■1; vV ■/>. K<-^ '■^^ ^%^ J^ ^' ^ .'O ^^J. ^^ /, D^^/X', //-_ /i^dJ 7 LETTERS OP Mrs. ADAMS, THE WIFE OF JOHN ADAMS. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR BY HER GRANDSON, CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS. BOSTON: CHARLES C. LITTLE AND JAMES BROWN. M DCCC XL. w ^ ^ ■^ i Entered according to Act of Congress 'n the year 1840, by Charles Franci ms, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. C A RI BRIDGE: FOLSOM, WELLS, AND THURSTON, PBINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. L CONTENTS Page Memoir xxi 1761. To Mrs. H. Lincoln. 5 October. Accepts the offer to • correspond with her. Views of life 3 1764. To John Adams. 16 April. Pleasure in writing. Ques- tions about his health 7 To the same. 19-20 April. Wishes to know her faults. Dreams » 8 1767. ^ To the same. 14 September. Family well. At her fa- ther's 12 1774. To the same. 19 August. Time tedious in his absence. Anxiety for the future. Reading Rollin 13 To the same. 2 September. Popular excitement. Seiz- ure of the warrants for summoning juries. Drought . 15 To the same. 14 - 16 September. Warlike preparations of Governor Gage. The gunpowder in Braintree se- cured by the people. They force the Sheriff to surren- der warrants and burn them. Dismay of the Tories. At Colonel Quincy's. Students at law in her house. X CONTENTS. Page Mr. Thaxter leaches her son. Morals of children. Popular feeling in Taunton 18 To the same. 22 September. Visit to Boston. State of the town. Negro conspiracy 23 To the same. 16 October. Desires his return. Fears for the future. Necessity of economy. General Gage. Departure of Josiah Q.uincy, Jr., for England ... 25 1775. To the same. 4 May. Affairs at home. Hutchinson's letters. Mr. Quincy's death 29 To the same. 7 May. Cheering news from North Car- olina. Distress of Boston 31 To the same. 24 May. Alarm in Braintree. British foraging party. Arrival of Dr. Franklin from Europe. Fire in Boston. State of her house 32 To the same. 15 June. Arrival of British recruits. Ap- prehensions. Mr. Bowdoin. Importance of soldiers. Scarcity of pins 35 To the same. 18-20 June, Action on Bunker's Hill. Death of Dr. Warren 39 To the same. 22 June. Answers inquiries. Dr. Tufts. Preparations for removal 41 To the same. 25 June. Particulars of the action on Bunker's Hill. Divine service. Preacher not ardent enough. Condition of Boston. Effect of reports . . 43 To the same. 5 July. Pleasure of telling news. State of Boston. Not afraid. Scarcity of grain .... 47 To the same. 16 July. Appointment of Washington and Lee satisfactory. First impressions upon seeing them. State of Boston. British attacked upon Long Island. Braintree elects a representative. Scarcity of foreign goods 50 To the same. 25 July. Boston lighthouse burnt by a party of Americans. Restrictions on the inhabitants of Bos- ton. Generals Burgoyne and Clinton. Visit to Dedham 57 CONTENTS. XI Page To the same. 31 July -2 August. Inveighs against Britain. Treatment of Dr. Warren's remains. British carpenters attacked at the lighthouse. Four prison- ers with whom she converses 63 To the same. 1 October. Death of her mother. In great distress. Prevalence of disease 67 To the same. 21 October. Sickness abated. State of Boston. Dr. Church. Her father's grief. Complains of her long separation from her husband. Want of needles and cloth 69 To the same. 22 October. Describes her mother's death. Effect upon herself. British demand upon Fal- mouth. Tory satires in Boston . . 73 To the same. 5 November. Dines in company with Dr. Franklin. Reflections upon Dr. Church. Hopes for her husband's return 76 To the same. 12 November. Renounces attachment to Britain. Skirmish at Lechmere's Point. Her own mel- ancholy 76 To the same. 27 November. Regrets his prolonged stay. Reflections upon government 80 To the same. 10 December. Visits the American camp. Generals Lee and Sullivan. Suggests meas- ures. Scarcity of foreign goods. Congress too timid 83 1776. To the same. 2-9 March. Ridiculous rumor. Desires independence to be declared. Roar of cannon from Dorchester Heights. Disappointment at the result. Movements in Congress 87 To the same. 7-11 April. British troops removed. Funeral of Dr. Warren. Engaged in farming. Cap- ture of a British vessel. News 93 To the same. 7-9 May. Neglect of preparations for de- fence. Necessity for government. More captures . 96 To the same. 17 June. At Plymouth. Goes on board XU CONTENTS. Page the brig Defence. Account of the capture of two transports. Confidence in the future 100 To the same. 29 September. Anxious for news. High prices paid for drafted men. Great number in the public service, and in privateers. Willing to reap the harvests 105 1777. To the same. 30-31 July. Bad news from the north. Distrust of foreign officers. Female mob in Boston . 107 To the same. 5 August. Alarm in Boston. Proves un- founded. Mourns her separation from him .... 110 To the same. 17 September. Letter from Mr. Lovell. Horrible apprehensions 113 To the same. 25 October. General Burgoyne's surren- der. Generous terms offered to him. Reflections upon her wedding anniversary 114 1778. To the same. 8 March. Rumor of Dr. Franklin's assas- sination. Apprehensions at her husband's departure for Europe. Directions to her son 116 To the same. 18 May. Anxious for intelligence of him. Attachment to her native country. Opposite conduct of France and of Great Britain. Depreciated currency 119 To John Quincy Adams. June. Advice 122 To John Adams. 30 June. Receipt of his first letter from abroad. Begs for more. Defective female edu- cation in America. Shebbeare's Letters 125 To the same. October. Officers of the French fleet. Visits the ship of Count d'Estaing. Is displeased with the brevity of her husband's letters. Paper money . 129 To the same. 27 December. Her lonely situation this winter. EflTect of a Scotch song ........ 132 1779. To the same. 20 March - 23 April. Letters intercepted. CONTENTS. Xm Page Paper money. Public news. Capture of British ves- sels 134 To the same. 8 June, Depreciated currency. Death ofDr. Winthrop 138 To the same. 14 November. Her house looks disconso- late at his departure .... 142 1780. To John Quincy Adams. 12 January. Advice. Advan- tages of travelling. Great necessities call out great virtues 143 To the same. 20 March. Religion the only foundation of virtue. Self-knowledge recommended, and self- government 146 To John Adams. 16 July. Receipt of letters. Sacrifi- ces to support the war . . 151 To the same. 15 October. Arnold's plot. Prices cur- rent 154 1781. To the same. 23 January. Repeal of the tender law. Heavy taxes. British employ Arnold 157 To the same. 2o May. Beauty of the season. Hopes he may make a treaty with Holland. The currency has lost all value 160 To the same. 9 December. Marquis de la Fayette. The surrender of Cornwallis. Anxiety about the re- turn of her second son. tlas the heart-ache for want of letters. Requests assistance for townsmen in British prisons. Hopes for his return. Affairs of business .163 1782. To the same. 25 October. Eighteenth anniversary of her wedding. Reflections. Return of the prisoners . 168 To the same. 13-25 November. Regrets his long ab- sence. Her confidence in him 172 XIV CONTENTS. Page To the same. 23 December. Expresses her feelings. Willing to sacrifice them for the common good . . . 175 1783. To the same. 28-29 April. Joy at the news of peace. Amused by his Journal. Movement in Congress. Doubts about accepting his invitation to join him in Europe 177 To the same. 20 June, Uncertainty as to his course. Doubtful state of the country. Would prefer his return to going to join him 182 To the same. 19 November. Decides not to cross the ocean this winter. Anxious about his health , . . 186 To John Quincy Adams. 20 November. Rejoiced to hear at last from him. Advice 188 To John Adams. 18 December. Attends divine service in Boston. Feelings occasioned by the Thanksgiving sermon of Dr. Clark. Arrival of, and interview with, Mr. Dana. Answers her husband's pressing invitation to join him 192 To John Quincy Adams. 26 December. Comparison of Russia and America. Causes of the rise and fall of nations. Advice 196 1784. To Mrs. Cranch. 6-30 July. Journal on board ship Active. Fellow passengers. Arrival at Deal. Mode of landing on the beach. Journey to London. Seiz- ure of a highwayman. Visiters in London. Copley's paintings. Mrs. Wright's wax figures. The Found- ling and Magdalen hospitals. Arrival of her son . . 199 To the same. 5 September. At Auteuil. Describes her house. Habits and expense of living in France. Servants 242 To Miss Lucy Cranch. 5 September. Difference of travelling in France and in England. Prefers London CONTENTS. XV * Page to Paris. Dines with a French lady at Dr. Franklin's. Her disgust . . . . • 251 To Mrs. Cranch. 9-12 December. Her solitude out of Paris. Expense of living. Visit to the Marquise de la Fayette who dines with her. Manners and dress of French ladies. Arrival of letters from home. Loth to part with her son 254 To Mrs Shaw. 14 December. Auteuil famous only as the residence of learned men. French habits on Sun- day. Fondness for display. Great number of domes- tics 264 1785. To the Rev. John Shaw. 18 January. The churches in Paris. Auricular confession. Visits the Church of St. Roch. Chorus of charity boys. The Abbe Thayer .268 To Mrs. Storer. 20 January. Climate of France. Dress and manners of the ladies. Melodramatic pantomime. Dancing. Fashions in dress 271 To Miss Lucy Cranch. 24 January. Reproves her for her handwriting, Twelfth-day cake. The way king- doms are obtained 275 To Mrs. Cranch. 20 February - 13 March. Effect upon her of opera dancing. It injures the public morals. Dinners at the Marquis de la Fayette's and at home . 279 To Miss Lucy Cranch. 7 May. Dines at Mr. Jeffer- son's. Walk in the gardens of the Tuileries .... 283 To Mrs. Shaw. 8 May. Regret at leaving Auteuil. Expense of frequent removals. Clothing injured in travelling. Anecdote 288 To Mrs. Cranch. 8-10 May. Feels her absence from home. Her son about to leave her 290 To the same. 24 June. Arrival in London. Looking for a house. Expense of living. Impostors. Mr. Adams presented to the King and Queen. A visit XVI CONTENTS. • Page from Lady Effingham. Ceremony of presentation indis- pensable. Her own dress and that of her daughter. She describes the scene. Want of female beauty at Court. Tory abuse 293 To Mrs, Shaw. 15 August. Her dwelling well situated. Illiberality of the English to other nations. Reasons why she prefers America to Europe. English hostility to the former 304 To Miss Lucy Cranch. 27 August. Letter-writing. Value of Richardson's writings. Extract from Sir Joshua Reynolds 306 To John Quincy Adams. 6 September. How she spent Sunday. Arrival of letters from home. Joy and grief near akin. Remarks upon the policy of England to- wards America. The Cardinal de Rohan 310 To Mrs. Cranch. 30 September. Dislikes the Court. Attends a drawing-room. English not so handsome as American women. Miss Dana. Reflections upon the illness of her aunt 314 To the same. 1 October. Company to dine. The corps diplomatique. Visit from Madame de Pinto. English feeling against America. Letter from Mr. Jefferson . 318 1786. To Mrs. Shaw. 4 March. Mrs. Siddons in the charac- ter of Desdemona ; in Matilda and in Lady Macbeth, Dislikes Shakspeare's play of Othello." Effect upon her of Colonel Trumbull's painting of the Death of General Warren. Character of her son 322 To Miss Lucy Cranch. 2 April. America remarkable for cultivating the social affections. Ball at the French Ambassador's. Her own dress. Her daughter's. De- scribes Lady N and her daughter 326 To Mrs. Cranch. 6 April. Rout at the Swedish Minis- ter's. Cards. English ladies gamble 332 To the same. 21 May. Office of American Minister not CONTENTS. XVll Page desirable. Improper notions of education for American boys. Dines at the Bishop of St. Asaph's. Dr. Priestley 334 To Miss Lucy Cranch. 20 July. Duke of Northumber- land laid in state. Excursion to Portsmouth. Wind- sor. The Castle 338 To Mrs. Cranch. 12 September. Visit to Holland. Its friendship not appreciated in America. Amsterdam. The Exchange. General impressions from the country and the people. Return to London. Receipt of Amer- ican letters. Death of her aunt 343 To John Quincy Adams. 27 September. Visit to the Hyde. Singularity of Mr. Brand-Hollis. His cabinet of curiosities. His sister and his gardener .... 350 To Mrs. Shaw. 21 November. Visit from Mr. . His unlucky observations to Mr. Adams. Reflections upon general benevolence. Mourning for Princess Amelia 356 1787. To Mrs. Cranch. 20 January. Visit to Bath. Story of Bladud. Describes the place. Its dissipation. Riots in America. Tuscarora rice 360 To the same. 25 - 27 February. Disturbances in Massa- chusetts 368 To the same. 28 April. Insurrection of Shays. Tory malignity 372 To the same. 16 July. Uneasy for want of letters, and anxious respecting her son's health. Mr. Jefferson's daughter. Commencement day 374 To the same. 15 September. Journey into Devonshire. Winchester. Family of Quincy. Southampton. Wey- mouth. Axminster. Exeter. Plymouth. Kings- bridge. Cranch family. Effect of attending public places upon female character 378 To Miss Lucy Cranch. 3 October. Visit to Blenheim 389 b XVlll CONTENTS. Page To John Quincy Adams. 12 October. Enjoins modera- tion. AfFair.g in Holland. Desire for war in Great Britain 395 1789. To Mrs. Shaw. 27 September. At Richmond Hill, N. Y. Describes her residence. Organization of the government 399 1790. To Thomas Brand-Plollis. 6 September. The same subject 402 To Mrs. Smith. 21 - 28 November. Arrival at Philadel- phia. State of her house. Compares Philadelphia to New York 405 To the same. 26 December. Attends at a drawing- room. Her distance from Philadelphia 403 1791. To the same. 8 January. Advises retirement. Visits the theatre 410 To the same. 25 January. News from Europe. Agree- able society. Value of parents 412 To the same. 21 February. Dines at the President's. Education of children. Dr. Watts' " Moral Songs for Children " 415 To Mrs. Shaw. 20 March. Excuses her not writing. Describes her residence near Philadelphia . . . . . 418 1794. To Mrs. Smith. 3 February. Fond of society. Reflec- tions upon the execution of Marie Antoinette . . . 421 To the same. 8 March. Illness of Mr. Adams's mother. Old age. Seneca 423 To the same. 10 March. Cautions respecting foreign- ers. Value of religion and attendance upon public worship 425 CONTENTS. XIX 1797. Page To John Adams. 8 February. Congratulation and good wishes 428 To the same. 26 April. Effect of funeral rites in her family. Ready to join him 429 1800. To Thomas B. Adams. 13 November. Result of the election of President. Proposed return to Quincy . . 430 To Mrs. Smith. 21 November. Arrival at Washington. Inconvenience of her nevt' situation. Meeting of Con- gress 432 1801. To Colonel W. S. Smith. 3 May. Acknowledges the receipt of plants at Quincy. Has returned to her dairy 436 To Thomas B. Adams. 12 July. Invites him to Quincy 437 1809. To Mrs. Shaw. 5 June. Has been ill. Effect of old age and loss of friends. Duty of an American wifet Mrs. Grant's " Letters from the Mountains " . . . . 438 1812. To Caroline A. Smith. 19-27 November. Journal of a day. Reflections upon her birth-day. Thanksgiving day 441 1814. To F. A. Vanderkemp. 3 February. Learned ladies, Madame de Stael 445 MEMOIR. The memorials of that generation, by whose efforts the independence of the United States was achieved, are in great abundance. There is hardly an event of impor- tance, from the year 1765 to the date of the definitive treaty of peace with Great Britain, in September, 1783, which has not been recorded, either by the industry of actors upon the scene, or by the indefatigable activity of a succeeding class of students. These persons have de- voted themselves, with a liighly commendable zeal, to the investigation of all particulars, even the most minute, that relate to this interesting period. The individuals, called to act most conspicuously in the Revolution, have many of them left voluminous collections of papers, which, as time passes, find their way to the light by pub- lication, and furnish important illustrations of the feel- ings and motives under which the contest was carried on. The actors are thus made to stand in bold relief before us. We not only see the public record, but the private commentary also ; and these, taken in connexion with the contemporaneous histories, all of which, however defective in jjhilosophical analysis, are invaluable deposi- tories of facts related by living witnesses, will serve to transmit to posterity the details for a narration in as com- XXU MEMOIR. plete a form as will in all probability ever be attained by the imperfect faculties of man. Admitting these observations to be true, there is, nev- ertheless, a distinction to be drawn between the materials for a history of action and those for one of feeling ; between the action of men aiming at distinction among their fellow- beings, and the private, familiar sentiments, that run into the texture of the social system, without remark or the hope of observation. Here it is, that something like a void in our annals appears still to exist. Our history is for the most part wrapped up in the forms of office. The great men of the Revolution, in the eyes of pos- terity, are many of them like heroes of a mythological age. They are seen, for the most part, when conscious that they are acting upon a theatre, where individual sentiment must be sometimes disguised, and often sacri- ficed, for the public good. Statesmen and generals rarely say all they think or feel. The consequence is, that, in the papers which come from them, they are made to as- sume a uniform of grave hue, which, though it doubtless exalts the opinion entertained of their perfections, some- what diminishes the interest with which later generations study their character. Students of human nature seek for examples of man under circumstances of difficulty and trial ; man as he is, not as he would appear ; but there are many reasons why they are often baffled in the search. We look for the workings of the heart, when those of the head alone are presented to us. We watch the emotions of the spirit, and yet find clear traces only of the reasoning of the intellect. The solitary medi- tation, the confidential whisper to a friend, never meant to reach the ear of the multitude, the secret wishes, not to be blazoned forth to catch apjjlause, the fluctuations between fear and hope, that most betray the springs of MEMOIR. XXm action, — these are the guides to character, which most frequently vanish with the moment that called them forth, and leave nothing to posterity but those coarser elements for judgment, that may be found in elaborated results. There is, however, still another element in the judg- ment of historical events, which is not infrequently lost sight of It is of great importance, not only to understand the nature of the superiority of the individuals, who have made themselves a name above their fellow-beings, but to estimate the degree in which the excellence for which they were distinguished was shared by those among whom they lived. Inattention to this duty might pre- sent Patrick Henry and James Otis, Washington, Jeffer- son, and Samuel Adams, as the causes of the American Revolution, which they were not. There was a moral principle in the field, to the power of which a great ma- jority of the whole population of the colonies, whether male or female, old or young, had been long and habitu- ally trained to do homage. The individuals named, with the rest of their celebrated associates, who best represent- ed that moral principle before the world, were not the originators, but the spokesmen, of the general opinion, and instruments for its adaptation to existing events. Whether fighting in the field, or deliberating in the Sen- ate, their strength against Great Britain was not that of numbers, nor of wealth, nor of genius ; but it drew its nourishment from the sentiment that pervaded the dwel- lings of the entire population. How much this home sentiment did then, and does ever, depend upon the character of the female portion of the people, will be too readily understood by all, to re- quire explanation. The domestic hearth is the first of schools, and the best of lecture-rooms; for tliere the heart XXIV MEMOIR. will cooperate with the mind, the affections with the reasoning power. And this is the scene for the ahnost exclusive sway of the weaker sex. Yet, great as the in- fluence thus exercised undoubtedly is, it escapes observa- tion in such a manner, that history rarely takes much account of it. The maxims of religion, faith, hope, and charity, are not passed through the alembic of logical proof, before they are admitted into the daily practice of women. They go at once into the teachings of infancy, and thus form the only high and pure motives of which matured manhood can, in its subsequent action, ever boast. Neither, when the stamp of duty is to be struck in the young mind, is there commonly so much of alloy in the female heart as with men, with which the genuine metal may be fused, and the face of the coin made dim. There is not so much room for the doctrines of expedi- ency, and the promptings of private interest, to compro- mise the force of public example. In every instance of domestic convulsions, and when the pruning-hook is de- serted for the sword and musket, the sacrifice of feelings made by the female sex is unmixed with a hope of worldly compensation. With them there is no ambi- tion to gratify, no fame to be gained by the simply nega- tive virtue of privations suffered in silence. There is no action to drown in its noise and bustle a full sense of the pain that must inevitably attend it. The lot of woman, in times of trouble, is to be a passive spectator of events, which she can scarcely hope to make subservient to her own fame, or to control. If it were possible to get at the expression of feelings by women in the heart of a community, at a moment of extraordinary trial, recorded in a shape evidently de- signed to be secret and confidential, this would seem to present the surest and most unfailing index to its general MEMOIR. XXV character. Hitherto we have not gathered much of this material in the United States. The dispersion of fami- lies, so common in America, the consequent destruction of private papers, the defective nature of female educa- tion before the Revolution, the difficulty and danger of free communication, and the engrossing character, to the men, of public, and to the women, of domestic cares, have all contributed to cut short, if not completely to destroy, the sources of information. It is truly remark- ed, in the present volume, that " instances of patience, perseverance, fortitude, magnanimity, courage, human- ity, and tenderness, which would have graced the Ro- man character, were known only to those who were themselves the actors, and whose modesty could not suffer them to blazon abroad their own fame." ^ The heroism of the females of the Revolution has gone from memory with the generation that witnessed it, and nothing, absolutely nothing, remains upon the ear of the young of the present day, but the faint echo of an expir- ing general tradition. There is, moreover, very little knowledge remaining to us of the domestic manners of the last century, when, with more of admitted distinc- tions than at present, there was more of general equality ; very little of the state of social feeling, or of that simplici- ty of intercourse, which, in colonial times, constituted in New England as near an approach to the successful ex- emplification of the democratic theory, as the irregularity in the natural gifts of men will, in all probability, ever practically allow. It is the pm-pose of the present volume to contribute something to the supply of this deficiency, by giving to tradition a form partially palpable. The present is be- lieved to be the first attempt, in the United States, to lay 1 Letter, 4 March, 1786, p. 325. XXVI MEMOIR. before the public a series of private letters, written with- out the remotest idea of publication, by a woman, to her husband, and others of her nearest and dearest relations. Their greatest value consists in the fact, susceptible of no misconception, that they furnish an exact transcript of the feelings of the writer, in times of no ordinary trial. Independently of this, the variety of scenes in which she wrote, and the opportunities furnished for observation in the situations in which she was placed by the elevation of her husband to high official positions in the country, may contribute to sustain the interest with which they will be read. The undertaking is, nevertheless, too novel not to inspire the Editor with some doubt of its success, particularly as it brings forward to public notice a per- son who has now been long removed from the scene of action, and of whom, it is not unreasonable to suppose, the present generation of readers have neither personal knowledge nor recollection. For the sake of facilitating their progress, and explaining the allusions to persons and objects very frequently occurring, it may not be deemed improper here to premise some account of her life. There were few persons of her day and generation, who derived their origin, or imbibed their character, more exclusively from the genuine stock of the 3Iassa- chusetts Puritan settlers, than Abigail Smith. Her father, the Reverend William Smith, was the settled minister of the Congregational Church at Weymouth, for more than forty years, and until his death. Her mother, Elizabeth Quincy, was the granddaughter of the Reverend John Norton, long the pastor of a church of the same denomi- nation in the neighbouring town of Hingham, and the nephew of John Norton, well known in the annals of the colony.l Her maternal grandfather, John Quincy, was 1 Hutchinson, Vol. I. pp. 220 et seq. BIEMOIR. XXVll the grandson of Thonnas Shepard, minister of Charles- town, distinguished in his day, and the son of the more distinguished Thomas Shejtard of Cambridge, whose name still lives in one of the churches of that town. These are persons whose merits may be found fully re- corded in the pages of Mather and of Neal. They were among the most noted of the most reputed class of their day. In a colony, founded so exclusively upon mo- tives of religious zeal as Massachusetts was, it necessarily followed, that the ordinary distinctions of society were in a great degree subverted, and that the leaders of the church, though without worldly possessions to boast of, were the most in honor everywhere. Education was promoted only as it was subsidiary to the great end of studying or expounding the Scriptures; and whatever of advance was made in the intellectual pursuits of soci- ety, was rather the incidental than the direct result of studies necessary to fit men for a holy calling. Hence it was, that the higher departments of knowledge were en- tered almost exclusively by the clergy. Classical learn- ing was a natural, though indirect consequence of the acquisition of those languages, in which the New Testa- ment and the Fathers were to be studied ; and dialectics formed the armour, of which men were compelled to learn the use, as a preparation for the wars of religious controversy. The mastery of these gave power and au- thority to their possessors. They, by a very natural transition, passed from being the guides of religious faith to their fellow men, to be guardians of education. To them, as the fountains of knowledge, and possessing the gifts most prized in the conmiunity, all other ranks in society cheerfully gave place. If a festive enter- tainment was meditated, the minister was sure to be first on the list of those to be invited. If any assembly of XXVIU BIEMOIR. citizens was held, he must be there to open the business with prayer. If a pohtical measure was in agitation, he was among the first whose opinion was to be consulted. Even the civil rights of the other citizens for a long time depended, in some degree, upon his good word ; and, after this rigid rule was laid aside, he yet continued, in the absence of technical law and lawyers, to be the arbiter and the judge in the differences between his fellow men. He was not infrequently the family physician. The great object of instruction being religious, the care of the young was also in his hands. The records of Harvard University, the child and darling of Puritan affections, show that of all the presiding officers, during the centu- ry and a half of colonial days, but two were laymen, and not ministers of the prevailing denomination ; and that of all, who, in the early times, availed themselves of such advantages as this institution could then offer, nearly half the number did so for the sake of devoting them- selves to the service of the gospel. But the prevailing notion of the purpose of education was attended with one remarkable consequence. The cultivation of the female mind was regarded with utter indifference. It is not impossible, that the early exam- ple of Mrs. Hutchinson, and the difficulties in which the public exercise of her gifts involved the colony, had established in the public mind a conviction of the danger that may attend the meddling of women with abstruse points of doctrine ; and these, however they might con- found the strongest intellect, were, nevertheless, the fa- vorite topics of thought and discussion in that generation. Waving a decision upon this, it may very safely be as- sumed, not only that there was very little attention given to the education of women, but that, as Mrs. Adams, in MEMOIR. XXIX one of her letters,' says, " it was fashionable to ridicule female learning." The only chance for much intellectual improvement in the female sex was to he found in the families of that which was the educated class, and in oc- casional intercourse with the learned of their day. What- ever of useful instruction was received in the practical con- duct of life, came from maternal lips ; and what of further mental developement, depended more upon the eager- ness with which the casual teachings of daily conver- sation were treasured up, than upon any labor expended purposely to promote it. Abigail Smith was the second of three daughters. Her father, as has been already mentioned, was the minister of a small Congregational Church in the town of Wey- mouth, during the middle of the last century. She was born in that town, on the 11th of November, 1744, O. S. In her neighbourhood, there were not many advan- tages of instruction to be found ; and even in Boston, the small metropolis nearest at hand, for reasons already stated, the list of accomplishments within the reach of females was probably very short. She did not enjoy an opportunity to acquire even such as there might have been, for the delicate state of her health forbade the idea of sending her away from home to obtain them. In a letter, written in 1817, the year before her death, speak- ing of her own deficiencies, she says ; " My early educa- tion did not partake of the abundant opportunities which the present days offer, and which even our conunon country schools now afford. / never was sent to any school. I was always sick. Female education, in the best families, went no further than writing and arith- m^ic ; in some few and rare instances, music and danc- ing." Hence it is not unreasonable to suppose that the 1 Page 128. XXXll MEMOIR. ly unacquainted with young persons of her own sex and age. She had relations and connexions, hoth on the father's and tlje mother's side ; and with these she was upon as intimate terms as circumstances would allow. The distance between the homes of the young people was, however, too great, and the means of their parents too narrow, to admit of very frequent personal inter- course ; the substitute for which was a rapid inter- change of written communications. The letter-writing propensity manifested itself early in this youthful circle. A considerable number of the epistles of her correspon- dents have been preserved among the papers of Mrs. Adams. They are deserving of notice only as they fur- nish a general idea of the tastes and pursuits of the young women of that day. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about them is the evident influence upon the writers, which the study of " The Spectator," and of the poets, appears to have had. This is perceptible in the more im- portant train of thought and structure of language, as well as in the lesser trifles of the taste for quotation and for fictitious signatures. Calliope and Myra, Aspasia and Aurelia, have effectually succeeded in disguising their true names from the eyes of younger generations. The signature of Miss Smith appears to have been Diana, a name which she dropped after her marriage, without losing the fancy that prompted to its selection. Her let- ters, during the Revolution, show clearly enough the tendency of her own thoughts and feelings in the substi- tute, she then adopted, of Portia. Her fondness for quo- tations, the fashion of that day, it will be seen, was maintained through life. Perhaps there is no species of exercise, in early life, more productive of results useful to the mind, than that of writing letters. Over and above the mechanical facili- BIEBIOIR. XXXlll ty of constructing sentences, which no teaching will afford so well, the interest with which the object is commonly pursued gives an extraordinary impulse to the intellect. This is promoted, in a degree proportion- ate to the scarcity of temporary and local subjects for discussion. Where there is little gossip, the want of it must be supplied from books. The love of literature springs up where the weeds of scandal take no root. The young ladies of Massachusetts, in the last century, were certainly readers, even though only self-taught ; and their taste was not for the feeble and nerveless senti- ment, or the frantic passion, which comes from the nov- els and romances in the circulating library of our day, but was derived from the deepest wells of English literature. The poets and moralists of the mother country furnished to these inquiring minds their ample stores, and they were used to an extent, which it is at least doubtful if the more pretending and elaborate in- struction of the present generation would equal. Of Mrs. Adams's letters during this period of her youth, but very few remain in possession of her descendants. One specimen has been accidentally obtained, which makes the first in the present publication. The writer was, at the date of the letter, not quite seventeen, and was addressing a lady some years older than herself. This may account for a strain of gravity rather beyond her years or ordinary disposition. Two other letters, written to Mr. Adams, after she was betrothed, and before she was married to him, have been added, because they are believed to be more indicative of her usual temper at that age. These have been admitted to a place in the selection, not so much as claiming a particular merit, as because they are thought to furnish a standard of her mind and general character, when a girl, by which the XXXIV MEMOIR. improvement and full developement of her powers as a woman may readily be measured. The father of Mrs. Adams was a pious man, with something of that vein of humor, not uncommon among the clergy of New England, which ordinarily found such a field for exercise as is displayed in the pages of C»tton Mather. He was the father of three daughters, all of them women of uncommon force of intellect, though the fortunes of two of them confined its influence to a sphere much more limited than that which fell to the lot of Mrs. Adams. Mary, the eldest, was married, in 1762, to Richard Cranch, an English emigrant, who had settled at Germantown, a part of Braintree, and who subse- quently became a Judge of the Court of Common Pleas in Massachusetts, and died, highly respected, in the early part of the present century. The present William Cranch, of Washington, who has presided so long, and with so much dignity and fidelity, over the Circuit Court of the District of Columbia, is the son of this marriage. Eliza- beth, the youngest, was twice married ; first, to the Rev- erend John Shaw, minister of Haverhill, in Massachu- setts, and, after his death, to the Reverend Mr. Peabody, of Atkinson, New Hampshire. Thus much is necessary to be stated, in order to explain the relations, which the parties, in many of the letters, bore to each other. It is an anecdote, told of Mr. Smith, that, upon the marriage of his eldest daughter, he preached to his people from the text in the forty-second verse of the tenth chapter of Luke, "And Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her." Two years elapsed, and his second daughter, the subject of this notice, was about to marry John Adams, then a lawyer in good practice, when some disapprobation of the match appears to have manifested itself among a portion of his parish- \ MEMOIR. XXXV ionei'S. The profession of law was, for a long period in the colonial history of Massachusetts, unknown ; and, after circumstances called it forth, the prejudices of tlie inhabitants, who thought it a calling hardly honest, were arrayed against those who adopted it. There are many -still living, who can remember how strong they re- mained, even down to the time of the adoption of the present Federal Constitution ; and the records of the Gen- eral Court, at its very last session, of 1840, will show that they have not quite disappeared at this day. Besides this, the family of Mr. Adams, the son of a small farmer of the middle class in Braintree, was thought scarcely good enough to match with the minister's daughter, de- scended from so many of the shining lights of the Colony. It is probable that Mr. Smith was made aware of the opinions expressed among his people, for he is said, im- mediately after the marriage took place, to have replied to them by a sermon, the text of which, in evident allu- sion to the objection against lawyers, was drawn from Luke vii. 33 ; " For John came neither eating bread nor drinking wine, and ye say, He hath a deviV ^ Mrs. Adams was married on the 25th of October, 1764, having then nearly completed her twentieth year. The ten years immediately following present little that is worthy of recording. She appears to have passed a quiet, and apparently very happy life, having her residence in Braintree, or in Boston, according as the state of her husband's health, then rather impaired, or that of his 1 As this anecdote rests entirely upon tradition, it has been differently told ; and it is here admitted in this form, rather as a characteristic fea- ture of the age, and of the individual, than from any positive reliance upon its accuracy. There are yet transmitted, among the inhabitants of Weymouth and Hingham, many stories of Mr. Smith's application of texts, in a similar manner, to the events of the Revolution, which ren- der the truth of this far from improbable. XXXVl MEMOIR. professional practice, made the change advisable. With- in this period she became the mother of a daughter, and of three sons, whose names will frequently appear in her letters ; and her domestic cares were relieved by the presence of her husband, who was absent from home only upon those occasions, when he, with the other law- yers of his time, was compelled to follow the court in its circuits. During these times, he used regularly to write to his wife, giving her an account of his adventures and of his professional success. These letters remain, and furnish a somewhat curious record of the manners and customs of the provincial times. She does not appear to have often replied. The only example is given in the present volume, and makes the fourth of the selection ; a letter, remarkable only for the picture it presents of peaceful domestic life, as a contrast to the stormy period immediately succeeding. It is said by Governor Hutchinson, in the third volume of his History, that neither the health of Mr. Adams, nor his business, admitted of his constant application to pub- lic affairs in the manner that distinguished his kinsman, Samuel Adams, during the years preceding the breaking out of the Revolution. If the sum of that application is to be measured by the frequency of his appearance before the public as an actor in an official character upon the scene, the remark is true ; for, up to the year 1774, he had served but once or twice as a representative in the General Court, and in no other situation. But this would furnish a very unfair standard, by which to try the extent of his labors for the public. Very often, as much is done by beforehand preparing the public mind for action, as by the conduct of that action after it has been commenc- ed ; although the visible amount of exertion, by which alone the world forms its judgments, is in the two cases MEMOIR. XXXVll widely different. From the time of liis marriage, in 1764, perhaps still earlier, when he, as a young lawyer, in 1761, took notes of the argument in the celebrated cause of the Writs of Assistance, there is evidence con- standy presented of his active interest in the Revolution- ary struggle. There is hardly a year in the interval be- tween the earliest of these dates, and 1774, that the traces of his hand are not visible in the newspapers of Boston, elaborately discussing the momentous questions, which preceded the crisis. It was during this period, that the " Essay on Canon and Feudal Law " was written. A long controversy with Major Brattle, upon the pay- ment of the Judges, and the papers of "Novanglus," were other, though by no means all, the results of his labors. He drafted several of the papers of Instructions to the Representatives to the General Court, both in Boston and in his native town, and also some of the most elaborate legal portions of the celebrated contro- versy between that body and Governor Hutchinson. The tendency, which all these papers show, to seek for po- litical truth in its fundamental principles and most ab- stract forms, whilst it takes off much from the interest with which the merely general reader would now con- sider them, is yet of historical importance, as establish- ing the fact, how little of mere impulse there was in his mode of action against the mother country. They also show the extent of the studies to which his mind applied itself, and the depth of the foundation laid by him for his subsequent career. Yet, during all this time, his professional labors were never intermitted, and ceased only with the catastrophe which shut up the courts of justice, and rendered exertion upon a dif- ferent theatre absolutely necessary to the maintenance of the fabric of society. XXXVlll MEMOIR. Perhaps the precedhig detail belongs more properly to a memoir of Mr. Adams, than to that of his wife. Yet it would be impossible to furnish any accurate idea of her character, without explaining the precise nature of the influences acting upon her, whilst still young, and when that character was taking its permanent form. There was no one, who witnessed his studies with greater inter- est, or who sympathized with him in the conclusions, to which his mind was forcing him, more deeply, than Mrs. Adams. And hence it was, that, as the day of trial came, and the hour for action drew near, she was found not unprepared to submit to the lot appointed her. Mr. Adams was elected one of the delegates on the part of Massachusetts, instructed to meet persons chosen in the same manner from the other colonies, for the purpose of consulting in common upon the course most advisable to be adopted by them. In the month of August, 1774, he left home, in company with Samuel Adams, Tliomas Gushing, and Robert Treat Paine, to go to Philadelphia, at which place the proposed assembly was to be held. It is from this period, that the correspondence, Mrs. Ad- ams' portion of which is now submitted to the public, becomes interesting. The letter of the 19th of August of this yeari portrays her own feelings upon this, the first separation of importance from her husband, and the anxiety with which she was watching the course of events. Yet there is in it not a syllable of regret for the past, or of fear for the future ; but, on the contrary, an acute perception of the obstacles in the way of an imme- diate return to peaceful times, and a deliberate prepa- ration, by reading and reflection, for the worst. The Congress confined itself, in its first sessions, to con- 1 Page 13. ♦ MEMOIR. XXXIX sultalion and remonstrance. It therefore adjourned after the lapse of only two months. It is during this time, that the five letters in the present volume which bear date in 1774, were written. They furnish a lively exhi- bition of the state of public feeling in Massachusetts. That dated on the 14th of September, is particularly interesting, as it gives an account of the securing the gunpowder from the British, in her own town of Braintree, as well as a highly characteristic trait of New England, in the refusal to cheer on a Sunday. The last of this series, dated on the 16th of October, shows that all remaining hopes of peace and reconcilia- tion were fast vanishing from her mind ; and in an af- fecting manner she " bids adieu to domestic felicity per- haps until the meeting with her husband in another world, since she looks forward to nothing further in this than sacrifices, as the result of the impending contest."! The second meeting of the Congress, which took place in May, 1775, was marked by events which wholly changed the nature of its deliberations. Up to that pe- riod, the struggle had been only a dispute. It then took the more fearful shape of a war. Mr. Adams left his house and family at Braintree on the 14th of April, only five days before the memorable incident at Lexington, which was a signal for the final appeal to arms. The news of the affair reached him at Hartford, on his way to Philadelphia. General Gage had planned his attack upon Lexington with the knowledge that John Hancock and Samuel Adams, two of the delegates to the general Congress, were in that place at the time ; and it was prob- ably one of his objects to seize them, if they could be found. Gordon, the historian, attributes their escape 1 Page 26. Xl MEMOIR. only to a friendly warning given them by a woman re- siding in Boston, but " unequally yoked in politics." There was nearly the same reason for apprehension on the part of John Adams. His house was situated still nearer to Boston, could be more easily approached by water, and his family, if not he himself, was known to be residing there. Under these circumstances, what the feelings of Mrs. Adams, left with the care of four small children, the eldest not ten years of age, must have been, may readily be conceived. But the letters, in which she describes them, bring the idea home to the mind with still greater force. She tells us, that, upon the separation from her husband, " her heart had felt like a heart of lead," and that " she never trusts herself long with the terrors that sometimes intrude themselves upon her;" that " since the never-to-be-forgotten day of his departure, the 14th of April, nothing had agitated her so much as the news of the arrival of recruits ;" and that, " she lives in continual expectation of alarms." Neither were these ap- prehensions altogether groundless. The letter of the 4th of May mentions that Colonel Quincy's family, whose res- idence was nearer to the water-side than hers, had taken refuge for one night with her. That of the 24th, gives a highly vivid picture of the consternation into which the whole town was thrown by a party of British, foraging upon an island in the harbour, close upon the town. Then follow the account of the battle on Bunker's Hill, and the burning of Charlestown, dreadful events to those in the immediate vicinity of Boston and to herself; yet, in the midst of them, the writer adds, that she is "distressed, but not dismayed," and that " she has been able to main- tain a calmness and presence of mind, and hopes she shall, let the exigency of the time be what it will." i 1 Pages 30-43. MEMOIR. Xli But it is supei-fluous to endeavour to heighten the pic- ture given in the letters with so much distinctness. Mr. Adams seems to have been startled on the arrival of the intelligence at Hartford. Conscious, however, that his re- turn would rather tend to add to, than diminish, the hazard to which his family was exposed, he contented himself with writing encouragement, and, at the same time, his directions in case of positive danger. " In a cause which interests the whole globe," he says, "at a time when my friends and country are in such keen distress, I am scarce- ly ever interrupted in the least degree by apprehensions for my personal safety. I am often concerned for you and our dear babes, surrounded, as you are, by people who are too timorous, and too much susceptible of alarms. Many fears and jealousies and imaginary evils will be suggested to you, but I hope you will not be impressed by them. In case of real danger, of which you cannot fail to have previous intimations, fly to the woods with our children." Mr. Adams very well knew to whom he was recom- mending such an appalling alternative, the very idea of which would have been intolerable to many women. The trial Mrs, Adams was called to undergo from the fears of those immediately around her, was one in addition to that caused by her own apprehensions ; a trial, it may be remarked, of no ordinary nature ; since it demands the ex- ercise of a presence of mind and accuracy of judgment in distinguishing the false from the true, that falls to the lot of few even of the stronger sex. It is the tendency of women in general, to suffer quite as much from anxiety occasioned by the activity of the imagination, as if it was, in every instance, founded upon reasonable cause. But the sufferings of this remarkable year were not limited to the mind alone. The terrors of war were ac- Xlii MEMOIR. companied with the ravages of pestilence. Mr. Adams was at home during the period of adjournment of the Congress, which was only for the month of August ; but scarcely had he crossed his threshold, when the dysentery, a disease vvhich had already signified its approach in scat- tering instances about the neighbourhood of the besieg- ed town of Boston where it had commenced, assumed a highly epidemic character, and marked its victims in ev- ery family. A younger brother of Mr. Adams had fallen among the earliest in the town ; but it was not till his de- parture for Philadelphia, that almost every member of his own household was seized. The letters written during the month of September, 1775, besides being exclusively personal, are too uniformly mournful in their tone to be suitable for insertion in full in the present collection ; yet it would be failing to give an accurate idea of the charac- ter of Mrs. Adams, to omit a notice of them altogether. A few extracts, reserved for this personal narrative, have been thought likely to answer the purpose better than if they were submitted in full to the public eye. On the 8th of September, she commences thus; " Since you left me, I have passed through great distress both of body and mind ; and whether greater is to be my portion, Heaven only knows. You may remember Isaac was unwell when you went from home. His disorder increased, until a violent dysentery was the consequence of his complaints. There was no resting-place in the house for his terrible groans. He continued in this state nearly one week, when his disorder abated, and we have now hopes of his recovery. Two days after he was sick, I was seized in a violent manner. Had I known you were at Watertown, I should have sent Bracket for you. I suffered greatly between my inclination to have you re- turn, and my fear of sending, lest you should be a par- MEMOIR. xliii taker of the common calamity. After three days, an abatement of my disease relieved me from that anxiety. The next person in the same week, was Susy ; her we carried home, and hope she will not be very bad. Our little Tommy was the next, and he lies very ill now. Yes- terday Patty was seized. Our house is a hospital in every part, and, what with my own weakness and distress of mind for my family, I have been unhappy enough. And such is the distress of the neighbourhood, that I can scarcely find a well person to assist me in looking after the sick." On the 16th, after saying that her letter will be only a bill of mortality, and that, of all the members of her household, one only had escaped the disorder, she adds ; " The dread upon the minds of people of catching the distemper is almost as great as if it was the small-pox. I have been distressed, more than ever I was in my life, to procure watchers and to get assistance. We have been four Sabbaths without any meeting. Thus does pesti- lence travel in the rear of war, to remind us of our entire dependence upon that Being, who not only directeth the 'arrow by day,' but has also at His command ' the pesti- lence which walketh in darkness.' So uncertain and so transitory are all the enjoyments of life, that, were it not for the tender connexions which bind us, would it not be a folly to wish for a continuance here ? " On the 25th, she mentions the illness of her mother. " I sit down with a heavy heart to write to you. I have had no other since you left me. Woe follows woe, and one affliction treads upon the heels of another. My distress in my own family having in some measure abated, it is excited anew upon that of my dear mother. Her kindness brought her to see me every day when I was ill, and our little Thomas. She has taken the dis- Xliv MEMOIR. order, and lies so bad, that we have little hope of her re- covery." On the 29th ; " It is allotted me to go from the sick and almost dying bed of one of the best of parents, to my ov^^n habitation, where again I behold the same scene, only varied by a remoter connexion, ' A bitter change, severer for severe.' You can more easily conceive than I describe, what are the sensations of my heart when absent from either, con- tinually expecting a messenger with the fatal tidings." Then follows the letter of the 1st of October, which, as making the climax of her distress, is inserted at length in this volume.i The following week, Patty, the female domestic mentioned as the other sick person, also died ; after which, there appears to have been no return of the disease. But among all the trying scenes of the war of the Revolution, it is doubtful whether any much ex- ceeded this. " The desolation of war is not so distressing," she writes, "as the havoc made by the pestilence. Some poor parents are mourning the loss of three, four, and five children ; and some families are wholly stripped of every member." Such as these are the kinds of trial, of which his- tory takes little or no note, yet in which female fortitude is most severely exercised. Without designing to detract from the unquestioned merit of that instrument, it must nevertheless be admitted, that the Declaration of Inde- pendence, called by the celebrated John Randolph "a fanfaronade of abstractions," might very naturally be ex- pected to reward the efforts of its signers with a crown I Page 67. MEMOIR. Xlv of immortality ; whilst the very large share of the cost of maintaining it, wrung from the bleeding hearts of the women of the Revolution, was paid without any hope or expectation of a similar compensation. Mr. Adams was again at home in the month of Decem- ber, during the sessions of the Congress, which were now continued without intermission. It was upon his departure for the third time that the long and very remarkable let- ter bearing date March 2d, 1776,1 and continued through several days, was written ; a letter composed in the midst of the din of war, and describing hopes and fears in a manner deeply interesting. With this the descrip- tion of active scenes in the war terminates. The British force soon afterwards evacuated Boston and Massachu- setts, which did not again become the field of military action. The correspondence now changes its character. From containing accounts of stirring events directly un- der the writer's eye, the letters assume a more private form, and principally relate to the management of the farm and the household. Few of these would be likely to amuse the general reader, yet some are necessary as specimens of a portion of the author's character. Mr. Adams was never a man of large fortune. His profession, which had been a source of emolument, was now entirely taken away from him ; and his only dependence for the support of his family was in the careful husbanding of the means in actual possession. It is not giving to his wife too much credit to affirm, that by her prudence through the years of the Revolution, and indeed during the whole period when the attention of her husband was engrossed by public affairs, she saved him from the mortification in his last days, which some of those who have been, like 1 Page 87. Xlvi MEMOIR. him, elevated to the highest situations in the country, have, for want of such care, not altogether escaped. In the month of November, 1777, Mr. Adams again visited his home, and never afterwards rejoined Con- gress ; for tliat body, in his absence, had elected him to perform a duty in a distant land. Tliis was destined to furnish a severe trial to the fortitude of Mrs. Adams. On the 25th of October, she had written a letter to him, it being the anniversary of their wedding-day, in which she notices the fact that " out of thirteen years of their married life, three had been passed in a state of separa- tion." Yet in these years, the distance between them had. never been very great, and the means of communication almost always reasonably speedy and certain. She appears little to have anticipated, that in a few short weeks she was to be deprived of even these compensations, and to send her husband to a foreign country, over seas covered with the enemy's ships. " I very well remember," she says, in an earlier letter, " when the eastern circuits of the courts, which lasted a month, were thought an age, and an absence of three months, intolerable ; but we are car- ried from step to step, and from one degree to another, to endure that which first we think insupportable." It was in exact accordance with this process, that the sepa- rations of half a year or more were to be followed by those which lasted many years, and the distance from Boston to Philadelphia or Baltimore was lengthened to Paris and a different quarter of the globe. Upon the re- ception of the news of his appointment as Joint Com- missioner at the Court of France, in the place of Silas Deane, Mr. Adams lost no time in making his arrange- ments for the voyage. But it was impossjible for him to think of risking his wife and children all at once with him in so perilous an enterprise. The frigate Boston^ MEMOIR. xlvii a small, and not very good vessel, mounting twenty-eight guns, had been ordered to transport him to his destina- tion. The British fleet, stationed at Newport, perfectly well knew the circumstances under which she was going, and was on the watch to favor the new Commissioner with a fate similar to that afterwards experienced by Mr. Laurens. The political attitude of France still remained equivocal. Hence, on every account it seemed advisable that Mr. Adatns should go upon his mission alone. He left the shores of his native town to embark in the frigate in February, 1778, accompanied only by his eldest son, John Quincy Adams, then a boy not quite eleven years of age. It is not often that even upon that boisterous ocean a voyage combines greater perils of war and of the ele- ments, than did this of the Boston. Yet it is by no means unlikely, that the lightning which struck the frigate, and the winds that nearly sent it to the bottom, were ef- fective instruments to deter the enemy from a pursuit which threatened to end in capture. This is not how- ever the place to enlarge upon this story. It is allud- ed to only as connected with the uneasiness experi- enced by Mrs. Adams, who was left alone to meditate upon the hazard to which her husband was exposed. Her letter, written not long after the sailing of the frigate, distinctly shows her feelings.i But we find by it, that, to all the causes for anxiety which would naturally have oc- curred to her mind, there was superadded one growing out of a rumor then in circulation, that some British emissary had made an attempt upon the life of Dr. Frank- lin whilst acting at Paris in the very commission, of which her husband had been made a part. This was a kind of 1 Page 116. Xlviii MEMOIR. apprehension as new as it was distressing ; one too, the vague nature of which tended infinitely to multiply those terrors that had a better foundation in reality. The news of the surrender of General Burgoyne had done more to hasten the desired acknowledgment, by France, of the independence of the United States, than all the efforts which Commissioners could have made. Upon his arrival in France, Mr. Adams found the great object of his mission accomplished, and himself, conse- quently, left with little or no occupation. He did not wait in Europe to know the further wishes of Congress, but returned home in August, 1779. Only a brief enjoyment of his society by his family was the result, inasmuch as in October he was again ordered by Congress to go to Europe, and there to wait until Great Britain should manifest an inclination to tx'eat with him, and terminate the war. In obedience to these directions, he sailed in November on board of the French frigate Sensible, tak- ing with him upon this occasion his two eldest sons. The day of his embarkation is marked by a letter in the pres- ent collection, quite touching in its character.! The ordinary occupations of the female sex are neces- sarily of a kind which must ever prevent it from partaking largely of the action of life. However keenly women may think or feel, there is seldom an occasion when the sphere of their exertions can with propriety be extended much beyond the domestic hearth or the social circle. Exactly here are they to be seen most in their glory. Three or four years passed whilst Mrs. Adams was living in the utmost seclusion of country life, during which, on account of the increasing vigilance of British cruisers, she very seldom heard from her husband. The material 1 Page 142. MEMOIR. xlix for interesting letters was proportionately small, and yet there was no time when she was more usefully occupied. It is impossible to omit all notice of this period, however deficient it may prove in variety. The depreciation of the Continental paper money, the difficulties in the way of managing the property of her husband, her own isolation, and the course of puVlic events in distant parts of the coun- try, form her constant topics. Only a small number of the letters which discuss them, yet enough to show her sit- uation at this period, have been admitted into this volume. They are remarkable, because they display the readiness with which she could devote herself to the most opposite duties, and the cheerful manner in which she could ac- commodate herself to the difficulties of the times. She is a farmer cultivating the land, and discussing the weather and the crops ; a merchant reporting prices-current and the rates of exchange, and directing the making up of in- voices; a politician speculating upon the probabilities of peace or war ; and a mother writing the most exalted sentiments to her son. All of these pursuits she adopts together ; some from choice, the rest from the necessity of the case ; and in all she appears equally well. Yet, among the letters of this period, there will be found two or three, which rise in their tone very far above the rest, and which can scarcely fail to awaken the sympathy of the coldest reader.! The signature of the Treaty of Peace with Great Brit- ain, which fully established the Independence of the Uni- ted States, did not terminate the residence of Mr. Adams in Europe. He was ordered by Congress to remain there, and, in conjunction with Dr. Franklin and Mr. Jefferson, to establish by treaty commercial relations with foreign powers. And not long afterwards a new com- i Pages 168, 172, 175. 1 MEMOIR. mission was sent him as the first representative of the nation to him who had been their King. The duties prescribed seemed likely to require a residence sufficient- ly long to authorize him in a request that Mrs. Adams should join him in Europe. After some hesitation, she finally consented ; and, in June, 1784, she sailed from Boston in a merchant vessel bound to London. The journal of her voyage, given in a letter to her sister, Mrs. Cranch, makes a part of the present coUection.i From this date the correspondence assumes a new character, Mrs. Adams found herself, at the age of forty, suddenly transplanted into a scene wholly new. From a life of the utmost retirement, in a small and quiet country town of New England, she was at once transferred to the busy and bustling scenes of the populous and wealthy cities of Europe. Not only was her position novel to herself, hut there had been nothing like it among her countrywomen. She was the first representative of her sex from the United States at the Court of Great Britain. The impressions made upon her mind were therefore re- ceived when it was uncommonly open, and free from the ordinary restraints which an established routine of prece- dents is apt to create. Her residence in France during the first year of her European experience appears to have been much enjoyed, notwithstanding the embarrassment felt by her from not speaking the language. That in England, which lasted three years, was somewhat affect- ed by the temper of the sovereign. George and his Queen could not get over the mortification attending the loss of the American Colonies, nor at all times suppress the manifestation of it, when the presence of their Minis- ter forced the subject on their recollection. Mrs. Ad- ams's account of her presentation is among the letters of 1 Page 199. MEMOIR. li this period.i It was not more than civilly met on the part of the Queen, whose subsequent conduct was hardly so good as on that occasion. Mrs. Adams appears never to have forgotten it; for at a much later period, when, in consequence of the French Revolution, the throne of England was thought to be in danger, she writes to her daughter with regret at the prospect for the country, but without sympathy for the Queen. "Humiliation for Charlotte," she says, "is no sorrow for me. She richly deserves her full portion for the contempt and scorn which she took pains to discover." Of course, the cour- tiers followed the lead thus given to them, and the im- pression made against America at the very outset of its national career has hardly been effaced down to this day. It is to be observed, however, that one circumstance con- tributed to operate against the situation of the first Amer- ican Minister to Great Britain, which has affected none of his successors. This was the conduct of the States whilst yet under the Confederation, justifying the general im- pression that they were incapable of the self-government, the right to which they had so zealously fought to obtain. Of the effect of this upon herself, Mrs. Adams will be found frequently to speak. Yet, notwithstanding these drawbacks, she seems to have enjoyed much her residence in the mother country. Her letters to her sisters during this period have been ad- mitted almost in extenso in the present volume. They describe no scenes of particular novelty to the reading public, it is true ; but they delineate in so natural and easy a manner the impressions received fi'om objects new to the writer, that it is hoped they will fully reward perusal. The [)eriod was not without its peculiar character to Amer- icans. Their country, exhausted by her efforts in the war 1 Page 293. Hi MEMOIR. of Independence, had not yet put herself in the way of restoration by adopting a good form of government. It was even a matter of doubt whether her liberty was likely to prove a blessing, or to degenerate into a curse. On the other hand, France, Holland, and Great Britain respective- ly presented an outward spectacle of wealth and prosper- ity not perceptibly impaired by the violent struggle be- tween them, that had just terminated. This contrast is frequently marked in the letters of Mrs. Adams ; but the perception of it does not appear to have in any de- gree qualified the earnestness of her attacFmient to her own very modest home. " Whatever is to be the fate of our country," she says to her sister, " we have determin- ed to come home and share it with you." i She had very litde of that susceptibility of transfer, which is a charac- teristic, not less of the cultivated and wealthy class of our countrymen, who cling to the luxury of the old world, than of the adventurous and hardy sons of labor, who carve out for themselves a new home in the forests of the West. The return of Mr. Adams, with his family, to the Unit- ed States, the liberty for which was granted by Congress to his own request, was simultaneojis with the adoption of the present Constitution by the decision of the rati- fying Conventions. Upon the organization of the gov- ernment under the new form, he was elected to fill the office of Vice-President, that of President being, by a more general consent, awarded to General Washington. By this arrangement, a residence at the seat of govern- ment during the sessions of the Senate was made neces- sary ; and, as that was fixed first at New York, and then at Philadelphia, Mrs. Adams enjoyed an opportunity to mix freely with the society of both places. Some of her 1 Pages 369, 370. MEMOIR. liii letters descriptive of it have been selected for publication in this collection. The voluntary retirement of General Washington, at the end of eight years, from the Presidency, was the signal for the great struggle between the two political parties, which had been rapidly maturing their organi- zation, during his term of administration. Mr. Adams was elected as his successor by a bare majority of the electoral colleges, and against the inclinations of one sec- tion even of that party which supported him. The open defection of that section, at the following election, turned the scale against him, and brought Mr. Jefferson into his place. Of course, the letters of Mrs. Adams, at this pe- riod, largely partake of the excitement of the day. From early life, she had learnt to take a deep interest in the course of political affairs, and it is not to be supposed that this would decline, whilst her husband was a chief actor in the scene, and a butt for the most malignant shafts which party animosity could throw. As it is not the design of this publication to revive any old disputes, most of these letters have been excluded from it. Two or three exceptions, however, have been made. The first is the letter of the 8th of February, 1797, the day upon which the votes for President were counted, and Mr. Adams, as Vice-President, was required by law to an- nounce himself the President elect for the ensuing term. This, though extremely short, appears to the Editor to be the gem of the collection ; for the exalted feeling of the moment shines out with all the lustre of ancient patriot- ism. Perhaps there is not, among the whole number of her letters, one which, in its spirit, brings so strongly to mind, as this does, the celebrated Roman lady, whose signature she at one time assumed ; whilst it is chastened liv MEMOIR. by a sentiment of Christian humility, of which ancient history furnishes no example. At this time, the health of Mrs. Adams, which had never been very firm, began decidedly to fail.. Her resi- dence at Philadelphia had not been favorable, as it had subjected her to the attack of an intermittent fever, from the effects of which she was never afterwards perfectly fi-ee. The desire to enjoy the bracing air of her native climate, as well as to keep together the private property of her husband, upon which she early foresaw that he would be obliged to rely for their support in their last years, prompted her to reside, much of the time, at Quin- cy. Such was the name now given to that part of the ancient town of Braintree, in which she had always liv- ed. Yet, when at the seat of Government, whether in Philadelphia or Washington, the influence of her kindly feelings and cheerful temper did much to soften the as- perities of the time. Of her early sentiments of Mr. Jef- ferson, there are several proofs given in this volume ; sen- timents, which she did every thing in her power to main- tain up to the last minute of their intercourse, and which she qualified only for reasons given very frankly to him- self at a later period, when he requested to know them. A good idea of the privations and discomforts, to which she was subjected in the President's House at Washing- ton, when that place had scarcely emerged from the primitive forest, may be formed from one or two other letters, which, in this view, are excepted from the gener- al exclusion, i In the midst of public or private troubles, the buoyant spirit of Mrs. Adams never forsook her. "I am a tnortal enemy," she writes upon one occasion to her husband, " to any thing but a cheerful countenance and a merry heart, which, Solomon tells us, does good like 1 Pages 430, 432. MEMOIR. Iv a medicine." This spirit contributed greatly to lift up his heart, when surrounded by difficulties and danger, ex- posed to open hostility and secret detraction, and resist- ing a torrent of invective, such as it may well be doubted whether any other individual in public station in the United States has ever tried to stem. It was this spirit, which soothed his wounded feelings, when the country, which he had served in the full consciousness of the perfect honesty of his motives, threw him off, and signi- fied its preference for other statesmen. There oiten are, even in this life, more compensations for the severest of the troubles that afflict mankind, than we are apt to think. It may be questioned whether Mr. Adams's more suc- cessful rival, who, in the day of his power, wielded popu- lar masses with far greater skill and success than he, ever realized, in the hours of his subsequent retire- ment, any consolation for his pecuniary embarrassments, like that which Mr. Adams enjoyed from the faithful de- votedness of his wife, and, it may be added, the success- ful labors of his son. There were many persons, in the lifetime of the par- ties, who ascribed to Mrs. Adams a degree of influence over the public conduct of her husband, far greater than there was any foundation for in truth. Perhaps it is giv- ing more than its due importance to this idea to take any notice at all of it in this place. But the design of this Memoir is to set forth, in as clear a light as possible, the character of its subject ; and this cannot well be done without a full explanation of her personal relations to those about her. That her opinions, even upon public affairs, had at all times great weight with her husband, is unquestionably true, for he frequently marked upon her letters his testimony to their solidity; but there is no evidence, that they either originated or materially altered Ivi MEMOIR. any part of the course he had laid out for himselC Whenever she differed in sentiment from him, which was sometimes the case, she perfectly well understood her own position, and that the best way of recommend- ing her views was by entire concession. The character of Mr. Adams is clearly visible in his own papers. Ar- dent, vehement in support of what he believed to be right, easily roused to anger by opposition, but sincere, placa- ble, and generous, when made conscious of having com- mitted the slightest wrong, there is no individual of this time, about whom there are so few concealments, of either faults or virtues. Instances of his imprudence are vis- ible, and of the mode in which his wife treated them, in at least two letters of this volume.! She was certain that a word said, not at the mouient of irritation, but im- mediately after it had passed, would receive great con- sideration from him. She therefore waited the favorable time, and thus, by the calmness of her judgment, exer- cised a species of negative influence, which often pre- vented evil consequences from momentary indiscretion. But her power extended no farther, nor did she seek to make it do so, and in this consisted her principal merit. Perhaps it may be added, that, to men of ardent and ex- citable temperament, no virtue is more necessary in a wife, and none more essential to the happiness and pros- perity of both the parties, than that which has been now described. From the year 1801 down to the day of her death, which happened on the 28th of October, 1818, she re- mained uninterruptedly at home in Quincy. This period furnishes abundance of famiUar letters. Her interest in public affairs did not cease with the retirement of her husband. She continued to write to her friends her free I Pages 271, 357. BIEMOIR. Ivii opinions, both of men and measures, perhaps with a more sustained hand on account of the share her son was then taking in politics. But these letters bring us down to times so recent, and they contain so many allusions to existing persons and matters of a domestic and wholly private nature, that they are not deemed suitable for pub- lication, at least at present. On some accounts, this is perhaps to be regretted. None of her letters present a more agreeable picture of life, or a more characteristic idea of their author, than these. The old age of Mrs. Adams was not one of grief and repining, of clouds and darkness. Her cheerfulness continued, with the full possession of her faculties, to the last; and her sunny spirit enlivened the small social circle around her, bright- ened the solitary hours of her husband, and spread the influence of its example over the town where she lived. " Yesterday," she writes to a granddaughter on the 26th of October, 1814, " yesterday completes half a century since I entered the married state, then just your age. I have great cause of thankfulness, that I have lived so long, and enjoyed so large a portion of happiness as has been my lot. The greatest source of unhappiness I have known in that period has arisen from the long and cruel separations, which I was called, in a time of war and with a young family around me, to submit to." Yet she had not been without her domestic afflictions. A daughter lost in infan- cy ; a son, grown up to manhood, who died in 1800 ; and, thirteen years afterwards, the death of her only remaining daughter, the wife of Colonel W. S. Smith, furnished causes of deep and severe grief, which threw a shadow of sadness over the evening of her life. But they produced no permanent gloom, nor did they prevent her from enjoying the consolations to be found in gratitude to the Divine Being for the blessings that still remained to her. She Iviii MEMOIR. was rewarded for the painful separation from her eldest son, when he went abroad in the public service under circumstances which threatened a long absence, by sur- viving the whole period of eight years that it lasted, and witnessing his return to receive from the Chief Magis- trate elect, Mr. Monroe, the highest testimony he could give him of his confidence. This was the fulfilment of the wish nearest to her heart. The letters addressed to him when a youth, which have been admitted into this vol- ume, will abundantly show the deep interest she had felt in his success. His nomination as Secretary of State was the crowning mercy of her life. Had she survived the attack of the fever which proved fatal, it is true that she might have seen him exalted still higher, to that sta- tion which her husband and his father had held before him ; but it is very doubtful whether her satisfaction would have been at all enhanced. The commencement of Mr. Monroe's administration was marked by a unan- imity of the popular voice, the more gratifying to her because it was something so new. Later times have only carried us back to party divisions, of the bitterness of which she had during her lifetime tasted too largely to relish even the little of sweet which they might have to give. The obsequies of Mrs. Adams were attended by a great concourse of people, who voluntarily came to pay this last tribute to her memory. Several brief but beauti- ful notices of her appeared in the newspapers of the d|f, and a sermon was preached by the late Reverend Dr. Kirkland, then President of Harvard University, which closed with a delicate and affecting testimony to her worth. "Ye will seek to mourn, bereaved friends," it says, " as becomes Christians, in a manner worthy of the person you lament. You do, then, bless the Giver of MEMOIR. lix life, that the course of your endeared and honored friend was so long and so bright ; that she entered so fully into the spirit of those injunctions which we have explained, and was a minister of blessings to all within her influ- ence. You are soothed to reflect, that she was sensi- ble of the many tokens of divine goodness which marked her lot ; that she received the good of her existence with a cheerful and grateful heart; that, when called to weep, she bore adversity with an equal mind ; ^at she used the world as not abusing it to excess, improving well her time, talents, and opportunities, and, though desired long- er in this world, was fitted for a better happiness than this world can give." It often happens, that, when the life of a woman is the topic of discussion, men think it necessary either to fall into a tone of affected gallantry and unmeaning compli- ment, or to assume the extreme of unnatural and extrava- gant eulogy. Yet there seems no reason, in the nature of things, why the same laws of composition should not be made to apply to the one sex as to the other. It has been tiie wish of the Editor to avoid whatever might be considered as mere empty praise of his subject, in which, if he has not altogether succeeded, some allowance may, it is hoped, be made for the natural bias under which he writes. It has been his purpose to keep far within the line marked out by the great master of composition, who, in allusion to the first instance in Rome when a woman, Popilia, was publicly praised by her son Catulus, defines the topics which may be treated with propriety upon any similar occasion.^ He does not claim for the letters now 1 «' Ex his enim fontibus, unde omnia ornate dicendi praecepta sumun ^ tur, licebit eiiatn laudalionem ornare, neque ilia elementa desiderare; quae ut nemo tradat, quis est, qui nesciat, quae sint in homine laudan- da ? Positis enim iis rebus, quas Crassus iis illius orationis sua-, quam Ix MEMOIR. published to the world, that they are models^ of style, though in behalf of some of them such a claim might, per- haps, be reasonably urged ; nor yet that they contain much novel or important historical information. What merit they may have will be found in the pictures of social life which they present, during a period daily becoming more interesting as it recedes from us, and in the high moral and religious tone which uniformly pervades them. They are here given to the public exactly as they were written, with only those corrections or omissions which were ab- solutely necessary either to perfect the sense, or to avoid subjects exclusively personal. It was the habit of the writer to make first a rough draft of what she intended to say, and from this to form a fair copy for her coiTe- spondent; but in the process she altered so njuch of the original, that, in every instance where the two have been compared, they are by no means the same thing. Only in one or two cases, and for particular reasons, has the loss of the real letter been supplied by the first draft. The principal difference between them ordinarily is, that the former is much the most full. Frequently, it will be seen that she did not copy, the task being, as she testifies in the postscript, extremely irksome to her. The value attached to her letters by some of her corre- spondents, even during her lifetime, was so considerable, contra collegam censor habuit, principio dixit 5 ' Quae natura. aut fortunS. darentur hominibus, in Us rebus vinci posse animo cequo pati : quae ipsi sibi homines parare possent, in Us rebus se pati vinci nan posse ; ' qui laudabit quempiain, iiitelliget, exponenda sibi esse fortunae bona. Ea sunt, generis, pecuniae, propinquorum, amicorum, opum, valetudinis, formas, virium, ingenii, cselerarunique rerum, quis sunt aut corporis, aut extranae: si liabuerit, bene his usum : si non habuerit, saiiienter caruis- se : si amiserit, moderate tulisse. Deinde, quid sapienter is, quem lau- det, quid liberaliter, quid fortiter, quid juste, quid magnifice, quid pie' quid grate, quid humaniter, quid denique cum aliqua, virtute, aut fecerit aut tulerit." — Cicero, de Orator e, II. 11. LETTERS LETTERS TO MRS. H. LINCOLN.^ Weymouth, 5 October, 1761. MY DEAR FRIEND, Does not my friend think me a stupid girl, when she has kindly offered to correspond with me, that I should be so senseless as not to accept the offer? Senseless and stupid I would confess myself, and that to the greatest degree, if I did not foresee the many advantages I shall receive from corresponding with a lady of your known prudence and under- standing. I gratefully accept your offer ; although I may be charged with vaiiity in pretending to entertain you with my scrawls ; yet I know your generosity is such, 1 For this letter I have to acknowledge myself indebted to the kindness of Miss E. S. Quincy, a grand-niece of the lady to whom it was addressed. After the death of Dr. Lincoln she was mar- ried to Ebenezer Storer, Esq., of Boston, and died only a few years ago. 4 LETTERS. that, like a kind parent, you will bury in oblivion all my imperfections. I do not aim at entertaining. I write merely for the instruction and edification which I shall receive, provided you honor me with your correspondence. Your letter I received, and, believe me, it has not been through forgetfulness, that I have not before this time returned you my sincere thanks for the kind assurance you then gave me of continued friendship. You have, I hope, pardoned my suspicions ; they arose from love. What persons in their right senses would calmly, and without repining or even inquir- ing into the cause, submit to lose their greatest tem- poral good and happiness ? for thus the divine, Dr. Young, looks upon a true friend, when he says, '' A friend is worth all hazards we can run. Poor is the friendless master of a world 3 A world in purchase for a friend is gain." Who, that has once been favored with your friend- ship, can be satisfied with the least diminution of it ? Not those who value it according to its worth. You have, like king Ahasuerus, held forth, though not a golden sceptre, yet one more valuable, the sceptre of friendship, if I may so call it. Like Es- ther, I would draw nigh and touch it. Will you proceed and say, " What wilt thou ? " and " What is thy request .? it shall be even given thee to the half of my heart." Why, no. I think I will not have so dangerous a present, lest your good man should find it out and challenge me ; but, if you LETTERS. please, I '11 have a place in one corner of it, a place well guarded and fortified, or still I shall fear being jostled out by him. Now do not deny my request on purpose to make me feel the weight of your observation, " that we are often disappointed when we set our minds upon that which is to yield us great happiness." I know it too well already. Daily experience teaches me that truth. And now let me ask you, my friend, whether you do not think, that many of our disappointments and much of our unhappiness arise from our forming false notions of things and persons. We strangely impose upon ourselves ; we create a fairy land of happiness. Fancy is fruhful and promises fair, but, like the dog in the fable, we catch at a shadow, and when we find the disappointment we are vexed, not with ourselves, who are really the impostors, but with the poor, innocent thing or person of whom we have formed such strange ideas. When this is the case, I believe we always find, that we have enjoyed more pleasure in the anticipation than in the real enjoy- ment of our wishes. Dr. Young says, " Our wishes give us not our wishes." Some disappointments are, indeed, more grievous than others. Since they are our lot, let us bear them with patience. That person, that cannot bear a disappointment, must not live in a world so changeable as this, and 't is wise it should be so ; for, were we to enjoy a continual prosperity, we should be too firmly attached to the world ever to think of 6 LETTERS. quitting it, and there would be room to fear, that we should be so far intoxicated with prosperity as to swim smoothly from joy to joy, along life's short cur- rent, wholly unmindful of the vast ocean. Eternity. If I did not know that it would be adding to the length of my letter, I might make some excuse for it ; but that and another reason will hinder me. You bid me tell one of my sparks (I think that was the word) to bring me to see you. Why ! I believe you think they are as plenty as herrings, when, alas ! there is as great a scarcity of them as there is of justice, honesty, prudence, and many other virtues. I 've no pretensions to one. Wealth, wealth is the only thing that is looked after now. 