Description of Monticello and Jefferson by the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt.—Nominated Vice-President.—Letter to Madison.—To Adams.—Preference for the Office of Vice-President.—Sets out for Philadelphia.—Reception there.—Returns to Monticello.—Letters to his Daughter.—Goes to Philadelphia.—Letter to Rutledge.—Family Letters.—To Miss Church.—To Mrs. Church.
I have elsewhere given a charming picture of Monticello and its inmates in 1782, from the pen of an accomplished Frenchman—the Marquis de Chastellux. A countryman of his—equally as accomplished and distinguished, the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt—has left us a similar one of a later date. This patriotic French nobleman, who had been Lieutenant-general of France and President of the National Assembly, while in exile spent some days at Monticello, in the month of June, 1796—a month when the mountains of Albemarle are clothed in all the brilliancy of their summer beauty. The lovely landscapes around Monticello were well calculated to charm the eye of a foreigner; and I give the Duc's detailed but agreeable description of the place, its owner, and its surroundings. There are one or two trifling mistakes in it as regards geographical names; the rest is accurate: Monticello is situated three miles from Milton, in that chain of mountains which stretches from James River to the Rappahannock, twenty-eight miles in front of the Blue Ridge, and in a direction parallel to those mountains. This chain, which runs uninterrupted in its small extent, assumes successively the names of the West, South, and Green Mountains. It is in the part known by the name of the South Mountains that Monticello is situated. The house stands on the summit of the mountain, and the taste and arts of Europe have been consulted in the formation of its plan. Mr. Jefferson had commenced its construction before the American Revolution; since that epocha his life has been constantly engaged in public affairs, and he has not been able to complete the execution of the whole extent of the project which it seems he had at first conceived. That part of the building which was finished has suffered from the suspension of the work, and Mr. Jefferson, who two years since resumed the habits and leisure of private life, is now employed in repairing the damage occasioned by this interruption, and still more by his absence; he continues his original plan, and even improves on it by giving to his buildings more elevation and extent. He intends that they shall consist only of one story, crowned with balustrades; and a dome is to be constructed in the centre of the structure. The apartments will be large and convenient; the decoration, both outside and inside, simple, yet regular and elegant. Monticello, according to its first plan, was infinitely superior to all other houses in America, in point of taste and convenience; but at that time Mr. Jefferson had studied taste and the fine arts in books only. His travels in Europe have supplied him with models; he has appropriated them to his design; and his new plan, the execution of which is already much advanced, will be accomplished before the end of next year, and then his house will certainly deserve to be ranked with the most pleasant mansions in France and England. Mr. Jefferson's house commands one of the most extensive prospects you can meet with. On the east side, the front of the building, the eye is not checked by any object, since the mountain on which the house is seated commands all the neighboring heights as far as the Chesapeake. The Atlantic might be seen, were it not for the greatness of the distance, which renders that prospect impossible. On the right and left the eye commands the extensive valley that separates the Green, South, and West Mountains from the Blue Ridge, and has no other bounds but these high mountains, of which, on a clear day, you discern the chain on the right upward of a hundred miles, far beyond James River; and on the left as far as Maryland, on the other side of the Potomac. Through some intervals formed by the irregular summits of the Blue Mountains, you discover the Peaked Ridge, a chain of mountains placed between the Blue and North Mountains, another more distant ridge. But in the back part the prospect is soon interrupted by a mountain more elevated than that on which the house is seated. The bounds of the view on this point, at so small a distance, form a pleasant resting-place, as the immensity of prospect it enjoys is perhaps already too vast. A considerable number of cultivated fields, houses, and barns, enliven and variegate the extensive landscape, still more embellished by the beautiful and diversified forms of mountains, in the whole chain of which not one resembles another. The aid of fancy is, however, required to complete the enjoyment of this magnificent view; and she must picture to us those plains and mountains such as population and culture will render them in a greater or smaller number of years. The disproportion existing between the cultivated lands and those which are still covered with forests as ancient as the globe, is at present much too great; and even when that shall have been done away, the eye may perhaps further wish to discover a broad river, a great mass of water—destitute of which, the grandest and most extensive prospect is ever destitute of an embellishment requisite to render it completely beautiful. On this mountain, and in the surrounding valleys on both banks of the Rivanna, are situated the five thousand acres of land which Mr. Jefferson possesses