hope it will be so.

The following extract is taken from an affectionate letter written by
Jefferson to Lafayette on the 16th of June, in which he congratulates
him on his promotion to the command of the French armies:

     Behold you, then, my dear friend, at the head of a great army
     establishing the liberties of your country against a foreign
     enemy. May Heaven favor your cause, and make you the channel
     through which it may pour its favors. While you are extirpating
     the monster aristocracy, and pulling out the teeth and fangs
     of its associate monarchy, a contrary tendency is discovered
     in some here. A sect has shown itself among us, who declare
     they espoused our new Constitution not as a good and sufficient
     thing in itself, but only as a step to an English Constitution,
     the only thing good and sufficient in itself, in their eye. It
     is happy for us that these are preachers without followers,
     and that our people are firm and constant in their republican
     purity. You will wonder to be told that it is from the eastward
     chiefly that these champions for a King, Lords, and Commons come.

On the 22d of the same month he writes from Philadelphia to Mrs.
Randolph as follows:

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

     My dear Martha--Yours of May 27th came to hand on the very day
     of my last to you, but after it was gone off. That of June 11th
     was received yesterday. Both made us happy in informing us
     you were all well. The rebuke to Maria produced the inclosed
     letter. The time of my departure for Monticello is not yet
     known. I shall, within a week from this time, send off my stores
     as usual, that they may arrive before me. So that, should any
     wagons be going down from the neighborhood, it would be well to
     desire them to call on Mr. Brown in order to take up the stores
     should they be arrived. I suspect, by the account you give me of
     your garden, that you mean a surprise, as good singers always
     preface their performances by complaints of cold, hoarseness,
     etc. Maria is still with me. I am endeavoring to find a good
     lady to put her with, if possible. If not, I shall send her to
     Mrs. Brodeaux, as the last shift. Old Mrs. Hopkinson is living
     in town, but does not keep house. I am in hopes you have visited
     young Mrs. Lewis, and borne with the old one, so as to keep
     on visiting terms. Sacrifices and suppression of feeling in
     this way cost much less pain than open separation. The former
     are soon over; the latter haunt the peace of every day of
     one's life, be that ever so long. Adieu, my dear, with my best
     affections to Mr. Randolph. Anne enjoys them without valuing

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.


     Anonymous Attacks on Jefferson.--Washington's Letter to
     him.--His Reply.--Letter to Edmund Randolph.--Returns
     to Philadelphia.--Washington urges him to remain in his
     Cabinet.-- Letters to his Daughter.--To his Son-in-law.--To
     his Brother-in-law.--Sends his Resignation to the President.--
     Fever in Philadelphia.--Weariness of Public Life.--Letters
     to his Daughters.--To Mrs. Church.--To his Daughter.--Visits
     Monticello.-- Returns to Philadelphia.--Letter to Madison.--
     To Mrs. Church.--To his Daughters.--Interview with Genet.--
     Letter to Washington.--His Reply.--Jefferson returns to
     Monticello.--State of his Affairs, and Extent of his
     Possessions.--Letter to Washington.--To Mr. Adams.--Washington
     attempts to get Jefferson back in his Cabinet.--Letter
     to Edmund Randolph, declining.--Pleasures of his Life at
     Monticello.--Letter to Madison.--To Giles.--To Rutledge.--To
     young Lafayette.

In a letter which Jefferson wrote to Edmund Randolph (September 17th,
1792) while on a visit to Monticello, he thus alludes to an anonymous
newspaper attack on himself:

_To Edmund Randolph._

     Every fact alleged under the signature of "An American" as to
     myself is false, and can be proved so, and perhaps will be one
     day. But for the present lying and scribbling must be free to
     those mean enough to deal in them, and in the dark. I should
     have been setting out for Philadelphia within a day or two; but
     the addition of a grandson and indisposition of my daughter will
     probably detain me here a week longer.

The grandson whose birth is announced in this letter received the
name of his distinguished grandsire, and grew up to bear in after
life the relations and fulfill the duties of a son to him.

On his way back to Philadelphia, after a stay of some months at
Monticello, Jefferson stopped at Mount Vernon, and was there
earnestly entreated by the President to reconsider his determination
to resign his office as Secretary of State.

Washington having consented to be elected President for a second
term, was more and more persistent in his efforts to retain Jefferson
in his cabinet, and his wishes, added to the entreaties of his
friends, shook his resolution to retire, and finally succeeded in
making him agree to remain in office at least for a short time
longer. How reluctantly he yielded, and with what sacrifice of his
own feelings and interests, the reader may judge from the following
letter written by him to his daughter before his mind was finally
made up on the subject:

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                           Philadelphia, January 26th, 1793.

     My dear Martha--I received two days ago yours of the 16th. You
     were never more mistaken than in supposing you were too long on
     the prattle, etc., of little Anne. I read it with quite as much
     pleasure as you write it. I sincerely wish I could hear of her
     perfect re-establishment. I have for some time past been under
     an agitation of mind which I scarcely ever experienced before,
     produced by a check on my purpose of returning home at the close
     of this session of Congress. My operations at Monticello had all
     been made to bear upon that point of time; my mind was fixed
     on it with a fondness which was extreme, the purpose firmly
     declared to the President, when I became assailed from all
     quarters with a variety of objections. Among these it was urged
     that my retiring just when I had been attacked in the public
     papers would injure me in the eyes of the public, who would
     suppose I either withdrew from investigation, or because I had
     not tone of mind sufficient to meet slander. The only reward I
     ever wished on my retirement was to carry with me nothing like
     a disapprobation of the public. These representations have for
     some weeks past shaken a determination which I have thought
     the whole world could not have shaken. I have not yet finally
     made up my mind on the subject, nor changed my declaration to
     the President. But having perfect reliance in the disinterested
     friendship of some of those who have counselled and urged it
     strongly; believing they can see and judge better a question
     between the public and myself than I can, I feel a possibility
     that I may be detained here into the summer. A few days will
     decide. In the mean time I have permitted my house to be rented
     after the middle of March, have sold such of my furniture as
     would not suit Monticello, and am packing up the rest and
     storing it ready to be shipped off to Richmond as soon as the
     season of good sea-weather comes on. A circumstance which weighs
     on me next to the weightiest is the trouble which, I foresee, I
     shall be constrained to ask Mr. Randolph to undertake. Having
     taken from other pursuits a number of hands to execute several
     purposes which I had in view this year, I can not abandon those
     purposes and lose their labor altogether. I must, therefore,
     select the most important and least troublesome of them, the
     execution of my canal, and (without embarrassing him with any
     details which Clarkson and George are equal to) get him to tell
     them always what is to be done and how, and to attend to the
     levelling the bottom; but on this I shall write him particularly
     if I defer my departure. I have not received the letter which
     Mr. Carr wrote me from Richmond, nor any other from him since I
     left Monticello. My best affections to him, Mr. Randolph, and
     your fireside, and am, with sincere love, my dear Martha, yours,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Thomas Mann Randolph._--[_Extract._]

                                Philadelphia, Feb. 3d, 1793.

     In my letter to my daughter, of the last week, I suggested to
     her that a possibility had arisen that I might not return home
     as early as I had determined. It happened unfortunately that
     the attack made on me in the newspapers came out soon after I
     began to speak freely and publicly of my purpose to retire this
     spring, and, from the modes of publication, the public were
     possessed of the former sooner than of the latter; and I find
     that as well those who are my friends as those who are not,
     putting the two things together as cause and effect, conceived
     I was driven from my office either from want of firmness or
     perhaps fear of investigation. Desirous that my retirement may
     be clouded by no imputations of this kind, I see not only a
     possibility, but rather a probability, that I shall postpone
     it for some time. Whether for weeks or months, I can not now
     say. This must depend in some degree on the will of those who
     troubled the waters before. When they suffer them to be calm I
     will go into port. My inclinations never before suffered such
     violence, and my interests also are materially affected.

The following extracts from letters to his daughter show the
tenderness of his feelings for his young grandchildren:

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

     The last letter received from Mr. Randolph or yourself is of
     Oct. 7, which is near seven weeks ago. I ascribe this to your
     supposed absence from Monticello, but it makes me uneasy when I
     recollect the frail state of your two little ones. I hope some
     letter is on the way to me. I have no news for you except the
     marriage of your friend, Lady Elizabeth Tufton, to some very
     rich person.

     I have this day received yours of the 18th November, and
     sincerely sympathize with you on the state of dear Anne, if
     that can be called sympathy which proceeds from affection at
     first-hand; for my affections had fastened on her for her own
     sake, and not merely for yours. Still, however, experience (and
     that in your own case) has taught me that an infant is never
     desperate. Let me beseech you not to destroy the powers of her
     stomach with medicine. Nature alone can re-establish infant
     organs; only taking care that her efforts be not thwarted by any
     imprudences of diet. I rejoice in the health of your other hope.

The following will be found of interest:

_To Francis Eppes._

                               Philadelphia, Jan. 4th, 1793.

     Dear Sir--The greatest council of Indians which has been or
     will be held in our day, is to be at the River Glaise, about
     the southwest corner of Lake Erie, early in the spring. Three
     commissioners will be appointed to go there on our part. Jack
     is desirous of accompanying them; and though I do not know who
     they will be, I presume I can get him under their wing.... He
     will never have another chance for seeing so great a collection
     of Indian (probably 3000) nations from beyond the lakes and the
     Mississippi. It is really important that those who come into
     public life should know more of these people than we generally
     do.... I know no reason against his going, but that Mrs. Eppes
     will be thinking of his scalp. However, he may safely trust his
     where the commissioners will trust theirs....

                    Your affectionate friend and servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The address to the following letter from Jefferson is lost:

                             Philadelphia, March 18th, 1793.

     Dear Sir--I received your kind favor of the 26th ult., and thank
     you for its contents as sincerely as if I could engage in what
     they propose. When I first entered on the stage of public life
     (now twenty-four years ago), I came to a resolution never to
     engage, while in public office, in any kind of enterprise for
     the improvement of my fortune, nor to wear any other character
     than that of a farmer. I have never departed from it in a single
     instance; and I have in multiplied instances found myself happy
     in being able to decide and to act as a public servant, clear
     of all interest, in the multiform questions that have arisen,
     wherein I have seen others embarrassed and biased by having
     got themselves in a more interested situation. Thus I have
     thought myself richer in contentment than I should have been
     with any increase of fortune. Certainly, I should have been much
     wealthier had I remained in that private condition which renders
     it lawful, and even laudable, to use proper efforts to better
     it. However, my public career is now closing, and I will go
     through on the principle on which I have hitherto acted. But I
     feel myself under obligations to repeat my thanks for this mark
     of your attention and friendship.

After quoting this letter, Jefferson's biographer well says: "If Mr.
Jefferson would have consented to adopt a different rule, the saddest
page in his personal history would not be for us to write."

On the last day of July, Jefferson, still longing for the quiet of
home-life, wrote to the President, tendering his resignation. After
stating his reasons for so doing, he says:

_To George Washington._

     At the close, therefore, of the ensuing month of September, I
     shall beg leave to retire to scenes of greater tranquillity from
     those which I am every day more and more convinced that neither
     my talents, tone of mind, nor time of life fit me. I have
     thought it my duty to mention the matter thus early, that there
     may be time for the arrival of a successor from any part of the
     Union from which you may think proper to call one. That you may
     find one more able to lighten the burthen of your labors, I most
     sincerely wish; for no man living more sincerely wishes that
     your administration could be rendered as pleasant to yourself as
     it is useful and necessary to our country, nor feels for you a
     more rational or cordial attachment and respect than, dear Sir,
     your most obedient and most humble servant.

Early in August the President visited Jefferson at his house in the
country, and urged that he would allow him to defer the acceptance
of his resignation until the 1st of January. This Jefferson finally,
though reluctantly, agreed to do. The following extract from a letter
written by him to Madison in June will show how irksome public life
was to him:

_To James Madison._

     If the public, then, has no claim on me, and my friends nothing
     to justify, the decision will rest on my own feelings alone.
     There has been a time when these were very different from
     what they are now; when, perhaps, the esteem of the world
     was of higher value in my eye than every thing in it. But
     age, experience, and reflection, preserving to that only its
     due value, have set a higher on tranquillity. The motion of
     my blood no longer keeps time with the tumult of the world.
     It leads me to seek for happiness in the lap and love of my
     family, in the society of my neighbors and my books, in the
     wholesome occupations of my farms and my affairs, in an interest
     or affection in every bud that opens, in every breath that
     blows around me, in an entire freedom of rest, of motion,
     of thought--owing account to myself alone of my hours and
     actions. What must be the principle of that calculation which
     would balance against these the circumstances of my present
     existence--worn down with labors from morning to night, and
     day to day; knowing them as fruitless to others as they are
     vexatious to myself, committed singly in desperate and eternal
     contest against a host who are systematically undermining the
     public liberty and prosperity, even the rare hours of relaxation
     sacrificed to the society of persons in the same intentions,
     of whose hatred I am conscious, even in those moments of
     conviviality when the heart wishes most to open itself to the
     effusions of friendship and confidence; cut off from my family
     and friends, my affairs abandoned to chaos and derangement; in
     short, giving every thing I love in exchange for every thing I
     hate, and all this without a single gratification in possession
     or prospect, in present enjoyment or future wish. Indeed, my
     dear friend, duty being out of the question, inclination cuts
     off all argument, and so never let there be more between you and
     me on this subject.

To Mr. Morris he wrote, on September the 11th:

     An infectious and mortal fever is broke out in this place. The
     deaths under it, the week before last, were about forty; the
     last week about fifty; this week they will probably be about two
     hundred, and it is increasing. Every one is getting out of the
     city who can. Colonel Hamilton is ill of the fever, but is on
     the recovery. The President, according to an arrangement of some
     time ago, set out for Mount Vernon on yesterday. The Secretary
     of War is setting out on a visit to Massachusetts. I shall go
     in a few days to Virginia. When we shall reassemble again may,
     perhaps, depend on the course of this malady, and on that may
     depend the date of my next letter.

I shall now carry the reader back to the beginning of this year
(1793), and give extracts from Jefferson's letters to his daughter,
Mrs. Randolph, giving them in their chronological order:

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                           Philadelphia, January 14th, 1793.

     Though his letter informed me of the re-establishment of Anne,
     yet I wish to learn that time confirms our hopes. We were
     entertained here lately with the ascent of Mr. Blanchard in
     a balloon. The security of the thing appeared so great, that
     every body is wishing for a balloon to travel in. I wish for
     one sincerely, as, instead of ten days, I should be within five
     hours of home.

                          Philadelphia, February 24th, 1793.

     Kiss dear Anne, and ask her if she remembers me and will write
     to me. Health to the little one, and happiness to you all.

                             Philadelphia, March 10th, 1793.

     When I shall see you I can not say; but my heart and thoughts
     are all with you till I do. I have given up my house here,
     and taken a small one in the country, on the banks of the
     Schuylkill, to serve me while I stay. We are packing all our
     superfluous furniture, and shall be sending it by water to
     Richmond when the season becomes favorable. My books, too,
     except a very few, will be packed and go with the other things;
     so that I shall put it out of my own power to return to the
     city again to keep house, and it would be impossible to carry
     on business in the winter at a country residence. Though this
     points out an ultimate term of stay here, yet my mind is looking
     to a much shorter one, if the circumstances will permit it which
     broke in on my first resolution. Indeed, I have it much at heart
     to be at home in time to run up the part of the house, the
     latter part of the summer and fall, which I had proposed to do
     in the spring.

The following was written to an old friend:

_To Mrs. Church._

                               Philadelphia, June 7th, 1793.

     Dear Madam--Monsieur de Noailles has been so kind as to deliver
     me your letter. It fills up the measure of his titles to any
     service I can render him. It has served to recall to my mind
     remembrances which are very dear to it, and which often furnish
     a delicious resort from the dry and oppressive scenes of
     business. Never was any mortal more tired of these than I am. I
     thought to have been clear of them some months ago, but shall be
     detained a little longer, and then I hope to get back to those
     scenes for which alone my heart was made. I had understood we
     were shortly to have the happiness of seeing you in America. It
     is now, I think, the only country of tranquillity, and should be
     the asylum of all those who wish to avoid the scenes which have
     crushed our friends in Paris. What is become of Madame de Corny?
     I have never heard of her since I returned to America. Where
     is Mrs. Cosway? I have heard she was become a mother; but is
     the new object to absorb all her affections? I think, if you do
     not return to America soon, you will be fixed in England by new
     family connections; for I am sure my dear Kitty is too handsome
     and too good not to be sought, and sought till, for peace' sake,
     she must make somebody happy. Her friend Maria writes to her
     now, and I greet her with sincere attachment. Accept yourself
     assurances of the same from, dear Madam, your affectionate and
     humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

I continue his letters to his daughter, Mrs. Randolph.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                              Philadelphia, June 10th, 1793.

     I sincerely congratulate you on the arrival of the mocking-bird.
     Learn all the children to venerate it as a superior being in
     the form of a bird, or as a being which will haunt them if
     any harm is done to itself or its eggs. I shall hope that the
     multiplication of the cedar in the neighborhood, and of trees
     and shrubs round the house, will attract more of them; for
     they like to be in the neighborhood of our habitations if they
     furnish cover.

                               Philadelphia, July 7th, 1793.

     My head has been so full of farming since I have found it
     necessary to prepare a place for my manager, that I could not
     resist the addressing my last weekly letters to Mr. Randolph and
     boring him with my plans. Maria writes to you to-day. She is
     getting into tolerable health, though not good. She passes two
     or three days in the week with me under the trees, for I never
     go into the house but at the hour of bed. I never before knew
     the full value of trees. My house is entirely embosomed in high
     plane-trees, with good grass below; and under them I breakfast,
     dine, write, read, and receive my company. What would I not give
     that the trees planted nearest round the house at Monticello
     were full-grown.

                              Philadelphia, July 21st, 1793.

     We had peaches and Indian corn the 12th inst. When do they begin
     with you this year? Can you lay up a good stock of seed-peas
     for the ensuing summer? We will try this winter to cover our
     garden with a heavy coating of manure. When earth is rich it
     bids defiance to droughts, yields in abundance, and of the best
     quality. I suspect that the insects which have harassed you have
     been encouraged by the feebleness of your plants; and that has
     been produced by the lean state of the soil. We will attack them
     another year with joint efforts.

                               Philadelphia, Aug. 4th, 1793.

     I inclose you two of Petit's recipes. The orthography will amuse
     you, while the matter may be useful. The last of the two is
     really valuable, as the beans preserved in that manner are as
     firm, fresh, and green as when gathered.

The orthography alluded to in this letter was that of the word
pancakes--the French cook spelling it thus: _pannequaiques_.

On August 18th, Jefferson writes to Mrs. Randolph:

     Maria and I are scoring off the weeks which separate us from
     you. They wear off slowly; but time is sure, though slow.... My
     blessings to your little ones; love to you all, and friendly
     howd'ye's to my neighbors. Adieu.

Jefferson visited Monticello in the autumn, and left his daughter
Maria there on his return to Philadelphia, or rather to Germantown,
from which place the following letter was written. The address of
this is lost, but it was probably written to Madison. I give only

                              Germantown, November 2d, 1793.

     I overtook the President at Baltimore, and we arrived here
     yesterday, myself fleeced of seventy odd dollars to get from
     Fredericksburg here, the stages running no further than
     Baltimore. I mention this to put yourself and Monroe on your
     guard. The fever in Philadelphia has so much abated as to have
     almost disappeared. The inhabitants are about returning. It has
     been determined that the President shall not interfere with the
     meeting of Congress.... According to present appearances, this
     place can not lodge a single person more. As a great favor, I
     have got a bed in the corner of the public room of a tavern; and
     must continue till some of the Philadelphians make a vacancy by
     removing into the city. Then we must give him from four to six
     or eight dollars a week for cuddies without a bed, and sometimes
     without a chair or table. There is not a single lodging-house in
     the place. Ross and Willing are alive. Hancock is dead.

_To James Madison._

                            Germantown, November 17th, 1793.

     Dear Sir--I have got good lodgings for Monroe and yourself--that
     is to say, a good room with a fire-place and two beds, in a
     pleasant and convenient position, with a quiet family. They
     will breakfast you, but you must mess in a tavern; there is a
     good one across the street. This is the way in which all must
     do, and all, I think, will not be able to get even half beds.
     The President will remain here, I believe, till the meeting
     of Congress, merely to form a point of union for them before
     they can have acquired information and courage. For at present
     there does not exist a single subject in the disorder, no new
     infection having taken place since the great rains of the 1st of
     the month, and those before infected being dead or recovered....
     Accept, both of you, my sincere affection.

Though bearing a later date than some which follow, we give the
following letter here:

_To Mrs. Church._

                                Germantown, Nov. 27th, 1793.

     I have received, my very good friend, your kind letter of
     August 19th, with the extract from that of Lafayette, for whom
     my heart has been constantly bleeding. The influence of the
     United States has been put into action, as far as it could be
     either with decency or effect. But I fear that distance and
     difference of principle give little hold to General Washington
     on the jailers of Lafayette. However, his friends may be assured
     that our zeal has not been inactive. Your letter gives me the
     first information that our dear friend Madame de Corny has
     been, as to her fortune, among the victims of the times. Sad
     times, indeed! and much-lamented victim! I know no country
     where the remains of a fortune could place her so much at
     her ease as this, and where public esteem is so attached to
     worth, regardless of wealth; but our manners, and the state
     of our society here, are so different from those to which her
     habits have been formed, that she would lose more, perhaps,
     in that scale. And Madam Cosway in a convent! I knew that to
     much goodness of heart she joined enthusiasm and religion; but
     I thought that very enthusiasm would have prevented her from
     shutting up her adoration of the God of the universe within
     the walls of a cloister; that she would rather have sought the
     _mountain-top_. How happy should I be that it were _mine_ that
     you, she, and Madame de Corny would seek. You say, indeed, that
     you are coming to America, but I know that means New York. In
     the mean time, I am going to Virginia. I have at length been
     able to fix that to the beginning of the new year. I am then
     to be liberated from the hated occupations of politics, and
     to remain in the bosom of my family, my farm, and my books. I
     have my house to build, my fields to farm, and to watch for
     the happiness of those who labor for mine. I have one daughter
     married to a man of science, sense, virtue, and competence; in
     whom indeed I have nothing more to wish. They live with me. If
     the other shall be as fortunate, in due process of time I shall
     imagine myself as blessed as the most blessed of the patriarchs.
     Nothing could then withdraw my thoughts a moment from home but
     a recollection of my friends abroad. I often put the question,
     whether yourself and Kitty will ever come to see your friends
     at Monticello? but it is my affection, and not my experience
     of things, which has leave to answer, and I am determined to
     believe the answer, because in that belief I find I sleep
     sounder, and wake more cheerful. _En attendant_, God bless you.

     Accept the homage of my sincere and constant affection,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following letters and extracts will be found interesting by the

_To Mary Jefferson._

                                Germantown, Nov. 17th, 1793.

     No letter yet from my dear Maria, who is so fond of writing,
     so punctual in her correspondence. I enjoin as a penalty that
     the next be written in French.... I have not yet been in [to
     Philadelphia], not because there is a shadow of danger, but
     because I am afoot. Thomas is returned into my service. His
     wife and child went into town the day we left them. They then
     had the infection of the yellow fever, were taken two or three
     days after, and both died. Had we staid those two or three
     days longer, they would have been taken at our house. Mrs.
     Fullarton left Philadelphia. Mr. and Mrs. Rittenhouse remained
     here, but have escaped the fever. Follow closely your music,
     reading, sewing, housekeeping, and love me, as I do you, most

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

     P.S.--Tell Mr. Randolph that Gen. Wayne has had a convoy of
     twenty-two wagons of provisions and seventy men cut off in his
     rear by the Indians.

_To Mary Jefferson._

                              Philadelphia, Dec. 15th, 1793.

     My dear Maria--I should have written to you last Sunday in
     turn, but business required my allotting your turn to Mr.
     Randolph, and putting off writing to you till this day. I have
     now received your and your sister's letters of November 27 and
     28. I agree that Watson shall make the writing-desk for you.
     I called the other day on Mrs. Fullarton, and there saw your
     friend Sally Cropper. She went up to Trenton the morning after
     she left us, and staid there till lately. The maid-servant who
     waited on her and you at our house caught the fever, on her
     return to town, and died. In my letter of last week, I desired
     Mr. Randolph to send horses for me, to be at Fredericksburg on
     the 12th of January. Lest that letter should miscarry, I repeat
     it here, and wish you to mention it to him. I also informed
     him that a person of the name of Eli Alexander would set out
     this day from Elktown to take charge of the plantations under
     Byrd Rogers, and praying him to have his accommodations at the
     place got ready as far as should be necessary before my arrival.
     I hope to be with you all by the 15th of January, no more to
     leave you. My blessings to your dear sister and little ones;
     affections to Mr. Randolph and your friends with you. Adieu, my
     dear. Yours tenderly,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]

                               Philadelphia, Dec. 22d, 1793.

     In my letter of this day fortnight to Mr. Randolph, and that
     of this day week to Maria, I mentioned my wish that my horses
     might meet me at Fredericksburg on the 12th of January. I now
     repeat it, lest those letters should miscarry. The President
     made yesterday what I hope will be the last set at me to
     continue; but in this I am now immovable by any considerations
     whatever. My books and remains of furniture embark to-morrow
     for Richmond.... I hope that by the next post I shall be able
     to send Mr. Randolph a printed copy of our correspondence with
     Mr. Genet and Mr. Hammond, as communicated to Congress. Our
     affairs with England and Spain have a turbid appearance. The
     letting loose the Algerines on us, which has been contrived by
     England, has produced peculiar irritation. I think Congress will
     indemnify themselves by high duties on all articles of British
     importation. If this should produce war, though not wished for,
     it seems not to be feared.

The well-informed reader is familiar with the controversy alluded to
in the preceding letter, between the United States Government and the
French and English ministers, Messrs. Genet and Hammond. I can not
refrain from giving the following extract from Jefferson's report of
an interview between Mr. Genet and himself:

     He (Genet) asked if they (Congress) were not the Sovereign.
     I told him no, they were sovereign in making laws only; the
     Executive was sovereign in executing them; and the Judiciary in
     construing them when they related to their department. "But,"
     said he, "at least Congress are bound to see that the treaties
     are observed!" I told him no; there were very few cases, indeed,
     arising out of treaties, which they could take notice of; that
     the President is to see that treaties are observed. "If he
     decides against the treaty, to whom is a nation to appeal?"
     I told him the Constitution had made the President the last
     appeal. He made me a bow, and said that indeed he would not make
     me his compliments on such a Constitution, expressed the utmost
     astonishment at it, and seemed never before to have had such an

The following letter explains itself:

_To George Washington._

                          Philadelphia, December 31st, 1793.

     Dear Sir--Having had the honor of communicating to you in
     my letter of the last of July my purpose of retiring from
     the office of Secretary of State at the end of the month of
     September, you were pleased, for particular reasons, to wish
     its postponement to the close of the year. That term being now
     arrived, and my propensities to retirement becoming daily more
     and more irresistible, I now take the liberty of resigning the
     office into your hands. Be pleased to accept with it my sincere
     thanks for all the indulgences which you have been so good as to
     exercise towards me in the discharge of its duties. Conscious
     that my need of them has been great, I have still ever found
     them greater, without any other claim on my part than a firm
     pursuit of what has appeared to me to be right, and a thorough
     disdain of all means which were not as open and honorable as
     their object was pure. I carry into my retirement a lively sense
     of your goodness, and shall continue gratefully to remember
     it. With very sincere prayers for your life, health, and
     tranquility, I pray you to accept the homage of the great and
     constant respect and attachment with which I have the honor to
     be, dear Sir, your most obedient and most humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

This called forth from Washington the following handsome and
affectionate letter:

_From George Washington._

                               Philadelphia, Jan. 1st, 1794.

     Dear Sir--I yesterday received with sincere regret your
     resignation of the office of Secretary of State. Since it has
     been impossible to prevail upon you to forego any longer the
     indulgence of your desire for private life, the event, however
     anxious I am to avert it, must be submitted to.

     But I can not suffer you to leave your station without assuring
     you that the opinion which I had formed of your integrity and
     talents, and which dictated your original nomination, has
     been confirmed by the fullest experience, and that both have
     been eminently displayed in the discharge of your duty. Let
     a conviction of my most earnest prayers for your happiness
     accompany you in your retirement; and while I accept with the
     warmest thanks your solicitude for my welfare, I beg you to
     believe that I am, dear Sir, etc.

Perhaps no man ever received a higher compliment for the able
discharge of his official duties than that paid to Jefferson by his
adversaries, who, in opposing his nomination as President, urged
as an objection--"that Nature had made him only for a Secretary of

Jefferson set out on the 5th of January for his loved home,
Monticello--fondly imagining that he would never again leave the
peaceful shelter of its roof to enter upon the turmoils of public
life, but in reality destined to have only a short respite from them
in the far sweeter enjoyments of domestic life, surrounded by his
children and grandchildren.

His private affairs were in sad need of his constant presence at
home after such long absences in the public service. He now owned in
his native State over ten thousand acres of land, which for ten long
years had been subject to the bad cultivation, mismanagement, and
ravages of hired overseers. Of these large landed estates, between
five and six thousand acres, comprising the farms of Monticello,
Montalto, Tufton, Shadwell, Lego, Pantops, Pouncey's, and Limestone,
were in the county of Albemarle; while another fine and favorite
estate, called Poplar Forest, lay in Bedford County, and contained
over four thousand acres. Of his land in Albemarle only twelve
hundred acres were in cultivation, and in Bedford eight hundred--the
two together making two thousand acres of arable land. The number
of slaves owned by Jefferson was one hundred and fifty-four--a very
small number in proportion to his landed estate. Some idea may be
formed of the way things were managed on these farms, from the fact
that out of the thirty-four horses on them eight were saddle-horses.
The rest of the stock on them consisted of five mules, two hundred
and forty-nine cattle, three hundred and ninety hogs, and three sheep.

The few months' continuous stay at home which Jefferson had been
able to make during the past ten years had not been sufficient for
him to set things to rights. How greatly his farms needed a new
system of management may be seen from the following letter to General
Washington, written by him in the spring of 1794. He says:

_To George Washington._

     I find, on a more minute examination of my lands than the short
     visits heretofore made to them permitted, that a ten years'
     abandonment of them to the ravages of overseers has brought on
     them a degree of degradation far beyond what I had expected.
     As this obliges me to adopt a milder course of cropping, so
     I find that they have enabled me to do it, by having opened
     a great deal of lands during my absence. I have therefore
     determined on a division of my farms into six fields, to be
     put under this rotation: First year, wheat; second, corn,
     potatoes, peas; third, rye or wheat, according to circumstances;
     fourth and fifth, clover, where the fields will bring it, and
     buckwheat-dressings where they will not; sixth, folding and
     buckwheat-dressing. But it will take me from three to six years
     to get this plan under way. I am not yet satisfied that my
     acquisition of overseers from the head of Elk has been a happy
     one, or that much will be done this year towards rescuing my
     plantations from their wretched condition. Time, patience, and
     perseverance must be the remedy; and the maxim of your letter,
     "slow and sure," is not less a good one in agriculture than
     in politics.... But I cherish tranquillity too much to suffer
     political things to enter my mind at all. I do not forget that
     I owe you a letter for Mr. Young; but I am waiting to get full
     information. With every wish for your health and happiness, and
     my most friendly respects to Mrs. Washington, I have the honor
     to be, dear Sir, your most obedient and most humble servant.

Notwithstanding this disordered and disheartening state of his
affairs (due to no fault of his), we still find him luxuriating in
the quiet and repose of private life. On this subject he writes to
Mr. Adams, on April 25th, as follows:

_To John Adams._

     Dear Sir--I am to thank you for the work you were so kind as
     to transmit me, as well as the letter covering it, and your
     felicitations on my present quiet. The difference of my present
     and past situation is such as to leave me nothing to regret
     but that my retirement has been postponed four years too long.
     The principles on which I calculated the value of life are
     entirely in favor of my present course. I return to farming
     with an ardor which I scarcely knew in my youth, and which has
     got the better entirely of my love of study. Instead of writing
     ten or twelve letters a day, which I have been in the habit of
     doing as a thing in course, I put off answering my letters now,
     farmer-like, till a rainy day, and then find them sometimes
     postponed by other necessary occupations.... With wishes of
     every degree of happiness to you, both public and private, and
     with my best respects to Mrs. Adams, I am your affectionate and
     humble servant.

The land not having been prepared for cultivation during the
preceding fall, Jefferson's farming operations during the summer of
1794 amounted to nothing. Unfortunately, when the next season came
around for the proper preparation to be made for the coming year,
it found him in such a state of health as to prevent his giving
his personal direction to his farms, and thus he was cut off from
any profit from them for another twelvemonth. Just about this time
General Washington made another attempt, through his Secretary of
State, Edmund Randolph, to get Jefferson back into his cabinet.
Though at the time ill, Jefferson at once sent the following reply to

_To Edmund Randolph._

                            Monticello, September 7th, 1794.

     Dear Sir--Your favor of August the 28th finds me in bed under
     a paroxysm of the rheumatism, which has now kept me for ten
     days in constant torment, and presents no hope of abatement.
     But the express and the nature of the case requiring immediate
     answer, I write you in this situation. No circumstances, my dear
     Sir, will ever more tempt me to engage in any thing public. I
     thought myself perfectly fixed in this determination when I left
     Philadelphia, but every day and hour since has added to its
     inflexibility. It is a great pleasure to me to retain the esteem
     and approbation of the President, and this forms the only ground
     of any reluctance at being unable to comply with every wish of
     his. Pray convey these sentiments, and a thousand more to him,
     which my situation does not permit me to go into....

I find nothing worthy of notice in Jefferson's life during the year
1795. He continued tranquilly and happily enjoying the society of
his children and grandchildren in his beautiful mountain home. Mrs.
Randolph was now the mother of three children. We have seen from
his letters to her how devotedly she was loved by her father. From
the time of her mother's death she had been his constant companion
until her own marriage; Maria Jefferson, now seventeen years old, was
as beautiful and loving as a girl as she had been as a child. The
brilliancy of her beauty is spoken of with enthusiasm by those still
living who remember her.

In a letter to Mr. Madison written in the spring of this year (1795),
Mr. Jefferson writes thus of himself:

_To James Madison._

     If these general considerations were sufficient to ground a firm
     resolution never to permit myself to think of the office, or be
     thought of for it, the special ones which have supervened on my
     retirement still more insuperably bar the door to it. My health
     is entirely broken down within the last eight months; my age
     requires that I should place my affairs in a clear state; these
     are sound if taken care of, but capable of considerable dangers
     if longer neglected; and above all things, the delights I feel
     in the society of my family, and in the agricultural pursuits
     in which I am so eagerly engaged. The little spice of ambition
     which I had in my younger days has long since evaporated, and
     I set still less store by a posthumous than present name.... I
     long to see you.... May we hope for a visit from you? If we may,
     let it be after the middle of May, by which time I hope to be
     returned from Bedford.

In writing on the same day to his friend, Mr. Giles, he says:

     I shall be rendered very happy by the visit you promise me. The
     only thing wanting to make me completely so is the more frequent
     society of my friends. It is the more wanting, as I am become
     more firmly fixed to the glebe. If you visit me as a farmer,
     it must be as a con-disciple; for I am but a learner--an eager
     one indeed, but yet desperate, being too old now to learn a new
     art. However, I am as much delighted and occupied with it as
     if I were the greatest adept. I shall talk with you about it
     from morning till night, and put you on very short allowance as
     to political aliment. Now and then a pious ejaculation for the
     French and Dutch republicans, returning with due dispatch to
     clover, potatoes, wheat, etc.

To Edward Rutledge he wrote, on November 30th, 1795:

     I received your favor of October the 12th by your son, who has
     been kind enough to visit me here, and from whose visit I have
     received all that pleasure which I do from whatever comes from
     you, and especially from a subject so deservedly dear to you. He
     found me in a retirement I doat on, living like an antediluvian
     patriarch among my children and grandchildren, and tilling my
     soil. As he had lately come from Philadelphia, Boston, etc.,
     he was able to give me a great deal of information of what
     is passing in the world; and I pestered him with questions,
     pretty much as our friends Lynch, Nelson, etc., will us when
     we step across the Styx, for they will wish to know what has
     been passing above ground since they left us. You hope I have
     not abandoned entirely the service of our country. After
     five-and-twenty years' continual employment in it, I trust
     it will be thought I have fulfilled my tour, like a punctual
     soldier, and may claim my discharge. But I am glad of the
     sentiment from you, my friend, because it gives a hope you will
     practice what you preach, and come forward in aid of the public
     vessel. I will not admit your old excuse, that you are in public
     service, though at home. The campaigns which are fought in a
     man's own house are not to be counted. The present situation of
     the President, unable to get the offices filled, really calls
     with uncommon obligation on those whom nature has fitted for

Early in the spring of 1796, in a letter to his friend Giles, he
gives us the following glimpse of his domestic operations:

     We have had a fine winter. Wheat looks well. Corn is scarce and
     dear: twenty-two shillings here, thirty shillings in Amherst.
     Our blossoms are but just opening. I have begun the demolition
     of my house, and hope to get through its re-edification in the
     course of the summer. We shall have the eye of a brick-kiln to
     poke you into, or an octagon to air you in.

To another friend he wrote, a few weeks later:

     I begin to feel the effects of age. My health has suddenly
     broken down, with symptoms which give me to believe I shall not
     have much to encounter of the _tedium vitæ_.

The reader will read with interest the following kind and
affectionate letter to young Lafayette--son of the Marquis de

_To Lafayette, Junior._

                                Monticello, June 19th, 1796.

     Dear Sir--The inquiries of Congress were the first intimation
     which reached my retirement of your being in this country; and
     from M. Volney, now with me, I first learned where you are. I
     avail myself of the earliest moments of this information to
     express to you the satisfaction with which I learn that you are
     in a land of safety, where you will meet in every person the
     friend of your worthy father and family. Among these, I beg
     leave to mingle my own assurances of sincere attachment to him,
     and my desire to prove it by every service I can render you. I
     know, indeed, that you are already under too good a patronage
     to need any other, and that my distance and retirement render
     my affections unavailing to you. They exist, nevertheless, in
     all their warmth and purity towards your father and every one
     embraced by his love; and no one has wished with more anxiety
     to see him once more in the bosom of a nation who, knowing
     his works and his worth, desire to make him and his family
     forever their own. You were, perhaps, too young to remember
     me personally when in Paris. But I pray you to remember that,
     should any occasion offer wherein I can be useful to you, there
     is no one on whose friendship and zeal you may more confidently
     count. You will some day, perhaps, take a tour through these
     States. Should any thing in this part of them attract your
     curiosity, it would be a circumstance of great gratification to
     me to receive you here, and to assure you in person of those
     sentiments of esteem and attachment, with which I am, dear Sir,
     your friend and humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.


     Description of Monticello and Jefferson by the Duc de la
     Rochefoucauld-Liancourt.--Nominated Vice-President.--Letter
     to Madison.--To Adams.--Preference for the Office of
     Vice-President.--Sets out for Philadelphia.--Reception
     there.--Returns to Monticello.--Letters to his Daughter.--Goes
     to Philadelphia.--Letter to Rutledge.--Family Letters.--To Miss
     Church.--To Mrs. Church.

I have elsewhere given a charming picture of Monticello and its
inmates in 1782, from the pen of an accomplished Frenchman--the
Marquis de Chastellux. A countryman of his--equally as accomplished
and distinguished, the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt--has left
us a similar one of a later date. This patriotic French nobleman,
who had been Lieutenant-general of France and President of the
National Assembly, while in exile spent some days at Monticello, in
the month of June, 1796--a month when the mountains of Albemarle are
clothed in all the brilliancy of their summer beauty. The lovely
landscapes around Monticello were well calculated to charm the eye of
a foreigner; and I give the Duc's detailed but agreeable description
of the place, its owner, and its surroundings. There are one or two
trifling mistakes in it as regards geographical names; the rest is

     Monticello is situated three miles from Milton, in that chain of
     mountains which stretches from James River to the Rappahannock,
     twenty-eight miles in front of the Blue Ridge, and in a
     direction parallel to those mountains. This chain, which runs
     uninterrupted in its small extent, assumes successively the
     names of the West, South, and Green Mountains.

     It is in the part known by the name of the South Mountains that
     Monticello is situated. The house stands on the summit of the
     mountain, and the taste and arts of Europe have been consulted
     in the formation of its plan. Mr. Jefferson had commenced its
     construction before the American Revolution; since that epocha
     his life has been constantly engaged in public affairs, and he
     has not been able to complete the execution of the whole extent
     of the project which it seems he had at first conceived. That
     part of the building which was finished has suffered from the
     suspension of the work, and Mr. Jefferson, who two years since
     resumed the habits and leisure of private life, is now employed
     in repairing the damage occasioned by this interruption, and
     still more by his absence; he continues his original plan, and
     even improves on it by giving to his buildings more elevation
     and extent. He intends that they shall consist only of one
     story, crowned with balustrades; and a dome is to be constructed
     in the centre of the structure. The apartments will be large and
     convenient; the decoration, both outside and inside, simple,
     yet regular and elegant. Monticello, according to its first
     plan, was infinitely superior to all other houses in America, in
     point of taste and convenience; but at that time Mr. Jefferson
     had studied taste and the fine arts in books only. His travels
     in Europe have supplied him with models; he has appropriated
     them to his design; and his new plan, the execution of which
     is already much advanced, will be accomplished before the end
     of next year, and then his house will certainly deserve to be
     ranked with the most pleasant mansions in France and England.

     Mr. Jefferson's house commands one of the most extensive
     prospects you can meet with. On the east side, the front of
     the building, the eye is not checked by any object, since
     the mountain on which the house is seated commands all the
     neighboring heights as far as the Chesapeake. The Atlantic
     might be seen, were it not for the greatness of the distance,
     which renders that prospect impossible. On the right and left
     the eye commands the extensive valley that separates the Green,
     South, and West Mountains from the Blue Ridge, and has no other
     bounds but these high mountains, of which, on a clear day, you
     discern the chain on the right upward of a hundred miles, far
     beyond James River; and on the left as far as Maryland, on
     the other side of the Potomac. Through some intervals formed
     by the irregular summits of the Blue Mountains, you discover
     the Peaked Ridge, a chain of mountains placed between the
     Blue and North Mountains, another more distant ridge. But in
     the back part the prospect is soon interrupted by a mountain
     more elevated than that on which the house is seated. The
     bounds of the view on this point, at so small a distance, form
     a pleasant resting-place, as the immensity of prospect it
     enjoys is perhaps already too vast. A considerable number of
     cultivated fields, houses, and barns, enliven and variegate the
     extensive landscape, still more embellished by the beautiful and
     diversified forms of mountains, in the whole chain of which not
     one resembles another. The aid of fancy is, however, required to
     complete the enjoyment of this magnificent view; and she must
     picture to us those plains and mountains such as population
     and culture will render them in a greater or smaller number of
     years. The disproportion existing between the cultivated lands
     and those which are still covered with forests as ancient as
     the globe, is at present much too great; and even when that
     shall have been done away, the eye may perhaps further wish
     to discover a broad river, a great mass of water--destitute
     of which, the grandest and most extensive prospect is ever
     destitute of an embellishment requisite to render it completely

     On this mountain, and in the surrounding valleys on both banks
     of the Rivanna, are situated the five thousand acres of land
     which Mr. Jefferson possesses in this part of Virginia. Eleven
     hundred and twenty only are cultivated. The land, left to the
     care of stewards, has suffered as well as the buildings from
     the long absence of the master; according to the custom of
     the country, it has been exhausted by successive culture. Its
     situation on the declivities of hills and mountains renders
     a careful cultivation more necessary than is requisite in
     lands situated in a flat and even country; the common routine
     is more pernicious, and more judgment and mature thought are
     required, than in a different soil. This forms at present
     the chief employment of Mr. Jefferson. But little accustomed
     to agricultural pursuits, he has drawn the principles of
     culture either from works which treat on this subject or from
     conversation. Knowledge thus acquired often misleads, and
     is at all times insufficient in a country where agriculture
     is well understood; yet it is preferable to mere practical
     knowledge, and a country where a bad practice prevails, and
     where it is dangerous to follow the routine, from which it is so
     difficult to depart. Above all, much good may be expected, if a
     contemplative mind like that of Mr. Jefferson, which takes the
     theory for its guide, watches its application with discernment,
     and rectifies it according to the peculiar circumstances and
     nature of the country, climate, and soil, and conformably to the
     experience which he daily acquires....

     In private life Mr. Jefferson displays a mild, easy, and
     obliging temper, though he is somewhat cold and reserved. His
     conversation is of the most agreeable kind, and he possesses a
     stock of information not inferior to that of any other man. In
     Europe he would hold a distinguished rank among men of letters,
     and as such he has already appeared there. At present he is
     employed with activity and perseverance in the management of
     his farms and buildings; and he orders, directs, and pursues
     in the minutest details every branch of business relative to
     them. I found him in the midst of the harvest, from which the
     scorching heat of the sun does not prevent his attendance. His
     negroes are nourished, clothed, and treated as well as white
     servants could be. As he can not expect any assistance from the
     two small neighboring towns, every article is made on his farm:
     his negroes are cabinet-makers, carpenters, masons, bricklayers,
     smiths, etc. The children he employs in a nail factory, which
     yields already a considerable profit. The young and old
     negresses spin for the clothing of the rest. He animates them
     by rewards and distinctions; in fine, his superior mind directs
     the management of his domestic concerns with the same abilities,
     activity, and regularity which he evinced in the conduct of
     public affairs, and which he is calculated to display in every
     situation of life. In the superintendence of his household he is
     assisted by his two daughters, Mrs. Randolph and Miss Maria, who
     are handsome, modest, and amiable women. They have been educated
     in France....

     Mr. Randolph is proprietor of a considerable plantation,
     contiguous to that of Mr. Jefferson's. He constantly spends the
     summer with him, and, from the affection he bears him, he seems
     to be his son rather than his son-in-law. Miss Maria constantly
     resides with her father; but as she is seventeen years old,
     and is remarkably handsome, she will, doubtless, soon find that
     there are duties which it is still sweeter to perform than those
     of a daughter. Mr. Jefferson's philosophic turn of mind, his
     love of study, his excellent library, which supplies him with
     the means of satisfying it, and his friends, will undoubtedly
     help him to endure this loss, which, moreover, is not likely
     to become an absolute privation; as the second son-in-law of
     Mr. Jefferson may, like Mr. Randolph, reside in the vicinity of
     Monticello, and, if he be worthy of Miss Maria, will not be able
     to find any company more desirable than that of Mr. Jefferson....

     Left Monticello on the 29th of June.