'T is said Plato thought, if Virtue would appear to the world, all mankind would be enamoured with her, but now interest governs the world and men neglect the golden mean. But, to be sober, I should really rejoice to come and see you, but if I wait till I get a (what did you call 'em ?) I fear you '11 be blind with age. I can say, in the length of this epistle, I 've made the golden rule mine. Pray, my friend, do not let it be long before you write to your ever affectionate A. S. P. S. My regards to your good man. I 've no acquaintance with him, but, if you love him, I do, and should be slad to see him. LETTERS. TO JOHN ADAMS/ Weymouth; 16 April, 1764. MY FRIEND, I THINK I write to you every day. Shall not I make my letters very cheap ? Don't you light your pipe with them ? I care not if you do. 'T is a pleasure to me to write. Yet I wonder I write to you with so little restraint, for as a critic I fear you more than any other person on earth, and 't is the only charac- ter in which I ever did or ever will fear you. What say you ? Do you approve of that speech ? Don't you think me a courageous being ? Courage is a laudable, a glorious virtue in your sex, why not in mine ? For my part, I think you ought to applaud me for mine. Exit Rattle. Solus your Diana. And now, pray tell me, how you do ? Do you feel any venom working in your veins ? Did you ever before experience such a feeling ? (This letter will be made up with questions, I fancy, not set in order before you, neither.) How do you employ yourself ? Do you go abroad yet ? Is it not cruel to bestow those favors upon others, which I should rejoice to receive, yet must be deprived of ? 1 Mr. Adams was in Boston, undergoing the process, then in vogue, of inoculation with the smallpox. 8 LETTERS. I have lately been thinking whether my mamma — when I write again I will tell you something. Did not you receive a letter to-day by Hannes ? This is a right girl's letter, — but I will turn to the other side and be sober, if I can. But what is bred in the bone will never be out of the flesh, (as Lord M. would have said.) As I have a good opportunity to send some milk, I have not waited for your orders^ lest, if I should miss this, I should not catch such another. If you want more balm, I can supply you. Adieu ; — evermore remember me with the ten- derest affection, which is also borne unto you by your A. Smith. TO JOHN ADAMS. Thursday Eve. Weymouth, 19 April, 1764. Why, my good man, thou hast the curiosity of a girl. Who could have believed, that only a slight hint would have set thy imagination agog in such a man- ner. And a fine encouragement I have to unravel the mystery as thou callest it. Nothing less, truly, than to be told something to my disadvantage. What an excellent reward that will be ! In what court of justice didst thou learn that equity .? I thank thee, friend ; such knowledge as that is easy enough to be obtained without paying for it. As to the insinua- LETTERS. y tion, it doth not give me any uneasiness ; for, if it is any thing very bad, I know thou dost not believe it. I am not conscious of any harm that I have done or wished to any mortal. I bear no malice to any being. To my enemies, if any I have, I am willing to afford assistance ; therefore towards man I main- tain a conscience void of offence. Yet by this I mean not that I am faultless. But tell me what is the reason, that persons would rather acknowledge themselves guilty than be accused by others ? Is it because they are more tender of them- selves, or because they meet with more favor from others when they ingenuously confess ? Let that be as it will, there is something which makes it more agreeable to condemn ourselves than to be con- demned by others. But, although it is vastly disagreeable to be ac- cused of faults, yet no person ought to be offended when such accusations are delivered in the spirit of friendship. I now call upon you to fulfil your prom- ise, and tell me all my faults both of omission and commission, and all the evil you either know or think of me. Be to me a second conscience, nor put me off to a more convenient season. There can be no time more proper than the present. It will be harder to erase them when habit has strengthened and confirmed them. Do not think I trifle. These are really meant as words of truth and soberness. For the present, good night. 10 LETTERS. Friday Morning, April 20th. What does it signify ? Why may not I visit you days as well as nights ? I no sooner close my eyes, than some invisible being, swift as the Alborack of Mahomet, bears me to you, — I see you, but cannot make myself visible to you. That tortures me, but it is still worse when I do not come, for I am then haunted by half a dozen ugly sprites. One will catch me and leap into the sea ; another will carry me up a precipice like that which Edgar describes in Lear, then toss me down, and, were I not then light as the gossamer, I should shiver into atoms ; another will be pouring down my throat stuff worse than the witches' broth in Macbeth. Where I shall be carried next I know not, but I would rather have the smallpox by inoculation half a dozen times than be sprite d about as I am. What say you ? Can you give me any encouragement to come ? By the time you receive this I hope from experience you will be able to say, that the distemper is but a trifle. Think you I would not endure a trifle for the pleas- ure of seeing you .? Yes, were it ten times that trifle, I would. But my own inclinations must not be followed, — to duty I sacrifice them. Yet, O my mamma, forgive me if I say, you have forgot or never knew but hush, and do you excuse me that something I promised you, since it was a speech more undutiful than that which I just now stopped myself in. For the present, good bye. LETTERS. 11 Friday Evening. I hope you smoke your letters well, before you deliver them. Mamma is so fearful lest I should catch the distemper, that she hardly ever thinks the letters are sufficiently purified. Did you never rob a bird's nest. Do you remember how the poor bird would fly round and round, fearful to come nigh, yet not know how to leave the place. Just so they say I hover round Tom, whilst he is smoking my letters. But heyday, Mr. What 's your name, who taught you to threaten so vehemently ? " A character be- sides that of a critic, in which if I never did, I al- ways hereafter shall fear you." Thou canst not prove a villain, impossible, — I, therefore, still insist upon it, that I neither do nor can fear thee. For my part, I know not that there is any pleasure in being feared ; but, if there is, I hope you will be so generous as to fear your Diana, that she may at least be made sensible of the pleasure. Mr. Ayers will bring you this letter and the hag. Do not re- pine, — it is filled with balm. Here is love, respects, regards, good wishes, — a whole wagon load of them, sent you from all the good folks in the neighbourhood. To-morrow makes the fourteenth day. How many more are to come ? I dare not trust myself with the thought. Adieu. Let me hear from you by Mr. Ayers, and excuse this very bad writing ; if you had mended my pen it would have been better. Once more, adieu. Gold and silver have I none, 12 LETTERS. but such as I have give I unto thee, — which is the affectionate regard of your A. S. TO JOHN ADAMS. Weymouth, Sunday Evening, 14 September, 1767. MY DEAREST FRIEND, The Doctor talks of setting out to-morrow for New Braintree. I did not know but that he might chance to see you in his way there. I know from the ten- der affection you bear me and our little ones, that you will rejoice to hear that we are well. Our son is much better than when you left home, and our daughter rocks him to sleep with the song of " Come, papa, come home to brother Johnny." Sunday seems a more lonely day to me than any other when you are absent; for, though I may be compared to those climates which are deprived of the sun half the year, yet upon a Sunday you commonly afforded us your benign influence. I am now at Weymouth, my father brought me here last night ; to-morrow I re- turn home, where I hope soon to receive the dearest of friends, and the tenderest of husbands, with that unabated affection which has for years past, and will whilst the vital spark lasts, burn in the bosom of your affectionate A. Adams. LETTERS. 13 TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 19 August, 1774. The great distance between us makes the time ap- pear very long to me. It seems already a month since you left me. The great anxiety I feel for my country, for you, and for our family, renders the day tedious and the night unpleasant. The rocks and quicksands appear upon every side. What course you can or will take is all wrapped in the bosom of futurity. Uncertainty and expectation leave the mind great scope. Did ever any kingdom or state regain its liberty when once it was invaded, with- out bloodshed ? I cannot think of it without horror. Yet we are told, that all the misfortunes of Sparta were occasioned by their too great solicitude for present tranquillity, and, from an excessive love of peace, they neglected the means of making it sure and lasting. They ought to have reflected, says Po- lybius, that, " as there is nothing more desirable or advantageous than peace, when founded in justice and honor, so there is nothing more shameful, and at the same time more pernicious, when attained by bad measures, and purchased at the price of liber- ty." I have received a most charming letter from our friend Mrs. Warren.^ She desires me to tell you, 1 Mrs. Mercy Warren, the wife of General James Warren, of Plymouth, and the sister of James Otis. 14 LETTERS. that her best wishes attend you through your jour- ney, both as a friend and a patriot, — hopes you will have no uncommon difficulties to surmount, or hostile movements to impede you, — but, if the Locrians should interrupt you, she hopes that you will beware, that no future annals may say you chose an ambi- tious Philip for your leader, who subverted the noble order of the American Amphictyons, and built up a monarchy on the ruins of the happy institution. I have taken a very great fondness for reading Rollin's Ancient History since you left me. I am determined to go through with it, if possible, in these my days of solitude. I find great pleasure and en- tertainment from it, and I have persuaded Johnny to read me a page or two every day, and hope he will, from his desire to oblige me, entertain a fondness for it. We have had a charming rain, which lasted twelve hours, and has greatly revived the dying fruits of the earth. I want much to hear from you. I long impatiently to have you upon the stage of action. The first of September, or the month of September, perhaps, may be of as much importance to Great Britain, as the Ides of March were to Caesar. I wish you every public, as well as private blessing, and that wisdom which is profitable both for instruction and edification, to con- duct you in this difficult day. The little flock re- member papa, and kindly wish to see him ; so does your most affectionate Abigail Adams. LETTERS. 15 TO JOHN ADABIS. Braintree, 2 September, 1774. I AM very impatient to receive a letter from you. You indulged me so much in that way in your last absence, that I now think I have a right to hear as often from you, as you have leisure and opportunity to write. I hear that Mr. Adams ^ wrote to his son, and the Speaker ^ to his lady ; but perhaps you did not know of the opportunity. I suppose you have before this time received two letters from me, and will write me by the same conveyance. I judge you reached Philadelphia last Saturday night. I cannot but felicitate you upon your absence a little while from this scene of perturbation, anxiety, and distress. I own I feel not a little agitated with the accounts I have this day received from town ; great commo- tions have arisen in consequence of a discovery of a traitorous plot of Colonel Brattle's, — his advice to Gage, to break every commissioned officer, and to seize the province's and town's stock of gunpow- der. This has so enraged and exasperated the peo- ple, that there is great apprehension of an immediate rupture. They have been all in flames ever since the new-fangled counsellors have taken their oaths. The importance, of which they consider the meet- 1 Mr. Samuel Adams. Mr. Gushing had been the Speaker of the House of Representatives in Massachusetts until chosen a delegate to the Congress. 16 LETTERS. ing of the Congress, and the result thereof to the community, withholds the arm of vengeance already- lifted, which would most certainly fall with accumu- lated wrath upon Brattle, were it possible to come at him ; — but no sooner did he discover that his treachery had taken air, than he fled, not only to Boston, but into the camp, for safety. You will, by Mr. Tudor, no doubt have a much more accurate account than I am able to give you ; but one thing I can inform you of, which perhaps you may not have heard, namely, Mr. Vinton, our Sheriff, it seems, re- ceived one of those twenty warrants,^ which were is- sued by Messrs. Goldthwait and Price, which has cost them such bitter repentance and humble acknowl- edgments, and which has revealed the great secret of their attachment to the liberties of their country, and their veneration and regard for the good will of their countrymen. See their address to Hutchinson and Gage. This warrant, which was for Stough- ton,'* Vinton carried and delivered to a constable there ; but, before he had got six miles, he was over- taken by sixty men on horseback, who surrounded him, and told him, unless he returned with them and demanded back that warrant and committed it to the flames before their faces, he must take the conse- 1 These were warrants issued by the clerks of the court by which the juries were summoned. 2 The name of the town is not clear. The history of the events alluded to in this letter, may be found more at large in Gordon's " History of the American War," Vol. I. pp. 386, 387. LETTERS. 17 quences of a refusal ; and he, not thinking it best to endure their vengeance, returned wiih them, made his demand of the warrant, and consumed it, upon which they dispersed and left him to his own reflec- tions. Since the news of the Quebec bill arrived, all the Church people here have hung their heads, and will not converse upon politics, though ever so much provoked by the opposite party. Before that, parties ran very high, and very hard words and threats of blows upon both sides were given out. They have had their town meeting here, which was full as usual, chose their committee for the county meeting, and did business without once regarding or fearing for the consequences. I should be glad to know how you found the peo- ple as you travelled from town to town. I hear you met with great hospitality and kindness in Connecti- cut. Pray let me know how your health is, and whether you have not had exceeding hot weather. The drought has been very severe. My poor cows will certainly prefer a petition to you, setting forth their grievances, and informing you that they have been deprived of their ancient privileges, whereby they are become great sufferers, and desiring that they may be restored to them. More especially, as their living, by reason of the drought, is all taken from them, and their property which they hold elsewhere is all decaying, they humbly pray that you would consider them, lest hunger should break through stone walls. 18 LETTERS. The tenderest regard evermore awaits you from your most affectionate Abigail Adams. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 14- September, 1774. DEAREST FRIEND, Five weeks have passed and not one line have I re- ceived. I would rather give a dollar for a letter by the post, though the consequence should be, that I ate but one meal a day these three weeks to come. Every one I see is inquiring after you. — When did I hear ? — All my intelligence is collected from the newspaper, and I can only reply that I saw by that, you arrived such a day. I know your fondness for writing, and your inclination to let me hear from you by the first safe conveyance, which makes me sus- pect that some letter or other has miscarried, — but I hope, now you have arrived at Philadelphia, you will find means to convey me some intelligence. We are all well here. I think I enjoy better health than I have done these two years. I have not been to town since I parted with you there. The Gov- ernor is making all kinds of warlike preparations, such as mounting cannon upon Beacon Hill, digging intrenchments upon the Neck, placing cannon there, encamping a regiment there, throwing up breast- works, &c. The people are much alarmed, and the selectmen have waited upon him in consequence of LETTERS. 19 it. The County Congress have also sent a commit- tee ; all which proceedings you will have a more particular account of, than I am able to give you, from the public papers. But, as to the movements of this town, perhaps you may not hear them from any other person. In consequence of the powder being taken from Charlestown, a general alarm spread through many towns and was caught pretty soon here. The report took here on Friday, and on Sunday a soldier was seen lurking about the Common, supposed to be a spy, but most likely a deserter. However, intelligence of it was communicated to the other parishes, and about eight o'clock, Sunday evening, there passed by here about two hundred men, preceded by a horsecart, and marched down to the powder house, from whence they took the powder, and carried it into the other parish and there secreted it. I opened the window upon their return. They passed with- out any noise, not a word among them till they came against this house, when some of them perceiving me, asked me if I wanted any powder. I replied, No, since it was in so good hands. — The reason they gave for taking it was, that we had so many Tories here, they dared not trust us with it ; they had taken Vinton in their train, and upon their return they stopped between Cleverly's and Etter's and called upon him to deliver two warrants.^ Upon his 1 For summoning juries. 20 LETTERS. producing them, they put it to vote whether they should burn them, and it passed in the affirmative. They then made a circle and burnt them. They then called a vote whether they should huzza, but, it being Sunday evening, it passed in the negative. They called upon Vinton to swear, that he would never be instrumental in carrying into execution any of these new acts. They were not satisfied with his answers ; however, they let him rest a iew days ; after- wards, upon his making some foolish speeches, they assembled to the amount of two or three hundred, and swore vengeance upon him unless he took a solemn oath. Accordingly, they chose a committee and sent it with him to Major Miller's to see that he complied ; and they waited his return, which proving satisfacto- ry, they dispersed. This town appears as high as you can well imagine, and, if necessary, would soon be in arms. Not a Tory but hides his head. The Church parson thought they were coming after him, and ran up garret ; they say another jumped out of his window and hid among the corn, whilst a third crept under his board fence and told his beads. 16 September, 1774. I dined to-day at Colonel Quincy's. They were so kind as to send me and Abby and Betsey an invi- tation to spend the day with them ; and, as I had not been to see them since I removed to Braintree, I ac- cepted the invitation. After I got there came Mr. Samuel Quincy's wife and Mr. Sumner, Mr. Josiah LETTERS. * 21 and wife.^ A little clashing of parties, you may be sure. Mr. Sam's wife said, she thought it high time for her husband to turn about ; he had not done half so cleverly since he left her advice ; said they both greatly admired the most excellent speech of the Bishop of St. Asaph, which I suppose you have seen. It meets, and most certainly merits, the greatest en- comiums. Upon my return at night, Mr. Thaxter met me at the door with your letter, dated at Princeton, New Jersey. It really gave me such a flow of spir- its, that I was not composed enough to sleep until one o'clock. You make no mention of one I wrote you previous to that you received by Mr. Breck, and sent by Mr. Cunningham. I am rejoiced to hear you are well. I want to know many more particulars than you write me, and hope soon to hear from you again. I dare not trust myself with the thought how long you may perhaps be absent. I only count the weeks already past and they amount to five. I am not so lonely as I should have been without my two neighbours ; we make a table-full at meal times. All the rest of their time they spend in the office. Nev- er were two persons who gave a family less trouble than they do. It is at last determined, that Mr. Rice keep the school here. Indeed, he has kept ever since he has been here, but not with any ex- pectation that he should be continued ; — but the peo- 1 It is well known, that these two brothers took opposite sides 22 LETTERS, pie, finding no small difference between him and his predecessor, chose he should be continued. I have not sent Johnny/ He goes very steadily to Mr. Thaxter, who I believe takes very good care of him ; and, as they seem to have a liking to each other, I believe it will be best to continue him with him. However, when you return, we can consult what will be best. I am certain that, if he does not get so much good, he gets less harm ; and I have always thought it of very great importance, that children should, in the early part of life, be unaccustomed to such examples as would tend to corrupt the purity of their words and actions, that they may chill with horror at the sound of an oath, and blush with indig- nation at an obscene expression. These first princi- ples, which grow with their growth, and strengthen with their strength, neither time nor custom can to- tally eradicate. You will perhaps be tired. No. — Let it serve by way of relaxation from the more im- portant concerns of the day, and be such an amuse- ment, as your little hermitage used to afford you here. You have before you, to express myself in- the words of the Bishop, the greatest national con- cerns that ever came before any people ; and, if the prayers and petitions ascend unto Heaven, which are daily offered for you, wisdom will flow down as a stream, and righteousness as the mighty waters, and your deliberations will make glad the cities of our God. 1 Her son, John Quincy Adams. LETTERS. 23 I was very sorry I did not know of Mr. Gary's going ; it would have been so good an opportunity to have sent this, as I lament the loss of. You have heard, no doubt, of the people's preventing the court from sitting in various counties ; and last week, in Taunton, Angier urged the court's opening, and call- ing out the actions, but could not effect it. I saw a letter from Miss Eunice, wherein she gives an ac- count of it, and says there were two thousand men assembled round the court-house, and, by a commit- tee of nine, presented a petition requesting that they would not sit, and with the utmost order waited two hours for their answer, when they dispersed. You will burn all these letters, lest they should fall from your pocket, and thus expose your most affectionate friend, Abigail Adams. TO JOHN ADAMS. Boston Garrison, 22 September, 1774. I HAVE just returned from a visit to my brother with my father, who carried me there the day before yes- terday, and called here on my return, to see this much injured town. I view it with much the same sensations that I should the body of a departed friend ; — as having only put off its present glory, to rise finally to a more happy state. I will not despair, but will believe, that, our cause being good, we shall finally prevail. The maxim, " In time of peace pre- y 24 LETTERS. pare for war," (if this may be called a time of peace,) resounds throughout the country. Next Tuesday they are warned at Braintree, all above fifteen and under sixty, to attend with their arms ; and to train once a fortnight from that time is a scheme which lies much at heart with many. Scott has arrived, and brings news that he expect- ed to find all peace and quietness here, as he left them at home. You will have more particulars than I am able to send you, from much better hands. There has been in town a conspiracy of the negroes. At present it is kept pretty private, and was discov- ered by one who endeavoured to dissuade them from it. He being threatened with his life, applied to Jus- tice Quincy for protection. They conducted in this way, got an Irishman to draw up a petition to the Governor, telling him they would fight for him pro- vided he would arm them, and engage to liberate them if he conquered. And it is said that he attend- ed so much to it, as to consult Percy upon it, and one Lieutenant Small has been very busy and ac- tive. There is but little said, and what steps they will take in consequence of it I know not. I wish most sincerely there was not a slave in the province ; it always appeared a most iniquitous scheme to me to fight ourselves for what we are daily robbing and plundering from those who have as good a right to freedom as we have. You know my mind upon this subject. I left all our little ones well, and shall return to LETTERS. 25 them to-night. I hope to hear from you by the re- turn of the bearer of this, and by Revere. I long for the day of your return, yet look upon you as much safer where you are, but know it will not do for you ; — not one action has been brought to this court, — no business of any sort in your way, — all law ceases, and the gospel will soon follow ; for they are supporters of each other. Adieu, my father hur- ries me. Yours most sincerely. Abigail Adams. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 16 October, 1774. MT MUCH LOVED FRIEND, I DARE not express to you, at three hundred miles' distance, how ardently I long for your return. I have some very miserly wishes, and cannot consent to your spending one hour in town, till, at least, I have had you twelve. The idea plays about my heart, unnerves my hand, whilst I write, — awakens all the tender sentiments, that years have increased and matured, and which, when with me, were every day dispensing to you. The whole collected stock of ten weeks' absence knows not how to brook any longer restraint, but will break forth and flow through my pen. May the like sensations enter thy breast, and (spite of all the weighty cares of state) mingle them- selves with those I wish to communicate ; for, in 26 LETTERS. giving them utterance, I have felt more sincere pleasure, than I have known since the 10th of Au- gust/ Many have been the anxious hours I have spent since that day ; the threatening aspect of our public affairs, the complicated distress of this prov- ince, the arduous and perplexed business in which you are engaged, have all conspired to agitate my bosom with fears and apprehensions to which I have heretofore been a stranger ; and, far from thinking the scene closed, it looks as though the curtain was but just drawn, and only the first scene of the infernal plot disclosed ; and whether the end will be tragical, Heaven alone knows. You cannot be, I know, nor do I wish to see you, an inactive spectator; but, if the sword be drawn, I bid adieu to all domestic felicity, and look forward to that country, where there are neither wars nor rumors of war, in a firm belief, that, through the mercy of its King, we shall both rejoice there together. I greatly fear, that the arm of treachery and vio- lence is lifted over us, as a scourge and heavy pun- ishment from Heaven for our numerous offences, and for the misimprovement of our great advantages. If we expect to inherit the blessings of our fathers, we should return a little more to their primitive sim- plicity of manners, and not sink into inglorious ease. We have too many high-sounding words, and too few actions that correspond with them. I have spent one Sabbath in town since you left. I saw no differ- 1 The day on which he left her. LETTERS. 27 ence in respect to ornament, &c. ; but in the coun- try you must look for that virtue, of which you find but small ghmmerings in the metropolis. Indeed, they have not the advantages, nor the resolution, to encourage our own manufactories, which peo- ple in the country have. To the mercantile part, it is considered as throwing away their own bread ; but they mast retrench their expenses, and be con- tent with a small share of gain, for they will find but few who will wear their livery. As for me, I will seek wool and flax, and work willingly with my hands; and, indeed, there is occasion for all our in- dustry and economy. You mention the removal of our books, &c., from Boston ; I believe they are safe there, and it would incommode the gentlemen to re- move them, as they would not then have a place to repair to for study. I suppose they would not choose to be at the expense of boarding out. Mr. Williams, I believe, keeps pretty much with his mother. Mr. Hill's father had some thoughts of removing up to Braintree, provided he could be accommodated with a house, which he finds very difficult. Mr. Cranch's last determination was to tarry in town, unless any thing new takes place. His friends in town oppose his removal so much, that he is de- termined to stay. The opinion you have entertained of General Gage is, I believe, just. Indeed, he pro- fesses to act only upon the defensive. The people in the country begin to be very anxious for the Congress to rise ; they have no idea of the weighty 28 LETTERS. business you have to transact, and their blood boils with indignation at the hostile preparations they are constant witnesses of. Mr. Quincy's so secret de- parture is matter of various speculation ; some say he is deputed by the Congress, others, that he is gone to Holland, and the Tories say he is gone to be hanged.^ I rejoice at the favorable account you give me of your health. May it be continued to you. My health is much better than it was last fall ; some folks say I grow very fat. I venture to write almost any thing in this letter, because I know the care of the bearer. He will be most sadly disappointed, if you should be broken up before he arrives ; as he is very desirous of being introduced by you to a numbet of gentle- men of respectable character. I almost envy him, that he should see you before I can. Mr. Thaxter and Mr. Rice present their regards to you. Uncle Quincy, too, sends his love to you. He is very good to call and see me, and so have many other of my friends been. Colonel Warren and lady were here on Monday, and send their love to you. The Colonel promised to write. Mrs. Warren will spend a day or two, on her return, with me. I told Betsey^ to write to you ; she says she would, if you were her husband. 1 See the " Memoir of the Life of Josiah Quincy, Jr./' by his son, Josiah Quincy, p. 182. 2 Mrs. Adams's sister} who was afterwards married to the Rev. John Shaw, and to whom several of the letters in this volume were addressed. LETTERS. 29 Your mother sends her love to you ; and all your family, too numerous to name, desire to be remem- bered. You will receive letters from two, who are as earnest to write to papa, as if the welfare of a kingdom depended upon it. If you can give any guess, within a month, let me know when you think of returning. Your most affectionate Abigail Adams. Braintree, 4 May, 1775, I HAVE but little news to write you. Every thing of that kind you will learn by a more accurate hand than mine. Things remain in much the same situa- tion here, that they were when you went away. There has been no descent upon the seacoast. Guards are regularly kept ; and people seem more settled, and are returning to their husbandry. I feel somewhat lonely. Mr. Thaxter is gone home. Mr. Rice is going into the army, as captain of a com- pany. We have no school. I know not what to do with John. As government is assumed, I suppose courts of justice will be established, and, in that case, there may be business to do. l£ so, would it not be best for Mr. Thaxter to return ? They seem to be 1 Mr. Adams was at home during the interval between the sessions of Congress, marked by the dates of this and the preced- ing letter. 30 LETTERS. discouraged in the study of law, and think there never will be any business for them. I could have wished they had consulted you upon the subject, be- fore you went away. I suppose you will receive two or three volumes of that forlorn wretch Hutchinson's letters. Among many other things, I hear he wrote, in 1772, that Deacon Phillips and you had like to have been chosen into the Council, but, if you had, you should have shared the same fate with Bowers.^ May the fate of Mordecai be his. There is nobody admitted into town yet. I have made two or three attempts to get somebody in, but cannot succeed ; so have not been able to do the business you left in charge whh me. I want very much to hear from you, how you stood your journey, and in what state you find your- self now. I felt very anxious about you ; though I endeavoured to be very insensible and heroic, yet my heart felt like a heart of lead. The same night you left me, I heard of Mr. Quincy's death, which, at this time, was a most melancholy event ; especially, as he wrote in minutes, which he left behind, that he had matters of consequence intrusted with him, which, for want of a confidant, must die with him.^ I went to see his distressed widow last Saturday, at the ColonePs ; and, in the afternoon, from an alarm they had, she and her sister, with three others of the family, took refuge with me and tarried all night. 1 That is, would have received his negative. 2 See "Memoir of Josiah Quincy, Jr./' p. 345. LETTEKS. 31 She desired me to present her regards to you, and let you know, she wished you every blessing, — should alwa3's esteem you, as a sincere friend of her deceased husband. Poor afflicted woman; my heart was wounded for her. I must quit the subject, and entreat you to write me by every opportunity. Yours, Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 7 May, 1775. I RECEIVED by the Deacon two letters from you, this day, from Hartford. I feel a recruit of spirits upon the reception of them, and the comfortable news which they contain. We had not heard any thing from North Carolina before, and could not help feel- ing anxious, lest we should find a defection there, arising more from their ancient feuds and animosi- ties, than from any settled ill-will in the present con- test ; but the confirmation of the choice of their del- egates by their Assembly, leaves not a doubt of their firmness; nor doth the eye say unto the hand, "I have no need of thee." The Lord will not cast off his people, neither will he forsake his inheritance. Great events are most certainly in the womb of fu- turity ; and, if the present chastisements which we experience have a proper influence upon our conduct, the event will certainly be in our favor. The distresses of the inhabitants of Boston are beyond the power of 32 LETTERS. language to describe ; there are but very few who are permitted to come out in a day ; they delay giving passes, make them wait from hour to hour, and their counsels are not two hours together alike. One day, they shall come out with their effects ; the next day, merchandise is not effects. One day, their house- hold furniture is to come out ; the next, only wear- ing apparel ; the next, Pharaoh's heart is hardened, and he refuseth to hearken to them, and will not let the people go. May their deliverance be wrought out for them, as it was for the children of Israel. I do not mean by miracles, but by the interposition of Heaven in their favor. They have taken a list of all those who they suppose were concerned in watch- ing the tea, and every other person whom they call obnoxious, and they and their effects are to suffer destruction. Yours, Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 24 May, 1776. I SUPPOSE you have had a formidable account of the alarm we had last Sunday morning. When I rose, about six o'clock, I was told, that the drums had been some time beating, and that three alarm guns were fired ; that Weymouth bell had been ringing, and Mr. Weld's was then ringing. I immediately sent off* ari express to know the occasion, and found the whole town in confusion. Three sloops and one LETTERS. 33" cutter had come out and dropped anchor just below Great Hill. It was difficult to tell their designs : some supposed they were coming to Germantown, others, to Weymouth ; people, women, children, from the iron-works, came flocking down this way ; every woman and child driven off from below my father's; my father's family flying. The Doctor^ is in great distress, as you may well imagine, for my aunt had her bed thrown into a cart into which she got herself, and ordered the boy to drive her to Bridgewater, which he did. The report was to them, that three hundred had landed, and were upon their march up into town. The alarm flew like lightning, and men from all parts came flocking down, till two thousand were collected. But, it seems, their expe- dition was to Grape Island for Levett's hay. There it was impossible to reach them, for want of boats ; but the sight of so many persons, and the firing at them, prevented their getting more than three tons of hay, though they had carted much more down to the water. At last a lighter was mustered, and a sloop from Hingham, which had six port holes. Our men eagerly jumped on board, and put off for the island. As soon as they perceived it, they decamped. Our people landed upon the island, and in an instant set fire to the hay, which, with the barn, was soon con- 1 Dr. Cotton Tufts, of Weymouth, well known for many years, as a leading man in the County of JNTorfolk, had married a daugh- ter of Colonel John Quincy's, and, therefore, a sister of Mrs. Adams's mother. 3 34 LETTERS. sumed ; — about eighty tons, it is said. We expect soon to be in continual alarms, till something deci- sive takes place. We wait, with longing expectation, in hopes to hear the best accounts from you, with regard to union and harmony, &c. We rejoice greatly on the arrival of Dr. Franklin, as he must certainly be able to inform you very particularly of the situation of affairs in England. I wish you would, if you can get time, be as particular as you may^ when you write. Every one hereabouts comes to me, to hear what accounts I have. I was so un- lucky, as not to get the letter you wrote at New York. Captain Beale forgot it, and left it behind. We have a flying report here, with regard to New York, but cannot give any credit to it, as yet, that they had been engaged with the ships, which Gage sent there, and had taken them, with great loss upon both sides. Yesterday we had an account of three ships com- ing into Boston. I believe it is true, as there was a salute from the other ships, though I have not been to learn from whence they come. I suppose you have had an account of the fire, which did much damage to the warehouses, and added greatly to the distresses of the inhabitants, whilst it continued. The bad conduct of General Gage ^ was the means of its doing so much damage. *&- 1 He had taken the engines under guard, in consequence of a report, that the liberty party intended to fire the town. See '' The Remembrancer," for 1775, pp. 95. 98. LETTERS. 35 Our house has been, upon this alarm, in the same scene of confusion, that it was upon the former. Soldiers coming in for a lodging, for breakfast, for supper, for drink, &c. Sometimes refugees from Boston, tired and fatigued, seek an asylum for a day, a night, a week. You can hardly imagine how we live ; yet " To the houseless child of want Our doors are open still ; And, though our portions are but scant, We give them with good will." My best wishes attend you, both for your health and happiness, and that you may be directed into the wisest and best measures for our safety, and the security of our posterity. I wish you were nearer to us ; we know not what a day will bring forth, nor what distress one hour may throw us into. Hitherto I have been able to maintain a calmness and pres- ence of mind, and hope I shall, let the exigency of the time be what it will. Adieu, breakfast calls. Your affectionate Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Weymouth, 15 June, 1775. I SAT down to write to you on Monday, but really could not compose myself sufficiently ; the anxiety I suffered from not hearing one syllable from you for more than five weeks, and the new distress arising 36 LETTERS. from the arrival of recruits, agitated me more than I have been since the never-to-be-forgotten 14th of April/ I have been much revived by receiving two letters from you last night ; one by the servant of your friend, and the other by the gentleman you mention, though they both went to Cambridge, and I have not seen them, I hope to send this, as a re- turn to you. I feared much for your health, when you went away. I must entreat you to be as careful as you can consistently with the duty you owe your country. That consideration, alone, prevailed with me to con- sent to your departure, in a time so perilous and so hazardous to your family, and with a body so infirm as to require the tenderest care and nursing. I wish you may be supported and divinely assisted in this most important crisis, when the fate of em- pires depends upon your wisdom and conduct. I greatly rejoice to hear of your union and determin- ation to stand by us. We cannot but consider the great distance you are from us as a very great misfortune, when our criti- cal situation renders it necessary to hear from you every week, and will be more and more so, as dif- ficulties arise. We now expect our seacoasts rav- aged ; perhaps the very next letter I write will inform you, that I am driven away from our yet quiet cot- tage. Necessity will oblige Gage to take some des- 1 The day upon which he left her. LETTERS. 37 perate steps. We are told for truth, that he is now eight thousand strong. We live in continual expec- tation of alarms. Courage, I know we have in abundance, — conduct, I hope we shall not want ; but powder, — where shall we get a sufficient sup- ply? I wish we may not fail there. Every town is filled with the distressed inhabitants of Boston. Our house among others is deserted, and by this time, like enough, made use of as a barrack. Mr. Bow- doin and his lady are at present in the house of Mrs. Borland, and are going to Middleborough, to the house of Judge Oliver. He, poor gentleman, is so low, that I apprehend he is hastening to a house not made with hands ; he looks like a mere skeleton, speaks faint and low, is racked with a violent cough, and, I think, far advanced in a consumption. I went to see him last Saturday. He is very inquisitive of every person with regard to the times ; begged I would let him know of the first intelligence I had from you ; is very unable to converse by reason of his cough. He rides every pleasant day, and has been kind enough to call at the door (though unable to get out) several times. He says the very name of Hutchinson distresses him. Speaking of him, the other day, he broke out, — " Religious rascal ! how I abhor his name." Pray be as particular as possible when you write. Everybody wants to hear and to know what is do- ing, and what may be communicated do not fail to inform me of. All our friends desire to be kindly 38 LETTERS. remembered to you. Gage's proclamation you will receive by this conveyance. All the records of time cannot produce a blacker page. Satan, when driven from the regions of bliss, exhibited not more malice. Surely the father of lies is superseded. Yet we think it the best proclamation he could have issued. I shall, whenever I can, receive and entertain, in the best manner I am capable, the gentlemen who have so generously proflered their services in our army. Government is wanted in the army and else- where. We see the want of it more from so large a body being together, than when each individual was employed in his own domestic circle. My best regards attend every man you esteem. You will make my compliments to Mr. Mifflin and lady. I do not now wonder at the regard the ladies express for a soldier. Every man who wears a cockade appears of double the importance he used to do, and I feel a respect for the lowest subaltern in the army. You tell me you know not when you shall see me. I never trust myself long with the terrors which some- times intrude themselves upon me. I hope we shall see each other again, and rejoice together in happier days ; the little ones are well, and send duty to papa. Don't fail of letting me hear from you by every opportunity. Every line is like a precious relic of the saints. I have a request to make of you ; something like the barrel of sand, I suppose you will think it, but really of much more importance to me. It is, that LETTERS. 39 you would send out Mr. Bass/ and purchase me a bundle of pins, and put them in your trunk for me. The cry for pins is so great, that what I used to buy for seven shillings and sixpence, are now twenty shillings, and not to be had for that. A bundle con- tains six thousand, for which I used to give a dollar ; but if you can procure them for fifty shillings, or three pounds,^ pray let me have them. I am, with the tenderest regard, Your Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Sunday, 18 June, 1775. DEAREST FRIEND, The day, — perhaps, the decisive day, — is come, on which the fate of America depends. My bursting heart must find vent at my pen. I have just heard, that our dear friend, Dr. Warren, is no more, but fell gloriously fighting for his country ; saying, bet- ter to die honorably in the field, than ignominiously hang upon the gallows. Great is our loss. He has distinguished himself in every engagement, by his courage and fortitude, by animating the soldiers, and leading them on by his own example. A particular 1 A man who accompanied Mr. Adams in the capacity of a ser- vant. ~ This price must have been caused by the obstruction of trade, as there had been no emission of paper money of importance. 40 LETTERS. account of these dreadful, but I hope glorious days will be transmitted you, no doubt, in the exactest manner. " The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong ; but the God of Israel is he, that giveth strength and power unto his people. Trust in him at all times, ye people, pour out your hearts before him ; God is a refuge for us." Charlestown is laid in ashes. The battle began upon our intrenchments upon Bunker's Hill, Saturday morning about three o'clock, and has not ceased yet, and it is now three o'clock Sabbath afternoon. It is expected they will come out over the Neck to-night, and a dreadful battle must ensue. Almighty God, cover the heads of our countrymen, and be a shield to our dear friends ! How many have fallen, we know not. The constant roar of the cannon is so distressing, that we cannot eat, drink, or sleep. May we be supported and sustained in the dreadful conflict. I shall tarry here till it is thought unsafe by my friends, and then I have secured myself a retreat at your brother's, who has kindly offered me part of his house. I cannot compose myself to write any further at present. I will add more as I hear further. Tuesday Afternoon, I have been so much agitated, that I have not been able to write since Sabbath day. When I say, that ten thousand reports are passing, vague and un- certain as the wind, I believe I speak the truth. I LETTERS. 41 am not able to give you any tiuthentic account of last Saturday, but you will not be destitute of intelli- gence. Colonel Palmer has just sent me word, that he has an opportunity of conveyance. Incorrect as this scrawl will be, it shall go. I ardently pray, that you may be supported through the arduous task you have before you. I wish I could contradict the re- port of the Doctor's death ; but it is a lamentable truth, and the tears of multitudes pay tribute to his memory ; those favorite lines of Collins continually sound in my ears ; '' How sleep the brave/' &c.i I must close, as the Deacon waits. I have not pretended to be particular with regard to what I have heard, because I know you will collect better intelligence. The spirits of the people are very good ; the loss of Charlestown affects them no more than a drop of the bucket. I am, most sincerely, Yours, Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. 22 June, 1775. I RECEIVED yours of June 10th, for which I thank you. I want you to be more particular. Does every member feel for us > Can they realize what we suffer ? And can they believe, with what patience 1 Collins's Ode is too well known to need insertion. 42 LETTERS. and fortitude we endure the conflict ? Nor do we even tremble at the frowns of power. You inquire of me, who were at the engagement at Grape Island. I may say, with truth, all of Wey- mouth, Braintree, Hingham, who were able to bear arms, and hundreds from other towns within thirty and forty miles of Weymouth. Our good friend, the Doc- tor,^ is in a miserable state of health, and hardly able to go from his own house to my father's. Danger, you know, sometimes makes timid men bold. He stood that day very well, and generously attended, with drink, biscuit, flints, &c., five hundred men, without taking any pay. He has since been chosen one of the Committee of Correspondence for that town, and has done much service, by establishing a regular method of alarm from town to town. Both your brothers were there ; your younger brother, with his company, who gained honor by their good order that day. He was one of the first to venture on board a schooner, to land upon the island. As to Chelsea, I cannot be so particular, as I do know only in gen- eral, that Colonel Putnam commanded there, and had many gentlemen volunteers. We have two com- panies stationed in this town ; at Gerraantown, Cap- tain Turner ; at Squantum, Captain Vinton ; in Wey- mouth, one ; in Hingham, two, &c. I believe I shall remove your books this week to your brother's. We think it advisable. Colonel Quincy has procured his family a retreat at Deacon Holbrook's. Mr. Cranch 1 Dr. Tufts. LETTERS. 43 has one at Major Bass's, in case of necessity, to which we hope not to be driven. We hear, that the troops destined for New York are all expected here ; but we have got to that pass, that a whole legion of them would not intimidate us. I think I am very brave, upon the whole. If danger comes near my dwelling, I suppose I shall shudder. We want powder, but, with the blessing of Heaven, we fear them not. Write every opportunity you can. I am yours, Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 25 June, 1775. DEAREST FRIEND, My father has been more afflicted by the destruc- tion of Charlestown than by any thing which has heretofore taken place. Why should not his counte- nance be sad, when the city, the place of his fath- er's sepulchre, lieth waste, and the gates consumed with fire ? Scarcely one stone remaineth upon an- other ; but in the midst of sorrow we have abundant cause of thankfulness, that so few of our brethren are numbered with the slain, whilst our enemies were cut down like the grass before the scythe. But one officer of all the Welsh fusileers remains to tell his story. Many poor wretches die for want of proper assistance and care of their wounds. Every account agrees in fourteen or fifteen hun- 44 LETTERS. dred slain and wounded upon their side, nor can I learn that they dissemble the number themselves. We had some heroes that day, who fought whh amazing intrepidity and courage. " Extremity is the trier of spirits ; — common chances common men can bear ; " And " when the sea is calm; all boats alike Show mastership in floating. But fortune's blows, When most struck home, being bravehj warded, crave A noble cunning." I hear that General Howe has said, that the battle upon the plains of Abram was but a bauble to this. When we consider all the circumstances attending this action, we stand astonished that our people were not all cut off. They had but one hundred feet in- trenched, the number who were engaged did not ex- ceed eight hundred, and they with not half ammu- nition enough ; the reinforcement not able to get to them seasonably. The tide was up, and high, so that their floating batteries came upon each side of the causeway, and their row-galleys kept a continual fire. Added to this, the fire from Cops Hill, and from the ships ; the town in flames, all around them, and the heat from the flames so intense as scarcely to be borne ; the day one of the hottest we have had this season, and the wind blowing the smoke in their fa- ces, — only figure to yourself all these circumstances, and then consider that we do not count sixty men lost.^ My heart overflows at the recollection. 1 This was below the truth 3 but accuracy in these details will LETTERS. 45 We live in continual expectation of hostilities. Scarcely a day that does not produce some ; but, like good Nehemiah, having made our prayer unto God, and set the people with their swords, their spears, and their bows, we will say unto them, " Be not ye afraid of them ; remember the Lord, who is great and terrible, and fight for your brethren, your sons and your daughters, your wives and your houses." I have just received yours of the 17th of June, in seven days only ; every line from that far country is precious ; you do not tell me how you do, but I will hope better. Alas, you little thought what distress we were in the day you wrote. ^ They delight in molesting us upon the Sabbath. Two Sabbaths we have been in such alarm that we have had no meet- ing ; this day we have sat under our own vine in quietness; have heard Mr. Taft, from Psalms, "The Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over all his works." The good man was earnest and pa- thetic ; I could forgive his weakness for the sake of his sincerity, but I long for a Cooper and an Eliot. I want a person, who has feeling and sensibility, who can take one up with him. And ''in his duty prompt, at every call/' Can " watch, and weep, and pray, and feel for all." not be looked for in a letter written at the moment, upon infor- mation necessarily defective. 1 It is a little singular, that the letter written upon that day, gives her the first intelligence of the election of Washington to the chief command. 46 LETTERS. Mr. Rice joins General Heath's regiment to-mor- row, as adjutant. Your brother is very desirous of being in the army, but your good mother is really violent against it. I cannot persuade nor reason her into a consent. Neither he nor I dare let her know that he is trying for a place. My brother has a captain's commission, and is stationed at Cambridge. I thought you had the best of intelligence, or I should have taken pains to be more particular. As to Boston, there are many persons yet there, who would be glad to get out if they could. Mr. Boyls- ton, and Mr. Gill, the printer, with his family, are held upon the black list, it is said. 'T is certain they watch them so narrowly, that they cannot es- cape. Mr. Mather got out a day or two before Charlestown was destroyed, and had lodged his pa- pers and what else he got out, at Mr. Gary's, but they were all consumed ; so were many other peo- ple's, who thought they might trust their little there, till teams could be procured to remove them. The people from the almshouse and workhouse were sent to the lines, last week, to make room for their wounded, they say. Medford people are all re- moved. Every seaport seems in motion. O North, may the groans and cries of the injured and oppress- ed harrow up thy soul. We have a prodigious ar- my, but we lack many accommodations, which we need. I hope the appointment of these new gener- als will give satisfaction ; they must be proof against calumny. In a contest like this, continual reports LETTERS. 47 are circulated by our enemies, and they catch with the unwary and the gaping crowd, who are ready to listen to the marvellous, without considering of consequences, even though their best friends are injured. I have not ventured to inquire one word of you about your return. I do not know whether I ought to wish for it ; it seems as if your sitting together was absolutely necessary, whilst every day is Lig with events. Mr. Bowdoin called Friday, and took his leave of me, desiring I would present his affectionate regards to you. I have hopes that he will recover, he has mended a good deal. He wished he could have stayed in Braintree, but his lady was fearful. Yours evermore, Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 5 July, 1775, I HAVE received a good deal of paper from you. I wish it had been inore covered ; the writing is very scant, yet I must not grumble. I know your time is not yours nor mine. Your labors must be great and your mouth closed ; but all you may communicate, I beg you would. There is a pleasure, I know not whence it arises, nor can I stop now to find it out, but I say there is a degree of pleasure in being able 48 LETTERS. to tell news, especially any that so nearly concerns us, as all your proceedings do. I should have been more particular, but I thought you knew every thing that passed here. The pres- ent state of the inhabitants of Boston is that of the most abject slaves, under the most cruel and despotic of tyrants. Among many instances I could men- tion, let me relate one. Upon the 17th of June, printed handbills were posted up at the corners of the streets and upon houses, forbidding any inhabit- ants to go upon their houses, or upon any eminence, upon pain of death ; the inhabitants dared not to look out of their houses, nor to be heard or seen to ask a question. Our prisoners were brought over to the Long Wharf, and there lay all night, without any care of their wounds or any resting-place but the pavements, until the next day, when they exchanged it for the jail, since which we hear they are civilly treated. Their living cannot be good, as they can have no fresh provisions ; their beef, we hear, is all gone, and their own wounded men die very fast, so that they have a report that the bullets were poison- ed. Fish they cannot have, they have rendered it so difficult to procure it; and the admiral is such a villain as to oblige every fishing schooner to pay a dollar every time it goes out. The money that has been paid for passes is incredible. Some have given ten, twenty, thirty, and forty dollars, to get out with a small proportion of their things. It is reported and believed, that they have taken up a number of LETTERS. 49 persons and committed them to jail, we know not for what in particular. Master Lovell is confined in the dungeon ; a son of Mr. Edes is in jail, and one Wi- burt, a ship carpenter, is now upon trial for his life. God alone knows to what length these wretches will go, and will I hope restrain their malice. I would not have you be distressed about me. Danger, they say, makes people valiant. Hitherto I have been distressed, but not dismayed. I have felt for my country and her sons, and have bled with them and for them. Not all the havoc and devastation they have made, has wounded me like the death of Warren. We want him in the Senate ; we want him in his profession ; we want him in the field. We mourn for the citizen, the senator, the physician, and the warrior. May we have others raised up in his room. I have had a very kind and friendly visit from our dear friends Colonel Warren, lady, and son. Mrs. Warren spent almost a week with me, and he came and met her here, and kept Sabbath with me. I suppose she will write to you, though she says you are in her debt. You scarcely make mention of Dr. Franklin. Surely he must be a valuable member. Pray, what is become of your Judas ? ^ I see he is not with 1 It is uncertain who is alluded to here ; probably Mr. Gallo- way of Pennsylvania, who was a member of the first Congress, re- sisted the measures adopted by it, and subsequently became one of the most active of the loyal refugees. 4 50 LETTERS. you upon the list of delegates. I wish I could come and see you. I never suffer myself to think you are about returning soon. Can it, will it be ? May I ask — may I wish for it ? When once I expect you, the time will crawl till I see you. But hush ! Do you know it is eleven o'clock at night ? We have had some very fine rains since I wrote you last. I hope we shall not now have famine added to war. Grain, grain is what we want here. Meat we have enough, and to spare. Pray don't let Bass forget my pins. Hardwick has applied to me for Mr. Bass to get him a hundred of needles, number six, to carry on his stocking weaving. We shall very soon have no coffee, nor sugar, nor pepper here ; but whortle- berries and milk we are not obliged to commerce for. Good night. With thoughts of thee do I close my eyes. Angels guard and protect thee ; and may a safe return ere long bless thy Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 16 July, 1775. DEAREST FRIEND, I HAVE seen your letters to Colonels Palmer and Warren. I pity your embarrassments. How diffi- cult the task to quench the fire and the pride of pri- vate ambition, and to sacrifice ourselves and all our hopes and expectations to the public weal ! How few have souls capable of so noble an undertaking ! LETTERS. 51 How often are the laurels worn by those who have had no share in earning them ! But there is a future recompense of reward, to which the upright man looks, and which he will most assuredly obtain, pro- vided he perseveres unto the end. The appointment of the generals Washington and Lee gives universal satisfaction. The people have the highest opinion of Lee's abilities, but you know the continuation of the popular breath depends much upon favorable events. I had the pleasure of see- ing both the generals and their aids-de-camp soon after their arrival, and of being personally made known to them. They very politely express their regard for you. Major Mifflin said he had orders from you to visit me at Braintree. I told him I should be very happy to see him there, and accord- ingly sent Mr. Thaxter to Cambridge with a card, to him and Mr. Read, to dine with me. Mrs. Warren and her son were to be with me. They very po- litely received the message, and lamented that they were not able to come, upon account of expresses which they were on that day to get in readiness to send off. I was struck with General Washington. You had prepared me to entertain a favorable opinion of him, but I thought the half was not told me. Dignity with ease and complacency, the gentleman and sol- dier, look agreeably blended in him. Modesty marks every line and feature of his face. Those lines of Dryden instantly occurred to me ; 52 LETTERS. " Mark his majestic fabric ! he 's a temple Sacred by birlh, and built by hands divine 5 His soul 's the deity that lodges there ; Nor is the pile unworthy of the god." General Lee looks like a careless, hardy veteran, and, by his appearance, brought to my mind his namesake, Charles the Twelfth, of Sweden. The elegance of his pen far exceeds that of his person. You have made frequent complaints that your friends do not write to you. I have stirred up some of them. May not I in my turn make complaints ? All the letters I receive from you seem to be written in so much haste, that they scarcely leave room for a social feeling. They let me know that you exist, but some of them contain scarcely six lines. I want some sentimental effusions of the heart. I am sure you are not destitute of them ; or are they all ab- sorbed in the great public ? Much is due to that, I know ; but, being part of the public, I lay claim to a larger share than I have had. You used to be more communicative on Sundays. I always loved a Sab- bath day's letter, for then you had a greater com- mand of your time ; but hush to all complaints. I am much surprised that you have not been more accurately informed of what passes in the camps. As to intelligence from Boston, it is but very seldom we are able to collect any thing that may be relied on ; and to report the vague, flying rumors, would be endless. I heard yesterday, by one Mr. Roulstone, a goldsmith, who got out in a fishing schooner, that their distress increased upon them fast. Their beef LETTERS. 53 is all spent ; their malt and cider all gone. All the fresh provisions they can procure, they are obliged to give to the sick and wounded. Thirteen of our men who were in jail, and were wounded at the bat- tle of Charlestown, were dead. No man dared now to be seen talking to his friend in the street. They were obliged to be within, every evening, at ten o'clock, according to martial law ; nor could any inhabitant walk any street in town after that time, without a pass from Gage. He has ordered all the molasses to be distilled up into rum for the soldiers ; taken away all licenses, and given out others, ob- liging to a forfeiture of ten pounds, if any rum is sold without written orders from the general. He gives much the same account of the killed and wounded we have from others. The spirit, he says, which prevails among the soldiers, is a spirit of malice and revenge ; there is no true courage and bravery to be observed among them. Their duty is hard, always mounting guard with their packs at their backs, ready for an alarm, which they live in continual haz- ard of Dr. Eliot is not on board a man-of-war, as has been reported, but perhaps was left in town, as the comfort and support of those who cannot escape. He was constantly with our prisoners. Messrs. Lov- ell and Leach, with others, are certainly in jail. A poor milch cow was last week killed in town, and sold for a shilling sterling per pound. The trans- ports arrived last week from York, but every addi- tional man adds to their distress. There has been a 54 LETTERS. little expedition this week to Long Island.^ There have been, before, several attempts to go on, but three men-of-war lay near, and cutters all round the island, so that they could not succeed. A number of whaleboats lay at Germantown. Three hundred volunteers, commanded by one Captain Tupper, came on Monday evening and took the boats, went on, and brought off seventy odd sheep, fifteen head of cattle, and sixteen prisoners, thirteen of whom were sent by (Simple Sapling) ^ to mow the hay, which they had very badly executed. They were all asleep in the house and barn. When they were taken, there were three women with them. Our heroes came off in triumph, not being observed by their enemies. This spirited up others, who could not endure the thought that the house and barn should afford them any shelter ; — they did not de- stroy them the night before for fear of being dis- covered. Captain Wild, of this town, with about twenty-five of his company ; Captain Gold, of Wey- mouth, with as many of his, and some other volun- teers, to the amount of a hundred, obtained leave to go on and destroy the hay, together with the house and barn ; and in open day, in full view of the men- of-war, they set off from the Moon^ so called, cov- 1 In Boston harbour. This event is repeatedly noticed in ''The Remembrancer/' for 1755, pp. 242, 257, 262. 2 These are the words in the original, but I cannot explain them. — Editor. 3 The name given to a small island in Boston harbour. LETTERS. 58 ered by a number of men who were placed there, — went on and set fire to the buildings and hay. A number of armed cutters immediately surrounded the island and fired upon our men. They came off with a hot and continued fire upon them, the bullets flying in every direction, and the men-of-war's boats plying them with small arms. Many in this town, who were spectators, expected every moment our men would all be sacrificed, for sometimes they were so near as to be called and damned by their enemies, and ordered to surrender ; yet they all re- turned in safety, not one man even wounded. Upon the Moon we lost one man, from the cannon on board the man-of-war. On the evening of the same day, a man-of-war came and anchored near Great Hill, and two cutters came to Pig Rocks. It occa- sioned an alarm in this town, and we were up all night. They remain there yet, but have not ventur- ed to land any men. This town have chosen their representative. Col- onel Palmer is the man. There was a considerable muster upon Thayer's side, and Vinton's company marched up in order to assist, but got sadly disap- pointed. Newcomb insisted upon it that no man should vote who was in the army. He had no no- tion of being under the military power ; said we might be so situated as to have the greater part of the people engaged in the military, and then all power would be wrested out of the hands of the civil magistrate. He insisted upon its being put to vote, 56 LETTERS. and carried his point immediately. It brought Thay- er to his speech, who said all he could against it. As to the situation of the camps, our men are in general healthy, much more so at Roxbury than at Cambridge, and the camp is in vastly better order. General Thomas has the character of an excellent officer. His merit has certainly been overlooked, as modest merit generally is. I hear General Wash- ington is much pleased with his conduct. Every article here in the West India way is very scarce and dear. In six weeks we shall not be able to purchase any article of the kind. I wish you would let Bass get me one pound of j)epper, and two yards of black calamanco for shoes. I cannot wear leath- er, if I go barefoot. Bass may make a fine profit if he lays in a stock for himself. You can hardly imagine how much we want many common small articles, which are not manufactured amongst our- selves ; but we will have them in time ; not one pin to be purchased for love or money. I wish you could convey me a thousand by any friend travelling this way. It is very provoking to have such a plenty so near us, but, Tantalus-like, not be able to touch. I should have been glad to have laid in a small stock of the West India articles, but I cannot get one cop- per ; no person thinks of paying any thing, and I do not choose to run in debt. We have not yet been much distressed for grain. Every thing at present looks blooming. O that peace would once more extend her olive branch ; LETTERS. 57 " This day be bread and peace my lot ; All else beneath the sun, Thou knovvest if best bestowed or not. And let thy will be done." " But is the Almighty ever bound to please, Build by my wish, or studious of my ease ? Shall I determine where his frowns shall fall, And fence my grotto from the lot of all ? Prostrate, his sovereign wisdom I adore, Intreat his mercy, but I dare no more." I have now written you all I can collect from ev- eiy quarter. 'T is fit for no eyes but yours, because you can make all necessary allowances. I cannot copy. There are yet in town three of the selectmen and some thousands of inhabitants, 't is said. I hope to hear from you soon. Do let me know if there is any prospect of seeing you ? Next Wednesday is thirteen weeks since you went away. I must bid you adieu. You have many friends, though they have not no- ticed you by writing. I am sorry they have been so negligent. I hope no share of that blame lies upon Your most affectionate Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 25 July, 1775. DEAREST FRIEND, I RECEIVED yours of July 7th, for which I heartily thank you. It was the longest and best letter I have 58 LETTERS. had ; the most leisurely, and therefore the most sen- timental. Previous to your last, I had written you and made some complaints of you, but I will take them all back again. Only continue your obliging favors, whenever your time will allow you to devote one moment to your absent Portia. This is the 25th of July. Gage has not made any attempts to march out since the battle at Charles- town. Our army is restless, and wish to be doing something to rid themselves and the land of the ver- min and locusts which infest it. Since I wrote you last, the companies stationed upon the coast, both in this town, Weymouth, and Hingham, were ordered to Nantasket, to reap and bring off the grain, which they accomplished, all except a field or two which was not ripe ; and, having whaleboats, they under- took to go to the Lighthouse and set fire to it, which they effected in open day, and in fair sight of sever- al men-of-war. Upon their return, came down upon them eight barges, one cutter, and one schooner, all in battle array, and poured whole broad sides upon them ; but our men all reached the shore, and not one life lost, two only slightly wounded in their legs. They marched up a hill, and drew into order, in hopes the marines would land ; but they chose rather to return without a land engagement, though 't is thought they will burn the town down as soon as our forces leave it. I had this account from Captain Vinton, who with his company were there. These little skirmishes seem trifling, but they serve to inure LETTERS. 59 our men, and harden them to danger. I hear the rebels are very wroth at the destruction of the Ught- house. There has been an offer from Gage to send the poor of Boston to Salem by water, but not compUed with on our part ; they returned for answer, they would receive them upon the Hnes. Dr. Tufts saw a letter from Deacon Newall, in which he mentions the death of John Cotton ; he says it is very sickly in town. Every fishing vessel is now obliged to enter and clear out, as though she was going a foreign voyage. No inhabitant is suffered to partake, but obliged to wait till the army is supplied, and then, if one remains, they are allowed, to purchase it. An order has been given out in town, that no person shall be seen to wipe his face with a white hand- kerchief. The reason I hear is, that it is a signal of mutiny. General Burgoyne lives in Mr. Sam Quin- cy's house. A lady, who lived opposite, says she saw raw meat cut and hacked upon her mahogany tables, and her superb damask curtain and cushions exposed to the rain as if they were of no value. How much better do the Tories fare than the Whigs ? I suppose this worthy, good man was put in with all confidence that nothing should be hurt. I was very much pleased with General Lee's let- ter,^ and really entertained a more favorable opinion of Burgoyne than I before had imbibed from his 1 This correspondence between Lee and Burgoyne, is in " The Remembrancer," for 1775, pp. 150 et seq. 60 LETTERS. speech ; but a late letter from London, written to Mr. Josiah Quincy, and, in case of his absence, to be opened either by you or Mr. Samuel Adams, or ei- ther of the Warrens, has left me no room to think that he is possessed either of generosity, virtue, or humanity. His character runs thus ; "As to Burgoyne,^ I am not master of language sufficient to give you a true idea of the horrible wickedness of the man. His designs are dark ; his dissimulation of the deepest dye ; for, not content with deceiving mankind, he practises deceit on God himself, by assuming the appearance (like Hutchin- son) of great attention to religious worship, when every action of his life is totally abhorrent to all ideas of true religion, virtue, or common honesty. An abandoned, infamous gambler, of broken fortune, and the worst and most detestable of the Bedford gang, who are wholly bent on blood, tyranny, and spoil, and therefore the darling favorite of our unri. vailed ruler. Lord Bute." The character of Howe is not drawn much more favorably, but Clinton's general character veiy good, and 't is said he does not relish the service he is sent upon. I am ready to believe this of Clinton, as I have never heard of any speeches of his since his arrival, nor scarcely any mention of him. That 1 Much allowance must occasionally be made for the excite- ment naturally growing out of the circumstances of the war. General Burgoyne by no means bore any such character as this. LETTERS. 61 such characters as Burgoyne and Howe should en- gage in such a cause is not to be wondered at ; but it is really to be lamented, when a man, possessed of one spark of virtue, should be drawn aside, and dis- grace himself and posterity by adding one more to the already infamous list. I suppose you have heard of Darby's arrival,^ and the intelligence he brings. I could not refrain wishing them everlasting fetters ; " the news received with some symptoms of pleas- ure," and " our friends increased," and a few more such sugar plums. Were they suffering as we are, could Americans sit thus coldly whilst Britons were bleeding ? How is it possible, that the love of gain and the lust of domination should render the human mind so callous to every principle of honor, generos- ity, and benevolence ? May that day be far distant from America, when " trade's unfeeling train," shall " usurp this land, and dispossess the swain." " 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ; Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; A breath can make them, as a breath has made ; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride. When once destroyed, can never be supplied." Your address meets with general approbation here ; your petitioning the King again, pleases (forgive me if I say the timid and the weak) those persons who were esteemed the lukewarm, and who think no 1 From England. 62 LETTERS. works of supererogation can be performed to Great Britain ; whilst others say you heap coals of fire upon the heads of your enemies. You know you are considered here as a most perfect body ; if one member is by any means rendered incapable of act- ing, 't is supposed the deficiency will be made up. The query is, why your President left the Congress so long as to make it necessary to choose anoth- er member, — whether he declined returning to you again ? I suppose you have a list of our Council. It was generally thought that Gage would make an attempt to come out either Election day, or upon the Fast ; but I could not believe we should be disturbed upon that day. Even " the devils believe and tremble," and I really believe they are more afraid of the Ameri- cans' prayers than of their swords. I could not bear to hear our inanimate old bachelor. Mrs. Cranch and I took our chaise and went to hear Mr. Haven, of Dedham, and we had no occasion to repent eleven miles' ride ; especially as I had the pleasure of spend- ing the day with my namesake and sister delegate. Why should we not assume your titles when we give you up our names .? I found her comfortably situ- ated in a little country cottage, with patience, perse- verance, and fortitude for her companions, and in better health than she has enjoyed for many months past. I fear General Thomas being overlooked, and Heath placed over him, will create much uneasiness. LETTERS. 63 I know not who was to blame, but it is likely to. make a great and fatal gap in the army. If Thom- as resigns, all his officers resign ; and Mr. Thomas cannot with honor hold under Heath. The camp will evince to every eye how good an officer he has been ; but this is out of my sphere. I only say what others say, and what the general disposition of the people is. I need not say how much I want to see you, but no one will credit my story of your returning in a month. I hope to have the best of proofs to con- vince them. It cannot need any to convince you how sincerely I am your affectionate Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 31 July, 1775. I DO not feel easy more than two days together without writing to you. If you abound, you must lay some of the fault upon yourself, who have made such sad complaints for letters ; but I really believe I have written more than all my sister delegates. There is nothing new transpired since I wrote you last, but the sailing of some transports, and five de- serters having come intp our camp. One of them is gone, I hear, to Philadelphia. I think I should be cautious of him. No one can tell the secret designs of such fellows, whom no oath binds. He may be 64 LETTERS. sent with assassinating designs. I can credit any villany, that a Csesar Borgia would have been guilty of, or Satan himself would rejoice in. Those who do not scruple to bring poverty, misery, slavery, and death upon thousands, will not hesitate at the most diabolical crimes ; and this is Britain. Blush, O Americans, that ever you derived your origin from such a race. We learn from one of these deserters, that our ever valued friend, Warren, dear to us even in death, was not treated with any more respect than a com- mon soldier ; but the savage wretches, called officers, consulted together, and agreed to sever his head from his body and carry it in triumph to Gage, who no doubt would have " grinned horribly a ghastly smile," instead of imitating Csesar, who far from be- ing gratified with so horrid a spectacle as the head even of his enemy, turned away from Pompey's with disgust, and gave vent to his pity in a flood of tears. Plow much does Pagan tenderness put Chris- tian benevolence to shame ! What humanity could not obtain, the rites and ceremonies of a mason de- manded. An officer, who, it seems, was one of the brotherhood, requested, that as a mason, he might have the body unmangled, and find a decent inter- ment for it. He obtained his request, but, upon re- turning to secure it, he found it already thrown into the earth, only with the ceremony of being first placed there with many bodies over him ; " Nor writ his name, whose tomb should pierce the skies." LETTERS. 65 " Glows my resentment into guilt? What guilt Can equal violations of the dead ? The dead how sacred ! Sacred is the dust Of this heaven-labored form, erect, divine ! This heaven-assumed, majestic robe of earth." 2 August. Thus far I wrote and broke off; hearing there was a probabiUty of your return, I thought not to send it ; but the reception of yours this morning, of July 23d, makes me think the day further off than I hoped. I therefore will add a few lines, though very unfit. I went out yesterday to attend the funeral of the poor fellow who, the night before, fell in battle, as they were returning from the lighthouse ; I caught some cold. Sabbath evening there was a warm fire from Prospect Hill and Bunker's Hill, begun first by the riflemen taking off their guard. Two men upon our side were killed, five of their guards were killed, two taken. I believe my account will -be very con- fused, but I will relate it as well as I am able.^ Sab- bath evening a number of men, in whaleboats, went off from Squantum and Dorchester, to the lighthouse, where the general, Gage, had again fixed up a lamp, and sent twelve carpenters to repair it. Our people went on amidst a hot fire from thirty marines, who were placed there as a guard to the Tory carpenters, burnt the dwellinghouse, took the Tories and twenty- eight marines, killed the lieutenant and one man, 1 These events are briefly mentioned in ''The Remembrancer," for the year 1775, pp. 269, 270. 5 66 LETTERS. brought off all the oil and stores which were sent, without the loss of a man, until they were upon their return ; when they were so closely pursued, that they were obliged to run one whaleboat ashore, and leave her to them ; the rest arrived safe, except the unhap- py youth, whose funeral I yesterday attended, who received a ball through the temple, as he was rowing the boat. He belonged to Rhode Island. His name was Griffin. He, with four wounded marines, was brought by Captain Turner to Germantown, and buried from there with the honors of war. Mr. Wi- bird, upon the occasion, made the best oration (he never prays, you know,) I ever heard from him. The poor wounded fellows (who were all wounded in their arms) desired they might attend. They did, and he very pathetically addressed them, with which they appeared affected. I spoke with them, — I told them, it was very unhappy that they should be obliged to tight their best friends. They said they were' sorry ; they hoped in God an end would be speedily put to the unhappy contest ; when they came, they came in the way of their duty, to relieve Admiral Montague, with no thought of fighting, but their situation was such as obliged them to obey orders ; but they wish- ed with all their souls, that they that sent them here had been in the heat of the battle ; expressed grati- tude at the kindness they received ; and said in that they had been deceived, for they were told, if they were taken alive, they would be sacrificed by us. Dr. Tufts dressed their wounds. LETTEKS. 67 I had a design to write something about a talked of appointment of a friend of mine to a judicial department,^ but hope soon to see that friend, be- fore his acceptance may be necessary. I inclose a compliment, copied by a gentleman from a piece in the Worcester paper, signed " Lycurgus." I can add no more, as the good Colonel Palmer waits. Only my compliments to Mrs. Mifflin, and tell her I do not know whether her husband is safe here. Bellona and Cupid have a contest about him. You hear nothing from the ladies but about Major Mifflin's easy address, politeness, complaisance, &c. 'T is well he has so agreeable a lady at Philadel- phia. They know nothing about forts, intrench- ments, &c., when they return ; or, if they do, they are all forgotten and swallowed up in his accom- plishments. Adieu, my dearest friend, and always believe me Unalterably yours, Portia. Weymouth, 1 October, 1775. Have pity upon me. Have pity upon me, O thou my beloved, for the hand of God presseth me sore. 1 Mr. Adams was made Chief Justice of the State Court, but never acted in that capacity. 2 Mr, Adams was at home during the adjournment of Congress > from the 1st of Auyutt. to the 5th of September. 68 LETTERS. Yet will I be dumb and silent, and not open my mouth, because thou, O Lord, hast done it. How can I tell you, (O my bursting heart !) that my dear mother has left me ? — this day, about five o'clock she left this world for an infinitely better. After sustaining sixteen days' severe conflict, na- ture fainted, and she fell asleep. Blessed spirit ! where art thou ? At times, I am almost ready to faint under this severe and heavy stroke, separated from thee^ who used to be a comforter to me in afl[liction ; but, blessed be God, his ear is not heavy that he cannot hear, but he has bid us call upon him in time of trouble. I know you are a sincere and hearty mourner witli me, and will pray for me in my affliction. My poor father, like a firm believer and a good Chris- tian, sets before his children the best of examples of patience and submission. My sisters send their love to you, and are greatly afflicted. You often express- ed your anxiety for me when you left me before, surrounded with terrors ; but my trouble then was as the small dust in the balance, compared to what I have since endured. I hope to be properly mindful of the correcting hand, that I may not be rebuked in anger. You will pardon and forgive all my wanderings of mi nd, I cannot be correct. 