in this part of Virginia. Eleven hundred and twenty only are cultivated. The land, left to the care of stewards, has suffered as well as the buildings from the long absence of the master; according to the custom of the country, it has been exhausted by successive culture. Its situation on the declivities of hills and mountains renders a careful cultivation more necessary than is requisite in lands situated in a flat and even country; the common routine is more pernicious, and more judgment and mature thought are required, than in a different soil. This forms at present the chief employment of Mr. Jefferson. But little accustomed to agricultural pursuits, he has drawn the principles of culture either from works which treat on this subject or from conversation. Knowledge thus acquired often misleads, and is at all times insufficient in a country where agriculture is well understood; yet it is preferable to mere practical knowledge, and a country where a bad practice prevails, and where it is dangerous to follow the routine, from which it is so difficult to depart. Above all, much good may be expected, if a contemplative mind like that of Mr. Jefferson, which takes the theory for its guide, watches its application with discernment, and rectifies it according to the peculiar circumstances and nature of the country, climate, and soil, and conformably to the experience which he daily acquires.... In private life Mr. Jefferson displays a mild, easy, and obliging temper, though he is somewhat cold and reserved. His conversation is of the most agreeable kind, and he possesses a stock of information not inferior to that of any other man. In Europe he would hold a distinguished rank among men of letters, and as such he has already appeared there. At present he is employed with activity and perseverance in the management of his farms and buildings; and he orders, directs, and pursues in the minutest details every branch of business relative to them. I found him in the midst of the harvest, from which the scorching heat of the sun does not prevent his attendance. His negroes are nourished, clothed, and treated as well as white servants could be. As he can not expect any assistance from the two small neighboring towns, every article is made on his farm: his negroes are cabinet-makers, carpenters, masons, bricklayers, smiths, etc. The children he employs in a nail factory, which yields already a considerable profit. The young and old negresses spin for the clothing of the rest. He animates them by rewards and distinctions; in fine, his superior mind directs the management of his domestic concerns with the same abilities, activity, and regularity which he evinced in the conduct of public affairs, and which he is calculated to display in every situation of life. In the superintendence of his household he is assisted by his two daughters, Mrs. Randolph and Miss Maria, who are handsome, modest, and amiable women. They have been educated in France.... Mr. Randolph is proprietor of a considerable plantation, contiguous to that of Mr. Jefferson's. He constantly spends the summer with him, and, from the affection he bears him, he seems to be his son rather than his son-in-law. Miss Maria constantly resides with her father; but as she is seventeen years old, and is remarkably handsome, she will, doubtless, soon find that there are duties which it is still sweeter to perform than those of a daughter. Mr. Jefferson's philosophic turn of mind, his love of study, his excellent library, which supplies him with the means of satisfying it, and his friends, will undoubtedly help him to endure this loss, which, moreover, is not likely to become an absolute privation; as the second son-in-law of Mr. Jefferson may, like Mr. Randolph, reside in the vicinity of Monticello, and, if he be worthy of Miss Maria, will not be able to find any company more desirable than that of Mr. Jefferson.... Left Monticello on the 29th of June.
All through this summer Mr. Jefferson was much occupied with the rebuilding of his house, which he hoped to finish before the winter set in; but just as the walls were nearly ready to be roofed in, a stiff freeze arrested, in November, all work on it for the winter. General Washington having declared his determination to retire from public life at the expiration of his second term, new candidates had to be run for the Presidential chair. The Federalists chose John Adams as their candidate; while the Republicans, having no thought of running as theirs any man but Jefferson, placed his name at the head of their ticket. How little interest Jefferson took in the elections, so far as his own success was concerned, may be inferred from the fact that he did not leave home during the whole campaign, and in that time wrote only one political letter. As the constitution then stood, the candidate who received the highest number of votes was elected President, and the one who received the next highest—whether he was run for President or Vice-president—was elected to fill the latter office. The elections were over, but the result still unknown, when Jefferson wrote, on December 17th, to Mr. Madison, as follows: To James Madison. Your favor of the 5th came to hand last night. The first wish of my heart was that you should have been proposed for the administration of the Government. On your declining it, I wish any body rather than myself; and there is nothing I so anxiously hope, as that my name may come out either second or third. These would be indifferent to me; as the last would leave me at home the whole year, and the other two-thirds of it.