All through this summer Mr. Jefferson was much occupied with the
rebuilding of his house, which he hoped to finish before the winter
set in; but just as the walls were nearly ready to be roofed in, a
stiff freeze arrested, in November, all work on it for the winter.

General Washington having declared his determination to retire from
public life at the expiration of his second term, new candidates had
to be run for the Presidential chair. The Federalists chose John
Adams as their candidate; while the Republicans, having no thought of
running as theirs any man but Jefferson, placed his name at the head
of their ticket. How little interest Jefferson took in the elections,
so far as his own success was concerned, may be inferred from the
fact that he did not leave home during the whole campaign, and in
that time wrote only one political letter.

As the constitution then stood, the candidate who received the
highest number of votes was elected President, and the one who
received the next highest--whether he was run for President or
Vice-president--was elected to fill the latter office. The elections
were over, but the result still unknown, when Jefferson wrote, on
December 17th, to Mr. Madison, as follows:

_To James Madison._

     Your favor of the 5th came to hand last night. The first wish
     of my heart was that you should have been proposed for the
     administration of the Government. On your declining it, I wish
     any body rather than myself; and there is nothing I so anxiously
     hope, as that my name may come out either second or third. These
     would be indifferent to me; as the last would leave me at home
     the whole year, and the other two-thirds of it.

After the result of the elections was no longer doubtful, and it
was known that Adams had been chosen as President and Jefferson
Vice-president, the latter wrote the following feeling and handsome
letter to the former:

_To John Adams._

                                Monticello, Dec. 28th, 1796.

     Dear Sir--The public and the public papers have been much
     occupied lately in placing us in a point of opposition to each
     other. I trust with confidence that less of it has been felt by
     ourselves personally. In the retired canton where I am, I learn
     little of what is passing; pamphlets I see never; papers but a
     few, and the fewer the happier. Our latest intelligence from
     Philadelphia at present is of the 16th inst. But though at that
     date your election to the first magistracy seems not to have
     been known as a fact, yet with me it has never been doubted. I
     knew it impossible you should lose a vote north of the Delaware,
     and even if that of Pennsylvania should be against you in the
     mass, yet that you would get enough south of that to place
     your succession out of danger. I have never one single moment
     expected a different issue; and though I know I shall not be
     believed, yet it is not the less true that I have never wished
     it. My neighbors, as my compurgators, could aver that fact,
     because they see my occupations and my attachment to them....

     I leave to others the sublime delight of riding in the storm,
     better pleased with sound sleep and a warm berth below, with the
     society of neighbors, friends, and fellow-laborers of the earth,
     than of spies and sycophants. No one, then, will congratulate
     you with purer disinterestedness than myself. The share, indeed,
     which I may have had in the late vote I shall still value
     highly, as an evidence of the share I have in the esteem of my
     fellow-citizens. But still, in this point of view, a few votes
     less would be little sensible; the difference in the effect
     of a few more would be very sensible and oppressive to me. I
     have no ambition to govern men. It is a painful and thankless
     office. Since the day, too, on which you signed the treaty of
     Paris, our horizon was never so overcast. I devoutly wish you
     may be able to shun for us this war, by which our agriculture,
     commerce, and credit will be destroyed. If you are, the glory
     will be all your own; and that your administration may be filled
     with glory and happiness to yourself and advantage to us, is the
     sincere wish of one who, though, in the course of our voyage
     through life, various little incidents have happened or been
     contrived to separate us, retains still for you the solid esteem
     of the moments when we were working for our independence, and
     sentiments of respect and attachment.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

Of the office of Vice-president, we find Jefferson, in a letter to
Madison written on January 1st, 1797, saying:

_To James Madison._

     It is the only office in the world about which I am unable to
     decide in my own mind whether I had rather have it or not have
     it. Pride does not enter into the estimate; for I think, with
     the Romans, that the general of to-day should be a soldier
     to-morrow, if necessary. I can particularly have no feelings
     which could revolt at a secondary position to Mr. Adams. I am
     his junior in life, was his junior in Congress, his junior in
     the diplomatic line, his junior lately in our civil government.

He always spoke of this office as being of all others the most
desirable, from the fact that it gave the incumbent a high position,
good salary, and ample leisure. To him this last advantage was its
greatest recommendation, and made him accept it with less reluctance
than he would have done any other which his countrymen could have
forced upon him.

Jefferson set out on the 20th of February for Philadelphia, there to
be installed in his new office. He drove his phaeton and pair as far
as Alexandria, when he sent his servant Jupiter back home with his
horses, while he continued his journey in the stage-coach. He arrived
in Philadelphia on the 2d of March.

With his usual modesty and dislike of display, he had written in
January to his friend Mr. Tazewell, who was in Congress, begging that
he might be notified of his election by the common channel of the
ordinary post, and not by a deputation of men of position, as had
been the case when the Government was first inaugurated. So, too,
from the same feeling of diffidence he sought to enter the national
capital as a private citizen, and without being the recipient of any
popular demonstrations. It was, however, in vain for him to attempt
to do so. A body of troops were on the look-out for him and signalled
his approach by a discharge of artillery, and, marching before him
into the city, bore a banner aloft on which were inscribed the words:
"Jefferson, the Friend of the People."

An incident characteristic of Jefferson occurred on the day of the
inauguration. After the oaths of office had been administered, the
President (Mr. Adams) resumed his seat for a moment, then rose and,
bowing to the assembly, left the hall. Jefferson rose to follow, but
seeing General Washington also rise to leave, he at once fell back to
let him pass out first. The General, perceiving this, declined to go
before, and forced the new Vice-president to precede him. The doors
of the hall closed upon them both amid the tumultuous cheering of the

Jefferson set out for home on the 12th of March and arrived there
on the 20th, having performed the last stages of his journey in his
sulky. His two daughters were not at Monticello, being absent on a
long visit to an estate of Colonel Randolph's on James River. A few
days after his return home he wrote to Mrs. Randolph.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]

                                Monticello, March 27th, '97.

     I arrived in good health at home this day se'nnight. The
     mountain had then been in bloom ten days. I find that the
     natural productions of the spring are about a fortnight earlier
     here than at Fredericksburg; but where art and attention can do
     any thing, some one in a large collection of inhabitants, as in
     a town, will be before ordinary individuals, whether of town or
     country. I have heard of you but once since I left home, and
     am impatient to know that you are all well. I have, however,
     so much confidence in the dose of health with which Monticello
     charges you in summer and autumn, that I count on its carrying
     you well through the winter. The difference between the health
     enjoyed at Varina and Presqu'isle[45] is merely the effect of
     this. Therefore do not ascribe it to Varina and stay there too
     long. The bloom of Monticello is chilled by my solitude. It
     makes me wish the more that yourself and sister were here to
     enjoy it. I value the enjoyments of this life only in proportion
     as you participate them with me. All other attachments are
     weakening, and I approach the state of mind when nothing will
     hold me here but my love for yourself and sister, and the tender
     connections you have added to me. I hope you will write to me;
     as nothing is so pleasing during your absence as these proofs of
     your love. Be assured, my dear daughter, that you possess mine
     in its utmost limits. Kiss the dear little ones for me. I wish
     we had one of them here. Adieu affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

  [45] A former residence of Mr. and Mrs. Randolph.

Again, on April 9th, he writes:

     My love to Maria. Tell her I have made a new law; which is,
     only to _answer_ letters. It would have been her turn to have
     received a letter had she not lost it by not writing. Adieu most
     affectionately, both of you.

An extra session of Congress recalled Jefferson to Philadelphia
during the spring; and the following extract from a letter written
to Edward Rutledge while there gives an animated picture of the
bitterness of party feeling at that time.

_To Edward Rutledge._

     You and I have seen warm debates and high political passions.
     But gentlemen of different politics would then speak to each
     other, and separate the business of the Senate from that of
     society. It is not so now. Men who have been intimate all their
     lives, cross the streets to avoid meeting, and turn their heads
     another way, lest they should be obliged to touch their hats.
     This may do for young men with whom passion is enjoyment, but it
     is afflicting to peaceable minds.

The following charming family letters will be read with pleasure, I
feel sure:

_To Mary Jefferson._

                               Philadelphia, May 25th, 1797.

     My dear Maria--I wrote to your sister the last week, since which
     I have been very slowly getting the better of my rheumatism,
     though very slowly indeed; being only able to walk a little
     stronger. I see by the newspapers that Mr. and Mrs. Church and
     their family are arrived at New York. I have not heard from
     them, and therefore am unable to say any thing about your friend
     Kitty, or whether she be still Miss Kitty. The condition of
     England is so unsafe that every prudent person who can quit it,
     is right in doing so. James is returned to this place, and is
     not given up to drink as I had before been informed. He tells
     me his next trip will be to Spain. I am afraid his journeys
     will end in the moon. I have endeavored to persuade him to stay
     where he is, and lay up money. We are not able yet to judge when
     Congress will rise. Opinions differ from two to six weeks. A
     few days will probably enable us to judge. I am anxious to hear
     that Mr. Randolph and the children have got home in good health;
     I wish also to hear that your sister and yourself continue in
     health; it is a circumstance on which the happiness of my life
     depends. I feel the desire of never separating from you grow
     daily stronger, for nothing can compensate with me the want of
     your society. My warmest affections to you both. Adieu, and
     continue to love me as I do you. Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The letter which comes next was written to Mrs. Randolph in reply to
one from her announcing to her father the engagement of his daughter
Maria, to her cousin John Wayles Eppes.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                               Philadelphia, June 8th, 1797.

     I receive with inexpressible pleasure the information your
     letter contained. After your happy establishment, which has
     given me an inestimable friend, to whom I can leave the care of
     every thing I love, the only anxiety I had remaining was to see
     Maria also so associated as to insure her happiness. She could
     not have been more so to my wishes if I had had the whole earth
     free to have chosen a partner for her.

     I now see our fireside formed into a group, no one member of
     which has a fibre in their composition which can ever produce
     any jarring or jealousies among us. No irregular passions,
     no dangerous bias, which may render problematical the future
     fortunes and happiness of our descendants. We are quieted as to
     their condition for at least one generation more.

     In order to keep us all together, instead of a present position
     in Bedford, as in your case, I think to open and resettle the
     plantation of Pantops for them. When I look to the ineffable
     pleasure of my family society, I become more and more disgusted
     with the jealousies, the hatred, and the rancorous and malignant
     passions of this scene, and lament my having ever again been
     drawn into public view. Tranquillity is now my object. I have
     seen enough of political honors to know that they are but
     splendid torments; and however one might be disposed to render
     services on which any of their fellow-citizens should set a
     value, yet, when as many would depreciate them as a public
     calamity, one may well entertain a modest doubt of their real
     importance, and feel the impulse of duty to be very weak. The
     real difficulty is, that being once delivered into the hands
     of others whose feelings are friendly to the individual and
     warm to the public cause, how to withdraw from them without
     leaving a dissatisfaction in their mind, and an impression of
     pusillanimity with the public.

Maria Jefferson was married on the 13th of October, 1797, to John
Wayles Eppes, who was in every respect worthy of the high opinion
which we have found Jefferson expressing for him in the preceding
letters. His manners were frank and engaging, while his high talents
and fine education placed him among the first men of the country. The
young couple spent the early days of their married life at Eppington,
where the little "Polly," so beautiful and so timid, had received
such motherly care and affection from her good Aunt Eppes when
heart-broken at the death of her own mother.

I continue Mr. Jefferson's family letters.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                             Philadelphia, January 7th, '98.

     I acknowledged, my dear Maria, the receipt of yours in a letter
     I wrote to Mr. Eppes. It gave me the welcome news that your
     sprain was well. But you are not to suppose it entirely so. The
     joint will remain weak for a considerable time, and give you
     occasional pains much longer. The state of things at ---- is
     truly distressing. Mr. ----'s habitual intoxication will destroy
     himself, his fortune, and family. Of all calamities this is the
     greatest. I wish my sister could bear his misconduct with more
     patience. It would lessen his attachment to the bottle, and at
     any rate would make her own time more tolerable. When we see
     ourselves in a situation which must be endured and gone through,
     it is best to make up our minds to it, meet it with firmness,
     and accommodate every thing to it in the best way practicable.
     This lessens the evil, while fretting and fuming only serves to
     increase our own torments. The errors and misfortunes of others
     should be a school for our own instruction. Harmony in the
     married state is the very first object to be aimed at. Nothing
     can preserve affections uninterrupted but a firm resolution
     never to differ in will, and a determination in each to consider
     the love of the other as of more value than any object whatever
     on which a wish had been fixed. How light, in fact, is the
     sacrifice of any other wish when weighed against the affections
     of one with whom we are to pass our whole life! And though
     opposition in a single instance will hardly of itself produce
     alienation, yet every one has their pouch into which all these
     little oppositions are put; while that is filling the alienation
     is insensibly going on, and when filled it is complete. It would
     puzzle either to say why; because no one difference of opinion
     has been marked enough to produce a serious effect by itself.
     But he finds his affections wearied out by a constant stream
     of little checks and obstacles. Other sources of discontent,
     very common indeed, are the little cross-purposes of husband
     and wife, in common conversation, a disposition in either
     to criticise and question whatever the other says, a desire
     always to demonstrate and make him feel himself in the wrong,
     and especially in company. Nothing is so goading. Much better,
     therefore, if our companion views a thing in a light different
     from what we do, to leave him in quiet possession of his view.
     What is the use of rectifying him if the thing be unimportant;
     and if important, let it pass for the present, and wait a softer
     moment and more conciliatory occasion of revising the subject
     together. It is wonderful how many persons are rendered unhappy
     by inattention to these little rules of prudence.

     I have been insensibly led, by the particular case you mention,
     to sermonize you on the subject generally; however, if it be
     the means of saving you from a single heartache, it will have
     contributed a great deal to my happiness; but before I finish
     the sermon, I must add a word on economy. The unprofitable
     condition of Virginia estates in general leaves it now next
     to impossible for the holder of one to avoid ruin. And this
     condition will continue until some change takes place in the
     mode of working them. In the mean time, nothing can save us and
     our children from beggary but a determination to get a year
     beforehand, and restrain ourselves vigorously this year to the
     clear profits of the last. If a debt is once contracted by a
     farmer, it is never paid but by a sale.

     The article of dress is perhaps that in which economy is the
     least to be recommended. It is so important to each to continue
     to please the other, that the happiness of both requires the
     most pointed attention to whatever may contribute to it--and
     the more as time makes greater inroads on our person. Yet,
     generally, we become slovenly in proportion as personal decay
     requires the contrary. I have great comfort in believing
     that your understanding and dispositions will engage your
     attention to these considerations; and that you are connected
     with a person and family, who of all within the circle of my
     acquaintance are most in the dispositions which will make you
     happy. Cultivate their affections, my dear, with assiduity.
     Think every sacrifice a gain which shall tend to attach them to
     you. My only object in life is to see yourself and your sister,
     and those deservedly dear to you, not only happy, but in no
     danger of becoming unhappy.

     I have lately received a letter from your friend Kitty Church.
     I inclose it to you, and think the affectionate expressions
     relative to yourself, and the advance she has made, will require
     a letter from you to her. It will be impossible to get a crystal
     here to fit your watch without the watch itself. If you should
     know of any one coming to Philadelphia, send it to me, and I
     will get you a stock of crystals. The river being frozen up, I
     shall not be able to send you things till it opens, which will
     probably be some time in February. I inclose to Mr. Eppes some
     pamphlets. Present me affectionately to all the family, and be
     assured of my tenderest love to yourself. Adieu.


_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

  Philadelphia, Feb. 8th, '98.

     I ought oftener, my dear Martha, to receive your letters, for
     the very great pleasure they give me, and especially when they
     express your affections for me; for, though I can not doubt
     them, yet they are among those truths which, though not doubted,
     we love to hear repeated. Here, too, they serve, like gleams
     of light, to cheer a dreary scene; where envy, hatred, malice,
     revenge, and all the worst passions of men, are marshalled to
     make one another as miserable as possible. I turn from this with
     pleasure, to contrast it with your fireside, where the single
     evening I passed at it was worth more than ages here. Indeed, I
     find myself detaching very fast, perhaps too fast, from every
     thing but yourself, your sister, and those who are identified
     with you. These form the last hold the world will have on me,
     the cords which will be cut only when I am loosened from this
     state of being. I am looking forward to the spring with all
     the fondness of desire to meet you all once more, and with the
     change of season to enjoy also a change of scene and society.
     Yet the time of our leaving this is not yet talked of.

     I am much concerned to hear of the state of health of Mr.
     Randolph and family, mentioned in your letters of Jan. 22d and
     28th. Surely, my dear, it would be better for you to remove
     to Monticello. The south pavilion, the parlor, and study will
     accommodate your family; and I should think Mr. Randolph would
     find less inconvenience in the riding it would occasion him than
     in the loss of his own and his family's health. Let me beseech
     you, then, to go there, and to use every thing and every body as
     if I were there....

     All your commissions shall be executed, not forgetting the Game
     of the Goose, if we can find out what it is, for there is some
     difficulty in that. Kiss all the little ones for me. Present me
     affectionately to Mr. Randolph, and my warmest love to yourself.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]

                                Philadelphia, May 17th, '98.

     Having nothing of business to write on to Mr. Randolph this
     week, I with pleasure take up my pen to express all my love to
     you, and my wishes once more to find myself in the only scene
     where, for me, the sweeter affections of life have any exercise.
     But when I shall be with you seems still uncertain. We have been
     looking forward from three weeks to three weeks, and always
     with disappointment, so that I know not what to expect. I shall
     immediately write to Maria, and recommend to Mr. Eppes and her
     to go up to Monticello....

     For you to feel all the happiness of your quiet situation, you
     should know the rancorous passions which tear every breast here,
     even of the sex which should be a stranger to them. Politics
     and party hatreds destroy the happiness of every being here.
     They seem, like salamanders, to consider fire as their element.
     The children, I am afraid, will have forgotten me. However,
     my memory may perhaps be hung on the Game of the Goose which
     I am to carry them. Kiss them for me.... And to yourself, my
     tenderest love, and adieu.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]

                                Philadelphia, May 31st, '98.

     Yours of the 12th did not get to hand till the 29th; so it must
     have laid by a post somewhere. The receipt of it, by kindling
     up all my recollections, increases my impatience to leave this
     place, and every thing which can be disgusting, for Monticello
     and my dear family, comprising every thing which is pleasurable
     to me in this world. It has been proposed in Congress to adjourn
     on the 14th of June. I have little expectation of it; but,
     whatever be their determination, I am determined myself; and my
     letter of next week will probably carry orders for my horses.
     Jupiter should, therefore, be in readiness to depart at a
     night's warning....

     I am sorry to hear of Jefferson's indisposition, but glad you do
     not physic him. This leaves nature free and unembarrassed in her
     own tendencies to repair what is wrong. I hope to hear or find
     that he is recovered. Kiss them all for me.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                 Monticello, July 13th, '98.

     My dear Maria--I arrived here on the 3d instant, expecting to
     have found you here, and we have been ever since imagining that
     every sound we heard was that of the carriage which was once
     more to bring us together. It was not till yesterday I learnt,
     by the receipt of Mr. Eppes's letter of June 30th, that you
     had been sick, and were only on the recovery at that date.
     A preceding letter of his, referred to in that of the 30th,
     must have miscarried. We are now infinitely more anxious, not
     so much for your arrival here, as your firm establishment in
     health, and that you may not be thrown back by your journey.
     Much, therefore, my dear, as I wish to see you, I beg you not
     to attempt the journey till you are quite strong enough, and
     then only by short days' journeys. A relapse will only keep us
     the longer asunder, and is much more formidable than a first
     attack. Your sister and family are with me. I would have gone
     to you instantly on the receipt of Mr. Eppes's letter, had
     not that assured me you were well enough to take the bark. It
     would also have stopped my workmen here, who can not proceed
     an hour without me, and I am anxious to provide a cover which
     may enable me to have my family and friends about me. Nurse
     yourself, therefore, with all possible care for your own sake,
     for mine, and that of all those who love you, and do not attempt
     to move sooner or quicker than your health admits. Present me
     affectionately to Mr. Eppes, father and son, to Mrs. Eppes and
     all the family, and be assured that my impatience to see you can
     only be moderated by the stronger desire that your health may be
     safely and firmly re-established. Adieu, affectionately.

                                                      TH. J.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

     Ellen appeared to be feverish the evening you went away; but
     visiting her, a little before I went to bed, I found her quite
     clear of fever, and was convinced the quickness of pulse which
     had alarmed me had proceeded from her having been in uncommon
     spirits and constantly running about the house through the day,
     and especially in the afternoon. Since that she has had no
     symptom of fever, and is otherwise better than when you left
     her. The girls, indeed, suppose she had a little fever last
     night; but I am sure she had not, as she was well at 8 o'clock
     in the evening, and very well in the morning, and they say she
     slept soundly through the night. They judged only from her
     breathing. Every body else is well, and only wishing to see you.
     I am persecuted with questions "When I think you will come?"...
     If you set out after dinner, be sure to get off between four and
     five. Adieu, my dear.

     Wednesday, Aug. 15th, '98.

The following letter, without date, was written to the daughter of
his friend Mrs. Church:

_To Catherine Church._

     I received, my dear Catherine, from the hands of your brother,
     the letter you have done me the favor to write me. I see in
     that letter the excellent disposition which I knew in you in an
     earlier period of life. These have led you to mistake, to your
     own prejudice, the character of our attentions to you. They
     were not favors, but gratifications of our own affections to an
     object who had every quality which might endear her to us. Be
     assured we have all continued to love you as if still of our
     fireside, and to make you the very frequent theme of our family
     conversations. Your friend Maria has, as you supposed, changed
     her condition; she is now Mrs. Eppes. She and her sister, Mrs.
     Randolph, retain all their affection for you, and never fail
     in their friendly inquiries after you whenever an opportunity
     occurs. During my winter's absence, Maria is with the family
     with which she has become allied; but on my return they will
     also return to reside with me. My daughter Randolph has hitherto
     done the same, but lately has removed with Mr. Randolph to
     live and build on a farm of their own, adjoining me; but I
     still count on their passing the greater part of their time
     at Monticello. Why should we forbid ourselves to believe that
     some day or other some circumstance may bring you also to our
     little society, and renew the recollections of former scenes
     very dear to our memory. Hope is so much more charming than
     disappointments and forebodings, that we will not set it down
     among impossible things. We will calculate on the circumstance
     that you have already crossed the ocean which laid between us,
     and that in comparison with that the space which remains is
     as nothing. Who knows but you may travel to see our springs
     and our curiosities--not, I hope, for your health, but to vary
     your summer scenes, and enlarge your knowledge of your own
     country. In that case we are on your road, and will endeavor
     to relieve the fatigues of it by all the offices of friendship
     and hospitality. I thank you for making me acquainted with
     your brother. The relations he bears to the best of people are
     sufficient vouchers to me of his worth. He must be of your party
     when you come to Monticello. Adieu, my dear Catherine. I consign
     in a separate letter my respects to your good mother. I have
     here, therefore, only to claim your acceptance of the sincere
     attachment of yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following gives some glimpses of the French friends of Jefferson:

_To Mrs. Church._

     Dear Madam--Your favor of July 6th was to have found me here,
     but I had departed before it arrived. It followed me here, and
     of necessity the inquiries after our friend Madame de Corny
     were obliged to await Mrs. M.'s arrival at her own house. This
     was delayed longer than was expected, so that by the time I
     could make the inquiries I was looking again to my return to
     Philadelphia. This must apologize for the delay which has taken
     place. Mrs. M. tells me that Madame Corny was at one time in
     extreme distress, her revenue being in rents, and these paid in
     assignats worth nothing. Since their abolition, however, she
     receives her rents in cash, and is now entirely at her ease.
     She lives in hired lodgings furnished by herself, and every
     thing about her as nice as you know she always had. She visited
     Mrs. M. freely and familiarly in a family way, but would never
     dine when she had company, nor remain if company came. She
     speaks seriously sometimes of a purpose to come to America, but
     she surely mistakes a wish for a purpose; you and I know her
     constitution too well, and her horror of the sea, to believe
     she could pass or attempt the Atlantic. Mrs. M. could not give
     me her address. In all events, it is a great consolation that
     her situation is easy. We have here a Mr. Niemcewitz, a Polish
     gentleman who was with us in Paris while Mrs. Cosway was there,
     and who was of her society in London last summer. He mentions
     the loss of her daughter, the gloom into which that and other
     circumstances have thrown her, and that it has taken the form of
     religion. Also that she is solely devoted to religious exercises
     and the superintendence of a school for Catholic children, which
     she has instituted, but she still speaks of her friends with
     tenderness. Our letters have been rare, but they have let me
     see that her gayety was gone, and her mind entirely fixed on a
     world to come. I have received from my young friend Catherine a
     letter, which gratifies me much, as it proves that our friendly
     impressions have not grown out of her memory.... Be so good as
     to present my respects to Mr. C., and accept assurances of the
     unalterable attachment of your affectionate friend and servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.


     Jefferson goes to Philadelphia.--Letters to his Daughters.--
     Returns to Monticello.--Letters to his Daughter.--Goes back
     to Philadelphia.--Family Letters.--Letters to Mrs. and Miss
     Church.--Bonaparte.--Letters to his Daughters.--Is nominated
     as President.--Seat of Government moved to Washington.--Spends
     the Summer at Monticello.--Letters to his Daughter.--Jefferson
     denounced by the New England Pulpit.--Letter to Uriah Gregory.--
     Goes to Washington.

The third session of the Fifth Congress compelling Mr. Jefferson
to be in Philadelphia again, he left Monticello for that city the
latter part of December, 1798, and arrived there on Christmas-day.
During his stay in the capital he wrote the following charming and
interesting letters to his daughters:

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                Philadelphia, Jan. 1st, '99.

     My dear Maria--I left Monticello on the 18th of December, and
     arrived here to breakfast on the 25th, having experienced no
     accident or inconvenience except a slight cold, which brought
     back the inflammation of my eyes, and still continues it, though
     so far mended as to give hopes of its going off soon. I took my
     place in Senate before a single bill was brought in or other
     act of business done, except the Address, which is exactly what
     I ought to have nothing to do with; and, indeed, I might have
     staid at home a week longer without missing any business for the
     last eleven days. The Senate have met only on five, and then
     little or nothing to do. However, when I am to write on politics
     I shall address my letter to Mr. Eppes. To you I had rather
     indulge the effusions of a heart which tenderly loves you, which
     builds its happiness on yours, and feels in every other object
     but little interest. Without an object here which is not alien
     to me, and barren of every delight, I turn to your situation
     with pleasure, in the midst of a good family which loves you,
     and merits all your love. Go on, my dear, in cultivating the
     invaluable possession of their affections. The circle of our
     nearest connections is the only one in which a faithful and
     lasting affection can be found, one which will adhere to us
     under all changes and chances. It is, therefore, the only soil
     on which it is worth while to bestow much culture. Of this
     truth you will become more convinced every day you advance into
     life. I imagine you are by this time about removing to Mont
     Blanco. The novelty of setting up housekeeping will, with all
     its difficulties, make you very happy for a while. Its delights,
     however, pass away in time, and I am in hopes that by the spring
     of the year there will be no obstacle to your joining us at
     Monticello. I hope I shall, on my return, find such preparation
     made as will enable me rapidly to get one room after another
     prepared for the accommodation of our friends, and particularly
     of any who may be willing to accompany or visit you there.
     Present me affectionately to Mrs. and Mr. Eppes, father and son,
     and all the family. Remember how pleasing your letters will be
     to me, and be assured of my constant and tender love. Adieu, my
     ever dear Maria.

                          Yours affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following are extracts from two letters to Mrs. Randolph:

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                                Philadelphia, Jan. 23d, '99.

     The object of this letter, my very dear Martha, is merely to
     inform you I am well, and convey to you the expressions of my
     love. It will not be new to tell you your letters do not come
     as often as I could wish. This deprives me of the gleams of
     pleasure wanting to relieve the dreariness of this scene, where
     not one single occurrence is calculated to produce pleasing
     sensations. I hope you are all well, and that the little ones,
     even Ellen, talk of me sometimes.... Kiss all the little ones,
     and receive the tender and unmingled effusions of my love to
     yourself. Adieu.

                                Philadelphia, Feb. 5th, '99.

     Jupiter, with my horses, must be at Fredericksburg on Tuesday
     evening, the 5th of March. I shall leave this place on the 1st
     or 2d. You will receive this the 14th instant. I am already
     light-hearted at the approach of my departure. Kiss my dear
     children for me. Inexpressible love to yourself, and the
     sincerest affection to Mr. Randolph. Adieu.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                Philadelphia, Feb. 7th, '99.

     Your letter, my dear Maria, of January 21st, was received two
     days ago. It was, as Ossian says, or would say, like the bright
     beams of the moon on the desolate heath. Environed here in
     scenes of constant torment, malice, and obloquy, worn down in a
     station where no effort to render service can avail any thing,
     I feel not that existence is a blessing, but when something
     recalls my mind to my family or farm. This was the effect of
     your letter; and its affectionate expressions kindled up all
     those feelings of love for you and our dear connections which
     now constitute the only real happiness of my life. I am now
     feeding on the idea of my departure for Monticello, which is
     but three weeks distant. The roads will then be so dreadful,
     that, as to visit you even by the direct route of Fredericksburg
     and Richmond would add one hundred miles to the length of my
     journey, I must defer it, in the hope that about the last of
     March, or first of April, I may be able to take a trip express
     to see you. The roads will then be fine; perhaps your sister may
     join in a flying trip, as it can only be for a few days. In the
     mean time, let me hear from you. Letters which leave Richmond
     after the 21st instant should be directed to me at Monticello.
     I suppose you to be now at Mont Blanco, and therefore do not
     charge you with the delivery of those sentiments of esteem
     which I always feel for the family at Eppington. I write to Mr.
     Eppes. Continue always to love me, and be assured that there
     is no object on earth so dear to my heart as your health and
     happiness, and that my tenderest affections always hang on you.
     Adieu, my ever dear Maria.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

Mr. Jefferson left the Seat of Government on the first of March;
and the following letters, written immediately on his arrival at
Monticello, will show how much his affairs at home suffered during
his absence. Indeed he seemed to be able only to get the workmen
fairly under way on his house, when a call to Philadelphia would
again suspend operations on it almost entirely until his return.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._[46]

  [46] At Mont Blanco, a place near Petersburg.

                                 Monticello, March 8th, '99.

     My dear Maria--I am this moment arrived here, and the post being
     about to depart, I sit down to inform you of it. Your sister
     came over with me from Belmont, where we left all well. The
     family will move over the day after to-morrow. They give up the
     house there about a week hence. We want nothing now to fill up
     our happiness but to have you and Mr. Eppes here. Scarcely a
     stroke has been done towards covering the house since I went
     away, so that it has remained open at the north end another
     winter. It seems as if I should never get it inhabitable. I
     have proposed to your sister a flying trip, when the roads get
     fine, to see you. She comes into it with pleasure; but whether I
     shall be able to leave this for a few days is a question which
     I have not yet seen enough of the state of things to determine.
     I think it very doubtful. It is to your return, therefore, that
     I look with impatience, and shall expect as soon as Mr. Eppes's
     affairs will permit. We are not without hopes he will take a
     trip up soon to see about his affairs here, of which I yet know
     nothing. I hope you are enjoying good health, and that it will
     not be long before we are again united in some way or other.
     Continue to love me, my dear, as I do you most tenderly. Present
     me affectionately to Mr. Eppes, and be assured of my constant
     and warmest love. Adieu, my ever dear Maria.

Mrs. Eppes reached Monticello at last, and Jefferson was made happy
by having all of his children and grandchildren once more assembled
under his roof, where they spent the summer happily together.
Jefferson returned to Philadelphia the last days of December; and
we find the same weariness of the life he led there, and the same
longing for home, in the following letters, as we have seen in the
preceding. In these we find, however, a stronger spice of politics
than in the former.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                              Philadelphia, Jan. 17th, 1800.

     My dear Maria--I received at Monticello two letters from you,
     and meant to have answered them a little before my departure for
     this place; but business so crowded upon me at that moment that
     it was not in my power. I left home on the 21st, and arrived
     here on the 28th of December, after a pleasant journey of fine
     weather and good roads, and without having experienced any
     inconvenience. The Senate had not yet entered into business, and
     I may say they have not yet entered into it; for we have not
     occupation for half an hour a day. Indeed, it is so apparent
     that we have nothing to do but to raise money to fill the
     deficit of five millions of dollars, that it is proposed we
     shall rise about the middle of March; and as the proposition
     comes from the Eastern members, who have always been for sitting
     permanently, while the Southern are constantly for early
     adjournment, I presume we shall rise then. In the mean while,
     they are about to renew the bill suspending intercourse with
     France, which is in fact a bill to prohibit the exportation of
     tobacco, and to reduce the tobacco States to passive obedience
     by poverty.

     J. Randolph has entered into debate with great splendor and
     approbation. He used an unguarded word in his first speech,
     applying the word "ragamuffin" to the common soldiery. He took
     it back of his own accord, and very handsomely, the next day,
     when he had occasion to reply. Still, in the evening of the
     second day, he was jostled, and his coat pulled at the theatre
     by two officers of the Navy, who repeated the word "ragamuffin."
     His friends present supported him spiritedly, so that nothing
     further followed. Conceiving, and, as I think, justly, that
     the House of Representatives (not having passed a law on the
     subject) could not punish the offenders, he wrote a letter to
     the President, who laid it before the House, where it is still
     depending. He has conducted himself with great propriety, and I
     have no doubt will come out with increase of reputation, being
     determined himself to oppose the interposition of the House
     when they have no law for it.

     M. du Pont, his wife and family, are arrived at New York, after
     a voyage of three months and five days. I suppose after he is
     a little recruited from his voyage we shall see him here. His
     son is with him, as is also his son-in-law, Bureau Pusy, the
     companion and fellow-sufferer of Lafayette. I have a letter from
     Lafayette of April; he then expected to sail for America in
     July, but I suspect he awaits the effect of the mission of our
     ministers. I presume that Madame de Lafayette is to come with
     him, and that they mean to settle in America.

     The prospect of returning early to Monticello is to me a most
     charming one. I hope the fishery will not prevent your joining
     us early in the spring. However, on this subject we can speak
     together, as I will endeavor, if possible, to take Mont Blanco
     and Eppington in my way.

     A letter from Dr. Carr, of December 27, informed me he had just
     left you well. I become daily more anxious to hear from you, and
     to know that you continue well, your present state being one
     which is most interesting to a parent; and its issue, I hope,
     will be such as to give you experience what a parent's anxiety
     may be. I employ my leisure moments in repassing often in my
     mind our happy domestic society when together at Monticello, and
     looking forward to the renewal of it. No other society gives
     me now any satisfaction, as no other is founded in sincere
     affection. Take care of yourself, my dear Maria, for my sake,
     and cherish your affections for me, as my happiness rests
     solely on yours, and on that of your sister's and your dear
     connections. Present me affectionately to Mr. Eppes, to whom I
     inclosed some pamphlets some time ago without any letter; as I
     shall write no letters the ensuing year, for political reasons
     which I explained to him. Present my affections also to Mrs. and
     Mr. Eppes, Senior, and all the family, for whom I feel every
     interest that I do for my own. Be assured yourself, my dear, of
     my most tender and constant love. Adieu.

                      Yours affectionately and forever,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                              Philadelphia, Jan. 21st, 1800.

     I am made happy by a letter from Mr. Eppes, informing me
     that Maria was become a mother, and was well. It was written
     the day after the event. These circumstances are balm to the
     painful sensations of this place. I look forward with hope to
     the moment when we are all to be reunited again. I inclose a
     little tale for Anne. To Ellen you must make big promises,
     which I know a bit of gingerbread will pay off. Kiss them
     all for me. My affectionate salutations to Mr. Randolph, and
     tender and increasing love to yourself. Adieu, my dear Martha.
     Affectionately yours, etc.

_To Mrs. Church._

                              Philadelphia, Jan. 21st, 1800.

     I am honored, my dear Madam, with your letter of the 16th inst.,
     and made happy by the information of your health. It was matter
     of sincere regret on my arrival here to learn that you had left
     it but a little before, after passing some time here. I should
     have been happy to have renewed to you in person the assurances
     of my affectionate regards, to have again enjoyed a society
     which brings to me the most pleasant recollections, and to have
     past in review together the history of those friends who made
     an interesting part of our circle, and for many of whom I have
     felt the deepest affliction. My friend Catherine I could have
     entertained with details of her living friends, whom you are so
     good as to recollect, and for whom I am to return you thankful

     I shall forward your letter to my daughter Eppes, who, I am
     sure, will make you her own acknowledgments. It will find her
     "in the straw;" having lately presented me with the first honors
     of a grandfather on her part. Mrs. Randolph has made them cease
     to be novelties--she has four children. We shall teach them all
     to grow up in esteem for yourself and Catherine. Whether they
     or we may have opportunities of testifying it personally must
     depend on the chapter of events. I am in the habit of turning
     over its next leaf with hope, and though it often fails me,
     there is still another and another behind. In the mean time, I
     cherish with fondness those affectionate sentiments of esteem
     and respect with which I am, my dear Madam, your sincere and
     humble servant,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Catherine Church._

                               Philadelphia, Jan. 22d, 1800.

     I wrote to your mamma yesterday, my dear Catherine, intending
     to have written by the same post to yourself. An interruption,
     however, put it out of my power. It was the more necessary to
     have done it, as I had inadvertently made an acknowledgment
     in my letter to her instead of yourself, of yours of the
     16th. I receive with sincere pleasure this evidence of your
     recollection, and assure you I reflect with great pleasure on
     the scenes which your letter recalls. You are often the subject
     of our conversation, not indeed at our fireside, for that is
     the season of our dispersion, but in our summer walks when the
     family reassembles at Monticello. You are tenderly remembered by
     both Mrs. Randolph and Mrs. Eppes, and I have this day notified
     Maria that I have promised you a letter from her. She was not
     much addicted to letter-writing before; and I fear her new
     character of mother may furnish new excuses for her remissness.
     Should this, however, be the occasion of my becoming the channel
     of your mutual love, it may lessen the zeal with which I press
     her pen upon her. But in whatever way I hear from you, be
     assured it will always be with that sincere pleasure which is
     inspired by the sentiments of esteem and attachment with which
     I am, my dear Catherine, your affectionate friend and humble

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In a letter to Mr. Randolph, written early in February, Mr. Jefferson
makes the following remarks about Bonaparte:

_To Thomas Mann Randolph._

     Should it be really true that Bonaparte has usurped the
     Government with an intention of making it a free one, whatever
     his talents may be for war, we have no proofs that he is skilled
     in forming governments friendly to the people. Wherever he has
     meddled, we have seen nothing but fragments of the old Roman
     governments stuck into materials with which they can form no
     cohesion: we see the bigotry of an Italian to the ancient
     splendor of his country, but nothing which bespeaks a luminous
     view of the organization of rational government. Perhaps,
     however, this may end better than we augur; and it certainly
     will if his head is equal to true and solid calculations of

And again, in a letter of a few days' later date, to Samuel Adams:

_To Samuel Adams._

     I fear our friends on the other side of the water, laboring in
     the same cause, have yet a great deal of crime and misery to
     wade through. My confidence has been placed in the head, not in
     the heart of Bonaparte. I hoped he would calculate truly the
     difference between the fame of a Washington and a Cromwell.
     Whatever his views may be, he has at least transferred the
     destinies of the Republic from the civil to the military arm.
     Some will use this as a lesson against the practicability of
     republican government. I read it as a lesson against the danger
     of standing armies.

We continue his family letters.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                              Philadelphia, Feb. 11th, 1800.

     A person here has invented the prettiest improvement in the
     forte-piano I have ever seen. It has tempted me to engage one
     for Monticello; partly for its excellence and convenience,
     partly to assist a very ingenious, modest, and poor young man,
     who ought to make a fortune by his invention.... There is really
     no business which ought to keep us one fortnight. I am therefore
     looking forward with anticipation of the joy of seeing you again
     ere long, and tasting true happiness in the midst of my family.
     My absence from you teaches me how essential your society is
     to my happiness. Politics are such a torment that I would
     advise every one I love not to mix with them. I have changed
     my circle here according to my wish, abandoning the rich and
     declining their dinners and parties, and associating entirely
     with the class of science, of whom there is a valuable society
     here. Still, my wish is to be in the midst of our own families
     at home.... Kiss all the dear little ones for me; do not let
     Ellen forget me; and continue to me your love in return for the
     constant and tender attachment of yours affectionately.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                              Philadelphia, Feb. 12th. 1800.

     My dear Maria--Mr. Eppes's letter of January 17th had filled me
     with anxiety for your little one, and that of the 25th announced
     what I had feared. How deeply I feel it in all its bearings I
     shall not say--nor attempt consolation when I know that time
     and silence are the only medicines. I shall only observe, as
     a source of hope to us all, that you are young, and will not
     fail to possess enough of these dear pledges which bind us to
     one another and to life itself. I am almost hopeless in writing
     to you, from observing that, at the date of Mr. Eppes's letter
     of January 25th, three which I had written to him and one to
     you had not been received. That to you was January 17th, and
     to him December 21, January 22, and one which only covered
     some pamphlets. That of December 21st was on the subject of
     Powell, and would of course give occasion for an answer. I have
     always directed to Petersburg; perhaps Mr. Eppes does not have
     inquiries made at the post-office there.... I will inclose this
     to the care of Mr. Jefferson....

     I fully propose, if nothing intervenes to prevent it, to take
     Chesterfield in my way home. I am not without hopes you will
     be ready to go on with me; but at any rate that you will soon
     follow. I know no happiness but when we are all together. You
     have, perhaps, heard of the loss of Jupiter. With all his
     defects, he leaves a void in my domestic arrangements which
     can not be filled. Mr. Eppes's last letter informed me how
     much you had suffered from your breasts; but that they had
     then suppurated, and the inflammation and consequent fever
     abated. I am anxious to hear again from you, and hope the next
     letter will announce your re-establishment. It is necessary
     for my tranquillity that I should hear from you often; for I
     feel inexpressibly whatever affects your health or happiness.
     My attachments to the world, and whatever it can offer, are
     daily wearing off; but you are one of the links which hold to
     my existence, and can only break off with that. You have never,
     by a word or deed, given me one moment's uneasiness; on the
     contrary, I have felt perpetual gratitude to Heaven for having
     given me in you a source of so much pure and unmixed happiness;
     go on then, my dear, as you have done, in deserving the love of
     every body; you will reap the rich reward of their esteem, and
     will find that we are working for ourselves while we do good to

     I had a letter from your sister yesterday. They were all
     well. One from Mr. Randolph had before informed me they had
     got to Edgehill, and were in the midst of mud, smoke, and the
     uncomfortableness of a cold house. Mr. Trist is here alone, and
     will return soon.

     Present me affectionately to Mr. Eppes, and tell him when you
     can not write he must; as also to the good family at Eppington,
     to whom I wish every earthly good. To yourself, my dear Maria, I
     can not find expressions for my love. You must measure it by the
     feelings of a warm heart. Adieu.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                              Philadelphia, April 6th, 1800.

     I have at length, my ever dear Maria, received by Mr. Eppes's
     letter of March 24 the welcome news of your recovery--welcome,
     indeed, to me, who have passed a long season of inexpressible
     anxiety for you; and the more so as written accounts can hardly
     give one an exact idea of the situation of a sick person.

     I wish I were able to leave this place and join you; but we do
     not count on rising till the first or second week of May. I
     shall certainly see you as soon after that as possible, at Mont
     Blanco or Eppington, at whichever you may be, and shall expect
     you to go up with me, according to the promise in Mr. Eppes's
     letter. I shall send orders for my horses to be with you, and
     wait for me if they arrive before me. I must ask Mr. Eppes to
     write me a line immediately by post, to inform me at which place
     you will be during the first and second weeks of May, and what
     is the nearest point on the road from Richmond where I can
     quit the stage and borrow a horse to go on to you. If written
     immediately I may receive it here before my departure.

     Mr. Eppes's letter informs me your sister was with you at that
     date; but from Mr. Randolph I learn she was to go up this month.
     The uncertainty where she was, prevented my writing to her for a
     long time. If she is still with you, express to her all my love
     and tenderness for her. Your tables have been ready some time,
     and will go in a vessel which sails for Richmond this week. They
     are packed in a box marked J. W. E., and will be delivered to
     Mr. Jefferson, probably about the latter part of this month.

     I write no news for Mr. Eppes, because my letters are so slow
     in getting to you that he will see every thing first in the
     newspapers. Assure him of my sincere affections, and present the
     same to the family of Eppington, if you are together. Cherish
     your own health for the sake of so many to whom you are so
     dear, and especially for one who loves you with unspeakable
     tenderness. Adieu, my dearest Maria.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                              Philadelphia, April 22d, 1800.

     Mr. Eppes informs me that Maria was so near well that they
     expected in a few days to go to Mont Blanco. Your departure
     gives me a hope her cure was at length established. A long and
     painful case it has been, and not the most so to herself or
     those about her; my anxieties have been excessive. I shall go by
     Mont Blanco to take her home with me....

     I long once more to get all together again; and still hope,
     notwithstanding your present establishment, you will pass a
     great deal of the summer with us. I wish to urge it just so
     far as not to break in on your and Mr. Randolph's desires and
     convenience. Our scenes here can never be pleasant; but they
     have been less stormy, less painful than during the X Y Z

During the session of Congress the Republicans nominated as
candidates for the coming Presidential election Mr. Jefferson for
President and Aaron Burr for Vice-President. The opposite party
chose as their nominees, Mr. Adams and Mr. Pinckney.

The Seat of Government was moved to Washington in June, 1800. We can
well understand how disagreeable the change from the comfortable city
of Philadelphia to a rough, unfinished town must have been. Mrs.
Adams seems to have felt it sensibly, and in the following letter to
her daughter has left us an admirable and amusing picture of it:

_From Mrs. Adams._

     I arrived here on Sunday last, and without meeting with any
     accident worth noticing, except losing ourselves when we left
     Baltimore, and going eight or nine miles on the Frederick road,
     by which means we were obliged to go the other eight through
     woods, where we wandered two hours without finding a guide or
     the path. Fortunately a straggling black came up with us, and we
     engaged him as a guide to extricate us out of our difficulty;
     but woods are all you see from Baltimore until you reach the
     city, which is only so in name. Here and there is a small cot,
     without a glass window, interspersed among the forests, through
     which you travel miles without seeing any human being. In the
     city there are buildings enough, if they were compact and
     finished, to accommodate Congress and those attached to it; but
     as they are, and scattered as they are, I see no great comfort
     for them. The river which runs up to Alexandria is in full view
     of my window, and I see the vessels as they pass and repass. The
     house is upon a grand and superb scale, requiring about thirty
     servants to attend and keep the apartments in proper order,
     and perform the ordinary business of the house and stables; an
     establishment very well proportioned to the President's salary!
     The lighting the apartments from the kitchen to parlors and
     chambers is a tax indeed, and the fires we are obliged to keep
     to secure us from daily agues is another very cheering comfort.
     To assist us in this great castle, and render less attendance
     necessary, bells are wholly wanting, not one single one being
     hung through the whole house, and promises are all you can
     obtain. This is so great an inconvenience, that I know not what
     to do, or how to do.