'T is a dreadful time with the whole province. Sickness and death are in almost every family, I LETTERS. 69 have no more shocking and terrible idea of any dis- temper, except the plague, than this.^ Almighty God ! restrain the pestilence which walk- eth in darkness and wasteth at noonday, and which has laid in the dust one of the dearest of parents. May the life of the other be lengthened out to his afflicted children. From your distressed Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 21 October, 1775. The sickness has abated here and in the neighbouring towns. In Boston I am told it is very sickly among the inhabitants and the soldiery. By a man, one Haskins, who came out the day before yesterday, I learn, that there are but about twenty-five hundred sol- diers in town. How many there are at Charlestown, he could not tell. He had been in irons three weeks, some malicious fellow having said that he saw him at the battle of Lexington ; but he proved that he was not out of Boston that day, upon which he was re- leased, and went with two other men out in a small boat, under their eye, to fish. They played about 1 The dysentery prevailed among the British troops, who were great sufferers from their confinement in Boston, and it appears to have spread among the inhabitants in the vicinity. Mrs. Adams lost, besides her mother and a brother of her husband, a domes- tic in her own house ; but she and the rest of her family, who were all, with a single exception, more or less ill, recovered. 70 LETTERS. near the shore, while catching small fish, till they thought they could possibly reach Dorchester Neck no sooner were they perceived attempting to escape than they had twenty cannons discharged at them but they all happily reached the shore. He says no language can paint the distress of the inhabit ants ; most of them destitute of wood and of provis ions of every kind. The bakers say, unless they have a new supply of wood, they cannot bake above one fortnight longer ; their biscuit are not above one half the former size ; the soldiers are obliged to do very hard duty, and are uneasy to a great degree, many of them declaring they will not continue much longer in such a state, but at all hazards will escape. The inhabitants are desperate, and contriving means of escape. A floating battery of ours, went out two nights ago, and rowed near the town, and then dis- charged their guns. Some of the balls went into the workhouse, some through the tents in the Common, and one through the sign of the Lamb Tavern. He says, it drove them all out of the Common, men, women, and children screaming, and threw them into the utmost distress ; but, very unhappily for us, in the discharge of one of the cannon, the ball not being properly rammed down, it split and killed two men, and wounded seven more, upon which they were obliged to return. He also says, that the Tories are much distressed about the fate of Dr. Church, and very anxious to obtain him, and would exchange Lovell for him. This man is so exasperated at the LETTERS. .71 ill usage he has received from them, that he is deter- mined to enUst immediately. They almost starved him whilst he was in irons. He says, he hopes it will be in his power to send some of them to heaven for mercy. They are building a fort by the hay- market, and rending down houses for timber to do it with. In the course of the last week, several per- sons have found means to escape. One of them says it is talked in town, that Howe will issue a proc- lamation, giving liberty to all, who will not take up arms, to depart the town, and making it death to have any intercourse with the country afterwards. At present it looks as if there was no likelihood of peace ; the ministry are determined to proceed at all events ; the people are already slaves, and have neither virtue nor spirit to help themselves nor us. The time is hastening, when George, like Richard, may cry, "My kingdom for a horse!" and want even that wealth to make the purchase. I hope by degrees, we shall be inured to hardships, and be- come a virtuous, valiant people, forgetting our form- er luxury, and each one apply with industry and frugality to manufactures and husbandry, till we ri- val all other nations by our virtues. I thank you for your amusing account of the Qua- ker ; their great stress with regard to color in their dress, &;c., is not the only ridiculous part of their sentiments with regard to religious matters. "There 's not a day, but to the man of thought Betrays some secret, that throws new reproach On life, and makes him sick of seeing more." 73 LETTERS. What are your thoughts with regard to Dr. Church ? Had you much knowledge of him ? I think you had no intimate acquaintance with him. " A foe to God was ne'er true friend to man j Some sinister intent taints all he does." It is matter of great speculation what will be his punishment ; the people are much enraged against him ; if he is set at liberty, even after he has receiv- ed a severe punishment, I do not think he will be safe. He will be despised and detested by every one, and many suspicions will remain in the minds of people in regard to our rulers ; they are for sup- posing tliis person is not sincere, and that they have jealousy of. Have you any prospect of returning } I hoped to have heard from you by the gentlemen who came as a committee here ; but they have been here a week, and I have not any letters. My father and sister Betsey desire to be remem- bered to you. He is very disconsolate. It makes my heart ache to see him, and I know not how to go to the house. He said to me the other day, " Child, I see your mother, go to what part of the house I will." I think he has lost almost as much flesh as if he had been sick ; and Betsey, poor girl, looks broken and worn with grief. These near connex- ions, how they twist and cling about the heart, and when torn off, draw the best blood from it. " Each friend by fate snatched from us, is a plume Plucked from the wing of human vanity." LETTERS. 73 Be so good as to present my regards to Mrs. Han- cock. I hope she is very happy. Mrs. Warren called upon me on her way to Watertown. I wish I could as easily come to you as she can go to Water- town. But it is my lot. In the twelve years we have been married, I believe we have not lived to- gether more than six. If you could, with any conveniency, procure me the articles I wrote for, I should be very glad, more especially the needles and cloth ; they are in such demand, that we are really distressed for want of them. Adieu. I think of nothing further to add, but that I am, with the tenderest regard, your Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 22 October, 1775. Mr. Lotheop called here this evening, and brought me yours of the 1st of October ; a day which will ever be remembered by me, for it was the most dis- tressing one I ever experienced. That morning I rose, and went into my mother's room, not apprehending her so near her exit ; went to her bed with a cup of tea in my hand, and raised her head to give it to her. She swallowed a few drops, gasped, and fell back upon her pillow, opening her eyes with a look that pierced my heart, and which I shall never forget ; it was the eagerness of a last look ; "And O, the last sad silence of a friend." 74 LETTERS. Yet she lived till five o'clock that day, but I could not be with her. ]\Iy dear father prayed twice beside her bed that day. God Almighty was with him and supported him that day, and enabled him to go through the services of it. It was his communion day ; he had there a tender scene to pass through, a young granddaughter, Betsey Cranch, joining her- self to the church, and a beloved wife dying, to pray for. Weeping children, weeping and mourning pa- rishioners all round him, for every eye streamed, his own heart almost bursting as he spoke. How pain- ful is the recollection, and yet how pleasing! I know I wound your heart. Why should I .? Ought I to give relief to my own by paining yours ? "■ Yet the grief, that cannot speak, Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it burst." My pen is always freer than my tongue. I have written many things to you that I suppose I never could have talked. My heart is made tender by repeated affliction ; it never was a hard heart. The death of Patty came very near me, having lived four years with me under my care. I hope it will make me more continually mindful and watchful of all those who are still committed to my charge. 'T is a great trust ; I daily feel more and more of the weight and importance of it, and of my own inabili- ty. I wish I could have more of the assistance of my dearest friend, but these perilous times swallow him up. Mr. Lothrop has given me this account of the de- LETTERS. 75' mand upon Falmouth. A man-of-war and two tend- ers went down, and sent to the inhabitants to demand their arms, and require them to stand neuter. They required time to consider ; they had until nine o'clock the next day, which time they employed in remov- ing the women, children, and tlie rest of their most valuable effects^ out of danger, when they sent their answer in the negative. Upon this, the enemy be- gan a cannonade, and were continuing it when the express came away. Hitchbourne and another gen- tleman got out of town in a small boat, one of the foggy nights we have had this week. I have not heard what intelligence he brings. Another person says, that Howe enlarged all the prisoners but Lov- ell, and he would not come out. I have since seen the Paraphrase,^ as it is called ; but 't is as low as the mock oration,^ though no re- flection upon your private character, further than immoderately whipping your scholars when you kept school ; a crime any one will acquit you of who knows you. As a specimen of the wit and humor it contained, I will give you the title. " A Paraphrase upon the Second Epistle of John the Roundhead, to James, the Prolocutor of the Rump Parliament. Dear Devil," &c. I had it, but it was when I was in so much distress that I cared nothing about it. I will 1 Scurrilous publications, made, by the Tories and British offi- cers in Boston, during the siege. The first of these was a para- phrase of an intercepted letter of Mr. Adams, to General James Warren, then President of the Provincial Congress. 76 LETTERS, mention, when I see yon, the foolish conjectures of some, who want always to be finding out something extraordinary in whatever happens. I hope to hear often from you, which is all the alleviation I have in your absence, and is, next to seeing you, the greatest comfort of your Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. 5 November, 1775. I HOPE you have received several letters from me in this fortnight past. I wrote by Mr. Lynch and by Dr. Franklin, the latter of whom I had the pleasure of dining with, and of admiring him, whose charac- ter from my infancy I had been taught to venerate. I found him social but not talkative, and, when he spoke, something useful dropped from his tongue. He was grave, yet pleasant and affable. You know I make some pretensions to physiognomy, and I thought I could read in his countenance the virtues of his heart, among which, patriotism shone in its full lustre ; and with that is blended every virtue of a Christian. For a true patriot must be a religious man. I have been led to think from a late defection,^ that he who neglects his duty to his Maker, may well be expected to be deficient and insincere in his duty towards the public. • Even suppose him to pos- sess a large share of what is called honor and pub- 1 Of Dr. Church. LETTEBS. 77 lie spirit, yet, do not these men, by their bad exam- ple, by a loose, immoral conduct, corrupt the minds of youth, and vitiate the morals of the age, and thus injure the public more than they can compensate by intrepidity, generosity, and honor ? Let revenge or ambition, pride, lust, or profit, tempt these men to a base and vile action ; you may as weW hope to bind up a hungry tiger with a cobweb, as to hold such debauched patriots in the visionary chains of decen- cy, or to charm them with the intellectual beauty of truth and reason. But where am I running ? I mean to thank you for all your obliging favors lately received ; and, though some of them are very laconic, yet, were they to contain only two lines to tell me that you were well, they would be acceptable to me. I think however, you are more apprehensive than you need be ; the gentleman, to whose care they have always been directed, has been very kind in his conveyance, and very careful. I hope, however, that it will not now be long before we shall have nearer interviews. You must tell me, that you will return next month ; a late appointment^ will make it inconvenient (pro- vided you accept) for you to go again to Congress. It seems human nature is the same in all ages and countries. Ambition and avarice reign everywhere, and, where they predominate, there will be bicker- ings after places of honor ftnd profit. There is an old adage, " Kissing goes by favor," that is daily veri- ^ That of Chief Justice; alluded to in a preceding letter. 78 LETTERS. fied. I inclose to you the paper you sent for. Your business in collecting facts will be very difficult, and the sufferings of this people cannot be described with pen, ink, and paper. Besides, these ministers of Satan are rendering it every day more and more difficult, by their ravages and devastation, to tell a tale which will freeze the young blood of succeed- ing generations, as well as harrow up the souls of the present. Nothing new has transpired since I wrote you last. I have not heard of one person's escape out of town, nor of any manoeuvre of any kind. I will only ask you to measure by your own the affectionate regard of your nearest friend. ^ TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 12 November, 1775. The intelligence you will receive before this reaches you, will, I should think, make a plain path, though a dangerous one, for you. I could not join to-day, in the petitions of our worthy pastor, for a reconcilia- tion between our no longer parent state, but tyrant state, and these colonies. Let us separate ; they are unworthy to be our brethren. Let us renounce them ; and, instead of supplications as formerly, for their prosperity and happiness, let us beseech the 1 This letter is without signature, as was generally the case during the war, when a fictitious one was not attached. LETTERS. 79 Almighty to blast their counsels, and bring to nought all their devices. I have nothing remarkable to write you. A little skirmish happened last week ; the particulars I have endeavoured to collect, but whether I have the facts right, I am not certain. A number of cattle were kept at Lechmere's Point, where Iwj sentinels were placed. In a high tide, it is an island ; the regulars had observed this, and a scheme was laid to send a number of them over and take off the stock. Ac- cordingly a number of boats and about four hundred men were sent. They landed, it seems, unperceiv- ed by the sentinels, who were asleep ; one of whom they killed,, and took the other prisoner. As soon as they were perceived, they fired the cannon from Prospect Hill upon them, which sunk one of their boats ; but, as the tide was very high, it was difficult getting over, and some time before any alarm was given. A Colonel Thompson, of the riflemen, march- ed instantly with his men ; and, though a very stormy day, they regarded not the tide nor waited for boats, but marched over neck high in water, and discharged their pieces, when the regulars ran, without wait- ing to get off their stock, and made the best of their way to the opposite shore. ^ The General sent his thanks in a public manner to the brave officer and his men. Major Miffiin I hear, was there, and flew about as though he woulf have raised the whole I This affair also is mentioned in " The Remembrancer " for 177G; Vol. I. p. 229. 80 LETTERS. army. May they never find us deficient in courage and spirit. Dr. Franklin invited me to spend the winter in Philadelphia. I shall wish to be there, unless you return. I have been like a nun in a cloister, ever since you went away, and have not been into any other house than my father's and sister's, except once to Colonel Quincy's. Indeed, I have had no inclination for company. My evenings are lone- some and melancholy. In the daytime family af- fairs take off my attention, but the evenings are spent with my departed parent. I then ruminate upon all her care and tenderness, and am sometimes lost and absorbed in a flood of tenderness, ere I am aware of it, or can call to my aid my only prop and support. I must bid you adieu ; 't is late at night. Most affectionately yours. TO JOHN ADAMS. 27 November, 1775. Colonel Warren returned last week to Plymouth, so that I shall not hear any thing from you, until he goes back again, which will not be till the last of this month. He damped my spirits greatly by tell- ing me, that the Court ^ had prolonged your stay another month. I wa# pleasing myself with the thought, that you would soon be upon your return. 1 The General Court of the Province. LETTERS. 81 It is in vain to repine. I hope the public will reap what I sacrifice. I wish I knew what mighty things were fohrica*- ing. If a form of government is to be established here, what one will be assumed ? Will it be left to our Assemblies to choose one ? And will not many- men have many minds ? And shall we not run into dissensions among ourselves ? I am more and more convinced, that man is a dangerous creature ; and that power, whether vested in many or a few, is ever grasping, and, like the grave, cries " Give, give." The great fish swallow up the small ; and he, who is most strenuous for the rights of the people, when vested with power is as eager after the prerogatives of government. You tell me of degrees of perfection to which human nature is capable of arriving, and I believe it, but, at the same time, lament that our admiration should arise from the scarcity of the instances. The building up a great empire, which was only hinted at by my correspondent, may now, I suppose, be realized even by the unbelievers. Yet, will not ten thousand difficulties arise in the formation of it ? The reins of government have been so long slack- ened, that I fear the people will not quietly submit to those restraints, which are necessary for the peace and security of the community. If we separate from Britain, what code of laws will be established ? How shall we be governed, so as to retain our lib- erties ? Can any government be free, which is not 6 82 LETTERS. administered by general staled laws ? Who shall frame these laws ? Who will give them force and energy ? It is true, your resolutions, as a body, have hitherto had the force of laws ; but will they continue to have ? When I consider these things, and the prejudices of people in favor of ancient customs and regula- tions, I feel anxious for the fate of our monarchy or democracy, or whatever is to take place. I soon get lost in a labyrinth of perplexities ; but, whatever occurs, may justice and righteousness be the stability of our times, and order arise out of confusion. Great difficulties may be surmounted by patience and per- severance. I believe, I have tired you with politics ; as to news, we have not any at all. I shudder at the approach of winter, when I think I am to remain desolate. I must bid you good night ; 't is late for me, who am much of an invalid. I was disappointed last week in receiving a packet by the post, and, upon unsealing it, finding only four newspapers. I think you are more cautious, than you need be. All let- ters, I believe, have come safe to hand, I have sixteen from you, and wish I had as many more. Adieu, yours. LETTERS. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 10 December, 1775. I RECEIVED your obliging favor by Mrs. Morgan, v^'ith the papers and the other articles you sent, which were very acceptable to me, as they are not to be purchased here. I shall be very choice of them. I have, according to your desire, been upon a visit to Mrs. Morgan, who keeps at Major Mifflin's. I had received a message from Mrs. Mifflin some time ago, desiring I would visit her. My father, who, you know, is very obliging in this way, accompanied me, and I had the pleasure of drinking coffee with the Doctor and his lady, the Major and his lady, and a Mr. and Mrs. Smith from New York, a daughter of the famous son of liberty. Captain Sears ; Generals Gates and Lee ; a Dr. M'Henry and a Mr. Elwyn, with many others, who were strangers to me. I was very politely entertained, and noticed by the generals ; more especially General Lee, who was very urgent with me to tarry in town, and dine with him and the ladies present, at Hobgoblin Hall, but I excused myself. The General was determined, that I should not only be acquainted with him, but with his companions too, and therefore placed a chair before me, into which he ordered Mr. Spada to mount and present his paw to me for a better ac- quaintance. I could not do otherwise than accept 84 LETTERS. it. " That, Madam," says he, " is the dog which Mr. has rendered famous." I was so Httle while in company with these per- sons, and the company so mixed, that it was almost impossible to form any judgment of them. The Doctor appeared modest, and his lady affable and agreeable. Major Mifflin, you know, I was always an admirer of, as well as of his delicate lady. I believe Philadelphia must be an unfertile soil, or it would not produce so many unfruitful women. I al- ways conceive of these persons, as wanting one ad- dition to their happiness ; but, in these perilous times, I know not, whether it ought to be consider- ed as an infelicity, since they are certainly freed from the anxiety every parent must feel for their rising offspring. I drank coffee one day with General Sullivan upon Winter Hill. He appears to be a man of sense and spirit. His countenance denotes him of a warm con- stitution, not to be very suddenly moved, but, when once roused, not very easily lulled, — easy and so- cial, — well calculated for a military station, as he seems to be possessed of those popular qualities, necessary to attach men to him. By the way, I congratulate you upon our late noble acquisition of military stores.^ It is a most grand mortar, I assure you. Surely Heaven smiles upon us in many respects, and we have continually 1 By the capture of the brig Nancy, bound for Boston, with ordnance from Woolwich. LETTERS. 85 to speak of mercies, as well as of judgments. I wish our gratitude may be anywise proportionate to our benefits. I suppose, in Congress, you think of every thing relative to trade and commerce, as well as other things ; but, as I have been desired to men- tion to you some things, I shall not omit them. One is, that there may be something done, in a Con- tinental way, with regard to excise upon spirituous liquors, that each of the New England colonies may be upon the same footing ; whereas we formerly used to pay an excise, and the other colonies none, or very little, by which means they drew away our trade. That an excise is necessary, though it may be objected to by the mercantile interest, as a too frequent use of spirits endangers the wellbeing of society. Another article is, that some method may be devised to keep among us our gold and silver, which are now every day shipped off to the West In- dies for molasses, coffee, and sugar ; and this I can say of my own knowledge, that a dollar in silver is now become a great rarity, and our traders will give you a hundred pounds of paper for ninety of silver, or nearly that proportion. If any trade is allowed to the West Indies, would it not be better to carry some commodity of our own produce in exchange ? Medi- cines, cotton, and wool, and some other articles, we are in great want of. Formerly we used to purchase cotton wool at one shilling, lawful money, per bag; now it is three, and the scarcity of that article dis- tresses us, as it was wrought up with less trouble 86 LETTERS. than any other article of clothing. Flax is now from a shilling to one and sixpence per pound, sheep's wool eighteen pence, and linens not to be had at any price. I cannot mention the article in the English goods way, which is not double ; and, in the West India, molasses by retail I used formerly to purchase at one and eight pence, — now it is two and eight pence ; rum, three shillings ; coffee, one and three pence, and all other things in proportion. Corn is four shillings per bushel ; rye, five ; oats, three and eight pence; hay, five and six shillings per hundred; wood, twenty shillings per cord; but meat of all kinds cheap. My uncle Quincy desires to be remembered to you ; he inquired when you talked of coming home. I told him you had not fixed any time. He says, if you don't come soon, he would advise me to procure another husband. He,^ of all persons, ought not to give me such advice, I told him, unless he set a better example himself. Be kind enough to burn this letter. It is written in great haste, and a most incorrect scrawl it is. But I cannot conclude without telling you, we are all very angry with your House of Assembly for their instructions.'^ They raise prejudices in the minds of 1 Norton Quincy, Esquire, the only son of Colonel John Quincy, and the uncle of Mrs. Adams, was never married. 2 It is a little doubtful to what this alludes. Probably to the application made by New Hampshire to Congress, for advice to establish a form of government for itself. This advice was given, LETTERS. 87 people, and serve to create in their minds a terror at a separation from a people wholly unworthy of us. We are a little of the spaniel kind ; though so often spurned, still to fawn, argues a meanness of spirit, that, as an individual, I disclaim, and would rather endure any hardship than submit to it. Yours. TO JOHN ADAMS. Saturday Evening, 2 March, 1776. I WAS greatly rejoiced, at the return of your servant, to find you had safely arrived, and that you were well. I had never heard a word from you after you had left New York, and a most ridiculous story had been industriously propagated in this and the neighbouring towns to injure ihe cause and blast your reputation; namely, that you and your President^ had gone on board of a man-of-war from New York, and sailed for England. I should not mention so idle a report, but that it had given uneasiness to some of your friends ; not that they, in the least, credited the report, but because the gaping vulgar swallowed the story. One man^ had deserted them and proved a traitor, another might, &c. I assure you, such high disputes took place in the public although not without reluctance. A number of the members op- posed it, as being too decisive a step towards independence. — See Gordon's " History," Vol. II. p. 150. 1 John Hancock. ^ ]3r. Church. 00 LETTERS. house of this parish, that some men were collared and dragged out of the shop with great threats, for reporting such scandalous lies, and an uncle of ours offered his life as a forfeit for you, if the report proved true. However, it has been a nine days' marvel, and will now cease. I heartily wish every Tory was extirpated from America ; they are contin- ually, by secret means, undermining and injuring our cause. I am charmed with the sentiments of " Common Sense," and wonder how an honest heart, one who wishes the welfare of his country and the happi- ness of posterity, can hesitate one moment at adopt- ing them. I want to know how these sentiments are received in Congress. I dare say there would be no difficulty in procuring a vote and instructions from all the Assemblies in New England for Independency. 1 most sincerely wish, that now, in the lucky mo- ment, it might be done. I have been kept in a continual state of anxiety and expectation, ever since you left me. It has been said " to-morrow " and " to-morrow " for this month, but when the dreadful to-morrow will be, I know not. But hark ! The house this instant shakes with the roar of cannon. I have been to the door and find it is a cannonade from our army. Orders, I find, are come for all the remaining militia to repair to the lines Monday night by twelve o'clock. No sleep for me to-night. And if I cannot, who have no guilt upon my soul with regard to this cause, how shall LETTERS. 89 the miserable wretches, who have been the pro- curers of this dreadful scene, and those who are to be the actors, lie down with the load of guilt upon their souls ? Sunday Evening, 3 March. I went to bed after twelve, but got no rest ; the cannon continued firing, and my heart beat pace with them all night. We have had a pretty quiet day, but what to-morrow will bring forth, God only knows. Monday Evening. Tolerably quiet. To-day the militia have all mustered, with three days' provision, and are all marched by three o'clock this afternoon, though their notice was no longer ago than eight o'clock, Saturday. And now we have scarcely a man, but our regular guards, either in Weymouth, Hing- ham, Braintree, or Milton, and the militia from the more remote towns are called in as seacoast guards. Can you form to yourself an idea of our sensa- tions } I have just returned from Penn's Hill, where I have been sitting to hear the amazing roar of can- non, and from whence I could see every shell which was thrown. The sound, I think, is one of the grandest in nature, and is of the true species of the sublime. 'T is now an incessant roar ; but O! the fatal ideas, which are connected with the sound ! How many of our dear countrymen must fall ! 90 LETTERS. Tuesday Morning, I went to bed about twelve, and rose again a little after one. I could no more sleep, than if I had been in the engagement ; the rattling of the windows, the jar of the house, the continual roar of twenty-four pounders, and the bursting of shells, give us such ideas, and realize a scene to us of which we could form scarcely any conception. About six, this morn- ing, there was quiet. I rejoiced in a few hours' calm. I hear we got possession of Dorchester hill last night ; four thousand men upon it to-day ; lost but one man. The ships are all drawn round the town. To-night we shall realize a more terrible scene still. I sometimes think I cannot stand it. I wish myself with you, out of hearing, as I cannot assist them. I hope to give you joy of Boston, even if it is in ruins, before I send this away. I am too much agitated to write as I ought, and languid for want of rest. Thursday. Fast-day. All my anxiety and distress is at present at an end. I feel disappointed. This day our militia are all returning without effecting any thing more than taking possession of Dorchester hill. I hope it is wise and just, but, from all the muster and stir, I hoped and expected more important and decisive scenes. I would not have suffered all I have for two such hills. Ever since the taking of that, we have had a perfect calm ; nor can I learn yet, what LETTERS. 91 effect it has had in Boston. I do not hear of one person's escaping since. I was very much pleased with your choice of a committee for Canada. All those to whom I have ventured to show that part of your letter, approve the scheme of the priest, as a master-stroke of poli- cy.^ I feel sorry, that General Lee has left us, but his presence at New York was no doubt of great importance, as we have reason to think it prevented Clinton from landing and gathering together such a nest of vermin, as would at least have distressed us greatly. But how can you spare him from here ? Can you make his place good ? Can you supply it with a man equally qualified to serve us ? How do the Virginians relish the troops said to be destined for them ? Are they putting themselves into a state of defence ? I cannot bear to think of your con- tinuing in a state of supineness this winter. ''There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune j Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures." 1 The members chosen on the committee were Dr. Franklin, Mr. Samuel Chase, and Mr. Charles Carroll, of Carrollton. At the same time it was "Resolved, That Mr. Carroll be requested to prevail on Mr. John Carroll to accompany the committee to Can- ada, to assist them in such matters as they shall think useful." — Journal of Congress. February 15th, 1776. 92 LETTERS. Sunday Evening. I had scarcely finished these lines when my ears were again assaulted by the roar of cannon. I could not write any further. My hand and heart will tremble at this " domestic fury and fierce civil strife," which " cumber all " our " parts " ; though " blood and destruction " are " so much in use," " and dread- ful objects so familiar," yet is not " pity choked," nor my heart grown callous. I feel for the unhappy wretches, who know not where to fly for safety. I feel still more for my bleeding countrymen, who are hazarding their lives and their limbs. A most ter- rible and incessant cannonade from half after eight till six this morning. I hear we lost four men killed, and some wounded, in attempting to take the hill nearest the town, called Nook's Hill. We did some work, but the fire from the ships beat off our men, so that they did not secure it, but retired to the fort upon the other hill. I have not got all the particulars ; I wish I had ; but, as I have an opportunity of sending this, I shall endeavour to be more particular in my next. If there are reinforcements here, I believe we shall be driven off from the seacoast ; but, in whatever state I am, I will endeavour to be therewith content. " Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long." You will excuse this very incorrect letter. You see in what perturbation it has been written, and how many times 1 have left off. Adieu. Yours. LETTERS. . TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 7 April, 1776. I HAVE received all the papers you sent, the oration and the magazines. ^In the small papers I sometimes find pieces begun and continued, (for instance, John- ston's speech,) but am so unlucky as not to get the papers in order, and miss of seeing the whole. The removal of the army seems to have stopped the current of news. I want to know to what part of America they are now wandering. It is reported and credited, that Manly has taken a schooner be- longing to the fleet, richly laden with money, plate, and English goods, with a number of Tories. The particulars I have not yet learned. Yesterday the remains of our worthy General Warren were dug up upon Bunker's hill, and carried into town, and on Monday are to be interred, with all the honors of war. 10 April. The Doctor was buried on Monday ; the masons walking in procession from the Statehouse, with the military in uniforms, and a large concourse of peo- ple attending. He was carried into the Chapel, and there a funeral dirge was played, an excellent pray- er by Dr. Cooper, and an oration by Mr. Morton, which I hope will be printed. I think the subject must have inspired him. A young fellow could not have wished a finer opportunity to display his 94 LETTERS. talents. The amiable and heroic virtues of the de- ceased, recent in the minds of the audience, the noble cause to which he fell a martyr ; their own sufferings and unparalleled injuries, all fresh in their minds, must have given weight and energy to what- ever could be delivered upon the occasion. The dead body, like that of Ccesar, before their eyes, whilst each wound, " like dumb mouths, did ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of a tongue. Woe to the hands that shed this costi}' blood, A curse shall light" upon their line.i 11 April. I take my pen and write just as I can get time ; my letters will be a strange mixture. I really am " cumbered about many things," and scarcely know which way to turn myself. I miss my partner, and find myself unequal to the cares which fall upon me. I find it necessary to be the directress of our hus- bandry. I hope in time, to have the reputation of being as good a farmeress^ as my partner has of being a good statesman. To ask you any thing about your return, would, I suppose, be asking a question which you cannot answer. Retirement, rural quiet, domestic pleasures, all, all 1 The quotations from Shakspeare's "Julius Caesar/' so fre- quently to be met with in this and the preceding letter, betray as strongly the historical precedents to which the mind of the writer at this time inclined, as the signature which she assumed. LETTERS. 95 must give place to the weighty cares of state. It would be " meanly poor in solitude to hide An honest zeal, unwarped by party rage." f' Though certain pains attend the cares of state^ A good man owes his country to be great, Should act abroad the high distinguished part, And show, at least, the purpose of his heart." I hope your Prussian general^ will answer the high character which is given of him. But we, who have been bred in a land of liberty, scarcely know how to give credit to so unjust and arbitrary a mandate of a despot. To cast off a faithful servant only for being the unhappy bearer of ill news, degrades the man, and dishonors the prince. The Congress, by em- ploying him, have shown a liberality of sentiment, not confined to colonies or continents, but, to use the words of " Common Sense," have " carried their friendship on a larger scale, by claiming brotherhood with every European Christian, and may justly triumph in the generosity of the sentiment." Yesterday, was taken and carried into Cohasset, by three whaleboats, who went from the shore on purpose, a snow from the Grenadas, laden with three hundred and fifty-four puncheons of West In- dia rum, forty-three barrels of sugar, twelve thou- 1 Probably the Baron de Woedtke, who was appointed by Con- gress a brigadier-general on the IGth of March, and ordered to Canada. He died shortly afterwards, at Lake George. — See Sparks's edition of " Washington's Writings," Vol. IV. p. 6, note. 96 LETTERS. sand and five hundred weight of coffee ; a valuable prize. A number of Eastern sloops have brought vi^ood into town since the fleet sailed. We have a rumor of Admiral Hopkins being engaged with a number of ships and tenders off Rhode Island ; and are anxious to know the event. Be so good as to send me a list of the vessels which sail with Hop- kins, their names, weight of metal, and number of men ; all the news you know, &c. I hear our jurors refuse to serve, because the writs are issued in the King's name. Surely, they are for independence. Write me how you do this winter. I want to say many things I must omit. It is not fit " to wake the soul by tender strokes of art," or to ruminate upon happiness we might enjoy, lest absence become in- tolerable. Adieu. Yours. I wish you would burn all my letters. TO JOHN AD^MS. Braintree, 7 May, 1776. How many are the solitary hours I spend, ruminat- ing upon the past, and anticipating the future, whilst you, overwhelmed with the cares of state, have but a few moments you can devote to any individual. All domestic pleasures and enjoyments are absorbed in the great and important duty you owe your coun- LETTERS. 97 try, " for our country is, as it were, a secondary god, and the first and greatest parent. It is to be preferred to parents, wives, children, friends, and all things, the gods only excepted ; for, if our country perishes, it is as impossible to save an individual, as to preserve one of the fingers of a mortified hand," Thus do I suppress every wish, and silence every murmur, acquiescing in a painful separation from the companion of my youth, and the friend of my heart. I believe 't is near ten days since I wrote you a line. I have not felt in a humor to entertain you if I had taken up my pen. Perhaps some unbecoming invective might have fallen from it. The eyes of our rulers have been closed, and a lethargy has seiz- ed almost every member. I fear a fatal security has taken possession of them. Whilst the building is in flames, they tremble at the expense of water to quench it. In short, two months have elapsed since the evacuation of Boston, and very little has been done in that time to secure it, or the harbour, from future invasion. The people are all in a flame, and no one among us, that I have heard of, even men- tions expense. They think, universally, that there has been an amazing neglect somewhere. Many have turned out as volunteers to work upon Noddle's Island, and many more would go upon Nantasket, if the business was once set on foot. " 'T is a maxim of state, that power and liberty are like heat and moisture. Where they are well mixed, every thing 98 LETTERS. prospers ; where they are single, they are destruc- tive." A government of more stability is much wanted in this colony, and they are ready to receive it from the hands of the Congress. And since I have begun with maxims of state, I will add another, namely, that a people may let a king fall, yet still remain a people ; but, if a king let his people slip from him, he is no longer a king. And as this is most certainly our case, why not proclaim to the world, in decisive terms, your own importance ? Shall we not be despised by foreign powers, for hesitating so long at a word ? I cannot say, that I think you are very generous to the ladies; for, whilst you are proclaiming peace and good-will to men, emancipating all nations, you in- sist upon retaining an absolute power over wives. But you must remember, that arbitrary power is like most other things which are very hard, very liable to be broken ; and, notwithstanding all your wise laws and maxims, we have it in our power, not only to free ourselves, but to subdue our masters, and, with- out violence, throw both your natural and legal au- thority at our feet ; — ' Charm by accepting, by submitting sway, Yet have our humor most when we obey I thank you for several letters which I have re- ceived since I wrote last ; they alleviate a tedious absence, and I long earnestly for a Saturday even- LETTERS. 99 ing, and experience a similar pleasure to that which I used to find in the return of my friend upon that day after a week's absence. The idea of a year dissolves all my philosophy. Our little ones, whom you so often recommend to my care and instruction, shall not be deficient in virtue or probity, if the precepts of a mother have their desired effect ; but they would be doubly en- forced, could they be indulged with the example of a father alternately before them. I often point them to their sire, " engaged in a corrupted state, Wrestling with vice and faction." 9 May. I designed to have finished the sheet, but, an op- portunity offering, I close, only just informing you that. May the 7th, our privateers took two prizes in the bay, in fair sight of the man-of-war ; one, a brig from Ireland ; the other from Fayal, loaded with wine, brandy, &c. ; the other with beef, &c. The wind was east, and a flood tide, so that the tenders could not get out, though they tried several times ; the lighthouse fired signal guns, but all would not do. They took them in triumph, and carried them into Lynn. Pray be kind enough to remember me at all times, and write, as often as you possibly can, to your Portia. 100 LETTERS. TO JOHN ADAMS. Plymouth, 17 June, 1776. I THIS day received by the hands of our worthy friend, a large packet, which has refreshed and com- forted me. Your own sensations have ever been similar to mine. I need not then tell you how grati- fied I am at the frequent tokens of remembrance with which you favor me, nor how they rouse every tender sensation of my soul, which sometimes will find vent at my eyes. Nor dare I describe how earnestly I long to fold to my too fluttering heart the object of my warmest affections ; the idea soothes me. I feast upon it with a pleasure known only to those whose hearts and hopes are one. The approbation you give to my conduct in the management of our private affairs, is very grateful to me, and sufficiently compensates for all my anxi- eties and endeavours to discharge the many duties devolved upon me in consequence of the absence of my dearest friend. Were they discharged according to my wishes, I should merit the praises you bestow. You see I date from Plymouth. I came upon a visit to our amiable friends, accompanied by my sis- ter Betsey, a day or two ago. It is the first night I have been absent since you left me. Having deter- mined upon this visit for some time, I put my family in order and prepared for it, thinking 1 might leave it with safety. Yet, the day I set out, I was unraer LETTERS. 101 many apprehensions, by the coming in of ten trans- ports, who were seen to have many soldiers on board, and the determination of the people to go and fortify upon Long Island, Pettick's Island, Nantasket, and Great Hill. It was apprehended they would attempt to land somewhere, but the next morning I had the pleasure to hear they were all driven out. Commo- dore and all ; not a transport, a ship, or a tender to be seen. This shows what might have been long ago done. Had this been done in season, the ten transports, with many others, in all probability would have fallen into our hands ; but the progress of wis- dom is slow. Since I arrived here I have really had a scene quite novel to me. The brig Defence, from Con- necticut, put in here for ballast. The officers, who are all from thence, and who are intimately ac- quainted at Dr. Lothrop's, invited his lady to come on board, and bring with her as many of her friends as she could collect. She sent an invitation to our friend, Mrs. Warren, and to us. The brig lay about a mile and a half from town. The officers sent their barge, and we went. Every mark of respect and attention which was in their power, they showed us. She is a fine brig, mounts sixteen guns, twelve swivels, and carries one hundred and twenty men. A hundred and seventeen were on board, and no private family ever appeared under better regulation than the crew. It was as still as though there had been only half a dozen ; not a profane word among 102 LETTERS. any of them. The captain himself is an exempla- ry man. Harden (his name) has been in nine sea engagements ; says if he gets a man who swears, and finds he cannot reform him, he turns him on shore, yet is free to confess, that it was the sin of his youth. He has one lieutenant, a very fine fellow, Smelden by name. We spent a very agreeable af- ternoon, and drank tea on board. They showed us their arms, which were sent by Queen Anne, and everything on board was a curiosity to me. They gave us a mock engagement with an enemy, and the manner of taking a ship. The young folks went upon the quarter deck and danced. Some of their Jacks played very well upon the violin and German flute. The brig bears the Continental colors, and was fitted out by the Colony of Connecticut. As we set off from the brig, they fired their guns in honor to us, a ceremony I would very readily have dis- pensed with. I pity you, and feel for you under all the difficul- ties you have to encounter. My daily petitions to Heaven for you are, that you may have health, wisdom, and fortitude sufficient to carry you through the great and arduous business in which you are en- gaged, and that your endeavours may be crowned with success. Canada seems a dangerous and ill- fated place. It is reported here, that General Thom- as is no more, that he took the smallpox, and died with it. Every day some circumstance arises, which shows me the importance of having the distemper LETTERS. 103 in youth. Dr. Bulfinch has petitioned the General Court for leave to open a hospital somewhere, and it will be granted hiin. I shall, with all the children, be one of the first class, you may depend upon it. I have just this moment heard, that the brig, which I was on board of on Saturday, and which sailed yesterday morning from this place, fell in with two transports, having each of them a hundred and fifty men on board, and took them, and has brought them into Nantasket Roads, under cover of the guns which are mounted there. I will add further particu- lars as soon as I am informed. I am now better informed, and will give you the truth. The brig Defence^ accompanied by a small privateer, sailed in concert Sunday morning. About twelve o'clock they discovered two transports, and made for them. Two privateers, which were small, had been in chase of them, but finding the enemy was of much larger force, had run under Cohasset rocks. The Defence gave a signal gun to bring them out. Captain Burk, who accompanied the De- fence^ being a prime sailer, he came up first, and poured a broadside on board a sixteen gun brig. The Defence soon attacked her upon her bows. An obstinate engagement ensued. There was a con- tinual blaze upon all sides for many hours, and it was near midnight before they struck. In the en- gagement, the Defence lost one man, and five wound- ed. With Burk, not one man received any dam- age ; on board the enemy, fourteen killed, among 104 LETTERS. whom was a major, and sixty wounded. They are part of the Highland soldiers. The other transport mounted six guns. When the fleet sailed out of this harbour last week, they blew up the lighthouse. They met six transports coming in, which they car- ried off with them. I hope we shall soon be in such a posture of defence, as to bid them defiance. I feel no great anxiety at the large armament de- signed against us. The remarkable interpositions of Heaven in our favor cannot be too gratefully ac- knowledged. He who fed the Israelites in the wil- derness, " who clothes the lilies of the field, and feeds the young ravens when they cry," will not forsake a people engaged in so righteous a cause, if we re- member his loving-kindness. We wanted powder, — we have a supply. We wanted arms, — we have been favored in that respect. We wanted hard mon- ey, — twenty-two thousand dollars, and an equal value in plate, are delivered into our hands. You mention your peas, your cherries, and your strawberries, &c. Ours are but just in blossom. We have had the coldest spring I ever knew. Things are three weeks behind what they generally used to be. The corn looks poor. The season now is rath- er dry. I believe I did not understand you, when in a former letter you said, " I want to resign my of- fice, for a thousand reasons." If you mean that of judge, I know not what to say. I know it will be a difficult and arduous station ; but, divesting myself of private interest, which would lead me to be against LETTERS. 105 your holding that office, I know of no person who is so well calculated to discharge the trust, or who I think would act a more conscientious part. TO JOHN ADAMS. 29 September, 1776. Not since the 5th of September, have I had one line from you, which makes me very uneasy. Are you all this time conferring with his Lordship ? ^ Is there no communication ? or, are the post-riders all dis- missed ? Let the cause be what it will, not hear- ing from you has given me much uneasiness. We seem to be kept in total ignorance of affairs at York. I hope you at Congress are more enlight- ened. Who fell, who are wounded, who prisoners or their number, is as undetermined as it was the day after the battle.^ If our army is in ever so critical a state I wish to know it, and the worst of it. If all America is to be ruined and undone by a pack of cowards and knaves, I wish to know it. Pitiable is the lot of their commander. Caesar's tenth legion never was forgiven. We are told for truth, that a regiment of Yorkers refused to quit the city ; and, 1 Dr. Franklin, Mr. John Adams, and Mr. Rutledge, were elected a Committee on the part of Congress, to confer with Lord Howe, respecting his powers to treat. — Journals of Congress, Septem- ber 6th, 1776. 2 On Long Island. 106 LETTERS. that another regiment behaved like a pack of cow- ardly villains by quitting their posts. If they are unjustly censured, it is for want of proper intelli- gence. I am sorry to see a spirit so venal prevailing ev- erywhere. When our men were drawn out for Can- ada, a very large bounty was given them ; and now another call is made upon us ; no one will go without a large bounty, though only for two months, and each town seems to think its honor engaged in outbidding the others. The province pay is forty shillings. In addition to that, this town voted to make it up six pounds. They then drew out the persons most un- likely to go, and they are obliged to give three pounds to hire a man. Some pay the whole fine, ten pounds. Forty men are now drafted from this town. More than one half, from sixteen to fifty, are now in the service. This method of conducting will create a general uneasiness in the Continental army. I hardly think you can be sensible how much we are thinned in this province. The rage for privateering is as great here as any- where. Vast numbers are employed in that way. If it is necessary to make any more drafts upon us, the women must reap the harvests. I am willing to do my part. I believe I could gather corn, and husk it ; but I should make a poor figure at digging potatoes. There has been a report, that a fleet was seen in LETTERS. 107 our bay yesterday. I cannot conceive from whence, nor do I believe the story. 'T is said you have been upon Staten Island to hold your conference. 'T is a little odd, that I have never received the least intimation of it from you. Did you think I should be alarmed ? Don't you know me better than to think me a coward ? I hope you will write me everything concerning this affair. I have a great curiosity to know the result. As to government, nothing is yet done about it. The Church is opened here every Sunday, and the King prayed for, as usual, in open defiance of Con- gress. If the next post does not bring me a letter, I think I will leave off writing, for I shall not believe you get mine. Adieu. Yours, P. S. Master John has become post-rider from Boston to Braintree. TO JOHN ADAMS. 30 July, 1777. I DARE say, before this time you have interpreted the Northern Storm. If the presages chilled your blood, how must you be frozen and stiffened at the disgrace brought upo.i our arms ! ^ unless some warmer pas- 1 The evacuation of Ticonderoga and Mount Independence, by General St. Clair. 108 LETTERS. sion seize you, and anger and resentment fire your breast. How are all our vast magazines of cannon, powder, arms, clothing, provision, medicine, &c., to be restored to us ? But, what is vastly more, how shall the disgrace be wiped away ? How shall our lost honor be retrieved ? The reports with regard to that fortress are very vague and uncertain. Some write from thence, that there was not force sufficient to defend it. Others say it might have stood a long siege. Some there are, who ought to know why and wherefore we have given away a place of such im- portance. That the inquiry will be made, I make no doubt ; and, if cowardice, guilt, deceit, are found upon any one, howsoever high or exalted his station, may shame, reproach, infamy, hatred, and the execrations of the public, be his portion. I would not be so narrow-minded, as to suppose, that there are not many men of all nations, possess- ed of honor, virtue, and integrity ; yet it is to be la- mented, that we have not men among ourselves, suf- ficiently qualified for war, to take upon them the most important command. It was customary among the Carthaginians, to have a military school, in which the flower of their nobility, and those whose talents and ambition prompted them to aspire to the first dignities, learned the art of war. From among these, they selected all their general officers ; for, though they employed mercenary soldiers, they were too jealous and sus- LETTERS. 109 picious to employ foreign generals. Will a foreign- er, whose interest is not naturally connected with ours (any otherwise than as the cause of liberty is the cause of all mankind), will he act with the same zeal, or expose himself to equal dangers, with the same resolution, for a republic of which he is not a member, as he would have done for his own native country ? And can the people repose an equal con- fidence in them, even supposing them men of integ- rity and abilities, and that they meet with success equal to their abilities ? How much envy and malice are employed against them ! And how galling to pride, how mortifying to human nature, to see itself excelled. 31 July. I have nothing new to entertain you with, unless it is an account of a new set of mobility, which has lately taken the lead in Boston. You must know that there is a great scarcity of sugar and coffee, articles which the female part of the state is very loth to give up, especially whilst they consider the scarcity occasioned by the merchants having secret- ed a large quantity. There had been much rout and noise in the town for several weeks. Some stores had been opened by a number of people, and the coffee and sugar carried into the market, and dealt out by pounds. It was rumored that an emi- nent, wealthy, stingy merchant (who is a bachelor) had a hogshead of coffee in his store, which he refus- ed to sell to the committee under six shillings per 110 LETTERS. pound. A number of females, some say a hundred, some say more, assembled with a cart and trucks, marched down to the warehouse, and demanded the keys, which he refused to deliver. Upon which, one of them seized him by his neck, and tossed him into the cart. Upon his finding no quarter, he delivered the keys, when they tipped up the cart and discharg- ed him ; then opened the warehouse, hoisted out the coffee themselves, put it into the truck, and drove off. It was reported, that he had personal chastisement among them ; but this, I believe, was not true. A large concourse of men stood amused, silent specta- tors of the whole transaction. Adieu. Your good mother is just come ; she desires to be remembered to you ; so do my father and sister, who have just left me, and so does she, whose greatest happiness consists in being tenderly beloved by her absent friend, and who subscribes herself ever his Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. 5 August, 1777. If alarming half a dozen places at the same time is an act of generalship, Howe may boast of his late conduct. We have never, since the evacuation of Boston, been under apprehensions of an invasion from them, equal to what we suffered last week. All Boston was in confusion, packing up and carting LETTERS. Ill out of town household furniture, military stores, goods, &c. Not less than a thousand teams were em- ployed on Friday and Saturday ; and, to their shame be it told, not a small trunk would they carry under eight dollars, and many of them, I am told, asked a hundred dollars a load ; for carting a hogshead of molasses eight miles, thirty dollars. O human na- ture ! or rather, O inhuman nature ! what art thou ? The report of the fleet's being seen off Cape Ann Friday night gave me the alarm, and, though pretty weak, I set about packing up my things, and on Saturday removed a load. When I looked around me and beheld the boun- ties of Heaven so liberally bestowed, in fine fields of corn, grass, flax, and English grain, and thought it might soon become a prey to these merciless rav- agers, our habitations laid waste, and, if our flight preserved our lives, we must return to barren fields, empty barns, and desolate habitations, if any we find, (perhaps not where to lay our heads,) my heart was too full to bear the weight of aflliction which I thought just ready to overtake us, and my body too weak almost to bear the shock, unsupported by my better half. But, thanks be to Heaven, we are at present re- lieved from our fears respecting' ourselves. I now feel anxious for your safety, but hope prudence will direct to a proper care and attention to yourselves. May this second attempt of Howe's prove his utter ruin. May destruction overtake him as a whirlwind. 112 LETTERS. We have a report of an engagement at the north- ward, in which our troops behaved well, drove the enemy into their lines, killed and took three hun- dred and fifty prisoners. The account came in last night. I have not particulars. We are under ap- prehensions that the Hancock is taken. Your obliging letters of the 8th, 10th, and 13th, came to hand last week. I hope before this time you are relieved from the anxiety you express for your bosom friend. I feel my sufferings amply re- warded, in the tenderness you express for me. But, in one of your letters, you have drawn a picture which drew a flood of tears from my eyes, and wrung my heart with anguish inexpressible. I pray Heaven, I may not live to realize it. It is almost thirteen years since we were united, but not more than half that time have we had the happiness of living together. The unfeeling world may consider it in what light they please. I con- sider it as a sacrifice to my country, and one of my greatest misfortunes, to be separated from my child- ren, at a time of life when the joint instructions and admonition of parents sink deeper than in maturer years. The hope of the smiles and approbation of my friend sweetens all my toils and labors. " Ye Powers, whom men and birds obey, Great rulers of your creatures, say Why mourning comes, by bliss conveyed, And even the sweets of love allayed. LETTERS. 113 Where grows enjoyment tall and fair, Around it twines entangling care ; While fear for what our sons possess Enervates every power to bless. Yet friendship forms the bliss above, And, life, what art thou without love ? TO JOHN ADAMS. 17 September, 1777. I HAVE to acknowledge a feast of letters from you since I wrote last ; their dates from August 19th to September 1st. It is a very great satisfaction to me to know from day to day the movement of Howe and his banditti. We live in hourly expectation of important intelligence from both armies. Heaven grant us victory and peace ; two blessings, I fear, we are very undeserving of Enclosed you will find a letter to Mr. Lovell,^ who was so obliging as to send me a plan of that part of the country, which is like to be the present seat of war. He accompanied it with a very polite letter, and I esteem myself much obliged to him ; but there is no reward this side the grave that would be a temptation to me to undergo the agitation and dis- tress I was thrown into by receiving a letter in his handwriting, franked by him. It seems almost im- possible, that the human mind could take in, in so 1 James Lovell ; at this time, and for several years after, a dele- gate from Massachusetts to the General Congress, ^ 8 114 LETTERS. small a space of time, so many ideas as rushed upon mine in the space of a moment. I cannot describe to you what I felt. The sickness or death of the dearest of friends, with ten thousand horrors, seized my imagination. I took up the letter, then laid it down, then gave it out of my hand unable to open it, then collected reso- lution enough to unseal it, but dared not read it ; began at the bottom, — read a line, — then attempt- ed to begin it, but could not. A paper was enclosed, I ventured upon that, and, finding it a plan, recover- ed enough to read the letter ; but I pray Heaven, I may never realize such another moment of distress. I designed to have written you a long letter, for really I owe you one, but have been prevented by our worthy Plymouth friends, who are here upon a visit, in their way home ; and it is now so late at night, just struck twelve, that I will defer any thing further till the next post. Good night, friend of my heart, companion of my youth, husband, and lover. Angels watch thy repose ! TO JOHN ADAMS. Boston, 25 October, 1777. The joyful news of the surrender of General Bur- goyne and all his army, to our victorious troops, prompted me to take a ride this afternoon with my daughter to town, to join, to-morrow, with my friends LETTERS. 115 in thanksgiving and praise to the Supreme Being, who hath so remarkably delivered our enemies into our hands. And, hearing that an express is to go off to-morrow morning, I have retired to write you a few lines. I have received no letters from you since you left Philadelphia^ by the post, and but one by any private hand. Burgoyne is expected in by the middle of the week. I have read many articles of capitulation, but none which ever before contained so generous terms. Many people find fault with them, but per- haps do not consider sufficiently the circumstances of General Gates, who, by delaying and exacting more, might have lost all. This must be said of him, that he has followed the golden rule, and done as he would wish himself, in like circumstances, to be dealt with. Must not the vaporing Burgoyne, who, it is said, possesses great sensibility, be humbled to the dust ? He may now write the Blockade of Saratoga. 1 have heard it proposed, that he should take up his quarters in the Old South, but believe he will not be permitted to come to this town. Heaven grant us success at the southward. That saying of Poor Kichard often occurs to my mind, " God helps them who help themselves ; " but, if men turn their backs and run from an enemy, they cannot surely expect to conquer him. This day, dearest of friends, completes thirteen years since we were solemnly united in wedlock. 1 For Yorktown, whither the Congress had adjourned. 116 LETTERS. Three years of the time we have been cruelly sep- arated. I have, patiently as I could, endured it, with the belief that you were serving your country, and rendering your fellow-creatures essential benefits. May future generations rise up and call you blessed, and the present behave worthy of the blessings you are laboring to secure to them, and I shall have less reason to regret the deprivation of my own particu- lar felicity. Adieu, dearest of friends, adieu. TO JOHN ADAMS. 8 March, 1778. 'T IS a little more than three weeks since the dearest of friends and tenderest of husbands left ^ his solitary partner, and quitted all the fond endearments of domestic felicity for the dangers of the sea, exposed, perhaps, to the attack of a hostile foe, and, O good Heaven! can I add, to the dark assassin, to the secret murderer, and the bloody emissary of as cruel a tyrant as God, in his righteous judgments, ever suf- fered to disgrace the throne of Britain. I have travelled with you over the wide Atlantic, and could have landed you safe, with humble confi- dence, at your desired haven, and then have set myself down to enjoy a negative kind of happiness, 1 Mr. Adams, with his eldest son, sailed for France in the frig- ate Boston in February of this year. LETTERS. 117 in the painful part which it has pleased Heaven to allot me ; but the intelligence with regard to that great philosopher, able statesman, and unshaken friend of his country,'^ has planted a dagger in my breast, and I feel, with a double edge, the weapon that pierced the bosom of a Franklin. " For nought avail the virtues of the heart, Nor towering genius claims its due reward ; From Britain's fury, as from death's keen dart, No worth can save us, and no fame can guard." The more distinguished the person, the greater the inveteracy of these foes of human nature. The argument of my friends to alleviate my anxiety, by persuading me that this shocking attempt will put you more upon your guard and render your person more secure than if it had never taken place, is kind in them, and has some weight ; but my greatest com- fort and consolation arise from the belief of a su- perintending Providence to whom I can, with confi- dence, commit you, since not a sparrow falls to the ground without his notice. Were it not for this, I should be miserable and overwhelmed by my fears and apprehensions. Freedom of sentiment, the life and soul of friend- ship, is in a great measure cut off by the danger of miscarriages, and the apprehension of letters falling into the hands of our enemies. Should this meet with that fate, may they blush for their connexion 2 An unfunded rumor of the assassination of Dr. Franklin in Paris. 118 LETTERS. with a nation, who have rendered themselves infa- mous and abhorred, by a long list of crimes, which not their high achievements, nor the lustre of former deeds, nor the tender appellation of parent, nor the fond connexion, which once subsisted, can ever blot from our remembrance, nor wipe out those indelible stains of their cruelty and baseness. They have en- graven them with a pen of iron on a rock for ever. To my dear son remember me in the most affec- tionate terms. I would have written to him, but my notice is so short that I have not time. Enjoin it upon him, never to disgrace his mother, and to be- have worthily of his father. Tender as maternal affection is, it was swallowed up in what I found a stronger, or so intermixed that I felt it not in its full force till after he had left me. I console myself with the hopes of his reaping advantages under the care- ful eye of a tender parent, which it was not in my power to bestow upon him. There has nothing material taken place in the po- litical world since you left us. This letter will go by a vessel for Bilboa, from whence you may, perhaps, get better opportunities of conveyance than from any other place. The letter you delivered to the pilot came safe to hand. All the little folks are anxious for the safety of their papa and brother, to whom they desire to be remembered ; to which is added the tenderest sentiments of affection, and the fervent prayers for your happiness and safety, of your Portia. LETTERS. 11^ TO JOHN ADAMS. 18 May, 1T78. I HAVE waited with great patience, restraining, as much as possible, every anxious idea for three months. But now every vessel which arrives sets my expectation upon the wing, and I pray my guard- ian genius to waft me the happy tidings of your safe- ty and welfare. Hitherto my wandering ideas have roved, like the son of Ulysses, from sea to sea, and from shore to shore, not knowing where to find you ; sometimes I fancied you upon the mighty waters, — sometimes at your desired haven, — sometimes upon the ungrateful and hostile shore of Britain, — but at all times, and in all places, under the protecting care and guardianship of that Being, who not only clothes the lilies of the field, and hears the young ravens when they cry, but hath said, " Of how much more worth are ye than many sparrows ;" and this con- fidence, which the world cannot deprive me of, is my food by day, and my rest by night, and was all my consolation under the horrid ideas of assassina- tion, — the only event of .which I had not thought, and, in some measure, prepared my mind. When my imagination sets you down upon the Gallic shore, a land to which Americans are now bound to transfer their affections, and to eradicate all those national prejudices, which the proud and haughty nation, whom we once revered, craftily in- 120 LETTERS. stilled into us, wliom they once styled their children, I anticipate the pleasure you must feel, and, though so many leagues distant, share in the joy of finding the great interest of our country so generously es- poused and nobly aided by so powerful a monarch. Your prospects must be much brightened ; for, when you left your native land, they were rather gloomy. If an unwearied zeal and persevering attachm.ent to the cause of truth and justice, regardless of the al- lurements of ambition on the one hand, or the threats of calamity on the other, can entitle any one to the reward of peace, liberty, and safety, a large portion of those blessings are reserved for my friend in his native land. "O! wouldst thou keep thy country's loud applause, Loved as her father, as her God adored, Be still the bold asserter of her cause, Her voice in council ; (in the fight her sword ;) In peace, in war, pursue thy country's good, For her, bare thy bold breast and pour thy generous blood." Difficult as the day is, cruel as this war has been, separated as I am, on account of it, from the dearest connexion in life, I would not exchange my country for the wealth of the Indies, or be any other than an American, though I might be queen or empress of any nation upon the globe. My soul is unambitious of pomp or power. Beneath my humble roof, bless- ed with the society and tenderest affection of my dear partner, I have enjoyed as much felicity and as exquisite happiness, as falls to the share of mortals. LETTERS. 121 And, though I have been called to sacrifice to my country, I can glory in my sacrifice and derive pleas- ure from my intimate connexion with one, who is esteemed worthy of the important trust devolved upon him. Britain, as usual, has added insult to injustice and cruelty, by what she calls a conciHatory plan. From my soul I despise her meanness ; but she has long ago lost that treasure, which, a great authority tells us, exalteth a nation, and is receiving the reproaches due to her crimes. I have been much gratified with the perusal of the Duke of Richmond's speech. Were there ten such men to be found, I should still have some hopes, that a revolution would take place in favor of the virtuous few, " and the laws, the rights, the generous plan of power delivered down from age to age by our renowned forefathers," be again restored to that unhappy island. Our public finances are upon no better footing than they were when you left us. Five hundred dol- lars is now offered by this town, per man, for nine months, to recruit the army. Twelve pounds a month for farming labor is the price, and it is not to be procured under. Our friends are all well and desire to be remembered to you. So many tender senti- ments rush upon my mind, when about to close this letter to you, that I can only ask you to measure them by those which you find in your own bosom for Your affectionate Portia. 122 LETTERS. TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. June, 1778. MY DEAR SON, 'T IS almost four months since you left your native land, and embarked upon the mighty waters, in quest of a foreign country. Although I have not particu- larly written to you since, yet you may be assured you have constantly been upon my heart and mind. It is a very difficult task, my dear son, for a ten- der parent to bring her mind to part with a child of your years going to a distant land ; nor could I have acquiesced in such a separation under any other care than that of the most excellent parent and guardian who accompanied you. You have arrived at years capable of improving under the advantages you will be likely to have, if you do but properly attend to them. They are talents put into your hands, of which an account will be required of you hereafter ; and, being possessed of one, two, or four, see to it that you double your numbers. The most amiable and most useful disposition in a young mind is diffidence of itself; and this should lead you to seek advice and instruction from him, who is your natural guardian, and will always coun- sel and direct you in the best manner, both for your present and future happiness. You are in possession of a natural good understanding, and of spirits un- broken by adversity and untamed with care. Im- LETTERS. 123 prove your understanding by acquiring useful knowl- edge and virtue, such as will render you an orna- ment to society, an honor to your country, and a blessing to your parents. Great learning and supe- rior abilities, should you ever possess them, will be of little value and small estimation, unless virtue, honor, truth, and integrity are added to them. Ad- here to those religious sentiments and principles which were early instilled into your mind, and re- member, that you are accountable to your Maker for all your words and actions. Let me enjoin it upon you to attend constantly and steadfastly to the precepts and instructions of your father, as you value the happiness of your mother and your own welfare. His care and attention to you render many things unnecessary for me to write, which I might otherwise do ; but the inadver- tency and heedlessness of youth require line upon line and precept upon precept, and, when enforced by the joint efforts of both parents, will, I hope, have a due influence upon your conduct ; for, dear as you are to me, I would much rather you should have found your grave in the ocean you have crossed, or that any untimely death crop you in your infant years, than see you an immoral, profligate, or grace- less child. You have entered early in life upon the great theatre of the world, which is full of temptations and vice of every kind. You are not wholly unac- quainted with history, in which you have read of 124 LETTERS. crimes which your inexperienced mind could scarce- ly believe credible. You have been taught to think of them with horror, and to view vice as " a monster of so frightful mien, That, to be hated, needs but to be seen. Yet you must keep a strict guard upon yourself, or the odious monster will soon lose its terror by be- coming familiar to you. The modern history of our own times, furnishes as black a list of crimes, as can be paralleled in ancient times, even if we go back to Nero, Caligula, or Ccesar Borgia. Young as you are, the cruel war, into which we have been compel- led by the haughty tyrant of Britain and the bloody emissaries of his vengeancfe, may stamp upon your mind this certain truth, that the welfare and pros- perity of all countries, communities, and, I may add, individuals, depend upon their morals. That nation to which we were once united, as it has departed from justice, eluded and subverted the wise laws which formerly governed it, and suffered the worst of crimes to go unpunished, has lost its valor, wis- dom, and humanity, and, from being the dread and terror of Europe, has sunk into derision and infamy. But, to quit political subjects, I have been greatly anxious for your safety, having never heard of the frigate since she sailed, till, about a week ago, a New York paper informed, that she was taken and carried into Plymouth. I did not fully credit this report, though it gave me much uneasiness. I yes- terday heard that a French vessel was arrived at LETTERS. 125 Portsmouth, which brought news of the safe arrival of the Boston ; but this wants confirmation. 1 hope it will not be long before I shall be assured of your safety. You must write me an account of your voyage, of your situation, and of every thing enter- taining you can recollect. Be assured I am most affectionately yours, TO JOHN ADAMS. 30 June, 1778. DEAREST OF FRIENDS, Shall I tell my dearest, that tears of joy filled my eyes, at the sight (this morning) of his well-known hand? — the first line which has blessed my sight, since his four months' absence, during which time I have never been able to learn a word from him or my dear son, till, about ten days ago, an English paper, taken in a prize and brought into Salem, con- tained an account, under the Paris news, of your ar- rival at the abode of Dr. Franklin ; and, last week, a cartel, from Halifax, brought Captain Welch, of the Boston^ who informed that he left you well the 11th of March, and that he had letters for me, but destroyed them when he was taken ; and this is all the informa- tion I have ever been able to obtain. Our enemies have told us the vessel was taken, and named the frigate which took her, and that she was carried into 126 LETTERS. Plymouth. I have lived a life of fear and anxiety ever since you left me. Not more than a week after your absence, the horrid story of Dr. Franklin's as- sassination was received from France, and sent by Mr. Purveyance, of Baltimore, to Congress and to Boston. Near two months, before that was contra- dicted. Then we could not hear a word from the Boston^ and most people gave her up, as taken or lost. Thus has my mind been agitated like a troub- led sea. You will easily conceive, how grateful to me your favor of April 25th, and those of our son, were to me and mine ; though I regret your short warning, and the little time you had to write, by which means I know not how you fared upon your voyage, what reception you have met with (not even from the la- dies, though you profess yourself an admirer of them), and a thousand circumstances which I wish to know, and which are always particularly interest- ing to near connexions. I must request you always to be minute, and to write me by every conveyance. Some, perhaps, which may appear unlikely to reach me, will be the first to arrive. I own I was mortified at so short a letter, but I quiet my heart with think- ing there are many more upon their passage to me. I have written several before this, and some of them very long. Now I know you are safe, I wish myself with you. Whenever you entertain such a wish, recollect that I would have willingly hazarded all dangers to LETTERS. 1-27 have been your companion ; but, as that was not permitted, you must console me in your absence, by a recital of all your adventures ; though, methinks, I would not have them in all respects too similar to those related of your venerable colleague, whose Mentor-like appearance, age, and philosophy must certainly lead the politico-scientific ladies of France to suppose they are embracing the god of wisdom in a human form ; but I, who own that I never yet " wished an angel, whom I loved a man," shall be full as content if those divine honors are omitted. The whole heart of my friend is in the bosom of his partner. More than half a score of years have so riveted it there, that the fabric which contains it must crumble into dust, ere the particles can be sep- arated. I can hear of the brilliant accomplishments of any of my sex with pleasure, and rejoice in that liberality of sentiment which acknowledges them. At the same time, I regret the trifling, narrow, con- tracted education of the females of my own coun- try. I have entertained a superior opinion of the accomplishments of the French ladies, ever since I read the letters of Dr. Shebbeare, who professes that he had rather take the opinion of an accomplished lady, in matters of polite writing, than the first wits of Italy ; and should think himself safer, with her approbation, than with that of a long list of literati ; and he gives this reason for it, that women have, in general, more delicate sensations than men ; what touches them, is for the most part true in nature, 128 LETTERS. whereas men, warped by education, judge amiss from previous prejudice, and, referring all things to the mode of the ancients, condemn that by compari- son, where no true similitude ought to be expected. But, in this country, you need not be told how much female education is neglected, nor how fash- ionable it has been to ridicule female learning ; though I acknowledge it my happiness to be con- nected with a person of a more generous mind and liberal sentiments. I cannot forbear transcribing a few generous sentiments which 1 lately met with up- on this subject. " If women," says the wrher, " are to be esteem- ed our enemies, melhinks it is an ignoble cowardice, thus to disarm them, and not allow them the same weapons we use ourselves ; but, if they deserve the title of our friends, 't is an inhuman tyranny to debar them of the privileges of ingenuous education, which would also render their friendship so much the more delightful to themselves and us. Nature is seldom observed to be niggardly of her choicest gifts to the sex. Their senses are generally as quick as ours ; their reason as nervous, their judgment as mature and solid. To these natural perfections add but the advantages of acquired learning, what polite and charming creatures would they prove ; whilst their external beauty does the office of a crystal to the lamp, not shrouding, but disclosing, their brighter in- tellects. Nor need we fear to lose our empire over them by thus improving their native abilities ; since, LETTERS. 129 where there is most learning, sense, and knowledge, there is always observed to be the most modesty and rectitude of manners." ^ The morning after I received your very short letter, I determined to devote the day to writing to my friend ; but I had only just breakfasted, when I had a visit from Monsieur Riviere, an officer on board the Langiiedoc, who speaks English well, the cap- tain of the Zara, and six or eight other officers, from on board another ship. The first gentleman dined with me, and spent the day, so that I had no oppor- tunity of writing that day. The gentlemen officers have made me several visits, and I have dined twice oh board, at very elegant entertainments. Count d'Estaing has been exceedingly polite to me. Soon after he arrived here, I received a message from him, requesting that I would meet him at Colonel Quincy's, as it was inconvenient leaving his ship for any long time. I waited upon him, and was very politely received. Upon parting, he requested that 1 This letter probably failed in reaching its destination. The rougli copy only remains, which ends in an abrupt manner, with the quotation as above. 2 This is taken from a rough draft; the original letter, if it was ever sent, was probably captured by the enemy or sunk. It is without date, but the contents fix it in October, 1778. 9 130 LETTERS. the family would accompany me on board his ship and dine with him the next Thursday, with any friends we chose to bring ; and his barge should come for us. We went, according to the invitation, and were sumptuously entertained, with every deli- cacy that this country produces, and the addition of every foreign article that could render our feast splendid. Music and dancing for the young folks closed the day. The temperance of these gentlemen, the peacea- ble, quiet disposition both of officers and men, joined to many other virtues which they have exhibit- ed during their continuance with us, are sufficient to make Europeans, and Americans too, blush at their own degeneracy of manners. Not one officer has been seen the least disguised with liquor since their arrival. Most that I have seen, appear to be gentlemen of family and education. I have been the more desirous to take notice of them, as I cannot help saying, that they have been neglected in the town of Boston. Generals Heath and Hancock have done their part, but very few, if any, private families have any acquaintance with them. Perhaps I feel more anxious to have them distinguished, on account of the near and dear connexion I have among them. It would gratify me much, if I had it in my power, to entertain every officer in the fleet. In the very few lines I have received from you, not the least mention is made, that you have ever re- ceived a line from me. I have not been so parsimo- LETTEKS. 131 nious as my friend, — perhaps I am not so prudent; but I cannot take my pen, with my heart overflow- ing, and not give utterance to some of the abun- dance which is in it. Could you, after a thousand fears and anxieties, long expectation, and painful suspense, be satisfied with my telling you, that I was well, that I wished you were with me, that my daughter sent her duty, that I had ordered some arti- cles for you, which I hoped would arrive, &c. &c. By Heaven, if you could, you have changed hearts with some frozen Laplander, or made a voyage to a region that has chilled every drop of your blood ; but I v/ill restrain a pen already, I fear, too rash, nor shall it tell you how much I have suffered from this appearance of — inattention. The articles sent by Captain Tucker have arrived safe, and will be of great service to me. Our mon- ey is very little better than blank paper. It takes forty dollars to purchase a barrel of cider; fifty pounds lawful for a hundred of sugar, and fifty dol- lars for a hundred of flour ; four dollars per day for a laborer, and find him, which will amount to four more. You will see, by bills drawn before the date of this, that I had taken the method which I was happy in finding you had directed me to. I shall draw for the rest as I find my situation requires. No article that can be named, foreign or domestic, but what costs more than double in hard money what it once sold for. In one letter I have given you an account of our local situation, and of every thing I 132 LETTERS. thought you might wish to know. Four or five sheets of paper, written to you by the last mail, were destroyed when the vessel was taken. Dupli- cates are my aversion, though I believe I should set a value upon them, if I were to receive them from a certain friend ^ ; a friend who never was deficient in testifying his regard and affection to his Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. Sunday Evening, 27 December, 1778. How lonely are my days? how solitary are my nights ? secluded from all society but my two little boys and my domestics. By the mountains of snow which surround me, I could almost fancy myself in Greenland. We have had four of the coldest days I ever knew, and they were followed by the severest snow-storm I ever remember. The wind, blowing like a hurricane for fifteen or twenty hours, rendered it impossible for man or beast to live abroad, and has blocked up the roads so that they are impassable. A week ago I parted with my daughter, at the re- quest of our Plymouth friends, to spend a month witli them ; so that I am solitary indeed. Can the best of friends recollect, that for fourteen years past I have not spent a whole winter alone. 