Chapter XIX

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.

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 grand-daughters.

_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.

TH. JEFFERSON.

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
gentlemen.

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
world.

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 Adams:

_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 correspondence.

_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 not.

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
affliction.

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
age.

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
again....

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.