     The ladies from Georgetown and in the city have many of them
     visited me. Yesterday I returned fifteen visits--but such a
     place as Georgetown appears--why, our Milton is beautiful. But
     no comparisons;--if they will put me up some bells, and let me
     have wood enough to keep fires, I design to be pleased. I could
     content myself almost anywhere three months; but, surrounded
     with forests, can you believe that wood is not to be had,
     because people can not be found to cut and cart it? Briesler
     entered into a contract with a man to supply him with wood. A
     small part, a few cords only, has he been able to get. Most of
     that was expended to dry the walls of the house before we came
     in, and yesterday the man told him it was impossible for him to
     procure it to be cut and carted. He has had recourse to coals;
     but we can not get grates made and set. We have, indeed, come
     into a new country.

     You must keep all this to yourself, and when asked how I like
     it, say that I write you the situation is beautiful, which is
     true. The house is made habitable, but there is not a single
     apartment finished, and all within side, except the plastering,
     has been done since Briesler came. We have not the least fence,
     yard, or other conveniences without, and the great unfinished
     audience-room I make a drying-room of to hang up the clothes
     in. The principal stairs are not up, and will not be this
     winter. Six chambers are made comfortable; two are occupied
     by the President and Mr. Shaw; two lower rooms, one for a
     common parlor, and one for a levee-room. Up stairs there is the
     oval-room, which is designed for the drawing-room, and has the
     crimson furniture in it. It is a very handsome room now; but
     when completed it will be beautiful.

     If the twelve years, in which this place has been considered
     as the future Seat of Government, had been improved, as they
     would have been if in New England, very many of the present
     inconveniences would have been removed. It is a beautiful spot,
     capable of every improvement, and the more I view it the more I
     am delighted with it.[47]

  [47] Mrs. Adams's letters, vol. ii., p. 239.

The whole summer of 1800 was spent by Jefferson quietly at home. He
only left Monticello once, and that was to pay a short visit to
Bedford. He was unusually busy on his farms and with his house. He
took no part whatever in the political campaign, and held himself
entirely aloof from it.

In the following letter we find betrayed all the tender anxieties of
a fond and loving father:

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                 Monticello, July 4th, 1800.

     My dear Maria--We have heard not a word of you since the moment
     you left us. I hope you had a safe and pleasant journey. The
     rains which began to fall here the next day gave me uneasiness
     lest they should have overtaken you also. Dr. and Mrs. Bache
     have been with us till the day before yesterday. Mrs. Monroe is
     now in our neighborhood, to continue during the sickly months.
     Our forte-piano arrived a day or two after you left us. It has
     been exposed to a great deal of rain, but being well covered
     was only much untuned. I have given it a poor tuning. It is
     the delight of the family, and all pronounce what your choice
     will be. Your sister does not hesitate to prefer it to any
     harpsichord she ever saw except her own; and it is easy to see
     it is only the celestini which retains that preference. It is as
     easily tuned as a spinette and will not need it half as often.
     Our harvest has been a very fine one. I finish to-day. It is the
     heaviest crop of wheat I ever had.

     A murder in our neighborhood is the theme of its present
     conversation. George Carter shot Birch, of Charlottesville, in
     his own door and on very slight provocation. He died in a few
     minutes. The examining court meets to-morrow.

     As your harvest must be over as soon as ours, we hope to see
     Mr. Eppes and yourself. All are well here except Ellen, who is
     rather drooping than sick; and all are impatient to see you--no
     one so much as he whose happiness is wrapped up in yours. My
     affections to Mr. Eppes and tenderest love to yourself. Hasten
     to us. Adieu.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

During the political campaign of the summer of 1800, Jefferson was
denounced by many divines--who thought it their duty to preach
politics instead of Christian charity--as an atheist and a French
infidel. These attacks were made upon him by half the clergy of
New England, and by a few in other Northern States; in the former
section, however, they were most virulent. The common people of
the country were told that should he be elected their Bibles would
be taken from them. In New York the Reverend Doctor John M. Mason
published a pamphlet attacking Jefferson, which was entitled, "The
voice of Warning to Christians on the ensuing Election." In New
England sermons preached against Jefferson were printed and scattered
through the land; among them one in which a parallel is drawn between
him and the wicked Rehoboam. In another his integrity was impeached.
This last drew from Jefferson the following notice, in a letter
written to Uriah McGregory, of Connecticut, on the 13th of August,

_To Mr. McGregory._

     From the moment that a portion of my fellow-citizens looked
     towards me with a view to one of their highest offices, the
     floodgates of calumny have been opened upon me; not where I am
     personally known, where their slanders would be instantly judged
     and suppressed, from a general sense of their falsehood; but in
     the remote parts of the Union, where the means of detection are
     not at hand, and the trouble of an inquiry is greater than would
     suit the hearers to undertake. I know that I might have filled
     the courts of the United States with actions for these slanders,
     and have ruined, perhaps, many persons who are not innocent.
     But this would be no equivalent to the loss of character. I
     leave them, therefore, to the reproof of their own consciences.
     If these do not condemn them, there will yet come a day when
     the false witness will meet a Judge who has not slept over his

     If the reverend Cotton Mather Smith, of Shena, believed this as
     firmly as I do, he would surely never have affirmed that I had
     obtained my property by fraud and robbery; that in one instance
     I had defrauded and robbed a widow and fatherless children of
     an estate, to which I was executor, of ten thousand pounds
     sterling, by keeping the property, and paying them in money
     at the nominal rate, when it was worth no more than forty for
     one; and that all this could be proved. Every tittle of it is
     fable--there not having existed a single circumstance of my
     life to which any part of it can hang. I never was executor but
     in two instances, both of which having taken place about the
     beginning of the Revolution, which withdrew me immediately from
     all private pursuits, I never meddled in either executorship.
     In one of the cases only were there a widow and children. She
     was my sister. She retained and managed the estate in her own
     hands, and no part of it was ever in mine. In the other I was a
     co-partner, and only received, on a division, the equal portion
     allotted me. To neither of these executorships, therefore, could
     Mr. Smith refer.

     Again, my property is all patrimonial, except about seven or
     eight hundred pounds' worth of lands, purchased by myself and
     paid for, not to widows and orphans, but to the very gentlemen
     from whom I purchased. If Mr. Smith, therefore, thinks the
     precepts of the Gospel intended for those who preach them as
     well as for others, he will doubtless some day feel the duties
     of repentance, and of acknowledgment in such forms as to correct
     the wrong he has done. Perhaps he will have to wait till the
     passions of the moment have passed away. All this is left to his
     own conscience.

     These, Sir, are facts well known to every person in this
     quarter, which I have committed to paper for your own
     satisfaction, and that of those to whom you may choose to
     mention them. I only pray that my letter may not go out of
     your own hands, lest it should get into the newspapers, a
     bear-garden scene into which I have made it a point to enter on
     no provocation.

Jefferson went to Washington the last of November, the length and
tedium of the journey to the new capital being nothing in comparison
to what it had been to the old.


     Results of Presidential Election.--Letter to his Daughter.--
     Balloting for President.--Letter to his Daughter.--Is
     inaugurated.--Returns to Monticello.--Letters to his
     Daughter.--Goes back to Washington.--Inaugurates the Custom of
     sending a written Message to Congress.--Abolishes Levees.--
     Letter to Story.--To Dickinson.--Letter from Mrs. Cosway.--
     Family Letters.--Makes a short Visit to Monticello.

The result of the Presidential Election of 1800 was the success of
the Republican candidates--both Jefferson and Burr receiving the same
number (73) of electoral votes. The chance of any two candidates
receiving a tie vote was a circumstance which had not been provided
for, and though all knew that Jefferson had been run to fill the
office of President, and Burr that of Vice-president, the tie vote
gave the latter a chance--which the Federalists urged him to seize,
and which he did not neglect--to be made President.

The following letter gives the first sign of the coming storm, which
for a week convulsed the country with excitement, and shook the young
Government to its centre.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Bermuda Hundred._

                                 Washington, Jan. 4th, 1801.

     Your letter, my dear Maria, of Dec. 28, is just now received,
     and shall be immediately answered, as shall all others received
     from yourself or Mr. Eppes. This will keep our accounts even,
     and show, by the comparative promptness of reply, which is
     most anxious to hear from the other. I wrote to Mr. Eppes,
     December 23d, but directed it to Petersburg; hereafter it shall
     be to City Point. I went yesterday to Mount Vernon, where Mrs.
     Washington and Mrs. Lewis asked very kindly after you. Mrs.
     Lewis looks thin, and thinks herself not healthy; but it seems
     to be more in opinion than any thing else. She has a child of
     very uncertain health.

     The election is understood to stand 73, 73, 65, 64. The
     Federalists were confident, at first, they could debauch Col.
     B. [Burr] from his good faith by offering him their vote to be
     President, and have seriously proposed it to him. His conduct
     has been honorable and decisive, and greatly embarrasses them.
     Time seems to familiarize them more and more to acquiescence,
     and to render it daily more probable they will yield to the
     known will of the people, and that some one State will join
     the eight already decided as to their vote. The victory of the
     Republicans in New Jersey, lately obtained by carrying their
     whole Congressional members on an election by general ticket,
     has had weight on their spirits.

     Should I be destined to remain here, I shall count on meeting
     you and Mr. Eppes at Monticello the first week in April, where
     I shall not have above three weeks to stay. We shall then be
     able to consider how far it will be practicable to prevent this
     new destination from shortening the time of our being together,
     for be assured that no considerations in this world would
     compensate to me a separation from yourself and your sister.
     But the distance is so moderate that I should hope a journey
     to this place would be scarcely more inconvenient than one to
     Monticello. But of this we will talk when we meet there, which
     will be to me a joyful moment. Remember me affectionately to Mr.
     Eppes, and accept yourself the effusion of my tenderest love.
     Adieu, my dearest Maria.

                                               TH. JEFFERSON

The balloting for President in the House of Representatives began on
the 11th of February. A snow-storm raged without, while the bitterest
partisan feeling was at work within the Congressional halls. A
member who was too ill to leave his bed was borne on a litter to
the Capitol; his wife accompanied him, and, remaining at his side,
administered his medicines to him. The ballot-boxes were carried to
his couch, so that he did not miss a single ballot. Had he failed to
vote, the Republicans would have lost a vote. The people throughout
the country were kept in a ferment by the wild reports which came to
them of the state of affairs in Washington. The Governor of Virginia
established a line of express riders between Washington and Richmond
during the whole of this eventful week, that he might learn as
speedily as possible the result of each ballot. The best picture of
the exciting scene is found in the following dispatches sent by John
Randolph to his step-father, St. George Tucker, while the balloting
was going on:

_Dispatches from John Randolph._[48]

  [48] See Appendix to Tucker's Life of Jefferson.

                    Chamber of the House of Representatives,
                             Wednesday, February 11th, 1801.

     Seven times we have balloted--eight States for J.; six for B.;
     two, Maryland and Vermont, divided. Voted to postpone for an
     hour the process; now half-past four--resumed--result the same.
     The order against adjourning, made with a view to Mr. Nicholson,
     who was ill, has not operated. He left his sick-bed, came
     through a snow-storm, brought his bed, and has prevented the
     vote of Maryland from being given to Burr. Mail closing. Yours
     with perfect love and esteem,

                                                  J. R., JR.

                            Thursday Morning, February 12th.

     We have just taken the nineteenth ballot (the balloting
     continued through the night). The result has invariably been
     eight States for J., six for B., two divided. We continue to
     ballot with the interval of an hour. The rule for making the
     sittings permanent seems now to be not so agreeable to our
     Federal gentlemen. No election will, in my opinion, take place.
     By special permission, the mail will remain open until four
     o'clock. I will not close my letter till three. If there be a
     change, I shall notify it; if not, I shall add no more to the
     assurance of my entire affection.

                                          JOHN RANDOLPH, JR.

                    Chamber of the House of Representatives,
                                        February 14th, 1801.

     After endeavoring to make the question before us depend upon
     our physical construction, our opponents have begged for a
     dispensation from their own regulation, and without adjourning,
     we have postponed (like able casuists) from day to day the
     balloting. In half an hour we shall recommence the operation.
     The result is marked below. We have balloted thirty-one hours.
     Twelve o'clock, Saturday noon, eight for J., six for B., two
     divided. Again at one, not yet decided. Same result. Postponed
     till Monday, twelve o'clock.

                                          JOHN RANDOLPH, JR.

In the midst of these scenes Jefferson wrote the following letter to
Mrs. Eppes, in which we find strangely blended politics and fatherly
love--a longing for retirement and a lurking desire to leave to his
children the honor of his having filled the highest office in his
country's gift:

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Bermuda Hundred._

                                Washington, Feb. 15th, 1801.

     Your letter, my dear Maria, of the 2d instant came to hand on
     the 8th. I should have answered it immediately, according to
     our arrangement, but that I thought by waiting to the 11th I
     might possibly be able to communicate something on the subject
     of the election. However, after four days of balloting, they
     are exactly where they were on the first. There is a strong
     expectation in some that they will coalesce to-morrow; but I
     know no foundation for it. Whatever event happens, I think I
     shall be at Monticello earlier than I formerly mentioned to you.
     I think it more likely I may be able to leave this place by the
     middle of March. I hope I shall find you at Monticello. The
     scene passing here makes me pant to be away from it--to fly from
     the circle of cabal, intrigue, and hatred, to one where all is
     love and peace.

     Though I never doubted of your affections, my dear, yet the
     expressions of them in your letter give me ineffable pleasure.
     No, never imagine that there can be a difference with me between
     yourself and your sister. You have both such dispositions as
     engross my whole love, and each so entirely that there can be no
     greater degree of it than each possesses. Whatever absences I
     may be led into for a while, I look for happiness to the moment
     when we can all be settled together, no more to separate. I feel
     no impulse from personal ambition to the office now proposed to
     me, but on account of yourself and your sister and those dear
     to you. I feel a sincere wish, indeed, to see our Government
     brought back to its republican principles, to see that kind
     of government firmly fixed to which my whole life has been
     devoted. I hope we shall now see it so established, as that when
     I retire it may be under full security that we are to continue
     free and happy. As soon as the fate of election is over, I will
     drop a line to Mr. Eppes. I hope one of you will always write
     the moment you receive a letter from me. Continue to love me, my
     dear, as you ever have done, and ever have been and will be by
     yours, affectionately,

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

I give John Randolph's last dispatch:

  Chamber of the House of Representatives,

                                              February 17th.

     On the thirty-sixth ballot there appeared this day ten States
     for Thomas Jefferson, four (New England) for A. Burr, and two
     blank ballots (Delaware and South Carolina). This was the
     second time we balloted to-day. The four Burrites of Maryland
     put blanks into the box of that State. The vote was therefore
     unanimous. Mr. Morris, of Vermont, left his seat, and the result
     was therefore Jeffersonian. Adieu. Tuesday, 2 o'clock P.M.

                                                  J. R., JR.

     I need not add that Mr. J. was declared duly elected.

In a letter written to his son-in-law, Mr. Randolph, Mr. Jefferson

_To Thomas Mann Randolph._

     A letter from Mr. Eppes informs me that Maria is in a situation
     which induces them not to risk a journey to Monticello, so we
     shall not have the pleasure of meeting them there. I begin to
     hope I may be able to leave this place by the middle of March.
     My tenderest love to my ever dear Martha, and kisses to the
     little one. Accept yourself sincere and affectionate salutation.

Mr. Jefferson thought it becoming a Republican that his inauguration
should be as unostentatious and free from display as possible--and
such it was. An English traveller, who was in Washington at the time,
thus describes him: "His dress was of plain cloth, and he rode on
horseback to the Capitol without a single guard or even servant in
his train, dismounted without assistance, and hitched the bridle of
his horse to the palisades." He was accompanied to the Senate Chamber
by a number of his friends, when, before taking the oath of office,
he delivered his Inaugural Address, whose chaste and simple beauty is
so familiar to the student of American History. I can not, however,
refrain from giving here the eloquent close of this admirable State

_Extract from Inaugural Address._

     I repair, then, fellow-citizens, to the post you have assigned
     me. With experience enough in subordinate offices to have seen
     the difficulties of this, the greatest of all, I have learned
     to expect that it will rarely fall to the lot of imperfect man
     to retire from this station with the reputation and favor which
     bring him into it. Without pretensions to that high confidence
     reposed in our first and great Revolutionary character, whose
     pre-eminent services had entitled him to the first place in
     his country's love, and destined for him the fairest page in
     the volume of faithful history, I ask so much confidence only
     as may give firmness and effect to the legal administration
     of your affairs. I shall often go wrong through defect of
     judgment. When right, I shall often be thought wrong by those
     whose positions will not command a view of the whole ground.
     I ask your indulgence for my own errors, which will never be
     intentional; and your support against the errors of others, who
     may condemn what they would not if seen in all its parts. The
     approbation implied by your suffrage is a consolation to me for
     the past; and my future solicitude will be to retain the good
     opinion of those who have bestowed it in advance, to conciliate
     that of others by doing them all the good in my power, and to be
     instrumental to the happiness and freedom of all.

     Relying, then, on the patronage of your good-will, I advance
     with obedience to the work, ready to retire from it whenever you
     become sensible how much better choice it is in your power to
     make. And may that Infinite Power which rules the destinies of
     the universe lead our councils to what is best, and give them a
     favorable issue for your peace and prosperity.

The house at Monticello was still unfinished when Mr. Jefferson
returned there on a visit early in April. A few days before he left
he wrote the following letter to his kinsman, Mr. George Jefferson,
which, in an age when nepotism is so rife, may, from its principles,
seem now rather out of date:

_To George Jefferson._

     Dear Sir--I have to acknowledge the receipt of yours of March
     4th, and to express to you the delight with which I found the
     just, disinterested, and honorable point of view in which you
     saw the proposition it covered. The resolution you so properly
     approved had long been formed in my mind. The public will never
     be made to believe that an appointment of a relative is made on
     the ground of merit alone, uninfluenced by family views; nor can
     they ever see with approbation offices, the disposal of which
     they intrust to their Presidents for public purposes, divided
     out as family property. Mr. Adams degraded himself infinitely
     by his conduct on this subject, as General Washington had done
     himself the greatest honor. With two such examples to proceed
     by, I should be doubly inexcusable to err. It is true that this
     places the relations of the President in a worse situation than
     if he were a stranger, but the public good, which can not be
     effected if its confidence be lost, requires this sacrifice.
     Perhaps, too, it is compensated by sharing in the public esteem.
     I could not be satisfied till I assured you of the increased
     esteem with which this transaction fills me for you. Accept my
     affectionate expressions of it.

The following letters to Mrs. Eppes will carry on pleasantly the tale
of Mr. Jefferson's private life:

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Bermuda Hundred._

                               Monticello, April 11th, 1801.

     My dear Maria--I wrote to Mr. Eppes on the 8th inst. by post,
     to inform him I should on the 12th send off a messenger to the
     Hundred for the horses he may have bought for me. Davy Bowles
     will accordingly set out to-morrow, and will be the bearer
     of this. He leaves us all well, and wanting nothing but your
     and Mr. Eppes's company to make us completely happy. Let me
     know by his return when you expect to be here, that I may
     accommodate to that my orders as to executing the interior work
     of the different parts of the house. John being at work under
     Lilly, Goliath is our gardener, and with his veteran aids will
     be directed to make what preparation he can for you. It is
     probable I shall come home myself about the last week of July
     or first of August, to stay two months during the sickly season
     in autumn every year. These terms I shall hope to pass with you
     here, and that either in spring or fall you will be able to
     pass some time with me in Washington. Had it been possible, I
     would have made a tour now, on my return, to see you. But I am
     tied to a day for my return to Washington, to assemble our New
     Administration and begin our work systematically. I hope, when
     you come up, you will make very short stages, drive slow and
     safely, which may well be done if you do not permit yourself
     to be hurried. Surely, the sooner you come the better. The
     servants will be here under your commands, and such supplies as
     the house affords. Before that time our bacon will be here from
     Bedford. Continue to love me, my dear Maria, as affectionately
     as I do you. I have no object so near my heart as yours and your
     sister's happiness. Present me affectionately to Mr. Eppes, and
     be assured yourself of my unchangeable and tenderest attachment
     to you.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The horses alluded to in the above letter were four full-blooded
bays, which the President wished to purchase for the use of his
carriage in Washington. Mr. Eppes succeeded in making the purchase
for him, and his choice was such as to suit even such a connoisseur
in horse-flesh as Jefferson was, to say nothing of his faithful
coachman, Joseph Dougherty, who was never so happy as when seated on
the box behind this spirited and showy team. Their cost was sixteen
hundred dollars.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Bermuda Hundred._

                                Washington, June 24th, 1801.

     My dear Maria--According to contract, immediately on the receipt
     of Mr. Eppes's letter of the 12th, I wrote him mine of the
     17th; and having this moment received yours of June 18th, I
     hasten to reply to that also. I am very anxious you should
     hasten your departure for Monticello, but go a snail's pace when
     you set out. I shall certainly be with you the last week of July
     or first week of August. I have a letter from your sister this
     morning. All are well. They have had all their windows, almost,
     broken by a hail-storm, and are unable to procure glass, so that
     they are living almost out-of-doors. The whole neighborhood
     suffered equally. Two sky-lights at Monticello, which had been
     left uncovered, were entirely broken up. No other windows there
     were broke. I give reason to expect that both yourself and your
     sister will come here in the fall. I hope it myself, and our
     society here is anxious for it. I promise them that one of you
     will hereafter pass the spring here, and the other the fall,
     saving your consent to it. All this must be arranged when we
     meet. I am here interrupted; so, with my affectionate regards to
     the family at Eppington, and Mr. Eppes, and tenderest love to
     yourself, I must bid you adieu.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                Washington, July 16th, 1801.

     My dear Maria--I received yesterday Mr. Eppes's letter of
     the 12th, informing me that you had got safely to Eppington,
     and would set out to-morrow at furthest for Monticello. This
     letter, therefore, will, I hope, find you there. I now write to
     Mr. Craven to furnish you all the supplies of the table which
     his farm affords. Mr. Lilly had before received orders to do
     the same. Liquors have been forwarded, and have arrived with
     some loss. I insist that you command and use every thing as
     if I were with you, and shall be very uneasy if you do not. A
     supply of groceries has been lying here some time waiting for
     a conveyance. It will probably be three weeks from this time
     before they can be at Monticello. In the mean time, take what is
     wanting from any of the stores with which I deal, on my account.
     I have recommended to your sister to send at once for Mrs.
     Marks. Remus and my chair, with Phill as usual, can go for her.
     I shall join you between the second and seventh--more probably
     not till the seventh. Mr. and Mrs. Madison leave this about a
     week hence. I am looking forward with great impatience to the
     moment when we can all be joined at Monticello, and hope we
     shall never again know so long a separation. I recommend to your
     sister to go over at once to Monticello, which I hope she will
     do. It will be safer for her, and more comfortable for both.
     Present me affectionately to Mr. Eppes, and be assured of my
     constant and tenderest love.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The Mrs. Marks alluded to in this last letter was Mr. Jefferson's
sister. Her husband lived in Lower Virginia, and, his means being
very limited, he could not afford to send his family from home
during the sickly season. For a period of thirty years Mr. Jefferson
never failed to send his carriage and horses for her, and kept her
for three or four months at Monticello, which after her husband's
death became her permanent home. Mr. Jefferson left in his will
the following touching recommendation of her to his daughter: "I
recommend to my daughter, Martha Randolph, the maintenance and care
of my well-beloved sister, Anne Scott, and trust confidently that
from affection to her, as well as for my sake, she will never let her
want a comfort." It is needless to add that this trust was faithfully
fulfilled, and when Mrs. Randolph had no home save her eldest son's
house, the same roof sheltered Mrs. Marks as well as herself.

Mr. Jefferson paid his usual visit to Monticello this summer, and was
there surrounded by his children and grandchildren. On his return to
Washington, he wrote the following letters to Mrs. Eppes, in which
the anxiety that he shows about her is what might have been expected
from the tender love of a mother.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Monticello._

                                Washington, Oct. 26th, 1801.

     My ever dear Maria--I have heard nothing of you since Mr.
     Eppes's letter, dated the day se'nnight after I left home.
     The Milton[49] mail will be here to-morrow morning, when I
     shall hope to receive something. In the mean time, this letter
     must go hence this evening. I trust it will still find you at
     Monticello, and that possibly Mr. Eppes may have concluded to
     take a journey to Bedford, and still further prolonged your
     stay. I am anxious to hear from you, lest you should have
     suffered in the same way now as on a former similar occasion.
     Should any thing of that kind take place, and the remedy which
     succeeded before fail now, I know nobody to whom I would so soon
     apply as Mrs. Suddarth. A little experience is worth a great
     deal of reading, and she has had great experience and a sound
     judgment to observe on it. I shall be glad to hear, at the same
     time, that the little boy is well.

  [49] Milton was a thriving little town four miles from Monticello.

If Mr. Eppes undertakes what I have proposed to him at Pantops and
Poplar Forest the next year, I should think it indispensable that he
should make Monticello his head-quarters. You can be furnished with
all plantation articles for the family from Mr. Craven, who will be
glad to pay his rent in that way. It would be a great satisfaction to
me to find you fixed there in April. Perhaps it might induce me to
take flying trips by stealth, to have the enjoyment of family society
for a few days undisturbed. Nothing can repay me the loss of that
society, the only one founded in affection and bosom confidence. I
have here company enough, part of which is very friendly, part well
enough disposed, part secretly hostile, and a constant succession of
strangers. But this only serves to get rid of life, not to enjoy it;
it is in the love of one's family only that heartfelt happiness is
known. I feel it when we are all together, and, when alone, beyond
what can be imagined. Present me affectionately to Mr. Eppes, Mr.
Randolph, and my dear Martha, and be assured yourself of my tenderest

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._--[_Extract._]

     I perceive that it will be merely accidental when I can steal
     a moment to write to you; however, that is of no consequence,
     my health being always so firm as to leave you without doubt
     on that subject. But it is not so with yourself and little
     one. I shall not be easy, therefore, if either yourself or Mr.
     Eppes do not once a week or fortnight write the three words
     "All are well." That you may be so now, and so continue, is the
     subject of my perpetual anxiety, as my affections are constantly
     brooding over you. Heaven bless you, my dear daughter.

Congress met on the 7th of December. It had been the custom for the
session to be opened pretty much as the English Parliament is by the
Queen's speech. The President, accompanied by a cavalcade, proceeded
in state to the Capitol, took his seat in the Senate Chamber, and,
the House of Representatives being summoned, read his address. Mr.
Jefferson, on the opening of this session of Congress (1801), swept
away all these inconvenient forms and ceremonies by introducing the
custom of the President sending a written message to Congress. Soon
after his inauguration he did away with levees, and established
only two public days for the reception of company, the first of
January and the Fourth of July, when his doors were thrown open to
the public. He received private calls, whether of courtesy or on
business, at all other times.

We have preserved to us an amusing anecdote of the effect of his
abolishing levees. Many of the ladies at Washington, indignant at
being cut off from the pleasure of attending them, and thinking
that their discontinuance was an innovation on former customs,
determined to force the President to hold them. Accordingly, on the
usual levee-day they resorted in full force to the White House. The
President was out taking his habitual ride on horseback. On his
return, being told that the public rooms were filled with ladies, he
at once divined their true motives for coming on that day. Without
being at all disconcerted, all booted and spurred, and still covered
with the dust of his ride, he went in to receive his fair guests.
Never had his reception been more graceful or courteous. The ladies,
charmed with the ease and grace of his manners and address, forgot
their indignation with him, and went away feeling that, of the two
parties, they had shown most impoliteness in visiting his house when
not expected. The result of their plot was for a long time a subject
of mirth among them, and they never again attempted to infringe upon
the rules of his household.

The Reverend Isaac Story having sent him some speculations on the
subject of the transmigration of souls, he sent him, on the 5th of
December, a reply, from which we take the following interesting

_To Rev. Isaac Story._

     The laws of nature have withheld from us the meaning of physical
     knowledge of the country of spirits, and revelation has, for
     reasons unknown to us, chosen to leave us in darkness as we
     were. When I was young, I was fond of speculations which seemed
     to promise some insight into that hidden country; but observing
     at length that they left me in the same ignorance in which they
     had found me, I have for many years ceased to read or think
     concerning them, and have reposed my head on that pillow of
     ignorance which a benevolent Creator has made so soft for us,
     knowing how much we should be forced to use it. I have thought
     it better, by nourishing the good passions and controlling the
     bad, to merit an inheritance in a state of being of which I can
     know so little, and to trust for the future to Him who has been
     so good for the past.

A week or two later he wrote to John Dickinson: "The approbation of
my ancient friends is, above all things, the most grateful to my
heart. They know for what objects we relinquished the delights of
domestic society, tranquillity, and science, and committed ourselves
to the ocean of revolution, to wear out the only life God has given
us here in scenes the benefits of which will accrue only to those who
follow us."

Early in the ensuing year he received a letter from his old friend
Mrs. Cosway, who writes:

_From Mrs. Cosway._

     Have we no hopes of ever seeing you in Paris? Would it not be a
     rest to you after your laborious situation? I often see the only
     friend remaining of our set, Madame de Corny, the same in her
     own amiable qualities, but very different in her situation, but
     she supports it very well.

     I am come to this place in its best time, for the profusion of
     fine things is beyond description, and not possible to conceive.
     It is so changed in every respect that you would not think it
     the same country or people. Shall this letter be fortunate
     enough to get to your hands? Will it be still more fortunate in
     procuring me an answer? I leave you to reflect on the happiness
     you will afford your ever affectionate and sincere friend.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                  Washington, Mar. 3d, 1802.

     My very dear Maria--I observed to you some time ago that, during
     the session of Congress, I should be able to write to you but
     seldom; and so it has turned out. Yours of Jan. 24 I received
     in due time, after which Mr. Eppes's letter of Feb. 1 and 2
     confirmed to me the news, always welcome, of yours and Francis's
     health. Since this I have no news of you. I see with great
     concern that I am not to have the pleasure of meeting you in
     Albemarle in the spring. I had entertained the hope Mr. Eppes
     and yourself would have passed the summer there, and, being
     there, that the two families should have come together on a
     visit here. I observe your reluctance at the idea of that visit,
     but for your own happiness must advise you to get the better of
     it. I think I discover in you a willingness to withdraw from
     society more than is prudent. I am convinced our own happiness
     requires that we should continue to mix with the world, and to
     keep pace with it as it goes; and that every person who retires
     from free communication with it is severely punished afterwards
     by the state of mind into which he gets, and which can only
     be prevented by feeding our sociable principles. I can speak
     from experience on this subject. From 1793 to 1797 I remained
     closely at home, saw none but those who came there, and at
     length became very sensible of the ill effect it had on my own
     mind, and of its direct and irresistible tendency to render me
     unfit for society and uneasy when necessarily engaged in it. I
     felt enough of the effect of withdrawing from the world then
     to see that it led to an anti-social and misanthropic state of
     mind, which severely punishes him who gives in to it; and it
     will be a lesson I never shall forget as to myself. I am certain
     you would be pleased with the state of society here, and that
     after the first moments you would feel happy in having made the
     experiment. I take for granted your sister will come immediately
     after my spring visit to Monticello, and I should have thought
     it agreeable to both that your first visit should be made

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

Mr. Jefferson made his spring visit to Monticello, and returned
to Washington before the first of June. The following chatty and
affectionate letters to his daughter, Mrs. Eppes, were written after
this visit home. The frequent and touching expressions of anxiety
about her health found in them show its delicate condition.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._--[_Extract._]

                                 Washington, July 1st, 1802.

     It will be infinitely joyful to me to be with you there
     [Monticello] after the longest separation we have had for
     years. I count from one meeting to another as we do between
     port and port at sea; and I long for the moment with the same
     earnestness. Present me affectionately to Mr. Eppes, and let me
     hear from you immediately. Be assured yourself of my tender and
     unchangeable affections.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                  Washington, July 2d, 1802.

     My dear Maria--My letter of yesterday had hardly got out of
     my hand when yours of June 21st and Mr. Eppes's of the 25th
     were delivered. I learn with extreme concern the state of your
     health and that of the child, and am happy to hear you have got
     from the Hundred to Eppington, the air of which will aid your
     convalescence, and will enable you to delay your journey to
     Monticello till you have recovered your strength to make the
     journey safe.

     With respect to the measles, they began in Mr. Randolph's
     family about the middle of June, and will probably be a month
     getting through the family; so you had better, when you go,
     pass on direct to Monticello, not calling at Edgehill. I will
     immediately write to your sister, and inform her I advised you
     to this. I have not heard yet of the disease having got to
     Monticello, but the intercourse with Edgehill being hourly,
     it can not have failed to have gone there immediately; and as
     there are no young children there but Bet's and Sally's, and
     the disease is communicable before a person knows they have
     it, I have no doubt those children have passed through it. The
     children of the plantation, being a mile and a half off, can
     easily be guarded against. I will write to Monticello, and
     direct that, should the nail-boys or any others have it, they
     be removed to the plantation instantly on your arrival. Indeed,
     none of them but Bet's sons stay on the mountain; and they will
     be doubtless through it. I think, therefore, you may be there in
     perfect security. It had gone through the neighborhood chiefly
     when I was there in May; so that it has probably disappeared.
     You should make inquiry on the road before you go into any
     house, as the disease is now universal throughout the State, and
     all the States.

     Present my most friendly attachment to Mr. and Mrs. Eppes. Tell
     the latter I have had her spectacles these six months, waiting
     for a direct conveyance. My best affections to Mr. Eppes, if
     with you, and the family, and tender and constant love to

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

     P.S.--I have always forgotten to answer your apologies about
     Critta, which were very unnecessary. I am happy she has been
     with you and useful to you. At Monticello there could be
     nothing for her to do; so that her being with you is exactly as
     desirable to me as she can be useful to you.

On the 16th of July he wrote Mrs. Eppes:

     I leave this on the 24th, and shall be in great hopes of
     receiving yourself and Mr. Eppes there (Monticello) immediately.
     I received two days ago his letter of the 8th, in which he
     gives me a poor account of your health, though he says you are
     recruiting. Make very short stages, be off always by daylight,
     and have your day's journey over by ten. In this way it is
     probable you may find the moderate exercise of the journey
     of service to yourself and Francis. Nothing is more frequent
     than to see a child re-established by a journey. Present my
     sincerest affections to the family at Eppington and to Mr.
     Eppes. Tell him the Tory newspapers are all attacking his
     publication, and urging it as a proof that Virginia has for
     object to change the Constitution of the United States, and to
     make it too impotent to curb the larger States. Accept yourself
     assurances of my constant and tender love.

He reached Monticello on the 25th of July, and was there joyfully
welcomed by his children and grandchildren. He was apparently in
robust health; but we find that six months before this period, to his
intimate friend Dr. Rush, he had written: "My health has always been
so uniformly firm, that I have for some years dreaded nothing so much
as the living too long. I think, however, that a flaw has appeared
which insures me against that, without cutting short any of the
period during which I could expect to remain capable of being useful.
It will probably give me as many years as I wish, and without pain or
debility. Should this be the case, my most anxious prayers will have
been fulfilled by Heaven. I have said as much to no mortal breathing,
and my florid health is calculated to keep my friends as well as foes
quiet, as they should be."

He was at this time in his sixtieth year.


     Returns to Washington.--Letters to his Daughters.--Meets with a
     Stranger in his daily Ride.--Letters to his Daughter.--To his
     young Grandson.--To his Daughter, Mrs. Randolph.--Last Letters
     to his Daughter, Mrs. Eppes.--Her Illness.--Letter to Mr.
     Eppes.--Goes to Monticello.--Death of Mrs. Eppes.--Account of it
     by a Niece.--Letter to Page.--To Tyler.--From Mrs. Adams.-- Mr.
     Jefferson's Reply.--Midnight Judges.--Letters to his Son-in-law.

Jefferson returned to Washington on the 5th of October, and, as will
be seen from the following note, was looking eagerly for the promised
visits of his daughters:

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                 Washington, Oct. 7th, 1802.

     My dear Maria--I arrived here on the fourth day of my journey
     without accident. On the day and next day after my arrival,
     I was much indisposed with a general soreness all over, a
     ringing in the head, and deafness. It is wearing off slowly,
     and was probably produced by travelling very early two mornings
     in the fog. I have desired Mr. Jefferson to furnish you with
     whatever you may call for, on my account; and I insist on your
     calling freely. It never was my intention that a visit for my
     gratification should be at your expense. It will be absolutely
     necessary for me to send fresh horses to meet you, as no horses,
     after the three first days' journey, can encounter the fourth,
     which is hilly beyond any thing you have ever seen. I shall
     expect to learn from you soon the day of your departure, that I
     may make proper arrangements. Present me affectionately to Mr.
     Eppes, and accept yourself my tenderest love.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

While President, Jefferson retained his habitual custom of taking
regular daily exercise. He rarely, however, gave his coachman,
Joseph, the pleasure of sitting behind the four fiery bays; always
preferring his saddle-horse--the magnificent Wildair--being the same
which he had ridden to the Capitol and "hitched to the palisades,"
on the day of his inauguration. On his journeys to Monticello he
went most frequently in his one-horse chair or the phaeton. He never
failed, as I have elsewhere remarked, no matter what his occupation,
to devote the hours between one and three in the afternoon to
exercise, which was most frequently taken on horseback. Being very
choice in his selection of horses, and a bold and fearless rider, he
never rode any but an animal of the highest mettle and best blood.


We have from the most authentic source the account of an incident
which occurred on one of his rides while President. He was riding
along one of the highways leading into Washington, when he overtook
a man wending his way towards the city. Jefferson, as was his
habit, drew up his horse and touched his hat to the pedestrian.
The man returned the salutation, and began a conversation with the
President--not knowing, of course, who he was. He at once entered
upon the subject of politics--as was the habit of the day--and
began to abuse the President, alluding even to some of the infamous
calumnies against his private life. Jefferson's first impulse was to
say "good-morning" and ride on, but, amused at his own situation,
he asked the man if he knew the President personally? "No," was
the reply, "nor do I wish to." "But do you think it fair," asked
Jefferson, "to repeat such stories about a man, and condemn one whom
you dare not face?" "I will never shrink from meeting Mr. Jefferson
should he ever come in my way," replied the stranger, who was a
country merchant in high standing from Kentucky. "Will you, then,
go to his house to-morrow at -- o'clock and be introduced to him,
if I promise to meet you there at that hour?" asked Jefferson,
eagerly. "Yes, I will," said the man, after a moment's thought.
With a half-suppressed smile, and excusing himself from any further
conversation, the President touched his hat and rode on.

Hardly had Jefferson disappeared from sight before a suspicion of
the truth, which he soon verified, flashed through the stranger's
mind. He stood fire, however, like a true man, and at the appointed
hour the next day the card of Mr. ----, "Mr. Jefferson's yesterday's
companion," was handed to the President. The next moment he was
announced and entered. His situation was embarrassing, but with a
gentlemanly bearing, though with some confusion, he began, "I have
called, Mr. Jefferson, to apologize for having said to a stranger--"
"Hard things of an imaginary being who is no relation of mine,"
said Jefferson, interrupting him, as he gave him his hand, while
his countenance was radiant with a smile of mingled good-nature
and amusement. The Kentuckian once more began his apologies, which
Jefferson good-naturedly laughed off, and, changing the subject,
had soon captivated his guest by launching forth into one of his
most delightful strains of animated conversation, which so charmed
Mr. ----, that the dinner-hour had arrived before he was aware
how swiftly the pleasant hours had flown by. He rose to go, when
Jefferson urged him to stay to dinner. Mr. ---- declined, when
Jefferson repeated the invitation, and, smiling, asked if he was
afraid to meet Mr. ----, a Republican. "Don't mention him," said the
other, "and I will stay."

It is needless to add that this Kentuckian remained ever afterwards
firmly attached to Jefferson: his whole family became his staunch
supporters, and the gentleman himself, in telling the story, would
wind up with a jesting caution to young men against talking too
freely with strangers.

The following letters were written to Mrs. Eppes, after her return to
Virginia from a visit to Washington:

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                Washington, Jan. 18th, 1803.

     My dear Maria--Yours by John came safely to hand, and informed
     me of your ultimate arrival at Edgehill. Mr. Randolph's letter
     from Gordon's, received the night before, gave me the first
     certain intelligence I had received since your departure. A
     rumor had come here of your having been stopped two or three
     days at Ball Run, and in a miserable hovel; so that I had passed
     ten days in anxious uncertainty about you. Your apologies,
     my dear Maria, on the article of expense, are quite without
     necessity. You did not here indulge yourselves as much as I
     wished, and nothing prevented my supplying your backwardness
     but my total ignorance in articles which might suit you. Mr.
     Eppes's election [to Congress] will, I am in hopes, secure me
     your company next winter, and perhaps you may find it convenient
     to accompany your sister in the spring. Mr. Giles's aid, indeed,
     in Congress, in support of our Administration, considering his
     long knowledge of the affairs of the Union, his talents, and
     the high ground on which he stands through the United States,
     had rendered his continuance here an object of anxious desire
     to those who compose the Administration; but every information
     we receive states that prospect to be desperate from his ill
     health, and will relieve me from the imputation of being willing
     to lose to the public so strong a supporter, for the personal
     gratification of having yourself and Mr. Eppes with me. I
     inclose you Lemaire's receipts. The orthography will be puzzling
     and amusing; but the receipts are valuable. Present my tender
     love to your sister, kisses to the young ones, and my affections
     to Mr. Randolph and Mr. Eppes, whom I suppose you will see soon.
     Be assured of my unceasing and anxious love for yourself.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following playfully-written note was sent to his young grandson:

_To Thomas Jefferson Randolph._

                                Washington, Feb. 21st, 1803.

     I have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 3d,
     my dear Jefferson, and to congratulate you on your writing so
     good a hand. By the last post I sent you a French Grammar,
     and within three weeks I shall be able to ask you, "Parlez
     vous Français, monsieur?" I expect to leave this about the
     9th, if unexpected business should not detain me, and then it
     will depend on the weather and the roads how long I shall be
     going--probably five days. The roads will be so deep that I can
     not flatter myself with catching Ellen in bed. Tell her that
     Mrs. Harrison Smith desires her compliments to her. Your mamma
     has probably heard of the death of Mrs. Burrows. Mrs. Brent is
     not far from it. Present my affections to your papa, mamma, and
     the young ones, and be assured of them yourself.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In a letter written to a friend in the winter of this year (1803) he
thus alludes to his health: "I retain myself very perfect health,
having not had twenty hours of fever in forty-two years past. I have
sometimes had a troublesome headache and some slight rheumatic pains;
but, now sixty years old nearly, I have had as little to complain of
in point of health as most people."

We have in the following letter one of the very few allusions to his
religion which he ever made to any of his family:

_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._

                               Washington, April 25th, 1803.

     My dear Martha--A promise made to a friend some years ago, but
     executed only lately, has placed my religious creed on paper.
     I have thought it just that my family, by possessing this,
     should be enabled to estimate the libels published against me
     on this, as on every other possible subject. I have written to
     Philadelphia for Dr. Priestley's history of the corruptions
     of Christianity, which I will send you and recommend to an
     attentive perusal, because it establishes the ground-work of my
     view of this subject.

     I have not had a line from Monticello or Edgehill since I parted
     with you. Peter Carr and Mrs. Carr, who staid with me five or
     six days, told me Cornelia had got happily through her measles,
     and that Ellen had not taken them. But what has become of
     Anne?[50] I thought I had her promise to write once a week, at
     least the words "All's well."

  [50] This little grand-daughter was now twelve years old.

It is now time for you to let me know when you expect to be able to
set out for Washington, and whether your own carriage can bring you
half-way. I think my Chickasaws, if drove moderately, will bring you
well that far. Mr. Lilly knows you will want them, and can add a
fourth. I think that by changing horses half-way you will come with
more comfort. I have no gentleman to send for your escort. Finding
here a beautiful blue cassimere, water-proof, and thinking it will
be particularly _à propos_ for Mr. Randolph as a travelling-coat for
his journey, I have taken enough for that purpose, and will send
it to Mr. Benson, postmaster at Fredericksburg, to be forwarded by
Abrahams, and hope it will be received in time.

Mr. and Mrs. Madison will set out for Orange about the last day of
the month. They will stay there but a week. I write to Maria to-day;
but supposing her to be at the Hundred, according to what she told me
of her movements, I send my letter there. I wish you to come as early
as possible; because, though the members of the Government remain
here to the last week in July, yet the sickly season commences, in
fact, by the middle of that month, and it would not be safe for you
to keep the children here longer than that, lest any one of them,
being taken sick early, might detain the whole here till the season
of general danger, and perhaps through it. Kiss the children for
me. Present me affectionately to Mr. Randolph, and accept yourself
assurances of my constant and tenderest love.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The following extract from a letter written December 1st, 1804, to
John Randolph by Jefferson, shows how little of a politician the
latter was in his own family, and how careful he was not to try and
influence the political opinions of those connected with him:

_To John Randolph._

     I am aware that in parts of the Union, and even with persons
     to whom Mr. Eppes and Mr. Randolph are unknown, and myself
     little known, it will be presumed, from their connection, that
     what comes from them comes from me. No men on earth are more
     independent in their sentiments than they are, nor any one
     less disposed than I am to influence the opinions of others. We
     rarely speak of politics, or of the proceedings of the House,
     but merely historically, and I carefully avoid expressing an
     opinion on them in their presence, that we may all be at our
     ease. With other members, I have believed that more unreserved
     communications would be advantageous to the public.

I give now Jefferson's letters to Mrs. Eppes, scattered over a period
of several months. They possess unusual interest, from the fact
that they are the last written by this devoted father to his lovely
daughter. Mrs. Eppes being in extremely delicate health, and her
husband having to be in Washington as a member of Congress, she early
in the fall repaired to Edgehill, there to spend the winter with her
sister, Mrs. Randolph--Mr. Randolph also being a member of Congress.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                Washington, Nov. 27th, 1803.

     It is rare, my ever dear Maria, during a session of Congress,
     that I can get time to write any thing but letters of business,
     and this, though a day of rest to others, is not all so to me.
     We are all well here, and hope the post of this evening will
     bring us information of the health of all at Edgehill, and
     particularly that Martha and the new bantling[51] are both well,
     and that her example gives you good spirits. When Congress will
     rise no mortal can tell--not from the quantity but dilatoriness
     of business.

  [51] Mrs. Randolph's sixth child.