1 It is proper to remark here, that the inattention which called forth these complaints was only apparent, and caused by the cap- ture of nearly all the vessels which brought letters. LETTERS. 133 Some part of the dismal season has heretofore been mitigated and softened by the social converse and participation of the friend of my youth. How insupportable the idea, that three thousand miles and the vast ocean now divide us! but divide only our persons, for the heart of my friend is in the bosom of his partner. More than half a score of years has so riveted it there, that the fabric which contains it must crumble into dust ere the particles can be separated ; for '' in one fate, our hearts, our fortunes, And our beings blend." I cannot describe to you how much I was affected the other day with a Scotch song, which was sung to me by a young lady in order to divert a melan- choly hour ; but it had quite a different effect, and the native simplicity of it had all the power of a well- wrought tragedy. When I could conquer my sensi- bility I begged the song, and Master Charles has learned it, and consoles his mamma by singing it to her. I will enclose it to you. It has beauties in it to me, which an indifferent person would not feel perhaps. " His very foot has music in 't, As he comes up the stairs." How oft has my heart danced to the sound of that music ? " And shall I see his face again ? And shall I hear him speak ? " 134 LETTERS. Gracious Heaven ! hear and answer my daily pe- tition, by banishing all my grief. I am sometimes quite discouraged from writing. So many vessels are taken, that there is little chance of a letter's reaching your hands. That I meet with so few returns, is a circumstance that lies heavy at my heart. If this finds its way to you, it will go by the Alliance. By her I have written before. She has not yet sailed, and I love to amuse myself with my pen, and pour out some of the tender sentiments of a heart overflowing with affection, not for the eye of a cruel enemy, who, no doubt, would ridicule ev- ery humane and social sentiment, long ago grown callous to the finer sensibilities, but for the sympa- thetic heart that beats in unison with Portia's. TO JOHN ADAMS. 20 March, 1779. MY DEAREST FRIEND, Your favor of December 9th, came to hand this evening from Philadelphia. By the same post I re- ceived a letter from Mr. Lovell, transcribing some passages from one of the same date to him, and the only one, he says, which he has received since your absence, and his pocket book proves, that he has written .eighteen different times ; yet possibly you may have received as few from him. The watery world alone can boast of large packets received ; — a LETTERS. 135 discouraging thought when I take my pen. Yet I will not be discouraged. I will persist in writing, thouo-h but one in ten should reach you. I have been innpatient for an opportunity, none having of- fered since January, when the Alliance sailed, which, my presaging mind assures me, will arrive safe in France, and I hope will return as safely. Accept my thanks for the care you take of me, in so kindly providing for me the articles you mention. Should they arrive safe, they will be a great assist- ance to me. The safest way, you tell me, of sup- plying my wants, is by drafts; but I cannot get h^rd money for bills. You had as good tell me to pro- cure diamonds for them ; and, when bills will fetch but five for one, hard money will exchange ten, which I think is very provoking ; and I must give at the rate of ten, and sometimes twenty, for one, for every article I purchase. I blush whilst I give you a price current ; — all butcher's meat from a dollar to eight shillings per pound ; corn twenty-five dollars, rye thirty, per bushel ; flour fifty pounds per hun- dred ; potatoes ten dollars per bushel ; butter twelve shillings a pound, cheese eight ; sugar twelve shil. lings a pound ; molasses twelve dollars per gallon ; labor six and eight dollars a day ; a common cow, from sixty to seventy pounds; and all English goods in proportion. This is our present situation. It is a risk to send me any thing across the water, I know ; .yet, if one in three arrives, I should be a gainer. I have studied, and do study, every method of economy 136 LETTERS. in my power ; otherwise a mint of money would not support a family. I could not board our two sons under forty dollars per week apiece at a school. I there- fore thought it most prudent to request Mr. Thaxter to look after them, giving him his board and the use of the office, which he readily accepted, and, having passed the winter with me, will continue through the summer, as I see no probability of the times speedily growing better. We have had much talk of peace through the mediation of Spain, and great news from Spain, and a thousand reports, as various as the persons who tell them ; yet I believe slowly, and rely more upon the information of my friend, than on all the whole legion of stories which rise with the sun, and set as soon. Respecting Georgia,^ other friends have writ- ten you. I shall add nothing of my own, but that I believe it will finally be a fortunate event to us. Our vessels have been fortunate in making prizes, though many were taken in the fall of the year. We have been greatly distressed for [want of] grain. I scarcely know the looks or taste of biscuit or flour for this four months ; yet thousands have been much worse off, having no grain of any sort. The great commotion raised here by Mr. Deane has sunk into contempt for his character ; and it would be better for him to leave a country, which is now supposed to have been injured by him. His 1 The descent of the British, under General Prevost and Colonel Campbell, upon Georgia. LETTERS. 137 friends are silent, not knowing how to extricate him. It would he happy for him, if he had the art iiimself. He most certainly had art enough, in the beginning, to blow up a flame, and to set the whole continent in agitation. 23 April. More than a month has passed away since writing the above, and no opportunity has yet offered of con- veying you a line ; next to the pain of not receiving, is that of not being able to send a token of remem- brance and affection. (You must excuse my not copy- ing, as paper is ten dollars per quire.) Last week a packet arrived from Brest, with despatches for Con- gress, but no private letters. I was disappointed, but did not complain. You would have written, I know, had you supposed she was coming to Boston. By her we heard of the safe arrival of the Alliance in France, which gave me much pleasure. May she have as safe a return to us again. Last week, ar- rived here the frigate Warren^ after a successful cruise. She had been out about six weeks, in com- pany with the Queen of France, and the Ranger, Captain Jones. They fell in with, and captured, a fleet, bound from New York to Georgia, consisting of ship Jason, twenty guns, and one hundred and fifty men ; ship Maria, sixteen guns, eighty-four men, having on board eighteen hundred barrels of flour ; privateer schooner Hibernian, eight guns, and forty-five men ; brigs Patriot, Pririce Frederick, Bachelor John, and schooner Chance ; all of which 138 LETTERS. are safe arrived, to the universal joy and satisfaction of every well-wisher of his country. The officers who were captured, acknowledge that this loss will be severely felt by the enemy, and it is hoped that it will give General Lincoln important advantages over him in Georgia. Respecting domestic affairs, I shall do tolerably, whilst my credit is well supported abroad ; and my demands there shall be as small as possible, consid- ering the state of things here ; but I cannot purchase a bushel of grain under three hard dollars, though the scarcity of that article makes it dearer than other things. My pen is really so bad that I cannot add any fur- ther, than that I am wholly Yours. TO JOHN ADAMS. 8 June, 1779. MY DEAREST FRIEND, Six months have already elapsed since I heard a syllable from you or my dear son, and five, since I have had one single opportunity of conveying a line to you. Letters of various dates have lain months at the Navy Board, and a packet and frigate, both ready to sail at an hour's warning, have been months wait- ing the orders of Congress. They no doubt have their reasons, or ought to have, for detaining them. I must patiently wait their motions, however pain- LETTERS. 139 fill it is ; and that it is so, your own feelings will testify. Yet I know not but you are less a sufferer than you would be to hear from us, to know our dis- tresses, and yet be unable to relieve them. The universal cry for bread, to a humane heart, is painful beyond description, and the great price demanded and given for it verifies that pathetic passage of sa- cred writ, " All that a man hath, will he give for his life." Yet He who miraculously fed a multitude with five loaves and two fishes, has graciously inter- posed in our favor, and delivered many of the ene- my's supplies into our hands, so that our distresses have been mitigated. I have been able as yet to supply my own family sparingly, but at a price that would astonish you. Corn is sold at four dollars, hard money, per bushel, which is equal to eighty at the rate of exchange. Labor is at eight dollars per day, and in three weeks it will be at twelve, 't is probable, or it will be more stable than any thing else. Goods of all kinds are at such a price that I hardly dare mention it. Linens are sold at twenty dollars per yard ; the most ordinary sort of calicoes at thirty and forty ; broad- cloths at forty pounds per yard ; West India goods full as high ; molasses at twenty dollars per gallon ; sugar four dollars per pound ; bohea tea at forty dollars ; and our own produce in proportion. Butcher's meat at six and eight shillings per pound ; board at fifty and sixty dollars per week ; rates high. That, I sup- pose, you will rejoice at ; so would I, did it remedy 140 LETTERS. the evil. I pay five liundred dollars, and a new continental rate has just appeared, my proportion of which will be two hundred more. I have come to this determination, to sell no more bills, unless I can procure hard money for them, although I shall be obhged to allow a discount. If I sell for paper, I throw away more than half, so rapid is the depre- ciation ; nor do I know that it will be received long. I sold a bill to Blodget at five for one, which was looked upon as high at that time. The week after I received it, two emissions were taken out of circula- tion, and the greater part of what I had, proved to be of that sort ; so that those, to whom I was indebted, are obliged to wait, and before it becomes due, or is exchanged, it will be good for — as much as it will fetch, which will be nothing, if it goes on as it has done for this three months past. I will not tire your patience any longer. I have not drawn any further upon you. I mean to wait the return of the Alli- ance^ which with longing eyes I look for. God grant it may bring me comfortable tidings from my dear, dear friend, whose welfare is so essential to my hap- piness, that it is entwined around my heart, and can- not be impaired or separated from it without rend- ing it asunder. In contemplation of my situation, I am sometimes thrown into an aojony of distress. Distance, dangers, and O ! I cannot name all the fears which sometimes oppress me, and harrow up my soul. Yet must the common lot of man one day take place, whether we LETTERS. 141 dwell ill our own native land, or arc far distant from it. That we rest under the shadow of the Almighty is the consolation to which I resort, and find that comfort which the world cannot give. II He sees best to give me back my friend, or to preserve my life to him, it will be so. Our worthy friend, Dr. Winthrop, is numbered with the great congregation, to the inexpressible loss of Harvard College. " Let no weak drop Be shed for him. The virgin, in her bloom Cut off, the joyous youth, and darling child, These are the tombs that claim the tender tear, And elegiac song. But Winthrop calls For other notes of gratulation high, That now he wanders through those endless worlds He here so well descried, and wondering talks, And hymns their Author with his glad compeers." The testimony he gave with his dying breath, in favor of revealed religion, does honor to his memo- ry, and will endear it to every lover of virtue. I know not who will be found worthy to succeed him. Congress have not yet made any appointment of you to any other court. There appears a dilatori- ness, an indecision, in their proceedings. I have in Mr. Lovell an attentive friend, who kindly informs me of every thing which passes relative to you and your situation, and gives me extracts of your letters both to himself and others. I know you will be unhappy whenever it is not in your power to serve your coun- try, and wish yourself at home, where at least you 142 LETTERS. might serve your family. I cannot say that I think our affairs go very well here. Our currency seems to be the source of all our evils. We cannot fill up our Continental army by means of it. No bounty will prevail with them. What can be done with it ? It will sink in less than a year. The advantage the enemy daily gains over us is owing to this. Most truly did you prophesy, when you said that they would do all the mischief in their power with the forces they had here. My tenderest regards ever attend you in all places and situations. Ever, ever yours. DEAREST OF FRIENDS, My habitation, how disconsolate it looks ! my table, I sit down to it, but cannot swallow my food ! O, why was I born with so much sensibility, and why, pos- sessing it, have I so often been called to struggle with it ? I wish to see you again. Were I sure you would not be gone, I could not withstand the tempta- tion of coming to town, though my heart would suf- fer over again the cruel torture of separation. 1 Mr. Adams had returned from France in August, but was re- quired by Congress again to embark at this time, with powers to negotiate a peace with Great Britain. He took with him, upon this occasion, his two eldest sons. LETTERS. 143 What a cordial to my dejected spirits were the few lines last night received ! And does your heart forebode that we shall again be happy ? My hopes and fears rise alternately. I cannot resign more than I do, unless life itself were called for. My dear sons, I cannot think of them without a tear. Little do they know the feelings of a mother's heart. May they be good and useful as their father ! Then will they, in some measure, reward the anxiety of a moth- er. My tenderest love to them. Remember me also to Mr. Thaxter, whose civilities and kindness I shall miss. God Almighty bless and protect my dearest friend, and, in his own time, restore him to the affectionate bosom of Portia. l-i November, 1779. TO JOHN QU;NCY ADAMS. 12 January, 1780. MY DEAR SON, I HOPE you have had no occasion, either from ene- mies or the dangers of the sea, to repent your second voyage to France. If I had thought your reluctance arose from proper deliberation, or that you were ca-^ pable of judging what was most for your own bene- fit, I should not have urged you to accompany your father and brother when you appeared so averse to the voyage. 144 LETTERS. You, however, readily submitted to my advice, and, I hope, will never have occasion yourself, nor give me reason, to lament it. Your knowledge of the language must give you greater advantages now than you could possibly have reaped whilst ignorant of it; and, as you increase in years, you will find your understanding opening and daily improving. Some author, that I have met with, compares a judicious traveller to a river, that increases its stream the further it flows from its source ; or to certain springs, which, running through rich veins of mine- rals, improve their qualities as they pass along. It will be expected of you, my son, that, as you are favored with superior advantages under the instruc- tive eye of a tender parent, your improvement should bear some proportion to your advantages. Nothing is wanting with you but attention, diligence, and steady application. Nature has not been deficient. These are times in which a genius would wish to live. It is not in the still calm of life, or the repose of a pacific station, that great characters are formed. Would Cicero have shone so distinguished an orator if he had not been roused, kindled, and inflamed by the tyranny of Catiline, Verres, and Mark Antony ? The habits of a vigorous mind are formed in con- tending with difficulties. All history will convince you of this, and that wisdom and penetration are the fruit of experience, not the lessons of retirement and leisure. Great necessities call out great virtues. When a mind is raised and animated by scenes that LETTERS. 145 engage the heart, then those qualities, which would otherwise lie dormant, wake into life and form the character of the hero and the statesman. War, tyran- ny, and desolation are the scourges of the Almighty, and ought no doubt to be deprecated. Yet it is your lot, my son, to be an eyewitness of these calamities in your own native land, and, at the same time, to owe your existence among a people who have made a glorious defence of their invaded liberties, and who, aided by a generous and powerful ally, with the blessing of Heaven, will transmit this inheritance to ages yet unborn. Nor ought it to be one of the least of your incite- ments towards exerting every power and faculty of your mind, that you have a parent who has taken so large and active a share in this contest, and dis- charged the trust reposed in him with so much satis- faction as to be honored with the important embassy which at present calls him abroad. The strict and inviolable regard you have ever paid to truth, gives me pleasing hopes that you will not swerve from her dictates, but add justice, fortitude, and every manly virtue which can adorn a good citizen, do honor to your country, and render your parents supremely happy, particularly your ever affectionate mother, A. A. 10 146 LETTEES. TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 20 March, 1780. MY DEAR SON, Your letter, last evening received from Bilboa, re- lieved me from much anxiety ; for, having a day or two before received letters from your papa, Mr. Thaxter,^ and brother, in which packet I found none from you, nor any mention made of you, my mind, ever fruitful in conjectures, was instantly alarmed. I feared you were sick, unable to write, and your papa, unwilling to give me uneasiness, had conceal- ed it from me ; and this apprehension was confirmed by every person's omitting to say how long they should continue in Bilboa. Your father's letters came to Salem, yours to Newburyport, and soon gave ease to my anxiety, at the same time that it excited gratitude and thankful- ness to Heaven, for the preservation you all experi- enced in the imminent dangers which threatened you. You express in both your letters a degree of thankfulness. I hope it amounts to more than words, and that you will never be insensible to the particu- lar preservation you have experienced in both your voyages. You have seen how inadequate the aid of man would have been, if the winds and the seas had * This gentleman, who was a student at law in the office of Mr. Adams, at the commencement of the troubles, accompanied him in the capacity of private secretary on this mission. LETTERS. 147 not been under the particular government of that Being, who " stretched out the heavens as a span," who " holdeth the ocean in the hollow of his hand," and " rideth upon the wings of the wind." If you have a due sense of your preservation, your next consideration will be, for what purpose you are continued in life. It is not to rove from clime to clime, to gratify an idle curiosity ; but every new mercy you receive is a new debt upon you, a new obligation to a diligent discharge of the various rela- tions in which you stand connected ; in the first place, to your great Preserver ; in the next, to society in general ; in particular, to your country, to your pa- rents, and to yourself. The only sure and permanent foundation of virtue is religion. Let this important truth be engraven upon your heart. And also, that the foundation of religion is the belief of the one only God, and a just sense of his attributes, as a being infinitely wise, just, and good, to whom you owe the highest reverence, gratitude, and adoration ; who superin- tends and governs all nature, even to clothing the lilies of the field, and hearing the young ravens when they cry ; but more particularly regards man, whom he created after his own image, and breathed into him an immortal spirit, capable of a happiness be- yond the grave ; for the attainment of which he is bound to the performance of certain duties, which all tend to the happiness and welfare of society, and are comprised in one short sentence, expressive of uni- 148 LETTERS. versal benevolence, " Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." This is elegantly defined by Mr. Pope, in his " Essay on Man." '' Remember, man, the universal cause Acts not by partial, but by general laws, And makes what happiness we justly call, Subsist not in the good of one, but all. There's not a blessing individuals find, But some way leans and hearkens to the kind." Thus has the Supreme Being made the good will of man towards his fellow-creatures an evidence of his regard to Him, and for this purpose has constitut- ed him a dependent being and made his happiness to consist in society. Man early discovered this pro- pensity of his nature, and found " Eden was tasteless till an Eve was there." Justice, humanity, and benevolence are the duties you owe to society in general. To your country the same duties are incumbent upon you, with the additional obligation of sacrificing ease, pleasure wealth, and life itself for its defence and security To your parents you owe love, reverence, and obe dience to all just and equitable commands. To your self, — here, indeed, is a wide field to expatiate upon To become what you ought to be, and what a fond mother wishes to see you, attend to some precepts and instructions from the pen of one, who can have no motive but your welfare and happiness, and who wishes in this way to supply to you the personal watchfulness and care, which a separation from you LETTERS. 149 deprived you of at a period of life, when habits are easiest acquired and fixed ; and, though the advice may not be new, yet suffer it to obtain a place in your memory, for occasions may offer, and perhaps some concurring circumstances unite, to give it weight and force. Suffer me to recommend to you one of the most useful lessons of life, the knowledge and study of yourself. There you run the greatest hazard of being deceived. Self-love and partiality cast a mist before the eyes, and there is no knowledge so hard to be acquired, nor of more benefit when once thoroughly understood. Ungoverned passions have aptly been compared to the boisterous ocean, which is known to produce the most terrible effects. " Pas- sions are the elements of life," but elements which are subject to the control of reason. Whoevei'will candidly examine themselves, will find some degree of passion, peevishness, or obstinacy in their natural tempers. You will seldom find these disagreeable ingredients all united in one ; but the uncontrolled in- dulgence of either is sufficient to render the posses- sor unhappy in himself, and disagreeable to all who are so unhappy as to be witnesses of it, or suffer from its effects. You, my dear son, are formed with a constitution feelingly alive ; your passions are strong and impetu- ous ; and, though I have sometimes seen them hurry you into excesses, yet with pleasure I have ob- served a frankness and generosity accompany your 150 LETTERS. efforts to govern and subdue them. Few persons are so subject to passion, but that they can com- mand themselves, when they have a motive suffi- ciently strong ; and those who are most apt to trans- gress will restrain themselves through respect and reverence to superiors, and even, where they wish to recommend themselves, to their equals. The due government of the passions, has been considered in all ages as a most valuable acquisition. Hence an inspired writer observes, " He that is slow to anger, is better than the mighty ; and he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city." This passion, cooperating with power, and unrestrained by reason, has produced the subversion of cities, the desola- tion of countries, the massacre of nations, and filled the world with injustice and oppression. Behold your own country, your native land, suffering from the effects of lawless power and malignant passions, and learn betimes, from your own observation and experience, to govern and control yourself. Having once obtained this self-government, you will find a foundation laid for happiness to yourself and use- fulness to mankind. " Virtue alone is happiness below ; " and consists in cultivating and improving every good inclination, and in checking and sub- duing every propensity to evil. I have been particu- lar upon the passion of anger, as it is generally the most predominant passion at your age, the soonest excited, and the least pains are taken to subdue it ; — " what composes man, caa man destroy." LETTERS. 151 I do not mean, however, to have you insensible to real injuries. He who will not turn when he is trodden upon is deficient in point of spirit ; yet, if you can preserve good breeding and decency of manners, you will have an advantage over the ag- gressor, and will maintain a dignity of character, which will always insure you respect, even from the offender. I will not overburden your mind at this time. I mean to pursue the subject of self-knowledge in some future letter, and give you my sentiments upon your future conduct in life, when I feel dis- posed to resume my pen. In the mean time, be assured, no one is more sincerely interested in your happiness, than your ever affectionate mother, A. A. Do not expose my letters. I would copy, but hate it. TO JOHN ADAMS. Sunday Evening, 16 July, 1780. MY DEAREST FRIEND, I HAD just returned to my chamber, and taken up my pen to congratulate you upon the arrival of the fleet of our allies at Newport, when I was called down to receive the most agreeable of presents, — letters 152 LETTERS. from my dearest friend. One bearing date March 28th, by Mr. Izard, and one of May 3d, taken out of the post-office ; but to what port they arrived first I know not. They could not be those by the fleet, as in these you make mention of letters, which I have not yet received, nor by the Alliance,, since Mr. Williams sailed twenty-five days after the fleet, and she was then in France. A pity, I think, that she should stay there when here we are almost destitute. Our navy has been unfortunate indeed. I am sorry to find, that only a few lines have reached you from me. I have written by way of Spain, Holland, and Sweden, but not one single direct conveyance have I had to France since you left me. I determine to open a communication by way of Gardoqui, and wish you would make use of the same conveyance. What shall I say of our political afl^airs } Shall I exclaim at measures now impossible to remedy } No. I will hope all from the generous aid of our allies, in concert with our own exertions. I am not suddenly elated or depressed. I know America ca- pable of any thing she undertakes with spirit and vigor. " Brave in distress, serene in conquest, drow- sy when at rest," is her true characteristic. Yet I deprecate a failure in our present effort. The efforts are great, and we give, this campaign, more than half our property to defend the other. He who tarries from the field cannot possibly earn sufficient at home to reward him who takes it. Yet, should Heaven bless our endeavours, and crown this year with the LETTERS. 153 blessings of peace, no exertion will be thought too great, no price of property too dear. My whole soul is absorbed in the idea. The honor of my dear- est friend, the welfare and happiness of this wide- extended country, ages yet unborn, depend for their happiness and security upon the able and skilful, the honest and upright, discharge of the important trust committed to him. It would not become me to write the full flow of my heart upon this occasion. My constant petition for him is, that he may so discharge the trust reposed in him as to merit the approving eye of Heaven, and peace, liberty, and safety crown his latest years in his own native land. The Marchioness,^ at the Abbe Raynal's, is not the only lady who joins an approving voice to that of her country, though at the expense of her present domestic happiness. It is easier to admire virtue than to practise it ; especially the great virtue of self-denial. I find but few sympathizing souls. Why should I look for them ? since few have any souls, but of the sensitive kind. That nearest allied to my own they have taken from me, and tell me honor and fame are a compensation. " Fame, wealth, or honor, — what are ye to love ? " But hushed be my pen. Let me cast my eye upon the letters before me. What is the example .'' I follow it in silence. 1 Doubtless the Marchioness Lafayette. 154 LETTERS. Present my compliments to Mr. Dana.^ Tell him I have called upon his lady, and we enjoyed an afternoon of sweet communion. I find she would not be averse to taking a voyage, should he be con- tinued abroad. She groans most bitterly, and is irreconcilable to his absence. I am a mere philoso- pher to her. I am inured^ but not hardened, to the painful portion. Shall I live to see it otherwise ? Your letters are always valuable to me, but more particularly so when they close with an affectionate assurance of regard, which, though I do not doubt, is never repeated without exciting the tenderest sen- timents ; and never omitted without pain to the af- fectionate bosom of your Portia. TO JOHN ADABIS. 15 October, 1780. MY DEAREST FRIEND, I CLOSED a long letter to you only two days ago, but as no opportunity is omitted by me, I embrace this, as Colonel Fleury was kind enough to write me on purpose, from Newport, to inform me of it, and to promise a careful attention to it. Yet I feel doubt- ful of its safety. The enemy seems to be collect- 1 Francis Dana was appointed by Congress secretary to Mr. Adams upon this mission, and accompanied him in his voyage. He was afterwards sent to Russia as Minister ; upon which occa- sion Mr. Adams's eldest son went with him to St. Petersburgh. LETTERS. 199 ing a prodigious force into these seas, and is bent upon the destruction of our allies. We are not a little anxious for them, and cannot but wonder, that they are not yet reinforced. Graves's fleet, Arbuth- not s, and Rodney's, all here ; with such a superiori- ty, can it be matter of surprise, if M. de Temay should fall asacriiice ? My own mind, I own, is full of apprehension ; yet I trust we shall not be delivered over to the vengeance of a nation more wicked and perverse than our own. We daily experience the correcting and the defending arm. The enclosed papers will give you the particulars of an infernal plot, and the providential discovery of it. For, however the belief of a particular Providence may be exploded by the modern wits, and the infidelity of too many of the rising generation deride the idea, yet the virtuous mind will look up and acknowledge the great First Cause, without whose notice not even a sparrow falls to the ground. I am anxious to hear trom you. Your last letter, which I have received, was dated June the ITth. I have written you repeatedly, that my trunk was not put on board the Alliance : that poor vessel was the sport of more than winds and waves. 1 he :on- duct with regard to her is considered as very e3ctraor- dinary. She came to Boston, as you have no doubt heard. Landais is suspended. The man must be new made before he can be entitled to command. I hope Captain Sampson arrived safe. He carried the resolve of Congress, which you wanted. 156 LETTERS. You tell me to send you prices current. I will aim at it. Corn is now thirty pounds, rye twenty- seven, per bushel. Flour from a hundred and forty to a hundred and thirty per hundred. Beef, eight dollars per pound ; mutton, nine ; lamb, six, seven and eight. Butter twelve dollars per pound ; cheese ten. Sheep's wool thirty dollars per pound ; flax twenty. West India articles ; — sugar, from a hund red and seventy to two hundred pounds per hundred molasses, forty-eight dollars per gallon ; tea, nine ty ; coffee, twelve ; cotton wool, thirty per pound Exchange from seventy to seventy-five for hard mon ey. Bills at fifty. Money scarce ; plenty of goods enormous taxes. Our State affairs are thus. Han- cock will be Governor, by a very great majority ; the Senate will have to choose the Lieutenant-Governor. Our constitution is read with great admiration in New York, and pronounced by the Royal Governor the best republican form he ever saw, but with sincere hopes that it might not be accepted. How will it be administered ? is now the important question. The report of the day is, that three thousand troops are arrived at New York from England. Adieu ! Most affectionately yours. LETTERS. 157 TO JOHN ADAMS. 28 January, 1781. MY DEAREST FRIEND, Last evening General Lincoln called here, introduc- ing to me a gentleman, by the name of Colonel Lau- rens, the son, as I suppose, of your much esteemed friend, the late President of Congress ; who informed me, that he expected to sail for France in a few days, and would take despatches from me. Although I closed letters to you, by way of Holland, a few days ago, I would not omit so good an opportunity as the present. 'T is a long time since the date of your last letters, the 25th of September. I wait with much anxiety, listening to the sound of every gun, but none announce the arrival of the Fame, from Holland, which we greatly fear is taken or lost, or the Mars, from France. Colonel Laurens is ena- bled, I suppose, to give you every kind of intelU- gence respecting the army, which you may wish to learn. I have the pleasure to inform you, that a repeal of the obnoxious tender act has passed the House and Senate. The Governor, as has been heretofore pre- dicted, when any thing not quite popular is in agita- tion, has the gout and is confined to his bed. A false weight and a false balance are an abomination, and in that light this tender act must be viewed by every impartial person. Who, but an idiot, would 158 LETTERS. believe that forty were equal to seventy-five ? But the repeal gives us reason to hope, that justice and righ- teousness will again exalt our nation ; that public faith will be restored ; that individuals will lend to the public ; and that the heavy taxes, which now dis- tress all orders, will be lessened. A late committee, who have been sitting upon ways and means for raising money, tell us, that a tax for two years more, equal to what we have paid in the last, would clear this State of debt. You may judge of the weight of them ; yet our State taxes are but as a grain of mustard seed, when compared with our town taxes. Clinton, I hear, has sent out a procla- mation upon Germain's plan, inviting the people to make a separate peace, which will only be a new proof of the ignorance and folly of our enemies, without making a single proselyte. Even the revolt- ed Pennsylvania troops gave up to justice the spies, whom Clinton sent to them, offering them clothing and pay ; letting him know, that it was justice from their State, not favors from their enemies, which they wanted. It is reported, that Arnold, with a body of troops, is gone to Virginia, where it is hoped he and his Myrmidons will meet their fate. Had Clinton been a generous enemy, or known human nature, he would, like Aurelian, upon a like occasion, have given up the traitor to the hands of justice ; knowing that it was in vain to expect fidelity in a man who had betrayed his own country, which, from his de- LETTERS. 159 fection, may learn to place a higher value upon in- tegrity and virtue than upon a savage ferocity, so often mistaken for courage. He who, as an individ- ual, is cruel, unjust, and immoral, will noi be likely to possess the virtues necessary in a general or statesman. Yet, in our infant country, infidelity and debauchery are so fashionably prevalent, that less attention is paid to the characters of those who fill important oflices, than a love of virtue and zeal for public liberty can warrant ; which, we are told by wise legislators of old, are the surest preservatives of public happiness. You observe in a late letter, that your absence from your native State will deprive you of an oppor- tunity of being a man of importance in it. I hope you are doing your country more extensive service abroad, than you could have done, had you been confined to one State only ; and, whilst you continue in the same estimation among your fellow-citizens in which you are now held, you will not fail of being of importance to them at home or abroad. Heaven preserve the life and health of my dear absent friend, and, in its own time, return him to his country and to the arms of his ever affectionate Portia. 160 LETTERS. TO JOHN ADAMS. 25 May, 1781. In this beautiful month, when Nature wears her gayest garb, and animal and vegetable life is dif- fused on every side ; when the cheerful hand of in- dustry is laying a foundation for a plentiful harvest, who can forbear to rejoice in the season, or refrain from looking " through nature up to nature's God ; " " To feel the present Deity, and taste The joy of God, to see a happy world." While my heart expands, it, sighing, seeks its associ- ate, and joins its first parent in that beautiful descrip- tion of Milton. " Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, Witli charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mildj then silent night With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train: But neither breath of morn when she ascends With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, Or glittering starlight, icithout thee is sweet." This passage has double charms for me, painted by the hand of truth ; and for the same reason, that LETTERS. 161 a dear friend of mine, after having viewed a pro- fusion of beautiful pictures, pronounced that which represented the parting of Hector and Andromache to be worth them all. The journal in which this is mentioned does not add any reason why it was so ; but Portia felt its full force, and paid a grateful tear to the acknowledgment. We are anxiously waiting for inteUigence from abroad. We shall have in the field a more respect- able army, than has appeared there since the com- mencement of the war; and all raised for three years or during the war, most of them men who have served before. The towns have exerted them- selves upon this occasion with a spirit becoming patriots. We wish for a naval force, superior to what we have yet had, to act in concert with our army. We have been flattered from day to day, yet none has arrived. The enemy exults in the delay, and is improving the time to ravage Caro- lina and Virginia. We hardly know what to expect from the United Provinces, because we are not fully informed of their disposition. Britain has struck a blow, by the cap- ture of Eustatia, sufficient to arouse and unite them against her, if there still exists that spirit of liberty, which shone so conspicuous in their ancestors, and which, under much greater difficulties, led their hardy forefathers to reject the tyranny of Philip. I wish your powers may extend to an alliance with them, and that you may be as successful against the 11 162 LETTERS. artifices of Britain, as a former ambassador^ was against those of another nation, when he negotiated a triple alliance in the course of five days, with an address which has ever done honor to his memory. If I was not so nearly connected, I should add, that there is no small similarity in the character of my friend and the gentleman, whose memoirs I have read with great pleasure. Our State affairs I will write you, if the vessel does not sail till after election. Our friend, Mr. Cranch, goes from here representative, by a unani- mous vote. Dr. Tufts, of Weymouth, is chosen senator. Our governor and lieutenant-governor, as at the beginning. Our poor old currency is breath- ing its last gasp. It received a most fatal wound from a collection of near the whole body's entering here from the southward ; having been informed, that it was treated here with more respect, and that it could purchase a solid and durable dress here for seventy-five paper dollars, but half the expense it must be at there, it travelled here with its whole train ; and, being much debauched in its manners, communicated the contagion all of a sudden, and is universally rejected. It has given us a great shock. Your ever affectionate Portia. I Sir William Temple. LETTERS. 163 TO JOHN ADAMS. 9 December, 1781, MY DEAREST FRIEND, I HEAR the Alliance is again going to France, with the Marquis de la Fayette and the Count de Noailles. I will not envy the Marquis the pleasure of annually visiting his Aimily, considering the risk he runs in doing it ; besides, he deserves the good wishes of ev- ery American, and a large portion of the honors and applause of his own country. He returns with the additional merit of laurels won at Yorktovvn by the capture of a whole British army. America may boast, that she has accomplished what no power be- fore her ever did, contending with Britain, — captur- ed two of their celebrated generals, and each with an army of thousands of veteran troops to support them. This event, whilst it must fill Britain with despondency, will draw the Union already framed still closer and give us additional allies ; and, if prop- erly improved, will render a negotiation easier and more advantageous to America. But I cannot reflect much upon public affairs, un- til I have unburdened the load of my own heart. Where shall I begin my list of grievances? Not by accusations, but lamentations. My first is, that I do not hear from you ; a few lines only, dated in April and May, have come to hand for fifteen months. You do not mention receiving any from me except 164 LETTERS. by Captain Casneau, though I wrote by Colonel Laurens, by Captain Brown, by Mr. Storer, Dexter, and many others ; to Bilboa by Trask, and several times by way of France. You will refer me to Gil- Ion, I suppose. Gillon has acted a base part, of which, no doubt, you are long ere now apprized. You had great reason to suppose, that he would reach America as soon or sooner than the merchant vessels, and placed much confidence in him by the treasure you permitted to go on board of him. Ah ! how great has my anxiety been. What have I not suffered since I heard my dear Charles was on board, and no intelligence to be procured of the vessel for four months after he sailed. Most people concluded, that she was foundered at sea, as she sailed before a violent storm. Only three weeks ago did I hear the contrary. My uncle despatched a messenger, the moment a vessel from Bilboa arrived with the happy tidings, that she was safe at Corunna ; that the pas- sengers had all left the ship in consequence of Gil- Ion's conduct, and were arrived at Bilboa. The vessel sailed the day that the passengers arrived at Bilboa, so that no letters came by Captain Lovett ; but a Dr. Sands reports, that he saw a child, who they told him was yours, and that he was well. This was a cordial to my dejected spirits. I know not what to wish for. Should he attempt to come at this season upon the coast, it has more horrors than I have fortitude. I am still distressed ; I must resign him to the kind, protecting hand of that Being, who LETTERS. 165 halli hitherto preserved him, and submit to whatever dispensation is allotted me. What is the matter with Mr. Thaxter. Has he forgotten all his American friends, that, out of four vessels which have arrived, not a line is to be found on board of one of them from him. I could quarrel with the climate, but surely, if it is subject to the ague, there is a fever fit as well as a cold one. Mr. Guild tells me, he was charged with letters, but left them, with his other things, on board the frigate. She gave him the slip and he stepped on board of Captain Brown's ship, and happily %rrived safe. From him I have learned many things respecting my dear connexions ; but still I long for that free com- munication, which I see but little prospect of obtain- ing. Let me again entreat you to write by way of Guardoqui. Bilboa is as safe a conveyance as I know of. Ah, my dear John ! where are you ? In so remote a part of the globe, that I fear I shall not hear a syllable from you. Pray write me all the in- telligence you get from him ; send me his letters to you. Do you know I have not had a line from him for a year and a half Alas ! my dear, I am much afflicted with a disorder called the heartache, nor can any remedy be found in America. It must be collected from Holland, Petersburg, and Bilboa. And now, having recited my griefs and com- plaints, the next in place are those of my neigh- bours. I have been applied to by the parents of several Braintree youth to write to you in their be- 166 LETTERS. half, requesting your aid and assistance, if it is in your power to afford it. Captain Cathcart, in the privateer Essex, from Salem, went out on a cruise last April in the Channel of England, and was, on the 10th of June, so unfortunate as to be taken and carried into Ireland. The officers were confined there, but the sailors were sent prisoners to Ply- mouth jail, twelve of whom are from this town, a list of whom I enclose. The friends of these people have received intelligence by way of an officer, who belonged to the Protector, and who escaped from the jail, that in August last they were all alive, several of them very destitute of clothing, having taken but a few with them and those for the summer, particu- larly Ned Savil and Job Field. Their request is, that, if you can, you would render them some assist- ance ; if not by procuring an exchange, that you would get them supplied with necessary clothing. I have told them, that you would do all in your power for them, but what that would be, I could not say. Their friends here are all well, many of them greatly distressed for their children, and in a particular man- ner the mother of Josiah Bass. I wish you to be very particular in letting me know, by various oppor- tunities and ways after the receipt of this, whether you have been able to do any thing for them, that I may relieve the minds of these distressed parents. The Captain got home about three months ago by escaping to France, but could give no account of his men after they were taken. LETTERS. 167 Two years, my clearest friend, have passed away since you left your native land. Will you not re- turn ere the close of another year ? I will purchase you a retreat in the woods of Vermont, and retire with you from the vexations, toils, and hazards of public life. Do you not sometimes sigh for such a seclusion ? Public peace and domestic happiness ; '' an elegant sufficiency, content, Retirement, rural quiet; friendship, books, Ease and alternate labor: useful life, Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven." May the time, the happy time soon arrive, when we may realize these blessings, so elegantly de- scribed by Thomson; for, though many of your countrymen talk in a different style with regard to their intentions, and express their wishes to see you in a conspicuous point of view in your own State, I feel no ambition for a share of it. I know the voice of fame to be a mere weather-cock, unstable as water and fleeting as a shadow. Yet I have pride; I know I have a large portion of it. I very fortunately received, by the Apollo, by the Juno, and by the Minerva, the things you sent me, all in good order. They will enable me to do, I hope, without drawing upon you, provided I can part with them ; but money is so scarce, and taxes so high, that few purchasers are found. Goods will not double, yet they are better than drawing bills, as these cannot be sold but with a larae discount. I 168 LETTERS. could not get more than ninety for a hundred dollars, should I attempt it. I shall enclose an invoice to the house of Ingra- ham and Bromfield, and one to De Neufville. There is nothing from Bilboa that can be imported to advan- tage. Handkerchiefs are sold here at seven dollars and a half per dozen. There are some articles which would be advantageous from Holland, but goods there run high, and the retailing vendues, which are tolerated here, ruin the shopkeepers. The articles put up by the American house were better in quality for the price than those by the house of De Neufville. Small articles have the best profit ; gauze, ribbons, feathers, and flowers, to make the ladies gay, have the best advance. There are some articles, which come from India, I should sup- pose would be lower-priced than many others, — Ben- gals, nankeens, Persian silk, and bandanna handker- chiefs ; but the house of Bromfield know best what articles will suit here. Believe me, with more afliection than words can express, ever, ever, yours. Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. 25 October, 1782. MY DKAREST FRIEND, The family are all retired to rest; the busy scenes of the day are over ; a day which 1 wished to have LETTERS. 169 devoted in a particular manner to my dearest friend ; but company falling in prevented it, nor could I claim ii moment until this silent watch of the night. Look, (is there a dearer name than friend 7 Think of it for me,) look to the date of this letter, and tell me, what are the thoughts which arise in your mind ? Do ycu not recollect, that eighteen years have run their circuit since we pledged our mutual faith to each other, and the hymeneal torch was lighted at the altar of Love? Yet, yet it burns with unabating fervor. Old Ocean has not quenched it, nor old Time smctheied it in this bosom. It cheers me in the lonely hour ; it comforts me even in the gloom which sometimes possesses my mind. It is, my friend, from the remembrance of the joys I have lost, that the arrow of affliction is pointed, I recollect the untitled man, to whcm I gave my heart, and, in the agony of recollection, when time and distance present themselves together, wish he had never been any other. Who shall give me back time ? Who shall compensate to me those years I cannot recall ? How dearly have I paid for a titled husband ? Should I wish you less wise, that I might enjoy more happiness ? I cannot find that in my heart. Yet Providence has wisely placed the real blessings of life within the reach of moderate abili- ties ; and he who is wiser than his neighbour sees so much more to pity and lament, that I doubt whether the balance of happiness is in his scale. I feel a disposition to quarrel with a race of beings 170 LETTERS. who have cut me off, in the midst of my days, from the only society I delighted in. " Yet no man liveth for himself," says an authority I will not dispute. Let me draw satisfaction from this source, and, in- stead of murmuring and repining at my lot, consider it in a more pleasing view. Let me suppose, that the same gracious Being, who first smiled upon our union and blessed us in each other, endowed my friend with powers and talents for the benefit of man- kind, and gave him a willing mind to improve them for the service of his country. You have obtained honor and reputation at home and abroad. O ! may not an inglorious peace wither the laurels you have won. I wrote you by Captain GrinneH. The Firebrand is in great haste to return, and I fear will not give me time to say half I wish. I want you to say many more things to me than you do ; but you write so wise, so like a minister of state. I know your embarrassments. Thus again I pay for titles. Life takes its complexion from inferior things. It is little attentimis and assiduities that sweeten the bitter draught and smooth the rugged road. I have repeatedly expressed my desire to make a part of your family. But " Will you come and see me ? " cannot be taken in that serious light I should choose to consider an invitation from those I love. I do not doubt but that you would be glad to see me, but I know you are apprehensive of dangers and fatigues. I know your situation may be unsettled, LETTERS. 171 and it may be more permanent than I wish it. Only think how the words, " three, four, and five years' absence," sound ? They sink into my heart with a weight I cannot express. Do you look like the min- iature you sen ? J cannot think so. But you have a better likeness, I am told. Is that designed for me ? Gracious Heaven ! restore to me the original, and I care not who has the shadow. We are hoping for the fall of Gibraltar, because we imagine that will facilitate a peace ; and who is not weary of the war? The French fleet still re- main with us, and the British cruisers insult them. More American vessels have been captured since they have lain here than for a year before ; the General Greene is taken and carried into Halifax, by which, I suppose, I have lost some small bundles or packages. Beals told me, that you gave him seven small packages, which he delivered Captain Bacon for me. The prisoners have all arrived, except Savil, who is yet in France. I mentioned to you before, that some of them had been with me, and offered to repay the money with which you supplied them. I could only tell them, that I had never re- ceived a line from you concerning the matter, and that I chose first to hear from you. I would not. receive a farthing, unless I had your express direction, and your handwriting to prove, that what you had done was from your private purse, which I was confident was the case, or you would have been as ready to have relieved others, if you had any public funds for 17^ LETTERS. that purpose, as those which belonged to this town. I found a story prevailing, that what you had done was at the public expense. This took its rise either from ignorance or ingratitude ; but it fully determin- ed me to receive your direction. The persons who have been with me are the two Clarks, the two Leales, and . ob Field. Adieu, my dear friend. Ever, ever, yours, Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. 13 November, 1782. MY DEAREST FRIEND, I HAVE lived to see the close of the third year of our separation. This is a melancholy anniversary to me, and many tender scenes arise in my mind upon the recollection. I feel unable to sustain even the idea, that it will be half that period ere we meet again. Life is too short to have the dearest of its enjoyments curtailed ; the social feelings grow cal- lous by disuse, and lose that pliancy of affection which sweetens the cup of life as we drink it. The rational pleasures of friendship and society, and the still more refined sensations of which delicate minds only are susceptible, like the tender blossom, when the rude northern blasts assail them, shrink within and collect themselves together, deprived of the all-cheering and beamy influence of the sun. The blossom falls and the fruit withers and decays ; LETTERS. 173 but here the similitude fails, for, though lost for the present, the season returns, the tree vegetates anew, and the blossom again puts forth. But, alas ! with me, those days which are past are gone for ever, and time is hastening on that period when I must fall to rise no more, until mor- tality shall put on immortality, and we shall meet again, pure and disembodied spirits. Could we live to the age of the antediluvians, we might better sup- port this separation ; but, when threescore years and ten circumscribe the life of man, how painful is the idea, that, of that short space, only a i^ew years of social happiness are our allotted portion. Perhaps I make you unhappy. No. You will enter with a soothing tenderness into my feelings. I see in your eyes the emotions of your heart, and hear the sigh that is wafted across the Atlantic to the bosom of Portia. But the philosopher and the statesman stifles these emotions, and regains a firm- ness which arrests my pen in my hand. 25 November. I received from France by the Alexander yours, bearing no date, but, by the contents, written about the same time with those I received by Mr. Guild. Shall I return the compliment, and tell you in a poetical style, '' Should at my feet the world's great master fall, Himself, his world, his throne, I 'd scorn them all." No. Give me the man I love ; you arc neither 174 LETTERS. of an age or temper to be allured by tbe splendor of a court, or the smiles of princesses. I never suf- fered an uneasy sensation on that account. I know I have a right to your whole heart, because my own never knew another lord ; and such is my con- fidence in you, that, if you were not withheld by the strongest of all obligations, those of a moral nature, your honor would not suffer you to abuse my con- fidence. But whither am I rambling? We have not any thing in the political way worth noticing. The fleet of our allies still remains with us. Who is there left that will sacrifice as others have done ? Portia, I think, stands alone, alas, in more senses than one. This vessel will convey to you the packets designed for the Firebrand. I hope, unim- portant as they are, they will not be lost. Shall I close here, without a word of my voyage ? I believe it is best to wait a reply, before I say any thing further. Our friends desire me to remember them to you. Your daughter, your image, your su- perscription, desires to be affectionately remembered to you. O, how many of the sweet domestic joys do you lose by this separation from your family. I have the satisfaction of seeing my children thus far in life behaving with credit and honor. God grant the pleasing prospect may never meet with an alloy, and return to me the dear partner of my early years, rewarded for his past sacrifices by the consciousness of having been extensively useful, not having lived LETTERS. 175 to himself alone ; and may the approving voice of his country crown his later days in peaceful retire- ment, in the affectionate bosom of Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. 23 December, 1782. MY DEAREST FRIEND, I HAVE omitted writing by the last opportunity to Holland, because I had but small faith in the designs of the owners or passengers ; and I had just written you so largely, by a vessel bound to France, that I had nothing new to say. There are few occurrences in this northern climate, at this season of the year, to divert or entertain you ; and, in the domestic way, should I draw you the picture of my heart, it would be what I hope you still would love, though it con- tained nothing new. The early possession you ob- tained there, and the absolute power you have ever maintained over it, leave not the smallest space un- occupied. I look back to the early days of our ac- quaintance and friendship, as to the days of love and innocence, and, with an indescribable pleasure, I have seen near a score of years roll over our heads, with an affection heightened and improved by time ; nor have the dreary years of absence in the smallest degree effaced from my mind the image of the dear, untitled man to whom I gave my heart. I cannot sometimes refrain considering the honors with which 176 LETTERS. he is invested, as badges of my unhappiness. The unbounded confidence 1 have in your attachment to me and the dear pledges of our affection, has soothed the solitary hour, and rendered your absence more supportable ; for, had I loved you with the same af- fection, it must have been misery to have doubted. Yet a cruel world too often injures my feelings, by wondering how a person, possessed of domestic at- tachments, can sacrifice them by absenting himself for years. " If you had known," said a person to me the other day, " that Mr. Adams would have remained so long abroad, would you have consented that he should have gone ?" I recollected myself a moment, and then spoke the real dictates of my heart. " If I had known. Sir, that Mr. Adams could have effected what he has done, I would not only have submitted to the absence I have endured, painful as it has been, but I would not have opposed it, even though three years more should be added to the number, (which Heaven avert !) I feel a pleasure in being able to sacrifice my selfish passions to the general good, and in imitating the example, which has taught me to consider myself and family but as the small dust of the balance, when compared with the great com- munity." It is now, my dear friend, a long, long time, since I had a line from you. The fate of Gibraltar leads me to fear, that a peace is far distant, and that I shall not see you, — God only knows when. I shall say LETTERS. 177 little about my former request ; not that my desire is less, but, before this can reach you, 't is probable I may receive your opinion ; if in favor of my coming to you, I shall have no occasion to urge it further ; if against it, I would not embarrass you by again re- questing it. I will endeavour to sit down and consider it as the portion allotted me. My dear sons are well. Our friends all desire to be remembered. The fleet of our allies expects to sail daily, but where destined we know not. A great harmony has subsisted be- tween them and the Americans ever since their resi- dence here. Adieu, my dear friend. Why is it, that I hear so seldom from my dear John } But one letter have I ever received from him since he arrived in Peters- burgh. I wrote him by the last opportunity. Ever remember me, as I do you, with all the tenderness, which it is possible for one object to feel for another, which no time can obliterate, no distance alter, but which is always the same in the bosom of Portia. TO JOHN ADAMS. 28 April, 1783. MY DEAREST FRIEND, At length an opportunity offers, after a space of near five months, of again writing to you. Not a vessel from any port in this State has sailed since January, by which I could directly convey you a line. I have 12 118 LETTERS. written twice by way of Virginia, but fear the let- ters will never reach you. From you, I have lately received several letters, containing the most pleasing intelligence. " Peace o'er the world her olive branch extends." Hail, " Goddess, heavenly bright, Profuse of joy and pregnant with delight." The garb of this favorite of America is woven of an admirable texture, and proves the great skill, wis- dom, and abilities of the master workmen. It was not fabricated in the loom of France, nor are the materials English, but they are the product of our own American soil, raised and nurtured, not by the gentle showers of Heaven, but by the hard labor and indefatigable industry and firmness of her sons, and watered by the blood of many of them. May its duration be in proportion to its value, and, like the mantle of the prophet, descend with blessings to generations yet to come. And may you, my dearest friend, return to your much loved solitude, with the pleasing reflection of having contributed to the hap- piness of millions. We have not received any account of the signing the definitive treaty, so that no public rejoicings have taken place as yet. The fifth article in the treaty has raised the old spirit against the Tories to such a height, that it would be at the risk of their lives, should they venture here. It may subside after a white, but I question whether any State in the Union LETTEES. 179 will admit them, even for twelve months. What then would have been the consequence, if compensa- tion had been granted them ? Your Journal has afforded me and your friends much pleasure and amusement. You will learn, perhaps, from Congress, that the Journal you meant for Mr. Jackson, was, by some mistake,^ enclosed to the Minister for Foreign Affairs, and consequently came before Congress, with other public papers. The Massachusetts delegates applied for it, but were refused it. Mr. Jackson was kind enough to wait upon me, and show me your letter to him, and the other papers enclosed ; and I communicated the Journal to him. Mr. Higginson writes, that it was moved in Congress by Hamilton, of Virginia, and Wilson, of Pennsylvania, to censure their ministers for departing from their duty, in not adhering to their instructions, and for giving offence to the Court of France by distrusting heir friendsliiy. They, however, could not carry their point. It was said, the instruction alluded to was founded upon reciproci- ty, and that Count de Vergennes had not acted upon that principle. When these gentry found, that it would not be considered in the light in which they wished, they gave out, that, if no more was said upon that subject, the other would drop. This is all I have 1 It was this mistake which furnished the principal accusation made against Mr. Adams in Alexander Hamilton's celebrated pamphlet, published in 1800, upon the eve of the Presi enlial election. 180 LETTERS. been able to collect. My intelligence is very im- perfect ^ since Mr. Lovell left Congress. Mr. Gerry, I believe, is determined to go again. I shall then have a friend and correspondent who will keep me informed. Upon receiving a letter from you, in which you desire me to come to you, should you be long de- tained abroad, I took the liberty of writing to Dr. Lee,^ requesting him to give me the earliest inteUi- gence respecting the acceptance of your resignation. I do not think it will be accepted, by what I have already learnt. If it is not, I shall still feel undeter- mined what to do. From many of your letters, I was led to suppose you would not return without permission. Yet I do not imagine the bare renewal of a former commission would induce you to tarry. 1 This will account for the errors, which are many and striking, in this paragraph. No motion of the kind alluded to appears in the Journal of Congress. But by the papers of Mr. Madison, lately published, we find that it was made, and particularly direct- ed against Mr. Adams. It was offered, however, by Mr. Mercer of Virginia, and seconded by Mr. Madison himself, for reasons which are stated by the latter; but it was found not to be accept- able to a large proportion of the members, particularly to the Eastern delegates, and was, therefore, never pressed to a decision. Neither Mr. Hamilton of New York, nor Mr. Wilson of Pennsyl- vania, appears to have been anxious to adopt it. Upon this, the most controverted and debatable ground of the history of our Revolution, which has been elaborately occupied of late by Mr. Sparks, in his various contributions to it, the pres- ent is not the fitting occasion to add a word of commentary. — See the Papers of James Madison, p. 407. 2 Arthur Lee. then a member of Congress from Virginia. LETTERS. 181 I shall not run the risk, unless you are appointed Minister at the Court of Great Britain. Our friends are all well, and desire to be affec- tionately remembered to you. Where is our son ? I hear no more of him than if he was out of the world. You wrote me in yours of December 4th, that he was upon his journey to you, but I have never heard of his arrival. Need I add how earnest- ly I long for the day when Heaven will again bless us in the society of each other ? Whether upon European or American ground, is yet in the book of uncertainty ; but, to feel entirely happy and easy, I believe it must be in our own republican cottage, with the simplicity which has ever distinguished it and your ever affectionate Portia. 29 April. I last evening received yours of February 18th, in which you are explicit with regard to your return. I shall, therefore, (let Congress renew or create what commission they please,) at least wait your further direction, though you should be induced to tarry abroad. I have taken no step as yet with regard to coming out, except writing to Dr. Lee, as mentioned before. Heaven send you safe to your ever af- fectionate Portia. 182 LETTERS. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 20 June, 1783. MY DEAREST FRIEND, If I was certain I should welcome you to your native land in the course of the summer, I should not re- gret Mr. Smith's going abroad without me. Should it be otherwise, should you still be detained abroad, I must submit, satisfied that you judge best, and that you would not subject me to so heavy a disappoint- ment, or yourself to so severe a mortification as I flatter myself it would be, but for the general good. A European life would, you say, be the ruin of our children. If so, I should be as loth as you to hazard their imbibing sentiments and opinions, which might make them unhappy in a sphere of life, which 't is probable they must fill, not by indulging in luxuries for which it is more than possible they might con- tract a taste and inclination, but in studious and la- borious pursuits. You have before this day received a joint commis- sion for forming a commercial treaty with Britain. I am at a loss td determine whether you will consid- er yourself so bound by it, as to tarry longer abroad. Perhaps there has been no juncture in the public af- fairs of our country, not even in the hour of our deepest distress, when able statesmen and wise coun- sellors were more wanted than at the present day. Peace abroad leaves us at leisure to look into our own LETTERS. 183 domestic affairs. Although, upon an estimate of our national debt, it appears but as the small dust of the balance when compared to the object we have ob- tained, and the benefits we have secured, yet the restless spirit of man will not be restrained ; and we have reason to fear, that domestic jars and confusion will take place of foreign contentions and devasta- tion. Congress have commuted with the army, by engaging to them five years' pay in lieu of half-pay for life. With security for this, they will disband contented ; but our wise legislators are about disput- ing the power of Congress to do either, without con- sidering their hands in the mouth of the lion, and that, if the just and necessary food is not supplied, the out- rageous animal may become so ferocious as to spread horror and devastation. Another Theseus may arise, who, by his reputation and exploits of valor, his personal character and universal popularity, may destroy our Amphictyonic system, and subjugate our infant republic to monarchical domination. Our House of Representatives is this year com- posed of more than a hundred new members, some of whom, no doubt, are good men. Nearly all the able and skilful members, who composed the last House, have lost their seats by voting for the return of Mr. Brattle, notwithstanding the strongest evidence in h s favor, and the many proofs which were pro- duced of his friendly conduct towards America. For this crime, our worthy friend Mr. Cranch was drop- ped by this town. The Senate is a loser this year 184 LETTERS. by the resignation of some excellent members. We have in this State an impost of five per cent., and an excise act, whilst the neighbouring Stales have neither. Foreigners, finding this the case, carry their cargoes to other States. At this the merchant grumbles, the farmer groans with his taxes, and the mechanic for want of employ. Heaven avert, that, like the Greek republics, we should, by civil dissen- sion, weaken our power and crush our rising great- ness, that the blood of our citizens should be shed in vain, and the labor and toil of our statesmen be finally baffled through niggardly parsimony, lavish prodigality, or ignorance of our real interests. We want a Solomon in wisdom, to guide and conduct this great people at this critical era, when the coun- sels which are taken and the measures which are pursued will mark our future character, either with honor and fame, or disgrace and infamy. In ad- versity, we have conducted with prudence and mag- nanimity. Heaven forbid that we should grow giddy with prosperity ; or the height, to which we have soared, render a fall conspicuously fatal. Thus far I had written when your welcome favor of March 28th reached me. I was not disappointed in finding you uncertain with regard to the time of your return. Should the appointment, which I fear and you have hinted at, take place, it would indeed be a dull day to me. I have not a wish to join in a scene of life so different from that, in which I have been educated, and in which my early, and, I must LETTERS. 185 suppose, happier days, have been spent. Curiosity satisfied, and I shall sigh for tranquil scenes, '•' And wish that Heaven had left me still The whispering zephyr and the purling rill." Well-ordered home is my chief delight, and the affectionate, domestic wife, with the relative duties which accompany that character, my highest am- bition. It was the disinterested wish of sacrificing my personal feelings to the public utility, which first led me to think of unprotectedly hazarding a voyage. I say unprotectedly, for so I consider every lady, who is not accompanied by her husband. This objection could only be surmounted by the earnest wish I had to soften those toils which were not to be dispensed with; and, if the public welfare required your labors and exertions abroad, I flattered myself that, if I could be with you, it might be in my power to contribute to your happiness and pleasure. But the day is now arrived, when, with honor and well- earned fame, you may return to your native land ; when I cannot any longer consider it as my duty to submit to a further separation ; and when it appears necessary, that those abilities, which have crowned you with laurels abroad, shall be exerted at home for the public safety. I do not wish you to accept an embassy to Eng- land, should you be appointed. This little cottage has more heart-felt satisfaction for you than the most brilliant court can afford. I will bid you good night. Yours, Portia. 186 LETTERS. TO JOHN ADAMS. 19 November, 1783. MY DEAREST FRIEND, Your favor, dated at Amsterdam in July, was last evening handed me, and this evening your letter of the 10th of September, by Colonel Ogden, reached me. I had for some time supposed that the delay of public business would retard your return ; and, knowing that the definitive treaty was not completed until September, and that the commercial treaty was still to form, I had little reason to expect you, unless your state of health required an immediate resigna- tion of all public business. Your letter, therefore , which informs me of your determination to pass another winter abroad, is by no means unexpected- That we must pass it with a vast ocean between us is a reflection no ways pleasurable, yet this must be the case. I had much to do to persuade myself to venture a summer passage, but a winter one I never could think of encountering. I am too much of a coward. It is now the middle of November. It would be December or January, before I could pos- sibly adjust all my affairs ; and I know of no person with whom I am acquainted, except Mr. Jackson of Newburyport, who is now going abroad. Mr. Tem- ple and family sail this month. Besides, there is a stronger objection with me than even a winter's voyage. Congress have not appointed any person LETTERS. 187 yet to the Court of Britain. There are many who wish for that place. Many who have a more splen- did title, and many more thousands, to claim it with. I know Mr. Jay has written pressingly to Congress in your favor, and absolutely declined it himself; but whether you will finally be the person is among the uncertain events. One thing, however, is certain ; that I do not wish it. I should have liked very well to have gone to France and resided there a year ; but to think of going to England in a public charac- ter, and engaging, at my time of life, in scenes quite new, attended with dissipation, parade, and nonsense, — lam sure I should make an awkward figure. The retired domestic circle, " the feast of reason and the flow of soul," are my ideas of happiness, and my most ardent wish is to have you return and become master of the feast. My health is infirm. I am still subject to a severe nervous pain in my head, and fatigue of any kind will produce it. Neither of us appears to be built for duration. Would to Heaven, the few remaining days allotted us might be enjoyed to- gether. It has been my misfortune, that I could not attend to your health, watch for your repose, alle- viate your hours of anxiety, and make you a home wherever you resided. More, says a skilful doctor, depends upon the nurse than the physician. My determination is to tarry at home this winter; and, if I cannot prevail upon you to return to me in the spring, you well know that I may be drawn to you, provided there is any stability in Congress. One 188 LETTERS. Strong tie, which held me here, is dissolved. My dear parent ^ used to say, " You must never go, child, whilst 1 live." It is far from being my inclination. Mr. Thaxter will be able to give me, when he arrives, the best intelligence upon the subject. I wrote largely to you last week. I hope this letter will go by a French brig. Adieu, and believe me, whether present or absent, Most affectionately yours. TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. Braintree, 20 November, 1783. This evening, as I was sitting with only your sister by my side, who was scribbling to some of her cor- respondents, my neighbour, Field, entered with, " I have a letter for you. Madam." My imagination was wandering to Paris, ruminating upon the long, long absence of my dear son and his parent, so that I was rather inattentive to what he said, until he re- peated, " I have letters for you from abroad." The word " abroad," roused my attention, and I eagerly seized the letters, the handwriting and seal of which gave me hopes, that I was once more about to hear from my young wanderer; nor was I disappointed. After two years' silence, and a journey of which I can scarcely form an idea, to find you safely re- 1 The death of the Rev. Mr. Smith, the father of Mrs. Adams, Icok place not long before the date of this letter. LETTERS, 189 turned to your parent, to hear of your health and to see your improvements ! You cannot know, should I describe to you, the feeUngs of a parent. Through your father, I sometimes heard from you, but one letter only ever reached me after you arrived in Russia. Your excuses, however, have weight and are accepted ; but you must give them further ener- gy by a ready attention to your pen in future. Four years have already passed away since you left your native land and this rural cottage ; humble indeed when compared to the palaces you have visited, and the pomp you have been witness to ; but I dare say, you have not been so inattentive an observer as to suppose, that sweet peace and contentment cannot inhabit the lowly roof and bless the tranquil inhab- itants, equally guarded and protected in person and property in this happy country as those who reside in the most elegant and costly dwellings. If you live to return, I can form to myself an idea of the pleasure you will take in treading over the ground and visiting every place your early years were ac- customed wantonly to gambol in; even the rocky common and lowly whortleberry bush will not be without their beauties. My anxieties have been and still are great, lest the numerous temptations and snares of vice should vitiate your early habits of virtue, and destroy those ' principles, which you are now capable of reasoning upon, and discerning the beauty and utility of, as the only rational source of happiness here, or foundation 190 LETTERS. of felicity hereafter. Placed as we are in a transi- tory scene of probation, drawing nigher and still nigher day after day to that important crisis which must introduce us into a new system of things, it ought certainly to be our principal concern to be- come qualified for our expected dignity. What is it, that affectionate parents require of their children, for all their care, anxiety, and toil on their account.? Only that they would be wise and vir- tuous, benevolent and kind. Ever keep in mind, my son, that your parents are your disinterested friends, and that if, at any time, their advice militates with your own opinion or the advice of others, you ought always to be diffident of your own judgment ; because you may rest assured, that their opinion is founded on experience and long observation, and that they would not direct you but to promote your happiness. Be thankful to a kind Providence, who has hitherto preserved the lives of your parents, the natural guardians of your youthful years. With gratitude I look up to Heaven, blessing the hand which continued to me my dear and hon- ored parents until I was settled in life ; and, though now I regret the loss of them, and daily feel the want of their advice and assistance, I cannot suffer as I should have done, if I had been early deprived ■ of them. You will doubtless have heard of the death of your worthy grandpapa before this reaches you. He left you a legacy more valuable than gold or silver ; LETTERS. 191 he left you his blessing and his prayers that you might return to your country and s, improved in knowledge and matured in virtue ; that you mii^ht become a useful citizen, a guardian of the laws, liberty, and religion of your country, as your father (he was pleased to say) had already been. Lay this bequest up n your memory, and practise upon it ; believe me, you will find it a treasure that neither moth nor rust can devour. I received letters from your father last evening, dated in Paris the 10th of September, informing me of the necessity of his continuance abroad this win- ter. The season is so far advanced that I readily sacrifice the desire of seeing him to his safety ; a voyage upon this coast at this season is fraught with dangers. He has made me a request, that I dare not comply with at presen . ^o husband, no son, to accompany me upon the boisterous ocean, to ani- mate my courage and dispel my fears, I dare not engage with so formidable a combatant. If I should find your father fixed in the spring, and determined to continue abroad a year or two longer, the earnest desire I have to meet him and my dear son might overcome the reluctance I feel at the idea of eno-acr. ing in a new scene, and the love I have for domestic attachments and the still calm of life. But it would be more agreeable to me to enjoy all my friends to- gether in my own native land ; from those who have visited foreign climes I could listen with pleasure to 192 LETTERS. the narrative of their adventures, and derive satisfac- tion from the lef rned detail, content, myself, that "The little learning I have gained, Is all from simple nature drained." I have a desire that you might finish your educa- tion at our University, and I see no chance for it unless you return in the course of the year. Your cousin, Mr. Cranch, expects to enter next July. He would be happy to have you his associate. I hope your father will indulge you with a visit to England this winter. It is a country I should be fond of your seeing. Christianity, which teaches us to forgive our enemies, prevents me from enjoining upon you a similar vow to that which Hamilcar obtained from his son Hannibal, but I know not how to think of loving those haughty islanders. Your friends send you their affectionate regards ; and I enjoin it upon you to write often to your ever affectionate mother, A. Adams. TO JOHN ADAMS. Braintree, 18 December, 1783. MY DEAREST FKIEND, I RETURNED last evening from Boston, where I went at the kind invitation of my uncle and aunt, to cele- brate our annual festival. Dr. Cooper being dan- gerously sick, I went to hear Mr. Clark, who is settled with Dr. Chauncy. This gentleman gave us an animated, elegant, and sensible discourse, from LETTERS. , 193 Isaiah, 55th chapter, and 12th verse. " For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace ; the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands." Whilst he ascribed glory and praise unto the Most High, he considered the worthy, disinterested, and undaunted patriots as the instruments in the hand of Providence for accomplishing what was marvellous in our eyes. He recapitulated the dangers they had passed through, and the hazards they had run ; the firmness which had, in a particular manner, distin- guished some characters, not only early to engage in so dangerous a contest, but, in spite of our gloomy prospects, to persevere even unto the end, until they had obtained a peace, safe and honorable, large as our desires, and much beyond our expectations. How did my heart dilate with pleasure, when, as each event was particularized, I could trace my friend as a principal in them ; could say it was he who was one of the first in joining the band of patriots who formed our first national council ; it was he, who, though happy in his domestic attach- ments, left his wife, his children, then but infants, even surrounded with the horrors of war, terrified and distressed, the week before the memorable 19th of April, — left them to the protection of that Provi- dence which has never forsaken them, and joined himself undismayed to that respectable body, of which he was a member. Trace his conduct through 13 194 LETTERS. every period, you will find him the same undaunted character, encountering the dangers of the ocean, risking captivity and a dungeon ; contending with wickedness in high places ; jeoparding his life, en- dangered by the intrigues, revenge, and malice of a potent, though defeated nation. These are not the mere eulogiums of conjugal affection, but certain facts and solid truths. My anxieties, my distresses, at every period, bear witness to them ; though now, by a series of prosperous events, the recollection is more sweet than painful. Whilst I was in town, Mr. Dana arrived very unexpectedly ; for I had not received your letters by Mr. Thaxter. My uncle fortunately discovered him as he came up State Street, and instantly engaged him to dine with him, acquainting him that I was in town and at his house. The news soon reached my ears; "Mr. Dana arrived," — "Mr. Dana arrived," — from every person you saw ; but how was I affect- ed .? The tears involuntarily flowed from my eyes. Though God is my witness, I envied not the felicity of others, yet my heart swelled with grief; and the idea that I, I only, was left alone, recalled all the tender scenes of separation, and overcame all my fortitude. I retired, and reasoned myself into composure sufficient to see him without a childish emotion. But, ! my dearest friend, what shall I say to you in reply to your pressing invitation. I have already written to you in answer to your letters. LETTERS. 