After the result of the elections was no longer doubtful, and it was known that Adams had been chosen as President and Jefferson Vice-president, the latter wrote the following feeling and handsome letter to the former: To John Adams. Monticello, Dec. 28th, 1796. Dear Sir—The public and the public papers have been much occupied lately in placing us in a point of opposition to each other. I trust with confidence that less of it has been felt by ourselves personally. In the retired canton where I am, I learn little of what is passing; pamphlets I see never; papers but a few, and the fewer the happier. Our latest intelligence from Philadelphia at present is of the 16th inst. But though at that date your election to the first magistracy seems not to have been known as a fact, yet with me it has never been doubted. I knew it impossible you should lose a vote north of the Delaware, and even if that of Pennsylvania should be against you in the mass, yet that you would get enough south of that to place your succession out of danger. I have never one single moment expected a different issue; and though I know I shall not be believed, yet it is not the less true that I have never wished it. My neighbors, as my compurgators, could aver that fact, because they see my occupations and my attachment to them.... I leave to others the sublime delight of riding in the storm, better pleased with sound sleep and a warm berth below, with the society of neighbors, friends, and fellow-laborers of the earth, than of spies and sycophants. No one, then, will congratulate you with purer disinterestedness than myself. The share, indeed, which I may have had in the late vote I shall still value highly, as an evidence of the share I have in the esteem of my fellow-citizens. But still, in this point of view, a few votes less would be little sensible; the difference in the effect of a few more would be very sensible and oppressive to me. I have no ambition to govern men. It is a painful and thankless office. Since the day, too, on which you signed the treaty of Paris, our horizon was never so overcast. I devoutly wish you may be able to shun for us this war, by which our agriculture, commerce, and credit will be destroyed. If you are, the glory will be all your own; and that your administration may be filled with glory and happiness to yourself and advantage to us, is the sincere wish of one who, though, in the course of our voyage through life, various little incidents have happened or been contrived to separate us, retains still for you the solid esteem of the moments when we were working for our independence, and sentiments of respect and attachment. TH. JEFFERSON.
Of the office of Vice-president, we find Jefferson, in a letter to Madison written on January 1st, 1797, saying: To James Madison. It is the only office in the world about which I am unable to decide in my own mind whether I had rather have it or not have it. Pride does not enter into the estimate; for I think, with the Romans, that the general of to-day should be a soldier to-morrow, if necessary. I can particularly have no feelings which could revolt at a secondary position to Mr. Adams. I am his junior in life, was his junior in Congress, his junior in the diplomatic line, his junior lately in our civil government.
He always spoke of this office as being of all others the most desirable, from the fact that it gave the incumbent a high position, good salary, and ample leisure. To him this last advantage was its greatest recommendation, and made him accept it with less reluctance than he would have done any other which his countrymen could have forced upon him. Jefferson set out on the 20th of February for Philadelphia, there to be installed in his new office. He drove his phaeton and pair as far as Alexandria, when he sent his servant Jupiter back home with his horses, while he continued his journey in the stage-coach. He arrived in Philadelphia on the 2d of March. With his usual modesty and dislike of display, he had written in January to his friend Mr. Tazewell, who was in Congress, begging that he might be notified of his election by the common channel of the ordinary post, and not by a deputation of men of position, as had been the case when the Government was first inaugurated. So, too, from the same feeling of diffidence he sought to enter the national capital as a private citizen, and without being the recipient of any popular demonstrations. It was, however, in vain for him to attempt to do so. A body of troops were on the look-out for him and signalled his approach by a discharge of artillery, and, marching before him into the city, bore a banner aloft on which were inscribed the words: "Jefferson, the Friend of the People." An incident characteristic of Jefferson occurred on the day of the inauguration. After the oaths of office had been administered, the President (Mr. Adams) resumed his seat for a moment, then rose and, bowing to the assembly, left the hall. Jefferson rose to follow, but seeing General Washington also rise to leave, he at once fell back to let him pass out first. The General, perceiving this, declined to go before, and forced the new Vice-president to precede him. The doors of the hall closed upon them both amid the tumultuous cheering of the assembly. Jefferson set out for home on the 12th of March and arrived there on the 20th, having performed the last stages of his journey in his sulky. His two daughters were not at Monticello, being absent on a long visit to an estate of Colonel Randolph's on James River. A few days after his return home he wrote to Mrs. Randolph. To Martha Jefferson Randolph.—[Extract.] Monticello, March 27th, '97. I arrived in good health at home this day se'nnight. The mountain had then been in bloom ten days. I find that the natural productions of the spring are about a fortnight earlier here than at Fredericksburg; but where art and attention can do any thing, some one in a large collection of inhabitants, as in a town, will be before ordinary individuals, whether of town or country. I have heard of you but once since I left home, and am impatient to know that you are all well. I have, however, so much confidence in the dose of health with which Monticello charges you in summer and autumn, that I count on its carrying you well through the winter. The difference between the health enjoyed at Varina and Presqu'isle[45] is merely the effect of this. Therefore do not ascribe it to Varina and stay there too long. The bloom of Monticello is chilled by my solitude. It makes me wish the more that yourself and sister were here to enjoy it. I value the enjoyments of this life only in proportion as you participate them with me. All other attachments are weakening, and I approach the state of mind when nothing will hold me here but my love for yourself and sister, and the tender connections you have added to me. I hope you will write to me; as nothing is so pleasing during your absence as these proofs of your love. Be assured, my dear daughter, that you possess mine in its utmost limits. Kiss the dear little ones for me. I wish we had one of them here. Adieu affectionately, TH. JEFFERSON.
Again, on April 9th, he writes: My love to Maria. Tell her I have made a new law; which is, only to answer letters. It would have been her turn to have received a letter had she not lost it by not writing. Adieu most affectionately, both of you.