Mr. Lilly having finished the mill, is now, I suppose, engaged in
the road which we have been so long wanting; and that done, the next
job will be the levelling of Pantops. I anxiously long to see under
way the work necessary to fix you there, that we may one day be all
together. Mr. Stewart is now here on his way back to his family, whom
he will probably join Thursday or Friday. Will you tell your sister
that the pair of stockings she sent me by Mr. Randolph are quite
large enough, and also have fur enough in them. I inclose some papers
for Anne; and must continue in debt to Jefferson a letter for a while
longer. Take care of yourself, my dearest Maria, have good spirits,
and know that courage is as essential to triumph in your case as
in that of a soldier. Keep us all, therefore, in heart of being so
yourself. Give my tender affections to your sister, and receive them
for yourself also, with assurances that I live in your love only and
in that of your sister. Adieu, my dear daughter.


_To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Edgehill._

                                Washington, Dec. 26th, 1803.

     I now return, my dearest Maria, the paper which you lent me for
     Mr. Page, and which he has returned some days since. I have
     prevailed on Dr. Priestley to undertake the work, of which this
     is only the syllabus or plan. He says he can accomplish it in
     the course of a year. But, in truth, his health is so much
     impaired, and his body become so feeble, that there is reason to
     fear he will not live out even the short term he has asked for

     You may inform Mr. Eppes and Mr. Randolph that no mail arrived
     the last night from Natchez. I presume the great rains which
     have fallen have rendered some of the water-courses impassable.
     On New-year's-day, however, we shall hear of the delivery of New
     Orleans[52] to us! Till then the Legislature seem disposed to do
     nothing but meet and adjourn.

  [52] The reader will remember that the purchase of Louisiana was
  made in Jefferson's administration.

Mrs. Livingston, formerly the younger Miss Allen, made kind
inquiries after you the other day. She said she was at school with
you at Mrs. Pine's. Not knowing the time destined for your expected
indisposition, I am anxious on your account. You are prepared to
meet it with courage, I hope. Some female friend of your mamma's (I
forget whom) used to say it was no more than a jog of the elbow. The
material thing is to have scientific aid in readiness, that if any
thing uncommon takes place it may be redressed on the spot, and not
be made serious by delay. It is a case which least of all will wait
for doctors to be sent for; therefore with this single precaution
nothing is ever to be feared. I was in hopes to have heard from
Edgehill last night, but I suppose your post has failed.

I shall expect to see the gentlemen here next Sunday night to take
part in the gala of Monday. Give my tenderest love to your sister,
of whom I have not heard for a fortnight, and my affectionate
salutations to the gentlemen and young ones, and continue to love me
yourself, and be assured of my warmest affections.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Edgehill._

                                Washington, Jan. 29th, 1804.

     My dearest Maria--This evening ought to have brought in the
     Western mail, but it is not arrived; consequently we hear
     nothing from our neighborhood. I rejoice that this is the last
     time our Milton mail will be embarrassed with that from New
     Orleans, the rapidity of which occasioned our letters often
     to be left in the post-office. It now returns to its former
     establishment of twice a week, so that we may hear oftener from
     you; and, in communicating to us frequently of the state of
     things, I hope you will not be sparing, if it be only by saying
     that "All is well!"

     I think Congress will rise the second week in March, when we
     shall join you; perhaps Mr. Eppes may sooner. On this I presume
     he writes you. It would have been the most desirable of all
     things could we have got away by this time. However, I hope you
     will let us all see that you have within yourself the resource
     of a courage not requiring the presence of any body.

     Since proposing to Anne the undertaking to raise bantams, I have
     received from Algiers two pair of beautiful fowls, something
     larger than our common fowls, with fine aigrettes. They are not
     so large nor valuable as the East India fowl, but both kinds, as
     well as the bantams, are well worthy of being raised. We must,
     therefore, distribute them among us, and raise them clear of
     mixture of any kind. All this we will settle together in March,
     and soon after we will begin the levelling and establishing
     of your hen-house at Pantops. Give my tenderest love to your
     sister, to all the young ones kisses, to yourself every thing

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Edgehill._

                                Washington, Feb. 26th, 1804.

     A thousand joys to you, my dear Maria, on the happy accession
     to your family. A letter from our dear Martha by last post gave
     me the happy news that your crisis was happily over, and all
     well. I had supposed that if you were a little later than your
     calculation, and the rising of Congress as early as we expected,
     we might have been with you at the moment when it would have
     been so encouraging to have had your friends around you. I
     rejoice, indeed, that all is so well.

     Congress talk of rising the 12th of March; but they will
     probably be some days later. You will doubtless see Mr. Eppes
     and Mr. Randolph immediately on the rising of Congress. I shall
     hardly be able to get away till some days after them. By that
     time I hope you will be able to go with us to Monticello, and
     that we shall _all_ be there together for a month; and the
     interval between that and the autumnal visit will not be long.
     Will you desire your sister to send for Mr. Lilly, and to advise
     him what orders to give Goliath for providing those vegetables
     which may come into use for the months of April, August, and
     September? Deliver her also my affectionate love. I will write
     to her the next week. Kiss all the little ones, and be assured
     yourself of my tender and unchangeable affection.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The relief of Mr. Jefferson's anxieties concerning his daughter's
health was of but short duration. Shortly after writing the preceding
letter, he received intelligence of her being dangerously ill. It is
touching to see, in his letters, his increasing tenderness for her
as her situation became more critical; and we find him chafing with
impatience at being prevented by official duties from flying at once
to her side on hearing of her illness.

_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._

                                  Washington, Mar. 3d, 1804.

     The account of your illness, my dearest Maria, was known
     to me only this morning. Nothing but the impossibility of
     Congress proceeding a single step in my absence presents an
     insuperable bar. Mr. Eppes goes off, and I hope will find you in
     a convalescent state. Next to the desire that it may be so, is
     that of being speedily informed, and of being relieved from the
     terrible anxiety in which I shall be till I hear from you. God
     bless you, my ever dear daughter, and preserve you safe to the
     blessing of us all.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The news of Mrs. Eppes's convalescence revived her father's hopes
about her health, and we find him writing, in the following letter
to Mr. Eppes, about settling him at Pantops (one of his farms a few
miles from Monticello), in the fond anticipation of thus fixing his
daughter near him for life.

_To John W. Eppes, Edgehill._

                               Washington, March 15th, 1804.

     Dear Sir--Your letter of the 9th has at length relieved my
     spirits; still the debility of Maria will need attention, lest
     a recurrence of fever should degenerate into typhus. I should
     suppose the system of wine and food as effectual to prevent as
     to cure that fever, and think she should use both as freely as
     she finds she can bear them--light food and cordial wines. The
     sherry at Monticello is old and genuine, and the Pedro Ximenes
     much older still, and stomachic. Her palate and stomach will be
     the best arbiters between them.

     Congress have deferred their adjournment a week, to wit, to the
     26th; consequently we return a week later. I presume I can be
     with you by the first of April. I hope Maria will by that time
     be well enough to go over to Monticello with us, and I hope you
     will thereafter take up your residence there. The house, its
     contents, and appendages and servants, are as freely subjected
     to you as to myself, and I hope you will make it your home till
     we can get you fixed at Pantops. I do not think Maria should
     be ventured below after this date. I will endeavor to forward
     to Mr. Benson, postmaster at Fredericksburg, a small parcel of
     the oats for you. The only difficulty is to find some gentleman
     going on in the stage who will take charge of them by the way.
     My tenderest love to Maria and Patsy, and all the young ones.
     Affectionate salutations to yourself.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

Jefferson reached Monticello early in April, where his great and
tender heart was to be wrung by the severest affliction which
can befall a parent--the loss of a well-beloved child. Mrs.
Eppes's decline was rapid; and the following line in her father's
handwriting, in his family register, tells its own sad tale:

     "MARY JEFFERSON, _born_ Aug. 1, 1778, 1_h._ 30_m._ A.M. _Died_
     April 17, 1804, between 8 and 9 A.M."

The following beautiful account of the closing scenes of this
domestic tragedy is from the pen of a niece of Mrs. Eppes, and was
written at the request of Mr. Randall, Jefferson's worthy biographer:

                                 Boston, 15th January, 1856.

     My dear Mr. Randall--I find an old memorandum made many years
     ago, I know not when nor under what circumstances, but by my own
     hand, in the fly-leaf of a Bible. It is to this effect:

          "Maria Jefferson was born in 1778, and married, in 1797,
          John Wayles Eppes, son of Francis Eppes and Elizabeth
          Wayles, second daughter of John Wayles. Maria Jefferson died
          April, 1804, leaving two children, Francis, born in 1801,
          and Maria, who died an infant."

     I have no recollection of the time when I made this memorandum,
     but I have no doubt of its accuracy.

     Mrs. Eppes was never well after the birth of her last child.
     She lingered a while, but never recovered. My grandfather was
     in Washington, and my aunt passed the winter at Edgehill, where
     she was confined. I remember the tender and devoted care of my
     mother, how she watched over her sister, and with what anxious
     affection she anticipated her every want. I remember, at one
     time, that she left her chamber and her own infant, that she
     might sleep in my aunt's room, to assist in taking care of her
     and her child. I well recollect my poor aunt's pale, faded,
     and feeble look. My grandfather, during his Presidency, made
     two visits every year to Monticello--a short one in early
     spring, and a longer one the latter part of the summer. He
     always stopped at Edgehill, where my mother was then living,
     to take her and her whole family to Monticello with him. He
     came this year as usual, anxious about the health of his
     youngest daughter, whose situation, though such as to excite the
     apprehensions of her friends, was not deemed one of immediate
     danger. She had been delicate, and something of an invalid, if I
     remember right, for some years. She was carried to Monticello in
     a litter borne by men. The distance was perhaps four miles, and
     she bore the removal well. After this, however, she continued,
     as before, steadily to decline. She was taken out when the
     weather permitted, and carried around the lawn in a carriage, I
     think drawn by men, and I remember following the carriage over
     the smooth green turf. How long she lived I do not recollect,
     but it could have been but a short time.

     One morning I heard that my aunt was dying. I crept softly from
     my nursery to her chamber door, and, being alarmed by her short,
     hard breathing, ran away again. I have a distinct recollection
     of confusion and dismay in the household. I did not see my
     mother. By-and-by one of the female servants came running in
     where I was, with other persons, to say that Mrs. Eppes was
     dead. The day passed I do not know how. Late in the afternoon
     I was taken to the death-chamber. The body was covered with a
     white cloth, over which had been strewed a profusion of flowers.
     A day or two after I followed the coffin to the burying-ground
     on the mountain-side, and saw it consigned to the earth, where
     it has lain undisturbed for more than fifty years.

     My mother has told me that on the day of her sister's death she
     left her father alone for some hours. He then sent for her, and
     she found him with the Bible in his hands. He who has been so
     often and so harshly accused of unbelief--he, in his hour of
     intense affliction, sought and found consolation in the Sacred
     Volume. The Comforter was there for his true heart and devout
     spirit, even though his faith might not be what the world calls

     There was something very touching in the sight of this once
     beautiful and still lovely young woman, fading away just as
     the spring was coming on with its buds and blossoms--nature
     reviving as she was sinking, and closing her eyes on all that
     she loved best in life. She perished, not in autumn with the
     flowers, but as they were opening to the sun and air in all the
     freshness of spring. I think the weather was fine, for over my
     own recollections of these times there is a soft dreamy sort of
     haze, such as wraps the earth in warm dewy spring-time.

     You know enough of my aunt's early history to be aware that she
     did not accompany her father, as my mother did, when he first
     went to France. She joined him, I think, only about two years
     before his return, and was placed in the same convent where my
     mother received her education. Here she went by the name of
     Mademoiselle _Polie_. As a child, she was called Polly by her
     friends. It was on her way to Paris that she staid a while in
     London with Mrs. Adams, and there is a pleasing mention of her
     in that lady's published letters.

     I think the visit (not a very long one) made by my mother and
     aunt to their father in Washington must have been in the winter
     of 1802-'3. My aunt, I believe, was never there again; but after
     her death, about the winter of 1805-'6, my mother, with all her
     children, passed some time at the President's house. I remember
     that both my father and uncle Eppes were _then_ in Congress, but
     can not say whether this was the case in 1802-'3.

     My aunt, Mrs. Eppes, was singularly beautiful. She was
     high-principled, just, and generous. Her temper, naturally
     mild, became, I think, saddened by ill health in the latter
     part of her life. In that respect she differed from my mother,
     whose disposition seemed to have the sunshine of heaven in it.
     Nothing ever wearied my mother's patience, or exhausted, what
     was inexhaustible, her sweetness, her kindness, indulgence, and
     self-devotion. She was intellectually somewhat superior to her
     sister, who was sensible of the difference, though she was of
     too noble a nature for her feelings ever to assume an ignoble
     character. There was between the sisters the strongest and
     warmest attachment, the most perfect confidence and affection.

     My aunt utterly undervalued and disregarded her own beauty,
     remarkable as it was. She was never fond of dress or ornament,
     and was always careless of admiration. She was even vexed by
     allusions to her beauty, saying that people only praised her for
     that because they could not praise her for better things. If
     my mother inadvertently exclaimed, half sportively, "Maria, if
     I only had your beauty," my aunt would resent it as far as she
     could resent any thing said or done by her sister.

     It may be said that the extraordinary value she attached to
     talent was mainly founded in her idea that by the possession of
     it she would become a more suitable companion for her father.
     Both daughters considered his affection as the great good of
     their lives, and both loved him with all the devotion of their
     most loving hearts. My aunt sometimes mourned over the fear that
     her father _must_ prefer her sister's society, and _could_ not
     take the same pleasure in hers. This very humility in one so
     lovely was a charm the more in her character. She was greatly
     loved and esteemed by all her friends. She was on a footing of
     the most intimate friendship with my father's sister, Mrs. T.
     Eston Randolph, herself a most exemplary and admirable woman,
     whose daughter, long years after, married Francis, Mrs. Eppes's

     I know not, my dear Mr. Randall, whether this letter will add
     any thing to the knowledge you already possess of this one of
     my grandfather's family. Should it not, you must take the will
     for the deed, and as I am somewhat wearied by the rapidity with
     which I have written, in order to avoid delay, I will bid you
     adieu, with my very best wishes for your entire success in your
     arduous undertaking.

                          Very truly yours
                                            ELLEN W. COOLIDGE.

How heart-rending the death of this "ever dear daughter" was to
Jefferson, may be judged from the following touching and beautiful
letter, written by him two months after the sad event, in reply to
one of condolence from his old and constant friend, Governor Page:

_To Governor Page._

     Your letter, my dear friend, of the 25th ultimo, is a new proof
     of the goodness of your heart, and the part you take in my
     loss marks an affectionate concern for the greatness of it. It
     is great indeed. Others may lose of their abundance, but I,
     of my want, have lost even the half of all I had. My evening
     prospects now hang on the slender thread of a single life.
     Perhaps I may be destined to see even this last cord of parental
     affection broken! The hope with which I had looked forward to
     the moment when, resigning public cares to younger hands, I was
     to retire to that domestic comfort from which the last great
     step is to be taken, is fearfully blighted.

     When you and I look back on the country over which we have
     passed, what a field of slaughter does it exhibit! Where are
     all the friends who entered it with us, under all the inspiring
     energies of health and hope? As if pursued by the havoc of war,
     they are strewed by the way, some earlier, some later, and
     scarce a few stragglers remain to count the numbers fallen, and
     to mark yet, by their own fall, the last footsteps of their
     party. Is it a desirable thing to bear up through the heat
     of action, to witness the death of all our companions, and
     merely be the last victim? I doubt it. We have, however, the
     traveller's consolation. Every step shortens the distance we
     have to go; the end of our journey is in sight--the bed wherein
     we are to rest, and to rise in the midst of the friends we have
     lost! "We sorrow not, then, as others who have no hope;" but
     look forward to the day which joins us to the great majority.

     But whatever is to be our destiny, wisdom, as well as duty,
     dictates that we should acquiesce in the will of Him whose it
     is to give and take away, and be contented in the enjoyment of
     those who are still permitted to be with us. Of those connected
     by blood, the number does not depend on us. But friends we have
     if we have merited them. Those of our earliest years stand
     nearest in our affections. But in this, too, you and I have been
     unlucky. Of our college friends (and they are the dearest) how
     few have stood with us in the great political questions which
     have agitated our country: and these were of a nature to justify
     agitation. I did not believe the Lilliputian fetters of that day
     strong enough to have bound so many.

     Will not Mrs. Page, yourself, and family, think it prudent to
     seek a healthier region for the months of August and September?
     And may we not flatter ourselves that you will cast your eye
     on Monticello? We have not many summers to live. While fortune
     places us, then, within striking distance, let us avail
     ourselves of it, to meet and talk over the tales of other times.

He also wrote to Judge Tyler:

     I lament to learn that a like misfortune has enabled you to
     estimate the afflictions of a father on the loss of a beloved
     child. However terrible the possibility of such another
     accident, it is still a blessing for you of inestimable value
     that you would not even then descend childless to the grave.
     Three sons, and hopeful ones too, are a rich treasure. I rejoice
     when I hear of young men of virtue and talents, worthy to
     receive, and likely to preserve, the splendid inheritance of
     self-government which we have acquired and shaped for them.

Among the many letters of condolence which poured in upon Mr.
Jefferson from all quarters on this sad occasion, was the following
very characteristic one from Mrs. Adams. It shows in the writer a
strange mixture of kind feeling, goodness of heart, and a proud,
unforgiving spirit.

_From Mrs. Adams._

                                     Quincy, 20th May, 1804.

     Sir--Had you been no other than the private inhabitant of
     Monticello, I should, ere this time, have addressed you with
     that sympathy which a recent event has awakened in my bosom; but
     reasons of various kinds withheld my pen, until the powerful
     feelings of my heart burst through the restraint, and called
     upon me to shed the tear of sorrow over the departed remains
     of your beloved and deserving daughter--an event which I most
     sincerely mourn. The attachment which I formed for her when you
     committed her to my care upon her arrival in a foreign land,
     under circumstances peculiarly interesting, has remained with me
     to this hour; and the account of her death, which I read in a
     late paper, recalled to my recollection the tender scene of her
     separation from me, when, with the strongest sensibility, she
     clung around my neck, and wet my bosom with her tears, saying,
     "Oh, now I have learned to love you, why will they take me from

     It has been some time since I conceived that any event in
     this life could call forth feelings of mutual sympathy. But I
     know how closely entwined around a parent's are those cords
     which bind the parental to the filial bosom, and, when snapped
     asunder, how agonizing the pangs. I have tasted of the bitter
     cup, and bow with reverence and submission before the great
     Dispenser of it, without whose permission and overruling
     providence not a sparrow falls to the ground. That you may
     derive comfort and consolation, in this day of your sorrow and
     affliction, from that only source calculated to heal the broken
     heart, a firm belief in the being, perfections, and attributes
     of God, is the sincere and ardent wish of her who once took
     pleasure in subscribing herself your friend.

                                          ABIGAIL ADAMS.[53]

  [53] The original of this letter is now in the possession of
  Jefferson's grandson, Colonel Jefferson Randolph.

To this letter Mr. Jefferson replied as follows:

_To Mrs. Adams._

                                Washington, June 13th, 1804.

     Dear Madam--The affectionate sentiments which you have had the
     goodness to express, in your letter of May the 20th, towards
     my dear departed daughter have awakened in me sensibilities
     natural to the occasion, and recalled your kindnesses to her,
     which I shall ever remember with gratitude and friendship. I can
     assure you with truth, they had made an indelible impression
     on her mind, and that to the last, on our meetings after
     long separations, whether I had heard lately of you, and how
     you did, were among the earliest of her inquiries. In giving
     you this assurance, I perform a sacred duty for her, and, at
     the same time, am thankful for the occasion furnished me of
     expressing my regret that circumstances should have arisen
     which have seemed to draw a line of separation between us. The
     friendship with which you honored me has ever been valued and
     fully reciprocated; and although events have been passing which
     might be trying to some minds, I never believed yours to be of
     that kind, nor felt that my own was. Neither my estimate of
     your character, nor the esteem founded in that, has ever been
     lessened for a single moment, although doubts whether it would
     be acceptable may have forbidden manifestations of it.

     Mr. Adams's friendship and mine began at an earlier date. It
     accompanied us through long and important scenes. The different
     conclusions we had drawn from our political reading and
     reflections were not permitted to lessen personal esteem--each
     party being conscious they were the result of an honest
     conviction in the other. Like differences of opinion among
     our fellow-citizens attached them to one or the other of us,
     and produced a rivalship in their minds which did not exist
     in ours. We never stood in one another's way; but if either
     had been withdrawn at any time, his favorers would not have
     gone over to the other, but would have sought for some one of
     homogeneous opinions. This consideration was sufficient to keep
     down all jealousy between us, and to guard our friendship from
     any disturbance by sentiments of rivalship; and I can say with
     truth, that one act of Mr. Adams's life, and one only, ever gave
     me a moment's personal displeasure. I did consider his last
     appointments to office as personally unkind. They were from
     among my most ardent political enemies, from whom no faithful
     co-operation could ever be expected; and laid me under the
     embarrassment of acting through men whose views were to defeat
     mine, or to encounter the odium of putting others in their
     places. It seems but common justice to leave a successor free
     to act by instruments of his own choice. If my respect for him
     did not permit me to ascribe the whole blame to the influence of
     others, it left something for friendship to forgive; and after
     brooding over it for some little time, and not always resisting
     the expression of it, I forgave it cordially, and returned to
     the same state of esteem and respect for him which had so long

     Having come into life a little later than Mr. Adams, his career
     has preceded mine, as mine is followed by some other; and it
     will probably be closed at the same distance after him which
     time originally placed between us. I maintain for him, and shall
     carry into private life, an uniform and high measure of respect
     and good-will, and for yourself a sincere attachment.

     I have thus, my dear madam, opened myself to you without
     reserve, which I have long wished an opportunity of doing; and
     without knowing how it will be received, I feel relief from
     being unbosomed. And I have now only to entreat your forgiveness
     for this transition from a subject of domestic affliction to one
     which seems of a different aspect. But though connected with
     political events, it has been viewed by me most strongly in its
     unfortunate bearings on my private friendships. The injury these
     have sustained has been a heavy price for what has never given
     me equal pleasure. That you may both be favored with health,
     tranquillity, and long life, is the prayer of one who tenders
     you the assurance of his highest consideration and esteem.

Several other letters were exchanged by Jefferson and Mrs. Adams, and
explanations followed, which did not, however, result at the time in
restoring friendly intercourse between them, that not being resumed
until some years later.[54] Mrs. Adams, it seemed, was offended
with him because, in making appointments to fill certain Federal
offices in Boston, her son, who held one of these offices, was not
reappointed. Jefferson did not know, when he made the appointments,
that young Adams held the office, and gave Mrs. Adams an assurance to
that effect in one of the letters alluded to above, but she seems not
to have accepted the explanation.

  [54] See pages 352, 353.

The history of the midnight judges referred to in Jefferson's first
letter to Mrs. Adams was briefly this: Just at the close of Adams's
Administration a law was hurried through Congress by the Federalists,
increasing the number of United States Courts throughout the States.
At that time twelve o'clock on the night of the 3d of March was
the magical hour when one Administration passed out and the other
came in. The law was passed at such a late hour, that, though the
appointments for the new judgeships created by it had been previously
selected, yet the commissions had not been issued from the Department
of State. Chief-justice Marshall, who was then acting as Secretary
of State, was busily engaged filling out these commissions, that the
offices might be filled with Federal appointments while the outgoing
Administration was still in power. The whole proceeding was known to
Jefferson. He considered the law unconstitutional, and acted in the
premises with his usual boldness and decision. Having chosen Levi
Lincoln as his Attorney General, he gave him his watch, and ordered
him to go at midnight and take possession of the State Department,
and not allow a single paper to be removed from it after that hour.

Mr. Lincoln accordingly entered Judge Marshall's office at the
appointed time. "I have been ordered by Mr. Jefferson," he said
to the Judge, "to take possession of this office and its papers."
"Why, Mr. Jefferson has not yet qualified," exclaimed the astonished
Chief-justice. "Mr. Jefferson considers himself in the light of
an executor, bound to take charge of the papers of the Government
until he is duly qualified," was the reply. "But it is not yet
twelve o'clock," said Judge Marshall, taking out his watch. Mr.
Lincoln pulled out his, and, showing it to him, said, "This is the
President's watch, and rules the hour."

Judge Marshall could make no appeal from this, and was forced to
retire, casting a farewell look upon the commissions lying on the
table before him. In after years he used to laugh, and say he had
been allowed to pick up nothing but his hat. He had, however, one or
two of the commissions in his pocket, and the gentlemen who received
them were called thereafter "John Adams's midnight judges."

In his message to Congress some months later, Jefferson demonstrated
that, so far from requiring an increased number of courts, there was
not work enough for those already existing.

_To John W. Eppes._

                               Monticello, August 7th, 1804.

     Dear Sir--Your letters of July 16th and 29th both came to me on
     the 2d instant. I receive with great delight the information
     of the perfect health of our dear infants, and hope to see
     yourself, the family and them, as soon as circumstances admit.
     With respect to Melinda, I have too many already to leave here
     in idleness when I go away; and at Washington I prefer white
     servants, who, when they misbehave, can be exchanged. John
     knew he was not to expect her society but when he should be
     at Monticello, and then subject to the casualty of her being
     here or not. You mention a horse to be had--of a fine bay; and
     again, that he is of the color of your horse. I do not well
     recollect the shade of yours; but if you think this one would
     do with Castor or Fitzpartner, I would take him at the price
     you mention, but should be glad to have as much breadth for the
     payment as the seller could admit, and at any rate not less than
     ninety days. I know no finer horse than yours, but he is much
     too fiery to be trusted in a carriage--the only use I have for
     him while Arcturus remains. He is also too small. I write this
     letter in the hope you will be here before you can receive it,
     but on the possibility that the cause which, detained you at
     the date of yours may continue. My affectionate salutations and
     esteem attend the family at Eppington and yourself.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

     P.S.--By your mentioning that Francis will be your constant
     companion, I am in hopes I shall have him here with you during
     the session of Congress.


     Renominated as President.--Letter to Mazzei.--Slanders against
     Jefferson.--Sad Visit to Monticello.--Second Inauguration.--
     Receives the Bust of the Emperor of Russia.--Letters to and from
     the Emperor.--To Diodati.--To Dickinson.--To his Son-in-law.--
     Devotion to his Grandchildren.--Letter to Monroe.--To his
     Grandchildren.--His Temper when roused.--Letter to Charles
     Thompson.--To Dr. Logan.--Anxious to avoid a Public Reception
     on his Return home.--Letter to Dupont de Nemours.--Inauguration
     of Madison.--Harmony in Jefferson's Cabinet.--Letter to
     Humboldt.--Farewell Address from the Legislature of Virginia.--
     His Reply.--Reply to an Address of Welcome from the Citizens of
     Albemarle.--Letter to Madison.--Anecdote of Jefferson.

Weary of office, and longing for the tranquillity of private life
amidst the groves of his beautiful home at Monticello, it was the
first wish of Jefferson's heart to retire at the close of his first
Presidential term. His friends, however, urged his continuance in
office for the next four years, and persisted in renominating him as
the Republican candidate in the coming elections. There were other
reasons which induced him to yield his consent besides the entreaties
of his friends. We find these alluded to in the following extract
from a letter written to Mazzei on the 18th of July, 1804:

     I should have retired at the end of the first four years,
     but that the immense load of Tory calumnies which have been
     manufactured respecting me, and have filled the European
     market, have obliged me to appeal once more to my country for
     justification. I have no fear but that I shall receive honorable
     testimony by their verdict on these calumnies. At the end of
     the next four years I shall certainly retire. Age, inclination,
     and principle all dictate this. My health, which at one time
     threatened an unfavorable turn, is now firm.

During the summer of 1804 Jefferson made his usual visit to
Monticello, where his quiet enjoyment of home-life was saddened by
the remembrance of the painful scenes through which he had so lately
passed there.

At the time of his second inauguration, on the 5th of March, 1805,
Jefferson was in his sixty-second year. His inaugural address closed
with the following eloquent words:

     I fear not that any motives of interest may lead me astray; I
     am sensible of no passion which could seduce me knowingly from
     the path of justice; but the weakness of human nature, and the
     limits of my own understanding, will produce errors of judgment
     sometimes injurious to your interests. I shall need, therefore,
     all the indulgence I have heretofore experienced--the want of
     it will certainly not lessen with increasing years. I shall
     need, too, the favor of that Being in whose hands we are, who
     led our forefathers, as Israel of old, from their native land,
     and planted them in a country flowing with all the necessaries
     and comforts of life; who has covered our infancy with his
     providence, and our riper years with his wisdom and power; and
     to whose goodness I ask you to join with me in supplications
     that He will so enlighten the minds of your servants, guide
     their councils, and prosper their measures, that whatsoever they
     do shall result in your good, and shall secure to you the peace,
     friendship, and approbation of all nations.

The next two years of his life possess nothing worthy of special
notice in this volume. The reader will find interesting the following
extract from one of his letters of 1806:

_To Mr. Harris._

                               Washington, April 18th, 1806.

     Sir--It is now some time since I received from you, through the
     house of Smith & Buchanan, at Baltimore, a bust of the Emperor
     Alexander, for which I have to return you my thanks. These are
     the more cordial because of the value the bust derives from the
     great estimation in which its original is held by the world,
     and by none more than by myself. It will constitute one of the
     most valued ornaments of the retreat I am preparing for myself
     at my native home. Accept, at the same time, my acknowledgments
     for the elegant work of Atkinson and Walker on the customs of
     the Russians. I had laid down as a law for my conduct while
     in office, and hitherto scrupulously observed, to accept of no
     present beyond a book, a pamphlet, or other curiosity of minor
     value; as well to avoid imputation on my motives of action,
     as to shut out a practice susceptible of such abuse. But my
     particular esteem for the character of the Emperor places
     his image, in my mind, above the scope of law. I receive it,
     therefore, and shall cherish it with affection. It nourishes the
     contemplation of all the good placed in his power, and of his
     disposition to do it.

A day later he wrote to the Emperor himself:

_To the Emperor Alexander._

     I owe an acknowledgment to your Imperial Majesty for the great
     satisfaction I have received from your letter of August the
     20th, 1805, and embrace the opportunity it affords of giving
     expression to the sincere respect and veneration I entertain for
     your character. It will be among the latest and most soothing
     comforts of my life to have seen advanced to the government of
     so extensive a portion of the earth, at so early a period of
     his life, a sovereign whose ruling passion is the advancement
     of the happiness and prosperity of his people; and not of his
     own people only, but who can extend his eye and his good-will
     to a distant and infant nation, unoffending in its course,
     unambitious in its views.

I have lying before me a letter, written in French, and over a superb
signature, from the Emperor Alexander to Mr. Jefferson. It is dated
"_à St. Petersbourg, ce 7 Novembre, 1804_," and at the close has this
graceful paragraph:

_From the Emperor Alexander._

     Truly grateful for the interest which you have proved to me
     that you take in the well-being and prosperity of Russia, I
     feel that I can not better express similar feelings towards the
     United States, than by hoping they may long preserve at the head
     of their administration a chief who is as virtuous as he is

The bust of the Emperor was placed in the hall at Monticello, facing
one of Napoleon, which stood on the opposite side of the door leading
into the portico.

Writing to one of his French friends--M. le Comte Diodati--on January
13, 1807, Jefferson says:

_To Comte Diodati._

     At the end of my present term, of which two years are yet to
     come, I propose to retire from public life, and to close my
     days on my patrimony of Monticello, in the bosom of my family.
     I have hitherto enjoyed uniform health; but the weight of
     public business begins to be too heavy for me, and I long for
     the enjoyments of rural life--among my books, my farms, and
     my family. Having performed my _quadragena stipendia_, I am
     entitled to my discharge, and should be sorry, indeed, that
     others should be sooner sensible than myself when I ought to ask
     it. I have, therefore, requested my fellow-citizens to think of
     a successor for me, to whom I shall deliver the public concerns
     with greater joy than I received them. I have the consolation,
     too, of having added nothing to my private fortune during my
     public service, and of retiring with hands as clean as they are

Wearied with the burden of public life, Jefferson had written his old
friend, John Dickinson, two months earlier:

_To John Dickinson._

     I have tired you, my friend, with a long letter. But your
     tedium will end in a few lines more. Mine has yet two years to
     endure. I am tired of an office where I can do no more good than
     many others who would be glad to be employed in it. To myself,
     personally, it brings nothing but unceasing drudgery and daily
     loss of friends.

A letter written to Mr. Eppes in July, 1807, alludes to the death of
little Maria, the youngest child left by his lost daughter. He writes:

_To Mr. Eppes._

     Yours of the 3d is received. At that time, I presume, you
     had not got mine of June 19th, asking the favor of you to
     procure me a horse. I have lost three since you left this place
     [Washington]; however, I can get along with the three I have
     remaining, so as to give time for looking up a fourth, suitable
     in as many points as can be obtained. My happiness at Monticello
     (if I am able to go there) will be lessened by not having
     Francis and yourself there; but the circumstance which prevents
     it is one of the most painful that ever happened to me in life.
     Thus comfort after comfort drops off from us, till nothing is
     left but what is proper food for the grave. I trust, however,
     we shall have yourself and Francis the ensuing winter, and the
     one following that, and we must let the after-time provide for
     itself. He will ever be to me one of the dearest objects of life.

The following letter from Lafayette to Jefferson explains itself:

_From the Marquis Lafayette._

                                Auteuil, January 11th, 1808.

     My dear friend--The constant mourning of your heart will be
     deepened by the grief I am doomed to impart to it. Who better
     than you can sympathize for the loss of a beloved wife? The
     angel who for thirty-four years has blessed my life, was to you
     an affectionate, grateful friend. Pity me, my dear Jefferson,
     and believe me, forever, with all my heart, yours,


     M. and Madame de Telli, at whose house we have attended her last
     moments, are tolerably well. We now are, my children and myself,
     in the Tracy family, and shall return to La Grange as soon as we

We find in Jefferson's correspondence of this year a letter written
to his friend Dr. Wistar, of Philadelphia, in which he bespeaks his
kind offices for his young grandson, Thomas Jefferson Randolph,
then in his fifteenth year, and whom Mr. Jefferson wished to send
to Philadelphia, that he might there prosecute his studies in
the sciences. The devotion of this grandson and grandfather for
each other was constant and touching. When the former went to
Philadelphia, he left Monticello with his grandfather, and went with
him as far as Washington, where he spent some days. Nothing could
have exceeded his grandfather's kindness and thoughtfulness for
him on this occasion. He looked over, with him, his wardrobe, and
examined the contents of his trunk with as much care as if he had
been his mother, and then, taking out a pencil and paper, made a list
of purchases to be made for him, saying, "You will need such and such
things when you get to Philadelphia." Nor would he let another make
the purchases, but, going out with his grandson, got for him himself
what he thought was suitable for him, though kindly consulting his
taste. I give this incident only as a proof of Jefferson's thoughtful
devotion for his grandchildren and of the perfect confidence which
existed between himself and them.

In a letter, full of good feeling and good advice, written to
Mr. Monroe in February, 1808, he cautions him against the danger
of politics raising a rivalship between Mr. Madison and himself,
and then, alluding to his own personal feelings, closes thus

_To James Monroe._

     My longings for retirement are so strong, that I with difficulty
     encounter the daily drudgeries of my duty. But my wish for
     retirement itself is not stronger than that of carrying into
     it the affections of all my friends. I have ever viewed Mr.
     Madison and yourself as two principal pillars of my happiness.
     Were either to be withdrawn, I should consider it as among
     the greatest calamities which could assail my future peace
     of mind. I have great confidence that the candor and high
     understanding of both will guard me against this misfortune, the
     bare possibility of which has so far weighed on my mind, that I
     could not be easy without unburdening it. Accept my respectful
     salutations for yourself and Mrs. Monroe, and be assured of my
     constant and sincere friendship.

The following letters to two of his grandchildren give a pleasant
picture of his attachment to and intimate intercourse with them:

_To Cornelia Randolph._[55]

  [55] She was just ten years old.

                                  Washington, April 3d, '08.

     My dear Cornelia--I have owed you a letter two months, but
     have had nothing to write about, till last night I found in a
     newspaper the four lines which I now inclose you; and as you are
     learning to write, they will be a good lesson to convince you of
     the importance of minding your stops in writing. I allow you a
     day to find out yourself how to read these lines, so as to make
     them true. If you can not do it in that time, you may call in
     assistance. At the same time, I will give you four other lines,
     which I learnt when I was but a little older than you, and I
     still remember.

         "I've seen the sea all in a blaze of fire
         I've seen a house high as the moon and higher
         I've seen the sun at twelve o'clock at night
         I've seen the man who saw this wondrous sight."

     All this is true, whatever you may think of it at first reading.
     I mentioned in my letter of last week to Ellen that I was
     under an attack of periodical headache. This is the 10th day.
     It has been very moderate, and yesterday did not last more
     than three hours. Tell your mamma that I fear I shall not get
     away as soon as I expected. Congress has spent the last five
     days without employing a single hour in the business necessary
     to be finished. Kiss her for me, and all the sisterhood.[56]
     To Jefferson I give my hand, to your papa my affectionate
     salutations. You have always my love.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

     P.S.--_April 5._--I have kept my letter open till to-day, and am
     able to say now that my headache for the last two days has been
     scarcely sensible.

  [56] Mrs. Randolph's five daughters--Anne, Ellen, Cornelia,
  Virginia, and Mary. She had at this time only two
  sons--Jefferson, her second child, and James Madison.

_To Thomas Jefferson Randolph._

                                Washington, Oct. 24th, 1808.

     Dear Jefferson--I inclose you a letter from Ellen, which I
     presume, will inform you that all are well at Edgehill. I
     received yours without date of either time or place, but
     written, I presume, on your arrival at Philadelphia. As the
     commencement of your lectures is now approaching, and you will
     hear two lectures a day, I would recommend to you to set out
     from the beginning with the rule to commit to writing every
     evening the substance of the lectures of the day. It will be
     attended with many advantages. It will oblige you to attend
     closely to what is delivered to recall it to your memory, to
     understand, and to digest it in the evening; it will fix it in
     your memory, and enable you to refresh it at any future time. It
     will be much better to you than even a better digest by another
     hand, because it will better recall to your mind the ideas which
     you originally entertained and meant to abridge. Then, if once
     a week you will, in a letter to me, state a synopsis or summary
     view of the heads of the lectures of the preceding week, it will
     give me great satisfaction to attend to your progress, and it
     will further aid you by obliging you still more to generalize
     and to see analytically the fields of science over which you are
     travelling. I wish to hear of the commissions I gave you for
     Rigden, Voight, and Ronaldson, of the delivery of the letters I
     gave you to my friends there, and how you like your situation.
     This will give you matter for a long letter, which will give
     you as useful an exercise in writing as a pleasing one to me in

     God bless you, and prosper your pursuits.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

_To Thomas Jefferson Randolph._

                            Washington, November 24th, 1808.

     My dear Jefferson--.... I have mentioned good-humor as one of
     the preservatives of our peace and tranquillity. It is among
     the most effectual, and its effect is so well imitated, and
     aided, artificially, by politeness, that this also becomes
     an acquisition of first-rate value. In truth, politeness is
     artificial good-humor; it covers the natural want of it, and
     ends by rendering habitual a substitute nearly equivalent to
     the real virtue. It is the practice of sacrificing to those
     whom we meet in society all the little conveniences and
     preferences which will gratify them, and deprive us of nothing
     worth a moment's consideration; it is the giving a pleasing
     and flattering turn to our expressions, which will conciliate
     others, and make them pleased with us as well as themselves.
     How cheap a price for the good-will of another! When this is in
     return for a rude thing said by another, it brings him to his
     senses, it mortifies and corrects him in the most salutary way,
     and places him at the feet of your good-nature in the eyes of
     the company. But in stating prudential rules for our government
     in society, I must not omit the important one of never entering
     into dispute or argument with another. I never yet saw an
     instance of one of two disputants convincing the other by
     argument. I have seen many of their getting warm, becoming rude,
     and shooting one another. Conviction is the effect of our own
     dispassionate reasoning, either in solitude, or weighing within
     ourselves, dispassionately, what we hear from others, standing
     uncommitted in argument ourselves.

     It was one of the rules which, above all others, made Doctor
     Franklin the most amiable of men in society, never to contradict
     any body. If he was urged to announce an opinion, he did it
     rather by asking questions, as if for information, or by
     suggesting doubts. When I hear another express an opinion which
     is not mine, I say to myself, He has a right to his opinion,
     as I to mine; why should I question it? His error does me no
     injury, and shall I become a Don Quixote, to bring all men by
     force of argument to one opinion? If a fact be misstated, it is
     probable he is gratified by a belief of it, and I have no right
     to deprive him of the gratification. If he wants information, he
     will ask it, and then I will give it in measured terms; but if
     he still believes his own story, and shows a desire to dispute
     the fact with me, I hear him and say nothing. It is his affair,
     not mine, if he prefers error.

     There are two classes of disputants most frequently to be met
     with among us. The first is of young students, just entered the
     threshold of science, with a first view of its outlines, not yet
     filled up with the details and modifications which a further
     progress would bring to their knowledge. The other consists of
     the ill-tempered and rude men in society who have taken up a
     passion for politics. (Good-humor and politeness never introduce
     into mixed society a question on which they foresee there will
     be a difference of opinion.) From both of these classes of
     disputants, my dear Jefferson, keep aloof, as you would from
     the infected subjects of yellow fever or pestilence. Consider
     yourself, when with them, as among the patients of Bedlam,
     needing medical more than moral counsel. Be a listener only,
     keep within yourself, and endeavor to establish with yourself
     the habit of silence, especially in politics. In the fevered
     state of our country, no good can ever result from any attempt
     to set one of these fiery zealots to rights, either in fact
     or principle. They are determined as to the facts they will
     believe, and the opinions on which they will act. Get by them,
     therefore, as you would by an angry bull; it is not for a man of
     sense to dispute the road with such an animal. You will be more
     exposed than others to have these animals shaking their horns at
     you because of the relation in which you stand with me....

     My character is not within their power. It is in the hands of
     my fellow-citizens at large, and will be consigned to honor or
     infamy by the verdict of the republican mass of our country,
     according to what themselves will have seen, not what their
     enemies and mine shall have said. Never, therefore, consider
     these puppies in politics as requiring any notice from you, and
     always show that you are not afraid to leave my character to the
     umpirage of public opinion. Look steadily to the pursuits which
     have carried you to Philadelphia, be very select in the society
     you attach yourself to; avoid taverns, drinkers, smokers,
     idlers, and dissipated persons generally; for it is with such
     that broils and contentions arise; and you will find your path
     more easy and tranquil. The limits of my paper warn me that it
     is time for me to close, with my affectionate adieu.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

     P.S.--Present me affectionately to Mr. Ogilvie; and in doing the
     same to Mr. Peale, tell him I am writing with his polygraph, and
     shall send him mine the first moment I have leisure enough to
     pack it.

                                                       T. J.

_To Cornelia Randolph._

                                 Washington, Dec. 26th, '08.

     I congratulate you, my dear Cornelia, on having acquired the
     valuable art of writing. How delightful to be enabled by it
     to converse with an absent friend as if present! To this we
     are indebted for all our reading; because it must be written
     before we can read it. To this we are indebted for the Iliad,
     the Æneid, the Columbiad, Henriad, Dunciad, and now, for the
     most glorious poem of all, the Terrapiniad, which I now inclose
     you. This sublime poem consigns to everlasting fame the greatest
     achievement in war ever known to ancient or modern times: in
     the battle of David and Goliath, the disparity between the
     combatants was nothing in comparison to our case. I rejoice that
     you have learnt to write, for another reason; for as that is
     done with a goose-quill, you now know the value of a goose, and
     of course you will assist Ellen in taking care of the half-dozen
     very fine gray geese which I shall send by Davy. But as to this,
     I must refer to your mamma to decide whether they will be safest
     at Edgehill or at Monticello till I return home, and to give
     orders accordingly. I received letters a few days ago from Mr.
     Bankhead and Anne. They are well. I had expected a visit from
     Jefferson at Christmas, had there been a sufficient intermission
     in his lectures; but I suppose there was not, as he is not come.
     Remember me affectionately to your papa and mamma, and kiss
     Ellen and all the children for me.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

     P.S.--Since writing the above, I have a letter from Mr. Peale
     informing me that Jefferson is well, and saying the best things
     of him.

The Mr. Bankhead mentioned in the preceding letter was a gentleman
who had married Mrs. Randolph's eldest daughter, Anne.

The following letter I give here, though of a later date by nearly
two years than others that follow:

_To Cornelia Randolph._

                                   Monticello, June 3d, '11.

     My dear Cornelia--I have lately received a copy of Miss
     Edgeworth's Moral Tales, which, seeming better suited to your
     years than mine, I inclose you the first volume. The other two
     shall follow as soon as your mamma has read them. They are to
     make a part of your library. I have not looked into them,
     preferring to receive their character from you, after you shall
     have read them. Your family of silk-worms is reduced to a single
     individual. That is now spinning his broach. To encourage
     Virginia and Mary to take care of it, I tell them that, as soon
     as they can get wedding-gowns from this spinner, they shall be
     married. I propose the same to you; that, in order to hasten its
     work, you may hasten home; for we all wish much to see you, and
     to express in person, rather than by letter, the assurance of
     our affectionate love.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

     P.S.--The girls desire me to add a postscript to inform you that
     Mrs. Higginbotham has just given them new dolls.

The precepts inculcating good temper, good humor and amiability,
which we have found Jefferson giving to his grandson in the foregoing
letters were faithfully carried into practice by him. There never
lived a more amiable being than himself; yet, like all men of
powerful minds and strong wills, he was not incapable of being
aroused in anger on occasions of strong provocation. His biographer
mentions two instances of this kind. On one occasion it was with
his favorite coachman, Jupiter. A boy had been ordered to take one
of the carriage-horses to go on an errand. Jupiter refused to allow
his horses to be used for any such purpose. The boy returned to
his master with a message to that effect. Mr. Jefferson, thinking
it a joke of Jupiter's played off on the boy, sent him back with
a repetition of the order. He, however, returned in a short time,
bearing the same refusal from the coachman. "Tell Jupiter to come to
me at once," said Mr. Jefferson, in an excited tone. Jupiter came,
and received the order and a rebuke from his master in tones and with
a look which neither he nor the terrified bystanders ever forgot.

On another occasion he was crossing a river in a ferryboat,
accompanied by his daughter Martha. The two ferrymen were engaged
in high quarrel when Mr. Jefferson and his daughter came up. They
suppressed their anger for a time and took in the passengers, but
in the middle of the stream it again broke forth with renewed force,
and with every prospect of their resorting to blows. Mr. Jefferson
remonstrated with them; they did not heed him, and the next moment,
with his eyes flashing, he had snatched up an oar, and, in a voice
which rung out above the angry tones of the men, flourished it over
their heads, and cried out "Row for your lives, or I will knock you
both overboard!" And they did row for their lives; nor, I imagine,
did they soon forget the fiery looks and excited appearance of that
tall weird-like-looking figure brandishing the heavy oar over their
offending heads.