195 which were dated September lOlh, and reached me a month before those by Mr. Thaxter. I related to you all my fears respecting a winter's voyage. My friends are all against it, and Mr. Gerry, as you will see by the copy of his letter enclosed, has given his opinion upon well-grounded reasons. If I should leave my affairs in the hands of my friends, there would be much to think of and much to do, to place them in that method and order I would wish to leave them in. Theory and practice are two very different things, and the object is magnified as I approach nearer to it: I think if you were abroad in a private character, and necessitated to continue there, I should not hesitate so much at coming to you ; but a mere American, as I am, unacquainted with the etiquette of courts, taught to say the thing I mean, and to wear my heart in my countenance, I am sure I should make an awkward figure ; and then it would mortify my pride, if I should be thought to disgrace you. Yet, strip royalty of its pomp and power, and what are its votaries more than their fellow worms .? I have so little of the ape about me, that I have refused every public invitation to figure in the gay world, and sequestered myself in this humble cot- tage, content with rural life and my domestic em- ployment, in the midst of which I have sometimes smiled upon recollecting that I had the honor of being allied to an ambassador. Adieu. 196 LETTERS. TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. Braintrec; 26 December, 1783. MY DEAR SON, Your letters by Mr. Thaxter, I received, and was not a little pleased with them. If you do not write with the precision of a Robertson, nor the elegance of a Voltaire, it is evident you have profited by the perusal of them. The account of your northern journey, and your observation upon the Russian gov- ernment, would do credit to an older pen. The early age at which you went abroad gave you not an opportunity of becoming acquainted with your own country. Yet the revolution, in which we were engaged, held it up in so striking and impor- tant a light, that you could not avoid being in some measure irradiated with the view. The characters with which you were connected, and the conversa- tion you continually heard, must have impressed your mind with a sense of the laws, the liberties, and the glorious privileges, which distinguish the free, sovereign, independent States of America. Compare them with the vassalage of the Russian government you have described, and say, were this highly favored land barren as the mountains of Switzerland, and covered ten months in the year with snow, would she not have the advantage even of Italy, with her orange groves, her breathing statues, and her melting strauis of music ? or of LETTERS. 197 Spain, with her treasures from Mexico and Peru ? not one of which can boast that first of blessings, the glory of human nature, the inestimable privilege of sitting down under their vines and fig-trees, enjoying in peace and security whatever Heaven has lent them, having none to make them afraid. Let your observations and comparisons produce in your mind an abhorrence of domination and power, the parent of slavery, ignorance, and barbarism, which places man upon a level with his fellow tenants of the woods ; " A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty Is worth a whole eternity of bondage." You have seen power in its various forms, — a benign deity, when exercised in the suppression of fraud, injustice, and tyranny, but a demon, when united with unbounded ambition, — a wide-wasting fury, who has destroyed her thousands. Not an age of the world but has produced characters, to which whole human hecatombs have been sacri- ficed. What is the history of mighty kingdoms and na- tions, but a detail of the ravages and cruelties of the powerful over the weak ? Yet it is instructive to trace the various causes, which produced the strength of one nation, and the decline and weakness of another ; to learn by what arts one man has been able to subjugate millions of his fellow creatures, the motives which have put him upon action, and 198 LETTERS. the causes of his success ; — sometimes driven by ambition and a lust of power ; at other times, swal- lowed up by religious enthusiasm, blind bigotry, and ignorant zeal ; sometimes enervated with luxury and debauched by pleasure, until the most powerful na- tions have become a prey and been subdued by these Sirens, when neither the number of their ene- mies, nor the prowess of their arms, could conquer them. History informs us that the Assyrian empire sunk under the arms of Cyrus, with his poor but hardy Persians. The extensive and opulent empire of Persia fell an easy prey to Alexander and a hand- ful of Macedonians; and the Macedonian empire, when enervated by the luxury of Asia, was com- pelled to receive the yoke of the victorious Romans. Yet even this mistress of the world, as she is proudly styled, in her turn defaced her glory, tarnished her virtues, and became a prey to luxury, ambition, faction, pride, revenge, and avarice, so that Jugur- tha, after having purchased an acquittance for the blackest of crimes, breaks out into an exclamation, " O city, ready for sale, if a buyer rich enough can be found ! " The history of your own country and the late revolution are striking and recent instances of the mighty things achieved by a brave, enlightened, and hardy people, determined to be free ; the very yeo- manry of which, in many instances, have shown themselves superior to corruption, as Britain well knows, on more occasions than the loss of her LETTERS. 199 Andre. Glory, my son, in a country which has given birlh to characters, both in the civil and mili- tary departments, which may vie with the wisdom and valor of antiquity. As an immediate descendant of one of those characters, may you be led to an imitation of that disinterested patriotism and that noble love of your country, which will teach you to despise wealth, titles, pomp, and equipage, as mere external advantages, which cannot add to the inter- nal excellence of your mind, or compensate for the want of integrity and virtue. May your mind be thoroughly impressed with the absolute necessity of universal virtue and goodness, as the only sure road to happiness, and may you walk therein with undeviating steps, — is the sincere and most affectionate wish of Your mother, A. Adams. TO MRS. CRANCH. On board ship Active, Latitude 44, Longitude 34. Tuesday^ 6 July, 1784. From the Ocean. MY DEAR SISTER, I HAVE been sixteen days at sea, and have not at- tempted to write a single letter. 'T is true, I have kept a journal whenever I was able ; but that must be close locked up, unless I was sure to hand it you with safety. 'T is said of Cato, the Roman Censor, that one of 200 LETTERS. the three things, which he regretted during his hfe, was going once by sea when he might have made his journey by land. I fancy the philosopher was not proof against that most disheartening, dispiriting malady, sea-sickness. Of this I am very sure, that no lady would ever wish a second time to try the sea, were the objects of her pursuit within the reach of a land journey. I have had frequent occasion 5 since I came on board, to recollect an observation of my best friend's, " that no being in nature was so disagreeable as a lady at sea," and this recollection has in a great measure reconciled me to the thought of being at sea without him ; for one would not wish, my dear sister, to be thought of in that light by those, to whom we would wish to appear in our best array. The decency and decorum of the most delicate female must in some measure yield to the necessities of nature ; and, if you have no female capable of rendering you the least assistance, you will feel grateful to any one who will feel for you, and relieve or compassionate your sufferings. And this was truly the case of your poor sister and all her female companions, when not one of us could make her own bed, put on or take off her shoes, or even lift a finger. As to our other cloth- ing, we wore the greater part of it until we were able to help ourselves. Added to this misfortune, Briesler, my man-servant, was as bad as any of us. But for Job, I know not what we should have done. Kind, attentive, quick, neat, he was our nurse for LETTERS. 201 two days and nights ; and, from handling the sails at the top-gallant-mast head, to the more feminine employment of making wine-cordial, he has not his equal on board. In short, he is the favorite of the whole ship. Our sickness continued for ten days, with some intermissions. We crawled upon deck whenever we were able ; but it was so cold and damp, that we could not remain long upon it. And the confinement of the air below, the constant rolling of the vessel, and the nausea of the ship, which was much too tight, contributed to keep up our disease. The vessel is very deep loaded with oil and potash. The oil leaks, the potash smokes and ferments. All adds to the flavor. When you add to all his the horrid dirtiness of the ship, the slovenliness of the steward, and the unavoidable slopping and spill- ing occasioned by the tossing of the ship, I am sure you will be thankful that the pen is not in the hand of Swift or Smollet, and still more so that you are far removed from the scene. No sooner was I able to move, than I found it necessary to make a bustle amongst the waiters, and demand a cleaner abode. By this time, Briesler was upon his feet, and, as I found I might reign mistress on board without any offence, I soon exerted my authority with scrapers, mops, brushes, infusions of vinegar, &c., and in a few hours you would have thought yourself in a different ship. Since which, our abode is much more tolerable, and the gentlemen all thank me for my care. Our captain is an admirable seaman, 202 LETTERS. always attentive to his sails and his rigging ; keeps the deck all night ; careful of everybody on board ; watchful that they run no risk ; kind and humane to his men, who are all as still and quiet as any private family ; nothing cross or dictatorial in his manners ; a much more agreeable man than I expected to find him. He cannot be called a polished gentleman ; but he is, so far as I have seen, a very clever man. We have for passengers, a Colonel Norton, who is a grave, sedate man, of a good natural understanding, improved by business and converse with mankind ; his literary accomplishments not very great. A Mr. Green, a Scotchman I am persuaded ; a high preroga- tive man ; plumes himself upon his country ; haugh- ty and imperious, but endeavours to hide this with the appearance of politeness, which, however, he is too apt to transgress upon any occasion when a subject arises which does not entirely agree with his sentiments ; he calls himself an Englishman ; has been in the British service during the war, as a secretary on board some of the British admirals. He is a man of sense and of reading, the most so of any we have on board. Next to him is Dr. Clark, to whom we are under obligations for every kind- ness and every attention, that it is in the power of a gentleman and a physician to show. Humane, be- nevolent, tender, and attentive not only to the ladies, but to every one on board, to the servant as well as the master, he has rendered our voyage much more agreeable and pleasant than it possibly could have LETTERS. 203 been without him. His advice we have stood in need of, and his care we have felt the benefit of. A brother could not have been kinder, nor a parent tenderer, and it was all in the pleasant, easy, cheer- ful way, without any thing studied, labored, or ful- some ; the natural result of a good heart, possessed with the power of making others happy. 'T is not a little attention that we ladies stand in need of at sea ; for it is not once in the twenty-four hours that we can even cross the cabin without being held or assisted. Nor can we go upon deck without the assistance of two gentlemen, and when there, we are always bound into our chairs. Whilst you, I imagine, are scorching under the midsummer heat, we can comfortably bear our double calico gowns, our baize ones upon them, and a cloth cloak in ad- dition to all these. Mr. Foster is another passenger on board, a mer- chant, a gentleman soft in his manners, very polite and kind ; loves domestic life, and thinks justly of it. I respect him on this account. Mr. Spear brings up the rear, a single gentleman, with a great deal of good humor, some wit, and much drollery ; easy and happy, blow high or blow low ; can sleep and laugh at all seasons. These are our male com- panions. I hardly thought a Lieutenant Mellicot worth mentioning, who is, I believe, a mere pot- companion, though he keeps not with us except at meal-times, when he does not behave amiss. My 204 LETTERS. namesake^ you know. She is a modest, pretty woman, and behaves very well. I have accustomed myself to writing a little every day, when I was able, so that a small motion of the ship does not render it more unintelligible than usual; but there is no time, since I have been at sea, when the ship is what we call still, that its motion is not equal to the moderate rocking of a cradle. As to wind and weather, since we came out, they have been very fortunate for us in general. We have had three calm days, and two days con- trary wind, with a storm, I called it ; but the sailors say it was only a breeze. This was upon the Banks of Newfoundland, the wind at east ; through the day we could not sit in our chairs, only as some gentle- man sat by us with his arm fastened into ours, and his feet braced against a table or chair, that was lashed down with ropes ; bottles, mugs, plates, crashing to pieces, first on one side and then on the other ; the sea running mountain-high, and knocking against the sides of the vessel as though it would burst them. When I became so fatigued with the incessant motion as not to be able to sit any longer, I was assisted into my cabin, where I was obliged to hold myself in with all my might the re- mainder of the night. No person, who is a stranger to the sea, can form an adequate idea of the debility occasioned by sea-sickness. The hard rocking of a 1 A Mrs. Adams, a passenger, bearing the same name, but in no way related to the author of the letter. LETTERS. 205 ship in a storm, and the want of sleep for many- nights, altogether reduce one to such a lassitude, that you care little for your fate. The old seamen thought nothing of all this, nor once entertained an idea of danger. Compared to what they have suf- fered, I do suppose it was trifling ; but to me it was alarming, and I most heartily prayed, if this was only a breeze, to be delivered from a storm. Our accommodations on board are not what I could wish, or hoped for. We cannot be alone, only when the gentlemen are thoughtful enough to retire upon deck, which they do for about an hour in the course of the day. Our state-rooms are about half as large as cousin Betsey's little chamber, with two cabins in each. Mine had three, but I could not live so. Upon which Mrs. Adams's brother gave up his to Abby,^ and we are now stowed two and two. This place has a small grated window, which opens into the companion-way, and by this is the only air admitted. The door opens into the cabin, where the gentlemen all sleep, and where we sit, dine, &c. We can only live with our door shut, whilst we dress and undress. Necessity has no law ; but what should I have thought on shore, to have laid myself down to sleep in common with half a dozen gentlemen ? We have curtains, it is true, and we only in part undress, about as much as the Yankee bundlers ; but we have the satisfaction of falling in with a set of well-behaved, decent gentlemen, whose whole de- 1 The daughter of Mrs. Adams. 206 LETTERS. portment is agreeable to the strictest delicacy, both in word and action. If the wind and weather continue as favorable as they have hitherto been, we expect to make our passage in thirty days, which is going a hundred miles a day. 'T is a vast tract of ocean which we have to traverse ; I have contemplated it with its various appearances. It is indeed a secret world of wonders, and one of the sublimest objects in Nature. " Thou mak'st the foaming billows roar, Thou mak'st the roaring billows sleep." They proclaim the Deity, and are objects too vast for the control of feeble man. That Being alone, who " maketh the clouds his chariot, and rideth upon the wings of the wind," is equal to the govern- ment of this stupendous part of creation. And now, my dear sister, after this minute account of my important self, which, judging by myself, you take an affectionate interest in, I call upon you to inquire after your welfare, my much esteemed brother's, and my dear niece's. Not a day or night but I visit your calm retreat, look at my own de- serted habitation, and recollect past endearments with a melancholy composure, and really am so vain as to commiserate you on account of the vacu- ity I fancy my absence occasions. " We are so formed," says an ingenious writer, " as to be always pleased with somewhat in prospect, however distant, or however trivial." Thus do I gratify myself with the idea of returning to my na- LETTERS. 207 tive land, though the prospect is distant. " Plea- sures," says Pope, " are ever in our hands or eyes." 1 have lost part of the other line, but the idea is, that, if we are not in the present pos- session of them, they rise to us in prospect.^ I will now tell you where I am sitting. At a square table in the great cabin, at one corner of which are Colonel Norton and Mr. Foster, engaged in play- ing backgammon ; at the other, Mr. Green, writing ; and at the fourth. Dr. Clark, eating h m. Behind Colonel Norton, Mr. Spear, reading Thomson's "Seasons " with his hat on. Young Lawrence be- hind me, reading Anson's "Voyages"; Esther,^ knitting ; the steward and boys, bustling about after wine and porter ; and last of all, as the least impor- tantly employed, Mrs. Adams and Abby, in their cabin asleep, and this at twelve o'clock in the day. O shame ! The Captain comes down and finds me writing ; kindly tenders me some large paper to write upon ; I believe he thinks I shall have occasion for it. This man has a kindness in his disposition, which his countenance does not promise. Mr. Green comes down from deck, and reports that the mate says we are sixteen hundred miles on our way. This is good nearing ; I can scarcely realize myself upon the ocean, or that I am within fourteen hundred miles of the British coast. I rejoice with trembling ; 1 " Pleasures are ever in our hands and eyes ; And, when in act they cease, in prospect rise." 2 A female domestic of Mrs, Adams. 208 LETTERS. painful and fearful ideas will arise and intermix with the pleasurable hopes of a joyful meeting of my long absent friend. I frequently recollect some lines of Miss More's, in her " Sir Eldred of the Bower," describing a mixture of hope and anxiety. She says ; " 'T was such a sober sense of joy, As angels well might keep ; A joy chastised by piety, A joy prepared to weep." I shall write, whilst I am on board, whenever I can catch a quiet time. It is an amusement to me ; read- ing tires one ; work I do sometimes, but, when there is no writing, there is less pleasure in working ; I shall keep the letter open until I arrive, and put it on board the first vessel I find coming to America. 'Tis impossible for me to find any variety at sea to entertain my friends with, so that this letter with all its inaccuracies must be submitted to them. Do not however expose me, especially where I have a little credit ; you know very well that affection and intimacy will cover a multitude of faults. 7 July. If I did not write every day, I should lose the days of the month and of the week ; confined all day on account of the weather, which is foggy, misty, and wet. You can hardly judge how irksome this con- finement is. When the whole ship is at our service, it is little better than a prison. We suppose our- LETTEKS. 209 selves near the Western Islands. O dear variety ! how pleasmg to the human mind is change. I cannot find such a fund of entertainment within myself as not to require outward objects for my amusement. Nature abounds with variety, and the mind, unless fixed down by habit, delights in contemplating new objects ; and the variety of scenes which present themselves to the senses were certainly designed to prevent our attention from being too long fixed upon any one object. " This," says a late celebrated medical writer, " greatly conduces to the health of the animal frame ; your studious people and your deep thinkers," he observes, " seldom enjoy either health or spirits." I have been in much trouble, upon looking over my letters since I came on board, to find those given me by my friend, Mrs. Warren, missing. I cannot ac- count for it in any other way, than that I must have put them into the pocket of the chaise, when I received them, which I recollect ; and I did not think to take them out. You remember the day with all the circumstances, and will accordingly apol- ogize to our friend, whose goodness, I know, will par- don the omission, nor add to my mortification by charging it to inattention. s July. Another wet, drizzly day, but we must not com- plain, for we have a fair wind, our sails all square, and go at seven knots an hour. I have made a great 14 210 LETTERS. acquisition. I have learnt the names and places of all the masts and sails ; and the Captain compliments me by telling me that he is sure I know well enough how to steer, to take a turn at the helm. I may do pretty well in fair weather, but 't is your masculine spirits that are made for storms. I love the tranquil scenes of life. Nor can I look forward to those in which 't is probable I shall soon be engaged with those pleasurable ideas, which a retrospect of the past presents to my mind. I went last evening upon deck, at the invitation of Mr. Foster, to view that phenomenon of Nature, a blazing ocean. A light flame spreads over the ocean, in appearance, with thousands of thousands of sparkling gems, resembling our fire-flies in a dark night. It has a most beautiful appearance. I never view the ocean without being filled with ideas of the sublime, and am ready to break forth with the Psalm- ist, " Great and marvellous are thy works. Lord God Almighty ; in wisdom hast thou made them all." Saturday, lOth. Yesterday was a very pleasant day. Very little wind, but a fine sun and a smooth sea. I spent most of the day upon deck, reading ; it was not, however, so warm but a baize gown was very comfortable. The ship has gradually become less irksome to me. If our cook was but tolerably clean, I could relish my food. But he is a great, dirty, lazy negro, with no more knowledge of cookery than a savage, nor LETTERS. 211 any kind of order in the distribution of his dishes ; but on they come, higgledy-piggledy, with a leg of pork all bristly ; a quarter of an hour after, a pud- ding ; or, perhaps, a pair of roast fowls, first of all, and then will follow one by one a piece of beef, and, when dinner is nearly completed, a plate of potatoes. Such a fellow is a real imposition upon the passengers. But gentlemen know but little about the matter, and, if they can get enough to eat five times a day, all goes well. We ladies have not eaten, upon our whole passage, more than just enough to satisfy nature, or to keep body and soul together. Thursday, 15th of July. On Sunday, I wrote part of a letter to sister Shaw, since which I have not used my pen, even in my journal. Monday we had a fair wind, but too much to be able to write, as it was right aft, and we pitch- ed exceedingly, which is a motion more disagreeable to me than the rocking, though less fatiguing. On Tuesday a calm. Should you not suppose that in a calm we at least had the satisfaction of lying still ? Alas ! it is far otherwise, as my flesh and bones witness; a calm generally succeeds a storm or a fresh breeze ; the sea has a great swell after the wind is silent, so that the ship lies entirely at the mercy of the waves, and is knocked from side to side with a force you can form no idea of without expe- rience. I have been more wearied and worn out 212 LETTERS. with the motion and exercise of a calm than in rid- ing fifty miles in a day. We have had three days in succession nearly calm ; the first is the most troublesome, as the motion of the sea subsides in a degree. It is, however, a great trial of one's pa- tience, to think yourself within a few days of your desired port, to look at it as the promised land, and yet to be held fast ; "Ye too, ye winds, I raise my voice to you. In what far distant region of the sky, Hushed in deep silence, sleep you when 'tis cairn ? " I begin to think, that a calm is not desirable in any situation in life. Every object is most beautiful in motion ; a ship under sail, trees gently agitated with the wind, and a fine woman dancing, are three in- stances in point. Mctn was made for action and for bustle too, I believe. I am quite out of conceit with calms. I have more reason for it, too, than many others, for the dampness of the ship has for several days threatened me with the rheumatism ; and yes- terday morning I was seized with it in good earnest. I could not raise my head, nor get out of bed with- out assistance. I had a good deal of fever, and was very sick. I was fearful of this before I came to sea, and had proper medicine put up, which the doctor administered. What with that, good nursing and rubbing, flannel, &c., I am able to-day to sit up in my bed and write, as you see. To-day we have a small wind, but 't is right ahead. This is still mortifying, but what we had reason to expect. Pa- LETTERS. 213 tience, patience, patience, is the first, second, and third virtue of a seaman, or, rather, as necessary to him as to a statesman. Three days' good wind would give us land. Friday. We have another wet, misty day ; the cabin so damp that I dare not sit in it ; I am therefore obliged, confined as it is, to keep in my own little room, and upon my bed. I long for the day which will give us land. Esther makes but a poor hand at sea. Scarcely a day, but what she is sick some part of it. I hope she will be the better for it when she gets on shore. We have but one passenger whom we should have been willing to have been without. I have no particular reason to dislike him, as he is studiously complaisant to me ; but I know his politeness to me is not personally upon my own account, bit because of my con- nexion, which gives me importance sufiicient to entitle me to his notice. Abby says he is ex- actly such a character as Mr. A — . I really think there is a striking resemblance. He was always inquiring, " Who was such a general ? What was his origin and rank in life ? " I have felt a dispo- sition to quarrel with him several times, but have restrained myself, and only observed to him, mildly, that merit, not title, gave a man preeminence in our country ; that I did not doubt it was a mortify- ing circumstance to the British nobility to find them- 214 LETTERS. selves so often conquered by mechanics and mere husbandmen ; but that we esteemed it our glory to draw such characters not only into the field, but into the Senate ; and I believed no one would deny that they had shone in both. All our passengers enjoyed this conversation, and the gentleman was civil enough to drop the subject ; but the venom spits out very often ; yet the creature is sensible and entertaining when upon indifferent subjects. He is a haughty Scotchman ; he hates the French, and upon all oc- casions ridicules them and their country. I fancy, from his haughty airs, that his own rank in life has not been superior to those whom he affects to de- spise. He is not a man of liberal sentiments, and is less beloved than any passenger we have on board. A man's humor contributes much to the making him agreeable or otherwise. Dark and sour humors, especially those which have a spice of malevolence in them, are vastly disagreeable. Such men have no music in their souls. I believe he would hardly be so complaisant, if he knew how meanly I thought of him ; but he deserves it all ; hi« whole counte- nance shows his heart. Saturday, 17 July. Give me joy, my dear sister ; we have sounded to- day and found bottom, fifty-five fathom. We have seen, through the course of the day, twenty different sail, and spoke with a small boat upon a smuggling expedition, which assured us we were within the Channel. LETTERS. 215 18 July. This day four weeks we came on board. Are you not all calculating to-day that we are near the land ? Happily, you are not wrong in your conjec- tures. I do not despair of seeing it yet before night, though our wind is very small and light. The captain has just been down to advise us, as the ves- sel is so quiet, to get what things we wish to carry on shore into our small trunks. He hopes to land us at Portsmouth, seventy miles distant from Lon- don, to-morrow or next day ; from thence we are to proceed, in post-chaises, to London. The ship may be a week in the Channel before she will be able to get up. Deal, 20 July. Heaven be praised, I have safely landed upon the British coast. How flattering, how smooth the ocean, how delightful was Sunday, the 18th of July. We flattered ourselves with the prospect of a gentle breeze to carry us on shore at Portsmouth, where we agreed to land, as going up the Channel always proves tedious ; but on Sunday night the wind shifted to the southwest, which, upon this coast, is the same with our northeast winds. It blew a gale on Sun- day night, on Monday and Monday night, equal to an equinoctial. We were obliged to carry double- reefed topsails only, and what added to our misfor- tunes was, that, though we had made land the day before, it was so thick that we could not certainly 216 LETTERS. determine what land it was. It is now Tuesday, and I have slept only four hours since Saturday night, such was the tossing and tumbling on board our ship. The captain never left the deck the whole time, either to eat or sleep, though they told me there was no danger ; nor do I suppose that there really was any, as we had sea-room enough. Yet, the great number of vessels constantly com- ing out of the Channel, and the apprehension of being run down, or being nearer the land than we imagined, kept me constantly agitated. Added to this, I had a violent sick headache. O! what would I have given to have been quiet upon the land. You will hardly wonder, then, at the joy we felt this day in seeing the cliffs of Dover, Dover castle, and town. The wind was in some measure subsided. It rained, however, and was as squally as the month of March ; the sea ran very high ; a pilot-boat came on board at about ten o'clock this morning. The captain came to anchor with his ship in the Downs, and the little town of Deal lay before us. Some of the gentlemen talked of going on shore with the pilot-boat, and sending for us if the wind subsided. The boat was about as large as a Charlestown ferry-boat, and the distance from the ship about twice as far as from Boston to Charles- town ; a shore as bold as Nantasket beach ; no wharf, but you must be run right on shore by a wave, where a number of men stand to catch hold of the boat, and draw it up. The surf ran six feet LETTERS. 217 high, but this we did not know until driven on by a wave ; for the pilots, eager to get money, assured the gentlemen they could land us safe, without our being wet; and, as we saw no prospect of its being better through the day, we accordingly agreed to go. We were wrapped up and lowered from the ship into the boat ; the whole ship's crew eager to assist us ; the gentlemen attentive and kind as though we were all brothers and sisters. We have spent a month together, and were as happy as the sea would permit us to be. We set off from the vessel, now mounting upon the top of a wave high as a steeple, and then so low that the boat was not to be seen. I could keep myself up no other way than as one of the gentlemen stood braced up against the boat, fast hold of me, and I with both my arms round him ; the other ladies were held in the same manner, whilst every wave gave us a broadside, and finally a wave landed us with the utmost force upon the beach, the broadside of the boat right against the shore, which was owing to the bad management of the men, and the high sea. (Thus far I had proceeded in my account, when a summons to tea prevented my adding more ; since which I have not been able to take my pen. Though now, at my lodgings in London, I will take up the thread where I left it, until the whole ball is un- wound. Every particular will be interesting to my friends, I presume, and to no others expose this in- correct scrawl.) 219 LETTERS. We consequently all pressed upon the side next the shore, to get out as quick as possible, which we need not have done, if we had known what I after- wards found to be the case, that it was the only way in which we could be landed, and not, as I at first supposed, owing to the bad management of the boatmen. We should have sat still for a succession of waves to have carried us up higher, but the roar of them terrified us all, and we expected the next would fill our boat ; so out we sprang, as fast as possible, sinking every step into the sand, and look- ing like a parcel of Naiads, just rising from the sea. A public house was fortunately just at hand, into which we thankfully entered, changed our clothing, dried ourselves, and, not being able to procure car- riages that day, we engaged them for six o'clock the next morning, and took lodgings there, all of us, ten in number. Mr. Green set off immediately for Lon- don ; nobody mourned. We were all glad to retire early to rest. For myself, I was so faint and fa- tigued, that I could get but little. We rose at five, and, our post-chaises being all at the door, we set off, in the following order ; Mr. Foster, myself, and Esther, in one, Dr. Clark and Abby in the second, Colonel Norton, Mrs. Adams and brother, in the third, and Mr. Spear and Lieutenant Mellicot brought up the rear. Our first stage was eighteen miles, from Deal to Canterbury, where we breakfasted ; the roads are fine, and a stone a novelty ; I do not re- collect to have seen one, except the pavements of LETTERS. 219 Canterbury and other towns, fronrj Deal to London, which is seventy-two miles. Vast fields of wheat, oats, English beans, and the horse-bean, with hops, are the produce of the country through which we passed, which is cultivated like a garden down to the very edge of the road, and what surprised me was that very little was enclosed within fences. Hedge fences are almost the only kind you see ; no cattle at large without a herdsman ; the oxen are small, but the cows and sheep very large, such as I never saw before. When we arrive at the end of our stage, we discharge the first carriages, and call for new ones, which will be ready in a few moments after you issue your orders. Call for breakfast, you have it, perhaps, in ten minutes for ten people, with the best of attendance, and at a reasonable price* Canterbury is a larger town than Boston. It con- tains a number of old Gothic cathedrals, which are all of stone, very heavy, with but few windows, which are grated with large bars of iron, and look more like jails for criminals, than places designed for the worship of the Deity. One would suppose, from the manner in which they are guarded, that they apprehended devotion would be stolen. They have a most gloomy appearance, and really made me shudder. The houses, too, have a heavy look, being chiefly thatched roofs, or covered with crooked brick tiles. Now and then you would see upon the road a large wood, looking like a forest, for a whole mile, enclosed with a high brick wall, or cemented 220 LETTERS. Stone ; an enormous iron gate would give one a peep, as we passed, of a large pile of building, which looked like the castles of some of the ancient barons ; but, as we were strangers in the country, we could only conjecture what they were, and what they might have been. We proceeded from Can- terbury to Rochester, about fifteen miles, another pretty town, not so large as the former. From thence to Chatham, where we stopped at a very elegant inn to dine. As soon as you drive into the yard, you have at these places as many footmen round you as you have carriages, who, with their politest airs, take down the step of your carriage, assist you out, inquire if you want fresh horses or carriages ; " Will supply you directly. Sir," is the an- swer ; a well-dressed hostess steps forward, making a lady-like appearance, and wishes your commands ; if you desire a chamber, the chambermaid attends ; you request dinner, say in half an hour ; the bill of fare is directly brought ; you mark what you wish to have, and suppose it to be a variety of fish, fowl, and meat, all of which we had, up to eight different dishes, besides vegetables. The moment the time you stated is out, you will have your dinner upon table in as elegant a style as at any gentleman's table, with your powdered waiters, and the master or mistress always brings the first dish upon table in person. But you must know that travelling in a post-chaise is what entitles you to all this respect. From Chatham we proceeded on our way as fast LETTERS. 221 as possible, wishing to pass Blackheath before dark. Upon this road, a gentleman alone in a chaise passed us, and very soon a coach before us stopped, and there was a hue and cry, " A robbery, a robbery ! " The man in the chaise was the person robbed, and this in open day with carriages constantly passing. We were not a little alarmed, and every one was concealing his money. Every place we passed and every post-chaise we met was crying out, " A rob- bery ! " Where the thing is so common, I was sur- prised to see such an alarm. The robber was pursued and taken in about two miles, and we saw the poor wretch, ghastly and horrible, brought along on foot ; his horse ridden by a person who took him, who also had his pistol. He looked like a youth of twenty only, attempted to lift his hat, and looked despair. You can form some idea of my feelings when they told him, " Ay, you have but a short time ; the assize sits next month ; and then, my lad, you swing." Though every robber may deserve death, yet to ex- ult over the wretched is what our country is not accustomed to. Long may it be free from such villanies, and long may it preserve a commiseration for the wretched. We proceeded until eight o'clock. I was set down at Low's Hotel in Covent Garden, the Court end of the town. These lodgings I took only for one night, until others more private could be procured. As I found Mr. Adams was not here, I did not wish such expensive apartments. It was the hotel at which he kept, when he resided here. 322 LETTERS. Mr. Spear set out in quest of Mr. Smith ; but he had received intelligence of my coming out with Captain Lyde, and had been in quest of me but half an hour before at this very place. Mr. Spear was obliged to go first to the custom-house, and, as good fortune would have it, Mr. Smith and Mr. Storer were near it and saw him alight from the coach, upon which he informed them of my ar- rival. Though a mile distant, they set out upon a full run, (they say,) and very soon, to our mutual satisfaction, we met in the hotel. " How do you ? " and " How do ye ? " " We rejoice to see you here ;" and a thousand such kind of inquiries as take place between friends, who have not seen each other for a long time, naturally occurred. My first inquiry was for Mr. Adams. I found that my son had been a month waiting for my arrival in London, expecting me with Callaghan, but that, upon getting letters by him, he returned to the Hague. Mr. Smith had re- ceived a letter from his father, acquainting him that I had taken passage with Captain Lyde. This intelli- gence he forwarded three days before I came, so that 1 hourly expect either Mr. Adams or Master John. I should have mentioned, that Mr. Smith had engaged lodgings for me, to which Mr. Storer and he accom- panied me this morning, after paying a guinea and a half for tea last evening, and lodging and breakfast, a coach included, not however to carry me a greater distance than from your house to our own. The gen- tlemen all took less expensive lodgings than mine, LETTERS. 228 excepting Dr. Clark, who tarried with us. He said he would not quit us until we were fixed in our present hotel ; the direction to which is " Osborne's New Family Hotel, Adelphi, at Mrs. Sheffield's, No. 6." Here we have a handsome drawing-room, genteelly furnished, and a large lodging-room. We are furnished with a cook, chambermaid, waiter, &c., for three guineas a week ; but in this is not included a mouthful of victuals or drink, all of which is to be paid for separately. Friday, 24 July. I have little time for writing now, I have so many visiters. I hardly know how to think myself out of my own country, I see so many Americans about me. The first persons who called to see me after my arrival here, were Mr. Jackson, Mr. Wins- low Warren, Mr. Rogers, Mr. Ward Boylston, Mrs. Atkinson, and yesterday morning before I had break- fasted, (for the fashionable hours of the city had taken hold of me, not out of choice but necessity ; Miss A. having a hairdresser. I had directed break- fast at nine o'clock ; it was ten, however, but those were early visiting hours for this fine city, yet,) whilst I was breakfasting, who should be announced to me but Parson Walter and Mrs. Hallowell ? ^ both ap- peared very glad to see me. Mrs. Hallowell treated me with her old afiability and engaged me to dine 1 Persons who left Massachusetts on account of their adherence to the British side. 224 LETTERS. with her to-day ; " not," says she, " to a feast, for we make none ; but to an unceremonious family dinner. Luxury," says she, " is the mode, but we know, too, how to practise frugality and economy." I am not a little surprised to find dress, unless upon public occasions, so little regarded here. The gentlemen are very plainly dressed, and the ladies much less so than with us. 'T is true, you must put a hoop on and have your hair dressed, but a common straw hat, no cap, with only a ribbon upon the crown, is thought dress sufficient to go into company. Mus- lins are much in taste ; no silks but lutestrings worn ; but send not to London for any article you want ; you may purchase any thing you can name much lower in Boston. I went yesterday into Cheapside to purchase a few articles, but found every thing higher than in Boston. Silks are in a particular manner so ; they say, when they are exported, there is a drawback upon them which makes them lower with us. Our country, alas, our country ! they are extravagant to astonishment in entertainments com- pared with what Mr. Smith and Mr. Storer tell me of this. You will not find at a gentleman's table more than two dishes of meat, though invited several days beforehand. Mrs. Atkinson went out with me yesterday, and Mrs. Hay, to the shops. I returned and dined with Mrs. Atkinson, by her in- vitation the evening before, in company with Mr. Smith, Mrs. Hay, Mr. Appleton. We had a turbot, a soup, and a roast leg of lamb, with a cherry pie. LETTEES. 225 I was more gratified by the social, friendly style in which I was treated, than if a sumptuous feast had been set before me. Mr. Gorham, a Dr. Parker, Mr. Bromfield, and a Mr. Murray from the Hague, came to see me yesterday morning; and, when I returned last evening, I found cards left by a number of gentle- men, some of whom I knew, others I did not ; but, knowing Mr. Adams, and being Americans, they called to make their compliments. Prentice Gushing I met with yesterday at Mr. A.'s. I am going to-day to see Mr. Gopley's pictures. I am told he has an ex- cellent likeness of Mr. Adams. Mr. Murray informed me, that he left Mr. Adams last Friday excessively anxious for my arrival. He had removed Mr. Du- mas and family in expectation of my coming. He says, John, with whom he went to the Hague, was melancholy when Gallaghan arrived without me, and Mr. Adams more so. I have sent to-day by the post, to acquaint him with my being here, but hope every hour to see him or Master John. The wind has prevented the arrival of the post. The city of London is pleasanter than I expected ; the buildings more regular, the streets much wider, and more sunshine than I thought to have found ; but this, they tell me, is the pleasantest season to be in the city. At my lodgings I am as quiet as at any place in Boston ; nor do I feel as if it could be any other place than Boston. Dr. Glark visits us every day ; says he cannot feel at home anywhere else ; declares he has not seen a handsome woman 15 226 LETTERS. since he came into the city ; that every old woman looks like Mrs. H , and every young one Uke — like the D — 1. They paint here nearly as much as in France, but with more art. The head-dress disfigures them in the eye of an American. I have seen many ladies, but not one elegant one since I came ; there is not to me that neatness in their ap- pearance, which you see in our ladies. The American ladies are much admired here by the gentlemen, I am told, and in truth I wonder not at it. O, my country, my country! preserve, pre- serve the little purity and simplicity of manners you yet possess. Believe me, they are jewels of inesti- mable value ; the softness, peculiarly characteristic of our sex, and which is so pleasing to the gentle- men, is wholly laid aside here for the masculine attire and manners of Amazonians. This moment a very polite card is delivered me from Mrs. Hallowell, desiring me to remove my lodgings to her house whilst I continue in London ; to which I have replied, with thanks, excusing my- self, that I am very well accommodated, and in hourly expectation of my son ; not the less obliged, however, by her politeness. Mr. Elworthy I have not yet seen, though I have had several messages from him. This is not owing to inattention in him, but to being informed that every thing was done for me before my arrival, which I stood in need of. Our ship is not yet got up the Channel ; what a time we should have had of it, if we had not landed. Mr. LETTERS. 227 Smith expects to sail on Monday or Tuesday ; I shall keep open this letter until he goes ; let sister Shaw see it, and read such parts as you think proper to the rest of our friends ; but do not let it go out of your hands. I shall not have time to write to the rest of my friends ; they must not think hardly of me ; I could only repeat what I have here written, and I think it is best to have the whole budget to- gether ; besides, Abby writes to all her acquaint- ance, which must answer for me. Remember me to them all ; first, to my dear and aged parent,^ to whom present my duty ; to Dr. Tufts, to my aunt, to uncle Quincy, to Mr. Wibird, to all my friends and neighbours. Sunday Morning, 25 July. I went yesterday, accompanied by Mr. Storer and Mr. Smith, to Mr. Copley's, to see Mr. Adams's picture.^ This, I am told, was taken at the request of Mr. Copley, and belongs to him. It is a full- length picture, very large, and a very good likeness. Before him stands the globe ; in his hand a map of Europe ; at a small distance, two female figures, representing Peace and Innocence. It is a most beautiful painting. From thence, we went to what is called Mr. Copley's, exhibition. Here is the celebrated picture, representing the death of Lord 1 The mother of Mr. Adams. 2 This picture is now in possession of the University at Cam- brid 'e. 228 LETTERS. Chatham in the House of Commons ; his three sons around him, each with strong expressions of grief and agitation in his countenance. Every member is crowding round him with a mixture of surprise and distress. I saw in this picture, what I have every day noticed since I came here, a strong likeness of some American or other ; and I can scarcely persuade myself that I have not seen this person, that, and the other, before, their countenances appear so familiar to me, and so strongly mark our own descent. There was another painting, which struck me more than this. It is the death of Major Pierson, the par- ticular account of which I enclose to you. I never saw painting more expressive than this. I looked upon it until I was faint ; you can scarcely believe but you hear the groans of the serjeant, who is wounded, and holding the handkerchief to his side, whilst the blood streams over his hand. Grief, de- spair, and terror are strongly marked, whilst he grows pale and faint with loss of blood. The officers are holding Major Pierson in their arms, who is mortally wounded, and the black servant has lev- elled his piece at the officer who killed him. The distress in the countenances of the women, who are flying, one of whom has a baby in her arms, is beautifully represented ; but descriptions of these things give you but a faint resemblance of what in reality they are. From thence I went to see the celebrated Mrs. Wright, Messrs. Storer and Smith accompanying LETTERS. 229 US. Upon my entrance, (my name being sent up,) she ran to the door, and caught me by the hand ; " Why, is it really and in truth Mrs. Adams? and that your daughter ? Why, you dear soul you, how young you look. Well, I am glad to see you. All of you Americans ? Well, I must kiss you all." Having passed the ceremony upon me and Abby, she runs to the gentlemen. " I make no distinction," says she, and gave them a hearty buss ; from which we would all rather have been excused, for her appearance is quite the slattern. " I love everybody that comes from America," says she ; " here," running to her desk, " is a card I had from Mr. Adams ; I am quite proud of it ; he came to see me, and made me a noble present. Dear creature, I design to have his head. There," says she, point- ing to an old man and woman, who were sitting in one corner of the room, " are my old father and mother ; don't be ashamed of them because they look so. They were good folks ; " (these were their figures in wax-work ;) " they turned Quakers, and never would let their children eat meat, and that is the reason we were all so ingenious ; you had heard of the ingenious Mrs. Wright in America, I sup- pose ? " In this manner she ran on for half an hour. Her person and countenance resemble an old maiden in your neighbourhood, Nelly Penniman, except that one is neat, the other the queen of sluts, and her tongu • )uns like Unity Badlam's. There was an old clergyman sitting reading a paper in the middle 230 LETTERS. of the room ; and, though I went prepared to see strong representations of real life, I was effectually deceived in this figure for ten minutes, and was finally told that it was only wax. From Mrs. Wright's I returned to my hotel, dressed, and at four went to dine with Mrs. Hallowell. Mr. H. had in the morning been to see me, and Mr. Thomas Boylston, both of whom urged me to take up my lodgings with Mrs. Hallowell. I chose to decline, but went and dined with them. Here I found Parson Walter. We had a handsome dinner of salt fish, pea soup, boiled fowl and tongue, roast and fried lamb, with a pudding and fruit. This was a little in the Boston style. Messrs. Smith and Storer dined with us. Mr. Hallowell lives handsomely, but not in that splendor which he did in Boston.^ On Sunday, I engaged to take a coach for the day, which is only twelve-and- sixpence sterling, and go to church at the Foundling Hospital. Messrs. Atkinson, Smith, and Storer with me. Monday Morning. Well, my dear sister, if you are not tired with following me, I will carry you to the Foundling Hospital, where I attended divine service yesterday morning. Really glad I was that I could, after so long an absence, again tread the courts of the Most High, and I hope I felt not unthankful for the mer- cies I had received. 1 He was Comptroller of the Customs, under the British Gov- ernment, in Boston. LETTERS. 231 This hospital is a large, elegant building, situated in a spot as airy, and much more beautiful than Boston Common. The chapel, which is upon the second floor, is as large as what is called the Old South with us. There is one row of galleries ; upon the floor of this chapel there are rows of seats like Concert Hall, and the pulpit is a small ornamented box, near the centre. There were about two thou- sand persons, as near as I could guess, who attended. In the gallery, opposite to where I sat, was the organ loft; upon each side an alcove, with seats, which run up like a pyramid. Here the foundlings sat, upon one side the boys, upon the other the girls, all in uniform ; none appeared under five, nor any older than twelve. About three hundred attended the service. The uniform of the boys was a brown cloth, with a red collar, and a red stripe upon the shoulder. The girls were in brown, with a red gir- dle round the waist, a checked stomacher and apron ; sleeves turned up, and white cloth caps with a narrow lace, clean and neat as wax; their govern- esses attended with them. They performed the vocal music ; one man and woman upon each side the organ, who sung an anthem ; both blind, and educated at this foundling hospital. When we came down, we went into the dining-rooms, which were upon each side of the ascent into the chapel ; iiere the tables were all arranged, and the little creatures curtseying and smiling; some as sweet children as ever you saw. There is an inscription over the 232 LETTERS. door, in gold letters ; " Can a mother forget her suck- ing child," &c. In a hall are placed the pictures of many noted benefactors and founders of this in- stitution. (I should have mentioned that the chapel windows are painted glass ; the arms and names of the most distinguished benefactors are in the differ- ent squares of the glass.) We were shown into their bed-chambers, which are long, airy chambers, with ten or fifteen windows in each, and about fifty or sixty beds, placed in rows upon each side, cov- ered with blue and white furniture check. At the head of the chamber is a bed for the governess. When you have seen one of them, you have a speci- men of the whole. I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson, in company with Messrs. Jackson, Smith, &c. Mr. Atkinson is a very modest, worthy man, and Mrs. Atkinson a most amiable woman. You see no parade, no ceremony. I am treated with all the kindness of a sister, in as easy a way as I could wish. As I took the carriage for the day, after forenoon service, we rode out to see Mrs. Atkinson's twins, who are at nurse at Islington, about two miles from the city. It is a fine ride. We went through a number of the great squares. Portland Square is one of the finest. In short, the representations, which you and I amused ourselves with looking at not long ago, are very near the life. When we returned, we dined, and at six o'clock went to the Magdalen Hospital, which is three miles from where I dined ; for this is a mon- LETTERS. 233 strolls great city. We were admitted with a ticket. Tiiis assembly was very full and crowded. Yet no children or servants are admitted. In short, I begin to hope that this people are more serious and re- ligious than I feared they were. There is great decorum and decency observed. Here are only two small galleries, which hold the unhappy beings who are the subjects of this merciful institution. Those who attend the service are placed upon seats below, like Concert Hall. The building is about as larire ao;ain as Braintree church, in a most deli<>;ht- ful situation, surrounded by weeping willows. All the public buildings here have large open spaces around them, except those churches which are in the heart of the city. I observed, upon going in, a gallery before me, raised very high, and covered with green canvass. Here sat these unhappy women, screened from public view. You can dis- cern them through the canvass, but not enough to distinguish countenances. I admired the delicacy of this thought. The singing was all performed by these females, accompanied with the organ ; the melancholy melody of their voices, the solemn sound of the organ, the serious and affecting dis- course of the preacher, together with the humili- ating objects before me, drew tears from my eyes. The chapel to these apartments is always in the heart of the building; the dining, working, and lodging apartments surround them. Keturned about eight o'clock ; found many cards 234 LETTERS. left for me ; some from Virginians, some from Marylanclers, some from Connecticut. Colonel Trumbull has called twice upon me, but I was so unfortunate as not to be at home. Amongst the Americans who called yesterday to see me during my absence, was Mr. Joy. He left his name and direction, with a polite billet, inviting me to dine with him on Tuesday, if I was not engaged ; and, if I was, the first day I was disengaged. I have re- phed to him that I will wait upon him on Wednes- day. Invited by Mr. Murray to the play this evening ; declined going, in hopes my best friend will be here to attend me very soon ; besides, have no clothes yet which will do. No mail from Hol- land yet arrived ; the wind has been so contrary ^vthat two are now due. Dr. Clark, our constant and daily visiter, is just come in to drink tea with me. Messrs. Smith and Storer are here great part of the day. Captain Lyde did not get up the Channel until Sunday, so that I have no occasion to repent landing when I did ; contrary winds and bad weath- er prevented his coming up only with the tide ; his vessel, too, had like to have been sunk by a col- lier running foul of him. They did him a good deal of damage ; these are vessels that take plea- sure in injuring others. He told me many dismal stories about coming up the Channel, which made me determined to land at any rate. On Saturday, Mr. Elworthy called upon me, and tendered me any service I could wish for. I thank- LETTERS. 235 ed him, but Messrs. Smith and Storer and Dr. Clark render any other assistance unnecessary, as any and all of them are ready and willing to oblige me. On Sunday morning, Mr. and Mrs. Elworthy came to see me. She is a very agreeable woman, and looks like one of us, that is, she had more of our Ameri- can neatness about her than any lady I have seen ; for I am yet so impolite as not to be reconciled to the jaunty appearance and the elegant stoop. There is a rage of fashion which prevails here with des- potic sway ; the color and kind of silk must be attend- ed to, and the day for putting it on and off; no fancy to be exercised, but it is the fashion, and that is argu- ment sufficient to put one in or out of countenance. I am coming on half-way. I breakfast at nine, and dine at three, when at home ; but I rise at six. I am ^ not obliged to conform in that ; the other hours I am forced to submit to, upon account of company. This morning. Dr. Clark and Colonel Trumbull are to breakfast with me. I long for the hour, when I shall set off for the Hague, or see Mr. Adams here. I meet with so many acquaintances, that I shall feel loth to quit the city upon that account. There are no Americans in Holland, and the language will prevent any sociability but what I find in my own family ; but, having a house, garden, and servants at command, feeling at home will in some measure compensate for the rest. I have a journey of eighty miles to make, to Margate, before I can embark ; and, as soon as Mr. Jefferson arrives, I suppose we 236 LETTERS. must go to France. I have not executed your orders with regard to satin, because, upon inquiry, I find you can buy cheaper with you. 1 have not found any thing, except shoes, that are lower ; such a satin as my black, you must give as much sterling for a yard, as I gave lawful money; — no silks but lute- string, and those which are thinner, are worn at this season ; — mode cloaks, muslin and sarsnet, — gauze hats, bonnets, and ribbons, — every thing as light and thin as possible, — different gowns and skirts, — muslin skirts, flounced chintz, with borders white, with a trimming that looks like gartering ; — the silk, which is most in taste, is what is called " new -mown hay," — the pattern I enclose ; and this part of the letter is for the tasty folks of my acquaintance. Mr. ^ Smith brings home a specimen of the newest fashioned hats. Tuesday Morning. Determined to tarry at home to-day, and see com- pany. Mr. Joy came in and spent an hour. He is the same pleasing man you formerly knew him ; that bashful diffidence is supplied by manly confi- dence, and acquaintance with the world has given ease and politeness to his manners. He really is quite the accomplished gentleman, bears a very good character, has made a great deal of money, and married a Yorkshire lady of handsome fortune about three months since. He again repeated his invitation to me to dine with him, accompanied by LETTERS. 237 Mr. Smith. To-morrow, I go. Many gentlemen have called upon me this forenoon, so that I have only time to dress before dinner, which I order at an earlier hour than the London fashion. At three is my hour, and breakfast at nine. I cannot dine earlier, because from nine till three I am subject to company. From the hours of three till five and six, I am generally alone, or only Mr. Smith or Mr. Storer here, to whom I am never denied. The ser- vant will frequently come and ask me if I am at Lome. Wednesday. I have walked out to-day, for the first time, and a jaunt Mr. Storer has led me. I shall not get the better of it for a week. The walking is very easy here, the sides of the street being wholly of flat stones; and the London ladies walk a great deal, and very fast. My walk out and in was only four miles; judge you then, what an effect it had upon me. I was engaged to dine out. I got home at one, but was obliged to lie upon the bed an hour, and have not recovered from it yet. At four, I was obliged to go out. Mr. Joy lives three miles from where I lodge. The house in which he lives is very elegant, not large, but an air of taste and neatness is seen in every apartment. We were shown into the drawing-room, where he awaited us at the door, and introduced us to his lady and her sister. She is quite young, delicate as a lily, modest 238 LETTERS. and diffident, not a London lady by any means. After we had dined, which was in company with five American gentlemen, we retired to the drawing- room, and there I talked off the lady's reserve, and she appeared ag •< i ble. Her dress pleased me, and answered to the universal neatness of the apart- ments, furniture, and entertainment. It was a deli- cate blue and white copper-plate calico, with a blue lutestring skirt, flounced ; a muslin apron and hand- kerchief, which are much more worn than gauze ; her hair, a fine black, dressed without powder, with a fashionable cap, and straw ribbons upon her head and breast, with a green morocco slipper. Our din- ner consisted of fried fish of a small kind, a boiled ham, a fillet of veal, a pair of roast ducks, an al- mond pudding, currants and gooseberries, which in tl is country are very fine. Printed muslin is much worn here ; a straw hat with a deep crown, lined, and a white, green, or any colored ribbon you choose. I returned, and found a number of cards left by gentlemen who had called during my absence. To- morrow I am invited to dine again whh Mr. Atkinson and lady. I feel almost ashamed to go again, but, not being otherwise engaged, they insist upon it. It is a thanksgiving day for the peace. I design to hear Mr. Duche, who officiates at the Asylum or Orphan House. Thursday. I found myself so unwell, that I could not venture LETTERS. 239 to-day into a crowded assembly. My walk yester- day gave me a pain in my head, and stiffened me so that I can scarcely move. Abby, too, has the Lon- don cold, which they say everybody experiences, who comes here ; but Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson would not excuse my dining with them, and Charles came for us. We went, and found the same friendly, hospitable attention, — nothing more on account of the day, — a neat, pretty dinner, consisting of two dishes and vegetables. After dinner, returned the visit of Mr. and Mrs. Elworthy, who were very glad to see me. Mr. Elworthy carried us to Drapers' Hall. This is a magnificent building, belonging to a company of that people, to which is a most beautiful garden. To walk in some of these places, you would think yourself in a land of enchantment. It would just suit my dear Betsey's romantic fancy. Tell her I design very soon to write to her. It shall be a description of some pretty scene at the Hague ; and Lucy shall have a Parisian letter ; but, writing to one, I think I am writing to you all. Friday. To-day, my dear sister, I have determined upon tarrying at home, in hopes of seeing my son or his papa ; but, from a hint dropped by Mr. Mur- ray, I rather think it will be my son, as political reasons will prevent Mr. Adams's journey here. Whilst I am writing, a servant in the family runs puffing in, as if he were really interested in the mat- 240 LETTERS. ter ; " Young Mr. Adams is come." " Where, where is he.?" we all cried out. "In the other house, Madam ; he stopped to get his hair dressed." Impa- tient enough I was; yet, when he entered, we had so many strangers, that I drew back, not really believ- ing my eyes, till he cried out, " O, my mamma and my dear sister! " Nothing but the eyes, at first sight, appeared what he once was. His appearance is that of a man, and in his countenance the most perfect good humor ; his conversation by no means denies his stature. I think you do not approve the word feelings^ but I know not what to substitute in lieu, or even to describe mine. His siste.r, he says, he should have known in any part of the world. Mr. Adams chooses I should come to the Hague and travel with him from thence ; and says it is the first journey he ever looked forward to with pleasure, since he came abroad. I wish to set out on Friday ; but, as we are obliged to purchase a carriage, and many other matters to do. Master John thinks we cannot go until the Tuesday after. In the mean time, I shall visit the curiosities of the city ; not feeling twenty years younger, as my best friend says he does, but feeling myself exceedingly matronly, with a grown-up son on one hand, and daughter upon the other, and, were I not their mother, I would say a likelier pair you will seldom see in a summer's day. You must supply words where you find them wanting, and imagine what I have left unfinished, for my letter is swelled to such a bulk that I have LETTERS. 241 not even time to peruse it. Mr. Smith goes to-morrow morning, and I must now close, requesting you to make the distribution of the little matters I send, as directed. Tell Dr. Tufts, my dear and valued uncle and friend, that I design to write to him by the next vessel. Particularly remember me to uncle Quincy, to Mrs. Quincy and Nancy, and to all my dear Boston friends. Tell Mr. Storer, that Charles is very good to me, and that, walking with Abby, the other day, she was taken for his wife. Ask him if he consents. Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson treat me like a sister. I can- not find myself in a strange land. I shall experience this, when I get to a country the language of which I cannot speak. I sincerely wish the treaty might have been concerted here. I have a partiality for this country ; but, where my treasure is, there shall my heart go. I know not when to close ; you must write often to me, and get uncle Smith to cover to Mr. Atkinson ; then, wherever I am, the letters will come safe. Adieu, once more, my dear sister, and believe me Most affectionately yours. A. A. 16 242 LETTERS. TO MRS. CRANCH. Auteuil, distant from Paris four miles. > 5 September, 1784, > MY DEAR SISTER, It is now the 5th of September, and I have been at this place more than a fortnight ; but I have had so many matters to arrange, and so much to attend to, since I left London, that I have scarcely touched a pen. I am now vastly behindhand in many things which I could have wished to have written down and transmitted to my American friends, some of which would have amused, and others diverted them. But such a rapid succession of events, or rather occur- rences, have been crowded into the last two months of my life, that I can scarcely recollect them, much less recount them in detail. There are so many of my friends, who have demands upon me, and who I fear will think me negligent, that I know not which to address first. Abby has had less of care upon her, and therefore has been very attentive to her pen, and I hope will supply my deficiencies. Auteuil is a village four miles distant from Paris, and one from Passy. The house we have taken is large, commodious, and agreeably situated, near the Woods of Boulogne, which belong to the King, and which Mr. Adams calls his park, for he walks an hour or two every day in them. The house is much larger than we have need of; upon occasion, forty beds LETTERS. 243 may be made in it. I fancy it must be very cold in winter. There are few houses with the privilege which this enjoys, that of having the saloon, as it is called, the apartment where we receive company, upon the first floor. This room is very elegant, and about a third larger than General Warren's hall. The dining-room is upon the right hand, and the saloon upon the left, of the entry, which has large glass doors opposite to each other, one opening into the court, as they call it, the other into a large and beautiful garden. Out of the dining-room you pass through an entry into the kitchen, which is rather small for so large a house. In this entry are stairs which you ascend, at the top of which is a long gal- lery fronting the street, with six windows, and, oppo- site to each window, you open into the chambers, which all look into the garden. But with an expense of thirty thousand livres in looking-glasses, there is no table in the house better than an oak board, nor a carpet belonging to the house. The floors I abhor, made of red tiles in the shape of Mrs. Quincy's floor-cloth tiles. These floors will by no means bear water, so that the method of cleaning them is to have them waxed, and then a man-servant with foot brushes drives round your room, dancing here and there like a Merry Andrew. This is calculated to take from your foot every atom of dirt, and leave the room in a few moments as he found it. The house must be exceedingly cold in winter. The dining-rooms, of 244 LETTERS. which you make no other use, are laid with small stones, like the red tiles for shape and size. The ser- vants' apartments are generally upon the first floor, and the stairs which you commonly have to ascend to get into the family apartments are so dirty, that I have been obliged to hold up my clothes, as though I was passing through a cow-yard. I have been but little abroad. It is customary in this country for strangers to make the first visit. As I cannot speak the language, I think I should make rather an awkward figure. I have dined abroad several times with Mr. Adams's particular friends, the Abbes, who are very polite and civil, three sensi- ble and worthy men. The Abbe de Mably has lately published a book, which he has dedicated to Mr. Adams. This gentleman is nearly eighty years old ; the Abbe Chalut, seventy-five ; and Arnoux, about fifty, a fine, sprightly man, who takes great pleasure in obliging his friends. Their apart- ments were really nice. I have dined once at Dr. Franklin's, and once at Mr. Barclay's, our con- sul, who has a very agreeable woman for his wife, and where I feel like being with a friend. Mrs. Bar- clay has assisted me in my purchases, gone with me to different shops, &c. To-morrow I am to dine at Monsieur Grand's ; but I have really felt so happy within doors, and am so pleasingly situated, that I have had little inclination to change the scene. I have not been to one public amusement as yet, not even the opera, though we have one very near us. LETTERS. 245 You may easily suppose I have been fully employ- ed, beginning house-keeping anew, and arranging my family to our no small expense and trouble ; for I have had bed-linen and table-linen to purchase and make, spoons and forks to get made of silver, three dozen of each, besides tea furniture, china for the table, servants to procure, &c. The expense of living abroad, I always supposed to be high, but my ideas were nowise adequate to the thing. I could have furnished myself in the town of Boston, with every thing I have, twenty or thirty per cent, cheap- er than I have been able to do it here. Every thing which will bear the name of elegant, is imported from England, and, if you will have it, you must pay for it, duties and all. I cannot get a dozen hand- some wine-glasses under three guineas, nor a pair of small decanters for less than a guinea and a half. The only gauze fit to wear is English, at a crown a yard ; so that really a guinea goes no further than a copper with us. For this house, garden, stables, &c., we give two hundred guineas a year. Wood is two guineas and a half per cord ; coal, six livres the bas- ket of about two bushels ; this article of firing, we calculate at one hundred guineas a year. The dif- ference between coming upon this negotiation to France and remaining at the Hague, where the house was already furnished at the expense of a thousand pounds sterling, will increase the expense here to six or seven hundred guineas ; at a time, too, when Con- gress have cut off* five hundred guineas from what 246 LETTERS. they have heretofore given. For our coachman and horses alone, (Mr. Adams purchased a coach in England,) we give fifteen guineas a month. It is the policy of this country to oblige you to a certain number of servants, and one will not touch what be- longs to the business of another, though he or she has time enough to perform the whole. In the first place, there is a coachman who does not an indi- vidual thing but attend to the carriages and horses ; then the gardener, who has business enough ; then comes the cook ; then the maUre dViCtel ; his business is to purchase articles in the family, and oversee, that nobody cheats but himself; a valet de chamhre^ — John serves in this capacity ; dife?n7ne de chamire, — Esther serves in this line, and is worth a dozen others ; a coiffeuse, — for this place, I have a French girl about nineteen, whom I have been upon the point of turning away, because Madame will not brush a chamber ; " it is not de fashion, it is not her business." I would not have kept her a day longer, but found, upon inquiry, that I could not better my- self, and hair-dressing here is very expensive, unless you keep such a madam in the house. She sews tolerably well, so I make her as useful as I can. She is more particularly devoted to Mademoiselle. Esther diverted me yesterday evening, by telling me that she heard her go muttering by her chamber door after she had been assisting Abby in dressing. " Ah, mon Dieu, 't is provoking," — (she talks a little English.) — " Why, what is the matter, Pauline, what LETTERS. 247 is provoking?" — " Why, Mademoiselle look so pret- ty, I, so mauvais." There is another indispensable servant, who is called afroftcur ; his business is to rub the floors. We have a servant who acts as maitre dViotel, whom I like at present, and who is so very gracious as to act as footman too, to save the expense of another servant, upon condition that we give him a gentleman's suit of clothes in lieu of a livery. Thus, with seven servants and hiring a charwoman upon occasion of company, we may possibly make out to keep house ; with less, we should be hooted at as ridiculous, and could not entertain any company. To tell this in our own country, would be considered as extravagance ; but would they send a person here in a public character to be a public jest ? At lodg- ings in Paris last year, during Mr. Adams's negotia- tions for a peace, it was as expensive to him as it is now at house-keeping, without half the accommo- dations. Washing is another expensive article ; the servants are all allowed theirs, besides their wages ; our own costs us a guinea a week. I have become steward and book-keeper, determined to know with accuracy what our expenses are, and to prevail with Mr. Adams to return to America, if he finds himself straitened, as I think he must be. Mr. Jay went home because he could not support his family here with the whole salary ; what then can be done, cur- tailed as it now is, with the additional expense ? Mr. 248 LETTERS. Adams is determined to keep as little company as he possibly can, but some entertainments we must make, and it is no unusual thing for them to amount to fifty or sixty guineas at a time. More is to be per- formed by way of negotiation, many times, at one of these entertainments, than at twenty serious con- versations ; but the policy of our country has been, and still is, to be penny-wise and pound-foolish. We stand in sufficient need of economy, and, in the curtailment of other salaries, I suppose they thought it absolutely necessary to cut off their foreign min- isters. But, my own interest apart, the system is bad ; for that nation which degrades their own min- isters by obliging them to live in narrow circum- stances, cannot expect to be held in high estimation themselves. We spend no evenings abroad, make no suppers, attend very few public entertainments, or spectacles, as they are called, and avoid every ex- pense that is not held indispensable. Yet I cannot but think it hard, that a gentleman who has devoted so great a part of his life to the service of the public, who has been the means, in a great meas- ure, of procuring such extensive territories to his country, who saved their fisheries, and who is still laboring to procure them further advantages, should find it necessary so cautiously to calculate his pence, for fear of overrunning them. I will add one more expense. There is now a Court mourn- ing, and every foreign minister, with his family, must s^o into mourning for a Prince of eight years LETTERS. 249 old, whose father is an ally to the King of France. This mourning is ordered by the Court, and is to be worn eleven days only. Poor Mr. Jefferson had to hie away for a tailor to get a whole black silk suit made up in two days ; and at the end of eleven days, should another death happen, he will be obliged to have a new suit of mourning, of cloth, because that is the season when silk must be left off. We may groan and scold, but these are expenses which can- not be avoided ; for fashion is the deity every one worships in this country, and, from the highest to the lowest, you must submit. Even poor John and Esther had no comfort amongst the servants, being constantly the subjects of. their ridicule, until we were obliged to direct them to have their hair dressed. Esther had several crying fits upon the occasion, that she should be forced to be so much of a fool ; but there was no way to keep them from being trampled upon but this ; and, now that they are a la mode de Paris, they are much respected. To be out of fashion is more criminal than to be seen in a state of nature, to which the Parisians are not averse. Sunday here bears the nearest resemblance to our Commencement and Election days ; every thing is jollity, and mirth, and recreation. But, to quit these subjects, pray tell me how you all do. I long to hear from you. House and garden, with all its decorations, are not so dear to me as my own Httle cottage, connected with the society I used there to enjoy ; for, out of my own family, I have no at- 250 LETTERS. tachments in Europe, nor do I think I ever shall have. As to the language, I speak it a little, bad grammar and all ; but I have so many French ser- vants, that I am under a necessity of trying. Could you, my sister, and my dear cousins, come and see me as you used to do, walk in the garden, and delight yourselves in the alcoves and arbours, I should enjoy myself much better. When Mr. Adams is absent, I sit in my little writing-room, or the chamber I have described to Betsey, and read or sew. Abby is for ever at her pen, writing or learning French ; sometimes company, and some- times abroad, we are fully employed. Who do you think dined with us the other day ? A Mr. Mather and his lady, son of Dr. Mather, and Mrs. Hay, who have come to spend the winter in France. I regret that they are going to some of the provinces. To-day, Mr. Tracy, Mr. Williams, Mr. Jefferson, and Colonel Humphreys are .to dine with us ; and one day last week we had a company of twenty-seven persons ; Dr. Franklin, Mr. Hartley and his secretaries, &c. &c. But my paper warns me to close. Do not let anybody complain of me. I am going on writing to one after another as fast as possible, and, if this vessel does not carry the letters, the next will. Give my love to one of the best men in the world. Affectionately yours, A. A. LETTERS. 251 TO MISS LUCY' CRANCH. Auteuil, 5 September, 1781. MY DEAR LUCY, I PROMISED to write to you from the Hague, but your uncle's unexpected arrival at London prevented me. Your uncle purchased an excellent travelling coach in London, and hired a post-chaise for our servants. In this manner we travelled from London to Dover, accommodated through England with the best of horses, postilions, and good carriages ; clean, neat apartments, genteel entertainment, and prompt attendance. But no sooner do you cross from Dover to Calais, than every thing is reversed, and yet the distance is very small between them. The cultivation is by no means equal to that of England ; the villages look poor and mean, the houses all thatched, and rarely a glass window in them ; their horses, instead of being handsomely harnessed, as those in England are, have the ap- pearance of so many old cart-horses. Along you go, with seven horses tied up with ropes and chains, rattling like trucks ; two ragged postilions, mount- ed, with enormous jack-boots, add to the comic scene. And this is the style in which a duke or a count travels through this kingdom. You inquire of me how I like Paris. Why, they tell me I am no judge, for that I have not seen it yet. One thing, I know, and that is that I have smelt it. If I was LETTERS. agreeably disappointed in London, I am as much disappointed in Paris. It is the very dirtiest place I ever saw. There are some buildings and some squares, which are tolerable ; but in general the streets are narrow, the shops, the houses, inelegant and dirty, the streets full of lumber and stone, with which they build. Boston cannot boast so elegant public buildings ; but, in every other respect, it is as much superior in my eyes to Paris, as London is to Boston. To have had Paris tolerable to me, I should not have gone to London. As to the people here, they are more given to hospitality than in England, it is said. I have been in company with but one French lady since I arrived ; for strangers here make the first visit, and nobody will know you until you have waited upon them in form. This lady I dined with at Dr. FrankUn's. She entered the room with a careless, jaunty air ; upon seeing ladies who were strangers to her, she bawled out, " Ah ! mon Dieu, where is Franklin ? Why did you not tell me there were ladies here ? " You must suppose her speaking all this in French. " How I look ! " said she, taking hold of a chemise made of tiffany, which she had on over a blue lute- string, and which looked as much upon the decay as her beauty, for she was once a handsome wo- man ; her hair was frizzled ; over it she had a small straw hat, with a dirty gauze half-handkerchief round it, and a bit of dirtier gauze, than ever my maids wore, was bowed on behind. She had a black LETTERS. 253 gauze scarf thrown over her shoulders. She ran out of the room ; when she returned, the Doctor entered at one door, she at the other ; upon which she ran forward to hhn, caught him by the hand, '' Helas ! FrankUn ; " then gave him a double kiss, one upon each cheek, and another upon his fore- head. When we went into the room to dine, she was placed between the Doctor and Mr. Adams. She carried on the chief of the conversation at dinner, frequently locking her hand into the Doc- tor's, and sometimes spreading her arms upon the backs of both the gentlemen's chairs, then throwing her arm carelessly upon the Doctor's neck. I should have been greatly astonished at this conduct, if the good Doctor had not told me that in this lady I should see a genuine Frenchwoman, wholly free from affectation or stiffness of behaviour, and one of the best women in the world. For this I must take the Doctor's word ; but I should have set her down for a very bad one, although sixty years of age, and a widow. I own I was highly disgusted, and never wish for an acquaintance with any ladies of this cast. After dinner she threw herself upon a settee, where she showed more than her feet. She had a little lap-dog, who was, next to the Doctor, her favorite, and whom she kissed. This is one of the Doctor's most intimate friends, with whom he dines once every week, and she with him. She is rich, and is my near neigh- bour ; but I have not yet visited her. Thus you 254 LETTERS. see, my dear, that manners differ exceedingly in different countries. I hope, however, to find amongst the French ladies manners more consistent with my ideas of decency, or I shall be a mere recluse. You must write to me, and let me know all about you ; marriages, births, and preferments ; every thing you can think of. Give my respects to the Germantown family. I shall begin to get letters for them by the next vessel. Good night. Believe me Your most affectionate aunt, A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. Auteuil, 9 December, 1784. MY DEAR SISTER, Your letter by way of Amsterdam had a quick passage, and was matter of great pleasure to me. I thank you for all your kind and friendly commu- nications, by which you carry my imagination back to my friends and acquaintance, who were never dearer to me than they now are, though so far distant from me. I have really commiserated the unhappy refugees more than ever, and think no severer punishment need to be inflicted upon any mortals than that of banishment from their country and friends. Were it my case, I should pray for death and oblivion. The consolation which Bolingbroke comforted him- LETTERS. 255 self with would afford me little satisfaction ; for, though the same heavens were spread over me, and the same sun enlightened me, I should see the heavens covered with darkness, and the sun bereft of its splendor. We reside here at this village, four miles distant from Paris. It is a very agreeable summer situa- tion, but in winter I should prefer Paris, on many- accounts ; but upon none more than that of society. The Americans who are in France, and with whom I have any acquaintance, all reside in Paris ; they would frequently fall in and spend an evening with us ; but to come four miles, unless by particular invitation, is what they do not think of ; so that our evenings, which are very long, are wholly by our- selves. You cannot wonder that we all long for the social friends whom we left in America, whose places are not to be supplied in Europe. I wish our worthy and sensible parson would visit us as he used to do in America ; his society would be very precious to us here. I go into Paris sometimes to the plays, of which I am very fond ; but I so severely pay for it, that I refrain many times upon account of my health. It never fails giving me a severe headache, and that in proportion as the house is thin or crowded, one, two, or three days after. We make it a pretty general rule to entertain company once a week. (I do not call a transient friend or acquaintance dining, by that name.) Upon those occasions, our company 256 LETTERS. consists of fifteen, eighteen, or twenty, which com- monly costs us as many guineas as there are per- sons. You will naturally be surprised at this, as I was when I first experienced it ; but my weekly bills, all of which pass through my hands, and are paid by me, convinced me of it. Every American who comes into Paris, no matter from what State, makes his visit, and pays his respects, to the Ameri- can ministers ; all of whom, in return, you must dine. Then there are the foreign ministers, from the dif- ferent courts, who reside here, and some French gentlemen. In short, there is no end of the expense, which a person in a public character is obliged to be at. Yet our countrymen think their ministers are growing rich. Believe me, my dear sister, I am more anxious for my situation than I was before I came abroad. I then hoped that my husband, in his advanced years, would have been able to have laid up a little without toiling perpetually ; and, had I been with him from the first, he would have done it when the allowance of Congress was more lib- eral than it now is ; but cutting off five hundred [guineas] at one blow, and at the same time in- creasing our expenses, by removing us from place to place, is more than we are able to cope with, and I see no prospect but we must be losers at the end of the year. We are now cleverly situated. I have got a set of servants as good as I can expect to find ; such as I am pretty well satisfied with ; but I ap- prehend, that, in the month of January, we shall be LETTERS. 