Chapter XII

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 extracts:

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 reader:

_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
affectionately.

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
idea.

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 State."

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 Randolph:

_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
them.

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 Lafayette:

_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.