The following extract is taken from a letter written towards the
close of the year 1808 to Doctor Logan: "As the moment of my
retirement approaches, I become more anxious for its arrival, and to
begin at length to pass what yet remains to me of life and health in
the bosom of my family and neighbors, and in communication with my
friends, undisturbed by political concerns or passions."

Having heard that the good people of Albemarle wished to meet him on
the road, and give him a public reception on his return home, with
his usual dislike of being lionized, he hastened, in a letter to
his son-in-law, Mr. Randolph, to put them off, with many thanks, by
saying "the commencement and termination" of his journey would be too
uncertain for him to fix upon a day that he might be expected. This
letter was written on Feb. 28th, 1809. I give the following extract:

     But it is a sufficient happiness to me to know that my
     fellow-citizens of the country generally entertain for me the
     kind sentiments which have prompted this proposition, without
     giving to so many the trouble of leaving their homes to meet a
     single individual. I shall have opportunities of taking them
     individually by the hand at our court-house and other public
     places, and of exchanging assurances of mutual esteem. Certainly
     it is the greatest consolation to me to know that, in returning
     to the bosom of my native country, I shall be again in the
     midst of their kind affections; and I can say with truth that
     my return to them will make me happier than I have been since I
     left them.

Two days before his release from harness he wrote to his friend
Dupont de Nemours:

_To Dupont de Nemours._

     Within a few days I retire to my family, my books, and farms;
     and having gained the harbor myself, I shall look on my friends
     still buffeting the storm with anxiety indeed, but not with
     envy. Never did a prisoner, released from his chains, feel such
     relief as I shall on shaking off the shackles of power. Nature
     intended me for the tranquil pursuits of science, by rendering
     them my supreme delight. But the enormities of the times in
     which I have lived have forced me to take a part in resisting
     them, and to commit myself on the boisterous ocean of political
     passions. I thank God for the opportunity of retiring from
     them without censure, and carrying with me the most consoling
     proofs of public approbation. I leave every thing in the hands
     of men so able to take care of them, that, if we are destined
     to meet misfortunes, it will be because no human wisdom could
     avert them. Should you return to the United States, perhaps your
     curiosity may lead you to visit the hermit of Monticello. He
     will receive you with affection and delight; hailing you in the
     mean time with his affectionate salutations and assurances of
     constant esteem and respect.

On the day of the inauguration of his successor, Jefferson rode on
horseback to the Capitol, being accompanied only by his grandson,
Jefferson Randolph--then a lad in his seventeenth year. He had
heard that a body of cavalry and infantry were preparing to
escort him to the Capitol, and, still anxious to avoid all kinds
of display, hurried off with his grandson. As they rode along
Pennsylvania Avenue, Mr. Jefferson caught a glimpse of the head of
the column coming down one of the cross-streets. He touched his
hat to the troops, and, spurring up his horse, trotted past them.
He again "hitched his horse to the palisades" around the Capitol,
and, entering the building, there witnessed the transfer of the
administration of the Government from his own hands into those of
the man who, above all others, was the man of his choice for that
office--his long-tried and trusted friend, James Madison. Thus closed
forever his public career.

The perfect harmony between himself and his cabinet is alluded to in
a letter written nearly two years after his retirement from office.
He writes:

     The third Administration, which was of eight years, presented an
     example of harmony in a cabinet of six persons, to which perhaps
     history has furnished no parallel. There never arose, during the
     whole time, an instance of an unpleasant thought or word between
     the members. We sometimes met under differences of opinion, but
     scarcely ever failed, by conversing and reasoning, so to modify
     each other's ideas as to produce an unanimous result.

A few days before leaving Washington, he wrote to Baron Humboldt:

_To Baron Humboldt._

     You mention that you had before written other letters to me.
     Be assured I have never received a single one, or I should not
     have failed to make my acknowledgments of it. Indeed I have not
     waited for that, but for the certain information, which I had
     not, of the place where you might be. Your letter of May 30th
     first gave me that information. You have wisely located yourself
     in the focus of the science of Europe. I am held by the cords of
     love to my family and country, or I should certainly join you.
     Within a few days I shall now bury myself within the groves of
     Monticello, and become a mere spectator of the passing events.
     Of politics I will say nothing, because I would not implicate
     you by addressing to you the republican ideas of America, deemed
     horrible heresies by the royalism of Europe.

At the close of a letter written on the 8th of March to Mr. Short,
he says: "I write this in the midst of packing and preparing for my
departure, of visits of leave, and interruptions of every kind."

In February the Legislature of Virginia had passed an address of
farewell to him as a public man. This address, penned by William
Wirt, closes thus handsomely:

     In the principles on which you have administered the Government,
     we see only the continuation and maturity of the same virtues
     and abilities which drew upon you in your youth the resentment
     of Dunmore. From the first brilliant and happy moment of your
     resistance to foreign tyranny until the present day, we mark
     with pleasure and with gratitude the same uniform and consistent
     character--the same warm and devoted attachment to liberty and
     the Republic--the same Roman love of your country, her rights,
     her peace, her honor, her prosperity. How blessed will be the
     retirement into which you are about to go! How deservedly
     blessed will it be! For you carry with you the richest of all
     rewards, the recollection of a life well spent in the service
     of your country, and proofs the most decisive of the love,
     the gratitude, the veneration of your countrymen. That your
     retirement may be as happy as your life has been virtuous and
     useful; that our youth may see in the blissful close of your
     days an additional inducement to form themselves on your model,
     is the devout and earnest prayer of your fellow-citizens who
     compose the General Assembly of Virginia.

In his reply to this address, Jefferson closes as follows:

     In the desire of peace, but in full confidence of safety from
     our unity, our position, and our resources, I shall retire into
     the bosom of my native State, endeared to me by every tie which
     can attach the human heart. The assurances of your approbation,
     and that my conduct has given satisfaction to my fellow-citizens
     generally, will be an important ingredient in my future
     happiness; and that the Supreme Ruler of the universe may have
     our country under his special care, will be among the latest of
     my prayers.

The following reply to an address of welcome from the citizens
of Albemarle is one of the most beautiful, graceful, and touching
productions of his pen:

_To the Inhabitants of Albemarle County, in Virginia._

                                             April 3d, 1809.

     Returning to the scenes of my birth and early life, to the
     society of those with whom I was raised, and who have been ever
     dear to me, I receive, fellow-citizens and neighbors, with
     inexpressible pleasure, the cordial welcome you are so good
     as to give me. Long absent on duties which the history of a
     wonderful era made incumbent on those called to them, the pomp,
     the turmoil, the bustle, and splendor of office have drawn but
     deeper sighs for the tranquil and irresponsible occupations of
     private life, for the enjoyment of an affectionate intercourse
     with you, my neighbors and friends, and the endearments of
     family love, which nature has given us all, as the sweetener
     of every hour. For these I gladly lay down the distressing
     burden of power, and seek, with my fellow-citizens, repose and
     safety under the watchful cares, and labors, and perplexities
     of younger and abler minds. The anxieties you express to
     administer to my happiness, do, of themselves, confer that
     happiness; and the measure will be complete, if my endeavors
     to fulfill my duties in the several public stations to which
     I have been called have obtained for me the approbation of my
     country. The part which I have acted on the theatre of public
     life has been before them, and to their sentence I submit it;
     but the testimony of my native county, of the individuals who
     have known me in private life, to my conduct in its various
     duties and relations, is the more grateful, as proceeding from
     eye-witnesses and observers, from triers of the vicinage. Of
     you, then, my neighbors, I may ask, in the face of the world,
     "Whose ox have I taken, or whom have I defrauded? Whom have I
     oppressed, or of whose hand have I received a bribe to blind
     mine eyes therewith?" On your verdict I rest with conscious
     security. Your wishes for my happiness are received with just
     sensibility, and I offer sincere prayers for your own welfare
     and prosperity.

Jefferson arrived at Monticello on the 15th of March, and two days
later wrote to Madison as follows:

     "I had a very fatiguing journey, having found the roads
     excessively bad, although I have seen them worse. The last three
     days I found it better to be on horseback, and travelled eight
     hours through as disagreeable a snow-storm as I was ever in.
     Feeling no inconvenience from the expedition but fatigue, I have
     more confidence in my _vis vitæ_ than I had before entertained."

He was at this time in his sixty-sixth year.

The following anecdote of Jefferson--which I have on the best
authority--is too characteristic of his feeling for the suffering of
another, his bold and rash spirit of reform, and the bitter feelings
towards him of his political adversaries, to be omitted.

In going from Washington to Monticello, Jefferson generally left
the city in the afternoon, and spent the first night of his journey
with his friend Mr. William Fitzhugh, of Ravensworth, who lived
nine or ten miles from Washington. It so happened that there lived
near Ravensworth a Doctor Stuart, of Chantilly, who was a bitter
Federalist, and consequently a violent hater of Jefferson, in whom
he could not believe there was any good whatever. He was intimate,
however, with Mr. Fitzhugh, and, being a great politician, generally
found his way over to Ravensworth the morning after Jefferson's
visit, to inquire what news he had brought from the capital.

On the occasion of one of these visits, while Mr. Fitzhugh and his
distinguished guest were strolling round the beautiful lawn at
Ravensworth enjoying the fresh morning air, a servant ran up to
tell them that a negro man had cut himself severely with an axe.
Mr. Fitzhugh immediately ordered the servant to go for a physician.
Jefferson suggested that the poor negro might bleed to death before
the doctor could arrive, and, saying that he himself had some little
skill and experience in surgery, proposed that they should go and
see what could be done for the poor fellow. Mr. Fitzhugh willingly
acquiesced, and, on their reaching the patient, they found he had a
severe cut in the calf of his leg. Jefferson soon procured a needle
and silk, and in a little while had sewed up the wound and carefully
bandaged the leg.

As they walked back from the negro's cabin, Jefferson remarked to his
friend that, though the ways of Divine Providence were all wise and
beneficent, yet it had always struck him as being strange that the
thick, fleshy coverings and defenses of the bones in the limbs of
the human frame were placed in their rear, when the danger of their
fracture generally came from the front. The remark struck Fitzhugh as
being an original and philosophical one, and served to increase his
favorable impressions of his friend's sagacity.

Jefferson had not long departed and resumed his journey, before Dr.
Stuart arrived, and greeted Mr. Fitzhugh with the question of, "What
news did your friend give you, and what new heresy did the fiend
incarnate attempt to instill into your mind?" "Ah! Stuart," Mr.
Fitzhugh began, "you do Jefferson injustice; he is a great man, a
very great man;" and then went on to tell of the accident which had
befallen the negro, Jefferson's skill in dressing the wound, and his
remark afterwards, which had made such an impression upon him.

"Well," cried Dr. Stuart, raising his hands with horror, "what is the
world coming to! Here this fellow, Jefferson, after turning upside
down every thing on the earth, is now quarrelling with God Almighty


     His final Return home.--Wreck of his Fortunes.--Letter to Mr.
     Eppes.--To his Grand-daughter, Mrs. Bankhead.--To Kosciusko.--
     Description of the Interior of the House at Monticello.--Of the
     View from Monticello.--Jefferson's Grandson's Description of
     his Manners and Appearance.--Anecdotes.--His Habits.--Letter to
     Governor Langdon.--To Governor Tyler.--Life at Monticello, and
     Sketch of Jefferson by a Grand-daughter.--Reminiscences of him
     by another Grand-daughter.

Full of years and full of honors, we behold, then, the veteran
statesman attaining at last the goal of his wishes. Joyfully received
into the arms of his family, Jefferson returned home, fondly hoping
to pass in tranquillity the evening of an eventful and honorable
life surrounded by those he loved best, and from whom he was never
again to be parted except by death. His whole demeanor betokened
the feelings of one who had been relieved of a heavy and wearisome
burden. His family noticed the elasticity of his step while engaged
in his private apartments arranging his books and papers, and not
unfrequently heard him humming a favorite air, or singing snatches
of old songs which had been almost forgotten since the days of his
youth. But, alas! who can control his destiny? Who can foresee the
suffering to be endured? It required but a brief sojourn at home, and
a thorough investigation of his affairs, for Jefferson to see that
his long-continued absence had told fearfully on the value of his
farms; that his long enlistment in the service of his country had
been his pecuniary ruin. The state of his feelings on this subject is
painfully shown in the following extract from a letter written by him
to Kosciusko:

_To Thaddeus Kosciusko._

     Instead of the unalloyed happiness of retiring unembarrassed
     and independent to the enjoyment of my estate, which is ample
     for my limited views, I have to pass such a length of time in
     a thraldom of mind never before known to me. Except for this,
     my happiness would have been perfect. That yours may never know
     disturbance, and that you may enjoy as many years of life,
     health, and ease as yourself shall wish, is the sincere prayer
     of your constant and affectionate friend.

Towards the close of the year 1809 we find him writing to his
son-in-law, Mr. Eppes, then in Washington, as follows:

_To John W. Eppes._

     I should sooner have informed you of Francis's safe arrival
     here, but that the trip you meditated to North Carolina rendered
     it entirely uncertain where a letter would find you. Nor had
     I any expectation you could have been at the first meeting of
     Congress, till I saw your name in the papers brought by our last
     post. Disappointed in sending this by the return of the post, I
     avail myself of General Clarke's journey to Washington for its
     conveyance. Francis has enjoyed perfect and constant health, and
     is as happy as the day is long. He has had little success as yet
     with either his traps or bow and arrows. He is now engaged in a
     literary contest with his cousin, Virginia, both having begun
     to write together. As soon as he gets to _z_ (being now only at
     _h_) he promises you a letter.

The following to his oldest grandchild shows how completely Jefferson
had thrown off the cares and thoughts of public life and plunged into
the sweets and little enjoyments of a quiet country life.

_To Mrs. Anne C. Bankhead._

                                Monticello, Dec. 29th, 1809.

     My dear Anne--Your mamma has given me a letter to inclose to
     you, but whether it contains any thing contraband I know not. Of
     that the responsibility must be on her; I therefore inclose it.
     I suppose she gives you all the small news of the place--such
     as the race in writing between Virginia and Francis, that the
     wild geese are well after a flight of a mile and a half into
     the river, that the plants in the green-house prosper, etc.,
     etc. _A propos_ of plants, make a thousand acknowledgments to
     Mrs. Bankhead for the favor proposed of the Cape jessamine.
     It will be cherished with all the possible attentions; and in
     return proffer her calycanthuses, pecans, silk-trees, Canada
     martagons, or any thing else we have. Mr. Bankhead, I suppose,
     is seeking a merry Christmas in all the wit and merriments of
     Coke upon Littleton. God send him a good deliverance! Such is
     the usual prayer for those standing at the bar. Deliver to
     Mary my kisses, and tell her I have a present from one of her
     acquaintances, Miss Thomas, for her--the minutest gourd ever
     seen, of which I send her a draught in the margin. What is to
     become of our flowers? I left them so entirely to yourself, that
     I never knew any thing about them, what they are, where they
     grow, what is to be done for them. You must really make out a
     book of instructions for Ellen, who has fewer cares in her head
     than I have. Every thing shall be furnished on my part at her
     call. Present my friendly respects to Dr. and Mrs. Bankhead.
     My affectionate attachment to Mr. Bankhead and yourself, not
     forgetting Mary.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

We find in a letter written by Jefferson to Kosciusko (Feb. 26th,
1810) an interesting account of his habits of daily life. He writes:

_To Thaddeus Kosciusko._

     My mornings are devoted to correspondence. From breakfast to
     dinner I am in my shops, my garden, or on horseback among my
     farms; from dinner to dark, I give to society and recreation
     with my neighbors and friends; and from candle-light to
     early bed-time I read. My health is perfect, and my strength
     considerably reinforced by the activity of the course I pursue;
     perhaps it is as great as usually falls to the lot of near
     sixty-seven years of age. I talk of ploughs and harrows, of
     seeding and harvesting with my neighbors, and of politics
     too, if they choose, with as little reserve as the rest of my
     fellow-citizens, and feel, at length, the blessing of being free
     to say and do what I please without being responsible for it to
     any mortal. A part of my occupation, and by no means the least
     pleasing, is the direction of the studies of such young men as
     ask it. They place themselves in the neighboring village, and
     have the use of my library and counsel, and make a part of my
     society. In advising the course of their reading, I endeavor to
     keep their attention fixed on the main objects of all science,
     the freedom and happiness of man. So that, coming to bear a
     share in the councils and government of their country, they will
     keep ever in view the sole objects of all legitimate government.

I now give a description of the interior of the mansion at
Monticello, which was prepared for me by a member of Mr. Jefferson's
family, who lived there for many years:

     The mansion, externally, is of the Doric order of Grecian
     architecture, with its heavy cornice and massive balustrades,
     its public rooms finished in the Ionic. The front hall of
     entrance recedes six feet within the front wall of the building,
     covered by a portico the width of the recess, projecting
     twenty-five feet, and the height of the house, with stone
     pillars and steps. The hall is also the height of the house.
     From about midway of this room, passages lead off to either
     extremity of the building. The rooms at the extremity of these
     passages terminate in octagonal projections, leaving a recess of
     three equal sides, into which the passages enter; piazzas the
     width of this recess, projecting six feet beyond, their roofs
     the height of the house, and resting on brick arches, cover the
     recesses. The northern one connects the house with the public
     terrace, while the southern is sashed in for a green-house.
     To the east of these passages, on each side of the hall, are
     lodging-rooms. This front is one-and-a-half stories. The west
     front the rooms occupy the whole height, making the house one
     story, except the parlor or central room, which is surmounted
     by an octagonal story, with a dome or spherical roof. This was
     designed for a billiard-room; but, before completion, a law was
     passed prohibiting public and private billiard-tables in the
     State. It was to have been approached by stairways connected
     with a gallery at the inner extremity of the hall, which itself
     forms the communication between the lodging-rooms on either side
     above. The use designed for the room being prohibited, these
     stairways were never erected, leaving in this respect a great
     deficiency in the house.


  1. Mr. Madison's room.
  2. Abbé Correa's room.
  3. Turning Buffet.
  4. Niche in tea-room, intended for a statue.
  5. Jefferson's chair and candle-stand.
  6. Mrs. Randolph's harpsichord.
  7. Globes.
  8. Work-bench.
  9. Couch on which Jefferson reclined while studying.
  10. Jefferson's dressing-table and mirror.
  11. A convenient contrivance on which to hang clothes.
  12. Jefferson's chair, with a small book-case near it.
  13. Great clock over the hall-door.
  14. Reclining statue of Ariadne.
  15. Gallery connecting the upper stories of the house.


  _a._ Americus Vespucius.
  _b._ Columbus.
  _c._ Locke.
  _d._ Bacon.
  _e._ Washington.
  _f._ Adams.
  _g._ Franklin.
  _h._ Madison.

  16. Bust of Napoleon.
  17. Ceracchi's Bust of Jefferson.
  18. Bust of Hamilton.
  19. Bust of Voltaire.
  20. Bust of Turgot.
  21. Bust of Alexander, Emperor of Russia.]

     The parlor projects twenty feet beyond the body of the
     house, covered by a portico one story, and surmounted by the
     billiard-room. The original plan of the projection was square;
     but when the cellar was built up to the floor above, the room
     was projected beyond the square by three sides of an octagon,
     leaving a place beyond the cellar-wall not excavated, and it
     was in this space that the faithful Cæsar and Martin concealed
     their master's plate when the British visited Monticello.[57]
     The floor of this room is in squares, the squares being ten
     inches, of the wild cherry, very hard, susceptible of a high
     polish, and the color of mahogany. The border of each square,
     four inches wide, is of beech, light-colored, hard, and bearing
     a high polish. Its original cost was two hundred dollars. After
     nearly seventy years of use and abuse, a half-hour's dusting
     and brushing will make it compare favorably with the handsomest
     tessellated floor.

  [57] See page 56.

From the same pen are the following graphic descriptions of the views
seen from Monticello:

     Monticello is five hundred and eighty feet high. It slopes
     eastward one-and-a-half miles by a gentle declivity to the
     Rivanna River. Half a mile beyond is Shadwell, the birthplace
     of Jefferson, a beautiful spot overlooking the river. The
     northeastern side of the mountain and slope is precipitous,
     having dashed aside the countless floods of the Rivanna through
     all the tide of time.

     On the southwest, it is separated from the next mountain of
     the range, rising three hundred feet above it, by a road-pass
     two hundred and twenty feet below. This obstructs the view
     to the southwest. From the southwest to the northeast is a
     horizon unbroken, save by one solitary, pyramid-shaped mountain,
     its peak under the true meridian, and distant by air-line
     forty-seven miles. Northeast the range pointing to the west
     terminates two miles off, its lateral spurs descending by gentle
     slopes to the Rivanna at your feet, covered with farms and green
     wheat-fields. This view of farms extends northeast and east six
     or seven miles. You trace the Rivanna by its cultivated valley
     as it passes east, apparently through an unbroken forest; an
     inclined plane descends from your feet to the ocean two hundred
     miles distant. All the western and northwestern slopes being
     poor, and the eastern and southeastern fertile, as the former
     are presented to the spectator, and are for the most part in
     wood, it presents the appearance of unbroken forest, bounded by
     an ocean-like horizon.

     Turn now and look from the north to the west. You stand at the
     apex of a triangle, the water-shed of the Rivanna, the opposite
     side, at the base of the Blue Ridge, forty miles in length;
     its perpendicular twenty, descending five hundred feet to the
     base of your position, where the Rivanna concentrates its muddy
     waters over an artificial cascade, marked by its white line of

     West and southwest, the space between the Southwest Mountains
     and the Blue Ridge is filled by irregular mountains, the nearer
     known as the Ragged Mountains. At the northeast base of these,
     distant two and three miles, are Charlottesville and the
     University of Virginia, forming nuclei connected by a scattered
     village. From west to northeast no mountain interposes between
     your position and the base of the Blue Ridge, which sinks below
     the horizon eighty or one hundred miles distant. Two mountains
     only are seen northeast--one ten, the other forty miles off. The
     country, ascending from your position, and presenting to you its
     fertile slopes, gives the view of one highly cultivated. The
     railroad train is traced ten miles. This is the view so much

     The top of the mountain has been levelled by art. This space
     is six hundred by two hundred feet, circular at each end. The
     mountain slopes gently on every side from this lawn; one hundred
     feet from the eastern end stands the mansion. Its projecting
     porticoes, east and west, with the width of the house, occupy
     one hundred feet each way. It approaches on either hand within
     fifty feet of the brow of the mountain, with which it is
     connected by covered ways ten feet wide, whose floors are level
     with the cellars, and whose flat roofs, forming promenades,
     are nearly level with the first floor of the dwelling. These,
     turning at right angles at the brow, and widening to twenty
     feet, extend one hundred feet, and terminate in one-story
     pavilions twenty feet square, the space beneath these terraces
     forming basement offices. From this northern terrace the view
     is sublime; and here Jefferson and his company were accustomed
     to sit, bare-headed, in the summer until bed-time, having
     neither dew nor insects to annoy them. Here, perhaps, has been
     assembled more love of liberty, virtue, wisdom, and learning
     than on any other private spot in America.

Jefferson's grandson, Colonel Jefferson Randolph, writes of his
appearance and manners thus:

     His manners were of that polished school of the Colonial
     Government, so remarkable in its day--under no circumstances
     violating any of those minor conventional observances which
     constitute the well-bred gentleman, courteous and considerate to
     all persons. On riding out with him when a lad, we met a negro
     who bowed to us; he returned his bow; I did not. Turning to me,
     he asked,

     "Do you permit a negro to be more of a gentleman than yourself?"

     Mr. Jefferson's hair, when young, was of a reddish cast; sandy
     as he advanced in years; his eye, hazel. Dying in his 84th year,
     he had not lost a tooth, nor had one defective; his skin thin,
     peeling from his face on exposure to the sun, and giving it a
     tettered appearance; the superficial veins so weak, as upon the
     slightest blow to cause extensive suffusions of blood--in early
     life, upon standing to write for any length of time, bursting
     beneath the skin; it, however, gave him no inconvenience. His
     countenance was mild and benignant, and attractive to strangers.

     While President, returning on horseback from Charlottesville
     with company whom he had invited to dinner, and who were, all
     but one or two, riding ahead of him, on reaching a stream over
     which there was no bridge, a man asked him to take him up behind
     him and carry him over. The gentlemen in the rear coming up just
     as Mr. Jefferson had put him down and ridden on, asked the man
     how it happened that he had permitted the others to pass without
     asking them? He replied,

     "From their looks, I did not like to ask them; the old gentleman
     looked as if he would do it, and I asked him."

     He was very much surprised to hear that he had ridden behind the
     President of the United States.

     Mr. Jefferson's stature was commanding--six feet two-and-a-half
     inches in height, well formed, indicating strength, activity,
     and robust health; his carriage erect; step firm and elastic,
     which he preserved to his death; his temper, naturally strong,
     under perfect control; his courage cool and impassive. No one
     ever knew him exhibit trepidation. His moral courage of the
     highest order--his will firm and inflexible--it was remarked of
     him that he never abandoned a plan, a principle, or a friend.

     A bold and fearless rider, you saw at a glance, from his easy
     and confident seat, that he was master of his horse, which was
     usually the fine blood-horse of Virginia. The only impatience of
     temper he ever exhibited was with his horse, which he subdued to
     his will by a fearless application of the whip on the slightest
     manifestation of restiveness. He retained to the last his
     fondness for riding on horseback; he rode within three weeks of
     his death, when, from disease, debility, and age, he mounted
     with difficulty. He rode with confidence, and never permitted
     a servant to accompany him; he was fond of solitary rides and
     musing, and said that the presence of a servant annoyed him.

     He held in little esteem the education which made men ignorant
     and helpless as to the common necessities of life; and he
     exemplified it by an incident which occurred to a young
     gentleman returned from Europe, where he had been educated. On
     riding out with his companions, the strap of his girth broke at
     the hole for the buckle; and they, perceiving it an accident
     easily remedied, rode on and left him. A plain man coming up,
     and seeing that his horse had made a circular path in the road
     in his impatience to get on, asked if he could aid him.

     "Oh, sir," replied the young man, "if you could only assist me
     to get it up to the next hole."

     "Suppose you let it out a hole or two on the other side," said
     the man.

     His habits were regular and systematic. He was a miser of his
     time, rose always at dawn, wrote and read until breakfast,
     breakfasted early, and dined from three to four ... ; retired
     at nine, and to bed from ten to eleven. He said, in his last
     illness, that the sun had not caught him in bed for fifty years.

     He always made his own fire. He drank water but once a day, a
     single glass, when he returned from his ride. He ate heartily,
     and much vegetable food, preferring French cookery, because it
     made the meats more tender. He never drank ardent spirits or
     strong wines. Such was his aversion to ardent spirits, that
     when, in his last illness, his physician desired him to use
     brandy as an astringent, he could not induce him to take it
     strong enough.

In looking over his correspondence, I select the following extracts,
which the reader will find most interesting:

_To Governor Langdon, March 5th, 1810._

     While in Europe, I often amused myself with contemplating the
     characters of the then reigning sovereigns of Europe. Louis the
     XVI. was a fool, of my own knowledge, and despite of the answers
     made for him at his trial. The King of Spain was a fool; and
     of Naples, the same. They passed their lives in hunting, and
     dispatched two couriers a week one thousand miles to let each
     know what game they had killed the preceding days. The King
     of Sardinia was a fool. All these were Bourbons. The Queen of
     Portugal, a Braganza, was an idiot by nature; and so was the
     King of Denmark. Their sons, as regents, exercised the powers
     of government. The King of Prussia, successor to the great
     Frederick, was a mere hog in body as well as in mind. Gustavus
     of Sweden, and Joseph of Austria, were really crazy; and George
     of England, you know, was in a strait-waistcoat. There remained,
     then, none but old Catherine, who had been too lately picked up
     to have lost her common sense. In this state Bonaparte found
     Europe; and it was this state of its rulers which lost it with
     scarce a struggle. These animals had become without mind and
     powerless; and so will every hereditary monarch be after a few
     generations. Alexander, the grandson of Catherine, is as yet an
     exception. He is able to hold his own. But he is only of the
     third generation. His race is not yet worn out. And so endeth
     the book of Kings, from all of whom the Lord deliver us, and
     have you, my friend, and all such good men and true, in his holy

_To Governor Tyler, May 26th, 1810._

     I have long lamented with you the depreciation of law science.
     The opinion seems to be that Blackstone is to us what the
     Alkoran is to the Mohammedans, that every thing which is
     necessary is in him, and what is not in him is not necessary.
     I still lend my counsel and books to such young students as
     will fix themselves in the neighborhood. Coke's Institutes and
     Reports are their first, and Blackstone their last book, after
     an intermediate course of two or three years. It is nothing more
     than an elegant digest of what they will then have acquired
     from the real fountains of the law. Now men are born scholars,
     lawyers, doctors; in our day this was confined to poets.

The following letters, containing such charming pictures of life
at Monticello and of Jefferson's intercourse with his family, were
written to Mr. Randall by one of Mr. Jefferson's grand-daughters:

     My dear Mr. Randall--You seem possessed of so many facts and
     such minute details of Mr. Jefferson's family life, that I
     know not how I can add to the amount.... When he returned from
     Washington, in 1809, I was a child, and of that period I have
     childish recollections. He seemed to return to private life with
     great satisfaction. At last he was his own master, and could, he
     hoped, dispose of his time as he pleased, and indulge his love
     of country life. You know how greatly he preferred it to town
     life. You recollect, as far back as his "Notes on Virginia," he
     says, "Those who labor in the earth are the chosen people of

     With regard to the tastes and wishes which he carried with him
     into the country, his love of reading alone would have made
     leisure and retirement delightful to him. Books were at all
     times his chosen companions, and his acquaintance with many
     languages gave him great power of selection. He read Homer,
     Virgil, Dante, Corneille, Cervantes, as he read Shakspeare and
     Milton. In his youth he had loved poetry, but by the time I was
     old enough to observe, he had lost his taste for it, except for
     Homer and the great Athenian tragics, which he continued to the
     last to enjoy. He went over the works of Æschylus, Sophocles,
     and Euripides, not very long before I left him (the year before
     his death). Of history he was very fond, and this he studied in
     all languages, though always, I think, preferring the ancients.
     In fact, he derived more pleasure from his acquaintance with
     Greek and Latin than from any other resource of literature, and
     I have often heard him express his gratitude to his father for
     causing him to receive a classical education. I saw him more
     frequently with a volume of the classics in his hand than with
     any other book. Still he read new publications as they came
     out, never missed the new number of a review, especially of the
     Edinburgh, and kept himself acquainted with what was being done,
     said, or thought in the world from which he had retired.

     He loved farming and gardening, the fields, the orchards, and
     his asparagus-beds. Every day he rode through his plantation
     and walked in his garden. In the cultivation of the last he
     took great pleasure. Of flowers, too, he was very fond. One of
     my early recollections is of the attention which he paid to
     his flower-beds. He kept up a correspondence with persons in
     the large cities, particularly, I think, in Philadelphia, for
     the purpose of receiving supplies of roots and seeds both for
     his kitchen and flower garden. I remember well, when he first
     returned to Monticello, how immediately he began to prepare
     new beds for his flowers. He had these beds laid off on the
     lawn, under the windows, and many a time I have run after him
     when he went out to direct the work, accompanied by one of his
     gardeners, generally Wormley, armed with spade and hoe, while he
     himself carried the measuring-line.

     I was too young to aid him, except in a small way, but my
     sister, Mrs. Bankhead, then a young and beautiful woman, was
     his active and useful assistant. I remember the planting of the
     first hyacinths and tulips, and their subsequent growth. The
     roots arrived labelled, each one with a fancy name. There was
     "Marcus Aurelius" and the "King of the Gold Mine," the "Roman
     Empress" and the "Queen of the Amazons," "Psyche," the "God of
     Love," etc., etc. Eagerly, and with childish delight, I studied
     this brilliant nomenclature, and wondered what strange and
     surprisingly beautiful creations I should see arising from the
     ground when spring returned; and these precious roots were
     committed to the earth under my grandfather's own eye, with his
     beautiful grand-daughter Anne standing by his side, and a crowd
     of happy young faces, of younger grandchildren, clustering round
     to see the progress, and inquire anxiously the name of each
     separate deposit.

     Then, when spring returned, how eagerly we watched the first
     appearance of the shoots above ground. Each root was marked
     with its own name written on a bit of stick by its side; and
     what joy it was for one of us to discover the tender green
     breaking through the mould, and run to grandpapa to announce
     that we really believed Marcus Aurelius was coming up, or the
     Queen of the Amazons was above ground! With how much pleasure,
     compounded of our pleasure and his own, on the new birth, he
     would immediately go out to verify the fact, and praise us for
     our diligent watchfulness.

     Then, when the flowers were in bloom, and we were in ecstasies
     over the rich purple and crimson, or pure white, or delicate
     lilac, or pale yellow of the blossoms, how he would sympathize
     with our admiration, or discuss with my mother and elder sister
     new groupings and combinations and contrasts. Oh, these were
     happy moments for us and for him!

     It was in the morning, immediately after our early breakfast,
     that he used to visit his flower-beds and his garden. As the
     day, in summer, grew warmer, he retired to his own apartments,
     which consisted of a bed-chamber and library opening into each
     other. Here he remained until about one o'clock, occupied in
     reading, writing, looking over papers, etc. My mother would
     sometimes send me with a message to him. A gentle knock, a
     call of "Come in," and I would enter, with a mixed feeling of
     love and reverence, and some pride in being the bearer of a
     communication to one whom I approached with all the affection
     of a child, and something of the loyalty of a subject. Our
     mother educated all her children to look up to her father, as
     she looked up to him herself--literally looked up, as to one
     standing on an eminence of greatness and goodness. And it is
     no small proof of his real elevation that, as we grew older
     and better able to judge for ourselves, we were more and more
     confirmed in the opinions we had formed of it.

     About one o'clock my grandfather rode out, and was absent,
     perhaps, two hours; when he returned to prepare for his dinner,
     which was about half-past three o'clock. He sat some time at
     table, and after dinner returned for a while to his room, from
     which he emerged before sunset to walk on the terrace or the
     lawn, to see his grandchildren run races, or to converse with
     his family and friends. The evenings, after candle-light, he
     passed with us, till about ten o'clock. He had his own chair
     and his own candle a little apart from the rest, where he sat
     reading, if there were no guests to require his attention, but
     often laying his book on his little round table or his knee,
     while he talked with my mother, the elder members of the family,
     or any child old enough to make one of the family-party. I
     always did, for I was the most active and the most lively of
     the young folks, and most wont to thrust myself forward into

                                                 ----, 185-.

     My dear Mr. Randall--With regard to Mr. Jefferson's conduct
     and manners in his family, after I was old enough to form
     any judgment of it, I can only repeat what I have said
     before--and I say it calmly and advisedly, with no spirit of
     false enthusiasm or exaggeration--I have never known anywhere,
     under any circumstances, so good a domestic character as my
     grandfather Jefferson's. I have the testimony of his sisters
     and his daughter that he was, in all the relations of private
     life, at all times, just what he was when I knew him. My mother
     was ten years old when her mother died. Her impression was,
     that her father's conduct as a husband had been admirable in
     its ensemble, charming in its detail. She distinctly recalled
     her mother's passionate attachment to him, and her exalted
     opinion of him. On one occasion she heard her blaming him for
     some generous acts which had met with an ungrateful return.
     "But," she exclaimed, "it was always so with him; he is so good
     himself, that he can not understand how bad other people may

     On one occasion my mother had been punished for some fault, not
     harshly nor unjustly, but in a way to make an impression. Some
     little time after, her mother being displeased with her for some
     trifle, reminded her in a slightly taunting way of this painful
     past. She was deeply mortified, her heart swelled, her eyes
     filled with tears, she turned away, but she heard her father say
     in a kind tone to her mother, "My dear, a fault in so young a
     child once punished should be forgotten." My mother told me she
     could never forget the warm gush of gratitude that filled her
     childish heart at these words, probably not intended for her
     ear. These are trifling details, but they show character....

     My grandfather's manners to us, his grandchildren, were
     _delightful_; I can characterize them by no other word. He
     talked with us freely, affectionately; never lost an opportunity
     of giving a pleasure or a good lesson. He reproved without
     wounding us, and commended without making us vain. He took
     pains to correct our errors and false ideas, checked the
     bold, encouraged the timid, and tried to teach us to reason
     soundly and feel rightly. Our smaller follies he treated with
     good-humored raillery, our graver ones with kind and serious
     admonition. He was watchful over our manners, and called our
     attention to every violation of propriety. He did not interfere
     with our education, technically so called, except by advising us
     what studies to pursue, what books to read, and by questioning
     us on the books which we did read.

     I was thrown most into companionship with him. I loved him very
     devotedly, and sought every opportunity of being with him. As
     a child, I used to follow him about, and draw as near to him
     as I could. I remember when I was small enough to sit on his
     knee and play with his watch-chain. As a girl, I would join
     him in his walks on the terrace, sit with him over the fire
     during the winter twilight, or by the open windows in summer.
     As child, girl, and woman, I loved and honored him above all
     earthly beings. And well I might. From him seemed to flow all
     the pleasures of my life. To him I owed all the small blessings
     and joyful surprises of my childish and girlish years. His
     nature was so eminently sympathetic, that, with those he loved,
     he could enter into their feelings, anticipate their wishes,
     gratify their tastes, and surround them with an atmosphere of

     I was fond of riding, and was rising above that childish
     simplicity when, provided I was mounted on a horse, I cared
     nothing for my equipments, and when an old saddle or broken
     bridle were matters of no moment. I was beginning to be
     fastidious, but I had never told my wishes. I was standing one
     bright day in the portico, when a man rode up to the door with a
     beautiful lady's saddle and bridle before him. My heart bounded.
     These coveted articles were deposited at my feet. My grandfather
     came out of his room to tell me they were mine.

     When about fifteen years old, I began to think of a watch,
     but knew the state of my father's finances promised no such
     indulgence. One afternoon the letter-bag was brought in. Among
     the letters was a small packet addressed to my grandfather.
     It had the Philadelphia mark upon it. I looked at it with
     indifferent, incurious eye. Three hours after, an elegant lady's
     watch, with chain and seals, was in my hand, which trembled
     for very joy. My Bible came from him, my Shakspeare, my first
     writing-table, my first handsome writing-desk, my first Leghorn
     hat, my first silk dress. What, in short, of all my small
     treasures did not come from him?...

     My sisters, according to their wants and tastes, were equally
     thought of, equally provided for. Our grandfather seemed to read
     our hearts, to see our invisible wishes, to be our good genius,
     to wave the fairy wand, to brighten our young lives by his
     goodness and his gifts. But I have written enough for this time;
     and, indeed, what can I say hereafter but to repeat the same
     tale of love and kindness....

     I remain, my dear Mr. Randall, very truly yours,

                                          ELLEN W. COOLIDGE.

The following contains the reminiscences of a younger grand-daughter
of Jefferson:

                         St. Servan, France, May 26th, 1839.

     Faithful to my promise, dearest ----, I shall spend an hour
     every Sunday in writing all my childish recollections of my dear
     grandfather which are sufficiently distinct to relate to you. My
     memory seems crowded with them, and they have the vividness of
     realities; but all are trifles in themselves, such as I might
     talk to you by the hour, but when I have taken up my pen, they
     seem almost too childish to write down. But these remembrances
     are precious to me, because they are of _him_, and because they
     restore him to me as he then was, when his cheerfulness and
     affection were the warm sun in which his family all basked
     and were invigorated. Cheerfulness, love, benevolence, wisdom,
     seemed to animate his whole form. His face beamed with them. You
     remember how active was his step, how lively, and even playful,
     were his manners.

     I can not describe the feelings of veneration, admiration, and
     love that existed in my heart towards him. I looked on him as a
     being too great and good for my comprehension; and yet I felt no
     fear to approach him and be taught by him some of the childish
     sports that I delighted in. When he walked in the garden and
     would call the children to go with him, we raced after and
     before him, and we were made perfectly happy by this permission
     to accompany him. Not one of us, in our wildest moods, ever
     placed a foot on one of the garden-beds, for that would violate
     one of his rules, and yet I never heard him utter a harsh word
     to one of us, or speak in a raised tone of voice, or use a
     threat. He simply said, "Do," or "Do not." He would gather fruit
     for us, seek out the ripest figs, or bring down the cherries
     from on high above our heads with a long stick, at the end of
     which there was a hook and little net bag....

     One of our earliest amusements was in running races on the
     terrace, or around the lawn. He placed us according to our ages,
     giving the youngest and smallest the start of all the others
     by some yards, and so on; and then he raised his arm high,
     with his white handkerchief in his hand, on which our eager
     eyes were fixed, and slowly counted three, at which number he
     dropped the handkerchief, and we started off to finish the race
     by returning to the starting-place and receiving our reward of
     dried fruit--three figs, prunes, or dates to the victor, two to
     the second, and one to the lagger who came in last. These were
     our summer sports with him.

     I was born the year he was elected President, and, except
     one winter that we spent with him in Washington, I never was
     with him during that season until after he had retired from
     office. During his absences, all the children who could write
     corresponded with him. Their letters were duly answered, and
     it was a sad mortification to me that I had not learned to
     write before his return to live at home, and of course had no
     letter from him. Whenever an opportunity occurred, he sent us
     books; and he never saw a little story or piece of poetry in
     a newspaper, suited to our ages and tastes, that he did not
     preserve it and send it to us; and from him we learnt the habit
     of making these miscellaneous collections, by pasting in a
     little paper book made for the purpose any thing of the sort
     that we received from him or got otherwise.

     On winter evenings, when it grew too dark to read, in the half
     hour which passed before candles came in, as we all sat round
     the fire, he taught us several childish games, and would play
     them with us. I remember that "Cross-questions," and "I love my
     Love with an A," were two I learned from him; and we would teach
     some of ours to him.

     When the candles were brought, all was quiet immediately, for
     he took up his book to read; and we would not speak out of a
     whisper, lest we should disturb him, and generally we followed
     his example and took a book; and I have seen him raise his
     eyes from his own book, and look round on the little circle of
     readers and smile, and make some remark to mamma about it. When
     the snow fell, we would go out, as soon as it stopped, to clear
     it off the terraces with shovels, that he might have his usual
     walk on them without treading in snow.

     He often made us little presents. I remember his giving us
     "Parents' Assistant," and that we drew lots, and that she who
     drew the longest straw had the first reading of the book; the
     next longest straw entitled the drawer to the second reading;
     the shortest to the last reading, and ownership of the book.

     Often he discovered, we knew not how, some cherished object of
     our desires, and the first intimation we had of his knowing the
     wish was its unexpected gratification. Sister Anne gave a silk
     dress to sister Ellen. Cornelia (then eight or ten years old),
     going up stairs, involuntarily expressed aloud some feelings
     which possessed her bosom on the occasion, by saying, "I never
     had a silk dress in my life." The next day a silk dress came
     from Charlottesville to Cornelia, and (to make the rest of
     us equally happy) also a pair of pretty dresses for Mary and
     myself. One day I was passing hastily through the glass door
     from the hall to the portico; there was a broken pane which
     caught my muslin dress and tore it sadly. Grandpapa was standing
     by and saw the disaster. A few days after, he came into mamma's
     sitting-room with a bundle in his hand, and said to me, "I have
     been mending your dress for you." He had himself selected for me
     another beautiful dress. I had for a long time a great desire
     to have a guitar. A lady of our neighborhood was going to the
     West, and wished to part with her guitar, but she asked so high
     a price that I never in my dreams aspired to its possession.
     One morning, on going down to breakfast, I saw the guitar. It
     had been sent up by Mrs. ---- for us to look at, and grandpapa
     told me that if I would promise to learn to play on it I should
     have it. I never shall forget my ecstasies. I was but fourteen
     years old, and the first wish of my heart was unexpectedly

                                          VIRGINIA J. TRIST.


     Letter to his Grand-daughter, Mrs. Bankhead.--To Dr.
     Rush.--To Duane.--Anxiety to reopen Correspondence with John
     Adams.-- Letter to Benjamin Rush.--Old Letter from Mrs.
     Adams.--Letter from Benjamin Rush.--Letter from John Adams.--The
     Reconciliation.--Character of Washington.--Devotion to him.--
     Letter to Say.--State of Health.--Labors of Correspondence.--
     Cheerfulness of his Disposition.--Baron Grimour.--Catherine of
     Russia.--Ledyard.--Letter to Mrs. Trist.--To John Adams.-- Gives
     Charge of his Affairs to his Grandson.--Letter to his Grandson,
     Francis Eppes.--Description of Monticello by Lieutenant
     Hall.--Letter to Mrs. Adams.--Her Death.--Beautiful Letter to
     Mr. Adams.--Letter to Dr. Utley.--Correspondence with Mrs.

The extracts from Jefferson's letters which I give in this
chapter the reader will find to be of unusual interest. Among his
family letters I find the following touching note to one of his

_To Mrs. Anne C. Bankhead._

                                 Monticello, May 26th, 1811.

     My dear Anne--I have just received a copy of the Modern
     Griselda, which Ellen tells me will not be unacceptable to you;
     I therefore inclose it. The heroine presents herself certainly
     as a perfect model of ingenious perverseness, and of the art of
     making herself and others unhappy. If it can be made of use in
     inculcating the virtues and felicities of life, it must be by
     the rule of contraries.

     Nothing new has happened in our neighborhood since you left
     us; the houses and the trees stand where they did; the flowers
     come forth like the belles of the day, have their short reign
     of beauty and splendor, and retire, like them, to the more
     interesting office of reproducing their like. The Hyacinths and
     Tulips are off the stage, the Irises are giving place to the
     Belladonnas, as these will to the Tuberoses, etc.; as your mamma
     has done to you, my dear Anne, as you will do to the sisters of
     little John, and as I shall soon and cheerfully do to you all
     in wishing you a long, long good-night. Present me respectfully
     to Doctor and Mrs. Bankhead, and accept for Mr. Bankhead and
     yourself the assurances of my cordial affections, not forgetting
     that Cornelia shares them.


In January, 1811, Dr. Rush, in a friendly letter to Mr. Jefferson,
expressed regret at the suspension of intercourse between Mr. Adams
and himself. Jefferson's letter in reply is one of the most charming
he ever wrote.