257 obliged to give up our house, dismiss our servants, and make a journey to England. This is not yet fully agreed upon ; but, I suppose the next letters from the Court of England will determine it ; and this has been Mr. Adams's destiny ever since he came abroad. His health, which has suffered great- ly in the repeated attacks of the fevers he has had, obliges him to live out of cities. You cannot pro- cure genteel lodgings in Paris under twenty-five or thirty guineas a month ; which is much dearer than we give for this house, besides the comfort of having your family to yourself. When I speak of twenty- five and thirty guineas per month, not a mouthful of food is included. As to speaking French, I make but little pro- gress in that ; but I have acquired much more fa- cility in reading it. My acquaintance with French ladies is very small. The Marquise de la Fayette was in the country when I first came, and continued out until November. Immediately upon her coming into Paris, I called and paid my compliments to her. She is a very agreeable lady, and speaks English with tolerable ease. We sent our servant, as is the custom, with our names, into the house, to inquire if she was at home. We were informed that she was not. The carriage was just turning from the door, when a servant came running out to inform us that Madame would be glad to see us ; upon which Mr. Adams carried me in and introduced me. The Marquise met me at the door, and with the freedom 17 258 LETTERS. of an old acquaintance, and the rapture peculiar to the ladies of this nation, caught me by the hand and gave me a salute upon each cheek, most heartily rejoiced to see me. You would have supposed I had been some long absent friend, whom she dearly loved. She presented me to her mother and sister, who were present with her, all sitting together in he b room, quite en famille. One of the ladies was knitting. The Marquise herself was in a chintz gown. She is a middle-sized lady, sprightly and agreeable ; and professes herself strongly attached to Americans. She supports an amiable charac- ter, is fond of her children, and very attentive to them, which is not the general character of ladies of high rank in Europe. In a few days, she re- turned my visit, upon which we sent her a card of invitation to dine. She came ; we had a large company. There is not a lady in our country, who would have gone abroad to dine so little dressed ; and one of our fine American ladies, who sat by me, whispered to me, " Good Heavens ! how awfully she is dressed." I could not forbear re- turning the whisper, which I most sincerely de- spised, by replying, that the lady's rank sets her above the little formalities of dress. She had on a brown Florence gown and petticoat, — which is the only silk, excepting satins, which are worn here in winter, — a plain double gauze handkerchief, a pretty cap, with a white ribbon in it, and looked very neat. The rouge, 't is true, was not so artfully LETTERS. 259 laid on, as upon the faces of the American ladies who were present. Whilst they were glittering with diamonds, watch-chains, girdle-buckles, &c., the Marquise was nowise ruffled by her own dif- ferent appearance. A really well-bred French lady has the most ease in her manners, that you can possibly conceive of It is studied by them as an art, and they render it nature. It requires some time, you know, before any fashion quite new be- comes familiar to us. The dress of the French ladies has the most taste and variety in it, of any I have yet seen ; but these are topics I must reserve to amuse my young acquaintance with. I have seen none, however, who carry the extravagance of dress to such a height as the Americans who are here, some of whom, I have reason to think, live at an expense double what is allowed to the American ministers. They must, however, abide the conse- quences. Mr. Jefferson has been sick, and confined to his house for six weeks. He is upon the recovery, though very weak and feeble. Dr. Franklin is much afflicted with his disorder, which prevents his goi g abroad, unless when the weather will permit him to walk. 12 December, 1784. "Do you say that Scott has arrived in Eng- land ? " said I to my friend, when he returned from Paris, " and that Messrs. Tracy and Jackson have 260 LETTERS. received their letters by the post, and that we have none ? How can this be ? News, too, of Mr. Smith's arrival." Thus passed the day, and the next which followed ; but in the evening a letter was brought for J. Q. A. from London, from Charles Storer, informing us that he had received sundry large packets from America ; not being able to find a private conveyance, he had sent them by the new diligence^ lately set up, which passed once a week from Calais to Paris. It was evening. No sending in that night, because a servant could not get them. There was nothing to be done but to wait patiently until the next morning. As soon as breakfast was over, the carriage was ordered, and Mr. J. Q. A. set off for Paris. About two o'clock he returned, and was met with a " Well ; have you found the let- ters ? " " Yes, he had heard of them, but could not procure them ; they refused to deliver them at the post-office, because he had carried no proof that the letters belonged to the family ; he might be an impostor, for aught they knew, and they were an- swerable for them ; he scolded and fretted, but all to no purpose ; they finally promised to send them out in the evening to our hotel." O how provok- ing ! About eight in the evening, however, they were brought in and safely delivered, to our great joy. We were all together. Mr. Adams in his easy-chair upon one side of the table, reading Plato's Laws ; Mrs. A. upon the other, reading Mr. St. John's " Letters " ; Abby, sitting upon the left LETTERS. 261 hand, in a low chair, in a pensive posture ; — enter J. Q. A. from his own room, with the letters in his hand, tied and sealed up, as if they were never to be read ; for Charles had put half a dozen new covers upon them. Mr. A. must cut and undo them leisurely, each one watching with eagerness. Fi- nally, the originals were discovered ; " Here is one for you, my dear, and here is another ; and here, Miss Abby, are four, five, upon my word, six, for you, and more yet for your mamma. Well, I fancy I shall come off but slenderly. One only for me." " Are there none for me. Sir ? " says Mr. J. Q. A., erecting his head, and walking away a little mor- tified. We then began to unseal and read ; and a rich repast we had. Thank you, my dear sister, for your part of the entertainment. I will not regret sending my journal, uncouth as I know it was ; to friends, who so nearly interest themselves in the welfare of each other, every event, as it passes, becomes an object of their attention. You will chide me, I suppose, for not relating to you an event, which took place in London ; that of unex- pectedly meeting there my long absent friend ; for, from his letters by my son, I had no idea that he would come. But you know, my dear sister, that poets and painters wisely draw a veil over those scenes, which surpass the pen of the one, and the pencil of the other. We were, indeed, a very, very happy family, once more met together, after a 262 LETTERS. separation of four years. For particular reasons we remained but one day in England, after the arrival of Mr. A. We set off on Sunday morning, as I believe I have before related, in a coach, and our two servants in a post-chaise. As we travelled over the same part of the country which I had he- fore described in my journey up to London, I was not particular in relating my journey to Dover. We were about twelve hours in crossing to Calais. The difference is so great between travelling through England and through France, that no per- son could possibly imagine that these countries were separated only by a few leagues. Their horses, their carriages, their postilions, their inns ! I know not how to point out the difference, unless you will suppose yourself a stranger in your own country, first entertained at Mr. Swan's, then at General Warren's, and next at Bracket's tavern. Such is the difference, I assure you. From Calais to Paris you pass through a number of villages, which have the most miserable appearance, in general ; the houses of the peasants being chiefly low, thatched huts, without a single glass window. Their fields were well cultivated, and we saw everywhere wo- men and children laboring in them. There is not, however, that rich luxuriance, which beauteous England exhibits, nor have they ornamented their fields with the hedge, which gives England a vast advantage, in appearance, over this country. The place most worthy of notice between Calais and LETTERS. 263 Paris, is Cliantilly, where we stopped one day ; but, as I was so much fatigued with my journey, I made no minute of what I saw there, though riclily worth a particular description. I must, therefore, request tlie Aivor of Mr, J. Q. A. to transcribe a few incor- rect minutes from his journal, which will give you some idea of what we saw there. I have not a wish to repeat this journey in the winter season ; but I greatly fear we shall be obliged to do so, as England does not choose to treat in France. This, however, you will not mention at present ; as I cannot yet assure you what will be the result of the last de- spatches sent to that Court. This is the twelfth of December ; and a severer snow-storm than the present is seldom seen in our country at this season. I was pleased at the ap- pearance, because it looked so American ; but the poor Frenchman will shrug his shoulders. I feel very loth to part with my son, and shall miss him more than I can express ; but I am con- vinced that it will be much for his advantage to spend one year at Harvard, provided he makes, as I have no reason to doubt, a suitable improvement of his time and talents ; the latter, the partiality of a mother would say, no young fellow of his age can boast superior ; yet there are many branches of knowledge in which he is deficient, and which, I think, he will be best able to acquire in his own country. I am sure he will acquire them with more pleasure to himself, because he will find there com- 264 LETTERS. panions and associates. Besides, America is the theatre for a young fellow who has any ambition to distinguish himself in knowledge and literature; so that, if his father consents, I think it not unlikely that you will see him in the course of next summer. I hope I shall follow him the next spring. Europe will have fewer charms for me then, than it has at present. I know not how to bid you adieu. You did not say a word of uncle Quincy. How does he do ? My duty to him ; tell him, if Mr. A. was in Braintree, he would walk twice a week to see him. Madam Quincy, too, how is she ? My respects to her, and to Mr. Wibird, who, I think, misses me as much as I do his friendly visits. Affectionately yours, A. A. TO MRS. SHAW. Auteuil, 14 December, 1784. MY DEAR SISTER, From the interest you take in every thing which concerns your friends, I hear you inquiring how I do, how I live, whom I see, where I visit, who visit me. I know not whether your curiosity ex- tends so far as the color of the house, which is white stone, and to the furniture of the chamber where I sleep. If it does, you must apply to Betsey Cranch for information, whose fancy has employed LETTERS. 265 itself SO busily as to seek for intelligence even in the minutio) ; and, although they look trifling upon paper, yet," if our friends take an interest in them, that renders them important ; and I am the rather tempted to a compliance from the recollection, that, when I have received a sentimental letter from an absent friend, I have passed over the sentiment at the first reading, and hunted for that part, which more particularly related to themselves. This village, where we reside, is four miles from Paris, and is famous for nothing, that I know of, but the learned men who have inhabited it. Such were Boileau, Moliere, D'Aguesseau, and Helvetius. The first and last lived near this hotel, and Boileau's garden is preserved as a choice relic. As to my own health, it is much as usual. I suffer through want of exercise, and grow too fat. I cannot per- suade myself to walk an hour in the day, in a long entry which we have, merely for exercise ; and as to the streets, they are continually a quagmire. No walking there without boots or wooden shoes, neither of which are my feet calculated for. Mr. Adams makes it his constant practice to walk sev- eral miles every day, without which he would not be able to preserve his health, which at best is but in- firm. He professes h"mself so much happier for having his family v/ith him, that I feel amply grati- fied in having ventured across the ocean. He is de- termined, that nothing but the inevitable stroke of death shall in future separate him at least from one 266 LETTERS. part of it ; so that I know not what climates I may- yet have to visit, — more, I fear, than will be agree- able to either of us. If you want to know the manners and customs of this country, I answer you, that pleasure is the busi- ness of life, more especially upon a Sunday. We have no days with us or rather with you, by which I can give you any idea of them, except Commence- ments and Elections. We have a pretty wood within a few rods of this hou;e, which is called the Bois de Boulogne. This is cut into many regular walks, and during the summer months, upon Sun- days, it looked like Boston and Cambridge Commons upon the public days I have mentioned. Paris is a horrid dirty city, and I know not whether the in- habitants could exist, if they did not come out one day in the week to breathe a fresh air. I have sat at my window of a Sunday, and seen whole cart- loads of them at a time. I speak literally ; for those,, who neither own a coach nor are able to hire one, procure a cart, which in this country is always drawn by horses. Sometimes they have a piece of canvass over it. There are benches placed in them, and in this vehicle you will see as many well-dressed women and children as can possibly pile in, led out by a man, or driven. Just at the entrance of the wood they descend. The day is spent in music, dancing, and every kind of play. It is a very rare thing to see a man with a hat anywhere but under his arm, or a woman with a bonnet upon her head. LETTERS. 267 This would brush off the powder, and spoil the ele- gant toupet. They have a fashion of wearing a hood or veil either of gauze or silk. If you send for a tailor in this country, your servant will very soon introduce to you a gentleman full dressed in black, with his head as white as a snow-bank, and which a hat never rumpled. If you send to a mantua- maker, she will visit you in the same style, with her. silk gown and petticoat, her head in ample order, though, perhaps, she lives up five pair of stairs, and eats nothing but bread and water, as two thirds of these people do. We have a servant in our family, who dresses more than h s young master, and would not be guilty of tending table unfrizzed, upon any consideration. He dresses the hair of his young master, but has his own dressed by a hair-dresser. By the way, I was guilty of a sad mistake in Lon- don. I desired the servant to procure me a barber. The fellow stared, and was loth to ask for what pur- pose I wanted him. At last he said, " You mean a hair-dresser. Madam, I believe .?" " Ay," says I, " I want my hair dressed," " Why, barbers. Madam, in this country, do nothing but shave." When I first came to this country, I was loth to submit to such an unnecessary number of domestics, as it appeared to me, but I soon found that they would not let me do without them ; because, every one having a fixed and settled department, they would not lift a pin out of it, although two thirds of the time tiiey had no employment. We are how- 26S LETTERS. ever thankful that we are able to make eight do for us, though we meet with some difficuhies for want of a ninth. Do not suppose from this, that we Hve remarkably nice. I never put up in America with what I do here. I often think of Swift's High Dutch bride, who had so much nastiness, and so much pride. Adieu. Most affectionately yours, A. A. TO THE REVEREND JOHN SHAW. Auteuil, 18 January, 1785. I FIND, Sir, what I never doubted, that you are a gentleman of your word. I thank you for the agreeable proof which j^ou have given me of it ; and, that I may not be wanting in punctuality, I have taken my pen to discharge the debt which I ac- knowledge is due to you. Amongst the public edifices which are worthy of notice in this country, are several churches. I went, a few days since, to see three of the most celebrated in Paris. They are prodigious masses of stone buildings, and so surrounded by houses which are seven stories high, that the sun seldom enlightens them. I found them so cold and damp, that I could only give them a very hasty and tran- sient survey. The architecture, the sculpture, the paintings, are beautiful indeed, and each of them would employ my pen for several pages, when the LETTERS. 269 weather will permit me to take a more accurate and critical inspection of them. These churches are open every day, and at all times of the day ; so that you never enter them without finding priests upon their knees, half a dozen at a time, and more at the hours of confession. All kinds of people and of all ages go in without ceremony, and regardless of each other ; fall upon their knees, cross themselves, say their Pater-nosters and Ave-Marias silently and go out again, without being noticed or even seen by the priests, whom I found always kneeling with their faces towards the altar. Round these churches, (for they have not pews and galleries as with us, chairs alone being made use of,) there are little boxes or closets about as large as a sentry-box, in which is a small grated window, which communi- cates with another closet of the same kind. One of them holds the person who is confessing, and the other the confessor, who places his ear at this win- dow, hears the crime, absolves the transgressor, and very often makes an assignation for a repetition of the same crime, or perhaps a new one. I [do not think this a breach of charity ; for can we suppose, that, of the many thousands whom the religion of the country obliges to celibacy, one quarter part of the number can find its influence sufficiently power- ful to conquer those passions which nature has im- planted in man, when the gratification of them will cost them only a few livres in confession ? 1 was at the Church of St. Roch about ten o'clock S70 LETTERS. in the morning, and, whilst I was there, ahout three hundred little boys came in from some charity semi- nary which belongs to that church. They had books in their hands. They followed each other in regu- lar order, and fell upon their knees in rows Hke soldiers in rank and file. There might have been fifty other persons in the church at their devotion. Every thing was silent and solemn throughout this vast edifice. I was walking with a slow pace round it, when, all at once, the drear silence which reigned was suddenly broken by ail these boys at one instant chanting with loud voices, which made the dome ring, and me start, for I had no apprehension of any sound. I have never been to any of these churches upon a Sunday. When the weather is warmer, I design it. But their churches seem rather calculated to damp devotion than ex- cite it. I took such a cold there as I have not had since I have been in France. I have been several times to the chapel of the Dutch ambassador, and should go oftener if I could comprehend the dis- courses, which are all in French. I believe the American embassy is the only one to which chap- lains are not allowed. Do Congress think that their ministers have no need of grace ? or that religion is not a necessary article for them ? Sunday will not feel so to me whilst I continue in ;his country. It is high holiday for all France. We had a visit the other day from no less a per- sonage than Abbe Thayer, in his habis, who iias be- LETTERS. 271 come a convert. His visit was me, I suppose, for he was a perfect stranger to Mr. Adams. He told us that he had spent a year at Rome, that he belong- ed to a seminary of St. Sulpice in Paris, that he never knew what religion was, until his conversion, and that he designed to return to America in a year or two, to see if he could not convert his friends and acquaintance. After talking some time in this style, he began to question Mr. Adams if he believed the Bible, and to rail at Luther and Calvin ; upon which Mr. Adams took him up pretty short, and told him that he was not going to make a father confessor of him, that his religion was a matter that he did not look upon himself accountable for to any one but his Maker, and that he did not choose to hear either Luther or Calvin treated in such a manner. Mr. Abbe took his leave after some time, without any invitation to repeat his visit. I am very truly yours, A. A. TO MRS. STORER. Auteuil, 20 January, 1785. MY DEAR MADAM, For your kind congratulations upon my arrival in Europe, receive my thanks. Those only, who have 1 This is the same lady to whom the first letter in this volume was addressed, and the Editor is indebted for both to the same source. See p. 3. 272 LETTERS. crossed the ocean, can realize the pleasure which is felt at the sight of land. The inexperienced travel- ler is more sensible of this, than those who frequent- ly traverse the ocean. I could scarcely realize that thirty days had removed me so far distant from my native shore ; but the new objects which surrounded me did not efface from my remembrance the dearer ones which I left behind me. " And is this the coun- try, and are these the people, who so lately waged a cruel war against us ? " were reflections, which did not escape me amidst all the beauty and grandeur, which presented themselves to my eyes. You have doubtless heard from my friends, that 1 was pleased with England, and that I met with much civility and politeness there, and a large share of it from your connexions. I am now resident in a country, to which many Americans give the preference. The climate is said to be more temperate and mild. 1 can pass no judgment by comparison, but that there are more fogs in both, than are agreeable to me. A North- American, however, has no right to complain of the rigor of a climate, which, in the middle of January, is as mild as our May ; though I think the fall of the year was near as cold as ours. Do you know, my dear Madam, what a task you have set me .'' a description of ladies ! " Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute." To a lady of Mrs. Storer's discernment, the mere superficial adorning of the sex would afford but little LETTERS. 273 salisfaction. Yet this is all I shall be able to recount to her. A stranger in the country, not only to the people but to the language, I cannot judge of men- tal accomplishment, unless you will allow that dress and appearance are the index of the mind. The etiquette of this country requires the first visit from the stranger. You will easily suppose, that I have not been very fond of so awkward a situation as going to visit ladies, merely to make my dumb com- pliments, and receive them in return. I have declin- ed visiting several personages, to whom Mr. Adams would have introduced me, upon this account. An acquaintance with a gentleman by no means in- sures to you a knowledge of his lady ; for no one will be so ill-bred as to suppose an intercourse be- tween them. It is from my observations of the French ladies at the theatres and public walks, that my chief knowledge of them is derived. The dress of the French ladies is, like their man- ners, light, airy, and genteel. They are easy in their deportment, eloquent in their speech, their voices soft and musical, and their attitude pleasing. Habituated to frequent the theatres from their ear- liest age, they become perfect mistresses of the art of insinuation and the powers of persuasion. In- telligence is communicated to every feature of the face, and to every limb of the body ; so that it may with truth be said, every man of this nation is an actor, and every woman an actress. It is not only among the rich and polite, wlio attend the great 18 274 LETTERS. theatres, that this art is acquired, but there are a dozen small theatres, to which all classes resort. There are frequently given pieces at the opera, and at the small theatres, where the actors speak not a single word, but where the action alone will delin- eate to you the story. I was at one of this kind last evening. The story is too long to relate here ; but there was a terrible sea-storm in it ; the rolling of the sea, the mounting of the vessel upon the waves, in which I could discern a lady and little child in the utmost distress, the terrible claps of thunder and flashes of lightning, which flew from one side of the stage to the other, really worked me up to such a pitch, that I trembled with terror. The vessel was finally dashed upon the rocks, and the lady and child were cast on a desert island. The dancing on the stage is a great amusement to me, and the dresses are beautifully fanciful. The fashionable shape of the ladies here is, to be very small at the bottom of the waist, and very large round the shoulders, — a wasp's, — pardon me, la- dies, that I should make such a comparison, it is only in shape, that I mean to resemble you to them. You and I, Madam, must despair oi being in the mode. I enclose to you the pattern of a stomacher, cape, and forebody of a gown ; different petticoats are much worn, and then the stomacher must be of the petticoat color, and the cape of the gown, as well as the sleeves. Sometimes a false sleeve is made use LETTERS. 275 of to draw over the other, and, in that case, the cape is like the gown. Gowns and petticoats are worn without any trimming of any kind. That is re- served for full dress only, when very large hoops and negligees, with trains three yards long, are worn. But these are not used, except at Court, and then only upon public occasions ; the Queen herself, and the ladies of honor, dressing very plain upon other days. Abby has made you a miniature handkerchief, just to show you one mode ; but caps, hats, and handkerchiefs are as various as ladies' and milliners' fancies can devise. Thus, Madam, having displayed the mode to you, be so good as to present Mr. Adams's and my re- gards to Mr. Storer, and, in one word, to all who ii quire after your affectionate friend, A. Adams. TO MISS LUCY CRANCH. Auteuil, 24 January, 1785. MY DEAR LUCY, I HOPE you have before now received my letter, which was ordered on board with Captain Lyde, but put on board another vessel, because it was said she would sail first. By that you will see that I did not wait to receive a letter from you first. I thank you for yours of November 6th, which reached me last evening ; and here I am, seated by your cousin 276 LETTERS. J. Q. A.'s fireside, where, by his invitation, I usually write. And in the first place, my dear Lucy, shall I find a little fault with you ? A fault, from which neither your good sister, nor cousin Abby, is free. It is, that all of you so much neglect your handwriting. I know that a sentiment is equally wise and just, written in a good or bad hand ; but then there is certainly a more pleasing appearance, when the lines are regular, and the letters distinct and well cut. A sensible woman is so, whether she be hand- some or ugly ; but who looks not with most pleasure upon the sensible beauty ? " Why, my dear aunt," methinks I hear you say, " only look at your own handwriting." Acknowledged ; I am very sensible of it, and it is from feeling the disadvantages of it myself, that I am the more solicitous that my young acquaintance should excel me, whilst they have leisure, and their fingers are young and flexible. Your cousin, J. Q. A., copied a letter for me the other day, and, upon my word, I thought there was some value in it, from the new appearance it ac- quired. I have written several times largely to your sister, and, as I know you participate with her, I have not been so particular in scribbling to every one of the family ; for an imagination must be more inventive than mine, to supply materials with sufficient variety to afford you all entertainment. Through want of a better subject, I will relate to you a custom of this LETTERS. 277 country. You must know that the religion of this country requires abundance of feasting and fasting, and each person has his particular saint, as well as each calling and occupation. To-morrow is to be celebrated, le jour des rois. The day before this feast it is customary to make a large paste pie, into which one bean is put. Each person at table cuts his slice, and the one who is so lucky as to obtain the bean, is dubbed king or queen. Accordingly, to-day, when I went in to dinner, I found one upon our table. Your cousin Abby began by taking the first slice ; but alas ! poor girl, no bean, and no queen. In the next place, your cousin John sec- onded her by taking a larger cut, and as cautious as cousin T when he inspects merchandise, bisect- ed his paste with mathematical circumspection ; but to him it pertained not. By this time, I was ready for my part ; but first I declared that I had no cravings for royalty. I accordingly separated my piece with much firmness, nowise disappointed that it fell not to me. Your uncle, who was all this time picking his chicken bone, saw us divert ourselves without saying any thing ; but presently he seized the re- maining half, and to crumbs went the poor paste, cut here and slash there ; when, behold the bean ! " And thus," said he, " are kingdoms obtained ; " but the servant, who stood by and saw the havoc, de- clared solemnly that he could not retain the title, as the laws decreed it to chance, and not to force. How is General Warren's family ? Well, I hope, 2*^8 LETTERS. or I should have heard of it. I am sorry Mrs. Warren is so scrupulous about writing to me. I forwarded a long letter to her some time since. Where is Miss Nancy Quincy ? Well, I hope. We often laugh at your cousin John about her. He says her stature would be a great recommendation to him, as he is determined never to marry a tall woman, lest her height should give her a superiority over him. He is generally thought older than your cousin Abby ; and partly, I believe, because his company is with those much older than himself. As to the Germantown family, my soul is grieved for them. Many are the afflictions of the righteous. Would to Heaven that the clouds would disperse, and give them a brighter day. My best respects to them. Let Mrs. Field know, that Esther is quite recovered, and as gay as a lark. She went to Paris the other day with Pauline, to see a play, which is called " Figaro." It is a piece much celebrated, and has had sixty-eight representations ; and every thing was so new to her, that Pauline says, " Est is crazed." Affectionately yours, A. A. LETTERS. 279 TO MRS. CRANCH. Auteuil, 20 February, 1785. MY DEAR SISTER; This day eight months I sailed for Europe, since which many new and interesting scenes have pre- sented themselves before me. I have seen many of the beauties, and some of the deformities, of this old world. I have been more than ever convinced, that there is no summit of virtue, and no depth of vice, which human nature is not capable of rising to, on the one hand, or sinking into, on the other. I have felt the force of an observation, which I have read, that daily example is the most subtile of poi- sons. I have found my taste reconciling itself to habits, customs, and fashions, which at first disgust- ed me. The first dance which I saw upon the stage shocked me ; the dresses and beauty of the per- formers were enchanting ; but, no sooner did the dance commence, than I felt my delicacy wounded, and I was ashamed to be seen to look at them. Girls, clothed in the thinnest silk and gauze, with their petticoats short, springing two feet from the floor, poising themselves in the air, with their feet flying, and as perfectly showing their garters and drawers as though no petticoat had been worn, was a sight altogether new to me. Their motions are as light as air, and as quick as lightning ; they bal- ance themselves to astonishment. No description 280 LETTERS. can equal the reality. They are daily trained to it, from early infancy, at a royal academy, instituted for this purpose. You will very often see little creatures, not more than seven or eight years old, as undauntedly performing their parts as the eldest among them. Shall I speak a truth, and say that repeatedly seeing these dances has worn off that disgust, which 1 at first felt, and that I see them now with pleasure ? Yet, when I consider the tendency of these things, the passions they must excite, and the known character, even to a proverb, which is attached to an opera girl, my abhorrence is not lessened, and neither my reason nor judgment has accompanied my sensibility in acquiring any de- gree of callousness. The art of dancing is carried to the highest degree of perfection that it is capable of. At the opera, the house is neither so grand, nor of so beautiful architecture, as the French theatre, but it is more frequented by the heau monde, who had rather be amused than instructed. The scenery is more various and more highly decorated, the dress- es more costly and rich. And O ! the music, vocal and instrumental, it has a soft, persuasive power, and a dying sound. Conceive a highly decorated building, filled with youth, beauty, grace, ease, clad in all the most pleasing and various ornaments of dress, which fancy can form ; these objects singing like cherubs to the best tuned instruments, most skilfully handled, the softest, tenderest strains; ev- ery attitude corresponding with the music ; full of LETTERS. 281 the god or goddess whom they celebrate ; the fe- male voices accompanied by an equal number of Adonises. Think you that this city can fail of be- coming a Cythera, and this house the temple of Venus ? " When music softens, and when dancing fires," it requires the immortal shield of the invincible Mi- nerva, to screen youth from the arrows which assail them on every side. As soon as a girl sets her foot upon the floor of the opera, she is excommunicated by the Church, and denied burial in holy ground. She conceives nothing worse can happen to her ; all restraint is thrown off, and she delivers herself to the first who bids high enough for her. But let me turn from a picture, of which the outlines are but just sketched ; I wotild willingly veil the rest, as it can only tend to excite sentiments of horror. 13 March, 1785. You will see, by the former date, that my letter has lain by me some time. Mr. Pickman, of Salem, who is going to London, has promised to take this with him, and will carry it himself, if no opportunity offers before, to America. We are all well ; some preparing for America, and others longing for the time of their departure thither. What a sad misfor- tune it is to have the body in one place, and the soul in another. Indeed, my dear sister, I hope to come home the spring after the present. My acquaintance 282 LETTERS. here is not large, nor ever will be. Then, what are dinners, and visits of ceremony, compared with " the feast of reason, and the flow of soul " ? I have dined twice at the Marquis de la Fayette's, with a large company, some of whom I was ac- quainted with, and others that I never saw before ; and to-morrow are to dine here, Mr. Brantzen, the Ambassador Extraordinary from Holland ; the Chevalier de la Luzerne, late Minister in America ; Marquis de la Fayette and his lady; Mr. W. T. Franklin, late Secretary to the American Commis- sion ; Colonel Humphreys, our present Secretary ; and Mr. Williams, a worthy, clever gentleman, who has been very friendly to us ; Mr. Jonathan Williams, a Bostonian, who very often comes to have a social talk about all our old friends and acquaintance in Boston ; the Chevalier Jones ; Mr. Bingham and lady ; a Mr. and Mrs. Rucker, and Mrs. Rucker's sister, lately from New York, stran- gers to me ; but all strangers, from every part of America, visit the American Ministers, and then are invited to dine with them. The Due de la Vauguyon was invited also ; but, not hearing from him, I suppose him not in Paris at present ; he was late Minister from this Court to Holland. Madame la Marquise de la Fayette is a very agreeable lady, and has two very pretty children ; the third, Virginia, I have never seen ; it is in the country ; the eldest daughter is seven years old, and George Washing- ton about five. After dinner. Miss and Master are LETTERS. 283 always introduced to the company; both of them speak English^, and behave very prettily. Madame de la Fayette has promised to bring me acquainted with her mother, the Duchess de Noailles, who is now at Versailles, waiting for the birth of a Prince, or Princess, which is daily expected ; and, as she is one of the ladies of honor to the Queen, her at- tendance is indispensable. I havo sc. rccly room left to say, that I am, Very affectionately yours, A. A. TO MISS LUCY CRANCH. Auteuil, 7 May, 1785. I PRESUME my dear Lucy would be disappointed, if her cousin did not deliver her a line from her aunt. Yet it is hardly fair to take up an exhausted pen to address a young lady, whose eager search after knowledge entitles her to every communication in my power. I was in hopes to have visited several curiosities before your cousin left us, that 1 might have been able to relate them to my friends ; but several engagements in the company way, and some pre- paration for his voyage, together with the neces- sary arrangements for our own journey, have so fully occupied me, that I fear I shall fail in my in- tentions. We are to dine to-day with Mr. Jefferson. 284 LETTERS. Should any thing occur there worthy of notice, it shall be the subject of my evening pen. Well, my dear niece, I have returned from Mr. Jefferson's. When I got there, I found a pretty large company. It consisted of the Marquis and Madame de la Fayette ; the Count and Countess de — , a French Count, who had been a general in America, but whose name 1 fbrget ; Commodore Jones ; Mr. Jarvis, an American gentleman, lately arrived, the same who married Amelia Broom, who says there is so strong a likeness between your cousin and his lady, that he is obliged to be upon his guard lest he should think himself at home, and make some mistake ; he appears a very sensible, agreeable gentleman ; a Mr. Bowdoin, an American also ; I ask the Chevalier de la Luzerne's pardon, — I had like to have forgotten him ; Mr. Williams, of course, as he always dines with Mr. Jefferson ; and Mr. Short, though one of Mr. Jefferson's family, as he has been absent some time, I name him. He took a resolution that he would go into a French family at St. Germain, and acquire the language ; and this is the only way for a foreigner to obtain it. I have often wished that I could not hear a word of English spoken. I think I have mentioned Mr. Short before, in some of my letters ; he is about the stature of Mr. Tudor ; a better figure, but much like him in looks and manners ; consequently a favorite of mine. They have some customs very curious here. When company are invited to dine, if twenty LETTERS. 285 gentlemen meet, they seldom or never sit down, but are standing or walking from one part of the room to the other, with their swords on, and their cha- peau de bras, which is a very small silk hat, always worn under the arm. These they lay aside whilst they dine, but reassume them immediately after. I wonder how the fashion of standing crept in amongst a nation, who really deserve the appella- tion of polite ; for in winter it shuts out all the fire from the ladies ; I know I have suffered from it many times. At dinner, the ladies and gentlemen are mixed, and you converse with him who sits next you, rarely speaking to persons across the table, unless to ask if they will be served with any thing from your side. Conversation is never general, as with us ; for, when the company quit the table, they fall into Ute-a-t te of two and two, when the con- versation is in a low voice, and a stranger, unac- quainted with the customs of the country, would think that everybody had private business to trans- act. Last evening, as we returned, the weather being very soft and pleasant, I proposed to your uncle to stop at the Tuileries and walk in the garden, which we did for an hour; there was, as usual, a collec- tion of four or five thousand persons in the walks. This garden is the most celebrated public walk in Paris. It is situated just opposite to the river Seine, upon the left hand as you enter Paris from Auteuil. Upon Boston Neck, suppose that on one side flows 286 LETTERS. the river Seine, and on the other hand is the garden of the Tuileries. There is a high wall next the street, upon which there is a terrace, which is used as a winter walk. This garden has six large gates, by which you may enter. It is adorned with noble rows of trees, straight, large, and tall, which form a most beautiful shade. The populace are not permitted to walk in this garden but upon the day of Saint Louis, when they have it all to themselves. Upon one side of this garden is the castle of the Tuileries, which is an immense pile of building, very ancient. It is in one of these chateaus, that the concert spirituel is held. Upon the terrace which borders this chateau, are six statues and two vases. These vases are large, circular spots of water, which are conveyed there from the Seine by lead- en pipes under ground. Round the great vase, which is in the midst of the parterre, are four groups of white marble. One represents Lucretia ; the story, I know, is familiar to you. The Parisians do well to erect a statute to her, for at this day, there are many more Tarquins than Lucretias. She is represented as plunging the dagger into her bosom in presence of her husband. There is another statue, — Anchises saved from the flames of Troy by his son ^neas, who is carrying him out upon his shoulders, leading Ascanius, his son, by his hand. The third is the rape of Orithyia, the daughter of Erectheus, King of Athens, by Boreas ; and the fourth, the ravishment of Cybele by Saturn ; the LETTERS. 287 two last vei'y pretty ornaments for a public garden. At the end of the great alley fronting the largest water-piece, which is in the form of an octagon, are eight more marble statues. Upon the right is Han- nibal, counting the rings which were taken from the knights who were killed in the battle of Cannse. Two Seasons, Spring and Winter, are upon the left hand, and a very beautiful figure of Scipio Africa- nus, near which are the two other Seasons, Summer and Autumn, and a statue of the Empress Agrippina. Over against these are four Rivers, colossal, repre- sented sleeping, the Seine, the Loire, the Tiber, and the Nile. At the end of the two terraces, are two figures in marble, mounted upon winged horses ; one is Mercury, and the other Fame, who, as usual, is blowing a trumpet. In very hot weather, the alleys are watered ; under the trees are seats and chairs, which you may hire to sit in for a sous or two. There are many plots of grass interspersed. Thus, you see, I have scribbled you a long letter. I hope my description will please you. This is my eleventh letter, and I have yet several others to write ; so adieu, my dear Lucy, and believe me most affectionately yours, A. A. 288 LETTERS. TO BIRS. SHAW. Auteuil, 8 May, 1785. MV DEAR SISTER, I DO not expect to date you any more letters from this place. Delightful and blooming garden, how much shall I regret your loss ! The fish-pond and the fountain are just put in order ; the trees are in blossom, and the flowers are coming on in succession ; the forest trees are new clad in green, several beau- tiful rows of which form arched bowers at the bottom of our garden, the tops being cut so that they look like one continued plain ; their leaves and branches entwine, and shade you entirely from the rays of the sun. It will not be easy to find in the midst of a city so charming a scene. I shall quit it, however, with less reluctance, on account of my son's absence, which would be more irksome to me here, than in a country the language of which I shall be able to speak without an interpreter, or so much twisting and twirling of my tongue, and then pronouncing badly at last. I expect to be more scrutinized in England than here. " I said, I will take heed to my ways," is a text of holy writ fruit- ful of instruction in all situations of life, but speaks more loudly to those who sustain public characters. It is so long since I heard from my American friends, that I begin to grow impatient. I had hopes that another year's wandering would have put an LETTERS. 289 end to our pilgrimage. You can hardly form an idea how difficult and expensive it is to be house- keeping a few months at a time in so many different countries. It has been Mr. Adams's fortune, ever since he came abroad, not to live a year at a time in one place. At the Hague he has a house and furniture, but they could not be removed five hun- dred miles; therefore it was necessary to hire a house and furniture here, to buy table linen, bed linen, china, glass, and plate. Here we have re- sided eight months, and now we must quit this for England. Removal in these countries is not so easy a matter as in ours ; for, however well you may pack up your things for the purpose, they must un- dergo so many scrutinies, besides paying heavy du- ties for passing from one country to another. Of this I can give you bne instance, which happened a few moments ago. A gentleman in one of the provinces sent Mr. Adams a present of five bottles of wine which he wished recommended in America, and this was to serve as a sample. The duties, which vv^e had to pay upon only those five bottles, mounted them up to three livres a-piece, and the real value of the wine might be nine or ten coppers a bottle ; be sure, not more. The injury which clothing sustains, in such long journeys upon paved roads, is incredible. I fancy I never related to you a droll adventure which hap- pened to me on my journey here. My friends ad- vised me, when I came abroad, to take my money in 19 290 LETTERS. crowns and dollars, as being the most advantageous for me ; but, when arrived, I found I could not part with them without much loss, so I concluded to take them with me to France. There were about two hundred, which I had put into a strong bag, and at the bottom of my travelling trunk they were placed, in the middle of which I had put a large band-box in which I had packed a very nice gauze bonnet, four caps, handkerchiefs, &c., (to the amount of about five guineas,) which I had made for me whilst I was in London. The third day of our journey, when I had occasion to open the trunk, I found a prodigious black dust upon the top. I directed it to be taken out, when O ! terrible to behold, " dust to dust, and ashes to ashes," nothing was left of all my rigging but a few black rags ; so that, when I got to Paris, I could not be seen until I had sent to the milliner's and bought a cap. You can carry nothing with any safety, but what is upon the top of the carriage. Affectionately yours, A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. Auteuil, 8 May, 1785. MY DEAR SISTER, Can my dear sister realize that it is near eleven months since I left her ? To me it seems incredi- ble ; more like a dream than a reality. Yet it ought to appear the longest ten months of my life, LETTERS. 291 if I were to measure the time by the variety of ob- jects which have occupied my attention ; but, amidst them all, my heart returns, like the dove of Noah, and rests only in my native land. I never thought myself so selfish a being as since I have become a traveller ; for, although I see nature around me in a much higher state of cultivation than our own country can boast, and elegance of taste and man- ners in a thousand forms, I cannot feel interested in them ; it is in \ain for me, that here " kind Nature wakes her genial power, Suckles each herb, and nurtures every flower." 'T is true the garden yields a rich profusion ; but they are neither plants of my hand, nor children of my care. I have bought a little bird lately, and I really think I feel more attached to that, than to any object out of my own family, animate or inanimate. Yet I do not consider myself in the predicament of a poor fellow, who, not having a house in which to put his head, took up his abode in the stable of a gentleman ; but, though so very poor, he kept a dog, with whom he daily divided the small portion of food which he earned. Upon being asked why, when he found it so difficult to live himself, he still kept a dog ; " What," says the poor fellow, " part with my dog ! Why, whom should I have to love me then ? " You can never feel the force of this reply, unless you were to go into a foreign country without being able to speak the language of it. I could not have believed, if I had not experi- "292 LETTEHS. enced it, how strong the love of country is in the human mind. Strangers from all parts of the coun- try, who visit us, feel more nearly allied than the most intimate acquaintance I have in Europe. Be- fore this will reach you, you will have learnt our destination to England. Whether it will prove a more agreeable situation than the present, will de- pend much upon the state of politics. We must first go to Holland to arrange our affairs there, and to take leave of that Court. I shall wish to be mov- ing as soon as my family lessens, it will be so lone- some. We have as much company in a formal way as our revenues will admit ; and Mr. Jefferson, with one or two Americans, visits us in the social, friend- ly way. I shall really regret to leave Mr. Jeffer- son ; he is one of the choice ones of the earth. On Thursday, I dine with him at his house. On Sun- day, he is to dine here. On Monday, we all dine with the Marquis ; and on Thursday we dine with the Swedish Ambassador, one of the most agreeable men, and the politest gentleman I have met with. He lives like a prince. I know you love to know all my movements, which makes me so particular to you. I have many affairs upon me at present. What with my son's going away, my own adjustments for a final leave of this country, many things must pass through my hands ; but I am the less anxious to write, as your nephew will tell you all about us. You will think I ought to have written you more LETTERS. 293 now ; but I am almost sick of my pen, and I know you will see what I write to others. I will not, however, close until the day before he quits the house. 10 May. To-morrow morning my son takes his departure for America, and we go next week to England. I have nothing further to add, than my regards to Mr. Cranch, and a desire that you would let me hear from you by every opportunity. I shall lose part, and the greatest part of American intelligence by quitting France ; for no person is so well inform- ed from all the States as the Marquis de la Fayette. He has established a correspondence in all the" States, and has the newspapers from every quarter. Adieu. A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. London, Bath Hotel, Westminster, 24 June, 1785. MY DEAR SISTER, I HAVE been here a month without writing a single line to my American friends. About the 28th of May we reached London, and expected to have gone into our old quiet lodgings at the Adelphi ; but we found every hotel full. The sitting of Parlia- ment, the birth-day of the King, and the famous celebration of the music of Handel at Westminster Abbey had drawn together such a concourse of peo- 294 LETTERS. pie, that we were glad to get into lodgings at the moderate price of a guinea per day, for two rooms and two chambers at the Bath Hotel, Westminster, Piccadilly, where we yet are. This being the Court end of the city, it is the resort of a vast concourse of carriages. It is too public and noisy for pleasure ; but necessity is without law. The ceremony of // presentation, upon one week to the King, and the next to the Queen, was to take place, after which I was to prepare for mine. It is customary, upon presentation, to receive visits from all the foreign ministers ; so that we could not exchange our lodg- ings for more private ones, as we might and should, had we been only in a private character. The foreign ministers, and several English lords and earls, have paid their compliments here, and all hitherto is civil and polite. I was a fortnight, all the time I could get, looking at different houses, but could not find any one fit to inhabit under c£200, besides the taxes, which mount up to £50 or <£60. At last, my good genius carried me to one in Grosvenor Square, which was not let, because the person who had the care of it could let it only for the remaining lease, which was one year and three quarters. The price, which is not quite <^200, the situation, and all to- gether, induced us to close the bargain, and t have prevailed upon the person who lets it to paint two rooms, which will put it into decent order ; so that, as soon as our furniture comes, I shall again com- mence housekeeping. Living at a hotel is, I think, LETTERS. 295 more expensive than housekeeping, in proportion to what one has for his money. We have never had more than two dishes at a time upon our table, and have not pretended to ask any company, and yet we live at a greater expense than twenty-five guineas per week. The wages of servants, horse- hire, house-rent, and provisions are much dearer here than in France. Servants of various sorts, and for different departments, are to be procured ; their characters are to be inquired into, and this I take up- on me, even to the coachman. You can hardly form an idea how much I miss my son on this, as well as on many other accounts ; but I cannot bear to trouble Mr. Adams with any thing of a domestic kind, who, from morning until evening, has sufficient to occupy all his time. You can have no idea of the petitions, letters, and private applications for assistance, which crowd our doors. Every person represents his case as dismal. Some may really be objects of compassion, and some we assist ; but one must have an inexhaustible purse to supply them all. Besides, there are so many gross impositions practised, as we have found in more instances than one, that it would take the whole of a person's time to trace all their stories. Many pretend to have been American soldiers, some to have served as officers. A most glaring instance of falsehood, however. Colonel Smith^ detected in a man of these pretensions, who sent to Mr. Adams from the King's 1 This gentleman was, by Congress, appointed Secretary of 296 Bench prison, and modestly desired five guineas ; a qualified cheat, but evidently a man of letters and abilities ; but, if it is to continue in this way, a galley slave would have an easier task. The Tory venom has begun to spit itself forth in the public papers, as I expected, bursting with envy that an American minister should be received here with the same marks of attention, politeness, and civility, which are shown to the ministers of any other power. AVhen a minister delivers his creden- tials to the King, it is always in his private closet, attended only by the Minister for Foreign Affairs, which is called a private audience, and the minister presented makes some little address to his Majesty, and the same ceremony to the Queen, whose reply was in these words ; " Sir, I thank you for your civility to me and my family, and I am glad to see you in this country ; " then she very politely inquir- ed whether he had got a house yet. The answer of his Majesty was much longer ; but I am not at lib- erty to say more respecting it, than that it was civil and polite, and that his Majesty said he was glad the choice of his country had fallen upon him. The news-liars know nothing of the matter ; they repre- sent it just to answer their purpose. Last Thursday, Colonel Smith was presented at Court, and to-mor- row, at the Queen's circle, my ladyship and your Legation to Mr. Adams upon this mission } and. not long after. married his dausfhter LETTERS. 297 niece make oiiv compHments. There is no other presentation in Europe, in which I should feel so much as in this. Your own reflections will easily suggest the reasons. I have received a very friendly and polite visit from the Countess of Effingham. She called, and not finding me at home, left a card. I returned her visit ; but was obliged to do it by leaving my card too, as she was gone out of town ; but, when her Ladyship returned, she sent her compliments and word, that if agreeable she would take a dish of tea with me, and named her day. She accordingly came, and appeared a very polite, sensible woman. She is about forty, a good person, though a little masculine, elegant in her appearance, very easy and social. The Earl of Effingham is too well re- membered^ by America to need ^ny particular re- cital of his character. His mother is first lady to the Queen. When her Ladyship took leave, she desired I would let her know the day I would favor her with a visit, as she should be loth to be absent. She resides, in summer, a little distance from town. The Earl is a member of Parliament, which obliges him now to be in town, and she usually comes with him, and resides at a hotel a little distance from this. 1 find a good many ladies belonging to the South- 1 Oa account of liis resigning his commission in the British army, ratiier than serve against America. See his letter, in " The Remembrancer," for 1775, p. 2C3. 298 LETTERS. ern States here, many of whom have visited me ; I have exchanged visits with several, yet neither of us have met. The custom is, however, here much more agreeable than in France, for it is as with us ; the stranger is first visited. The ceremony of presentation here is considered as indispensable. There are four minister-plenipo- tentiaries' ladies here ; but one ambassador, and he has no lady. In France, the ladies of ambas- sadors only are presented. One is obliged here to attend the circles of the Queen, which are held in summer once a fortnight, but once a week the rest of the year ; and what renders it exceedingly expensive is, that you cannot go twice the same season in the same dress, and a Court dress you cannot make use of anywhere else. I directed my mantuamaker to let my dress be elegant, but plain as I could possibly appear, with decency ; accord- ingly, it is white lutestring, covered and full trim- med whh white crape, festooned with lilac ribbon and mock point lace, over a hoop of enormous ex- tent ; there is only a narrow train of about three yards in length to the gown waist, which is put into a ribbon upon the left side, the Queen only having her train borne. Ruffle cuffs for married ladies, treble lace ruffles, a very dress cap with long lace lappets, two white plumes, and a blonde lace hand- kerchief. This is my rigging. I should have men- tioned two pearl pins in my hair, ear-rings and necklace of the same kind. LETTERS. 299 Tliursday Morning. My head is dressed for St. James's, and, in my opinion, looks very tasty. Whilst my daughter's is undergoing the same operation I set myself down composedly to write you a few lines. " Well," me- thinks I hear Betsey and Lucy say, " what is cousin's dress ? " White, my dear girls, like your aunt's, only differently trimmed and ornamented ; her train being wholly of white crape, and trimmed with white ribbon ; the petticoat, which is the most showy part of the dress, covered and drawn up in what are called festoons, with light wreaths of beautiful flow- ers ; the sleeves white crape, drawn over the silk, with a row of lace round the sleeve, near the shoul- der, another half way down the arm, and a third upon the top of the ruffle, a little flower stuck be- tween ; a kind of hat cap, with three large feathers and a bunch of flowers ; a wreath of flowers upon the hair. Thus equipped, we go in our own car- riage, and Mr. Adams and Colonel Smith in his. But I must quit my pen to put myself in order for the ceremony, which begins at two o'clock. When I return I will relate to you my reception ; but do not let it circulate, as there may be persons eager to catch at every thing, and as much given to misrep- resentation as here. I would gladly be excused the ceremony. Friday Morning. Congratulate me, my dear sister, it is over. I was too much fatigued to write a line last evening. 300 LETTERS. At two o'clock we went to the circle, which is in the drawing-room of the Queen. We passed through several apartments, lined as usual with spectators upon these occasions. Upon entering the ante- chamber, the Baron de Lynden, the Dutch Minister, who has been often here, came and spoke with me. A Count Sarsfield, a French nobleman, with whom I was acquainted, paid his compliments. As I passed into the drawing-room, Lord Carmarthen and Sir Clement Cotterel Donner were presented to me. Though they had been several times here, I had nev- er seen them before. The Swedish and the Polish ministers made their compliments, and several other gentlemen ; but not a single lady did I know until the Countess of Effingham came, who was very civil. There were three young ladies, daughters of the Marquis of Lothian, who were to be presented at the same time, and two brides. We were placed in a circle round the drawing-room, which was very full, I believe two hundred persons present. Only think of the task ! The royal family have to go round to every person, and find small talk enough to speak to all of them, though they very prudently speak in a whisper, so that only the person who stands next you can hear what is said. The King enters the room, and goes round to the right ; the Queen and Princesses to the left. The lord in wait- ing presents you to the King; and the lady in waiting does the same to her Majesty. The King is a person- able man, but, my dear sister, he has a certain coun- LETTERS. 301 tenance, which you and I have often remarked ; a red face and white eyebrows. The Queen has a similar countenance, and the numerous royal family confirm the observation. Persons are not placed ac- cording to their rank in the drawing-room, but pro- miscuously ; and when the King comes in he takes persons as they stand. When he came to me. Lord Onslow said, " Mrs. Adams " ; upon which I drew off my right-hand glove, and his Majesty saluted my left cheek ; then asked me if I had taken a walk to- day. I could have told his Majesty that I had been all the morning preparing to wait upon him ; but I replied, " No, Sire." " Why, don't you love walk- ing ? " says he. I answered, that I was rather indolent in that respect. He then bowed, and pass- ed on. It was more than two hours after this be- fore it came to my turn to be presented to the Queen. The circle was so large that the company were four hours standing. The Queen was evi- dently embarrassed when I was presented to her. I had disagreeable feelings too. She, however, said, " Mrs. Adams, have you got into your house ? Pray, how do you like the situation of it ? " Whilst the Princess Royal looked com- passionate, and asked me if I was not much fa- tigued ; and observed, that it was a very full draw- ing-room. Her sister, who came next. Princess Augusta, after having asked your niece if she was ever in England before, and her answering " Yes," inquired of me how long ago, and supposed it was 302 LETTERS. when she was very young. And all this is said with much affability, and the ease and freedom of old acquaintance. The manner, in which they make their tour round the room, is, first, the Queen, the lady in waiting behind her, holding up her train ; next to her the Princess Royal ; after her. Princess Augusta, and their lady in waiting behind them. They are pretty, rather than beautiful, well- shaped, with fair complexions, and a tincture of the King's countenance. The two sisters look much alike ; they were both dressed in black and silver silk, with a silver netting upon the coat, and their heads full of diamond pins. The Queen was in purple and silver. She is not well shaped nor handsome. As to the ladies of the Court, rank and title may compensate for want of personal charms ; but they are, in general, very plain, ill-shaped, and ugly ; but don't you tell anybody that I say so. If one wants to see beauty, one must go to Ranelagh ; there it is collected, in one bright constellation. There were two ladies very elegant, at Court, — Lady Salisbury and Lady Talbot ; but the observation did not in general hold good, that fine feathers make fine birds. I saw many who were vastly richer dressed than your friends, but I will venture to say, that I saw none neater or more elegant; which praise I ascribe to the taste of Mrs. Temple and my mantuamaker ; for, after having declared that I would not have any foil or tinsel about me, they fixed upon the dress I have described. Mrs. Tern- LETTERS. 303 pie is my near neighbour, and has been very friendly to me. Mr. Temple, you know, is deaf, so that I cannot hold much conversation with him. The Tories are very free with their compliments. Scarcely a paper escapes without some scurrility. "We bear it with silent contempt ; having met a polite reception from the Court, it bites them like a serpent, and stings them like an adder. As to the success the negotiations may meet with, time alone can disclose the result ; but, if this nation does not suffer itself to be again duped by the artifice of some and the malice of others, it will unite itself with America on the most liberal principles and sen- timents. Captain Dashwood come ? Why, I have not half done. I have not told your aunt yet, that, whilst I was writing, I received her thrice-welcome letters, and from my dear cousins too, aunt Shaw and all ; nor how sometimes I laughed, and sometimes I cried. Yet there was nothing sorrowful in the let- ters, only they were too tender for me. What, not time to say I will write to all of them as soon as possible ? Why, I know they will all think I ought to write ; but how is it possible ? Let them think what I have had to do, and what I have had to ac- complish, as my furniture is come, and will be land- ed to-morrow. Eat the sweetmeats. Divide them amongst you, and the choicest sweetmeat of all I shall have in thinking that you enjoy them. 1 went, last evening, to Ranelagh ; but I must re- 304 LETTERS. serve that story for the young folk. You see I am in haste. Believe me most tenderly yours, A. A. TO MRS. SHAW. London, (Grosvenor Square,) 15 August, 1785. MY DEAR SISTER, I HAVE been situated here for nearly six weeks. It is one of the finest squares in London. The air is as pure as it can be so near a great city. It is but a small distance from Hyde Park, round which I sometimes walk, but oftener ride. It resembles Boston Common, much larger, and more beautified with trees. On one side of it is a fine river. St. James's Park and Kensington Gardens are two other fashionable walks, which I am very sensible I ought to improve oftener than I do. One wants society in these places. Mrs. Temple is the only person near me with whom I can use the freedom of calling upon her to ride or walk with me, and her, to my no small regret, I am going to lose. Mrs. Hay resides out at Hampstead, about four miles from London. We visit, but they have such a paltry custom of dining here at night, that it ruins that true American sociability which only I delight in. Polite circles are much alike throughout Europe. Swift's " Jour- nal of a Modern Lady," though written sixty years ago, is perfectly applicable to the present day ; and, though noted as the changeable sex, in this scene of LETTERS. 305 dissipation they have been steady. I shall never have much society with this kind of people, for they would not like me any more than I do them. They think much more of their titles here than in France. It is not unusual to find people of the highest rank there, the best bred and the politest people. If they have an equal share of pride, they know better how to hide it. Until I came here, I had no idea what a national and illiberal inveteracy the English have against their better behaved neigh- bours, and I feel a much greater partiality for them than I did whilst I resided among them. I would recommend to this nation a little more liberality and discernment ; their contracted sentiments lead them to despise all other nations. Perhaps I should be chargeable with the same narrow sentiments, if I give America the preference over these old European nations. In the cultivation of the arts and improve- ment in manufactures, they greatly excel us ; but we have native genius, capacity, and ingenuity, equal to all their improvements, and much more general knowledge diffused amongst us. You can scarcely form an idea how much superior our com- mon people, as they are termed, are to those of the same rank in this country. Neither have we that servility of manners, which the distinction between nobility and citizens gives to the people of this country. We tremble not, either at the sight or name of majesty. I own that I never felt my- self in a more contemptible situation, than when 20 306 LETTERS. I stood four hours together for a gracious smile from majesty, a witness to the anxious solicitude of those around me for the same mighty hoon. I how- ever had a more dignified honor, as his Majesty deigned to salute me. I have not been since to the drawing-room, but propose going to the next. As the company are chiefly out of town, the ceremony will not be so tedious. As to politics, the English continue to publish the most abusive, barefaced falsehoods against Ameri- ca that you can conceive of; yet, glaring as they are, they gain credit here, and they shut their eyes against a friendly and liberal intercourse. Yet their very existence depends upon a friendly union with us. How the pulse of the ministry beats, time will unfold ; but I do not promise or wish to myself a long continuance here. Such is the tem- per of the two nations towards each other, that, if we have not peace, we must have war. We cannot resign the intercourse, and quit each other. I hope, however, that it will not come to that alternative. Adieu. Your sister, A. A. TO MISS LUCY CRANCH. London, (Grosvenor Square,) 27 August, 1785. MY DEAK LUCY, I HAVE not yet noticed your obliging favor of April 26th, which reached me by Captain Lyde, whilst LETTERS. 307 I was at the Bath Hotel. I had then so much upon my hands, that I did not get time to write but to your mamma and cousin, who I hope is with you before now. By him I wrote many letters, and amongst the number of my friends, my dear Lucy was not omitted. If I did not believe my friends were partial to all I write, I should sometimes feel discouraged when I take my pen ; for, amongst so large a number of cor- respondents, I feel at a loss how to supply them all. It is usual at a large entertainment, to bring the solid food in the first course. The second consists of lighter diet, kickshaws, trifles, whip syllabub &c. ; the third is the dessert, consisting of the fruits of the season, and sometimes foreign sweetmeats. If it would not be paying my letters too great a compliment to compare any of them to solid food, I should feel no reluctance at keeping up the meta- phor with respect to the rest. Yet it is not the studied sentence, nor the elaborate period, which pleases, but the genuine sentiments of the heart ex- pressed with simplicity. All the specimens, which have been handed down to us as models for letter- writing, teach us that natural ease is the greatest beauty of it. It is that native simplicity too, which gives to the Scotch songs a merit superior to all others. My Scotch song, " There 's na luck about the house," will naturally occur to your mind. I believe Richardson has done more towards em- bellishing the present age, and teaching them the 308 LETTERS. talent of letter- writing, than any other modern I can name. You know I am passionately fond of all his works, even to his " Pamela." In the simplicity of our manners, we judge that many of his descrip- tions and some of his characters are beyond real life ; but those, who have been conversant in these old cor- rupted countries, will be soon convinced that Rich- ardson painted only the truth in his abandoned char- acters ; and nothing beyond what human nature is capable of attaining, and frequently has risen to, in his amiable portraits. Richardson was master of the human heart ; he studied and copied nature ; he has shown the odiousness of vice, and the fatal consequences which result from the practice of it ; he has painted virtue in all her amiable attitudes ; he never loses sight of religion, but points his char- acters to a future state of restitution as the sure ground of safety to the virtuous, and excludes not hope from the wretched penitent. The oftener I have read his books, and the more I reflect upon his great variety of characters, perfectly well supported, the more I am led to love and admire the author. He must have an abandoned, wicked, and depraved heart, who can be tempted to vice by the perusal of Richardson's works. Indeed, I know not how a person can read them without being made better by them, as they dispose the mind to receive and relish every good and benevolent principle. He miay have faults, but they are so few, that they ought not to be named in the brilliant clusters of beauties LETTERS. 309 which ornament his works. The human mind is an active principle, always in search of some gratifica- tion ; and those writings which tend to elevate it to the contemplation of truth and virtue, and to teach it that it is capable of rising to higher degrees of excellence than the mere gratification of sensual appetites and passions, contribute to promote its mental pleasures, and to advance the dignity of our natures. Sir Joshua Reynolds's observation with respect to painting may be applied to all those works which tend to refine the taste, " which, if it does not lead directly to purity of manners, obviates, at least, their greatest depravation, by disentangling the mind from appetite, and conducting the thoughts through successive stages of excellence, till that contempla- tion of universal rectitude and harmony, which began by taste, may, as it is exalted and refined, conclude in virtue." Why may we not suppose, that, the higher our at- tainments in knowledge and virtue are here on earth, the more nearly we assimilate ourselves to that order of beings who now rank above us in the world of spirits ? We are told in Scripture, that there are different kinds of glory, and that one star differeth from another. Why should not those who hav^ dis- tinguished themselves by superior excellence over their fellow-mortals continue to preserve their rank when admitted to the kingdom of the just ? Though the estimation of worth may be very different in the view of the righteous Judge of the world from that 310 LETTERS. which vain man esteems such on earth, yet we may rest assured that justice will be strictly administered to us. But whither has my imagination wandered ? Very distant from my thoughts when I first took my pen. We have a large company to dine with us to-day, and I have some few arrangements to make before dinner, which obliges me to hasten to a conclusion ; among the persons invited, is a gentleman who mar- ried the only daughter of Richardson. She died about six months ago. This gentleman has in his possession the only portrait of her father which was ever taken. He has several times invited me to go to his house and see it. I design it, though I have not yet accepted his invitation. Write to me, my dear Lucy, and be assured I speak the words of truth and soberness when I tell you that your letters give real pleasure to Your affectionate aunt, A. A. TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. London, G September, 1785. Grosvenor Square. MY DEAR SON, Yesterday, being Sunday, I went with your father to the Foundling Church, Dr. Price, whom we usually attend, being absent a few weeks in the country. When I returned from church, I went into my closet and took up my pen, with an inten- LETTERS. 311 tion of writing to you ; but I really felt so triste at not having heard of your arrival, that I could not compose myself sufficiently to write to you ; so I scribbled to your brothers. By the time I had fin- ished my letters, I was called to tea. Mr. Brown, the painter, came in and spent part of the evening. I read a sermon in Barrow upon the government of the tongue, and went to bed with one of my old im- pressions, that letters were near at hand. This morning went below to breakfast; the urn was brought up boiling ; the chocolate ready upon the table ; enter Mr. Spiller, the butler, who, by the way, is a very spruce body, and after very respect- fully bowing with his hands full, "Mr. Church's compliments to you. Sir, and has brought you this packet, but could not wait upon you to-day, as he was obliged to go out of town." Up we all jumped ; your sister seized hold of a letter, and cried " My brother, my brother ! " We were not long opening and perusing, and " I am so glad," and " I am so glad," was repeated from one to another. Mamma did not fail remarking her old impression. The chocolate grew cold, the top of the tea-pot was for- gotten, and the bread and butter went down uneaten. Yet nobody felt the loss of breakfast. So near akin are joy and grief, that the effect is often similar. Our countrymen have most essentially injured themselves by running here in shoals after the peace, and obtaining a credit which they cannot support. They have so shackled and hampered 312 LETTERS. themselves, that they cannot extricate themselves. Merchants, who have given credit, are now suffer- ing, and that naturally creates ill-will and hard words. His Majesty and the ministry show every personal respect and civility which we have any right to expect. The Marquis de la Fayette writes, that he had always heard his Majesty was a great dissembler, but he never was so thoroughly con- vinced of it as by the reception given to the Amer- ican Minister. I wish their conduct with regard to our country was of a piece with that which they have shown to its representative. The Marquis of Carmarthen and Mr. Pitt appear to possess the most liberal ideas with respect to us, of any part of the ministry. With regard to the negroes, they are full and clear that they ought to be paid for ; but, as to the posts, they say the relinquishment of them must depend upon certain other matters, which you know they were not at liberty to explain in private conversation ; but it is no doubt they mean to keep them as a security for the payment of the debts, and as a rod over our heads. They think we are as little able to go to war as they are. The budget has not yet been officially opened. A generous treaty has been tendered them, upon which they are now pondering and brewing. The fate of the Irish propositions has thrown weight into the Amer- ican scale ; but there are so many bones of conten- tion between us, that snarling spirits will foment into rage, and cool ones kindle by repeated irrita- LETTERS. 313 tion. It is astonishing, that this nation catch at every straw which swims, and delude themselves with the bubble that we are weary of our indepen- dence, and wish to return under their government again. They arc more actuated by these ideas in their whole system toward us, than by any generous plans, which would become them as able statesmen and a great nation. They think to effect their plans by prohibitory acts and heavy duties. A late act has passed, prohibiting the exportation of any tools of any kind. They say they can injure us much more than we can them, and they seem determined to try the experiment. Those, who look beyond the present moment, foresee the consequences, that this nation will never leave us until they drive us into power and greatness that will finally shake this kingdom. We must struggle hard first, and find many difficulties to encounter, but we may be a great and a powerful nation if we will. Industry and frugality, wisdom and virtue, must make us so. I think America is taking steps towards a reform, and I know her capable of whatever she undertakes. I hope you will never lose sight of her interests ; but make her welfare your study, and spend those hours, which others devote to cards and folly, in in- vestigating the great principles by which nations have risen to glory and eminence ; for your country will one day call for your services, either in the cabinet or field. Qualify yourself to do honor to her. 314 LETTERS. You will probably hear, before this reaches you, of the extraordinary affair respecting the Cardinal Rohan. It is said that his confinement is in conse- quence of his making use of the Queen's name to get a diamond necklace of immense value into his hands. Others say it is in consequence of some re- flections cast upon the character of the Queen ; others suppose that the real fact is not known. I send you one newspaper account of the matter, and have not room to add more than that I am Your affectionate mother, A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. London, 30 September, 1785. MY DEAR SISTER, Your kind letters of July and August are before me. I thank you most sincerely for the particular manner in which you write. I go along with you, and take an interest in every transaction which con- cerns those I love ; and I enjoy more pleasure from those imaginary scenes than I do from the drawing- room at St. James's. In one, I feel myself your friend and equal. In the other, I know I am looked down upon with a sovereign pride, and the smile of royalty is bestowed as a mighty boon. As such, however, I cannot receive it. I know it is due to my country, and I consider myself as complimenting the power before which I appear as much as I am LETTERS. 315 complimented by being noticed by it. With these ideas, you may be sure my countenance will never wear that suppliant appearance, which begs for notice. Consequently, I never expect to be a Court favorite. Nor would I ever again set my foot there, if the etiquette of my country did not require it. But, whilst I am in a public character, I must submit to the penalty ; for such I shall ever esteem it. You will naturally suppose that I have lately been much fatigued. This is very true. I attended the drawing-room last week, upon the anniversary of the coronation of their Majesties. The company were very brilliant, and her Majesty was stiff with diamonds ; the three eldest Princesses and the Prince of Wales were present. His Highness look- ed much better than when I saw him before. He is a stout, well-made man, and would look very well if he had not sacrificed so much to Bacchus. The Princess Elizabeth I never saw before. She is about fifteen ; a short, clumsy miss, and would not be thought handsome if she was not a princess. The whole family have one complexion, and all are inclined to be corpulent. I should know them in any part of the world. Notwithstanding the Eng- lish boast so much of their beauties, I do not think they have really so much of it as you will find amongst the same proportion of people in America. It is true that their complexions are undoubtedly fairer than the French, and in general their figure 316 LETTERS. is good. Of this they make the best ; but I have not seen a lady in England who can bear a com- parison with Mrs. Bingham, Mrs. Piatt, and a Miss Hamilton, who is a Philadelphia young lady. Amongst the most celebrated of their beauties stands the Duchess of Devonshire, who is masculine in her appearance. Lady Salisbury is small and genteel, but her complexion is bad ; and Lady Tal- bot is not a Mrs. Bingham, who, taken altogether, is the finest woman I ever saw. The intelligence of her countenance, or rather, I ought to say, anima- tion, the elegance of her form, and the affability of her manners, convert you into admiration ; and one has only to lament too much dissipation and frivolity of amusement, which have weaned her from her native country, and given her a passion and thirst after all the luxuries of Europe. The finest English woman I have seen is the eldest daughter of Mr. Dana, brother to our Mr. Dana ; he resides in the country, but was in London with two of his daughters, when I first came here. I saw her first at Ranelagh. I was struck with her appearance, and endeavoured to find who she was ; for she appeared like Calypso amongst her nymphs, delicate and modest. She was easily known from the crowd, as a stranger. I had not long admired her, before she was brought by her father and intro- duced to me, after which she made me a visit, with her sister, who was much out of health. At the LETTERS. 317 same time that she has the hest title of any English woman I have seen to the rank of a divinity, I would not have it forgotten that her father is an American, and, as he was remarkably handsome, no doubt she owes a large share of her beauty to him. I dread to hear from my dear aunt, lest melan- choly tidings should reach me with respect to her. She is at the same critical period of life which proved fatal to Mrs. B. I will, however, hope that she may yet be spared to her friends. Though her health would never permit her to engage in the active business of her family, she was attentive to the interest and welfare of every individual of it. Like Sarah, she was always to be found in her tent. A more benevolent heart never inhabited a human breast. It was well-matched and seconded in a partner equally benevolent and humane, who has shared with us our former griefs, and will find us equally sympathetic towards himself, should so great a misfortune attend him as I fear. Indeed, I know not how to take my pen to write to him. I do not wonder that your heart was affected, or your spirits low, under the apprehension of losing one so de- servedly dear to us all. Should this ornament be broken from the original building, it will be ano:her memento to us of the frailty of the whole, and that duration depends not upon age. Yet who would desire to stand, the last naked pillar of the whole ? I believe our social affections strengthen by age ; as those objects and amusements which gratified our 318 LETTERS. youthful years lose their relish, the social converse and society of friends becomes more necessary. "JNeedful auxiliars are our friends, to give To social man true relish of himself" But I must close, as I am going to dine to-day with my friend Mrs. Rogers, where I have given myself an invitation, the occasion of which I will reserve for the subject of another letter, and sub- scribe myself affectionately yours, A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. London, 1 October, 1785. MY DEAR SISTER, I TOLD you in my last, that I was going to dine with my friend Mrs. Rogers. You must know that yes- terday the whole diplomatic corps dined here ; that is, his Lordship the Marquis of Carmarthen, and all the foreign ministers, fifteen in all, and to-day the newspapers proclaim it. I believe they have as many spies here as the police of France. Upon these occasions, no ladies are admitted ; so I wrote a card and begged a dinner for myself and daugh- ter of Mrs. Rogers, where I know I am always welcome. It is customary to send out cards of invitation ten days beforehand. Our cards were gone out, and, as good luck would have it, Captain Hay returned from the West Indies, and presented us with a noble tur- tle, weighing a hundred and fourteen pounds, which LETTERS. 319 was dressed upon this occasion. Though it gave us a good deal of pain to receive so valuable a present from thorn, yet we could not refuse it without af- fronting them, and it certainly happened at a most fortunate time. On Tuesday, they and a number of our American friends, and some of our English friends^ for I assure you we have a chosen few of that number, are to dine with us. This afternoon I have had a visit from Madame Pinto, the lady of the Portuguese minister. They have all visited now, and I have returned their vis- its ; but this is the only lady that I have seen. She speaks English tolerably, and appears an agreeable woman. She has lately returned to this country, from whence she has been five years absent. The Chevalier de Pinto has been minister here for many years. Some years hence it may be a pleasure to reside here in the character of American minister ; but, with the present salary and the present temper of the English, no one need envy the embassy. There would soon be fine work, if any notice was taken of their billingsgate and abuse ; but all their arrows rebound, and fall harmless to the ground. Amidst all their falsehoods, they have never insinu- ated a lisp against the private character of the American minister, nor in his public hne charged him with either want of abilities, honor, or integrity. The whole venom has been levelled against poor America ; and every efTort to make her appear ridiculous in the eyes of the nation. How would 320 LETTERS. • they exult, if they could lay hold of any circum- stance, in either of our characters, to make us ap- pear ridiculous. I received a letter to-day from Mr. Jefferson, who "vvrites me that he had just received a parcel of English newspapers ; they " teem," says he, " with every horror of which nature is capable ; assassina- tion, suicide, thefts, robberies, and, what is worse than thefts, murder, and robbery, the blackest slan- ders ! Indeed, the man must be of rock who can stand all this. To Mv. Adams it will be but one victory the more. It would illy suit me. I do not love difficulties. I am fond of quiet ; willing to do my duty ; but irritable by slander, and apt to be forced by it to abandon my post. I fancy," says he, " it must be the quantity of animal food eaten by the English, which renders their character un- susceptible of civilization. I suspect that it is in their kitchens, and not in their churches, that their reformation must be worked, and that missionaries from hence would avail more than those who should endeavour to tame them by precepts of religion or philosophy." But he adds, " What do the foolish printers of America mean by retailing all this stuff in our pa- pers, as if it was not enough to be slandered by one's enemies, without circulating the slanders amongst one's friends too ? " I could tell Mr. Jefferson that I doubt not there are persons in America equally gratified with them LETTERS. 321 as the English, and that from a spirit of envy. But these open attacks are nothing to the secret and sub- tile enemies Mr. Adams has had heretofore to en- counter. In Mr. Jefferson he has a firm and faithful friend, with whom he can consult and advise ; and, as each of them has no object but the good of their country in view, they have an unlimited confidence in each otlier ; and they have only to lament that the Channel divides their more frequent intercourse. You ask me whether I must tarry out three years. Heaven only knows what may be the re- sult of one. If any probability appears of accom- plishing any thing, 'tis likely we may tarry. I am sure that it will be a labor, if not of love, yet of much perplexity and difficulty. The immense debt, due from the mercantile part of America to this country, sours this people beyond measure, and greatly distresses thousands, who never were nor ever will be politicians, — the manufacturers, — who supplied the merchants, and depend upon them for remittances. Indeed, I pity their situation. At the same time, I think our countrymen greatly to blame for getting a credit, that many of them have taken no pains to preserve, but have thoughtlessly rioted upon the property of others. And this, among other things, makes our situation very disagreeable, and the path very diflicult for negotiation. Adieu. Yours affectionately, A. A. 21 322 LETTERS. TO MRS. SHAW. London, 4 March, 1786. MY DEAR SISTER, I SELDOM feel a sufficient stimulus for writing until I hear that a vessel is just about to sail, and then I find myself so deep in debt, that I know not where to begin to discharge the account ; but it is time for me to be a little more provident ; for, upon looking into my list, I find I have no less than eighteen cor- respondents, who have demands upon me. One needs to have a more fruitful fund than I am possess- ed of, to pay half these in sterling bullion. I fear many will find too great a quantity of alloy to be pleased with the traffic. I think, in one of my letters to you last autumn, I promised to give you some account of the cele- brated actress, Mrs. Siddons, whom I was then going to see. You may well suppose my expecta- tions were very high; but her circumstances were such then as prevented her from exerting that force of passion, and that energy of action, which have rendered her so justly celebrated You will suppose that she ought not to have appeared at all upon the stage. I should have thought so too, if I had not seen her ; but she had contrived her dress in such a manner as wholly to disguise her situa- tion ; and chose only those tragedies where little exertion was necessary. The first piece I saw her LETTERS. 323 in was Shakspeare's " Othello." She was interest- ing beyond any actress I had ever seen ; but I lost much of the pleasure of the play, from the sooty appearance of the Moor. Perhaps it may be early prejudice ; but I could not separate the African color from the man, nor prevent that disgust and horror which filled my mind every time I saw him touch the gentle Desdemona ; nor did I wonder that Bra- bantio thought some love potion or some witchcraft had been practised to make his daughter fall in love with what she scarcely dared to look upon. I have been more pleased with her since in sev- eral other characters, particularly in Matilda in " The Carmelite," a play which 1 send you for your amuse- ment. Much of Shakspeare's language is so un- couth that it sounds very harsh. He has beauties which are not equalled ; but I should suppose they might be rendered much more agreeable for the stage by alterations. I saw Mrs. Siddons a few evenings ago in " Macbeth," a play, you recollect, full of horror. She supported her part with great propriety ; but she is too great to be put in so detest- able a character. I have not yet seen her in her most pathetic characters, which are Jane Shore, Belvidera in "Venice Preserved," and Isabella in " The Fatal Marriage." For you must make as much interest here to get a box when she plays, as to get a place at Court ; and they are usually ob- tained in the same way. It would be very difficult to find the thing in this country which money will not purchase, provided you can bribe high enough. 324 LETTERS. What adds much to the merit of Mrs. Siddons, is her virtuous character ; slander itself never having slurred it. She is married to a man who bears a good character ; but his name and importance are wholly swallowed up in her fame. She is the mother of five children ; but from her looks you would not imagine her more than twenty-five years old. She is happy in having a brother who is one of the best tragic actors upon the stage, and always plays the capital parts with her ; so that both her husband and the virtuous part of the audience can see them in the tenderest scenes without once fearing for their reputation. I scribble to you upon these sub- jects, yet fear they do not give you the pleasure I wish to communicate ; for it is with the stage as with Yorick's " Sentimental Journey," — no person can have an equal relish for it with those who have been in the very place described. I can, however, inform you of something which will be more interesting to you, because it is the work of one of our own countrymen, and of one of the most important events of the late war. Mr. Trumbull has made a painting of the battle at Charlestown, and the death of General Warren. To speak of its merit, I can only say that in looking at it my whole frame contracted, my blood shivered, and I felt a faintness at my heart. He is the first painter who has undertaken to immortalize by his pencil those great actions, that gave birth to our nation. By this means he will not only secure his LETTERS. 325 own fame, but transmit to posterity characters and actions which will command the admiration of future ages, and prevent the period which gave birth to them from ever passing away into the dark abyss of time. At the same time, he teaches mankind that it is not rank nor titles, but character alone, which in- terests posterity. Yet, notwithstanding the pencil of a Trumbull and the historic pen of a Gordon and others, many of the component parts of the great whole will finally be lost. Instances of patience, perseverance, fortitude, magnanimity, courage, hu- manity, and tenderness, which would have graced the Roman character, are known only to those who were themselves the actors, and whose modesty will not suffer them to blazon abroad their own fame. These, however, will be engraven by Yorick's re- cording angel upon unftiding tablets, in that reposi- tory, where a just estimate will be made both of principles and actions. Your letters of September and January I have received with much pleasure, and am happy to find that the partiality of a parent with regard to a very dear son, had not lessened him in the eyes of his friends ; for praises are often so many inquisitors, and always a tax where they are lavished. I think I may with justice say, that a due sense of moral obligation, integrity, and honor, are the predominant traits of his character ; and these are good founda- tions, upon which one may reasonably build hopes of future usefulness. The longjer I live in the world, 326 LETTERS. and the more I see of mankind, the more deeply I am impressed with the importance and necessity of good principles and virtuous examples being placed before youth, in the most amiable and engaging manner, whilst the mind is uncontaminated, and open to impressions. Yet precept without example is of little avail, for habits of the mind are produced by the exertion of inward practical principles. The " soul's calm sunshine " can result only from the practice of virtue, which is congenial to our natures. If happiness is not the immediate consequence of virtue, as some devotees to pleasure affirm, yet they will find that virtue is the indispensable condition of happiness ; and, as the poet expresses it, '' Peace, O Virtue ! peace is all thy own." But I will quit this subject, lest my good brother should think I have invaded his province, and sub- scribe myself Your sister, A. A. TO MISS LUCY CRANCH. London, 2 April, 1786. Your kind letter, my dear niece, was received with much pleasure. These tokens of love and re- gard which I know flow from the heart, always find their way to mine, and give me a satisfaction and pleasure beyond any thing which the ceremony and pomp of courts and kingdoms can afford. The so- LETTERS. 327 cial affections are and may be nnade the truest channels for our pleasures and comforts to flow through. Heaven formed us not for ourselves but others, " And bade self-love and social be the same." Perhaps there is no country where there is a fuller exercise of those virtues than ours at present exhibits, which is in a great measure owing to the equal distribution of property, the small number of inhabitants in proportion to its territory, the equal distribution of justice to the poor as well as the rich, to a government founded in justice and exer- cised with impartiality, and to a religion which teaches peace and good will to man ; to knowledge and learning being so easily acquired and so uni- versally distributed ; and to that sense of moral obli- gation which generally inclines our countrymen to do to others as they would that others should do to them. Perhaps you will think that I allow to them more than they deserve, but you will consider that I am only speaking comparatively. Human nature is much the same in all countries, but it is the govern- ment, the laws, and religion, which form the charac- ter of a nation. Wherever luxury abounds, there you will find corruption and degeneracy of manners. Wretches that we are, thus to misuse the bounties of Providence, to forget the hand that blesses us, and even deny the source from whence we derived our being. But I grow too serious. To amuse you, then, my 328 LETTERS. dear niece, I will give you an account of the dress of the ladies at the ball of the Comte d'Adhemar ; as your cousin tells me that she some time ago gave you a history of the birth-day and ball at Court, this may serve as a counterpart. Though, should I at- tempt to compare the apartments, St. James's would fall as much short of the French Ambassador's, as the Court of his Britannic Majesty does of the splen- dor and magnificence of that of his Most Christian Majesty. I am sure I never saw an assembly room in America, which did not exceed that at St. James's in point of elegance and decoration ; and, as to its fair visiters, not all their blaze of diamonds set off with Parisian rouge, can match the blooming health, the sparkling eye, and modest deportment of the dear girls of my native land. As to the dancing, the space they had to move in gave them no op- portunity to display the grace of a minuet, and the full dress of long court-trains and enormous hoops, you well know w^ere not favorable for country dances, so that I saw them at every disadvantage ; not so the other evening. They were much more prop- erly clad ; — silk waists, gauze or white or painted tiffany coats decorated with ribbon, beads or flowers, as fancy directed, were chiefly worn by the young ladies. Hats turned up at the sides with diamond loops and buttons of steel, large bows of ribbons and wreaths of flowers, displayed themselves to much advantage upon the heads of some of the prettiest girls England can boast. The light from LETTERS. 329 the lustres is more favorable to beauty than daylight, and the color acquired by dancing, more becoming than rouge, as fancy dresses are more favorable to youth than the formality of a uniform. There was as great a variety of pretty dresses, borrowed wholly from France, as I have ever seen ; and amongst the rest, some with sapphire-blue satin waists, spangled with silver, and laced down the back and seams with silver stripes ; white satin petticoats trimmed with black and blue velvet ribbon ; an odd kind of head- dress, which they term the " helmet of Minerva." I did not observe the bird of wisdom, however, nor do I know whether those who wore the dress had suit- able pretensions to it. " And pray," say you, " how were my aunt and cousin dressed ?" If it will gratify you to know, you shall hear. Your aunt, then, wore a full-dress court cap without the lappets, in which M'as a wreath of v/hite flowers, and blue sheafs, two black and blue flat feathers (which cost her half a guinea a-piece, but that you need not tell of), three pearl pins, bought for Court, and a pair of pearl ear- rings, the cost of them — no matter what; less than diamonds, however. A sapphire blue demi-saison with a satin stripe, sack and petticoat trimmed with a broad black lace ; crape flounce, &c. ; leaves made of blue ribbon, and trimmed with white floss ; wreaths of black velvet ribbon spotted with steel beads, which are much in fashion, and brought to such perfection as to resemble diamonds ; white ribbon also in the Vandyke style, made up of the 330 LETTERS. trimming, which looked very elegant ; a full dress handkerchief, and a bouquet of roses. " Full gay, I think, for my aunt.'''' That is true, Lucy, but nobody is old in Europe. I was seated next the Duchess of Bedford, who had a scarlet satin sack and coat, with a cushion full of diamonds, for hair she has none, and is hut seventy-six^ neither. Well, now for your cousin ; a small, wiiite Leghorn hat, bound with pink satin ribbon; a steel buckle and band which turned up at the side, and confined a large pink bow ; large bow of the same kind of ribbon behind ; a wreath of full-blown roses round the crown, and another of buds and roses withinside the hat, which being placed at the back of the hair, brought the roses to the edge ; you see it clearly ; one red and black feather, with two white ones, completed the head- dress. A gown and coat of Chamberi gauze, with a red satin stripe over a pink waist, and coat flounced with crape, trim.med with broad point and pink rib- bon ; wreaths of roses across the coat ; gauze sleeves and ruffles. But the poor girl was so sick with a cold, that she could not enjoy herself, and we re- tired about one o'clock without waiting supper, by which you have lost half a sheet of paper, I dare say ; but I cannot close without describing to you Lady N and her daughter. She is as large as Captain C 's wife, and much such a made wo- man, whh a much fuller face, of the color and com- plexion of Mrs. C , who formerly lived with your uncle Palmer, and looks as if porter and beef stood LETTERS. 331 no chance before her ; add to ibis, that it is covered with large red pimples, over which, to help the nat- ural redness, a coat of rouge is spread ; and, to assist her shape, she was dressed in white satin, trimmed with scarlet ribbon. Miss N is not so large, nor quite so red, bi.t has a very small eye with the most impudent face you can possibly form an idea of, joined to manners so masculine, that I was obliged frequently to recollect that line of Dr. Young's, " Believe her dress ; she 's not a grenadier/' to persuade myself that I was not mistaken. Thus, my dear girl, you have an account which perhaps may amuse you a little. You must excuse my not copying ; I fear, now, I shall not get nearly all my letters ready, — my pen very bad, as you see ; and I am engaged three days this week, — to a rout at the Baroness de Nolkens's, the Swedish minister's, to a ball on Thursday evening, and to a dinner on Saturday. Do not fear that your aunt will become dissipated, or in love with European manners ; but, as opportunity offers, I wish to see this European world in all its forms that I can with decency. I still moralize with Yorick, or with one more expe- rienced, and say " Vanity of vanities, all is vani;y.' Adieu, and believe me yours, A. Adams. • 332 LETTERS. TO MRS. CRAKCH. London, 6 April, 1786. MY DEAR SISTER, Although I was at a stupid rout at the Swedish minister's last evening, I got home about twelve, and rose early this morning to get a few things ready to send out by Lyde. When a body has at- tended one of these parties, you know the whole of the entertainment. There were about two hundred persons present last evening. Three large rooms full of card-tables ; the moment the ceremony of curtseying is past, the lady of the house asks you, " Pray, what is your game ; whist, cribbage, or com- merce ? " And then the next thing is to hunt round the room for a set to make a party ; and, as the com- pany are coming and going from eight till two in the morning, you may suppose that she has enough to employ her from room to room.. The lady and her daughter last nio-ht were almost fatigued to death, for they had been out the night before till morning, and were toiling at pleasure for seven hours, in which time they scarcely sat down. I went with a determination not to play, but could not get off; so I was set down to a table with three per- fect strangers, and the lady who was against me stated the game at half a guinea a-piece. I told her I thought it full high ; but I knew she designed to win, so I said no more, but expected to lose. It LETTERS. 333 however happened otherwise. I won four games of her. I then paid for the cards, which is the custom here, and left her to attack others, which she did, at three other tables, where she amply made up her loss. In short, she was an old, experienced hand, and it was the luck of the cards rather than skill, though I have usually been fortunate, as it is termed ; but I never play when I can possibly avoid it, for I have not conquered the disagreeable feeling of re- ceiving money for play. But such a set of gamblers as the ladies here are ! and such a life as they lead ! Good Heavens ! were reasonable beings made for this ? 1 v/ill come and shelter myself in America from this scene of dissipation, and upbraid me when- ever I introduce the like amongst you. Yet here you cannot live with any character of consequence, unless you give in some measure into the ton. Mr. Adams is gone to accompany Mr. Jefferson into the country to some of the most celebrated gar- dens. This is the first tour he has made since I first came abroad ; during which time we have lived longer unseparated than we have ever done before since we were married. Adieu. Your sister, A. A. 334 LETTERS. TO MRS. CRANCH. London, 21 May, 1786. MY DEAR SISTER, I WISH I had one of my nieces with me whilst I remain in this country ; but it will not be long be- fore I shall quit it. Not ten days ago I expected to have taken my passage in the July packet, in conse- quence of some intelligence which afterwards wore a different appearance ; things are so fluctuating upon both sides the water, that it is really difficult to draw up conclusions. Prussia has treated, Portugal has treated, and the Emperor's minister has just re- ceived powers to treat also ; but, very unfortunately, the joint commission of the American ministers ex- pired this month, so that nothing can be concluded until new powers arrive. Whoever has any thing to do with courts, must have patience for their first, second, and third requisites. I wish I was well out of the way of all of them. My object is to return to America early next spring, if nothing arises to oblige us to take this step sooner. I cannot think of a fall passage. Of this, I shall be better informed in a few weeks. But there is no office more unde- sirable than that of Minister of the United States ; under the present embarrassments, there is no rep- utation to be acquired, and there is much to lose. Negotiations with other powers may be and have been effected ; but with England there is not the LETTERS. 335 least probability of a treaty, until the States are united in their measures, and invest Congress with full powers for the regulation of commerce. A minister here can be of very little service until that event takes place. It is true, he may be invested with other powers, and one, more important than treating with this country, is, making peace with the Barbary States ; but as Mr. Adams foretold, so it has turned out. Lamb is returning without being able to effect any thing. The Dey would not even see him, and the demand for the poor fellows who are in captivity is a thousand dollars per man, and there are twenty-one of them. The sum allotted by Con- gress is so inadequate to the thing, that we must look only for war upon us. Unless Congress en- deavour to borrow the sum demanded, and treat im- mediately, their demands will increase in proportion to the captures they make ; but of all this they are regularly and fully informed. You will not, how- ever, make these matters known till you hear them from some other quarter. These are dull subjects for one lady to write to another upon ; but our coun- try is so much interested in these affairs, that you must excuse me for troubling you with them, and you can communicate with discretion. I thank you most sincerely for all your kindness to my dear sons, and hope they will ever bear a grateful remembrance of it ; the account you give of their behaviour and conduct is such as I hope they merit. The idea that their success in life de- 336 LETTERS. pends upon their diligence and application to their studies, and a modest and virtuous deportment, cannot be too strongly impressed upon their minds. The foolish idea in which some of our youth are educated, of being born gentlemen, is the most ridiculous in the world for a country like ours. It is the mind and manners which make the gentleman, and not the estate. There is no man with us so rich as to breed up a family in idleness, with ideas of paternal inheritance, and far distant may that day be from our land ; he who is not in some way or other useful to society, is a drone in the hive, and ought to be hunted down accordingly. I have very different ideas of the wealth of my countrymen from what I had when I left. Much of that wealth has proved fallacious, and their debts exceed their property. Economy and industry may retrieve their affairs. I know that the country is capable of great exertions ; but, in order to this, they must curtail their ideas of luxury and refinement, according to their ability. I do not believe any country exceeds them in the article of dress. In houses, in furniture, in gardens and pleasure-grounds, and in equipage, the wealth of France and England is displayed to a high pitch of grandeur and magnificence ; but, when I reflect upon the thousands who are starving, and the millions who are loaded whh taxes to support this pomp and show, I look to my happier country with an enthusiastic warmth, and pray for the continuance of that equali- ty of rank and fortune which forms so large a por- tion of our happiness. LETTERS. 337 I yesterday dined at the Bishop of Saint Asaph's, in company with Dr. Priestley and Dr. Price and some strangers. The Bishop's character is well known and respected, as a friend to America, and justly does he deserve the character of a liberal man. He is polite, affable, and consequently agree- able. He has a lady and an unmarried daughter, both of whom are well-bred, according to my ideas ; according to British ideas, good breeding consists in an undaunted air and a fearless, not to say bold, ad- dress and appearance. The old lady is both sensi- ble and learned, quite easy and . social ; the young one is modest and attentive. This is a family, the friendship and acquaintance of which I should like to cultivate. Dr. Priestley is a gentleman of a pale complexion, spare habit, placid, thoughtful countenance, and very few words. I heard him preach for Dr. Price. His delivery is not equal to the matter of his dis- courses. I dined twice in company with the Doctor, and was mortified that I could not have more of his company at our own house, but he was engaged every moment of his time whilst in London. I be- lieve I have frequently mentioned Dr. Price ; he is a good and amiable man, a little inclined to lowness of spirits, which partly arises from the melancholy state of Mrs. Price, who two years ago had a para- lytic stroke, and has been helpless ever since. Believe me yours affectionately, A. A. 22 338 LETTERS. TO BUSS LUCY CRANCH. London, 20 July, 1786. MY DEAR NIECE, My fourth letter I begin to you. I dare not reckon the number I have to write ; lest I should feel dis- couraged in the attempt, I must circumscribe my- self to half a sheet of paper. Raree-shows are so much the taste of this country, that they make one even of the corpse of great people ; and the other day a gentleman presented me with a card to go and see the corpse of the Duke of Northumberland, who died at his house in the country, but was brought here to be laid in state. " It is," said he, " a senseless piece of pageantry ; but, as such, I would advise you to see it." It is practised only with crowned heads, and some of the most ancient families of Dukes. The late Duke was father to Lord Percy, whom the Americans well remember. His Lordship (who lives a few doors from us), be- ing the elder son, inherits the title and estate, and is now Duke of Northumberland. Northumberland House is in the city. A great, immense pile of building, to which one enters through massy iron gates. At these gates stood four porters, clad in black ; the court, up to the house, was hung in black, and divided by a temporary railing, that the spectators might pass in upon one side, and out upon the other. From the court we entered a long LETTERS. 339 suite of rooms, five in number, through rows of ser- vants, one each side of us, all sabled as well as the rooms. I never before understood that line of Pope's, " When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend." I believe there were two thousand here, for day- light was totally excluded. Upon the walls were as many escutcheons as candles. These are formed so as to place a light in each. These plates are all washed with silver ;' being put upon the black cloth and lighted in this manner, they gave the rooms a tomb-like appearance ; for in this manner are the tombs of the dead enhghtened in Catholic countries, and it is not uncommon for the great to leave a large sum of money for lights to be kept constantly burning. Through these rooms we moved, with a slow pace and a solemn silence, into that which contained the corpse. Here, upon a superb bed of state, surrounded with twenty-four wax lights, upon enormous silver candlesticks, lay the remains of his Grace, as I presume, but so buried amidst stars and garters, and the various insignia of the different offices he sustained, that he might as well have been at Sion House, for all that one could see of him ; for these ornaments are displayed like the flags, " The George and garter dangling from the bed, Where gaudy yellow strove with flaming red." Upon the bolster lay the ducal coronet, and round the bed stood a dozen men in black, whom they call 340 LETTERS. mutes. It was said that the corpse was clothed in a white satin tunic, and cap richly trimmed with blonde lace ; but for this I cannot vouch, though I do not think it more ridiculous than the other parts of the parade which I saw ; and this farce was kept up two days. The body was then deposited in Westminster Abbey, with as much parade and show as possible ; but, being out of town, I did not see it. We made an excursion as far as Portsmouth, which lies about seventy-five miles from London. I was much disappointed in the appearance of the country, great part of it being only barren heath. Within eighteen miles of the town, it appears fruitful and highly cultivated. We spent only one day at Portsmouth, but returned by another road, which brought us back through Windsor. Here we stopped a day and a half, and I was charmed and delighted with it. The most luxuriant fancy cannot exceed the beauties of this place. I do not wonder that Pope styled it the seat of the Muses. Read his " Wind- sor Forest," and give full credit to his most poetic flights. The road by which we entered the town was from the top of a very steep hill ; from this hill, a lawn presents itself on each side. Before you, a broad, straight road, three miles in length ; upon each side a double plantation of lofty elms lift their majestic heads, which is exceeded only by a view of the still grander forest, at a distance, which is thirty miles in circumference. From this hill you have a view of the Castle and the town. This place, as in LETTERS. 341 former days, is the retreat of the monarch. The royal family reside here nine months of the year, not in the Castle, as that would require the atten- dance of ministers, &c. The present Queen has a neat lodge here, close to the Castle ; and there is another, a few rods distant, for the Princesses. His Majesty is a visiter to the Queen, and the family reside here with as little parade as that of a private gentleman. It is the etiquette, that none of his Majesty's ministers approach him upon business here. Despatches are sent by messengers, and answers returned in the same way. He holds his levees twice a week, in town. The Castle is one of the strongest places in Europe, as it is said, and a safe retreat for the family in case any more revolu- tions should shake this kingdom. It was first built by Edward the Third. Charles the Second kept his Court here during the summer months, and spared no expense to render it worthy the royal residence. He furnished it richly, and decorated it with paintings by the first masters. It is situated upon a high hill, which rises by a gentle ascent, and enjoys a most delightful prospect round it. In front is a wide and extensive vale, adorned with fields and meadows, with groves on either side, and the calm, smooth water of the Thames running through them. Behind it are hills, covered with fine forests, as if designed by nature for hunting. The terrace round the Castle is a noble walk, covered with fine gravel. It is raised on a steep de- 342 LETTERS. clivity of a hill, and overlooks the whole town. Here the King and royal family walk on Sunday afternoons, in order to show themselves to those of their subjects who choose to repair to Windsor for that purpose. In fine weather the terrace is gen- erally thronged. From the top of this tower on the Castle, they showed us thirteen different counties. To describe to you the apartments, the paintings and decorations within this Castle, would require a volume instead of a letter. I shall mention only two rooms ; and the first is that called the Queen's bed-chamber, where, upon the top of the ceiling, is painted the story of Diana and Endymion. The bed of state was put up by her Majesty ; the inside and counterpanes are of white satin, the curtains of pea green, richly embroidered by a Mrs. Wright, embroiderer to her Majesty. There is a full length picture of the Queen, with her fourteen children in miniature, in the same piece, taken by Mr. West. It is a very handsome likeness of her. The next room is called " the room of beauties " ; so named for the portraits of the most celebrated beauties in the reign of Charles the Second. They are fourteen in number. There is also Charles's Queen, a very handsome wo- man. The dress of many of them is in the style of the present day. Here is also Queen Caroline's china closet, filled with a great variety of curious china, elegantly disposed. I have come now to the bottom of the last page. LETTERS. 343 If I have amused my dear niece, it will give great pleasure to her affectionate aunt. A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. London, 12 September, 1786. MY DEAR SISTER, I AM again safe arrived in this city, after an absence of five weeks. By the last vessels, I wrote some of my friends that I was going to visit Holland. That I had a desire to see that country you will not wonder at, as one of those theatres, upon which my partner and fellow-traveller had exhibited some of his most important actions, and rendered to his country lasting blessings. It has been the policy of some of our allies to keep, as much as possible, these events out of sight, and of some of our coun- trymen to lessen their value in the eyes of mankind. I have seen two Histories of the American war, written in French, and one lately published in Eng- lish by a Mr. Andrews. In one of them, no notice is taken, or mention made, of our alliance with Hol- land, and the two others mention it as slightly as possible ; and our own countrymen set them the example. France, to be sure, was the first to ac- knowledge our independence, and to aid us with men and money, and ought always to be first rank- ed amongst our friends ; but Holland, surely, ought not to be totally neglected. From whence have we 344 LETTERS. drawn our supplies for these five years past, even to pay to France the interest upon her loan, and where else could we now look in case of a pressing emer- gency ? Yet have I observed, in sermons upon public occasions, in orations, &c., France is always mentioned with great esteem, Holland totally neg- lected. This is neither policy nor justice. I have been led to a more particular reflection upon this subject, from my late visit to that country. The respect, attention, civility, and politeness, which we received from that people, wherever we went, was a striking proof, not only of their personal esteem, but of the ideas they entertain with respect to the revolution which gave birth to their connexion with us, and laid, as they say, the foundation for their restoration to privileges, which had been wrested from them, and which they are now exerting them- selves to recover. The spirit of liberty appears to be all alive in them ; but whether they will be able to accomplish their views, without a scene of blood and carnage, is very doubtful. As to the country, I do not wonder that Swift gave it the name of " Nick Frog," though I do not carry the idea so far as some, who insist that the people resemble the frog in the shape of their faces and the form of their bodies. They appear to be a well-fed, well-clothed, contented, happy people. Very few objects of wretchedness present them- selves to your view, even amidst the immense con- course of people in the city of Amsterdam. They LETTERS. 345 have many public institutions which do honor to humanity, and to the particular directors of them. The money allotted to benevolent purposes is ap- plied solely to the benefit of the charities, instead of being wasted and expended in public dinners to the guardians of them, which is said to be the case too much in this country. The civil government, or police, must be well regulated, since rapine, murder, and robbery are very seldom found amongst them. The Exchange of Amsterdam is a great curiosity. As such, they carried me to see it. I was with Mr. Van Staphorst ; and, though the crowd of people was immense, I met with no difficulty in passing through, every person opening a passage for me. The Exchange is a large square, surrounded with a piazza. Here, from twelve till two o'clock, all and every person who has business of any kind to transact, meet, sure of finding the person they want; and it is not unusual to see ten thousand persons collected at once. I was in a chamber above the Exchange ; the buzz from below was like the swarming of bees. The most important places which I visited, were Rotterdam, Delft, the Hague, Leyden, Haerlem, Amsterdam, and Utrecht. I went through many other villages and towns ; the names I do not recollect. I was eight days at the Hague, and visited every village round it, amongst which is Scheveling, a place famous for the em- barkation of King Charles. From Utrecht I visited Zest, a small town belonging wholly to the Mora- 346 LETTERS. vians, who maintain the same doctrines with the Mo- ravians at Bethlehem, in Pennsylvania, but which are not the best calculated for fulfilling the great command of replenishing the earth. I visited Gou- da, and saw the most celebrated paintings upon glass which are to be found. These were immense windows, reaching from the top to the bottom of a very high church, and containing Scripture history. Neither the faces nor attitudes had any thing strik- ing ; but the colors, which had stood for near two hun- dred years, were beautiful beyond imagination. From Amsterdam, we made a party one day to Saardam, a few hours' sail only. It was their annual fair, and I had an opportunity of seeing the people in their holiday suits. This place is famous for being the abode of the Czar Peter, whose ship-carpenter's shop they still show. At every place of note, I visit- ed the cabinets of paintings and natural history, and all the public buildings of distinction, as well as the seats of several private gentlemen, and the Prince of Orange's house at the Hague, where he holds his court during the summer months ; but the difference, which subsists between him and the States, occa- sioned his retreat to Loo. Consequently I had no opportunity of being presented to that Court. We were invited to dine one day at Sir James Harris's, the British minister at that Court, who appears a very sensible, agreeable man. Lady Harris, who is about twenty-four years old, may be ranked with the first of English beauties. She was married at LETTERS. 347 seventeen, and has four fine children ; but, though very pretty, her Ladyship has no dignity in her man- ners, nor solidity in her deportment. She rather seems of the good-humored, giggling class, — a mere trifler ; at least, I saw nothing to the con- trary. I supped at the Marquis de Verac's, the French Ambassador's, with about fifty gentlemen and ladies. His own lady is dead. He has a daugh- ter-in-law, who usually lives with him, but was now absent in France. Upon the whole, I was much gratified with my excursion to a country, which cannot show its like again. The whole appearance of it is that of a meadow. What are called the dikes, are the roads, which, being raised, separate the canals. Upon these you ride, through rows of willow trees upon each side. Not a hill to be seen. It is all a con- tinued plain, so that trees, meadows, and canals, canals, trees, and meadows, are the unvaried scene. The houses are all brick, and the streets are paved with brick. It is very unusual to see a single square of glass broken, or a brick out of place, even in the meanest house. They paint every piece of wood within and without their houses ; and, what I thought not so wholesome, their milk-pails are painted, with- in and without, and so are their horse-carts ; but it is upon a principle of economy. The country is exceeding fruitful, and every house has a garden spot, plentifully stored with vegetables. The dress of all the country people is precisely the same thal^ J||J^" 348 LETTERS. it was two hundred years ago, and has been handed down from generation to generation unimpaired. You recollect the short petticoats, and long short- gowns, round-eared caps with straight borders, and large straw hats, which the German women wore when they first settled at Germantown. Such is now the dress of all the lower class of people, who do not even attempt to imitate the gentry. I was pleased with the trig neatness of the women ; many of them wear black tammy aprons, thick quilted coats, or russet skirts, and small hoops ; but only figure to yourself a child of three or four, dressed in the same way. They cut a figure, I assure you. Gold ear-rings are universally worn by them, and bracelets upon holidays. The dress of the men is full as old-fashioned ; but the Court and genteel people dress part English and part French. They generally speak both the languages, but French most. Since their intercourse with America, the English language is considered as an essential part of education. I would not omit to mention that I visited the church at Leyden, in which our fore- fathers worshipped, when they fled from hierarchi- cal tyranny and persecution. I felt a respect and veneration upon entering the doors, like what the ancients paid to their Druids. Upon my return home, I found that Captain Gushing had arrived in my absence, and a noble packet was handed to me by your niece soon after I arrived ; but, as we had not seen each other for LETTEKS. 349 five weeks, we had much to say ; and, in addition to that, I had not closed my eyes for two days and nights, having had a stormy, boisterous passage of three days, attended with no small danger ; and, as I had rode seventy-five miles that day, they all voted against my opening my letters that night. Mortify- ing as it was, I submitted, being almost light-headed with want of rest, and fatigue. But I rose early the next morning and read them all before breakfast ; and here let me thank my dear sister for the enter- tainment hers afforded me ; but, like most of the scenes of life, the pleasure was mixed with pain. The account of the death of our dear and worthy aunt reached me in a letter from cousin W. Smith, the week before I went my journey. Although I took a final leave of her when I quitted America, yet I have been willing to flatter myself with the hope that I might be mistaken, and that her life would be prolonged beyond my expectations. How often has her image appeared to my mind in the same form in which she addressed me when I left her house. You know how susceptible her heart was to every tender impression. She saw how much I was distressed, and strove herself for a magnanimity that gave to her whole appearance a placid solemni- ty which spoke more forcibly than words. There was a something indescribable, which to me seemed angelic, in her whole mannner and appearance, that most powerfully impressed my mind ; and I could not refrain, when I arrived here, from mentioning it 350 LETTERS. to Mr. Smith, who, I dare say, will recollect it. Like the angel she then appeared, she now really is, fitted by a life of piety and benevolence to join her kindred spirits. She has left us her example, and the memory of her many virtues, to comfort our af- flicted hearts. Beloved, regretted, and lamented ! She was like a parent to me, and my full heart has paid the tributary tears to her memory. Adieu. Believe me yours very affectionately, A. A. TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. London, 27 September, 1786. MY DEAR SON, Since I wrote you last, I have made two excursions, one to Holland, and one of a week to the Hyde, the seat of Mr. Brand-HoUis. Here I was both enter- tained and delighted. In the first place, I must describe Mr. Hollis to you. He is a neat, nice bachelor, about fifty years old ; a learned, sensi- ble antiquarian. The late Mr. Hollis whose name he bears, could not have chosen a better representa- tive to have bestowed his mantle upon, for with it has desceaded that same love of liberty, benevo- lence, and philanthropy, which distinguished his worthy benefactor. At the entrance of the hall you discover the prevailing taste. There are a number of ancient busts, amongst which is one of Marcus Aurelius, who is a great favorite of Mr. LETTERS. 351 Hollis. He told us, that all the great painters who had drawn Jesus Christ, had taken the busts of Mar- cus Aurelius as a model. There is a fine white marble bust of the late Mr. Hollis in this collection. This hall is large and spacious, and has been added to the house by Mr. Brand-Hollis since the death of his father^ who left it to him. The chamber where we lodged was hung round with portraits of his family. It is at one end of the house, and from two windows in front, and one at the end, we had a beautiful view of lawns and glades, clumps of trees and stately groves, and a piece of water full of fish. The borders of the walks in the pleasure- grounds are full of rare shrubs and trees, to which America has contributed her full proportion. To give you some idea of the singularity in which this good man discovers his taste, near the walk from his door to the road, he has a large and beautiful fir, which he calls Dr. Jebb. Having paled this tree in with a neat ornament, he has consecrated it to the memory of that excellent man, with whom I had only the pleasure of a short acquaintance, be- fore he was called to the regions of immortality. He possessed an excellent understanding, an un- shaken integrity, and a universal benevolence, and was one of the few firm . and steady friends to America. Cut off in middle age, he left a compan- ion endowed with an understanding superior to most 1 Mr. Brand assumed the name of Hollis, in consequence of the bequest of his fortune made to him by Thomas Hollis. 352 LETTERS. of her sex ; always in delicate health, but now a prey to the most piercing grief, which will shortly close the scene with her. They had no children, and, being wholly a domestic woman, the pleasures of the world have no relish for her. Her friends have at length prevailed with her to go into the country for a few weeks. But to return to Mr. Hollis's curiosities. In his garden he has a tall cypress, which he calls Gener- al Washington, and another by its side, which he has named for Colonel Smith, as his aid-de-camp. This gentleman possesses a taste for all the fine arts. In architecture, Palladio is his oracle. Amongst his paintings are several of the first masters. Over his chimney, in his cabinet, are four small portraits, which he told me were his hero, his general, his philosopher, and his writer. Marcus Aurelius was his general ; his hero, pardon me, I have forgotten him. Plato was his writer, and Hutcheson his phi- losopher, who was also his preceptor. Mr. Hollis speaks also of him with great veneration ahd affec- tion. In the dining-room is a luxuriant picture for a bachelor, a Venus and Adonis, by Rembrandt, and two views, of a modern date, of the estate in Dorset- shire, which the late Mr. Hollis gave him. As there is only a farm-house upon it, he never resides there. There are three pastures belonging to it, which are called Hollis, Mead, and Brand. In Hollis pasture are the remains of its late owner, who left it as an order, which was faithfully executed, to be buried LETTERS. 353 there, and ten feet deep, the ground to be ploughed up over his grave, that not a monument nor stone should tell where he lay. This was whimsical and singular, be sure, but singularity was his characteris- tic, as many of his works show. Between Mr. Hollis's drawing-room and his libra- ry, is a small cabinet which he calls the Boudoir, which is full of curiosities ; amongst them a dagger made of the sword which killed Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, and an inscription, " Memento Godfrey, Pro- tomartyr. pro Religione Protestantium." In every part of the house you see Mr. Hollis's owl, cap of liberty, and dagger. In this cabinet is a silver cup, with a cover in the shape of an owl, with two rubies for eyes. This piece of antiquity was dug up at Canterbury from ten feet depth, and is considered a monkish conceit. Amongst the curiosities in this room is a collection of duodecimo prints, to the number of forty-five, of all the orders of nuns, which Mr. Bridgen purchased some years ago in the Austrian Netherlands, and presented to Mr. Hollis. Mr. Bridgen has lately composed some verses which are placed by the side of them. The idea is, that, banished from Germany by the Emperor, they have taken an asylum at the Hyde in sight of the Druids, the Portico of Athens, and the venerable remains of Egyptian, Greek, and Roman antiquities. I would not omit the mention of a curious medallion, on which is wrought a feast of all the heathen gods and god- desses sitting round a table. Jupiter throws down 354 LETTERS. upon the middle of it one of his thunderbolts, flam- ing at each end with hghtning ; he lights his own pipe at it, and all the rest follow his example ; Venus, Mi- nerva, and Diana are whiffing away. This is the first time I ever conceived tobacco an ingredient in the feast of the Celestials. It must have been the inven- tion of some Dutchman. As select and highly-honored friends, we were ad- mitted into the library and to a view of the Miltonian Cabinet. In this, he has the original edition of Mil- ton's works, and every other to the present day. His library, his pictures, busts, medals, coins, Greek, Roman, Carthaginian, and Egyptian, are really a se- lection, as well as a collection, of most rare and valu- able curiosities. In the early part of his life, he visit- ed Rome, Italy, and many other countries. His for- tune is easy, and, as he has lived a bachelor, his time is occupied wholly by the sciences. He has a maid- en sister of forty-five, I should judge, who lives with him when he is in the country. They each ot' them own a house in town, and live separate during the winter. Miss Brand is curious in China and in birds. She has a piece of all the different manufactures of Porcelain made in this kingdom ; either a cup or bowl, a mug or jar. She has also a variety of sing- ing-birds. But what I esteem her much more for is, that she has taken from the streets half a dozen poor children, clothed them, and put them to school. This is doing good not only to the present, but future generations. 'T is really curious to see how the LETTERS. 355 taste of the master has pervaded all the family. John, the coachman, has a small garden spot, which he invited me to see. Here were a collection of curious flowers, and a little grotto filled with fossils and shells. The gardener, whose house stands within a few rods of the mansion-house, is bee mad. He has a great number of glass hives, in which you may see the bees at work ; and he showed me the queen's cell. He handles the bees as one would flies ; they never sting him. He insists that they know hino., and will, with great fluency, read you a lecture of an hour, upon their laws and government. He has an invention for excluding the drones, who are larger bees than the rest, and when once out of the hive, they cannot return. It would require a whole volume to enumerate to you all that was worthy attention, and, had you been one of the visiters, I dare say you would have col- lected a larger stock of improvement, and been much more minute than I have been in my account of curiosities ; but I could not remember amidst such a variety. I enclose you a drawing of the house, which Mr. HoUis gave me. My visit to Holland was agreeable, but to your aunt Cranch I must refer you for particulars. Mad- am Dumas and Miss were absent upon her estate until the evening before I came away. I called to pay them a visit, and had a very cordial reception. Mr. Dumas speaks of you with great affection, as well as Madame, and Miss looked kind. The Marquis de 356 LETTERS. Verac inquired after you with great politeness; said you were interpreter for him and Mr. Dana when you were at Petersburgh, and that, if I was dressed in your clothes, he should have taken me for you. " Years excepted," he should have added ; but that was a mental reservation. He is ambassa- dor at the Hague. Remember me affectionately to your brothers, and to all other friends ; and believe me most ten* derly Your ever affectionate mother, A. A. October 14th. Enclosed, you will find a medal of his present Majesty. As you have no great affec- tion for him, you may exchange it for any property you like better. TO MRS. SHAW. London, 21 November, 1786. MY DEAR SISTER, Mr. S called upon us a day or two ago, and delivered me your kind letter of July the 20th. It was of a later date than any I had received from you, though near four months old. It was a little unfortunate for the gentleman, that Mr. Adams en- tered immediately into an inquiry of him respecting the state and commerce of the Massachusetts, of which, be sure, the gentleman drew a most gloomy picture, and finished the whole by saying, that the LETTERS. 357 people in the United States were as much oppressed by taxes as they were in Europe. This being so wholly groundless, it roused the quick feelings of Mr. Adams, who replied, a little warmly, " Give me leave to tell you, Sir, that people who hold this language, betray a total ignorance of the subject. Name the article in this country, even to the light of heaven, the air you breathe, and the water you drink, which is not taxed. Loaded down with ac- cumulated burdens is this free people^ yet the whole is not sufficient to pay even the interest of the na- tional debt, and the charges of government. Mr. Pitt's surplus is a vision, and new methods of taxa- tion must be devised. Pray, are our farmers per- ishing in the midst of plenty, as in Ireland ? Are our fishermen starving ? Cannot the laborer find a subsistence ? Or has the price of labor fallen to sixpence, and subsistence risen to a shilling? Or is it only trade that languishes ? Thank God, that necessity, then, will oblige those who have lived luxuriously at the expense of others, and upon prop- erty which was not their own, to do so no longer. There is not a merchant in England, France, or Holland, with a capital which could buy fifty of our most opulent merchants, that lives at half the ex- pense which I have been informed many of ours have run into during the war, and since." By this time I had got into that part of your letter, which informed me that Mr. S had been unfor- tunate in business. I knew Mr. Adams was a perfect LETTERS. Stranger to this, and could design nothing against the gentleman ; but still I felt pained for him, as I presumed he had never had such a lesson before. He drew in his horns, and was more upon his guard the remainder of the time. We asked him to dine with us the next day, but he was engaged. Mr. Adams will return his visit, and then we shall send him a card of invitation. In his manners and ad- dress he appears much of a gentleman. The accounts you gave me of the singing of your birds, and the prattle of your children, entertained me much. Do you know that European birds have not half the melody of ours } Nor is their fruit half so sweet, nor their flowers half so fragrant, nor their manners half so pure, nor their people half so virtuous ; but keep this to yourself, or I shall be thought more than half deficient in understanding and taste. I will not dispute what every person must assent to ; that the fine arts, manufactures, and agriculture have arrived at a greater degree of maturity and perfection. But what is their age ? What their individual riches, when compared with us ? Far removed from my mind may the na- tional prejudice be, of conceiving all that is good and excellent comprised within the narrow compass of the United States. The Universal Parent has dis- pensed his blessings throughout all creation, and, though to some he hath given a more goodly heri- tage than to others, we have reason to believe that a general order and harmony are maintained by LETTERS. 359 apportioning to each his proper station. Though seas, mountains, and rivers are geographical bound- aries, they contract not the benevolence and good will of the liberal mind, which can extend itself beyond the limits of country and kindred, and claim fellow- ship with Christian, Jew, or Turk. What a lesson did the great Author of our religion give to mankind by the parable of the Jew and the Samaritan ; but how little has it been regarded ! To the glory of the present age, they are shaking off that narrow, con- tracted spirit of priestcraft and usurpation, which has for so many ages tyrannized over the minds of man- kind, and deluged the world in blood. They con- sider religion not as a state stalking-horse, to raise men to temporal power and dignity ; but as a wise and benevolent system, calculated to still the bois- terous passions, to restrain the malevolent ones, to curb the ambitious, and to harmonize mankind to the temper of its great Author, who came to make peace, and not to destroy. The late act of tolera- tion, passed by Virginia, is esteemed here as an ex- ample to the world. We are now really in the gloomy month of No- vember, such as I have heard it described, but did not last year experience. Now we have it, all smoke, fog, and darkness ; and the general mourn- ing for the Princess Amelia adds to the gloom of the scene. I was yesterday at the drawing-room, for the first time since her death ; and, though I cannot say all faces gathered blackness, all bodies appeared 360 LETTERS. SO. As she had given her fortune to her German nephews, it would have been absurd to have shown* any appearance of grief Poor John Bull is vastly angry and mortified. Had it been given to the Prince of Wales, his liberal hand would soon have poured forth the golden shower ; and, as his aunt acquired it all in this nation, here it ought to have remained, says John ; but he cannot alter it, so he vents himself, as usual, in abuse and bellowing. Adieu. Your sister, A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. London, 20 January, 1787. MY DEAR SISTER, I WILL now give you some account of my late tour to Bath, that seat of fashionable resort, where, like the rest of the world, I spent a fortnight in amuse- ment and dissipation, but returned, I assure you, with double pleasure to my own fireside, where only, thank Heaven, my substantial happiness sub- sists. Here I find that satisfaction, which neither satiates by enjoyment, nor palls upon reflection ; for, though I like sometimes to mix in the gay world, and view the manners as they rise, I have much reason to be grateful to my parents, that my early education gave me not an habitual taste for what is termed fashionable life. The Eastern monarch, after having partaken of every gratification and LETTERS. 361 sensual pleasure, which power, wealth, and dignity could bestow, pronounced it all vanity and vexation of spirit; and I have too great a respect for his wisdom to doubt his authority. I, however, passed through the routine, and attended three balls, two concerts, one play, and two private parties, besides dining and breakfasting abroad. We made up a party of Americans ; Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Mr. and Mrs. Rucker, and Miss Ramsay, Mr. Shippen, Mr. Harrison, Mr. Murray, Mr. Paradise, Mr. Bridgen, and a Count Zenobia, a Venetian nobleman. These, with our domestics, made a considerable train, and when we went to the rooms, we at least had a party to speak to. As I had but one acquaintance at Bath, and did not seek for letters of introduction, I had no reason to expect half the civility I experi- enced. I was, however, very politely treated by Mr. Fairfax and his lady, who had been in America, and own an estate in Virginia, and by a sister of Mr. Hartley's, who, though herself a cripple, was every way attentive and polite to us. Mr. John Boylston, whom I dare say you recollect, was the acquaintance I mentioned. He visited us immediately upon our arrival, and during our stay made it his whole study to show us every civility in his power. We break- fasted with him, and he dined with us. He has very handsome apartments, though he lives at lodg- ings. We drank tea and spent an evening with him, in a style of great elegance ; for he is one of the nicest bachelors in the world, and bears his age 362 LETTERS. wonderfully, retaining the vivacity and sprightliness of youth. He has a peculiarity in his manners, which is natural to him ; but is a man of great read- ing and knowledge. He is a firm friend and well- wisher to America, as he amply testified during the war by his kindness to the American prisoners. And now you will naturally expect that I should give you some account of Bath, the antiquity of it, and the fame of its waters, having been so greatly celebrated. The story, which is related of its first discovery, is not the least curious part of it. A certain King Bladud, said to be a descendant from Hercules, was banished his father's court, on ac- count of his having the leprosy. Thus disgraced, he wandered in disguise into this part of the coun- try, and let himself to a swine-herd, to whom he communicated the disease, as well as to the hogs. In driving his hogs one day at some distance from his home, they wandered away to one of these streams, of which they were so fond that he could not get them out, until he enticed them with acorns. After their wallowing in them for several successive days, he observed that their scales fell off, and that his herd were perfectly cured. Upon which he de- termined to iry the experiment upon himself; and, after a few bathings, he was made whole. And Bladud's figure, in stone, is placed in the bath known by the name of the King's Bath, with an in- scription relating his discovery of these baths, eight hundred and sixty-three years before Christ. LETTERS. Bath lies in a great valley, surrounded with hills. It is handsomely built, chiefly with free-stone, which is its own growth, and is dug from the sides of its hills. The streets are as narrow and inconvenient for carriages as those of Paris, so that chairs are chiefly used, particularly in the old town. Bath was formerly walled in, and was a very small place ; but of late years it is much extended, and the new buildings are erected upon hills. Since it has become a place of such fashionable resort, it has been embellished with a Circus and a Crescent. The Parades are magnificent piles of buildings, the square is a noble one, and the Circus is said to be a beautiful piece of architecture ; but what I think the beauty of Bath, is the Crescent. The front consists of a range of Ionic columns on a rustic basement ; the ground falls gradually before it down to the river Avon, about half a mile's distance, and the rising country on the other side of the river holds up to it a most delightful prospect. The Crescent takes its name from the form in which the houses stand ; all of which join. There is a parade and street before them, a hundred feet wide, and nothing in front to obstruct this beautiful prospect. In this situation are the new assembly-rooms, which are said to exceed any thing of the kind in the kingdom, both as to size and decoration ; but, large as they are, they were completely crowded the evenings that I attended. There is a constant emulation subsisting between the new and old rooms, similar to the North 364 LETTERS. and South Ends of Boston. It was said whilst I was there, that there were fourteen thousand persons more than the inhabitants of Bath. By this you may judge what a place of resort it is, not only for the infirm, but for the gay, the indolent, the curious, the gambler, the fortune-hunter, and even for those who go as the thoughtless girl from the country told Beau Nash, (as he was styled,) that she came out of wantonness. It is one constant scene of dissipa- tion and gambling, from Monday morning till Satur- day night, and the ladies sit down to cards in the public rooms as they would at a private party ; and not to spend a fortnight or a month at Bath at this season of the year, is as unfashionable as it would be to reside in London during the summer season. Yet Bath is a place I should never visit a second time for pleasure. To derive a proper improvement from company, it ought to be select, and to consist of persons respectable both for their morals and their understanding ; but such is the prevailing taste, that, provided you can be in a crowd, with here and there a glittering star, it is considered of little im- portance what the character of the person is who wears it. Few consider that the foundation stone, and the pillar on which they erect the fabric of their felicity, must be in their own hearts, otherwise the winds of dissipation will shake it, and the floods of pleasure overwhelm it in ruins. What is the chief end of man } is a subject well worth the in- vestigation of every rational being. What, indeed, LETTERS. 365 is life, or its enjoyments, without settled principle, laudable purposes, mental exertions, and internal comfort, that sunshine of the soul ; and how are these to be acquired in the hurry and tumult of the world ? My visit to Bath, and the scenes which I mixed in, instead of exciting a gayety of disposition, led me into a train of moral reflections, which I could not refrain from detailing to you in my account of it. Upon my return, I had a new scene of folly to go through, which was, preparing for the birth-day. But as the fashionable Magazine will detail this matter, I shall omit any account of birth-day dress- es and decorations, only that I most sincerely wish myself rid of it. It is a prodigious expense, from which I derive neither pleasure nor satisfaction. The riots and dissensions in our State have been matter of very serious concern to me. No one will suppose that our situation here is rendered more eligible in consequence of it ; but I hope it will lead the wise and sensible part of the community in our State, as well as in the whole Union, to reflect seriously upon their situation, and, having wise laws, to execute them with vigor, justice, and punctuality. I have been gratified with perusing many late pub- lications in our Boston papers ; particularly the speech of the Chief Justice, which does him great honor. Mr. Adams, you will see by the books which Captain Cushing has carried out, has been employed in strengthening and supporting our gov- ernments, and has spared no pains to collect exam- LETTERS. pies for them, and show them, in one short, compre- hensive statement, the dangerous consequences of unbalanced power. We have the means of being the first and the happiest people upon the globe. Captain Scott, I hear, is just arrived ; but it may be a week, perhaps ten days, before he will get up himself, so that, whatever letters he may have, I shall not be able to get them before Captain Cash- ing sails. This is rather unfortunate, as there may be something I might wish to reply to. As to In- dia handkerchiefs, I give two guineas a-piece here for them, so that they are lower with you, as well as all other India goods. I give more for an ounce of spice than I used to do for a quarter of a pound in America. Only think, too, of five shillings sterling for every pound of coffee we use ! O, pray, by the next opportunity, send me a peck of Tuscarora rice. Let it be sifted. I want it only to scour my hands with. " Tuscarora rice ? " say you, " why, I sup- pose she means Indian meal." Very true, my dear sister ; but I will tell you a good story about this said rice. An ancestor of a family, who now hold their heads very high, is said to have made a fortune by it. The old grand-dame went out to America, when its productions were not much known here, and returned in rather indigent circumstances. Af- ter some time, knowing the taste in all ages for cosmetics, she made out a pompous advertisement of a costly secret which she possessed for purifying and beautifying the complexion, — nothing less than LETTERS. 367 the " Tuscarora rice " at a guinea an ounce. The project took like the " Olympian dew " at this day, and barrel after barrel was disposed of at the moder- ate price before mentioned, till one fatal day, a sail- or, whose wife had procured one quarter of an ounce, was caught in the very act of using it. The sailor very roughly threw away the darling powder, upon which his wife exclaimed that he had ruined her, as she could procure no more, there being an unusual scarcity at that time. The fellow examined the paper, and swore it was nothing but Indian meal, and that he would bring her two barrels for a guinea, the next voyage he went. Upon this, the imposture was discovered, and the good woman obliged to decamp. Now, though I do not esteem it so highly as the sailor's wife, I pronounce it the best antidote to sea- coal black, that can be found. One friend and another have supplied me ever since I have been here, but now I am quite destitute. It is an article in so small quantity, that it will not be an object for the custom-house, so that it may come safely. Remember me most affectionately to all my friends. I cannot write to half of them ; my nieces shall hear from me by Raimond ; in the mean time be assured, my dear sister, of the warmest affection of Your sister, A. A. 368 LETTERS. TO MRS. CRANCH. London, 25 February, 178t. MY DEAR SISTER, Captain Davis called yesterday to let me know that he should sail in the course of the week. Cap- tain Barnard will not be long after him, and I al- most wish I was going to embark with him. I think I should not feel more anxious if I was in the midst of all the disturbances, than I do at this distance, where imagination is left at full liberty. When law and justice are laid prostrate, who or what is secure ? I received your letters, which came by Captain Scott, just as I was going to step into the can'iage to go into the City upon some business. As I was alone, I took them with me to read ; and, when I came to that part of your letter wherein you say that you had hoped to have seen only peace in future, after sur- mounting the horrors of one war, the idea was too powerful to me, and the tears involuntarily flowed. I was obliged to quit the letter till I had finished my business ; the thoughts which naturally occurred to me were, — " For what have we been contending against the tyranny of Britain, if we are to become the sacri- fice of a lawless banditti ? Must our glory be thus shorn and our laurels thus blasted ? Is it a trifling matter to destroy a government ? Will my country- men justify the maxim of tyrants, that mankind are not made for freedom ? I will, however, still hope LETTERS. 36y that the majority of our fellow-citizens are too wise, virtuous, and enlightened, to permit these outrages to gain ground and triumph. Solon, the wise lawgiver of Athens, published a manifesto for rendering infa- mous all persons who, in civil seditions, should re- main spectators of their country's danger by a crimi- nal neutrality. The spirit shown by the gentleman volunteers, and the capture of Shattuck, does honor to our State. More energy in government would have prevented the evil from spreading so far as it has done. ''■ Mercy but gives sedition time to rally. Every soft, pliant, talking, busy rogue, Gathering a flock of hot-brained fools together, Can preach up new rebellion, Spread false reports of the Senate, working up Their madness to a fury quick and desperate, Till they run headlong into civil discords, And do our business with their own destruction." This is a picture of the civil dissensions in Rome, and to our mortification we find, that human nature is the same in all ages. Neither the dread of ty- rants, the fall of empires, the havoc and desolation of the human species, nor the more gloomy picture of civil discord, are sufficient to deter mankind from pursuing the same steps which have led others to ruin ; selfishness and spite, avarice and ambition pride and a levelling principle, are qualities very un favorable to the existence of civil liberty. But, what ever is to be the fate of our country, we have deter mined to come home and share it with you. Con U 370 LETTERS. gress have never given Mr. Adams a recall from Holland, and he is vested (with Mr. Jefferson) with powers to form treaties with several other countries. His commission to this Court will terminate this time twelve months, and he has written to Congress his fixed and full determination to resign his com- mission and return at that period, if not before. So that, my dear sister, I most joyfully accept your in- vitation, and will come home, God willing, ere another year expires. Disagreeable as the situation of my native State appears, I shall quit Europe with more pleasure than I came to it, uncontaminated, I hope, with its manners and vices. I have learned to know the world and its value ; I have seen high life ; I have witnessed the luxury and pomp of state, the power of riches and the influence of titles, and have beheld all ranks bow before them as the only shrine worthy of worship. Notwithstanding this, I feel that I can return to my little cottage, and be happier than here ; and, if we have not wealth, we have what is better, — integrity. 27 February, 1787. I had written you thus far with an intention of sending by Davis, but received a card to-day from Captain Barnard, that he will sail at the same time, which is a fortnight sooner than I expected. I have concluded to send by him. I wrote you by Captain Cushing, on board of whom I got Mr. Elworthy to put a small present for you, but was much mortified a day or two after to find, by a Boston paper, that LETTERS. 371 they were prohibited articles. I hope you will not meet with trouble on account of them. I cannot but approve the spirit which dictated the measure ; the causes which gave rise to it must be deplored, for it is evidently a work of necessity rather than choice. The luxury, which had made such rapid strides amongst our countrymen, was more universal than that which is founded upon real wealth, for they have rioted upon the property which belonged to others. It is a very just observation, that those who have raised on empire have always t)een grave and severe ; they who have ruined it have been uniformly distinguish- ed for their dissipation. We shall wait with impa- tience for the result of General Lincoln's expedition. Much depends upon his success. Government seem afraid to use the power they have, and recommend and entreat, where they ought to command ; which makes me apprehend that the evil lies deeper than the heads or hands of Shays or Shattuck. From letters received here both from Boston and New York, it is to be feared that visionary schemes and ambitious projects are taking 'possession of men of property and science ; but, before so important an edifice as an established government is altered or changed, its foundation should be examined by skil- ful artists, and the materials of which it is composed, duly investigated. The " Defence of the American Constitutions" is a work which may, perhaps, contribute to this end, 372 LETTERS. and I most sincerely wish it may do the good in- tended. I lament with you the loss of a worthy man, for such indeed was the friend of my dear Eliza. Our own duration is but a span ! then shall we meet those dear friends and relatives who have gone before us, and be engaged together in more elevated views, and purer pleasures and enjoyments, than mortality is ca- pable of. Let this idea soothe the afflicted mind, and administer balm to the wounded heart. All things are under the government of a supreme, all-wise Di- rector ; to Him commit the hour, the day, the year. Affectionately your sister, A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. London, 28 April, 1787. MY DEAR SISTER, We have accounts, by way of New York, to the 8th of March, which inform us that General Lincoln had met with more resistance from the insurgents than we had reason to expect from former accounts ; that an engagement had taken place, in which sev- eral persons on both sides fell, but we do not learn who ; that Shays had got off into Vermont, where it was probable he would meet with protection. I hope these accounts are not well founded. Let not the patriots of our country be discouraged or dishearten- ed ; although their affairs are much embarrassed. LETTERS. 373 the country is fruitful in resources. Patience, per- severance, industry, and frugality will accomplish great things. Our countrymen create most of the misfortunes they feel, for want of a disinterested spirit, a confidence in each other, and a union of the whole. It is a great misfortune, when one State thwarts the measures of eleven or twelve, and thus injures the credit and reputation of the whole. The situation of our country greatly damps the pleasure I should feel in anticipating my return to it. You may well suppose that falsehoods in abundance are circulated here ; an attempt to publish the truth or contradict them, would have no other effect than raising a nest of hornets and wasps, and would em- ploy the whole time of one person. An extract of a letter published, from Dr. Rush to Dr. Price, giving an account of the establishment of two or three new societies, drew upon the latter so much abuse and scurrility as would disgrace any people. The writer, like an envenomed toad, spit forth his poison. There are a set of refugees residing here, the enormity of whose offences forbids their ever returning again to America. Like Satan, they look to the heights, from whence they have fallen, with a malice and envy similar to that which the arch fiend felt, when he beheld the glory of the new world ; and, like him, they wish to destroy the happiness of its inhabitants. Such are Galloway, and Smith, who is gone prime minister to Lord Dorchester. A few days before he left this country, he gave it as his solid opinion, that 374 LETTERS. he should Hve to see America sue to Britain for pro- tection, and to be received again by it ; he might have added, it should not be his fault if they did not. I hope a watchful eye will be kept over Lord Dorchester and all his movements. This govern- ment are as much disposed to sow seeds of dis- sension among us as ever, and build wholly upon our splitting to pieces. Adieu. Yours, A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. London, 16 July, 1787. MY DEAR SISTER, If, as the poet says, " expectation makes the blessing sweet," your last letter w^as peculiarly so. As you conjectured, I was not a little anxious that neither Captain Barnard nor Davis brought me a line. I was apprehensive that something was the matter, some imminent danger threatening some friend, of which my friends chose not to inform me until their fate was decided. I sent on board the ship ; the solitary box of meal was searched throughout. What, not one line from my dear sister Cranch, she who has never before failed me ? Can it be possible ? Uncle Smith did not, as usual, say in his letter, that all friends were well. Dr. Tufts, for the first time, omitted mentioning my children. That might be because he thought that they had written. Thus was LETTERS. 375 my mind agitated until Captain Scott's arrival, who brought me your kind letter of May the 20th, but none from either of my nieces or children. Those dear lads do not write so often as I wish them to do, because they have nothing more to say than that they are well ; not considering how important that intelli- gence is to an affectionate parent. Mr. J. Cranch wrote to me soon after Barnard's arrival, and sent me an extract of a letter from Miss B. Palmer, with a particular account of the performances in April, at Cambridge, in which your son and mine bore a part. These young gentlemen are much indebted to her for her partiality and the very flattering manner in which she describes them. I hope they will con- tinue to deserve the esteem of all good judges, and do honor to themselves and their country. The ac- count you give me of the health of J. Q. A. is no more than I expected to hear. I warned him fre- quently before he left me, and have been writing him ever since. I hope he will take warning before it is too late. It gives me great satisfaction to learn that he has passed through the University with so much reputation, and that his fellow students are attached to him. I have never once regretted the resolution he took of quitting Europe, and placing himself upon the theatre of his own country ; where, if his life is spared, I presume he will neither be an idle nor use- less spectator. Heaven grant, that he may not have more distressing scenes before him, and a gloomier stage to tread, than those on which his father has 376 LETTERS. acted for twelve years past. But the curtain rises before him, and instead of Peace waving her ohve- branch, or Liberty seated in a triumphal car, or Com- merce, Agriculture, and Plenty, pouring forth their stores. Sedition hisses, Treason roars. Rebellion gnashes her teeth, Mercy suspends the justly merited blow, but Justice strikes the guilty victim. Here may the scene close, and brighter prospects open before us in future. I hope the political machine will move with more safety and security this year than the last, and that the new head may be endowed with wisdom suf- ficient to direct it. There are some good spokes in the wheels, though the master workmen have been unskilful in discarding some of the best, and choosing others not sufficiently seasoned ; but the crooked and cross-grained will soon break to pieces ; though this may do much mischief in the midst of a journey, and shatter the vehicle, yet another year may re- pair the damages. But to quit allegory'-, or you will think I have been reading Johnny Bunyan, the con- duct of a certain gentleman is rather curious. I really think him an honest man, but ambition is a very wild passion, and there are some characters, that never can be pleased unless they have the en- tire direction of all public affairs. And, when they are unemployed, they are continually blaming those in office, and accusing them of ignorance or inca- pacity, and spreading alarms that the country is ruined and undone; but put them into office, and it is more than probable they will pursue the same LETTERS. 377 conduct which they had before condemned. But no man is fit to be trusted, who is not diffident of himself. Such is the frailty of human nature, and so great a flatterer is self-love, that it presents false appearances, and deceives its votaries. I have had with me for a fortnight a little daugh- ter of Mr. JeflJerson's, who arrived here with a young negro girl, her servant, from Virginia. Mr. Jefl^er- son wrote me some months ago that he expected them, and desired me to receive them. I did so, and was amply repaid for my trouble. A fairer child of her age I never saw. So mature an under- standing, so womanly a behaviour, and so much sen- sibility, united, are rarely to be met with. I grew so fond of her, and she was so attached to me, that, when Mr. Jefferson sent for her, they were obliged to force the little creature away. She is but eight years old. She would sit sometimes, and describe to me the parting with her aunt who brought her up, the obligations she was under to her, and the love she had for her little cousins, till the tears would stream down her cheeks ; and how I had been her friend, and she loved me. Her papa would break her heart by making her go again. She clung round me so that I could not help shed- ding a tear at parting with her. She was the favor- ite of every one in the house. I regret that such fine spirits must be spent in the walls of a convent. She is a beautiful girl, too. This, I presume, is Commencement day. I dare 378 LETTERS. say the young folks feel anxious. I don't know whether I should venture to be a hearer, if I was in America. I should have as many perturbations as the speakers. I hope they will acquit themselves with honor. Mr. Adams desires me to tell cousin Cranch that any of his books are at his service. I believe we must send some of these young men to settle in Vermont. Can they get their bread in Mas- sachusetts ? But " the world is all before them " ; may " Providence be their guide." Your sister, A. A. TO MRS. CRANCH. Grosvenor Square, 15 September, 1787. MY DEAR SISTER, When I wrote you last, I was just going to set out on a journey to the West of England. I promised you to visit Mr. Cranch's friends and relatives. This we did, as I shall relate to you. We were absent a month, and made a tour of almost six hun- dred miles. The first place we made any stay at was Winchester. There was formerly an Earl of Winchester, by the name of Saer de Quincy. He was created Earl of Winchester by King John, in 1224, and signed Magna Charta, which I have seen ; the original being now in the British Museum, with his handwriting to it. It is said, that, in the year 1321, the title became LETTERS. 379 extinct through failure of male heirs, but I rather think through the poverty of some branch, unable to contend for it. The family originally came from Normandy, in the time of William the Conqueror. They bear the same arms with those of our ances- tors, except that ours substituted an animal for the crest, in lieu of an earPs coronet. I have a perfect remembrance of a parchment in our grandmother's possession, which, when quite a child, I used to amuse myself with. This was a genealogical table, which gave the descent of the family from the time of William the Conqueror. This parchment Mr. Edmund Quincy borrowed, on some occasion, and I have often heard our grandmother say, with some anger, that she could never recover it. As the old gentleman is still living, I wish Mr. Cranch would question him about it, and know what hands it went into, and whether there is any probability of its ever being recovered ; and be so good as to ask uncle Quincy how our grandfather came by it, and from whence our great-grandfather came, where he first settled, and take down in writing all you can learn from him and Mr. Edmund Quincy respecting the family. You will smile at my zeal, perhaps, on this occasion ; but can it be wondered at that I should wish to trace an ancestor amongst the signers of Magna Charta ? Amongst those who voted against receiving an explanatory charter in the Massachu- setts, stands the name of our venerable grandfather, accompanied with only one other ; this the journals 380 LETTERS. of the House will show, to his immortal honor. I do not expect either titles or estate from the re- covery of the genealogical table, were there any probability of obtaining it. Yet, if I was in posses- sion of it, money should not purchase it from me. But to return to Winchester. It is a very ancient place, and was formerly the residence of the Saxon and Norman kings. There still remains a very famous cathedral church, in the true Gothic archi- tecture, being partly built in the year 1079. I at- tended divine service there, but was much more entertained with the venerable and majestic appear- ance of the ancient pile, than with the modern, flimsy discourse of the preacher. A meaner per- formance I do not recollect to have heard ; but, in a church which would hold several thousands, it might truly be said, two or three were met together, and those appeared to be the lower order of the people. From Winchester we proceeded to Southampton, which is a very pretty seaport town, and much fre- quented during the summer months as a bathing- place ; and here, for the first time in my life, I tried the experiment. It would be delightful in our warm weather, as well as very salubrious, if such conveniences were erected in Boston, Brain- tree, and Weymouth, which they might be, with little expense. The places are under cover. You have a woman for a guide, a small dressing-room to your- self, an oil-cloth cap, a flannel gown, and socks for the feet. We tarried only two days at Southamp- LETTERS. 