_To Benjamin Rush._--[_Extract._]

     I receive with sensibility your observations on the
     discontinuance of friendly correspondence between Mr. Adams
     and myself, and the concern you take in its restoration.
     This discontinuance has not proceeded from me, nor from the
     want of sincere desire and of effort on my part to renew our
     intercourse. You know the perfect coincidence of principle and
     of action, in the early part of the Revolution, which produced
     a high degree of mutual respect and esteem between Mr. Adams
     and myself. Certainly no man was ever truer than he was, in
     that day, to those principles of rational republicanism which,
     after the necessity of throwing off our monarchy, dictated
     all our efforts in the establishment of a new Government. And
     although he swerved afterwards towards the principles of the
     English Constitution, our friendship did not abate on that
     account. While he was Vice-president, and I Secretary of State,
     I received a letter from President Washington, then at Mount
     Vernon, desiring me to call together the Heads of Department,
     and to invite Mr. Adams to join us (which, by-the-by, was the
     only instance of that being done), in order to determine on
     some measure which required dispatch; and he desired me to act
     on it, as decided, without again recurring to him. I invited
     them to dine with me, and after dinner, sitting at our wine,
     having settled our question, other conversation came on, in
     which a collision of opinion arose between Mr. Adams and Colonel
     Hamilton on the merits of the British Constitution; Mr. Adams
     giving it as his opinion that, if some of its defects and abuses
     were corrected, it would be the most perfect constitution of
     government ever devised by man. Hamilton, on the contrary,
     asserted that, with its existing vices, it was the most
     perfect model of government that could be formed, and that
     the correction of its vices would render it an impracticable
     government. And this, you may be assured, was the real line
     of difference between the political principles of these two

     Another incident took place on the same occasion, which will
     further delineate Mr. Hamilton's political principles. The
     room being hung around with a collection of the portraits of
     remarkable men, among them were those of Bacon, Newton, and
     Locke. Hamilton asked me who they were. I told him they were my
     trinity of the three greatest men the world had ever produced,
     naming them. He paused for some time: "The greatest man," said
     he, "that ever lived was Julius Cæsar." Mr. Adams was honest as
     a politician, as well as a man; Hamilton honest as a man, but,
     as a politician, believing in the necessity of either force or
     corruption to govern men.

Writing to Colonel Duane in the same year, speaking of the state
of the country and differences of opinion, he says: "These, like
differences of face, are a law of our nature, and should be viewed
with the same tolerance. The clouds which have appeared for some
time to be gathering around us have given me anxiety, lest an
enemy, always on the watch, always prompt and firm, and acting
in well-disciplined phalanx, should find an opening to dissipate
hopes, with the loss of which I would wish that of life itself. To
myself, personally, the sufferings would be short. The powers of life
have declined with me more in the last six months than in as many
preceding years. A rheumatic indisposition, under which your letter
found me, has caused this delay in acknowledging its receipt."

In a letter of December 5th, 1811, to Dr. Benjamin Rush, Jefferson,
after alluding to letters from him, wherein he expresses a desire to
bring about a reconciliation between Mr. Adams and himself, says:

_To Benjamin Rush._

     Two of the Mr. Coles, my neighbors and friends, took a tour to
     the northward during the last summer. In Boston they fell into
     company with Mr. Adams, and by his invitation passed a day with
     him at Braintree. He spoke out to them every thing which came
     uppermost, and as it occurred to his mind, without any reserve;
     and seemed most disposed to dwell on those things which happened
     during his own Administration. He spoke of his _masters_, as he
     called his Heads of Departments, as acting above his control,
     and often against his opinions. Among many other topics, he
     adverted to the unprincipled licentiousness of the press against
     myself, adding, "I always loved Jefferson, and still love him."

     This is enough for me. I only needed this knowledge to revive
     towards him all the affections of the most cordial moments of
     our lives.... I wish, therefore, but for an apposite occasion to
     express to Mr. Adams my unchanged affection for him. There is
     an awkwardness which hangs over the resuming a correspondence
     so long discontinued, unless something could arise which should
     call for a letter. Time and chance may perhaps generate such
     an occasion, of which I shall not be wanting in promptitude to
     avail myself. From this fusion of mutual affections, Mrs. Adams
     is, of course, separated. It will only be necessary that I never
     name her.[58] In your letters to Mr. Adams you can perhaps
     suggest my continued cordiality towards him, and, knowing this,
     should an occasion of writing first present itself to him, he
     will perhaps avail himself of it, as I certainly will, should
     it first occur to me. No ground for jealousy now existing, he
     will certainly give fair play to the natural warmth of his
     heart. Perhaps I may open the way in some letter to my old
     friend Gerry, who, I know, is in habits of the greatest intimacy
     with him. I have thus, my friend, laid my heart open to you,
     because you were so kind as to take an interest in healing again
     Revolutionary affections, which have ceased in expression only,
     but not in their existence. God ever bless you, and preserve you
     in life and health.

  [58] It should here be shown that the coldness between Jefferson
  and Mrs. Adams was but a temporary interruption of a friendship
  which lasted for fully forty years, closed only by the death
  of Mrs. Adams, in 1818. The following letter from Mrs. Adams,
  written in 1786, will evince the friendship which then, and for
  years before, existed between her and Jefferson. Hereinbefore,
  at page 304 of this volume, will be found a letter of condolence
  from Mrs. Adams to Jefferson, upon the death of his daughter,
  Maria Jefferson Eppes (1804); and hereafter, at page 368,
  Jefferson's last letter to Mrs. Adams, written in 1817; followed
  by Jefferson's letter of condolence to John Adams (November,
  1818), upon the death of Mrs. Adams.

  _From Mrs. Adams._

                  London, Grosvenor Square, Feb. 11th, 1786.

     Col. Humphries talks of leaving us on Monday. It is with regret,
     I assure you, Sir, that we part with him. His visit here has
     given us an opportunity of becoming more acquainted with his
     real worth and merit, and our friendship for him has risen
     in proportion to our intimacy. The two American Secretaries
     of Legation would do honor to their country placed in more
     distinguished stations. Yet these missions abroad, circumscribed
     as they are in point of expenses, place the ministers of the
     United States in the lowest point of view of any envoy from any
     other Court; and in Europe every being is estimated, and every
     country valued, in proportion to their show and splendor. In a
     private station I have not a wish for expensive living, but,
     whatever my fair countrywomen may think, and I hear they envy
     my situation, I will most joyfully exchange Europe for America,
     and my public for a private life. I am really surfeited with
     Europe, and most heartily long for the rural cottage, the purer
     and honester manners of my native land, where domestic happiness
     reigns unrivalled, and virtue and honor go hand in hand. I
     hope one season more will give us an opportunity of making our
     escape. At present we are in the situation of Sterne's starling.

     Congress have by the last dispatches informed this Court
     that they expect them to appoint a minister. It is said (not
     officially) that Mr. Temple is coldly received, that no
     Englishman has visited him, and the Americans are not very
     social with him. But as Colonel Humphries will be able to give
     you every intelligence, there can be no occasion for my adding
     any thing further than to acquaint you that I have endeavored to
     execute your commission agreeably to your directions. Enclosed
     you will find the memorandum. I purchased a small trunk, which
     I think you will find useful to you to put the shirts in,
     as they will not be liable to get rubbed on the journey. If
     the balance should prove in my favor, I will request you to
     send me 4 ells of cambric at about 14 livres per ell or 15, a
     pair of black lace lappets--these are what the ladies wear at
     court--and 12 ells of black lace at 6 or 7 livres per ell. Some
     gentleman coming this way will be so kind as to put them in his
     pocket, and Mrs. Barclay, I dare say, will take the trouble of
     purchasing them for me; for troubling you with such trifling
     matters is a little like putting Hercules to the distaff.

     My love to Miss Jefferson, and compliments to Mr. Short. Mrs.
     Siddons is acting again upon the stage, and I hope Colonel
     Humphries will prevail with you to cross the Channel to see her.
     Be assured, dear Sir, that nothing would give more pleasure to
     your friends here than a visit from you, and in that number I
     claim the honor of subscribing myself,

                                                   A. ADAMS.

     [4 pair of shoes for Miss Adams, by the person who made Mrs.
     A.'s, 2 of satin and 2 of spring silk, without straps, and of
     the most fashionable colors.]

To this letter Dr. Rush replied as follows:

_From Benjamin Rush._--[_Extract._]

                              Philadelphia, Dec. 17th, 1811.

     My dear old Friend--Yours of December 5th came to hand
     yesterday. I was charmed with the subject of it. In order to
     hasten the object you have suggested, I sat down last evening
     and selected such passages from your letter as contained the
     kindest expressions of regard for Mr. Adams, and transmitted
     them to him. My letter which contained them was concluded, as
     nearly as I can recollect, for I kept no copy of it, with the
     following words: "Fellow-laborers, in erecting the fabric of
     American liberty and independence! fellow-sufferers in the
     calumnies and falsehoods of party rage! fellow-heirs of the
     gratitude and affection of posterity! and fellow-passengers in
     the same stage which must soon convey you both into the presence
     of a Judge with whom forgiveness and love of enemies is the only
     condition of your acceptance, embrace--embrace each other--bedew
     your letter of reconciliation with tears of affection and
     joy. Let there be no retrospect of your past differences.
     Explanations may be proper between contending lovers, but
     they are never so between divided friends. Were I near you,
     I would put a pen in your hand, and guide it while it wrote
     the following note to Mr. Jefferson: 'My dear old friend and
     fellow-laborer in the cause of the liberties and independence
     of our common country, I salute you with the most cordial good
     wishes for your health and happiness.

                                               JOHN ADAMS.'"

Jefferson's hopes were realized by receiving early in the year 1812 a
letter from Mr. Adams. It is pleasing to see with what eagerness he
meets this advance from his old friend. In his reply he says:

_To John Adams._

     A letter from you calls up recollections very dear to my mind.
     It carries me back to the times when, beset with difficulties
     and dangers, we were fellow-laborers in the same cause,
     struggling for what is most valuable to man, his right of
     self-government. Laboring always at the same oar, with some wave
     ever ahead threatening to overwhelm us, and yet passing harmless
     under our bark, we knew not how, we rode through the storm with
     heart and hand, and made a happy port.... But whither is senile
     garrulity leading me? Into politics, of which I have taken final
     leave. I think little of them, and say less. I have given up
     newspapers in exchange for Tacitus and Thucydides, for Newton
     and Euclid, and I find myself much the happier. Sometimes,
     indeed, I look back to former occurrences, in remembrance of our
     old friends and fellow-laborers who have fallen before us. Of
     the signers of the Declaration of Independence, I see now living
     not more than half a dozen on your side of the Potomac, and, on
     this side, myself alone.

     You and I have been wonderfully spared, and myself with
     remarkable health, and a considerable activity of body and mind.
     I am on horseback three or four hours of every day; visit three
     or four times a year a possession I have ninety miles distant,
     performing the winter journey on horseback. I walk little,
     however, a single mile being too much for me; and I live in the
     midst of my grandchildren, one of whom has lately promoted me to
     be a great-grandfather. I have heard with pleasure that you also
     retain good health, and a greater power of exercise in walking
     than I do. But I would rather have heard this from yourself,
     and that, writing a letter like mine, full of egotisms, and
     of details of your health, your habits, occupations, and
     enjoyments, I should have the pleasure of knowing that in the
     race of life you do not keep, in its physical decline, the same
     distance ahead of me which you have done in political honors and
     achievements. No circumstances have lessened the interest I feel
     in these particulars respecting yourself; none have suspended
     for one moment my sincere esteem for you, and I now salute you
     with unchanged affection and respect.

Mr. Adams having had some affliction in his household, Mr. Jefferson,
at the close of a letter written to him in October, 1813, says:

_To John Adams._

     On the subject of the postscript of yours of August the 16th,
     and of Mrs. Adams's letter, I am silent. I know the depth of the
     affliction it has caused, and can sympathize with it the more
     sensibly, inasmuch as there is no degree of affliction, produced
     by the loss of those dear to us, which experience has not taught
     me to estimate. I have ever found time and silence the only
     medicine, and these but assuage, they never can suppress, the
     deep-drawn sigh which recollection forever brings up, until
     recollection and life are extinguished together.

In a letter written to Dr. Walter Jones on the 2d of January, 1814,
we have one of the most beautiful descriptions of character to be
found in the English language, and the most heartfelt tribute to
General Washington which has ever flowed from the pen of any man.
Jefferson writes:

_Jefferson's Character of Washington._

     You say that in taking General Washington on your shoulders, to
     bear him harmless through the Federal coalition, you encounter
     a perilous topic. I do not think so. You have given the genuine
     history of the course of his mind through the trying scenes in
     which it was engaged, and of the seductions by which it was
     deceived, but not depraved. I think I knew General Washington
     intimately and thoroughly; and were I called on to delineate his
     character, it should be in terms like these:

     His mind was great and powerful without being of the very first
     order; his penetration strong, though not so acute as that of
     a Newton, Bacon, or Locke; and, as far as he saw, no judgment
     was ever sounder. It was slow in operation, being little aided
     by invention or imagination, but sure in conclusion. Hence the
     common remark of his officers, of the advantage he derived from
     councils of war, where, hearing all suggestions, he selected
     whatever was best; and certainly no general ever planned his
     battles more judiciously. But if deranged during the course of
     the action, if any member of his plan was dislocated by sudden
     circumstances, he was slow in a readjustment. The consequence
     was, that he often failed in the field, and rarely against an
     enemy in station, as at Boston and York. He was incapable of
     fear, meeting personal danger with the calmest unconcern.

     Perhaps the strongest feature in his character was prudence,
     never acting until every circumstance, every consideration,
     was maturely weighed; refraining if he saw a doubt, but,
     when once decided, going through with his purpose, whatever
     obstacles opposed. His integrity was most pure, his justice the
     most inflexible I have ever known, no motives of interest or
     consanguinity, of friendship or hatred, being able to bias his
     decision. He was, indeed, in every sense of the words, a wise, a
     good, and a great man. His temper was naturally irritable and
     high-toned; but reflection and resolution had obtained a firm
     and habitual ascendency over it. If ever, however, it broke its
     bonds, he was most tremendous in his wrath. In his expenses he
     was honorable, but exact; liberal in contribution to whatever
     promised utility; but frowning and unyielding on all visionary
     projects, and all unworthy calls on his charity. His heart was
     not warm in its affections; but he exactly calculated every
     man's value, and gave him a solid esteem proportioned to it.

     His person, you know, was fine, his stature exactly what one
     would wish, his deportment easy, erect and noble; the best
     horseman of his age, and the most graceful figure that could be
     seen on horseback.

     Although in the circle of his friends, where he might be
     unreserved with safety, he took a free share in conversation,
     his colloquial talents were not above mediocrity, possessing
     neither copiousness of ideas nor fluency of words. In public,
     when called on for a sudden opinion, he was unready, short, and
     embarrassed. Yet he wrote readily, rather diffusely, in an easy
     and correct style. This he had acquired by conversation with the
     world, for his education was merely reading, writing, and common
     arithmetic, to which he added surveying at a later day. His time
     was employed in action chiefly, reading little, and that only
     in agriculture and English history. His correspondence became
     necessarily extensive, and, with journalizing his agricultural
     proceedings, occupied most of his leisure hours within-doors.

     On the whole, his character was, in its mass, perfect; in
     nothing bad, in few points indifferent; and it may truly be
     said, that never did nature and fortune combine more perfectly
     to make a man great, and to place him in the same constellation
     with whatever worthies have merited from man an everlasting
     remembrance. For his was the singular destiny and merit of
     leading the armies of his country successfully through an
     arduous war, for the establishment of its independence; of
     conducting its councils through the birth of a Government new in
     its forms and principles, until it had settled down into a quiet
     and orderly train; and of scrupulously obeying the laws through
     the whole of his career, civil and military, of which the
     history of the world furnishes no other example. How, then, can
     it be perilous for you to take such a man on your shoulders?...

     He has often declared to me that he considered our new
     Constitution as an experiment on the practicability of
     republican government, and with what dose of liberty man
     could be trusted for his own good; that he was determined the
     experiment should have a fair trial, and would lose the last
     drop of his blood in support of it.... I do believe that General
     Washington had not a firm confidence in the durability of our
     Government.... I felt on his death, with my countrymen, that
     "Verily a great man hath fallen this day in Israel."

The following pleasing anecdote in relation to Jefferson's devotion
to Washington is remembered by his family. Long years after he had
retired from public life, some admirer of Jefferson's, who lived
in France, sent a wreath of immortelles to a member of the family
at Monticello, with the request that it might be placed round his
brow on his birthday. Jefferson ordered it to be placed, instead, on
Washington's bust, where it ever afterwards rested.

On another occasion, while riding after night with a member of his
family, the conversation fell upon Washington. Mr. Jefferson was
warm in his expressions of praise and love for him, and finally,
in a burst of enthusiasm, exclaimed, "Washington's fame will go on
increasing until the brightest constellation in yonder heavens shall
be called by his name!"

How different was the education in which such men as Washington
and Jefferson were trained from the more modern system, so happily
criticised by the latter, in the following extract from a letter to
John Adams, bearing date July 5, 1814:

_To John Adams._

     But why am I dosing you with these antediluvian topics? Because
     I am glad to have some one to whom they are familiar, and
     who will not receive them as if dropped from the moon. Our
     post-revolutionary youth are born under happier stars than
     you and I were. They acquire all learning in their mother's
     womb, and bring it into the world readymade. The information of
     books is no longer necessary; and all knowledge which is not
     innate is in contempt, or neglect at least. Every folly must
     run its round; and so, I suppose, must that of self-learning
     and self-sufficiency; of rejecting the knowledge acquired in
     past ages, and starting on the new ground of intuition. When
     sobered by experience, I hope our successors will turn their
     attention to the advantages of education--I mean of education on
     the broad scale, and not that of the petty _academies_, as they
     call themselves, which are starting up in every neighborhood,
     and where one or two men, possessing Latin and sometimes Greek,
     a knowledge of the globes, and the first six books of Euclid,
     imagine and communicate this as the sum of science. They commit
     their pupils to the theatre of the world with just taste enough
     of learning to be alienated from industrious pursuits, and not
     enough to do service in the ranks of science.

The following to an old friend finds a place here

_To Mrs. Trist._

                                Monticello, Dec. 26th, 1814.

     My good Friend--The mail between us passes very slowly. Your
     letter of November 17 reached this place on the 14th inst. only.
     I think while you were writing it the candle must have burnt
     blue, and that a priest or some other conjurer should have been
     called in to exorcise your room. To be serious, however, your
     view of things is more gloomy than necessary. True, we are at
     war--that that war was unsuccessful by land the first year, but
     honorable the same year by sea, and equally by sea and land
     ever since. Our resources, both of men and money, are abundant,
     if wisely called forth and administered. I acknowledge that
     experience does not as yet seem to have led our Legislatures
     into the best course of either....

     I think, however, there will be peace. The negotiators at Ghent
     are agreed in every thing except as to a rag of Maine, which we
     can not yield nor they seriously care about, but it serves them
     to hold by until they can hear what the Convention of Hartford
     will do. When they shall see, as they will see, that nothing is
     done there, they will let go their hold, and we shall have peace
     on the _status ante bellum_. You have seen that Vermont and New
     Hampshire refuse to join the mutineers, and Connecticut does it
     with a "saving of her duty to the Federal Constitution." Do you
     believe that Massachusetts, on the good faith and aid of little
     Rhode Island, will undertake a war against the rest of the Union
     and the half of herself? Certainly never--so much for politics.

     We are all well, little and big, young and old. Mr. and Mrs.
     Divers enjoy very so-so health, but keep about. Mr. Randolph had
     the command of a select corps during summer; but that has been
     discharged some time. We are feeding our horses with our wheat,
     and looking at the taxes coming on us as an approaching wave in
     a storm; still I think we shall live as long, eat as much, and
     drink as much, as if the wave had already glided under our ship.
     Somehow or other these things find their way out as they come
     in, and so I suppose they will now. God bless you, and give you
     health, happiness, and hope, the real comforters of this nether

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In a letter to Cæsar A. Rodney, inviting a visit from him, and
written on March 16th, 1815, he says: "You will find me in habitual
good health, great contentedness, enfeebled in body, impaired in
memory, but without decay in my friendships."

In a letter written to Jean Baptiste Say a few days earlier than
the one just quoted, he speaks thus of the society of the country
around him: "The society is much better than is common in country
situations; perhaps there is not a better _country_ society in the
United States. But do not imagine this a Parisian or an academical
society. It consists of plain, honest, and rational neighbors, some
of them well-informed, and men of reading, all superintending their
farms, hospitable and friendly, and speaking nothing but English. The
manners of every nation are the standard of orthodoxy within itself.
But these standards being arbitrary, reasonable people in all allow
free toleration for the manners, as for the religion, of others."

We get a glimpse of the state of his health and his daily habits in a
letter written to a friend in the spring of 1816. He writes:

     I retain good health, and am rather feeble to walk much,
     but ride with ease, passing two or three hours a day on
     horseback,[59] and every three or four months taking, in a
     carriage, a journey of ninety miles to a distant possession,
     where I pass a good deal of my time. My eyes need the aid of
     glasses by night, and, with small print, in the day also. My
     hearing is not quite so sensible as it used to be; no tooth
     shaking yet, but shivering and shrinking in body from the cold
     are now experienced, my thermometer having been as low as 12°
     this morning.

  [59] He was at this time in his seventy-third year.

My greatest oppression is a correspondence afflictingly laborious,
the extent of which I have long been endeavoring to curtail. This
keeps me at the drudgery of the writing-table all the prime hours of
the day, leaving for the gratification of my appetite for reading
only what I can steal from the hours of sleep. Could I reduce this
epistolary corvée within the limits of my friends and affairs, and
give the time redeemed from it to reading and reflection, to history,
ethics, mathematics, my life would be as happy as the infirmities
of age would admit, and I should look on its consummation with the
composure of one "_qui summum nec metuit diem nec optat_."

The cheerfulness of his bright and happy temper gleams out in the
following extract from a letter written a few months later to John

_To John Adams._

     You ask if I would agree to live my seventy, or, rather,
     seventy-three, years over again? To which I say, yea. I think,
     with you, that it is a good world, on the whole; that it has
     been framed on a principle of benevolence, and more pleasure
     than pain dealt out to us. There are, indeed (who might say
     nay), gloomy and hypochondriac minds, inhabitants of diseased
     bodies, disgusted with the present and despairing of the future;
     always counting that the worst will happen, because it may
     happen. To these I say, how much pain have cost us the evils
     which have never happened! My temperament is sanguine. I steer
     my bark with Hope in the head, leaving Fear astern. My hopes,
     indeed, sometimes fail; but not oftener than the forebodings of
     the gloomy. There are, I acknowledge, even in the happiest life,
     some terrible convulsions, heavy set-offs against the opposite
     page of the account....

     Did I know Baron Grimm while at Paris? Yes, most intimately.
     He was the pleasantest and most conversable member of the
     diplomatic corps while I was there; a man of good fancy,
     acuteness, irony, cunning, and egoism. No heart, not much of
     any science, yet enough of every one to speak its language; his
     forte was belles-lettres, painting, and sculpture. In these he
     was the oracle of the society, and, as such, was the Empress
     Catherine's private correspondent and factor in all things
     not diplomatic. It was through him I got her permission for
     poor Ledyard to go to Kamtschatka, and cross over thence to
     the western coast of America, in order to penetrate across our
     continent in the opposite direction to that afterwards adopted
     for Lewis and Clarke; which permission she withdrew after he had
     got within two hundred miles of Kamtschatka, had him seized,
     brought back, and set down in Poland.

_To Mrs. Trist._

                            Poplar Forest, April 28th, 1816.

     I am here, my dear Madam, alive and well, and, notwithstanding
     the murderous histories of the winter, I have not had an
     hour's sickness for a twelvemonth past. I feel myself indebted
     to the fable, however, for the friendly concern expressed in
     your letter, which I received in good health, by my fireside
     at Monticello. These stories will come true one of these
     days, and poor printer Davies need only reserve awhile the
     chapter of commiserations he had the labor to compose, and
     the mortification to recall, after striking off some sheets
     announcing to _his_ readers the happy riddance. But, all
     joking apart, I am well, and left all well a fortnight ago at
     Monticello, to which I shall return in two or three days....

     Jefferson is gone to Richmond to bring home my new
     great-grand-daughter. Your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Divers, are
     habitually in poor health; well enough only to receive visits,
     but not to return them; and this, I think, is all our small news
     which can interest you.

     On the general scale of nations, the greatest wonder is Napoleon
     at St. Helena; and yet it is where it would have been well for
     the lives and happiness of millions and millions, had he been
     deposited there twenty years ago. France would now have had a
     free Government, unstained by the enormities she has enabled
     him to commit on the rest of the world, and unprostrated by
     the vindictive hand, human or divine, now so heavily bearing
     upon her. She deserves much punishment, and her successes and
     reverses will be a wholesome lesson to the world hereafter;
     but she has now had enough, and we may lawfully pray for her
     resurrection, and I am confident the day is not distant. No one
     who knows that people, and the elasticity of their character,
     can believe they will long remain crouched on the earth as
     at present. They will rise by acclamation, and woe to their
     riders. What havoc are we not yet to see! But these sufferings
     of all Europe will not be lost. A sense of the rights of man is
     gone forth, and all Europe will ere long have representative
     governments, more or less free....

     We are better employed in establishing universities, colleges,
     canals, roads, maps, etc. What do you say to all this? Who
     could have believed the Old Dominion would have roused from her
     supineness, and taken such a scope at her first flight? My only
     fear is that an hour of repentance may come, and nip in the bud
     the execution of conceptions so magnanimous. With my friendly
     respects to Mr. and Mrs. Gilmer, accept the assurance of my
     constant attachment and respect.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In a letter to John Adams, written at the beginning of the next
year (1817), he complains bitterly of the burden of his extensive

_To John Adams._

                                Monticello, Jan. 11th, 1817.

     Dear Sir--Forty-three volumes read in one year, and twelve of
     them quarto! Dear Sir, how I envy you! Half a dozen octavos in
     that space of time are as much as I am allowed. I can read by
     candle-light only, and stealing long hours from my rest; nor
     would that time be indulged to me, could I by that light see to
     write. From sunrise to one or two o'clock, and often from dinner
     to dark, I am drudging at the writing-table. All this to answer
     letters into which neither interest nor inclination on my part
     enters; and often from persons whose names I have never before
     heard. Yet, writing civilly, it is hard to refuse them civil
     answers. This is the burthen of my life, a very grievous one
     indeed, and one which I must get rid of.

     Delaplaine lately requested me to give him a line on the subject
     of his book; meaning, as I well knew, to publish it. This I
     constantly refuse; but in this instance yielded, that in saying
     a word for him I might say two for myself. I expressed in it
     freely my sufferings from this source; hoping it would have
     the effect of an indirect appeal to the discretion of those,
     strangers and others, who, in the most friendly dispositions,
     oppress me with their concerns, their pursuits, their projects,
     inventions, and speculations, political, moral, religious,
     mechanical, mathematical, historical, etc., etc., etc. I hope
     the appeal will bring me relief, and that I shall be left to
     exercise and enjoy correspondence with the friends I love, and
     on subjects which they, or my own inclinations, present. In that
     case your letters shall not be so long on my files unanswered,
     as sometimes they have been to my great mortification.

From a letter to his son-in-law, Mr. Eppes, written the previous
year, I take the following extract:

_To John W. Eppes._

     I am indeed an unskillful manager of my farms, and sensible
     of this from its effects, I have now committed them to better
     hands, of whose care and skill I have satisfactory knowledge,
     and to whom I have ceded the entire direction.[60] This is
     all that is necessary to make them adequate to all my wants,
     and to place me at entire ease. And for whom should I spare
     in preference to Francis, on sentiments either of duty or
     affection? I consider all my grandchildren as if they were my
     children, and want nothing but for them. It is impossible that I
     could reconcile it to my feelings, that he alone of them should
     be a stranger to my cares and contributions.

  [60] The person here alluded to was his grandson, Thomas
  Jefferson Randolph.

From this extract we learn that Mr. Jefferson had found the cares
of his large estates too great a burden for him to carry in his
advancing years, and gladly handed them over into the hands of the
young grandson, in whose skill and energy he expresses such perfect
confidence. From this time until the day of Jefferson's death, we
shall find this grandson interposing himself, as far as possible,
between his grandfather and his financial troubles, and trying to
shield him, at least during his life, from the financial ruin which
the circumstances of his situation made unavoidable. With his usual
sanguine temper, Jefferson did not appreciate the extent to which his
property was involved.

In a letter to his young grandson, Francis Eppes, after alluding to
his studies, he says:

_To Francis Eppes._

     But while you endeavor, by a good store of learning, to prepare
     yourself to become a useful and distinguished member of your
     country, you must remember that this never can be without
     uniting merit with your learning. Honesty, disinterestedness,
     and good-nature are indispensable to procure the esteem and
     confidence of those with whom we live, and on whose esteem our
     happiness depends. Never suffer a thought to be harbored in your
     mind which you would not avow openly. When tempted to do any
     thing in secret, ask yourself if you would do it in public; if
     you would not, be sure it is wrong. In little disputes with your
     companions, give way rather than insist on trifles, for their
     love and the approbation of others will be worth more to you
     than the trifle in dispute. Above all things and at all times,
     practise yourself in good humor; this, of all human qualities,
     is the most amiable and endearing to society. Whenever you
     feel a warmth of temper rising, check it at once, and suppress
     it, recollecting it would make you unhappy within yourself
     and disliked by others. Nothing gives one person so great an
     advantage over another under all circumstances. Think of these
     things, practise them, and you will be rewarded by the love and
     confidence of the world.

I have given, in the earlier pages of this work, the charming
sketches of Monticello and its owner from the pens of two
distinguished Frenchmen,[61] and, fortunately, the Travels of
Lieutenant Hall, a British officer, enable me to give a similar
sketch from the pen of an Englishman. Their national prejudices
and enthusiasm might be thought to have made the French noblemen
color their pictures too highly when describing Jefferson; but
certainly, if ever he had a critical visitor, a British officer
might be considered to have been one, and in this view the following
pleasantly-written account of Mr. Hall's visit to Monticello in 1816
will be found particularly interesting:

_Lieut. Hall's Visit to Jefferson._[62]

  [61] Pages 58 _et seq._, and 235 _et seq._

  [62] Travels in Canada and the United States, in 1816 and 1817,
  by Lieutenant Francis Hall.

     Having an introduction to Mr. Jefferson (Mr. Hall writes), I
     ascended his little mountain on a fine morning, which gave
     the situation its due effect. The whole of the sides and base
     are covered with forest, through which roads have been cut
     circularly, so that the winding may be shortened at pleasure;
     the summit is an open lawn, near to the south side of which
     the house is built, with its garden just descending the brow;
     the saloon, or central hall, is ornamented with several pieces
     of antique sculpture, Indian arms, mammoth bones, and other
     curiosities collected from various parts of the Union. I found
     Mr. Jefferson tall in person, but stooping and lean with old
     age, thus exhibiting the fortunate mode of bodily decay which
     strips the frame of its most cumbersome parts, leaving it still
     strength of muscle and activity of limb. His deportment was
     exactly such as the Marquis de Chastellux describes it above
     thirty years ago. "At first serious, nay even cold," but in a
     very short time relaxing into a most agreeable amenity, with
     an unabated flow of conversation on the most interesting topics
     discussed in the most gentlemanly and philosophical manner.

     I walked with him round his grounds, to visit his pet trees
     and improvements of various kinds. During the walk he pointed
     out to my observation a conical mountain, rising singly at the
     edge of the southern horizon of the landscape; its distance,
     he said, was forty miles, and its dimensions those of the
     greater Egyptian pyramid; so that it actually represents the
     appearance of the pyramid at the same distance. There is a small
     cleft visible on the summit, through which the true meridian
     of Monticello exactly passes; its most singular property,
     however, is, that on different occasions it looms, or alters
     its appearance, becoming sometimes cylindrical, sometimes
     square, and sometimes assuming the form of an inverted cone.
     Mr. Jefferson had not been able to connect this phenomenon with
     any particular season or state of the atmosphere, except that
     it most commonly occurred in the forenoon. He observed that it
     was not only wholly unaccounted for by the laws of vision, but
     that it had not as yet engaged the attention of philosophers so
     far as to acquire a name; that of "looming" being, in fact, a
     term applied by sailors to appearances of a similar kind at sea.
     The Blue Mountains are also observed to loom, though not in so
     remarkable a degree....

     I slept a night at Monticello, and left it in the morning, with
     such a feeling as the traveller quits the mouldering remains of
     a Grecian temple, or the pilgrim a fountain in the desert. It
     would, indeed, argue a great torpor, both of understanding and
     heart, to have looked without veneration or interest on the man
     who drew up the Declaration of American Independence, who shared
     in the councils by which her freedom was established; whom the
     unbought voice of his fellow-citizens called to the exercise
     of a dignity from which his own moderation impelled him, when
     such an example was most salutary, to withdraw; and who, while
     he dedicates the evening of his glorious days to the pursuits
     of science and literature, shuns none of the humbler duties
     of private life; but, having filled a seat higher than that
     of kings, succeeds with graceful dignity to that of the good
     neighbor, and becomes the friendly adviser, lawyer, physician,
     and even gardener of his vicinity. This is the still small
     voice of philosophy, deeper and holier than the lightnings and
     earthquakes which have preceded it. What monarch would venture
     thus to exhibit himself in the nakedness of his humanity? On
     what royal brow would the laurel replace the diadem? But they
     who are born and educated to be kings are not expected to be
     philosophers. This is a just answer, though no great compliment,
     either to the governors or the governed.

Early in 1817 Jefferson wrote the following delightful letter to Mrs.
Adams--the last, I believe, that he ever addressed to her:

_To Mrs. Adams._

                                Monticello, Jan. 11th, 1817.

     I owe you, dear Madam, a thousand thanks for the letters
     communicated in your favor of December 15th, and now returned.
     They give me more information than I possessed before of the
     family of Mr. Tracy.[63] But what is infinitely interesting, is
     the scene of the exchange of Louis XVIII. for Bonaparte. What
     lessons of wisdom Mr. Adams must have read in that short space
     of time! More than fall to the lot of others in the course of a
     long life. Man, and the man of Paris, under those circumstances,
     must have been a subject of profound speculation! It would be a
     singular addition to that spectacle to see the same beast in the
     cage of St. Helena, like a lion in the tower. That is probably
     the closing verse of the chapter of his crimes. But not so with
     Louis. He has other vicissitudes to go through.

  [63] One of his French friends, the Comte de Tracy.

I communicated the letters, according to your permission, to my
grand-daughter, Ellen Randolph, who read them with pleasure and
edification. She is justly sensible of, and flattered by, your kind
notice of her; and additionally so by the favorable recollections
of our Northern visiting friends. If Monticello has any thing which
has merited their remembrance, it gives it a value the more in our
estimation; and could I, in the spirit of your wish, count backward
a score of years, it would not be long before Ellen and myself would
pay our homage personally to Quincy. But those twenty years! Alas!
where are they? With those beyond the flood. Our next meeting must
then be in the country to which they have flown--a country for us
not now very distant. For this journey we shall need neither gold
nor silver in our purse, nor scrip, nor coats, nor staves. Nor is
the provision for it more easy than the preparation has been kind.
Nothing proves more than this, that the Being who presides over the
world is essentially benevolent--stealing from us, one by one, the
faculties of enjoyment, searing our sensibilities, leading us, like
the horse in his mill, round and round the same beaten circle--

                    To see what we have seen,
    To taste the tasted, and at each return
    Less tasteful; o'er our palates to decant
    Another vintage--

until, satiated and fatigued with this leaden iteration, we ask our
own _congé_.

I heard once a very old friend, who had troubled himself with neither
poets nor philosophers, say the same thing in plain prose, that
he was tired of pulling off his shoes and stockings at night, and
putting them on again in the morning. The wish to stay here is thus
gradually extinguished; but not so easily that of returning once in
a while to see how things have gone on. Perhaps, however, one of the
elements of future felicity is to be a constant and unimpassioned
view of what is passing here. If so, this may well supply the wish
of occasional visits. Mercier has given us a vision of the year
2440; but prophecy is one thing, and history another. On the whole,
however, perhaps it is wise and well to be contented with the good
things which the Master of the feast places before us, and to be
thankful for what we have, rather than thoughtful about what we have

You and I, dear Madam, have already had more than an ordinary portion
of life, and more, too, of health than the general measure. On this
score I owe boundless thankfulness. Your health was some time ago not
so good as it has been, and I perceive in the letters communicated
some complaints still. I hope it is restored; and that life and
health may be continued to you as many years as yourself shall wish,
is the sincere prayer of your affectionate and respectful friend.

The pleasant intercourse between Mr. Jefferson and Mrs. Adams
terminated only with the death of the latter, which took place in
the fall of the year 1818, and drew from Jefferson the following
beautiful and touching letter to his ancient friend and colleague:

_To John Adams._

                            Monticello, November 13th, 1818.

     The public papers, my dear friend, announce the fatal event
     of which your letter of October the 20th had given me ominous
     foreboding. Tried myself in the school of affliction, by the
     loss of every form of connection which can rive the human
     heart, I know well, and feel what you have lost, what you
     have suffered, are suffering, and have yet to endure. The
     same trials have taught me that for ills so immeasurable time
     and silence are the only medicine. I will not, therefore, by
     useless condolences, open afresh the sluices of your grief, nor,
     although mingling sincerely my tears with yours, will I say a
     word more where words are vain, but that it is of some comfort
     to us both that the term is not very distant at which we are to
     deposit in the same cerement our sorrows and suffering bodies,
     and to ascend in essence to an ecstatic meeting with the friends
     we have loved and lost, and whom we shall still love and never
     lose again. God bless you and support you under your heavy

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In the following letter we have a most interesting and minute account
of Mr. Jefferson's habits and mode of life:

_To Doctor Vine Utley._

                               Monticello, March 21st, 1819.

     Sir--Your letter of February the 18th came to hand on the 1st
     instant; and the request of the history of my physical habits
     would have puzzled me not a little, had it not been for the
     model with which you accompanied it of Doctor Rush's answer
     to a similar inquiry. I live so much like other people, that
     I might refer to ordinary life as the history of my own. Like
     my friend the Doctor, I have lived temperately, eating little
     animal food, and that not as an aliment so much as a condiment
     for the vegetables, which constitute my principal diet. I
     double, however, the Doctor's glass-and-a-half of wine, and even
     treble it with a friend; but halve its effect by drinking the
     weak wines only. The ardent wines I can not drink, nor do I use
     ardent spirits in any form. Malt liquors and cider are my table
     drinks, and my breakfast, like that also of my friend, is of tea
     and coffee. I have been blest with organs of digestion which
     accept and concoct without ever murmuring whatever the palate
     chooses to consign to them, and I have not yet lost a tooth by

     I was a hard student until I entered on the business of life,
     the duties of which leave no idle time to those disposed to
     fulfill them; and now, retired, at the age of seventy-six, I am
     again a hard student. Indeed, my fondness for reading and study
     revolts me from the drudgery of letter-writing; and a stiff
     wrist, the consequence of an early dislocation, makes writing
     both slow and painful. I am not so regular in my sleep as the
     Doctor says he was, devoting to it from five to eight hours,
     according as my company or the book I am reading interests me;
     and I never go to bed without an hour, or half-hour's reading
     of something moral whereon to ruminate in the intervals of
     sleep. But whether I retire to bed early or late, I rise with
     the sun. I use spectacles at night, but not necessarily in the
     day, unless in reading small print. My hearing is distinct in
     particular conversation, but confused when several voices cross
     each other, which unfits me for the society of the table.

     I have been more fortunate than my friend in the article of
     health. So free from catarrhs, that I have not had one (in the
     breast, I mean) on an average of eight or ten years through
     life. I ascribe this exemption partly to the habit of bathing
     my feet in cold water every morning for sixty years past. A
     fever of more than twenty-four hours I have not had above two
     or three times in my life. A periodical headache has afflicted
     me occasionally, once, perhaps, in six or eight years, for two
     or three weeks at a time, which seems now to have left me; and,
     except on a late occasion of indisposition, I enjoy good health;
     too feeble, indeed, to walk much, but riding without fatigue six
     or eight miles a day, and sometimes thirty or forty.

     I may end these egotisms, therefore, as I began, by saying that
     my life has been so much like that of other people, that I might
     say with Horace, to every one, "_Nomine mutato, narratur fabula
     de te_." I must not end, however, without due thanks for the
     kind sentiments of regard you are so good as to express towards
     myself; and with my acknowledgments for these, be pleased to
     accept the assurances of my respect and esteem.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

In the following month of the same year we find him receiving a
letter from Mrs. Cosway, who had long been silent. I give the
following quotation from this letter, Jefferson's reply, and other
letters from her, which close their pleasant correspondence.

_From Mrs. Cosway._--[_Extract._]

                                    London, April 7th, 1819.

     My different journeys to the Continent were either caused by
     bad health or other particular private melancholy motives; but
     on any sudden information of Mr. C.'s bad health, I hastened
     home to see him. In my stay on the Continent, I was called to
     form establishments of education: one at Lyons, which met with
     the most flattering success; and lastly, one in Italy, equally
     answering every hoped-for consolation. Oh! how often have I
     thought of America, and wished to have exerted myself there!
     Who would ever have imagined that I should have taken up this
     line! It has afforded me satisfactions unfelt before, after
     having been deprived of my own child. What comfortable feelings
     in seeing children grow up accomplished, modest, and virtuous
     women! They are hardly gone home from the establishment at
     fifteen, but are married and become patterns to their sex.

     But am I not breaking the rules of modesty myself, and boasting
     too much? In what better manner can I relate this? However,
     though seemingly settled at Lodi, I was ever ready to return
     home when called. At last, at the first opening of communication
     on the cessation of the cruel hostilities which kept us all
     asunder, alarmed at the indifferent accounts of Mr. C.'s health,
     I hastened home. He is much broken, and has had two paralytic
     strokes, the last of which has deprived him of the use of his
     right hand and arm. Forgotten by the arts, suspended from the
     direction of education (though it is going on vastly well in
     my absence), I am now discharging the occupations of a nurse,
     happy in the self-gratification of doing my duty with no other
     consolation. In your "Dialogue," your Head would tell me, "That
     is enough;" your Heart, perhaps, will understand I might wish
     for more. God's will be done!

     What a loss to me not having the loved Mrs. Church! and how
     grieved I was when told she was no more among the living! I used
     to see Madame de Corny in Paris. She still lives, but in bad
     health. She is the only one left of the common friends we knew.
     Strange changes, over and over again, all over Europe--you only
     are proceeding on well.

     Now, my dear Sir, forgive this long letter. May I flatter myself
     to hear from you? Give me some accounts of yourself as you used
     to do; instead of Challion and Paris, talk to me of Monticello.

_To Mrs. Cosway._

                                Monticello, Dec. 27th, 1820.

     "Over the length of silence I draw a curtain," is an expression,
     my dear friend, of your cherished letter of April 7, 1819, of
     which, it might seem, I have need to avail myself; but not
     so really. To seventy-seven heavy years add two of prostrate
     health, during which all correspondence has been suspended of
     necessity, and you have the true cause of not having heard from
     me. My wrist, too, dislocated in Paris while I had the pleasure
     of being there with you, is, by the effect of years, now so
     stiffened that writing is become a slow and painful operation,
     and scarcely ever undertaken but under the goad of imperious
     business. But I have never lost sight of your letter, and give
     it now the first place among those of my trans-Atlantic friends
     which have been lying unacknowledged during the same period of
     ill health.

     I rejoice, in the first place, that you are well; for your
     silence on that subject encourages me to presume it. And
     next, that you have been so usefully and pleasingly occupied
     in preparing the minds of others to enjoy the blessings you
     yourself have derived from the same source--a cultivated
     mind. Of Mr. Cosway I fear to say any thing, such is the
     disheartening account of the state of his health given in your
     letter; but here or wherever, I am sure he has all the happiness
     which an honest life assures. Nor will I say any thing of the
     troubles of those among whom you live. I see they are great, and
     wish them happily out of them, and especially that you may be
     safe and happy, whatever be their issue.

     I will talk about Monticello, then, and my own country, as is
     the wish expressed in your letter. My daughter Randolph, whom
     you knew in Paris a young girl, is now the mother of eleven
     living children, the grandmother of about half a dozen others,
     enjoys health and good spirits, and sees the worth of her
     husband attested by his being at present Governor of the State
     in which we live. Among these I live like a patriarch of old.
     Our friend Trumbull is well, and is profitably and honorably
     employed by his country in commemorating with his pencil some of
     its Revolutionary honors. Of Mrs. Conger I hear nothing, nor,
     for a long time, of Madame de Corny. Such is the present state
     of our former coterie--dead, diseased, and dispersed. But "tout
     ce qui est differé n'est pas perdu," says the French proverb,
     and the religion you so sincerely profess tells us we shall meet

     Mine is the next turn, and I shall meet it with good-will;
     for after one's friends are all gone before them, and our
     faculties leaving us, too, one by one, why wish to linger in
     mere vegetation, as a solitary trunk in a desolate field, from
     which all its former companions have disappeared. You have
     many good years remaining yet to be happy yourself and to make
     those around you happy. May these, my dear friend, be as many
     as yourself may wish, and all of them filled with health and
     happiness, will be among the last and warmest wishes of an
     unchangeable friend.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The original of the following letter, now lying before me, is edged
with black:

_From Mrs. Cosway._

                                    London, July 15th, 1821.

     My dear and most esteemed Friend--The appearance of this letter
     will inform you I have been left a _widow_. Poor Mr. Cosway was
     suddenly taken by an apoplectic fit, and, being the third,
     proved his last. At the time we had hopes he would enjoy a few
     years, for he had never been so well and so happy. Change of air
     was rendered necessary for his health. I took a very charming
     house, and fitted it up handsomely and comfortably with those
     pictures and things which he liked most.

     All my thoughts and actions were for him. He had neglected his
     affairs very much, and when I was obliged to take them into my
     hands I was astonished. I took every means of ameliorating them,
     and had succeeded, at least for his comfort, and my consolation
     was his constantly repeating how well and how happy he was. We
     had an auction of all his effects, and his house in Stratford
     Place, which lasted two months. My fatigue was excessive. The
     sale did not produce as much as we expected, but enough to make
     him comfortable, and prevent his being embarrassed, as he might
     have been had I not lived accordingly. Every body thought he was
     very rich, and I was astonished when put into the real knowledge
     of his situation. He made his will two years ago, and left me
     sole executrix and mistress of every thing.

     After having settled every thing here, and provided for three
     cousins of Mr. C.'s, I shall retire from this bustling and
     insignificant world to my favorite college at Lodi, as I always
     intended, where I can employ myself so happily in doing good.

     I wish Monticello was not so far--I would pay you a visit, were
     it ever so much out of my way; but it is impossible. I long to
     hear from you. The remembrance of a person I so highly esteem
     and venerate affords me the happiest consolations, and your
     patriarchal situation delights me--such as I expected from you.
     Notwithstanding your indifference for a world of which you make
     one of the most distinguished ornaments and members, I wish you
     may still enjoy many years, and feel the happiness of a nation
     which produces such characters.