381 ton, and went ten miles out of our way in order to visit Weymouth, merely for its name. This, Hke my native town, is a hilly country, a small seaport, with very little business, and wholly supported by the resort of company during the summer months. For those persons, who have not country-houses of their own, resort to the watering-places, as they are called, during the summer months, it being too vul- gar and unfashionable to remain in London. But where the object of one is health, that of fifty is pleasure, however far they fall short of the object. This whole town is the property of a widow lady. Houses are built by the tenants, and taken at life- rents, which, upon the decease of the lessees, revert back again to the owner of the soil. Thus is the landed property of this country vested in lordships and in the hands of the rich altogether. The peas- antry are but slaves to the lord, notwithstanding the mighty boast they make of liberty. Sixpence and sevenpence per day is the usual wages given to laborers, who are to feed themselves out of the pit- tance. In travelling through a country, fertile as the garden of Eden, loaded with a golden harvest, plenty smiling on every side, one would imagine that the voice of Poverty was rarely heard, and that she was seldom seen, but in the abodes of indolence or vice. But it is far otherwise. The money earned by the sweat of the brow must go to feed the pampered lord and fatten the greedy bishop, whilst the misera- ble, shattered, thatched-roof cottage crumbles to the 382 LETTERS. dust for want of repair. To hundreds and hundreds of these abodes have I been a witness in my late journey. The cheering rays of the sun are totally excluded, unless they find admittance through the decayed roof, equally exposed to cold and the in- clement season. A few rags for a bed and a joint- stool comprise the chief of their furniture, whilst their own appearance is more wretched than one can well conceive. During the season of hay and harvest, men, women, and children are to be seen laboring in the fields ; but, as this is a very small part of the year, the little they then acquire is soon expended ; and how they keep soul and body to- gether the remainder of the year is very hard to tell. It must be owing to this very unequal distribution of property, that the poor-rate is become such an in- tolerable burden. The inhabitants are very thinly scattered through the country, though large towns are well peopled. To reside in and near London, and to judge of the country from what one sees here, would be forming a very erroneous opinion. How little cause of complaint have the inhabitants of the United States, when they compare their situation, not with despotic monarchies, but with this land of freedom ! The ease with which honest industry may acquire property in America, the equal distri- bution of justice to the poor as well as the rich, and the personal liberty they enjoy, all, all call upon them to support their government and laws, to re- spect their rulers, and gratefully acknowledge their LETTERS. 383 superior blessings, lest Heaven in wrath should send them a . From Weymouth, our next excursion was to Ax- minster, the first town in the county of Devonshire. It is a small place, but has two manufactures of note ; one of carpets, and one of tapes ; both of which we visited. The manufactory of the carpets is wholly performed by women and children. You would have been surprised to see in how ordinary a building this rich manufactory was carried on. A few glass windows in some of our barns would be equal to it. They have but two prices for their carpets woven here ; the one is eighteen shillings, and the other twenty-four, a square yard. They are woven of any dimensions you please, and with- out a seam. The colors are most beautiful, and the carpets very durable. Here we found Mr. J. Cranch. He dined with us, and we drank tea with him. This is a curious genius. He is a middle- sized man, of a delicate countenance, but quite awkward in his manners. He seldom looks one in the face, and seems as if he had been cramped and cowed in his youth. In company, one is pained for him ; yet he is a man of reading, and an accurate taste in the fine arts. Poetry, painting, music, sculpture, architecture, all of them have engaged his attention. His profession does not seem to be the object of his affections, and he has given up the practice, with an intention of pursuing some other employment. He appears to be a man whose soul 384 LETTERS. wants a wider expansion than his situation and cir- cumstances allow. Dejected spirits he is very liable to. I do not think him a happy man. His senti- ments are by no means narrow or contracted ; yet he is one by himself. He accompanied us in our journey to Exeter, Plymouth, and Kingsbridge. At Exeter, we tarried from Saturday till Monday after- noon. Mr. Bowring came to visit us. You know him by character. He appears a friendly, honest, worthy man, active in business, a warm and zealous friend to America, ready to serve his friends, and never happier than when they will give him an op- portunity of doing it. His wife and daughter were on a visit to their friends at Kingsbridge, so that we did not see them. He requested, however, that we would drink tea with him after meeting ; and, as our intention was to see Mr. Cranch's brother An- drew, he engaged to get him to his house. The old gentleman came with some difficulty, for he is very lame and infirm. He seemed glad to see us, and asked many questions respecting his brother and sister in America. I think he must have had a paralytic stroke, as his speech is thick. He has not been able to do any business for a number of years, and I believe is chiefly supported by his son, who is in the clothier's business with Mr. Bowring. Mrs. Cranch, though nearly as old as her husband, is a little smart, sprightly, active woman, and is wilted just enough to last to perpetuity. She told me that her husband took it very hard, that his brother had LETTERS. 385 not written to him for a long time. I promised her that he should hear from him before long ; and I know he will not let me be surety for him without fulfilling my engagement. Mr. Cranch's daughter married Mr. Bowring's brother; they have three sons. She is a sprightly woman, like her mother. And Mr. Bowring's daughter married a son of Mr. Nathaniel Cranch, so that the family is doubly linked together, and what is more, they all seem united by the strongest ties of family harmony and love. From Exeter, we went to Plymouth ; there we tarried several days, and visited the fortifications and Plymouth dock, and crossed over the water to Mount Edgcombe, a seat belonging to Lord Edgcombe. The natural advantages of this place are superior to any I have before seen, commanding a wide and exten- sive view of the ocean, the whole town of Plymouth, and the adjacent country, with the mountains of Cornwall. I have not much to say with respect to the improvements of art. There is a large park, well stocked with deer, and some shady walks ; but there are no grottos, statuary, sculpture, or temples. At Plymouth, we were visited by a Mr. and Mrs. Sawry, with whom we drank tea one afternoon. Mr. Sawry is well known to many Americans, who were prisoners in Plymouth jail during the late war. The money which was raised for their relief passed through his hands, and he was very kind to them, assisting many in their escape. From Plymouth, we made an enterprise one day to Horsham, and, as 25 386 LETTERS. we attempted it in a coach and four, we made a curious piece of work, taking by mistake a wrong road, — but this part of my story I must reserve for my dear EHza. Our next movement was to Kingsbridge ; but, be- fore I relate this, I ought to inform you that we made a stop at a place called Ivy Bridge, where we dined ; and Mr. Adams accompanied Mr. Cranch to Brook, about three miles distant, to visit his uncle, Mr. William Cranch, who has been for several years quite lost to himself and friends. There is some little property in the hands of the family, who take charge of him, sufficient to support a person who has no more wants than he has. He appeared clean and comfortable, but took no notice, either of the conversation or persons. The only thing which in the least roused him was the mention of his wife. He appeared to be restless when that subject was touched. The character of this man, as given by all his friends and acquaintance, leads one to regret, in a particular manner, the loss of his intellect. Possessed of a genius superior to his station, a thirst for knowledge which his circumstances in life per- mitted him not to pursue, most amiable and engag- ing in his manners, formed to have adorned a supe- rior rank in life, fondly attached to an amiable wife, whom he very soon lost, he fell a sacrifice to a too great sensibility ; unable to support the shock, he grew melancholy, and was totally lost. Bui to return to Kingsbridge, the chief resort of LETTERS. 387 the Cranch family. We arrived at the inn about six o'clock on Saturday evening. About eight, we were saluted with a ringing of bells, a circumstance we little expected. Very soon we were visited by the various branches of the Cranch family, both male and female, amounting to fifteen persons ; but, as they made a strange jumble in my head, I persuaded my fellow traveller to make me out a genealogical table, which I send you. Mr. and Mrs. Burnell, and ^{r. and Mrs. Trathan, both offered us beds and ac- commodations at their houses ; but we were too nu- merous to accept their kind invitations, though we engaged ourselves to dine with Mr. Burnell, and to drink tea with Mr. Trathan, the next day. Mrs. Burnell has a strong resemblance to Mrs. Palmer. She is a genteel woman, and easy and polite. We dined at a very pretty dinner, and after meeting drank tea at the other house, Mr. Trathan's. Their houses are very small, but every thing neat and comfortable. Mr. Burnell is a shoemaker, with five thousand pounds ; and Mr. Trathan a grocer, in good circumstances. The rest of the families joined us at the two houses. They are all serious, indus- trious, good people, amongst whom the greatest fam- ily harmony appears to subsist. The people of this county appear more like our New England people than any I have met with in this country before ; but the distinction between tradesmen and gentry, as they are termed, is widely different from that dis- tinction in our country. With us, in point of edu- 388 LETTERS. cation and manners, the learned professions, and many merchants, farmers, and tradesmen, are upon an equality with the gentry of this country. It would be degrading to compare them with many of the nobility here. As to the ladies of this country, their manners appear to be totally depraved. It is in the middle ranks of society, that virtue and moral- ity are yet to be found. Nothing does more inju- ry to the female character than frequenting public places ; and the rage which prevails now for the wa- tering-places, and the increased number of them, are become a national evil, as they promote and encour- age dissipation, mix all characters promiscuously, and are the resort of the most unprincipled female char- acters, who are not ashamed to show their faces wherever men dare to go. Modesty and diffidence are called ill-breeding and ignorance of the world ; an impudent stare is substituted in lieu of that mod- est deportment, and that retiring grace, which awes whilst it enchants. I have never seen a female model here of such unaffected, modest, and sweetly amiable manners as Mrs. Guild, Mrs. Russell, and many other American females exhibit. Having filled eight pages, I think it is near time to hasten to a close. Gushing and Folger are both arrived ; by each I have received letters from you. A sheet of paper must contain a reply to them. This little space shall assure you of what is not confined to time or place, — the ardent affection of your sister, A. A. LETTERS. TO BUSS LUCY CRANCH. London, 3 October, 1787. I THANK you, my dear Lucy, for writing by Mr. Jenks. You learnt by Captain Barnard, that I was going a journey. I have given your niamma and sister some account of my late excursion to Devonshire. We returned home through Bristol, and took Oxford in our way, from whence we went to Woodstock, and visited Blenheim, the seat of the Duke of Marlbor- ough, which was built at the public expense, and granted by the Crown to the Duke, for the services he had rendered his country. This castle is upon the grandest scale of any thing I have ever yet seen. We enter the park through a spacious and elegant portal, of the Corinthian order, from whence a noble prospect is opened to the palace, the bridge, the lake, with its valley, and other beautiful scenes. The front of this noble edifice, which is of stone, is three hundred and forty-eight feet from wing to wing. On the pediment of the south front, towards the garden, is a noble bust of Louis the Fourteenth, taken by the Duke from the gates of Tournai. This, the gardener told us, he never failed pointing out to the French gentlemen who visited the place, and that they shrugged their shoulders and mon-Dieu'd. But, before I describe to you the gardens, I will at- 390 LETTERS. tempt to give you a short, though imperfect account of the palace. It would require a week to view it, and a volume to describe it particularly. I will, therefore, only collect from my little journal the most remarkable objects. We entered the palace through a magnificent hall, supported by Corinthian pillars. Over the door, going into the saloon, is a bust of John, Duke of Marlborough, and two statues in bronze, namely, the Venus de' Medici and a Faun. The ceiling is painted allegorical iy, representing Victory crowning John, Duke of Marlborough, and pointing to a plan of the battle of Blenheim. From the saloon, we pass through a suite of rooms, all of them containing a most costly and beautiful collection of paintings, many of them originals of the first masters. In the dining-room is a family-piece, the present Duke and Duchess, and six of their children, by Sir Joshua Keynolds. The furniture of the rooms is different- colored damask. The family being at the house, we saw only the lower apartments. The winter drawing-room is of tapestiy, upon which is repre- sented the Cardinal Virtues ; chairs and curtains, white damask. From a series of smaller, though magnificent apartments, we were suddenly struck at entering the library, which is one hundred and eighty-three feet long, and the most costly, as well as beautiful place I ever saw. The Doric pilasters are of marble, with complete columns of the same, which support a rich entablature ; the window frames. LETTERS. 391 the surrounding basement of black marble, and the stuccoed compartments of the vaulted ceiling, are in the highest taste, both of design and finishing. There is a person, who always attends at these seats, who has by heart the whole history of all that is to be seen ; and he makes a very handsome sum of money by it. This library was originally intended as a gallery for paintings ; but the late Duke of Marlborough chose to have it furnished with the noble collection of books made by Lord Sunderland, his Grace's father, which amounts to twenty-four thousand volumes, and is said to be the best private collection in England. They are kept under gilt wire lattices, and make a superb appearance. At one end of the room, is a highly finished marble statue of Queen Anne, with this inscription ; " To the memory of Queen Anne, under whose auspi- ces John, Duke of Marlborough, conquered, and to whose munificence, he and his posterity with grati- tude owe the possession of Blenheim, in A. D. 1746." There are two marble busts over the chim- ney, one of Charles, Earl of Sunderland, who col- lected the books, and another of Charles Spencer, Duke of Marlborough ; and, at the farther end of the room, is a fine Greek bust of Alexander the Great, and fourteen full-length family portraits. From two bow windows in this noble gallery, the eye is de- lighted with a view of the declivity, descending to the water, and the gradual ascent of the venerable grove, which covers the opposite hill. In short, 392 LETTERS. whether we look within or without, all is on the scale of the sublime and the beautiful. I must not overlook the chapel, which makes one of the wings of the house, and in which there is a proud monument, of white marble, to the memory of the renowned Duke and Duchess of Marlborough. The group of marble fig- ures, large as life, upon this monument, are the Duke and Duchess, with two of their sons, who died young. They are supported by two figures. Fame and His- tory. The altar-piece is the best painting I ever saw ; our Saviour taken down from the cross. From the house, we visited the gardens ; and here I am lost, not in confusion, but amidst scenes of grandeur, magnificence, and beauty. They are spacious, and include a great variety of ground. The plain, or as artists term it, the lawn, before the palace, is kept in the most perfect order ; not a sin- gle spire of grass rises above another. It is mowed and swept every other day, and is as smooth as the surface of a looking-glass. The gardener, who has lived twenty-five years upon the place, told us that he employed about sixty-three hands during the summer, in mowing, sweeping, pruning, lopping, and in ornamenting the grounds. From this lawn is a gradual descent to the water, and you pass through spacious gravel walks, not in straight lines, as Pope expresses it, " where each alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other 3" but pleasing intricacies intervene. Through the wind- LETTERS. ing paths, and every step, open new objects of beau- ty, which diversified nature affords of hill, valley, water, and woods ; the gardens finally are lost in the park, amidst a profusion of venerable oaks, £ome of which are said to have stood nine hundred years. The gardens are four miles round, v/hich I walked ; the park is eleven. There is a magnifi- cent bridge consisting of three arches ; the water which it covers, is formed into a spacious lake, which flows the whole extent of a capacious valley. This was built at the expense of Sarah, Duchess of Marl- borough, as well as a column which I shall mention in turn. The gardener, who was very loquacious and swelled with importance, told us, that since his residence there, the present Duke had greatly en- larged and improved the grounds; that he had beau- tified them by the addition of some well-placed or- naments, particularly the temple of Diana, and a noble cascade, round which are four river gods, rep- resented as the guardian genii of the water. This celebrated park was first enclosed in the reign of Henry the First. His successor, Henry the Second, resided at this seat, and erected in this park a palace, and encompassed it with a labyrinth, which was fair Rosamond's bower, celebrated by Addison. There are now no remains of it, except a spring at the foot of the hill, which still bears the name of Rosamond's Well. This palace is celebrated as the birth-place of Edmund, second son of Edward the First, and of Edward the Black Prince. Elizabeth was 394 LETTERS. kept a prisoner there under the persecutions of Queen Mary ; and it continued to be the residence of kings until the reign of Charles the First, but it was demol- ished in succeeding times of confusion. There are now two sycamores planted as a memorial upon the* spot where the old palace stood. The column will close my narrative. This is in front of the palace of Blenheim at about half a mile distance, and is one hundred and thirty feet high ; on the top of which is John, Duke of Marlborough, and on which is the fol- lowing inscription, supposed to be written by the late Lord Bolingbroke. ''The Castle of Blenheim was founded by Queen Anne, In the fourth year of her reign. In the year of the Christian era, 1705. A monument designed to perpetuate the memory of the Signal Victory Obtained over the French and Bivarians On the banks of the Danube By John, Duke of Marlborough : The Hero not only of this nation, but of this age ; Whose glory was equal in the council and in the field. Who, by wisdom, justice, candor, and address. Reconciled various, and even opposite interests 5 Acquired an influence Which no rank, no authority can give, Nor any force but that of superior virtue ; Became the fixed, important centre Which united in one common cause The principal States of Europe. Who, by military knowledge and irresistible valor, In a long series of uninterrupted triumphs, Broke the power of France When raised the highest, and when exerted the most} Rescued the empire from desolation, Asserted and confirmed the liberties of Europe." f LETTERS. 395 Thus is the gratitude of the nation expressed, and thus do the heirs of Marlborough triumph. The present Duke is a man of Hterary pursuits, domestic, and a great astronomer. He has a fine observatory and apparatus. From this observatory he makes signals to Herschel at Windsor, and they study the stars together. I have made a very long letter of it. I hope it may prove an amusement to you. Remember me kindly to all inquiring friends, and believe me, my dear niece. Your ever affectionate A. A. TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. London, 12 October, 1787. MY DEAR SON, I CANNOT begin my letter by thanking you for yours. You write so seldom that you do not give me the opportunity. Yet I think you would feel disappoint- ed if you did not get a few lines from me. I con- gratulate you upon your success at Commencement, and, as you have acquired a reputation upon entering the stage of the world, you will be no less solicit- ous to preserve and increase it through the whole drama. It is said of Hannibal, that he wanted nothing to the completion of his martial virtues, but that, when he had gained a victory, he should know how to use it. It is natural to the human heart, to 396 LETTERS. swell with presumption, when conscious of superior power ; yet all human excellence is comparative, and he, who thinks he knows much to-day, will find much more still unattained, provided he is still eager in pursuit of knowledge. Your friends are not anxious that you will be in any danger through want of sufficient application, but that a too ardent pursuit of your studies will im- pair your health, and injure those bodily powers and faculties upon which the vigor of the mind depends. Moderation in all things is conducive to human hap- piness, though this is a maxim little heeded by youth, whether their pursuits are of a sensual or a more re- fined and elevated kind. It is an old adage, that a man at thirty must be either a fool or a physician. Though you have not arrived at that age, you would do well to trust to the advice and experience of those who have. Our bodies are framed of such materials as to require constant exercise to keep them in repair, to brace the nerves, and give vigor to the animal functions. Thus do I give you " line upon hne, and precept upon precept." By the time this reaches you, you will have heard of the humiliating condition of Holland. History does not furnish a more striking instance of abject submission and depression, totally and almost unre- sistingly conquered by a few Prussian troops ; a na- tion, that formerly withstood the whole power and force of Spain, and gave such proofs of bravery and LETTERS. 397 prowess as astonished surrounding nations, now hum- bled to the dust by an imperious and haughty wo- man, backed by the troops of Prussia, for a mere trifling affront ; or rather, this has been the specious pretence for all the horrors which are brought upon the patriots and friends of liberty in Holland. May her name descend with eternal obloquy to future ages. Poor Dumas and family have lived in a state worse than death ; since to exist in constant dread of being dragged a victim to an enraged mob, who were con- stantly threatening him and his family with destruc- tion, is worse than death. His friends all forsook him, or dared not appear in his behalf. He wrote a most afflicting account to your father, and begged him to claim protection for him, as acting for the United States ; but, as he never had any public character, or, rather, never was commissioned by Congress, it could not be done. Mr. Dumas, you know, has been engaged in the service of France, and has received a salary from that government, be- sides his being opposed to the measures of the Stadt- holder ; all of which renders him particularly obnox- ious to the Princess and her party. This nation piqued at the treaty of alliance which was last winter made between France and Holland, has been ever since seeking revenge, by fomenting the troubles in Holland, and seized the first opportunity she had in her power, to bully France. The death of Vergennes, the deranged 398 LETTERS. State of the finances in France, and the dispute between the King and his Parliament, all, all have contributed to hasten the downfall of liberty in Hol- land. England has held a veiy high tone, and given it out, that, if France marched a single man to the assistance of Holland, it should be considered as a commencement of hostilities ; and, from the conduct of France, she appears to have been intimidated and held in awe by it. This is another lesson to us not " to put our trust in princes." England, not content with the tame and pacific conduct of France, is arm- ing with a zeal and eagerness really astonishing to every person of reflection, who can see no object which she can have in view adequate to or a compen- sation for the horror and distress she must bring up- on her subjects by the increase of expenses, and the accumulation of the national debt. If I was not present to hear and see it, I could scarcely credit that a whole people should not only tamely submit to the evils of war, but appear frantic with joy at the prospect ; led away by false glory, by their passions and their vices, they do not reflect upon past calamities nor approaching destruction ; and few of them have better reasons to offer for their conduct, than the lady with whom I was in company the other day, who hoped there would be a war. " Pray," said I, " how can you wish so much misery to mankind ? " " O," said she, " if there is a war, my brother and several of my friends will be promoted." In the general flame, which LETTERS. 399 threatens Europe, I hope and pray our own country- may have wisdom sufficient to keep herself out of the fire. I am sure she has been a sufficiently burnt child. Remember me to your brothers, if I do not write to them. Your e.er affectionate mother, A. A. TO MRS. SHAW. Richmond Hill, (N. Y.), 27 September, 1789. I WRITE to you, my dear sister, not from the dis- puted banks of the Potomac, the Susquehanna, or the Delaware, but from the peaceful borders of the Hud- son ; a situation where the hand of nature has so lavishly displayed her beauties, that she has left scarcely any thing for her handmaid, art, to perform. The house in which we reside is situated upon a hill, the avenue to which is interspersed with forest trees, under which a shrubbery rather too luxuriant and wild has taken shelter, owing to its having been deprived by death, some years since, of its original proprietor, who kept it in perfect order. In front of the house, the noble Hudson rolls his majestic waves, bearing upon his bosom innumerable small vessels, which are constantly forwarding the rich products of the neighbouring soil to the busy hand of a more extensive commerce. Beyond the Hudson rises to our view the fertile country of the Jerseys, covered 400 LETTERS. with a golden harvest, and pouring forth plenty like the cornucopia of Ceres. On the right hand, an ex- tensive plain presents us with a view of fields cover- ed with verdure, and pastures full of cattle. On the left, the city opens upon us, intercepted only by clumps of trees, and some rising ground, which serves to heighten the beauty of the scene, by ap- pearing to conceal a part. In the back ground, is a large flower-garden, enclosed with a hedge and some very handsome trees. On one side of it, a grove of pines and oaks fit for contemplation. " In this path How long soe'er the wanderer roves, each step Shall wake fresh beauties ; each last point present A different picture, new, and yet the same." If my days of fancy and romance were not past, I could find here an ample field for indulgence ; yet, amidst these delightful scenes of nature, my heart pants for the society of my dear relatives and friends who are too far removed from me. I wish most sincerely to return and pass the recess of Congress at my habitation in Braintree ; but the season of the year, to which Congress has adjourned, renders the attempt impracticable. Although I am not the only person who questions their making a Con- gress again until April, yet the punctuality of Mr. Adams to all public business would oblige him strictly to adhere to the day of adjournment, how- ever inconvenient it might prove to him. He has never been absent from his daily duty in Senate a LETTERS. 401 single hour from their first meeting ; and the last month's business has pressed so hard, that his health appears to require a recess. Shall I ask my sister why she has not written me a line since I came to this place ? With regard to myself, I own I have been cautious of writing. I know that I stand in a delicate situation. I am fear- ful of touching upon political subjects ; yet, perhaps, there is no person who feels more interested in them. And, upon this occasion, I may congratulate my country upon the late judicial appointments, in which an assemblage of the greatest talents and abilities are united which any country can boast of; gen- tlemen in whom the public have great confidence, and who will prove durable pillars in support of our government. Mr. Jefferson is nominated for Secretary of State in the room of Mr. Jay, who is made Chief Justice. Thus have we the fairest prospect of sitting down under our own vine in peace, provided the restless spirit of certain characters, who foam and fret, is permitted only its hour upon the stage, and then shall no more be heard of, nor permitted to sow the seeds of discord among the real defenders of the faith. Your affectionate sister, A. A. 26 • 402 LETTERS. New York, 6 September, 1790. MY DEAR SIR, You ask in one of your letters to Mr. Adams, "What is become of Mrs. Adams, that I do not hear from her r If my heart had not done you more justice than my pen, I would disown it. I have so long omitted writing to you, that my conscience has been a very severe accuser of me. But, be assured, my dear Sir, that I never fail to talk of you with pleasure, and think of you with affection. I place the hours spent at the Hyde amongst some of the most pleasurable of my days, and I esteem your friendship as one of the most valuable acquisitions that I made in your country ; a country that I should most sincerely re- joice to visit again, if I could do it without crossing the ocean. I have sometimes been suspected of partiality, for the preference which I have given to England ; and, were I to live out of America, that country would have been my choice. I have a situation here, which, for natural beauty may vie with the most delicious spot I ever saw. It is a mile and a half distant from the city of New York. The house is situated upon an eminence ; at an agreeable distance flows the noble Hudson, bear- 1 This letter has been printed in the Notes to the Memoirs of Thomas Brand-Hollis, Esq., by Dr. Disney, from which it is taken. LETTERS. 403 ing upon its bosom the fruitful productions of the adjacent country. On my right hand, are fields beautifully variegated with grass and grain, to a great extent, like the valley of Honiton in Devonshire. Upon my left, the city opens to view, intercepted, here and there, by a rising ground, and an ancient oak. In front, beyond the Hudson, the Jersey shores present the exuberance of a rich, well-cultivated soil. The venerable oaks and broken ground, cov- ered with wild shrubs, which surround me, give a natural beauty to the spot, which is truly enchanting. A lovely variety of birds serenade me morning and evening, rejoicing in their liberty and security ; for I have, as much as possible, prohibited the grounds from invasion, and sometimes almost wished for game laws, when my orders have not been sufficient- ly regarded. The partridge, the woodcock, and the pigeon are too great temptations to the sportsmen to withstand. How greatly would it add to my happi- ness to welcome here my much esteemed friend. 'T is true, we have a large portion of the blue and gold, of which you used to remind me, when you thought me an Egyptian; but, however I might hanker after the good things of America, I have been sufficiently taught to value and esteem other countries besides my own. You were pleased to inform us, that your adopted family^ flourished in your soil ; mine has received an addition. Mrs. Smith, Mr. Adams's daughter, and 1 His trees. The allusion is explained in a preceding letter, p. 352. 404 LETTERS. the wife of Colonel W. Stephens Smith, respecting the name of the great literary benefactor of her native state, and in grateful remembrance of the friendly attention and patriotic character of its pres- ent possessor, has named his new-born son Thom- as HoUis. She desires me to present you her affectionate remembrance. Mr. Adams is absent upon a journey, or he would have written you a letter of a later date than that which Mr. Knox is the bearer of. This gentleman is a brother of our Secretary of War, and is appointed consul to Dublin. He is intelligent, and can answer you any question respecting our government and politics, which you may wish to ask ; but, if he should not see you, I know it will give you pleasure to learn that our union is complete, by the accession of Rhode Island ; that our government acquires strength, con- fidence, and stability daily ; that peace is in our borders, and plenty in our dwellings; and we earn- estly pray, that the kindling flames of war, which appear to be bursting out in Europe, may by no means be extended to this rising nation. We enjoy freedom in as great a latitude as is consistent with our security and happiness. God grant that we may rightly estimate our blessings. Pray remember me, in the most affectionate terms, to Dr. Price and to Mrs. Jebb ; and be assured, my dear sir, that I am, with every sentiment of regard and esteem, Yours, &c. Abigail Adams. LETTERS. 405 TO BIRS. SMITH. Philadelpliia, 21 November, 1790. MY PEAR, I SUPPOSE you wish to hear from me and from your little boy. He is very well, and very amusing, as usual ; talks of William, and of the other papa ; is as fond as ever of the " fosses," and has a great ad- dition to his amusement and pleasures from a flock of sheep, which are daily pastured by a shepherd and his dog upon the lawn in front of our house. Bush Hill, as it is called, though by the way there re- mains neither bush nor shrub upon it, and very few trees, except the pine grove behind it, — yet Bush Hill is a very beautiful place. But the grand and sublime I left at Richmond Hill. The cultivation in sight and prospect are superior, but the Schu3dkill is no more like the Hudson, than I to Hercules. The house is better finished within ; but, when you come to compare the conveniences for store-room, kitch- en, closets, &c., there is nothing like it in the whole house. As chance governs many actions of my life, when we arrived in the city, we proceeded to the house. By accident, the vessel, with our furni- ture, had arrived the day before, and Briesler was taking in the first load into a house all green-paint- ed, the workmen there with their brushes in hand. This was a cold comfort in a house, where I suppose no fire had been kindled for several years, except in 406 LETTERS. a back kitchen ; but, as I expected many things of this kind, I was not disappointed nor discomfited. As no wood nor fodder had been provided before- hand, we could only turn about, and go to the City Tavern for the night. The next morning was pleasant, and I ventured to come up and take possession ; but what confu- sion ! Boxes, barrels, chairs, tables, trunks, &c. ; every thing to be arranged, and few hands to accom- plish it, for Briesler was obliged to be at the vessel. The first object was to get fires ; the next to get up beds ; but the cold, damp rooms, the new paint, dec, proved almost too much for me. On Friday we arrived here, and late on Saturday evening we got our furniture in. On Sunday, Thomas was laid up with the rheumatism ; on Monday, I was obliged to give Louisa an emetic ; on Tuesday, Mrs. Bries- ler was taken with her old pain in her stomach ; and, to complete the whole, on Thursday, Polly was seized with a violent pleuritic fever. She has been twice bled, a blister upon her side, and has not been out of bed since, only as she is taken up to have her bed made. And every day, the stormy ones ex- cepted, from eleven until three, the house is filled with ladies and gentlemen. As all this is no more nor worse than I expected, I bear it without repin- ing, and feel thankful that I have weathered it out without a relapse, though some days I have not been able to sit up. Mrs. Bingham has been twice to see me. I think LETTERS. 407 she is more amiable and beautiful than ever. I have seen many very fine women since I have been here. Our Nancy Hamilton is the same unafTecied, affable girl we formerly knew her. She made many kind in- quiries after you ; so did Mrs. Bingham. I have not yet begun to return visits, as the ladies expect to find me at home, and I have not been in a state of health to do it ; nor am yet in a very eligible state to receive their visits. I, however, endeavoured to have one room decent to receive them, which, with my own chamber, is as much as I can boast of, at present, being in tolerable order. The dif- ficulty of getting workmen, Mr. Hamilton pleads as an excuse for the house not being ready. Mrs. Lear was in to see me yesterday, and assures me that I am much better off* than Mrs. Washington will be when she arrives, for that their house is not likely to be completed this year. And, when all is done, it will not be Broadway. If New York wanted any revenge for the removal, the citizens might be glut- ted if they would come here, where every article has become almost double in price, and where it is not possible for Congress, and the appendages, to be half as well accommodated for a long time. One would suppose that the people thought Mexico was before them, and that Congress were the possessors. 28 November. Sunday. I wrote you thus far on Sunday last. Polly is on the recovery, but your brother Thomas is very ill, 408 LETTERS. and almost helpless with the rheumatism. You re- collect how he formerly had it. It seems as if sick- ness followed me wherever I go. The President got to town on Saturday ; I have not yet seen him or Mrs. Washington. We have had two severe storms ; the last was snow. Poor Mrs. Knox is in great tribulation about her furniture. The vessel sailed the day before the first storm, and had not been heard of on Friday last. I had a great misfor- tune happen to my best trunk of clothes. The ves- sel sprung a leak, and my trunk got wet a foot high, by which means I have several gowns spoiled ; and the one you worked is the most damaged, and a black satin ; — the blessed effects of tumbling about the world. Adieu. Write me soon. Love to all. A. A. TO MRS. SMITH. Bush Hill, 26 December, 1790. MY DEAR CHILD, I WOULD tell you that I had an ague in my face, and a violent toothache, which has prevented my writing to you all day ; but I am determined to brave it out this evening, and inquire how you do. Without further complaint, I have become so tender, from keeping so much in a warm chamber, that, as soon as I set my foot out, I am sure to come home with some new pain or ache. On Friday evening last, I went with Charles to LETTERS. 409 the drawing-room, being the first of my appearance in public. The room became full before I left it, and the circle very brilliant. How could it be other- wise, when the dazzling Mrs. Bingham and her beautiful sisters were there ; the Misses Allen, and Misses Chew ; in short, a constellation of beauties ? I am serious when I say so, for I really think them what I describe them. Mrs. Bingham has certainly given laws to the ladies here, in fashion and ele- gance ; their manners and appearance are superior to what I have seen. I have been employed, for several days last week, in returning visits. Mrs. Powell, I join the general voice in pronouncing a very interesting woman. She is aunt to Mrs. Bing- ham, and is one of the ladies you would be pleased with. She looks turned of fifty, is polite and fluent as you please, motherly and friendly. I have received many invitations to tea and cards, in the European style, but have hitherto declined them, on account of my health and the sickness of your brother. I should like to be acquainted with these people, and there is no other way of coming at many of them, but by joining in their parties ; but the roads to and from Bush Hill are all clay, and, in open weather, up to the horses' knees ; so you may suppose that much of my time must be spent at home ; but this, you know, I do not regret, nor is it any mortification to me. If I could send for you, as usual, and my dear boys, it would add greatly to my pleasure and happiness. IMrs. Otis comes fre- 410 LETTERS. quenlly, and passes the day with me, and yesterday I had the whole family to keep Christmas with me. The weather is winter in all respects, and such a plain of snow puts out my eyes. We have a warm side, as well as a cold one, to our house. If there is any thing we can do for you, let me know. You cannot regret your separation more than I do, for morn, noon, and night, you rest upon the mind and heart of your ever affectionate A. Adams. TO MRS. SMITH. Philadelphia, 8 January, 1791. • MY DEAR MRS. SMITH, I RECEIVED, by Mr. King, your letter of December 30th. I am uneasy if I do not hear from you once a week, thous!;h you have not any thing more to tell me than that you and your little ones are well. I think you do perfectly right in refusing to go into public during the absence of Colonel Smith. The society of a few friends is that from which most pleasure and satisfaction are to be derived. Under the wing of parents, no notice would be taken of your going into public, or mixing in any amuse- ment ; but the eyes of the world are always placed upon those whose situation may possibly subject them to censure, and even the friendly attentions of one's acquaintance are liable to be misconstrued, so that a lady cannot possibly be too circumspect. I LETTERS. 411 do not mention this to you through apprehension of your erring, but only as approving your determi- nation. I should spend a very dissipated winter, if I were to accept of one half the invitations I receive, par- ticularly to the routes, or tea and cards. Even Saturday evening is not excepted, and I refused an invitation of that kind for this evening. I have been to one assembly. The dancing was very good ; the company of the best kind. The President and Madam, the Vice-President and Madam, Ministers of State, and their Madams, &c. ; but the room despica- ble ; the etiquette, — it was difficult to say where it was to be found. Indeed, it was not New York ; but you must not report this from me. The mana- gers have been very polite to me and my family. I have been to one play, and here again we have been treated with much politeness. The actors came and informed us that a box was prepared for us. The Vice-President thanked them for their civility, and told them that he would attend whenever the Presi- dent did. And last Wednesday we were all there. The house is equal to most of the theatres we meet with out of France. It is very neat, and prettily fitted up ; the actors did their best ; " The School for Scandal " was the play. I missed the divine Farren ; but upon the whole it was very well per- formed. On Tuesday next I go to a dance at Mr. Chew's, and on Friday sup at Mr. Clymer's ; so you see I am likely to be amused.- 412 LETTERS. We have had very severe weather for several weeks ; I think the coldest I have known since my return from abroad. The climate of Old England for me ; people do not grow old half so fast there ; two-thirds of the year here, we must freeze or melt. Public affairs go on so smoothly here, that we scarcely know that Congress are sitting ; North Car- olina a little delirious, and Virginia trying to give law. They make some subject for conversation ; but, after all, the bluster will scarcely produce a mouse. Present me kindly to your mamma and sisters. How I long to send for you all, as in days past ; my dear little boys, too. As to John, we grow every day fonder of him. He has spent an hour this afternoon in driving his grandpapa round the room with a willow stick. I hope to see you in April. Congress will adjourn in March, and it is thought will not meet again till December. Good night, my dear. Heaven's blessings alight on you and yours, A. Adams. TO MRS. SMITH. Philadelphia, 25 January, 1791. MY DEAR CHILD, You must not flatter yourself with the expectation of hearing from Colonel Smith until the February packet arrives. It is as soon as you ought to think of it. You see by the papers, that a minister is in nom- LETTERS. 413 ination from England, and, Mrs. C writes, will come out soon. Mrs. P , from whom I received a letter, writes me by the last packet, that Mr. Friere is certainly appointed from • Portugal, and that he only waits for the arrival of Count , his succes- sor, in England, before he sails for America. Mrs. P likewise communicates the agreeable intelli- gence of Mr. P 's having forsaken the bottle, and that the Countess B had another child, and was vastly happy, beloved by her dear Count, &c. ; all in the true style of Mrs. P . She desires to be kindly remembered to you and the Colonel. Present me kindly to all my New York friends. That I was attached to that place is most true, and I shall always remember with pleasure the fifteen months passed there ; but, if I had you and your fam- ily, I could be very well pleased here, for there is an agreeable society and friendliness kept up with all the principal families, who appear to live in great harmony, and we meet at all the parties nearly the same company. To-morrow the President dines with us, the Governor, the Ministers of State, and some Senators. Of all the ladies I have seen and conversed with here, Mrs. Powell is the best inform- ed. She is a friendly, affable, good woman, spright- ly, full of conversation. There is a Mrs. Allen, who is as well-bred a woman as I have seen in any country, and has three daughters, who may be styled the three Graces. My best respects to your good mamma and family. 414 LETTERS. Tell Mrs. C I hope she makes a very obedient wife. I am sure she will be a good one. I think I shall see you in April. Why do you say that you feel alone in the world ? I used to think that I felt so too ; but, when I lost my mother, and afterwards my father, that " alone " appeared to me in a much more formidable light. It was like cutting away the main pillars of a building ; and, though no friend can supply the absence of a good husband, yet, whilst our parents live, we cannot feel unprotected. To them we can apply for advice and direction, sure that it will be given with affection and tender- ness. We know not what we can do or bear, till called to the trial. I have passed through many painful ones, yet have enjoyed as much happiness through life as usually falls to the lot of mortals ; and, when my enjoyments have been damped, cur- tailed, or molested, it has not been owing to vice, that great disturber of human happiness, but some- times to folly, in myself or others, or the hand of Providence, which has seen fit to afflict me. I feel grateful for the blessings which surround me, and murmur not at those which are withheld. — But my pen runs on, and my lads, at whose table I write, wonder what mamma can find to write about. Adieu. My love to the children. From your ever affectionate A. Adams. LETTERS. 415 TO MRS. SMITH. Philadelphia, 21 February, 1791. MY PEAR CHILD, I RECEIVED yours of February 13th, and was happy to learn that you and your little ones were well. I wrote to you by the Chief Justice, and sent your silk by him. He promised me to visit you, and from him you will learn how we all are. We have had, ever since this month began, a succession of bad weather, and, for this week past, the coldest weather that I have experienced this winter. The ground is now covered with snow. This, if it would last, would let me out of my cage, and enable me to go to the assembly on the birth-day of the President, which will be on Tuesday next. On Thursday last I dined with the President, in company with the ministers and ladies of the court. He was more than usually social. I asked him after Humphreys, from whom I knew he had received despatches a few days before. He said that he was well, and at Lisbon. When I returned home, I told your father that I conjectured Mr. Humphreys would be nominat- ed for Lisbon, and the next day the Senate received a message, with his nomination, as resident minister at the Court of Portugal ; the President having received official information that a minister was appointed here, Mr. Friere, as I before informed you. He asked very affectionately after you and the children, 416 LETTERS. and at table picked the sugar-plums from a cake, and requested me to take them for master John. Some suppose, that, if your husband was here, he would have the command of the troops which are to be raised and sent against the Indians. If such an idea as that is in his mind, I am happy that your friend is three thousand miles distant. I have no fancy that a man, who has already hazarded his life in defence of his country, should risk a tomahawk and scalping-knife, where, though a conqueror, no glory is to be obtained, though much may be lost. I most sincerely hope he may be successful in his private enterprise ; for the way to command For- tune is to be as independent of her as possible. The equanimity of your disposition will lead you to a patient submission to the allotments of Provi- dence. The education of your children will occupy much of your time, and you will always keep in mind the great importance of first principles, and the necessity of instilling the precepts of morality very early into their minds. Youth is so imitative, that it catches at every thing. I have a great opinion of Dr. Watts's '' Moral Songs for Children." They are adapted to their capacities, and they compre- hend all the social and relative duties of life. They impress the young mind with the ideas of the Su- preme Being, as their creator, benefactor, and pre- server. They teach brotherly love, sisterly affec- tion, and filial respect and reverence. I do not know any book so well calculated for the early peri- LETTERS. 417 od of life ; and they may be made as pleasant to them, by the method of instructing, as a hundred little sto- ries, which are taught them, containing neither a rule of life, nor a sentiment worth retaining, such as little John will now run over, of " Jack and Jill," and " Little Jack Horner." As a trial of their memory, and a practice for their tongues, these may be use- ful, but no other way. I am sometimes led to think that human nature is a very perverse thing, and much more given to evil than good. I never had any of my own children so much under my eye, and so little mixed with other children or with servants, as this little boy of yours. Whatever appears is self-taught, and, though a very good boy and very orderly, he frequently surprises me with a new air, a new word, or some action, that I should ascribe to others, if he mixed with them at all. He is never permitted to go into the kitchen. Ev- ery day, after dinner, he sets his grandpapa to draw him about in a chair, which is generally done for half an hour, to the derangement of my carpet and the amusement of his grandpapa. Remember me affectionately to all inquiring friends. I hope to see you ere long. Your ever affectionate mother, A. Adams. 27 418 LETTERS. TO MRS. SHAW. Bush Hill; (near Philadelphia,) 20 March, 1791. MY DEAR SISTER, I RECEIVED, by Dr. W , your kind letter of Feb- ruary 14th. He was very punctual to his commission. He has been three times to visit us. He came out this afternoon to let me know that he should leave Phila- delphia on Tuesday. By him I have to thank my dear sister for three letters, and to confess myself much in arrears. 'T is in vain to say that I have had a sick family ; that I have had a large family ; that I have been engaged in company. These are poor excuses for not writing ; nor will I exculpate myself by alleging that I wanted a subject. My pride would not suffer such a plea. What, then, has been the cause ^ " Confess freely, and say that it was mere indolence, — real laziness," as in truth I fear it has been. Yet conscience, that faithful monitor, has reprehended me veiy, very often. I was very sick ; (so sick, that I have not yet recovered the shock I received from it,) for near two months before I left New York. When I got to this place, I found this house just calculated to make the whole family sick ; cold, damp, and wet with new paint. A fine place for an invalid ; but, through a kind Providence, I sustained it, though others suffered. Happily, after a very tedious two months, Thomas recovered so as to get abroad ; but his health is now very infirm, and LETTERS. 419 I fear an attendance upon two offices through the day, and studying through the evening at home, is not calculated to mend it. But it is a maxim here, that he who dies with studying dies in a good cause, and may go to another world much better calculated to improve his talents, than if he had died a block- head. Well, knowledge is a fine thing, and mother Eve thought so ; but she smarted so severely for hers, that most of her daughters have been afraid of it since. We have had a very severe winter in this State, as you may judge when I tell you that we have consumed forty cords of wood in four months. It has been as cold as any winter we have at the north- ward. T! e 17th and 18th of this month I dined with all my windows open, put out the fires, and ate ice to cool me ; the glasses at 80. This is the 20th. Yesterday it snowed nearly the whole day, and to-day it is a keen northwester ; and I pre- sume it will freeze hard to-night. Yet the verdure is beautiful ; full as much as I shall find by the middle of May in Massachusetts, where I hope then to be. Yet I shall have some regrets at leaving this place, just as the season begins to open all its beauties upon me. I am told that this spot is very delightful as a summer residence. The house is spacious. The views from it are rather beautiful than sublime ; the country round has too much of the level to be in my style. The appearance of uniformity wearies the eye, and confines the imagination. We have a 420 LETTERS. fine view of the whole city from our windows ; a beautiful grove behind the house, through which there is a spacious gravel walk, guarded by a num- ber of marble statues, whose genealogy I have not yet studied, as the last week is the first time I have visited them. A variety of fine fields of wheat and grass are in front of the house, and, on the right hand, a pretty view of the Schuylkill presents itself. But now for the reverse of the picture. We are only two miles from town, yet have I been more of a prisoner this winter than I ever was in my life. The road from hence to the pavement is one mile and a half, the soil a brick clay, so that, when there has been heavy rain, or a thaw, you must wallow to the city through a bed of mortar without a bottom, the horses sinking to their knees. If it becomes cold, then the holes and the roughness are intolerable. From the inhabitants of this place I have received every mark of politeness and civility. The ladies here are well-educated, well-bred, and well-dressed. There is much more society than in New York, and I am much better pleased and satis- fied than I expected to be when I was destined to remove here. Adieu. Your sister, A. A. LETTERS. 421 TO MRS. SMITH. Quincy, 3 February, 1794. MY DEAR MRS. SMITH, I HAVE not written to you since I received yours of January 5th. I go from home but very little, yet I do not find my time hang heavy upon my hands. You know that I have no aversion to join in the cheerful circle, or mix in the world, when opportu- nity offers. I think it tends to rub off those austeri- ties, which age is apt to contract, and reminds us, as Goldsmith says, " that we once were young." Whilst our presence is easy to youth, it will tend to guide and direct them. " Be to their faults a little blind, Be to their virtues ever kind, And fix the padlock on the mind." To-morrow our theatre is to open. Every pre- caution has been taken to prevent such unpleasant scenes as you represent are introduced upon yours. I hope the managers will be enabled to govern the mobility, or the whole design of the entertainment will be thwarted. Since I wrote you last, a renewal of the horrid tragedies has been acted in France, and the Queen is no more. " Set is her star of life ; — the pouring storm Turns its black deluge from that aching headj The fiends of murder quit that bloodless form, And the last animating hope is fled. 422 LETTERS. " Blest is the hour of peace, though cursed the hand Which snaps the thread of life's disastrous loom 5 Thrice blest the great, invincible command, That deals the solace of the slumbering tomb." Not content with loading her with ignominy, whilst living, they blacken her memory by ascribing to her the vilest crimes. Would to Heaven that the destroying angel might put up his sword, and say, " It is enough ; " that he would bid hatred, mad- ness, and murder cease. " Peace o'er the world her olive branch extend, And white-robed Innocence from Heaven descend." I wish, most ardently, that every arm extended against that unhappy country might be withdrawn, and they left to themselves, to form whatever con- stitution they choose ; and whether it is republican or monarchical is not of any consequence to us, pro- vided it is a regular government of some form or other, which may secure the faith of treaties, and due subordination to the laws, whilst so many gov- ernments are tottering to the foundations. Even in one of the freest and happiest in the world, restless spirits will aim at disturbing it. They cry " A lion ! a lion ! " when no real dangers exist, but from their own halloo, which in time may raise other ferocious beasts of prey. I hope to hear from you soon. I wrote to you by Dr. Appleton. Your grandmother has been very sick, and is still in so poor a way that I have very little expectation of her ever going abroad again. LETTERS. 423 She is cheerful and pleasant, and loves to hear from her children and grandchildren and great-grandchil- dren. She has ever been a woman of exemplary- benevolence, a friendly, open, candid mind, with a naturally good understanding, and zealously anxious for the welfare and prosperity of her family, which she has always promoted by every exertion in her power. Her only anxiety seems to be, lest she should live to be a burden to her friends ; but this will not be her hard lot. Your mother, A. Adams. TO MRS. SMITH. Quincy, 8 March, 1794. MY DEAR CHILD, I RECEIVED your kind letter of February 12th, as well as one, by Mr. Storer, of February 2d. I have been every day since thinking that 1 would write to you, but a superior duty has occupied all my time for six weeks past. I have been only two days (when I was too sick to attend) absent from the sick bed of your grandmother. Your desire, that her last days might be rendered as comfortable as it is possible to make them, has been fulfilled. There has been no attention on my part, nor any comfort in my power to render her, that she has one moment wanted. She had spent a day with me the week she was taken sick. A severe storm had prevented me from hearing from her for a couple of days. T 424 LETTERS. then learnt that she had a violent cold, as it was supposed. I went immediately to see her, and found her sick with a lung fever. Her grand- daughters have been affectionate, tender, and watch- ful of her, but she has lived all the days of her ap- pointed time, and is now ready to depart. Her senses are bright and quick, her hearing better than for years past. Upon looking back, she has no re- grets ; upon looking forward, she has all hope and comfort. Her hourly wish is to be at rest. She took her leave of me this evening, with her blessing upon me and mine to the latest posterity. I told her to-day that you desired to be remembered to her. She asked me if I thought there was any thing, which she had, that you would accept of. I answer- ed, that what she had I thought her granddaughters, who were with her, deserved, and that I was sure you would value her blessing more than any thing else. " Well," she replied, " I pray God to bless her and her children ; and tell all who belong to me to consider, that a virtuous and a religious life is the only solid comfort upon a death-bed." She has mourned much, since her sickness, that she should never see your father again ; but she now seems reconciled to the thought of her approaching dissolu- tion, which cannot be far distant. She has no rest, night nor day, her cough is so constant and trouble- some ; and she can take scarcely any nourishment. If she had reached the 17th of this month, she would have been eighty-five years old. I can say with Pope LETTERS. 425 upon a similar occasion, " that my constant attendance upon her has indeed affected my mind very much, and lessened my desire of long life, since the best that can come of it is a miserable benediction." " Nothing," says Seneca, " is so melancholy a cir- cumstance in human life, or so soon reconciles us to the thought of our own death, as the reflection and prospect of one friend after another dropping around us. Who would stand alone, the sole remaining ruin, the last tottering column of all the fabric of friendship, seemingly so strong, once so large, and yet so suddenly sunk and buried ? " Present me kindly to all my friends. In some future letter I may notice several things in yours ; but my mind is too much solemnized by the scene before me to add any thing more, than that I am Your affectionate mother, A. Adams. TO MRS. SMITH. Quincy, 10 March, 1794. MY DEAR MRS. SMITH, Although the scenes in which I have been engaged for six weeks past, have been very different from those which you describe, I have been amused and entertained by your account. Though I cannot say- that I am charmed with your hero's personal ac- complishments, as you describe them, yet you find *' A man of wealth is dubbed a man of worth j Venus can give him form, and Anstis birth." 426 LETTERS. I think our ladies ought to be cautious of foreio-n<- ers. I am almost led to suspect a spy in eveiy strange character. It is much too easy a matter for a man, if he has property, to get introduced into company in this country of the best kind, and that without recommendations. The entertainment you describe was really very curious. "Men overloaded with a large estate, May spill their treasure in a queer conceit ; " and I am sure this was of that kind. You may mix in these scenes, and sometimes join in the society ; but neither your habits, your inclination, nor your natural disposition are formed for them. By nature you have a grave and thought- ful cast of temper, by habit you have been trained to more rational and durable pleasures, and by in- clination you delight more in them. The frivolity of the present day has been much increased by our foreign connexions. I pray Heaven to preserve us from that dissoluteness of manners, which is the bane of society, and the destroyer of domestic happi- ness. I think, with the poet, " If individual good engage our hope, Domestic virtues give the largest scope; If plans of public eminence we trace, Domestic virtues are its surest base." You complain that there is, in the rising genera- tion, a want of principle. This is a melancholy truth. I am no friend of bigotry ; yet I think the freedom of inquiry, and the general toleration of re- LETTERS. 427 ligious sentiments, have been, like all other good things, perverted, and, under that shelter, deism, and even atheism, have found refuge. Let us, for one moment, reflect as rational creatures, upon our " be- ing, end, and aim," and we shall feel our dependence, we shall be convinced of our frailty, and satisfied that we must look beyond this transitory scene for a hap- piness large as our wishes, and boundless as our de- sires. True, genuine religion is calm in its inquiries, deliberate in its resolves, and steady in its conduct ; is open to light and conviction, and labors for im- provement. It studies to promote love and union in civil and in religious society. It approves virtue, and the truths which promote it, and, as the Scripture expresses it, " is peaceable, gentle, easy to be en- treated." It is the author of our hope, the ornament of youth, the comfort of age ; our support in affliction and adversity, and the solace of that solemn hour, which we must all experience. Train up, my dear daughter, your children, to a sober and serious sense of the duty which they owe to the Supreme Being. Impress their infant minds with a respect for the Sabbath. This is too much neglected by the rising generation. Accustom them to a constant attend- ance upon public worship, and enforce it by your own example and precept, as often as you can with any convenience attend. It is a duty, for which we are accountable to the Supreme Being. My pen has again taken a serious turn. I shall not apologize for it. Your own letter led to these 428 LETTERS. reflections ; and I am sure they flow from a heart anxiously solicitous for the happiness of you and yours. That they may make a due impression, is the ardent and affectionate wish of Your mother, A. Adams. TO JOHN ADAMS. Quincy, 8 February, 1797. " The sun is dressed in brightest beams, To give thy honors to the day." And may it prove an auspicious prelude to each ensuing season. You have this day to declare your- self head of a nation. " And now, O Lord, my God, thou hast made thy servant ruler over the peo- ple. Give unto him an understanding heart, that he may know how to go out and come in before this great people ; that he may discern between good and bad. For who is able to judge this thy so great a people ? " were the words of a royal sovereign ; and not less applicable to him who is invested with the chief magistracy of a nation, though he wear not a crown, nor the robes of royalty. My thoughts and my meditations are with you, though personally absent ; and my petitions to Heaven are, that " the things which make for peace may not be hidden from your eyes." My feelings are not those of pride or ostentation, upon the occa- sion. They are solemnized by a sense of the obli- LETTERS. 429 gallons, the important trusts, and numerous duties connected with it. That you may be enabled to discharge them with honor to yourself, with justice and impartiality to your country, and with satisfac- tion to this great people, shall be the daily prayer of your A. A. TO JOHN ADAMS. Quincy, 26 April, 1797. MY DEAREST FRIEND, This, I hope, is the last letter which you will receive from me at Quincy. The funeral rites performed, I prepare to set out on the morrow. I long to leave a place, where every scene and object wears a gloom, or looks so to me. My agitated mind wants repose. I have twice the present week met my friends and relatives, and taken leave of them in houses of mourning. I have asked, " Was all this necessary to wean me from the world .? Was there danger of my fixing a too strong attachment upon it ? Has it any allurements, which could make me forget, that here 1 have no abiding-place ? " All, all is un- doubtedly just and right. Our aged parent is gone to rest.^ My mind is relieved from any anxiety on her account. I have no fears lest she should be left 1 The mother ofJNIr. Adams, who survived the illness described in a preceding letter of March 8th, 1791, died at this time, at the age of eighty-eight. 430 LETTERS. alone, and receive an injury. I have no apprehen- sions, that she should feel any want of aid or assist- ance, or fear of becoming burdensome. She fell asleep, and is happy. Mary,^ in the prime of life, when, if ever, it is desirable, became calm, resigned, and willing to leave the world. She made no objection to her sis- ter's going, or to mine, but always said ^he should go first. I have received your letters of April 16th and 19th. I want no courting to come. I am ready and willing to follow my husband wherever he chooses ; but the hand of Heaven has arrested me. Adieu, my dear friend. Excuse the melancholy strain of my letter. From the abundance of the heart the stream flows. Affectionately your A. Adams. TO THOMAS B. ADAMS. Washington, 13 November, 1800. Well, my dear son. South Carolina has behaved as your father always said she would. The conse- quence to us, personally, is, that we retire from public life. For myself and family, I have few re- grets. At my age, and with my bodily infirmities, I shall be happier at Quincy. Neither my habits, 1 A niece of the writer. LETTERS. 431 nor my education or inclinations, have led me to an expensive style of living, so that on that score I have little to mourn over. If I did not rise with dignity, I can at least fall with ease, which is the more diffi- cult task. I wish your father's circumstances were not so limited and circumscribed, as they must be, because he cannot indulge himself in those im- provements upon his farm, which his inclination leads him to, and which would serve to amuse him, and contribute to his health. I feel not any resent- ment against those who are coming into power, and only wish the future administration of the govern- ment may be as productive of the peace, happiness, and prosperity of the nation, as the two former ones have been. I leave to time the unfolding of a dra- ma. I leave to posterity to reflect upon the times past ; and I leave them characters to contemplate. My own intention is to return to Quincy as soon as I conveniently can ; I presume in the month of Jan- uary. Governor Davie arrived yesterday with the treaty. Judge Ellsworth was landed in England for the benefit of his health. The public curiosity will be soon satisfied. Peace with France, — a revenue in- creased beyond any former years, — our prospects brightening upon every side. What must be the thoughts and the reflections of those, who, calling themselves Federalists, have placed their country in a situation full of dangers and perils ; who have wantonly thrown away the blessings Heaven seemed 432 LETTERS. to have in reserve for them ? The defection of New York has been the source. That defection was produced by the intrigues of two men. One of them sowed the seeds of discontent and division amongst the Federalists, and the other seized the lucky moment of mounting into power upon the shoulders of Jefferson. The triumph of the Jacobins is immoderate, and the Federalists deserve it. It is an old and a just proverb, " Never halloo until you are out of the woods." So completely have they gulled one another by their Southern promises, which have no more faith, when made to Northern men, than lovers' vows. I have not heard from New York since I wrote you last. I am, my dear Thomas, Your ever affectionate mother, A. Adams. TO MRS. SMITH. Washington, 21 November, 1800. MY DEAR CHILD, I ARRIVED here on Sunday last, and without meeting with any accident worth noticing, except losing our- selves when we left Baltimore, and going eight or nine miles on the Frederick road, by which means we were obliged to go the other eight through woods, where we wandered two hours without find- ing a guide, or the path. Fortunately, a straggling LETTERS. 433 black came up with us, and we engaged him as a guide, to extricate us out of our difficuhy ; but woods are all you see, from Baltimore until you reach the cify^ which is only so in name. Here and there is a small cot, without a glass window, interspersed amongst the forests, through which you travel miles without seeing any human being. In the city there are buildings enough, if they were compact and finished, to accommodate Congress and those attach- ed to it ; but as they are, and scattered as they are, I see no great comfort for them. The river, which runs up to Alexandria, is in full view of my window, and I see the vessels as they pass and repass. ^; The house is upon a grand and superb scale, requiring about thirty servants to attend and keep the apart- ments in proper order, and perform the ordinary business of the house and stables ; an establishment very well proportioned to the President's salary. The lighting the apartments, from the kitchen to parlours and chambers, is a tax indeed ; and the fires we are obliged to keep to secure us from daily agues is another very cheering comfort. To assist us in this great castle, and render less attendance necessary, belTs are wholly wanting, not one single one being hung through the whole house, and promises are all you can obtain. This is so great an inconvenience, that I know not what to do, or how to do. The la- dies from Georgetown and in the city have many of them visited me. Yesterday I returned fifteen vis- its, — but such a place as Georgetown appears, — 434 LETTERS. - ' why, our Milton is beautiful. But no comparisons ; — S" they will put me up some bells, and let me have wood enough to keep fires, I design to be pleas- ed. I could coment myself almost anywhere three months ; but, surrounded with forests, can you be- lieve that wood is not to be had, because people cannot be found to cut and cart it ! Briesler enter- ed into a contract with a man to supply him with wood. A small part, a few cords only, has he been able to get. Most of that was expended to dry the walls of the house before we came in, and yesterday the man told him it was impossible for him to procure it to be cut and carted. He has had recourse to coals; but we cannot get grates made and set. We have, indeed, come into a new country. You must keep all this to yourself, and, when asked how I like it, say that I write you the situation is beautiful, which is true. The house is made hab- itable, but there is not a single apartment finished, and all withinside, except the plastering, has been done since Briesler came. We have not the least fence, yard, or other convenience, without, and the great unfinished audience-room I make a drying- '^ room of, to hang up the clothes in. The principal stairs are not up, and will not be this winter. Six chambers are made comfortable ; two are occupied by the President and Mr. Shaw ; two lower rooms, one for a common parlour, and one for a levee-room. Up stairs there is the oval room, which is designed LETTERS. 435 for the drawingroom, and has the crimson furniture in it. It is a very handsome room now ; but, when completed, it will be beautiful. If the twelve years, in which this place has been considered as the future seat of government, had been improved, as they would have been if in New England, very many of the present inconveniences would have been re- moved. It is a beautiful spot, capable of every im- provement, and, the more I view it, the more I am delighted with it Since I sat down to write, I have been called down to a servant from Mount Vernon, with a billet from Major Custis, and a haunch of venison, and a kind, congratulatory letter from Mrs. Lewis, upon my arrival in the city, with Mrs. Washington's love, inviting me to Mount Vernon, where, health permit- ting, I will go, before I leave this place. The Senate is much behind-hand. No Congress has yet been made. 'T is said is on his way, but travels with so many delicacies in his rear, that he cannot get on fast, lest some of them should suffer. Thomas comes in and says a House is made ; so to-morrow, though Saturday, the President will meet them. Adieu, my dear. Give my love to your brother, and tell him he is ever present upon my mind. Affectionately your mother, A. Adams. 436 LETTERS. TO COLONEL W. S. SMITH. Quincy, 3 May, 1801. DEAR SIR, I HAVE to acknowledge the receipt of the raspberry bushes, and the pot of strawberry vines, for which accept my thanks. I have had them placed in a good part of the garden, and shall pay particular attention to them. I hope I shall be able to treat you with a plate of them, when I shall have the pleasure of seeing you at Quincy. Whatever strange events occur in the political world, r think your path plain; the strict and im- partial discharge of the duties of your office, with a prudent silence, without becoming the demagogue of any party. Be so good as to send the enclosed by a safe hand. My love to Mrs. Smith and the children. Tell her I have commenced my operations of dairy- woman ; and she might see me, at five o'clock in the morning, skimming my milk. Adieu, my dear Sir. Your affectionate A. Adams. LETTERS. 437 TO THOMAS B. ADAMS. Quincy, 12 July, 1801. MY DEAR SON, I AM much delighted to learn that you intend mak- ing a visit to the old mansion. I wish you could have accomplished it so as to have been here hy this time, which would have given you an opportunity of being at Commencement, meeting many of your old acquaintance, and visiting the seat of science, where you received your first rudiments. I shall look daily for you. You will find your father in his fields, attending to his hay-makers, and your mother busily occupied in the domestic concerns of her family. I regret that a fortnight of sharp drought has shorn many of the beauties we had in rich luxu- riance. The verdure of the grass is become a brown, the flowers hang their heads, droop, and fade, whilst the vegetable world languishes ; yet still we have a pure air. The crops of hay have been abundant ; upon this spot, where eight years ago we cut scarce- ly six tons, we now have thirty. " We are here, among the vast and noble scenes of nature, where we walk in the light and open ways of the divine bounty, and where our senses are feasted with the clear and genuine taste of their objects." " Who, that has reason and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmine dwell, Rather than all his spirits choke With exhalations of dirt and smoke, 438 LETTER^ And all the uncleanness, which does drown In pestilential clouds a populous town." At this season, it is best to take the packet by way of Providence. I have received Mr. J 's play. It is better executed than I beUeved him capable of performing. As a youthful specimen of genius, it has merit. I presume S has sent you Mr. Paine's Oration upon July the 4th. I think you will be pleased with it. I am my dear Thomas, Affectionately your mother, A. A. TO MRS. SHAW. Quincy, 5 June, 1809. I WAS unable to reply to my dear sister's letter of May 19th when I received it, being visited by St. Anthony, who scourged me most cruelly. I am sure I wished well to the Spanish patriots, in their late struggle for liberty, and I bore no ill-will to those whose tutelar saint, thus unprovoked, beset me. I wish he had been preaching to the fishes, who, according to tradition, have been his hearers ; for so ill did he use me, that I came very near losing my senses. I think he must be a very bigoted saint, a favorer of the Inquisition, and a tyrant. If such are the pen- ances of saints, I hope to hold no further intercourse with them. For four days and nights my face was so swelled and inflamed, that I was almost blind. It LETTERS. 443 At five, went to Mr. T. G 's, with your grand- father; the third visit he has made with us in the week; and let me whisper to you he played at wliist with Mr. J. G , who was as ready and accurate as though he had both eyes to see with. Returned. At nine, sat down and wrote a letter. At eleven, retired to bed. We do not so every week. I tell it you as one of the marvels of the age. By all this, you will learn that grandmother has got rid of her croaking, and that grandfather is in good heal h, and that both of us are as tranquil as that bald old fellow, called Time, will let us be. And here I was interrupted in my narrative. I re-assume my pen upon the 22d of November, being this day sixty-eight years old. How many reflections occur to me upon this anniversary ! What have I done for myself or others in this long period of my sojourn, that I can look back upon with pleasure, or reflect upon with approbation } Many, very many follies and errors of judgment and conduct rise up before me, and ask forgiveness of that Being, who seeth into the secret recesses of the heart, and from whom nothing is hidden. I think I may with truth say, that in no period of my life have the vile passions had control over me. I bear no enmity to any human being ; but, alas ! as Mrs. Placid said to her friend, by which of thy good works wouldst thou be willing to be judged ? I do not believe, with some divines, that all our good works are but as filthy rags ; the example which our 444 LETfERS. great Master has set before us, of purily, benevo- lence, obedience, submission and humility, are vir- tues which, if faithfully practised, will find their re- ward ; or why has he pronounced so many benedic- tions upon them in his sermon on the mount ? I would ask with the poet, " Is not virtue in mankind The nutriment that feeds the mind ? Then who, with reason, can pretend That all effects of virtue end ? " I am one of those who are willing to rejoice always. My disposition and habits are not of the gloomy kind. I believe that " to enjoy is to obey." " Yet not to Earth's contracted span, Thy goodness let me bound ; 'Or think thee Lord alone of man, Whilst thousand worlds are round.'' I have many more subjects, dear Caroline, which I want to write to you upon. 27 November. Yesterday was our Thanksgiving day. In our own way, and with tempers suited to the occasion, we gave thanks for those blessings which we felt had been granted to us in the year past, for the restoration and recovery from dangerous sickness of members of our own family ; and, although in one in- stance we had been called to weep, in many others we had cause of rejoicing. We were in health ; we had good news from a far country ; we had food and lainjent, and we still enjoyed liberty, and our rulers vere men of our own election, and removable by LETTERS. 445 the people. Dear Caroline, I have trespassed upon you. I will close by saying, that your uncle and aunt, with their three children, your aunt Smith, George and John Adams, with our own family, made the joyful group. We remembered the ab- sent, and sent our wishes to Russia and the valley ; but wishes were empty. — No, they bore upon their wings blessings, a portion of which were for my dear Caroline, From her affectionate grandmother, Abigail Adams. Quincy, 3 February, 1814. DEAR SIR, Ever since your letter to the President, of Decem- ber last, I have had a great inclination to address a letter to Mr. Vanderkemp ; and, being now confined to my chamber, by an attack of the rheumatism, I find a leisure hour to address my friend in his soli- tude. And in the first place, to put him perfectly at his ease, I assure him that I make not any pretensions to the character of a learned lady, and therefore, 1 The late Judge Vanderkemp presented the letters which he had received from Mrs. Adams to Mrs. Quincy, the wife of the President of Harvard University. By her, they have been, with great kindness, submitted to the disposal of the Editor, whc^only regrets that the limits of this volume would not allow him to in- sert more than a single specimen. ' 446 LETTEKfe. according to his creed, I am entitled to his benevo- lence. I can say with Gay's hermit, "The little knowledge I have gained, Is all from simple nature drained." I agree w'th Mr. Vanderkemp, that, in declaring ] s opinion, he has expressed that of most gentle- men, the true cause of which I shall trace no farther than that they consider a companion more desirable than a rival. In reading the life of Madame de Stael, I learn that it was her superior talents and learning, perhaps too ostentatiously displayed, which produced that coldness, estrangement, and unhappiness, which marred all her pleasure with the Baron de Stael, soured every domestic enjoyment, and was the occasion of that sarcastic question to her by the Emperor Bonaparte. Upon some occasion, she had solicited an interview with him, and recommended to him some measure for him to pursue. He heard her, but made her no other reply than this ; " Mad- am, who educates your children .?" I like your portrait of female excellence. Solo- mon has also drawn one in the character of a virtu- ous woman ; but, if a sound understanding had not been united with virtuous habits and principles, is it probable that he would have represented the heart of her husband as safely trusting in her ? or that he would have derived so much lustre from her charac- ter, as to be known in the gates, when he sat with the elders of the land ? It is very certain, that a well-informed woman, conscious of her nature and LETTERS. 447 dignity, is more capable of performing the relative duties of life, and of engaging and retaining the affections of a man of understanding, than one whose intellectual endowments rise not above the common level. There are so few women who may be really called learned, that I do not wonder they are con- sidered as black swans. It requires such talents and such devotion of time and study, as to exclude the performance of most of the domestic cares and du- ties which exclusively fall to the lot of most females in this country. I believe nature has assigned to each sex their particular duties and sphere of action, and to act well their part, " there all the honor lies." Have you seen John Randolph's letter, and Mr. Lloyd's reply ? Present me in friendly terms to Mrs. Vander- "kemp. Tell her, I wish we were neighbours. I should then have a pleasure which our residence in the country deprives us of, that of the society and converse of a gentleman of taste, science, and ex- tensive information; and, although much of his learning might be above my comprehension, his be- nevolence, politeness, and urbanity would render it grateful, and be in unison with the good-will and friendship entertained for him by Abigail Adams. THE END. CAMBRIDGE: FOLSOM, WELLS, AND THURSTON, PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. RdMv23 ^ x^^'.'/ '., ■'b.. ■'"i. .^^' . -^^ .^■^^ ->.'< ^ .^' s^ •*.