     I will write again before I leave this country (at this moment
     in so boisterous an occupation, as you must be informed of),
     and I will send you my direction. I shall go through Paris and
     talk of you with Madame de Corny. Believe me ever your most
     affectionate and obliged

                                               MARIA COSWAY.

_From Mrs. Cosway._--[_Extract._]

                                     Milan, June 18th, 1823.

     I congratulate you on the undertaking you announce me of the
     fine building[64] which occupies your taste and knowledge, and
     gratifies your heart. The work is worthy of you--you are worthy
     of such enjoyment. Nothing, I think, is more useful to mankind
     than a good education. I may say I have been very fortunate to
     give a spring to it in this country, and see those children I
     have had the care of turn out good wives, excellent mothers,
     _et bonnes femmes de ménage_, which was not understood in these
     countries, and which is the principal object of society, and the
     only useful one.

  [64] The University of Virginia.

I wish I could come and learn from you; were it the farthest part of
Europe nothing would prevent me, but that immense sea makes a great
distance. I hope, however, to hear from you as often as you can favor
me. I am glad you approve my choice of Lodi. It is a pretty place,
and free from the bustle of the world, which is become troublesome.
What a change since you were here! I saw Madame de Corny when at
Paris: she is the same, only a little older.

_From Mrs. Cosway._

                                 Florence, Sept. 24th, 1824.

     My dear Sir, and good Friend--I am come to visit my native
     country, and am much delighted with every thing round it. The
     arts have made great progress, and Mr. Cosway's drawings have
     been very much admired, which induced me to place in the gallery
     a very fine portrait of his. I have found here an opportunity of
     sending this letter by Leghorn, which I had not at Milan.

     I wish much to hear from you, and how you go on with your
     fine Seminary. I have had my grand saloon painted with the
     representation of the four parts of the world, and the most
     distinguished objects of them. I am at loss for America, as I
     found very few small prints--however, Washington town is marked,
     and I have left a hill bare where I would place Monticello and
     the Seminary: if you favor me with some description, that I
     might have them introduced, you would oblige me much. I am just
     setting out for my home. Pray write to me at Lodi, and, if this
     reaches you safely, I will write longer by the same way. Believe
     me ever, your most obliged and affectionate friend,

                                               MARIA COSWAY.


     Letters to John Adams.--Number of Letters written and
     received.-- To John Adams.--Breaks his Arm.--Letter to Judge
     Johnson.--To Lafayette.--The University of Virginia.--Anxiety
     to have Southern Young Men educated at the South.--Letters
     on the Subject.-- Lafayette's Visit to America.--His Meeting
     with Jefferson.-- Daniel Webster's Visit to Monticello, and
     Description of Mr. Jefferson.

In the following letter to Mr. Adams we find Mr. Jefferson not
complaining of, but fully appreciating the rapidity with which old
age and its debilities were advancing on him:

_To John Adams._

                                 Monticello, June 1st, 1822.

     It is very long, my dear Sir, since I have written to you. My
     dislocated wrist is now become so stiff that I write slowly
     and with pain, and therefore write as little as I can. Yet it
     is due to mutual friendship to ask once in a while how we do.
     The papers tell us that General Stark is off at the age of 93.
     Charles Thompson still lives at about the same age--cheerful,
     slender as a grasshopper, and so much without memory that he
     scarcely recognizes the members of his household. An intimate
     friend of his called on him not long since; it was difficult to
     make him recollect who he was, and, sitting one hour, he told
     him the same story four times over. Is this life--

                                  "With lab'ring step
       To tread our former footsteps?--pace the round
       Eternal?--to beat and beat
       The beaten track?--to see what we have seen,
       To taste the tasted?--o'er our palates to decant
       Another vintage?"

     It is at most but the life of a cabbage; surely not worth a
     wish. When all our faculties have left, or are leaving us,
     one by one--sight, hearing, memory--every avenue of pleasing
     sensation is closed, and athumy, debility, and malaise left
     in their places--when friends of our youth are all gone, and a
     generation is risen around us whom we know not, is death an evil?

        "When one by one our ties are torn,
       And friend from friend is snatched forlorn,
       When man is left alone to mourn,
       Oh! then how sweet it is to die!
       When trembling limbs refuse their weight,
       And films slow gathering dim the sight,
       When clouds obscure the mental light,
       'Tis nature's kindest boon to die!"

     I really think so. I have ever dreaded a doting old age; and
     my health has been generally so good, and is now so good, that
     I dread it still. The rapid decline of my strength during the
     last winter has made me hope sometimes that I see land. During
     summer I enjoy its temperature; but I shudder at the approach of
     winter, and wish I could sleep through it with the dormouse, and
     only wake with him in spring, if ever. They say that Stark could
     walk about his room. I am told you walk well and firmly. I can
     only reach my garden, and that with sensible fatigue. I ride,
     however, daily. But reading is my delight. I should wish never
     to put pen to paper; and the more because of the treacherous
     practice some people have of publishing one's letters without
     leave. Lord Mansfield declared it a breach of trust, and
     punishable at law. I think it should be a penitentiary felony;
     yet you will have seen that they have drawn me out into the
     arena of the newspapers.[65] Although I know it is too late for
     me to buckle on the armor of youth, yet my indignation would not
     permit me passively to receive the kick of an ass.

  [65] Alluding to a reply which he made to an attack made on him
  by one signing himself a "Native Virginian."

To turn to the news of the day, it seems that the cannibals of Europe
are going to eating one another again. A war between Russia and
Turkey is like the battle of the kite and snake. Whichever destroys
the other leaves a destroyer the less for the world. This pugnacious
humor of mankind seems to be the law of his nature, one of the
obstacles to too great multiplication provided in the mechanism of
the universe. The cocks of the hen-yard kill one another. Bears,
bulls, rams, do the same. And the horse, in his wild state, kills
all the young males, until, worn down with age and war, some vigorous
youth kills him, and takes to himself the harem of females. I hope we
shall prove how much happier for man the Quaker policy is, and that
the life of the feeder is better than that of the fighter; and it is
some consolation that the desolation by these maniacs of one part of
the earth is the means of improving it in other parts. Let the latter
be our office, and let us milk the cow, while the Russian holds her
by the horns, and the Turk by the tail. God bless you, and give you
health, strength, and good spirits, and as much of life as you think
worth having.

In another letter to Mr. Adams he gives really a pitiable account of
the tax on his strength which letter-writing had become. Mr. Adams
had suggested that he should publish the letter just quoted, by way
of letting the public know how much he suffered from the number of
letters he had to answer. Jefferson, in reply, says:

_To John Adams._

     I do not know how far you may suffer, as I do, under the
     persecution of letters, of which every mail brings a fresh
     load. They are letters of inquiry, for the most part, always
     of good-will, sometimes from friends whom I esteem, but much
     oftener from persons whose names are unknown to me, but written
     kindly and civilly, and to which, therefore, civility requires
     answers. Perhaps the better-known failure of your hand in its
     function of writing may shield you in greater degree from this
     distress, and so far qualify the misfortune of its disability.
     I happened to turn to my letter-list some time ago, and a
     curiosity was excited to count those received in a single year.
     It was the year before the last. I found the number to be one
     thousand two hundred and sixty-seven, many of them requiring
     answers of elaborate research, and all to be answered with due
     attention and consideration. Take an average of this number
     for a week or a day, and I will repeat the question suggested
     by other considerations in mine of the 1st. Is this life? At
     best it is but the life of a mill-horse, who sees no end to
     his circle but in death. To such a life that of a cabbage is
     paradise. It occurs, then, that my condition of existence,
     truly stated in that letter, if better known, might check the
     kind indiscretions which are so heavily depressing the departing
     hours of life. Such a relief would, to me, be an ineffable

The reader can form some idea of the extent of this correspondence,
which, in his old age, became such a grievous burden to the veteran
statesman, from the fact that the letters received by him that were
preserved amounted to twenty-six thousand at the time of his death;
while the copies left by him, of those which he himself had written,
numbered sixteen thousand. These were but a small portion of what he
wrote, as he wrote numbers of which he retained no copies.

Mr. Jefferson's estimate of Napoleon's character is found in the
following interesting extract from a letter written to Mr. Adams,
February 24, 1823:

_To John Adams.--Character of Napoleon._

     I have just finished reading O'Meara's Bonaparte. It places him
     in a higher scale of understanding than I had allotted him. I
     had thought him the greatest of all military captains, but an
     indifferent statesman, and misled by unworthy passions. The
     flashes, however, which escaped from him in these conversations
     with O'Meara prove a mind of great expansion, although not of
     distinct development and reasoning. He seizes results with
     rapidity and penetration, but never explains logically the
     process of reasoning by which he arrives at them.

     This book, too, makes us forget his atrocities for a moment,
     in commiseration of his sufferings. I will not say that the
     authorities of the world, charged with the care of their country
     and people, had not a right to confine him for life, as a lion
     or tiger, on the principle of self-preservation. There was no
     safety to nations while he was permitted to roam at large. But
     the putting him to death in cold blood, by lingering tortures
     of mind, by vexations, insults, and deprivations, was a degree
     of inhumanity to which the poisonings and assassinations of
     the school of Borgia and den of Marat never attained. The book
     proves, also, that nature had denied him the moral sense, the
     first excellence of well-organized man. If he could seriously
     and repeatedly affirm that he had raised himself to power
     without ever having committed a crime, it proved that he wanted
     totally the sense of right and wrong. If he could consider
     the millions of human lives which he had destroyed, or caused
     to be destroyed, the desolations of countries by plunderings,
     burnings, and famine, the destitutions of lawful rulers of
     the world without the consent of their constituents, to place
     his brothers and sisters on their thrones, the cutting up of
     established societies of men and jumbling them discordantly
     together again at his caprice, the demolition of the fairest
     hopes of mankind for the recovery of their rights and
     amelioration of their condition, and all the numberless train
     of his other enormities--the man, I say, who could consider all
     these as no crimes, must have been a moral monster, against whom
     every hand should have been lifted to slay him.

     You are so kind as to inquire after my health. The bone of
     my arm is well knitted, but my hand and fingers are in a
     discouraging condition, kept entirely useless by an œdematous
     swelling of slow amendment. God bless you, and continue your
     good health of body and mind.

The broken arm alluded to at the close of this letter was caused
by an accident which Mr. Jefferson met with towards the close of
the year 1822. While descending a flight of steps leading from one
of the terraces at Monticello, a decayed plank gave way and threw
him forward at full length on the ground. To a man in his eightieth
year such a fall might have been fatal, and Jefferson was fortunate
in escaping with a broken arm, though it gave him much pain at
the time, and was a serious inconvenience to him during the few
remaining years of his life. Though debarred from his usual daily
exercise on horseback for a short time after the accident occurred,
he resumed his rides while his arm was yet in a sling. His favorite
riding-horse, Eagle, was brought up to the terrace, whence he mounted
while in this disabled state. Eagle, though a spirited Virginia
full-blood, seemed instinctively to know that his venerable master
was an invalid; for, usually restless and spirited, he on these
occasions stood as quietly as a lamb, and, leaning up towards the
terrace, seemed to wish to aid the crippled octogenarian as he
mounted into the saddle.

I make the following extracts from a letter full of interest, written
to Judge Johnson, of South Carolina, early in the summer of 1823. He

_To Judge Johnson._

     What a treasure will be found in General Washington's cabinet,
     when it shall pass into the hands of as candid a friend to truth
     as he was himself!...

     With respect to his [Washington's] Farewell Address, to the
     authorship of which, it seems, there are conflicting claims,
     I can state to you some facts. He had determined to decline a
     re-election at the end of his first term, and so far determined,
     that he had requested Mr. Madison to prepare for him something
     valedictory, to be addressed to his constituents on his
     retirement. This was done: but he was finally persuaded to
     acquiesce in a second election, to which no one more strenuously
     pressed him than myself, from a conviction of the importance of
     strengthening, by longer habit, the respect necessary for that
     office, which the weight of his character only could effect.
     When, at the end of this second term, his Valedictory came out,
     Mr. Madison recognized in it several passages of his draught;
     several others, we were both satisfied, were from the pen of
     Hamilton; and others from that of the President himself. These
     he probably put into the hands of Hamilton to form into a whole,
     and hence it may all appear in Hamilton's handwriting, as if it
     were all of his composition....

     The close of my second sheet warns me that it is time now to
     relieve you from this letter of unmerciful length. Indeed, I
     wonder how I have accomplished it, with two crippled wrists,
     the one scarcely able to move my pen, the other to hold my
     paper. But I am hurried sometimes beyond the sense of pain,
     when unbosoming myself to friends who harmonize with me in
     principle. You and I may differ occasionally in details of
     minor consequence, as no two minds, more than two faces, are
     the same in every feature. But our general objects are the
     same--to preserve the republican forms and principles of our
     Constitution, and cleave to the salutary distribution of powers
     which that has established. These are the two sheet-anchors
     of our Union. If driven from either, we shall be in danger of
     foundering. To my prayers for its safety and perpetuity, I
     add those for the continuation of your health, happiness, and
     usefulness to your country.

Towards the close of the year 1823 he wrote a long letter to
Lafayette, the following extracts from which show how well he felt
the infirmities of old age advancing upon him:

_To the Marquis de Lafayette._--[_Extracts._]

                             Monticello, November 4th, 1823.

     My dear Friend--Two dislocated wrists and crippled fingers
     have rendered writing so slow and laborious, as to oblige me
     to withdraw from nearly all correspondence--not however, from
     yours, while I can make a stroke with a pen. We have gone
     through too many trying scenes together to forget the sympathies
     and affections they nourished....

     After much sickness, and the accident of a broken and disabled
     arm, I am again in tolerable health, but extremely debilitated,
     so as to be scarcely able to walk into my garden. The hebetude
     of age, too, and extinguishment of interest in the things around
     me, are weaning me from them, and dispose me with cheerfulness
     to resign them to the existing generation, satisfied that the
     daily advance of science will enable them to administer the
     commonwealth with increased wisdom. You have still many valuable
     years to give to your country, and with my prayers that they may
     be years of health and happiness, and especially that they may
     see the establishment of the principles of government which you
     have cherished through life, accept the assurance of my constant
     friendship and respect.

Early in the following year, in a reply to a request of Isaac
Engelbrecht that he would send him something from his own hand,
he writes: "Knowing nothing more moral, more sublime, more worthy
of your preservation than David's description of the good man, in
his 15th Psalm, I will here transcribe it from Brady and Tate's
version:" he then gives the Psalm in full.


In alluding to this year of his life, his biographer says, "Mr.
Jefferson's absorbing topic throughout 1824 was the University." He
had first interested himself in this institution in the year 1817.
The plan originally was only to establish a college, to be called
the "Central College of Virginia;" but in his hands it was enlarged,
and consummated in the erection of the University of Virginia, whose
classic dome and columns are now lit up by the morning rays of the
same sun which shines on the ruin and desolation of his own once
happy home.[66] The architectural plans and form of government and
instruction for this institution afforded congenial occupation for
his declining years, and made it emphatically the child of his old
age. While the buildings were being erected, his visits to them were
daily; and from the northeast corner of the terrace at Monticello he
frequently watched the workmen engaged on them, through a telescope
which is still preserved in the library of the University.

  [66] The accompanying illustration presents the University of
  Virginia, as it appeared in 1856.

His toil and labors for this institution, and the obstacles which he
had to overcome in procuring the necessary funds from the Virginia
Legislature, served to distract his thoughts, in a measure, from
those pecuniary embarrassments which, though resulting from his
protracted services to his country, so imbittered the closing years
of his honored life. None appreciated more highly than himself the
importance of establishing Southern institutions for the instruction
of Southern young men. We find allusions to this subject scattered
through the whole of his correspondence during this period of his

How entirely he was absorbed in this darling project of his old age,
may be seen from the following extract from a letter written by him
to Mr. Adams, October 12, 1823:

_To John Adams._

     I do not write with the ease which your letter of September 18th
     supposes. Crippled wrists and fingers make writing slow and
     laborious. But while writing to you, I lose the sense of these
     things in the recollection of ancient times, when youth and
     health made happiness out of every thing. I forget for a while
     the hoary winter of age, when we can think of nothing but how
     to keep ourselves warm, and how to get rid of our heavy hours
     until the friendly hand of death shall rid us of all at once.
     Against this _tedium vitæ_, however, I am fortunately mounted on
     a hobby, which, indeed, I should have better managed some thirty
     or forty years ago; but whose easy amble is still sufficient to
     give exercise and amusement to an octogenary rider. This is the
     establishment of a University, on a scale more comprehensive,
     and in a country more healthy and central, than our old William
     and Mary, which these obstacles have long kept in a state of
     languor and inefficiency.

The following extract from a letter to a friend, inviting him to
Monticello, shows what little interest he took in politics:

     You must be contented with the plain and sober family and
     neighborly society, with the assurance that you shall hear no
     wrangling about the next President, although the excitement on
     that subject will then be at its acme. Numerous have been the
     attempts to entangle me in that imbroglio. But at the age of
     eighty, I seek quiet, and abjure contention. I read but a single
     newspaper, Ritchie's _Enquirer_, the best that is published or
     ever has been published in America.

In one of his letters to J. C. Cabell, written about the appointment
of Professors for the University, we find the following passage,
which sounds strangely now in an age when nepotism is so rife:

     In the course of the trusts I have exercised through life
     with powers of appointment, I can say with truth, and with
     unspeakable comfort, that I never did appoint a relation to
     office, and that merely because I never saw the case in which
     some one did not offer, or occur, better qualified; and I
     have the most unlimited confidence that in the appointment of
     Professors to our nursling institution every individual of my
     associates will look with a single eye to the sublimation of its
     character, and adopt, as our sacred motto, "_Detur digniori!_"
     In this way it will honor us, and bless our country.

In August, 1824, the people of the United States were, as Jefferson
wrote to a friend, thrown into a "delirium" of joy by the arrival in
New York of Lafayette. He had left their shores forty years before,
loaded with all the honors that an admiring and victorious people
could heap upon a generous and gallant young defender. Filled with
all the enthusiasm inspired by youth, genius, and patriotism, he
had returned to his beloved France with a future full of promise
and hope; and now, after having passed through the storms of two
Revolutions, after having seen his fairest hopes, both for himself
and his country, perish, he came back to America, an impoverished
and decrepit old man. His misfortunes, in the eyes of the Americans,
gave him greater claims on their love and sympathy, and his visit
was really triumphal. Jefferson, in describing his tour through the
country, wrote: "He is making a triumphant progress through the
States, from town to town, with acclamations of welcome, such as no
crowned head ever received."

In writing to Lafayette to hasten his visit to Monticello, where he
was impatiently expected, Jefferson says:

_To Lafayette._

     What a history have we to run over, from the evening that
     yourself, Mousnier, Bernan, and other patriots settled, in my
     house in Paris, the outlines of the constitution you wished. And
     to trace it through all the disastrous chapters of Robespierre,
     Barras, Bonaparte, and the Bourbons! These things, however,
     are for our meeting. You mention the return of Miss Wright to
     America, accompanied by her sister; but do not say what her stay
     is to be, nor what her course. Should it lead her to a visit of
     our University, which in its architecture only is as yet an
     object, herself and her companion will nowhere find a welcome
     more hearty than with Mrs. Randolph, and all the inhabitants of
     Monticello. This Athenæum of our country, in embryo, is as yet
     but promise; and not in a state to recall the recollections of
     Athens. But every thing has its beginning, its growth, and end;
     and who knows with what future delicious morsels of philosophy,
     and by what future Miss Wright raked from its ruins, the world
     may, some day, be gratified and instructed?... But all these
     things _à revoir_; in the mean time we are impatient that your
     ceremonies at York should be over, and give you to the embraces
     of friendship.

To Monticello, where "the embraces of friendship" awaited him,
Lafayette accordingly went, and the following description of the
touching and beautiful scene witnessed by those who saw the meeting
between these two old friends and veteran patriots has been furnished
me by his grandson, Mr. Jefferson Randolph, who was present on that
memorable occasion:

_Lafayette and Jefferson in 1824._

     The lawn on the eastern side of the house at Monticello contains
     not quite an acre. On this spot was the meeting of Jefferson
     and Lafayette, on the latter's visit to the United States. The
     barouche containing Lafayette stopped at the edge of this lawn.
     His escort--one hundred and twenty mounted men--formed on one
     side in a semicircle extending from the carriage to the house.
     A crowd of about two hundred men, who were drawn together by
     curiosity to witness the meeting of these two venerable men,
     formed themselves in a semicircle on the opposite side. As
     Lafayette descended from the carriage, Jefferson descended the
     steps of the portico. The scene which followed was touching.
     Jefferson was feeble and tottering with age--Lafayette
     permanently lamed and broken in health by his long confinement
     in the dungeon of Olmutz. As they approached each other, their
     uncertain gait quickened itself into a shuffling run, and
     exclaiming, "Ah, Jefferson!" "Ah, Lafayette!" they burst into
     tears as they fell into each other's arms. Among the four
     hundred men witnessing the scene there was not a dry eye--no
     sound save an occasional suppressed sob. The two old men entered
     the house as the crowd dispersed in profound silence.

At a dinner given to Lafayette in Charlottesville, besides the
"Nation's Guest," there were present Jefferson, Madison, and
Monroe. To the toast: "_Thomas Jefferson and the Declaration of
Independence--alike identified with the Cause of Liberty_," Jefferson
responded in a few written remarks, which were read by Mr. Southall.
We find in the following extract from them a graceful and heartfelt
tribute to his well-loved friend:

     I joy, my friends, in your joy, inspired by the visit of this
     our ancient and distinguished leader and benefactor. His deeds
     in the war of independence you have heard and read. They are
     known to you, and embalmed in your memories and in the pages of
     faithful history. His deeds in the peace which followed that
     war, are perhaps not known to you; but I can attest them. When I
     was stationed in his country, for the purpose of cementing its
     friendship with ours and of advancing our mutual interests, this
     friend of both was my most powerful auxiliary and advocate. He
     made our cause his own, as in truth it was that of his native
     country also. His influence and connections there were great.
     All doors of all departments were open to him at all times; to
     me only formally and at appointed times. In truth I only held
     the nail, he drove it. Honor him, then, as your benefactor in
     peace as well as in war.

Towards the close of the year 1824 Daniel Webster visited Monticello,
and spent a day or two there. He has left us an account of this
visit, containing a minute description of Jefferson's personal
appearance, style of dress, and habits. After giving extracts from
this account, Mr. Randall, in his Life of Jefferson, says: "These
descriptions appearing to us to lack some of those gradations and
qualifications in expression which are essential to convey accurate
impressions, we sought an opinion on them from one as familiar with
Mr. Jefferson, with his views and modes of expression, as any person
ever was, and received the following reply:

                                                 ----, 1857.

     My dear Mr. Randall--.... First, on the subject of Mr.
     Jefferson's personal appearance. Mr. Webster's description
     of it did not please me, because, though I will not stop to
     quarrel with any of the details, the general impression it was
     calculated to produce seemed to me an unfavorable one; that is,
     a person who had never seen my grandfather, would, from Mr.
     Webster's description, have thought him rather an ill-looking
     man, which he certainly never was....

     It would be, however, very difficult for me to give an accurate
     description of the appearance of one whom I so tenderly loved
     and deeply venerated. His person and countenance were to me
     associated with so many of my best affections, so much of my
     highest reverence, that I could not expect other persons to
     see them as I did. One thing I will say--that never in my life
     did I see his countenance distorted by a single bad passion
     or unworthy feeling. I have seen the expression of suffering,
     bodily and mental, of grief, pain, sadness, just indignation,
     disappointment, disagreeable surprise, and displeasure, but
     never of anger, impatience, peevishness, discontent, to say
     nothing of worse or more ignoble emotions. To the contrary, it
     was impossible to look on his face without being struck with its
     benevolent, intelligent, cheerful, and placid expression. It was
     at once intellectual, good, kind, and pleasant, while his tall,
     spare figure spoke of health, activity, and that _helpfulness_,
     that power and will, "never to trouble another for what he could
     do himself," which marked his character.

     His dress was simple, and adapted to his ideas of neatness and
     comfort. He paid little attention to fashion, wearing whatever
     he liked best, and sometimes blending the fashions of several
     different periods. He wore long waistcoats, when the mode was
     for very short; white cambric stocks fastened behind with a
     buckle, when cravats were universal. He adopted the pantaloon
     very late in life, because he found it more comfortable and
     convenient, and cut off his queue for the same reason. He made
     no change except from motives of the same kind, and did nothing
     to be in conformity with the fashion of the day. He considered
     such independence as the privilege of his age....

     In like manner, I never heard him speak of Wirt's Life of
     Patrick Henry with the amount of severity recorded by Mr.
     Webster. My impression is that here too, Mr. Webster, from
     a very natural impulse, and without the least intention of
     misrepresentation, has put down only those parts of Mr.
     Jefferson's remarks which accorded with his own views, and left
     out all the extenuations--the "_circonstantes attendantes_,"
     as the French say. This, of course, would lead to an erroneous
     impression. Of Mr. Wirt's book my grandfather did not think very
     highly; but the unkind remark, so far as Mr. Wirt was personally
     concerned, unaccompanied by any thing to soften its severity,
     is, to say the least, very little like Mr. Jefferson.

                                          ELLEN W. COOLIDGE.

Of Jefferson's opinion of Henry, Mr. Randall goes on to say:

     His whole correspondence, and his Memoir written at the age of
     seventy-seven, exhibit his unbounded admiration of Henry in
     certain particulars, and his dislike or severe animadversion in
     none. Henry and he came to differ very widely in politics, and
     the former literally died leading a gallant political sortie
     against the conquering Republicans. On one occasion, at least,
     his keen native humor was directed personally against Jefferson.
     With his inimitable look and tone, he with great effect declared
     that he did not approve of gentlemen's "abjuring their native
     victuals."[67] This gave great diversion to Jefferson. He
     loved to talk about Henry, to narrate anecdotes of their early
     intimacy; to paint his taste for unrestrained nature in every
     thing; to describe his _bonhomie_, his humor, his unquestionable
     integrity, mixed with a certain waywardness and freakishness; to
     give illustrations of his shrewdness, and of his overwhelming
     power as an orator.

  [67] The Republicans were accused of being adherents of
  France--the _cookery_ of Monticello was French.--_Randall's Note._

Mr. Randall's indefatigable industry in ferretting out every account
and record of Jefferson has laid before the public Dr. Dunglison's
interesting and valuable memoranda concerning his intercourse with
Mr. Jefferson and his last illness and death. I make the following

_Dr. Dunglison's Memoranda._

     Soon afterwards [the arrival at Charlottesville] the venerable
     ex-President presented himself, and welcomed us[68] with that
     dignity and kindness for which he was celebrated. He was then
     eighty-two years old, with his intellectual powers unshaken by
     age, and the physical man so active that he rode to and from
     Monticello, and took exercise on foot with all the activity of
     one twenty or thirty years younger. He sympathized with us on
     the discomforts of our long voyage, and on the disagreeable
     journey we must have passed over the Virginia roads; and
     depicted to us the great distress he had felt lest we had been
     lost at sea--for he had almost given us up, when my letter
     arrived with the joyful intelligence that we were safe....

  [68] The professors of the University, who were all foreigners,
  and brought by Mr. Jefferson from Europe, with the exception of
  two only.

The houses [the professors' houses, or "pavilions" of the University]
were much better furnished than we had expected to find them, and
would have been far more commodious had Mr. Jefferson consulted his
excellent and competent daughter, Mrs. Randolph, in regard to the
interior arrangements, instead of planning the architectural exterior
first, and leaving the interior to shift for itself. Closets would
have interfered with the symmetry of the rooms or passages, and hence
there were none in most of the houses; and of the only one which was
furnished with a closet, it was told as an anecdote of Mr. Jefferson,
that, not suspecting it, according to his general arrangements, he
opened the door and walked into it in his way out of the pavilion....

Mr. Jefferson was considered to have but little faith in physic;
and has often told me that he would rather trust to the unaided,
or, rather, uninterfered with, efforts of nature than to physicians
in general. "It is not," he was wont to observe, "to physic that I
object so much, as to physicians." Occasionally, too, he would speak
jocularly, especially to the unprofessional, of medical practice,
and on one occasion gave offense, when, most assuredly, if the same
thing had been said to me, no offense would have been taken. In the
presence of Dr. Everett, afterwards Private Secretary to Mr. Monroe,
he remarked that whenever he saw three physicians together, he
looked up to discover whether there was not a turkey-buzzard in the
neighborhood. The annoyance of the doctor, I am told, was manifest.
To me, when it was recounted, it seemed a harmless jest. But whatever
may have been Mr. Jefferson's notions of physic and physicians, it
is but justice to say that he was one of the most attentive and
respectful of patients. He bore suffering inflicted upon him for
remedial purposes with fortitude; and in my visits, showed me, by
memoranda, the regularity with which he had taken the prescribed
remedies at the appointed times....

In the summer of 1825, the monotonous life of the college was broken
in upon by the arrival of General Lafayette, to take leave of his
distinguished friend, Mr. Jefferson, preparatory to his return to
France. A dinner was given to him in the rotunda by the professors
and students, at which Mr. Madison and Mr. Monroe were present, but
Mr. Jefferson's indisposition prevented him from attending. "The
meeting at Monticello," says M. Levasseur, the Secretary to General
Lafayette during his journey, in his "_Lafayette in America in 1824
and 1825_," vol. ii., p. 245, "of three men who, by their successive
elevation to the supreme magistracy of the state, had given to
their country twenty-four years of prosperity and glory, and who
still offered it the example of private virtues, was a sufficiently
strong inducement to make us wish to stay there a longer time; but
indispensable duties recalled General Lafayette to Washington, and
he was obliged to take leave of his friends. I shall not attempt to
depict the sadness which prevailed at this cruel separation, which
had none of the alleviation which is usually felt by youth; for
in this instance the individuals who bade farewell had all passed
through a long career, and the immensity of the ocean would still add
to the difficulties of a reunion."

M. Levasseur has evidently confounded this banquet with that given
by the inhabitants of Charlottesville, the year preceding, during
the first visit of Lafayette to Mr. Jefferson. At that period there
were neither professors nor students, as the institution was not
opened until six months afterwards. "Every thing," says M. Levasseur
(vol. i., p. 220), "had been prepared at Charlottesville, by the
citizens and students, to give a worthy reception to Lafayette. The
sight of the nation's guest seated at the patriotic banquet, between
Jefferson and Madison, excited in those present an enthusiasm which
expressed itself in enlivening sallies of wit and humor. Mr. Madison,
who had arrived that day at Charlottesville to attend this meeting,
was especially remarkable for the originality of his expressions and
the delicacy of his allusions. Before leaving the table he gave a
toast--'_To Liberty--with Virtue for her Guest, and Gratitude for the
Feast_,' which was received with rapturous applause."

The same enthusiasm prevailed at the dinner given in the rotunda. One
of the toasts proposed by an officer of the institution, I believe,
was an example of forcing a metaphor to the full extent of its
capability--"_The Apple of our Heart's Eye--Lafayette_."


     Pecuniary Embarrassments.--Letter from a Grand-daughter.--Dr.
     Dunglison's Memoranda.--Sells his Library.--Depressed Condition
     of the Money Market.--Disastrous Consequences to Jefferson.--
     His Grandson's Devotion and Efforts to relieve him.--Mental
     Sufferings of Mr. Jefferson.--Plan of Lottery to sell his
     Property.--Hesitation of Virginia Legislature to grant his
     Request.--Sad Letter to Madison.--Correspondence with Cabell.--
     Extract from a Letter to his Grandson, to Cabell.--Beautiful
     Letter to his Grandson.--Distress at the Death of his
     Grand-daughter.--Dr. Dunglison's Memoranda.--Meeting in
     Richmond.--In Nelson County.--New York, Philadelphia, and
     Baltimore come to his Relief.--His Gratitude.--Unconscious
     that at his Death Sales of his Property would fail to pay his
     Debts.--Deficit made up by his Grandson.--His Daughter left
     penniless.--Generosity of Louisiana and South Carolina.

I have now to treat of that part of Jefferson's life which his
biographer well calls "the saddest page in his personal history"--I
allude to the pecuniary embarrassments which clouded the evening of
his honored life. These were caused by his long absences from home
when in the service of his country, the crowds of visitors which his
reputation drew to his house, and the fluctuations and depression of
the money market.

Jefferson inherited from his father nineteen hundred acres of land,
and began the practice of law when he became of age, in 1764. His
practice very soon became extensive, and yielded him an income of
$3000, while from his estates he received about $2000, making a sum
total of $5000. This was a handsome income, as property was then
rated; for the very best highlands in Albemarle were valued at not
more than two dollars per acre, and all other kinds of property bore
a proportionate value. By the beginning of the Revolution, in 1774,
he had increased his landed possessions to five thousand acres of
the best lands around him; all paid for out of his income. This fact
alone proves beyond contradiction how capable he was of managing
his affairs and increasing his fortune, until called from direct
supervision of them by the demands of his country.

On his marriage in 1772, he received, as his wife's dower, property
which was valued at $40,000, but with a British debt on it of
$13,000. He sold property to pay this debt, and the Virginia
Legislature having passed a resolution to the effect that whoever
would deposit in the State Treasury the amount of their British debt,
the State would protect them, he deposited his in the Treasury. This
resolution was afterwards rescinded, and the money was returned in
Treasury Certificates. The depreciation of these was so great, that
the value of those received by Jefferson was laid out in an overcoat;
so that in after-years, when riding by the farm which he had sold to
procure the $13,000 deposited in the State Treasury, he would smile
and say, "I sold that farm for an overcoat." He sold other property
to pay this debt, and this time was paid in paper money at as great
a depreciation. Thus his impatience of debt cost him his wife's
property. How just and exact he was in the payment of this, may be
seen from the following extracts taken from one of his letters to his
British creditors:

     I am desirous of arranging with you such just and practicable
     conditions as will ascertain to you the terms at which you will
     receive my part of your debt, and give me the satisfaction of
     knowing that you are contented. What the laws of Virginia are,
     or may be, will in no wise influence my conduct. Substantial
     justice is my object, as decided by reason, and not by authority
     or compulsion....

     Subsequent events have been such, that the State can not, and
     ought not, to pay the same nominal sum in gold or silver which
     they received in paper; nor is it certain what they will do:
     my intention being, and having always been, that, whatever the
     State decides, you shall receive my debt fully. I am ready, to
     remove all difficulty arising from this deposit, to take back to
     myself the demand against the State, and to consider the deposit
     as originally made for myself and not for you.

The Revolution coming on, he was, as we have seen, in public life
almost continuously from 1774 to 1809. He did not visit his largest
estate for nineteen years, and at one time was absent from his home
for seven years. In 1782, he was sent as Minister to France; he
returned at the close of the year 1788, and in March, 1789, entered
Washington's cabinet as Secretary of State. He resigned in February,
1794, and devoted himself for three years to his private affairs. We
have seen with what reluctance he returned to public life when in
1797 he was elected Vice-president. He was inaugurated President in
1801; and not retiring till 1809, was thus, with the exception of
three years, absent from home from 1774 to 1809.

Of the various offices which Jefferson was called to fill, he
received pecuniary benefit from that of Vice-president alone. As a
member of the Virginia Assembly and of Congress, as well as when
Governor of Virginia, his salaries barely paid the expenses incident
to his official position. As Minister to France his salary did not
cover his expenses; as Secretary of State his expenditures slightly
exceeded his salary, while they greatly surpassed it when he was
President. Yet his biographer tells us that "in none of these
offices was his style of living noticed either for parsimony or
extravagance." The following extracts from a letter written by him
to his commission merchant, a month or two before the expiration of
his Presidential term, show in what a painful embarrassment he found
himself at that time:

     Nothing had been more fixed than my determination to keep my
     expenses here within the limits of my salary, and I had great
     confidence that I had done so. Having, however, trusted to rough
     estimates by my head, and not being sufficiently apprised of
     the outstanding accounts, I find, on a review of my affairs
     here, as they will stand on the 3d of March, that I shall be
     three or four months' salary behind-hand. In ordinary cases this
     degree of arrearage would not be serious, but on the scale of
     the establishment here it amounts to seven or eight thousand
     dollars, which being to come out of my private funds will be
     felt by them sensibly.

After saying that in looking out for recourse to make good this
deficit in the first instance, it is natural for him to turn to the
principal bank of his own State, and asking that his commission
merchant would try and arrange the matter for him with as little
delay as possible, he goes on to say:

     Since I have become sensible of this deficit I have been
     under an agony of mortification, and therefore must solicit
     as much urgency in the negotiation as the case will admit. My
     intervening nights will be almost sleepless, as nothing could
     be more distressing to me than to leave debts here unpaid, if
     indeed I should be permitted to depart with them unpaid, of
     which I am by no means certain.

When Jefferson resigned as Secretary of State in 1794, he hoped he
had turned his back forever on public life, and proposed to devote
the residue of his days to the restoration of his shattered fortunes.
For a time he refused to listen to any application calling him from
the peaceful enjoyments of his tranquil life at Monticello, but he
was besieged by deputations of the most distinguished men of the
day--old associates of the Revolution, who pressed his country's
claim on him with an earnestness and pertinacity not to be resisted,
and which finally recalled him to public life.

Jefferson, then, returned in 1809 to estates wasted by the rude
management of the times, with hands, as he himself said, as clean as
they were empty, and with a world-wide reputation which attracted
crowds of company to devour what was left of a private property
wasted by a life-long devotion to his country's demands upon him.
No one could have been more hospitable than he was, and no one ever
gave a more heartfelt or more cordial welcome to friends than he did;
but the visits of those who were led by curiosity to Monticello was
an annoyance which at times was almost painful to one of as retiring
a disposition as he was. These visitors came at all hours and all
seasons, and when unable to catch a glimpse of him in any other
way, they not unfrequently begged to be allowed to sit in the hall,
where, waiting until the dinner-hour arrived, they saw him as he
passed through from his private apartments to his dining-room. On one
occasion a female visitor, who was peering around the house, punched
her parasol through a window-pane to get a better view of him.

The following letter from one of Mr. Jefferson's grand-daughters,
which I take from Randall's Life of Jefferson, and the extracts which
I also give from Dr. Dunglison's Memoranda, will give the reader a
correct idea of the tax which such an influx of visitors must have
been on an estate already groaning under debt:

                                                 ----, 1856.

     My dear Mr. Randall--.... Mr. Jefferson was not an improvident
     man. He had habits of order and economy, was regular in keeping
     his accounts, knew the value of money, and was in no way
     disposed to waste it. He was simple in his tastes, careful, and
     spent very little on himself. 'Tis not true that he threw away
     his money in fantastic projects and theoretical experiments. He
     was eminently a practical man. He was, during all the years that
     I knew him, very liberal, but never extravagant....

     To return to his visitors: they came of all nations, at all
     times, and paid longer or shorter visits. I have known a New
     England judge bring a letter of introduction to my grandfather,
     and stay three weeks. The learned Abbé Correa, always a welcome
     guest, passed some weeks of each year with us during the whole
     time of his stay in the country. We had persons from abroad,
     from all the States of the Union, from every part of the
     State--men, women, and children. In short, almost every day, for
     at least eight months of the year, brought its contingent of
     guests. People of wealth, fashion, men in office, professional
     men, military and civil, lawyers, doctors, Protestant clergymen,
     Catholic priests, members of Congress, foreign ministers,
     missionaries, Indian agents, tourists, travellers, artists,
     strangers, friends. Some came from affection and respect, some
     from curiosity, some to give or receive advice or instruction,
     some from idleness, some because others set the example, and
     very varied, amusing, and agreeable was the society afforded
     by this influx of guests. I have listened to very remarkable
     conversations carried on round the table, the fireside, or in
     the summer drawing-room....

     There were few eminent men of our country, except, perhaps, some
     political adversaries, who did not visit him in his retirement,
     to say nothing of distinguished foreigners. Life at Monticello
     was on an easy and informal footing. Mr. Jefferson always made
     his appearance at an early breakfast, but his mornings were
     most commonly devoted to his own occupations, and it was at
     dinner, after dinner, and in the evening, that he gave himself
     up to the society of his family and his guests. Visitors were
     left free to employ themselves as they liked during the morning
     hours--to walk, read, or seek companionship with the ladies of
     the family and each other. M. Correa passed his time in the
     fields and the woods; some gentlemen preferred the library;
     others the drawing-room; others the quiet of their own chambers;
     or they strolled down the mountain side and under the shade of
     the trees. The ladies in like manner consulted their ease and
     inclinations, and whiled away the time as best they might.

                                          ELLEN W. COOLIDGE.

Dr. Dunglison says in his Memoranda:

     His daughter, Mrs. Randolph, or one of the grand-daughters,
     took the head of the table; he himself sat near the other end,
     and almost always some visitors were present. The pilgrimage
     to Monticello was a favorite one with him who aspired to the
     rank of the patriot and the philanthropist; but it was too
     often undertaken from idle curiosity, and could not, under such
     circumstances, have afforded pleasure to, while it entailed
     unrequited expense on, its distinguished proprietor. More than
     once, indeed, the annoyance has been the subject of regretful
     animadversion. Monticello, like Montpellier, the seat of Mr.
     Madison, was some miles distant from any tavern, and hence,
     without sufficient consideration, the traveller not only availed
     himself of the hospitality of the ex-Presidents, but inflicted
     upon them the expenses of his quadrupeds. On one occasion at
     Montpellier, where my wife and myself were paying a visit to Mr.
     and Mrs. Madison, no fewer than nine horses were entertained
     during the night; and in reply to some observation which the
     circumstances engendered, Mr. Madison remarked, that while he
     was delighted with the society of the owners, he confessed he
     had not so much feeling for the horses.

     Sitting one evening in the porch of Monticello, two gigs drove
     up, each containing a gentleman and lady. It appeared to me to
     be evidently the desire of the party to be invited to stay all
     night. One of the gentlemen came up to the porch and saluted
     Mr. Jefferson, stating that they claimed the privilege of
     American citizens in paying their respects to the President,
     and inspecting Monticello. Mr. Jefferson received them with
     marked politeness, and told them they were at liberty to look at
     every thing around, but as they did not receive an invitation
     to spend the night, they left in the dusk and returned to
     Charlottesville. Mr. Jefferson, on that occasion, could hardly
     avoid an expression of impatience at the repeated though
     complimentary intrusions to which he was exposed.

     In Mr. Jefferson's embarrassed circumstances in the evening
     of life, the immense influx of visitors could not fail to be
     attended with much inconvenience. I had the curiosity to ask
     Mrs. Randolph what was the largest number of persons for whom
     she had been called upon unexpectedly to prepare accommodations
     for the night, and she replied _fifty_!

     In a country like our own there is a curiosity to know
     personally those who have been called to fill the highest
     office in the Republic, and he who has attained this eminence
     must have formed a number of acquaintances who are eager to
     visit him in his retirement, so that when his salary as the
     first officer of the state ceases, the duties belonging to it
     do not cease simultaneously; and I confess I have no sympathy
     with the feeling of economy, political or social, which denies
     to the ex-President a retiring allowance, which may enable him
     to pass the remainder of his days in that useful and dignified
     hospitality which seems to be demanded, by the citizens, of one
     who has presided over them....

     At all times dignified, and by no means easy of approach to
     all, he was generally communicative to those on whom he could
     rely. In his own house he was occasionally free in his speech,
     even to imprudence, to those of whom he did not know enough
     to be satisfied that an improper use might not be made of his
     candor. As an example of this, I recollect a person from Rhode
     Island visiting the University, and being introduced to Mr.
     Jefferson by one of my colleagues. The person did not impress
     me favorably; and when I rode up to Monticello, I found that
     no better impression had been made by him on Mr. Jefferson and
     Mrs. Randolph. His adhesiveness was such that he had occupied
     the valuable time of Mr. Jefferson the whole morning, and
     staid to dinner; and during the conversation Mr. Jefferson was
     apprehensive that he had said something which might have been
     misunderstood and be incorrectly repeated. He therefore asked
     me to find the gentleman, if he had not left Charlottesville,
     and request him to pay another visit to Monticello. He had
     left, however, when I returned, but I never discovered he had
     abused the frankness of Mr. Jefferson. Mr. Jefferson took the
     occasion of saying to me how cautious his friends ought to be
     in regard to the persons they introduced to him. It would have
     been singular if, in the numerous visitors, some had not been
     found to narrate the private conversations held with such men as
     Jefferson and Madison.

The foregoing statements and extracts present a faithful picture
of the circumstances beyond his control which tended to hopelessly
involve Mr. Jefferson in pecuniary embarrassments. These were
still further aggravated by the outbreak of the war of 1812, whose
disastrous consequences to Virginia farmers are thus graphically and
sadly depicted by him in a letter to Mr. Short:

     These are my views of the war. They embrace a great deal of
     sufferance, trying privations, and no benefit but that of
     teaching our enemy that he is never to gain by wanton injuries
     on us. To me this state of things brings a sacrifice of all
     tranquillity and comfort through the residue of life. For
     although the debility of age disables me from the services
     and sufferings of the field, yet, by the total annihilation
     in value of the produce which was to give me subsistence and
     independence, I shall be, like Tantalus, up to the shoulders
     in water, yet dying with thirst. We can make, indeed, enough
     to eat, drink, and clothe ourselves; but nothing for our
     salt, iron, groceries, and taxes, which must be paid in money.
     For what can we raise for the market? Wheat? we can only give
     it to our horses, as we have been doing ever since harvest.
     Tobacco? it is not worth the pipe it is smoked in. Some say
     whisky; but all mankind must become drunkards to consume it.
     But although we feel, we shall not flinch. We must consider
     now, as in the Revolutionary war, that although the evils of
     resistance are great, those of submission would be greater. We
     must meet, therefore, the former as the casualties of tempests
     and earthquakes, and, like them, necessarily resulting from the
     constitution of the world.

There was then nothing to be made from farming; but while his
income was thus cut short, his company and his debts continued to
increase. In this emergency something had to be done; and the only
thing which offered itself involved a sacrifice which none but his
own family, who witnessed the struggle it cost him, could ever fully
appreciate--I allude to the sale of his library.

The British having burnt the Congressional Library at Washington
in 1814, he seized that occasion to write to a friend in
Congress--Samuel H. Smith--and offer his library at whatever price
Congress should decide to be just. His letter making this offer
is manly and business-like, and contains not one word of repining
at the stern necessity which forced him to part with his literary
treasures--the books which in every change in the tide of his
eventful life had ever remained to him as old friends with unchanged
faces, and whose silent companionship had afforded him--next to
the love of his friends--the sweetest and purest joys of life. The
following extract from this letter shows how valuable his collection
of books was:

     You know my collection, its condition and extent. I have been
     fifty years making it, and have spared no pains, opportunity,
     or expense, to make it what it is. While residing in Paris,
     I devoted every afternoon I was disengaged, for a summer or
     two, in examining all the principal bookstores, turning over
     every book with my own hand, and putting by every thing which
     related to America, and, indeed, whatever is rare and valuable
     in every science. Besides this, I had standing orders during
     the whole time I was in Europe on its principal book-marts,
     particularly Amsterdam, Frankfort, Madrid, and London, for
     such works relating to America as could not be found in Paris.
     So that in that department particularly such a collection was
     made as probably can never again be effected, because it is
     hardly probable that the same opportunities, the same time,
     industry, perseverance, and expense, with some knowledge of
     the bibliography of the subject, would again happen to be in
     concurrence. During the same period, and after my return to
     America, I was led to procure, also, whatever related to the
     duties of those in the high concerns of the nation. So that the
     collection, which I suppose is of between nine and ten thousand
     volumes, while it includes what is chiefly valuable in science
     and literature generally, extends more particularly to whatever
     belongs to the American Statesman.

It is sad to think that such a man as Jefferson, whose fortunes had
been ruined by the demands which his country had made on him, should
have been forced, so late in life, to sell such a library to pay
debts which he was in no wise responsible for having incurred. And
yet, though it was known that the purchase of the library would be a
pecuniary relief to him, the bill authorizing it was not passed in
Congress without decided opposition, and the amount finally voted
($23,950) as the price to be paid for the books was probably but
little over half their original cost, though they were all in a
perfect state of preservation.

The money received for the books proved to be only a temporary
relief. The country had not recovered from the depression of its
agricultural interests when a disastrous financial crisis burst upon
it. A vivid but melancholy picture of this period is found in Colonel
Benton's Thirty Years' View:

     The years of 1819 and 1820 were a period of gloom and agony. No
     money, either gold or silver: no paper convertible into specie:
     no measure or standard of value left remaining. The local banks
     (all but those of New England), after a brief resumption of
     specie payments, again sank into a state of suspension. The
     bank of the United States, created as a remedy for all those
     evils, now at the head of the evil, prostrate and helpless, with
     no power left but that of suing its debtors and selling their
     property, and purchasing for itself at its own nominal price. No
     price for property or produce; no sales but those of the sheriff
     and the marshal; no purchasers at the execution-sales but the
     creditor, or some hoarder of money; no employment for industry;
     no demand for labor; no sale for the product of the farm; no
     sound of the hammer, but that of the auctioneer, knocking down
     property. Stop laws, property laws, replevin laws, stay laws,
     loan-office laws, the intervention of the legislator between the
     creditor and the debtor--this was the business of legislation
     in three-fourths of the States of the Union--of all south and
     west of New England. No medium of exchange but depreciated
     paper; no change, even, but little bits of foul paper, marked so
     many cents, and signed by some tradesman, barber, or innkeeper;
     exchanges deranged to the extent of fifty or one hundred per
     cent. Distress the universal cry of the people; relief, the
     universal demand, thundered at the door of all legislatures,
     State and federal.

Happy the man who, having his house set in order, was able to
withstand the blasts of this financial tornado. To Jefferson,
with his estates burdened with debt, their produce a drug in the
market, and his house constantly crowded with guests, this crisis
was fatal. At the time he did not feel its practical effects in
their full force, for, as we have seen in a previous chapter, he
had placed, in the year 1816, the management of his affairs in the
hands of his grandson, Thomas Jefferson Randolph. I have elsewhere
alluded to the constant and peculiar devotion of this grandfather
and grandson to each other. When he took charge of his grandfather's
affairs young Randolph threw himself into the breach, and, from that
time until Mr. Jefferson's death, made it the aim of his life as
far as possible to alleviate his financial condition, and to this
end devoted all the energy and ardor of his youth as well as his
own private fortune. I have lying before me an account signed by
Mr. Jefferson a few weeks before his death, which shows that this
grandson had interposed himself between him and his creditors to the
amount of $58,536. Another paper before me, signed by Mr. Jefferson's
commission-merchant, shows that he, the commission-merchant, was
guaranteed by Mr. Randolph against any loss from endorsation,
over-draught, or other responsibility which he had incurred, or might
incur, on his grandfather's account; that these responsibilities
were all met by him, and that nevertheless, by his directions, Mr.
Jefferson's crops were placed in the hands of his commission-merchant
on Mr. Jefferson's account, and were drawn out solely to his order.
When, at the winding up of Mr. Jefferson's estate after his death,
it was found that his debts exceeded the value of his property by
$40,000, this same grandson pledged himself to make good the deficit,
which, by his untiring and unaided efforts, he succeeded in doing in
the course of some years, having in that time paid all that was due
to Jefferson's creditors.[69]

  [69] The bankruptcy of Mr. Jefferson has been attributed, but
  erroneously, to the failure of one of his warm personal friends,
  for whom he had endorsed heavily. This misfortune simply added to
  his embarrassment, and was doubtless the "coup-de-grâce;" but the
  same result must have ensued had this complication not occurred.
  It is gratifying to know that the friendship previously existing
  between the parties was not in the least disturbed, and that the
  injury inflicted was subsequently partially repaid by the sale of
  land relinquished for the purpose.

The letters written by Jefferson during the rest of his life betray
much mental suffering, and present a picture most painful to
contemplate; showing, as it does, that however beneficial to the
public his services to his country had been, on himself they were
allowed to entail bankruptcy and ruin. The editor of the Jefferson
and Cabell correspondence, on reaching the letters which cover this
period of Mr. Jefferson's life, puts the following appropriate note:

     The few remaining letters of the series relate not solely to the
     great subject of Education, but in some measure to Mr. J.'s
     private affairs, which had now become hopelessly embarrassed--a
     liability from which no citizen can claim entire exemption under
     our peculiar institutions. The reflections to which this gives
     rise would be too painful, had not the facts been already given
     to the public through other channels. That under such pressure
     he should have been able to continue his efforts and counsels
     in behalf of the public interests with which he had been
     charged,[70] must excite our admiration; and still more when we
     observe the dignity with which he bore up under reverses that
     would have crushed the spirit of many a younger and stouter man.

  [70] Alluding to his efforts in behalf of the University.

The following extract from a letter written early in the year 1826
to his friend Mr. J. C. Cabell, who was then in the Legislature of
Virginia, explains itself:

     My grandson, Thomas J. Randolph, attends the Legislature on a
     subject of ultimate importance to my future happiness.... My
     application to the Legislature is for permission to dispose of
     property for payment in a way[71] which, bringing a fair price
     for it, may pay my debts and leave a living for myself in my
     old age, and leave something for my family. Their consent is
     necessary, it will injure no man, and few sessions pass without
     similar exercises of the same power in their discretion. But I
     refer you to my grandson for particular explanations. I think it
     just myself; and if it should appear so to you, I am sure your
     friendship as well as justice will induce you to pay to it the
     attention which you may think the case will justify. To me it is
     almost a question of life and death.

  [71] By lottery.

The generous-hearted Cabell in reply writes:

     I assure you I was truly distressed to receive your letter of
     the 20th, and to hear the embarrassed state of your affairs. You
     may rely on my utmost exertions. Your grandson proposed that the
     first conference should be held at the Eagle. I prevailed on
     him to remove the scene to Judge Carr's, and to invite all the
     Judges of the Court of Appeals. Mr. Coalter and my brother were
     unable to attend; but all the court is with you. Mr. Johnson
     agreed to draw the bill. I am co-operating as far as lies in my
     power. I wish complete justice could be done on this occasion;
     but we have to deal with men as they are. Your grandson will
     no doubt give you the fullest information. I will occasionally
     inform you how matters are progressing.

Shortly after writing to Mr. Cabell we find him drawing up a paper,
to be shown to his friends in the Legislature, called "Thoughts on
Lotteries," which was written to show that there could be nothing
immoral in the lottery which he desired. The following quotation
shows that his request was not without a precedent:

     In this way the great estate of the late Colonel Byrd (in 1756)
     was made competent to pay his debts, which, had the whole been
     brought into market at once, would have overdone the demand,
     would have sold at half or quarter the value, and sacrificed the
     creditors, half or three-fourths of whom would have lost their
     debts. This method of selling was formerly very much resorted
     to, until it was thought to nourish too much a spirit of hazard.
     The Legislature were therefore induced, not to suppress it
     altogether, but to take it under their own special regulation.
     This they did for the first time by their act of 1769, c. 17,
     before which time every person exercised the right freely, and
     since which time it is made unlawful but when approved and
     authorized by a special act of the Legislature.

In this same paper he sums up as follows the years spent in the
public service:

     I came of age in 1764, and was soon put into the nomination
     of justice of the county in which I live; and at the first
     election following I became one of its representatives in
     the Legislature. I was thence sent to the old Congress. Then
     employed two years with Mr. Pendleton and Mr. Wythe, on the
     revisal and reduction to a single code of the whole body of the
     British statutes, the acts of our Assembly, and certain parts of
     the common law. Then elected Governor. Next, to the Legislature
     and Congress again. Sent to Europe as Minister Plenipotentiary.
     Appointed Secretary of State to the new Government. Elected
     Vice-President, and President. And lastly, a Visitor and Rector
     of the University.

     In these different offices, with scarcely any interval between
     them, I have been in the public service now sixty-one years; and
     during the far greater part of the time in foreign countries
     or in other States. Every one knows how inevitably a Virginia
     estate goes to ruin when the owner is so far distant as to be
     unable to pay attention to it himself; and the more especially
     when the line of his employment is of a character to abstract
     and alienate his mind entirely from the knowledge necessary to
     good and even to saving management.

Small and trifling as the favor was which Mr. Jefferson asked of the
Virginia Legislature, it cost him much pain and mortification to do
it, as we find from a sad and touching letter to Madison, in which he
unbosoms himself to this long-cherished friend. He writes:

     You will have seen in the newspapers some proceedings in the
     Legislature which have cost me much mortification.... Still,
     sales at a fair price would leave me competently provided. Had
     crops and prices for several years been such as to maintain a
     steady competition of substantial bidders at market, all would
     have been safe. But the long succession of years of stunted
     crops, of reduced prices, the general prostration of the farming
     business, under levies for the support of manufactures, etc.,
     with the calamitous fluctuations of value in our paper medium,
     have kept agriculture in a state of abject depression, which
     has peopled the Western States by silently breaking up those
     on the Atlantic, and glutted the land-market while it drew off
     its bidders. In such a state of things property has lost its
     character of being a resource for debts. Highland in Bedford,
     which, in the days of our plethory, sold readily for from fifty
     to one hundred dollars the acre (and such sales were many then),
     would not now sell for more than from ten to twenty dollars,
     or one-quarter or one-fifth of its former price. Reflecting on
     these things, the practice occurred to me of selling on fair
     valuation, and by way of lottery, often resorted to before the
     Revolution to effect large sales, and still in constant usage in
     every State for individual as well as corporation purposes. If
     it is permitted in my case, my lands here alone, with the mills,
     etc., will pay every thing, and will leave me Monticello and a
     farm free. If refused, I must sell every thing here, perhaps
     considerably in Bedford, move thither with my family, where
     I have not even a log hut to put my head into,[72] and where
     ground for burial will depend on the depredations which, under
     the form of sales, shall have been committed on my property.

  [72] The house at Poplar Forest had passed out of his possession.

The question then with me was _utrum horum_. But why afflict you with
these details? Indeed, I can not tell, unless pains are lessened
by communication with a friend. The friendship which has subsisted
between us, now half a century, and the harmony of our political
principles and pursuits, have been sources of constant happiness to
me through that long period. And if I remove beyond the reach of
attentions to the University, or beyond the bourne of life itself,
as I soon must, it is a comfort to leave that institution under your
care, and an assurance that it will not be wanting. It has also been
a great solace to me to believe that you are engaged in vindicating
to posterity the course we have pursued for preserving to them in all
their purity the blessings of self-government, which we had assisted,
too, in acquiring for them. If ever the earth has beheld a system
of administration conducted with a single and steadfast eye to the
general interest and happiness of those committed to it; one which,
protected by truth, can never know reproach, it is that to which our
lives have been devoted. To myself you have been a pillar of support
through life. Take care of me when dead, and be assured that I shall
leave with you my last affections.

On the 3d of February, 1826, Mr. Cabell wrote to Jefferson:

     Your intended application to the Legislature has excited much
     discussion in private circles in Richmond. Your grandson will
     doubtless give you a full account of passing occurrences. A
     second conference was held at Mr. Baker's last evening, at
     which were four of the Judges of the Court of Appeals, and
     several members of the Legislature. Finding considerable
     opposition in some of your political friends to the lottery,
     and feeling mortified myself that the State should stop short
     at so limited a measure, I suggested the idea of a loan of
     $80,000, free of interest, from the State, during the remainder
     of your life. On consultation, our friends decided that it would
     be impracticable. At the conference of last evening it was
     unanimously decided to bring forward and support the lottery.
     I hear there will be considerable opposition, but I hope it is
     exaggerated. I do not think that delay would be injurious, as in
     every case I have found the first impression the worst. Would to
     God that I had the power to raise the mind of the Legislature to
     a just conception of its duties on the present occasion. Knowing
     so well as I do how much you have done for us, I have some idea
     of what we ought to do for you.

The following extract from a letter written on February 4th by
Jefferson to his grandson portrays vividly and painfully the agonized
state of his mind about his affairs:

     Your letter of the 31st was received yesterday, and gave me a
     fine night's rest, which I had not had before since you left
     us, as the failure to hear from you by the preceding mail had
     filled me with fearful forebodings. I am pleased with the train
     you are proceeding in, and particularly with the appointment of
     valuers. Under all circumstances I think I may expect a liberal
     valuation; an exaggerated one I should negative myself. I would
     not be stained with the suspicions of selfishness at this time
     of life, and this will protect me from them. I hope the paper I
     gave you will justify me in the eyes of all those who have been

This gleam of hope which so cheered up the old man's sinking heart
was soon to be extinguished. His friends found, on feeling the pulse
of the Legislature, that his simple request to be allowed to sell
his property by lottery would meet with violent opposition, if not
absolute defeat, in that body. On his good friend Cabell devolved the
painful duty of communicating this intelligence to him, which he did
with all the feeling and delicacy of his chivalrous nature.

The shock to Jefferson was great, and we find him, not without some
bitterness, replying:

     I had hoped the length and character of my services might have
     prevented the fear in the Legislature of the indulgence asked
     being quoted as a precedent in future cases. But I find no fault
     with their strict adherence to a rule generally useful, although
     relaxable in some cases, under their discretion, of which they
     are the proper judges.

And again, in another letter to Cabell, he concludes sadly:

     Whatever may be the sentence to be pronounced in my particular
     case, the efforts of my friends are so visible, the impressions
     so profoundly sunk to the bottom of my heart, that they can
     never be obliterated. They plant there a consolation which
     countervails whatever other indications might seem to import.
     The report of the Committee of Finance particularly is balm
     to my soul. Thanks to you all, and warm and affectionate
     acknowledgments. I count on nothing now. I am taught to know my
     standard, and have to meet with no further disappointment.

Well might such bitterness as this last sentence contained have
been wrung from him, for the Legislature granted leave for the
bill to be brought in by a bare majority of _four_. The noble and
generous-hearted Cabell, on communicating this intelligence to him,
adds: "I blush for my country, and am humiliated to think how we
shall appear on the page of history."

Perhaps nothing more beautiful or more touching ever flowed from his
pen than the following letter to his grandson; giving, as it does,
such a picture of his affections, his Christian resignation, manly
courage, and willingness to bear up under adversity, for the sake of
doing good to those he loved.

_To Thomas J. Randolph._

                              Monticello, February 8th, '26.

     My dear Jefferson--I duly received your affectionate letter
     of the 3d, and perceive there are greater doubts than I had
     apprehended whether the Legislature will indulge my request to
     them. It is a part of my mortification to perceive that I had
     so far overvalued myself as to have counted on it with too much
     confidence. I see, in the failure of this hope, a deadly blast
     of all my peace of mind during my remaining days. You kindly
     encourage me to keep up my spirits; but, oppressed with disease,
     debility, age, and embarrassed affairs, this is difficult. For
     myself I should not regard a prostration of fortune, but I am
     overwhelmed at the prospect of the situation in which I may
     leave my family. My dear and beloved daughter, the cherished
     companion of my early life, and nurse of my age, and her
     children, rendered as dear to me as if my own, from having lived
     with me from their cradle, left in a comfortless situation,
     hold up to me nothing but future gloom; and I should not care
     were life to end with the line I am writing, were it not that
     in the unhappy state of mind which your father's misfortunes
     have brought upon him, I may yet be of some avail to the family.
     Their affectionate devotion to me makes a willingness to endure
     life a duty, as long as it can be of any use to them. Yourself
     particularly, dear Jefferson, I consider as the greatest of
     the Godsends which heaven has granted to me. Without you what
     could I do under the difficulties now environing me? These have
     been produced, in some degree, by my own unskillful management,
     and devoting my time to the service of my country, but much
     also by the unfortunate fluctuation in the value of our money,
     and the long-continued depression of farming business. But
     for these last I am confident my debts might be paid, leaving
     me Monticello and the Bedford estate; but where there are
     no bidders, property, however great, is no resource for the
     payment of debts; all may go for little or nothing. Perhaps,
     however, even in this case I may have no right to complain, as
     these misfortunes have been held back for my last days, when
     few remain to me. I duly acknowledge that I have gone through
     a long life with fewer circumstances of affliction than are
     the lot of most men--uninterrupted health--a competence for
     every reasonable want--usefulness to my fellow-citizens--a good
     portion of their esteem--no complaint against the world which
     has sufficiently honored me, and, above all, a family which has
     blessed me by their affections, and never by their conduct
     given me a moment's pain--and should this, my last request, be
     granted, I may yet close with a cloudless sun a long and serene
     day of life. Be assured, my dear Jefferson, that I have a just
     sense of the part you have contributed to this, and that I bear
     you unmeasured affection.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

What a world of suffering and mental anguish this letter reveals!
Three days after it was written his eldest grandchild, Mrs. Anne
Bankhead, died. In alluding to his distress on this occasion, Dr.
Dunglison says, in his Memoranda: "On the last day of the fatal
illness of his grand-daughter, who had married Mr. Bankhead....
Mr. Jefferson was present in the adjoining apartment; and when the
announcement was made by me that but little hope remained, that she
was, indeed, past hope, it is impossible to imagine more poignant
distress than was exhibited by him. He shed tears, and abandoned
himself to every evidence of intense grief."

Mr. Jefferson announced the death of this grand-daughter to her
brother, then in Richmond, in the following touchingly-written note:

_To Thomas Jefferson Randolph._

                                 Monticello, Feb. 11th, '26.

     Bad news, my dear Jefferson, as to your sister Anne. She expired
     about half an hour ago. I have been so ill for several days
     that I could not go to see her till this morning, and found
     her speechless and insensible. She breathed her last about 11
     o'clock. Heaven seems to be overwhelming us with every form of
     misfortune, and I expect your next will give me the _coup de
     grâce_. Your own family are all well. Affectionately adieu.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

I now hasten to drop the curtain on this painful period of his life.
The bill for the lottery was still before the Legislature when the
people of Richmond held a meeting and passed resolutions to approve
its being adopted. Finally the Legislature passed the bill, on the
20th of February, by a vote in the Senate of ayes thirteen, nays
four. During the next few months meetings indorsing the action of
the Legislature were held in different parts of the State. We quote
the following preamble to the Resolutions that were passed at a
meeting held in Nelson County, though no action resulted from the

     The undersigned citizens of Nelson County, concurring cordially
     in the views lately expressed by their fellow-citizens at
     the seat of government,[73] and heartily sympathizing in the
     sentiments of grateful respect and affectionate regard recently
     evinced both there and elsewhere for their countryman, Thomas
     Jefferson, can not disguise the sincere satisfaction which they
     derive from the prospect of a general co-operation to relieve
     this ancient and distinguished patriot. The important services
     for which we are indebted to Mr. Jefferson, from the days of
     his youth, when he drew upon himself the resentment of Dunmore,
     to the present time, when, at the close of a long life, he
     is laboring to enlighten the nation which he has contributed
     to make free, place him in the highest rank of national
     benefactors, and eminently entitle him to the character of the
     people's friend. Whether considered as the servant of the State
     or of the United States; whether regarded as an advocate or a
     statesman; whether as a patriot, a legislator, a philosopher,
     or a friend of liberty and republican government, he is the
     unquestioned ornament of his country, and unites in himself
     every title to our respect, our veneration, and gratitude. His
     services are written in the hearts of a grateful people; they
     are identified with the fundamental institutions of his country;
     they entitle him to "the fairest page of faithful history;" and
     will be remembered as long as reason and science are respected
     on earth. Profoundly impressed with these sentiments, the
     undersigned citizens of Nelson County consider it compatible
     with neither the national character nor with the gratitude of
     the Republic that this aged patriot should be deprived of his
     estate or abridged in his comforts at the close of a long life
     so ably spent in the service of his country.[74]

  [73] Alluding to the meeting in Richmond.

  [74] This handsome tribute to Jefferson, concluding with such
  a delicate appeal to the gratitude of his countrymen for his
  relief, was penned by his friend, J. C. Cabell.

Fair words these, but barren as the desert air. From his own State
Mr. Jefferson received no aid whatever; but other States came to his
relief in a manner which was both gratifying and efficient. Without
effort, Philip Hone, the Mayor of New York, raised $8500, which he
transmitted to Mr. Jefferson on behalf of the citizens of New York;
from Philadelphia he received $5000, and from Baltimore $3000. These
sums were promptly sent as soon as his embarrassed circumstances
became known. He was much touched by this proof of the affection and
esteem of his countrymen, and feelingly exclaimed: "No cent of this
is wrung from the tax-payer--it is the pure and unsolicited offering
of love."

Happily, he died unconscious that the sales of his property would
fail to pay his debts, that his beautiful home would pass into the
hands of strangers, and that his "dear and beloved daughter" would
go forth into the world penniless, as its doors were closed upon her

  [75] On learning the destitute condition in which Mrs. Randolph
  was left, the Legislature of South Carolina at once presented her
  with $10,000; and Louisiana, following her example, generously
  gave the same sum--acts which will ever be gratefully remembered
  by the descendants of Martha Jefferson.

The following quotation from a French writer--one by no means
friendly to Jefferson--forms a fitting conclusion for this sad
chapter of his life. After alluding to the grand outburst of popular
feeling displayed in the funeral orations throughout the country on
the deaths of Adams and Jefferson, he says:

     But the nobler emotions of democracy are of short duration: it
     soon forgets its most faithful servants. Six months had not
     elapsed when Jefferson's furniture was sold at auction to pay
     his debts, when Monticello and Poplar Forest were advertised for
     sale at the street corners, and when the daughter of him whom
     America had called "the father of democracy" had no longer a
     place to rest her head.[76]

  [76] Thomas Jefferson, Étude Historique sur la Démocratie
  Américaine; par Cornelis De Witt, p. 380.


     Letter to Namesake.--To John Adams.--Declining Health.--Dr.
     Dunglison's Memoranda.--Tenderness to his Family.--Accounts of
     his Death by Dr. Dunglison and Colonel Randolph.--Farewell to
     his Daughter.--Directions for a Tombstone.--It is erected by his
     Grandson.--Shameful Desecration of Tombstones at Monticello.

A friend and admirer of Jefferson's, who had named a son after him,
requested that he would write a letter of advice for his young
namesake. Jefferson accordingly wrote the following beautiful note to
be kept for him until the young child came to years of understanding:

_To Thomas Jefferson Smith._

     This letter will, to you, be as one from the dead. The writer
     will be in the grave before you can weigh its counsels. Your
     affectionate and excellent father has requested that I would
     address to you something which might possibly have a favorable
     influence on the course of life you have to run; and I too,
     as a namesake, feel an interest in that course. Few words
     will be necessary, with good dispositions on your part. Adore
     God. Reverence and cherish your parents. Love your neighbor
     as yourself, and your country more than yourself. Be just. Be
     true. Murmur not at the ways of Providence. So shall the life
     into which you have entered, be the portal to one of eternal
     and ineffable bliss. And if to the dead it is permitted to care
     for the things of this world, every action of your life will be
     under my regard. Farewell.

     Monticello, February 21st, 1825.

     _The Portrait of a Good Man by the most sublime of Poets, for
     your Imitation._

       Lord, who's the happy man that may to thy blest courts repair;
       Not stranger-like to visit them, but to inhabit there?
       'Tis he whose every thought and deed by rules of virtue moves;
       Whose generous tongue disdains to speak the thing his heart

       Who never did a slander forge, his neighbor's fame to wound;
       Nor hearken to a false report by malice whispered round.

       Who vice in all its pomp and power, can treat with just neglect;
       And piety, though clothed in rags, religiously respect.

       Who to his plighted vows and trust has ever firmly stood;
       And though he promise to his loss, he makes his promise good.

       Whose soul in usury disdains his treasure to employ;
       Whom no rewards can ever bribe the guiltless to destroy.

       The man who, by this steady course, has happiness insured,
       When earth's foundations shake, shall stand by Providence secured.

          _A Decalogue of Canons for Observation in Practical Life._

       1. Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day.
       2. Never trouble another for what you can do yourself.
       3. Never spend your money before you have it.
       4. Never buy what you do not want because it is cheap; it will be
                dear to you.
       5. Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst, and cold.
       6. We never repent of having eaten too little.
       7. Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly.
       8. How much pain have cost us the evils which have never happened.
       9. Take things always by their smooth handle.
       10. When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry,
                an hundred.

A little more than a year after the date of this letter we find
Jefferson writing his last letter to John Adams. The playful tone
in which it is written gives no evidence of the suffering from the
disease under which he was laboring at the time.

_To John Adams._

                               Monticello, March 25th, 1826.

     Dear Sir--My grandson, Thomas J. Randolph, the bearer of this
     letter, being on a visit to Boston, would think he had seen
     nothing were he to leave without seeing you. Although I truly
     sympathize with you in the trouble these interruptions give,
     yet I must ask for him permission to pay to you his personal
     respects. Like other young people, he wishes to be able, in the
     winter nights of old age, to recount to those around him what he
     has heard and learnt of the heroic age preceding his birth, and
     which of the Argonauts individually he was in time to have seen.

     It was the lot of our early years to witness nothing but the
     dull monotony of a colonial subservience, and of our riper years
     to breast the labors and perils of working out of it. Theirs are
     the halcyon calms succeeding the storms which our Argosy had so
     stoutly weathered. Gratify his ambition, then, by receiving his
     best bow, and my solicitude for your health, by enabling him to
     bring me a favorable account of it. Mine is but indifferent, but
     not so my friendship and respect for you.

                                              TH. JEFFERSON.

The leaders of different parties bitterly opposed to each other, and
living at a time when party spirit ran so high, there is something
remarkable, as well as beautiful, in the friendship which existed
between these two distinguished men, and which, surviving all
political differences and rivalry, expired only on the same day which
saw them both breathe their last.[77]

  [77] Without meaning the least irreverence in the world to the
  memory of these two great and good men, I can not refrain here
  from giving the reader the benefit of a good story, which has the
  advantage over most good stories of being strictly true:

  There was living in Albemarle, at the time of Jefferson's
  death, an enthusiastic democrat, who, admiring him beyond all
  men, thought that, by dying on the 4th of July, he had raised
  himself and his party one step higher in the temple of fame. Then
  came the news that John Adams had died on the same great day.
  Indignant at the bare suggestion of such a thing, he at first
  refused to believe it, and, when he could no longer discredit
  the news, exclaimed, in a passion, that "it was a damned Yankee

In the spring of the year 1826 Jefferson's family became aware that
his health was failing rapidly. Of this he had been conscious himself
for some time previous. Though enfeebled by age and disease, he
turned a deaf ear to Mrs. Randolph's entreaties that he would allow
his faithful servant, Burwell, to accompany him in his daily rides.
He said, if his family insisted, that he would give up his rides
entirely; but that he had "helped himself" from his childhood, and
that the presence of a servant in his daily musings with nature would
be irksome to him. So, until within a very short time of his death,
old Eagle was brought up every day, even when his venerable master
was so weak that he could only get into the saddle by stepping down
from the terrace.

As he felt the sands of life running low, his love for his family
seemed to increase in tenderness. Mr. Randall says, in his excellent
biography of him, in alluding to this period:

     Mr. Jefferson's deportment to his family was touching. He
     evidently made an effort to keep up their spirits. He was as
     gentle as a child, but conversed with such vigor and animation
     that they would have often cheated themselves with the belief
     that months, if not years, of life were in store for him, and
     that he himself was in no expectation of speedy death, had they
     not witnessed the infant-like debility of his powerful frame,
     and had they not occasionally, when they looked suddenly at him,
     caught resting on themselves that riveted and intensely-loving
     gaze which showed but too plainly that his thoughts were on a
     rapidly-approaching parting. And as he folded each in his arms
     as they separated for the night, there was a fervor in his kiss
     and gaze that declared as audibly as words that he felt the
     farewell might prove a final one.

In speaking of his private life, Dr. Dunglison, in his Memoranda,

     The opportunities I had of witnessing the private life of Mr.
     Jefferson were numerous. It was impossible for any one to be
     more amiable in his domestic relations; it was delightful to
     observe the devoted and respectful attention that was paid him
     by all the family. In the neighborhood, too, he was greatly
     revered. Perhaps, however, according to the all-wise remark that
     no one is a prophet in his own country, he had more personal
     detractors there, partly owing to difference in political
     sentiments, which are apt to engender so much unworthy acrimony
     of feeling; but still more, perhaps, owing to the views which he
     was supposed to possess on the subject of religion; yet it was
     well known that he did not withhold his aid when a church had
     to be established in the neighborhood, and that he subscribed
     largely to the Episcopal church erected in Charlottesville.
     After his death much sectarian intolerance was exhibited, owing
     to the publication of certain of his letters, in which he
     animadverted on the Presbyterians more especially; yet there
     could not have been a more unfounded assertion than that of
     a Philadelphia Episcopal divine that "Mr. Jefferson's memory
     was detested in Charlottesville and the vicinity." It is due,
     also, to that illustrious individual to say, that, in all my
     intercourse with him, I never heard an observation that savored,
     in the slightest degree, of impiety. His religious belief
     harmonized more closely with that of the Unitarians than of any
     other denomination, but it was liberal, and untrammelled by
     sectarian feelings and prejudices. It is not easy to find more
     sound advice, more appropriately expressed, than in the letter
     which he wrote to Thomas Jefferson Smith, dated February 21st,

  [78] See page 419.

It was beautiful, too, to witness the deference that was paid by
Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison to each other's opinions. When as
secretary, and as chairman of the faculty, I had to consult one
of them, it was a common interrogatory, What did the other say of
the matter? If possible, Mr. Madison gave indications of a greater
intensity of this feeling, and seemed to think that every thing
emanating from his ancient associate must be correct. In a letter
which Mr. Jefferson wrote to Mr. Madison a few months only before he
died (February 17th, 1826), he thus charmingly expresses himself.
[Here follows the conclusion of a letter to Mr. Madison already
given, beginning at the words "The friendship which has subsisted
between us," etc.]

Mr. Randall gives us, in his work, the following accounts of his
last hours and death, written by two of those who were present--Dr.
Dunglison and his grandson, Colonel T. J. Randolph. I give Dr.
Dunglison's first:

     In the spring of 1826 the health of Mr. Jefferson became more
     impaired; his nutrition fell off; and at the approach of summer
     he was troubled with diarrhœa, to which he had been liable for
     some years--ever since, as he believed, he had resorted to the
     Virginia Springs, especially the White Sulphur, and had freely
     used the waters externally for an eruption which did not yield
     readily to the ordinary remedies. I had prescribed for this
     affection early in June, and he had improved somewhat; but on
     the 24th of that month he wrote me the last note I received
     from him, begging me to visit him, as he was not so well.
     This note was, perhaps, the last he penned. On the same day,
     however, he wrote an excellent letter to General Weightman, in
     reply to an invitation to celebrate in Washington the fiftieth
     anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, which he
     declined on the ground of indisposition. This, Professor Tucker
     says, was probably his last letter. It had all the striking
     characteristics of his vigorous and unfaded intellect.

     The tone of the note I received from him satisfied me of the
     propriety of visiting him immediately; and having mentioned
     the subject to Mr. Tucker, he proposed to accompany me. I
     immediately saw that the affection was making a decided
     impression on his bodily powers, and, as Mr. Tucker has properly
     remarked in his life of this distinguished individual, was
     apprehensive that the attack would prove fatal. Nor did Mr.
     Jefferson himself indulge any other opinion. From this time his
     strength gradually diminished, and he had to remain in bed....

     Until the 2d and 3d of July he spoke freely of his approaching
     death; made all his arrangements with his grandson, Mr.
     Randolph, in regard to his private affairs; and expressed his
     anxiety for the prosperity of the University, and his confidence
     in the exertion in its behalf of Mr. Madison and the other
     Visitors. He repeatedly, too, mentioned his obligation to me
     for my attention to him. During the last week of his existence
     I remained at Monticello; and one of the last remarks he made
     was to me. In the course of the day and night of the 2d of July
     he was affected with stupor, with intervals of wakefulness and
     consciousness; but on the 3d the stupor became almost permanent.
     About seven o'clock of the evening of that day he awoke, and,
     seeing me staying at his bedside, exclaimed, "Ah! Doctor, are
     you still there?" in a voice, however, that was husky and
     indistinct. He then asked, "Is it the Fourth?" to which I
     replied, "It soon will be." These were the last words I heard
     him utter.

     Until towards the middle of the day--the 4th--he remained in the
     same state, or nearly so, wholly unconscious to every thing that
     was passing around him. His circulation was gradually, however,
     becoming more languid; and for some time prior to dissolution
     the pulse at the wrist was imperceptible. About one o'clock he
     ceased to exist.

Jefferson had the utmost confidence in Dr. Dunglison, and, on being
entreated by a Philadelphia friend to send for the celebrated Dr.
Physic, he refused kindly, but firmly, to do so, saying, "I have got
a Dr. Physic of my own--I have entire confidence in Dr. Dunglison."
Nor would he allow any other physician to be called in.

Ever thoughtful of others, and anxious to the last not to give
trouble, he at first refused to allow even a servant to be with him
at night; and when, at last, he became so weak as to be forced to
yield his consent, he made his attendant, Burwell, bring a pallet
into his room that he might rest during the night.

"In the parting interview with the female members of his family,"
says Mr. Randall, "Mr. Jefferson, besides general admonitions (the
tenor of which corresponds with those contained in his letter to
Thomas Jefferson Smith), addressed to them affectionate words
of encouragement and practical advice adapted to their several
situations. In this he did not pass over a young great-grandchild
(Ellen Bankhead), but exhorted her to diligently persevere in her
studies, for they would help to make life valuable to her. He gently
but audibly murmured: 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in

  [79] See Randall's Jefferson, vol. iii., p. 547.

I now give Colonel Randolph's account of his grandfather's death.
Having revised this for me, he has in one or two instances inserted a
few words which were not in the original.

     Mr. Jefferson had suffered for several years before his death
     from a diarrhœa which he concealed from his family, lest it
     might give them uneasiness. Not aware of it, I was surprised, in
     conversation with him in March, 1826, to hear him, in speaking
     of an event likely to occur about midsummer, say doubtingly
     that he might live to that time. About the middle of June,
     hearing that he had sent for his physician, Dr. Dunglison, of
     the University of Virginia, I immediately went to see him.[80]
     I found him out in his public rooms. Before leaving the house,
     he sent a servant to me to come to his room, whereupon he handed
     me a paper, which he desired me to examine, remarking, "Don't
     delay; there is no time to be lost." He gradually declined, but
     would only have his servants sleeping near him: being disturbed
     only at nine, twelve, and four o'clock in the night, he needed
     little nursing. Becoming uneasy about him, I entered his room,
     unobserved, to pass the night. Coming round inadvertently to
     assist him, he chided me, saying, that, being actively employed
     all day, I needed repose. On my replying that it was more
     agreeable to me to be with him, he acquiesced, and I did not
     leave him again.

  [80] Col. Randolph lived on an estate adjoining Monticello.

A day or two after, at my request, my brother-in-law (Mr. Trist)
was admitted. His servants, ourselves, and the doctor became his
sole nurses. My mother sat with him during the day, but he would
not permit her to sit up at night. His family had to decline for
him numerous tenders of service from kind and affectionate friends
and neighbors, fearing and seeing that it would excite him to
conversation injurious to him in his weak condition.

He suffered no pain, but gradually sank from debility. His mind
was always clear--it never wandered. He conversed freely, and gave
directions as to his private affairs. His manner was that of a
person going on a necessary journey--evincing neither satisfaction
nor regret. He remarked upon the tendency of his mind to recur back
to the scenes of the Revolution. Many incidents he would relate, in
his usual cheerful manner, insensibly diverting my mind from his
dying condition. He remarked that the curtains of his bed had been
purchased from the first cargo that arrived after the peace of 1782.

Upon my expressing the opinion, on one occasion, that he was somewhat
better, he turned to me, and said, "Do not imagine for a moment that
I feel the smallest solicitude about the result; I am like an old
watch, with a pinion worn out here, and a wheel there, until it can
go no longer."

On another occasion, when he was unusually ill, he observed to the
doctor, "A few hours more, doctor, and it will be all over."

Upon being suddenly aroused from sleep by a noise in the room,
he asked if he had heard the name of Mr. Hatch mentioned--the
minister whose church he attended. On my replying in the negative,
he observed, as he turned over, "I have no objection to see him,
as a kind and good neighbor." The impression made upon my mind at
the moment was, that his religious opinions having been formed upon
mature study and reflection, he had no doubts upon his mind, and
therefore did not desire the attendance of a clergyman: I have never
since doubted of the correctness of the impression then taken.

His parting interview with the different members of his family was
calm and composed; impressing admonitions upon them, the cardinal
points of which were, to pursue virtue, be true and truthful. My
youngest brother, in his eighth year, seeming not to comprehend the
scene, he turned to me with a smile, and said, "George[81] does not
understand what all this means."

  [81] This was George Wythe Randolph, who became an eminent lawyer
  in Virginia, and who, in the late civil war entering warmly in
  the defense of the South, was distinguished in both the cabinet
  and field in the Confederate service.

He would speculate upon the person who would succeed him as Rector of
the University of Virginia, and concluded that Mr. Madison would be
appointed. With all the deep pathos of exalted friendship, he spoke
of his purity, his virtue, his wisdom, his learning, and his great
abilities; and then, stretching his head back on his pillow, he said,
with a sigh, "But ah! he could never in his life stand up against
strenuous opposition." The friendship of these great men was of an
extraordinary character. They had been born, lived, and died within
twenty-five miles of each other, and they visited frequently through
their whole lives. At twenty-three years old Mr. Jefferson had been
consulted on Mr. Madison's course of study--he then fifteen. Thus
commenced a friendship as remarkable for its duration as it was for
the fidelity and warmth of its feelings. The admiration of each for
the wisdom, abilities, and purity of the other was unlimited. Their
habit of reliance upon mutual counsel equalled the sincerity of their
affection and the devotion of their esteem.

In speaking of the calumnies which his enemies had uttered against
his public and private character with such unmitigated and untiring
bitterness, he said that he had not considered them as abusing him;
they had never known _him_. They had created an imaginary being
clothed with odious attributes, to whom they had given his name; and
it was against that creature of their imaginations they had levelled
their anathemas.

On Monday, the third of July, his slumbers were evidently those of
approaching dissolution; he slept until evening, when, upon awaking,
he seemed to imagine it was morning, and remarked that he had slept
all night without being disturbed. "This is the fourth of July,"
he said. He soon sank again into sleep, and on being aroused at
nine to take his medicine, he remarked in a clear distinct voice,
"No, doctor, nothing more." The omission of the dose of laudanum
administered every night during his illness caused his slumbers to be
disturbed and dreamy; he sat up in his sleep and went through all the
forms of writing; spoke of the Committee of Safety, saying it ought
to be warned.

As twelve o'clock at night approached, we anxiously desired that
his death should be hallowed by the Anniversary of Independence.
At fifteen minutes before twelve we stood noting the minute-hand
of the watch, hoping a few minutes of prolonged life. At four
A.M. he called the servants in attendance with a strong and clear
voice, perfectly conscious of his wants. He did not speak again.
About ten he fixed his eyes intently upon me, indicating some
want, which, most painfully, I could not understand, until his
attached servant, Burwell, observed that his head was not so much
elevated as he usually desired it, for his habit was to lie with
it very much elevated. Upon restoring it to its usual position he
seemed satisfied. About eleven, again fixing his eyes upon me, and
moving his lips, I applied a wet sponge to his mouth, which he
sucked and appeared to relish--this was the last evidence he gave
of consciousness. He ceased to breathe, without a struggle, fifty
minutes past meridian--July 4th, 1826. I closed his eyes with my own

He was, at all times during his illness, perfectly assured of his
approaching end, his mind ever clear, and at no moment did he evince
the least solicitude about the result; he was as calm and composed
as when in health. He died a pure and good man. It is for others
to speak of his greatness. He desired that his interment should be
private, without parade, and our wish was to comply with his request,
and no notice of the hour of interment or invitations were issued.
His body was borne privately from his dwelling by his family and
servants, but his neighbors and friends, anxious to pay the last
tribute of respect and affection to one whom they had loved and
honored, waited for it in crowds at the grave.

Two days before his death, Jefferson told Mrs. Randolph that in a
certain drawer, in an old pocket-book, she would find something
intended for her. On looking in the drawer after his death, she found
the following touching lines, composed by himself:

_A Death-bed Adieu from Th. J. to M. R._

    Life's visions are vanished, its dreams are no more;
    Dear friends of my bosom, why bathed in tears?
    I go to my fathers, I welcome the shore
    Which crowns all my hopes or which buries my cares.
    Then farewell, my dear, my lov'd daughter, adieu!
    The last pang of life is in parting from you!
    Two seraphs await me long shrouded in death;
    I will bear them your love on my last parting breath.

As soon as Mr. Madison was informed of the death of his revered
friend, he wrote the following handsome letter to a gentleman who had
married into Mr. Jefferson's family:

_From James Madison._

                                Montpellier, July 6th, 1826.

     Dear Sir--I have just received yours of the 4th. A few lines
     from Dr. Dunglison had prepared me for such a communication,
     and I never doubted that the last scene of our illustrious
     friend would be worthy of the life it closed. Long as this has
     been spared to his country and to those who loved him, a few
     years more were to have been desired for the sake of both. But
     we are more than consoled for the loss by the gain to him, and
     by the assurance that he lives and will live in the memory and
     gratitude of the wise and good, as a luminary of science, as a
     votary of liberty, as a model of patriotism, and as a benefactor
     of the human kind. In these characters I have known him, and
     not less in the virtues and charms of social life, for a period
     of fifty years, during which there was not an interruption or
     diminution of mutual confidence and cordial friendship for a
     single moment in a single instance. What I feel, therefore, now
     need not, I should say can not, be expressed. If there be any
     possible way in which I can _usefully_ give evidence of it, do
     not fail to afford me the opportunity. I indulge a hope that the
     unforeseen event will not be permitted to impair _any_ of the
     beneficial measures which were in progress, or in prospect. It
     can not be unknown that the anxieties of the deceased were for
     others, not for himself.

     Accept, my dear sir, my best wishes for yourself and for all
     with whom we sympathize, in which Mrs. Madison most sincerely

                                              JAMES MADISON.

To the same gentleman, Judge Dabney Carr, of the Court of Appeals of
Virginia, wrote:

     The loss of Mr. Jefferson is one over which the whole world will
     mourn. He was one of those ornaments and benefactors of the
     human race whose death forms an epoch and creates a sensation
     throughout the whole circle of civilized man. But that feeling
     is nothing to what those feel who are connected with him by
     blood,[82] and bound to him by gratitude for a thousand favors.
     To me he has been more than a father, and I have ever loved
     and revered him with my whole heart.... Taken as a whole,
     history presents nothing so grand, so beautiful, so peculiarly
     felicitous in all the great points, as the life and character of
     Thomas Jefferson.

  [82] Judge Carr was Mr. Jefferson's nephew.

After Mr. Jefferson's death there were found in a drawer in his room,
among other souvenirs, some little packages containing locks of the
hair of his deceased wife, daughter, and even the infant children
that he had lost. These relics are now lying before me. They are
labelled in his own handwriting. One, marked "_A lock of our first
Lucy's hair, with some of my dear, dear wife's writing_," contains
a few strands of soft, silk-like hair evidently taken from the head
of a very young infant. Another, marked simply "_Lucy_," contains a
beautiful golden curl.

Among his papers there were found written on the torn back of an old
letter the following directions for his monument and its inscription:

     Could the dead feel any interest in monuments or other
     remembrances of them, when, as Anacreon says,

                             Ὀλίγη δὲ κεισόμεθα
                           Κόνις, ὁστέων λυθέντων,

     the following would be to my manes the most gratifying: on the
     grave a plain die or cube of three feet without any mouldings,
     surmounted by an obelisk of six feet height, each of a single
     stone; on the faces of the obelisk the following inscription,
     and not a word more:

                            HERE WAS BURIED

                           THOMAS JEFFERSON,
          Author of the Declaration of American Independence,
           Of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom,
               And Father of the University of Virginia;

     because by these, as testimonials that I have lived, I wish
     most to be remembered. [It] to be of the coarse stone of which
     my columns are made, that no one might be tempted hereafter to
     destroy it for the value of the materials. My bust, by Ceracchi,
     with the pedestal and truncated column on which it stands, might
     be given to the University, if they would place it in the dome
     room of the Rotunda. On the die of the obelisk might be engraved:

                 _Born_ Apr. 2, 1743, O. S.
                   _Died_ ---- ---- ----.

Folded up in the same paper which contained these directions was
a scrap on which was written the dates and inscription for Mrs.
Jefferson's tomb, which I have already given at page 64 of this book.

Jefferson's efforts to save his monument from mutilation by having
it made of coarse stone have been futile. His grandson, Colonel
Randolph, followed his directions in erecting the monument which is
placed over him. He lies buried between his wife and his daughter,
Mary Eppes: across the head of these three graves lie the remains of
his eldest daughter, Martha Randolph. This group lies in front of a
gap in the high brick wall which surrounds the whole grave-yard, the
gap being filled by a high iron grating, giving a full view of the
group, that there might be no excuse for forcing open the high iron
gates which close the entrance to the grave-yard. But all precautions
have been in vain. The gates have been again and again broken open,
the grave-yard entered, and the tombs desecrated. The edges of the
granite obelisk over Jefferson's grave have been chipped away until
it now stands a misshapen column. Of the slabs placed over the graves
of Mrs. Jefferson and Mrs. Eppes not a vestige remains, while of the
one over Mrs. Randolph only fragments are left.

[Illustration: GRAVE OF JEFFERSON, A.D. 1850.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's note:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.

Variations in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been
retained except in obvious cases of typographical error. Unmatched
quotation marks have been ignored.

The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the
transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

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