An extra session of Congress recalled Jefferson to Philadelphia during the spring; and the following extract from a letter written to Edward Rutledge while there gives an animated picture of the bitterness of party feeling at that time. To Edward Rutledge. You and I have seen warm debates and high political passions. But gentlemen of different politics would then speak to each other, and separate the business of the Senate from that of society. It is not so now. Men who have been intimate all their lives, cross the streets to avoid meeting, and turn their heads another way, lest they should be obliged to touch their hats. This may do for young men with whom passion is enjoyment, but it is afflicting to peaceable minds.
The following charming family letters will be read with pleasure, I feel sure: To Mary Jefferson. Philadelphia, May 25th, 1797. My dear Maria—I wrote to your sister the last week, since which I have been very slowly getting the better of my rheumatism, though very slowly indeed; being only able to walk a little stronger. I see by the newspapers that Mr. and Mrs. Church and their family are arrived at New York. I have not heard from them, and therefore am unable to say any thing about your friend Kitty, or whether she be still Miss Kitty. The condition of England is so unsafe that every prudent person who can quit it, is right in doing so. James is returned to this place, and is not given up to drink as I had before been informed. He tells me his next trip will be to Spain. I am afraid his journeys will end in the moon. I have endeavored to persuade him to stay where he is, and lay up money. We are not able yet to judge when Congress will rise. Opinions differ from two to six weeks. A few days will probably enable us to judge. I am anxious to hear that Mr. Randolph and the children have got home in good health; I wish also to hear that your sister and yourself continue in health; it is a circumstance on which the happiness of my life depends. I feel the desire of never separating from you grow daily stronger, for nothing can compensate with me the want of your society. My warmest affections to you both. Adieu, and continue to love me as I do you. Yours affectionately, TH. JEFFERSON.
The letter which comes next was written to Mrs. Randolph in reply to one from her announcing to her father the engagement of his daughter Maria, to her cousin John Wayles Eppes. To Martha Jefferson Randolph. Philadelphia, June 8th, 1797. I receive with inexpressible pleasure the information your letter contained. After your happy establishment, which has given me an inestimable friend, to whom I can leave the care of every thing I love, the only anxiety I had remaining was to see Maria also so associated as to insure her happiness. She could not have been more so to my wishes if I had had the whole earth free to have chosen a partner for her. I now see our fireside formed into a group, no one member of which has a fibre in their composition which can ever produce any jarring or jealousies among us. No irregular passions, no dangerous bias, which may render problematical the future fortunes and happiness of our descendants. We are quieted as to their condition for at least one generation more. In order to keep us all together, instead of a present position in Bedford, as in your case, I think to open and resettle the plantation of Pantops for them. When I look to the ineffable pleasure of my family society, I become more and more disgusted with the jealousies, the hatred, and the rancorous and malignant passions of this scene, and lament my having ever again been drawn into public view. Tranquillity is now my object. I have seen enough of political honors to know that they are but splendid torments; and however one might be disposed to render services on which any of their fellow-citizens should set a value, yet, when as many would depreciate them as a public calamity, one may well entertain a modest doubt of their real importance, and feel the impulse of duty to be very weak. The real difficulty is, that being once delivered into the hands of others whose feelings are friendly to the individual and warm to the public cause, how to withdraw from them without leaving a dissatisfaction in their mind, and an impression of pusillanimity with the public.
Maria Jefferson was married on the 13th of October, 1797, to John Wayles Eppes, who was in every respect worthy of the high opinion which we have found Jefferson expressing for him in the preceding letters. His manners were frank and engaging, while his high talents and fine education placed him among the first men of the country. The young couple spent the early days of their married life at Eppington, where the little "Polly," so beautiful and so timid, had received such motherly care and affection from her good Aunt Eppes when heart-broken at the death of her own mother. I continue Mr. Jefferson's family letters. To Mary Jefferson Eppes. Philadelphia, January 7th, '98. I acknowledged, my dear Maria, the receipt of yours in a letter I wrote to Mr. Eppes. It gave me the welcome news that your sprain was well. But you are not to suppose it entirely so. The joint will remain weak for a considerable time, and give you occasional pains much longer. The state of things at —— is truly distressing. Mr. ——'s habitual intoxication will destroy himself, his fortune, and family. Of all calamities this is the greatest. I wish my sister could bear his misconduct with more patience. It would lessen his attachment to the bottle, and at any rate would make her own time more tolerable. When we see ourselves in a situation which must be endured and gone through, it is best to make up our minds to it, meet it with firmness, and accommodate every thing to it in the best way practicable. This lessens the evil, while fretting and fuming only serves to increase our own torments. The errors and misfortunes of others should be a school for our own instruction. Harmony in the married state is the very first object to be aimed at. Nothing can preserve affections uninterrupted but a firm resolution never to differ in will, and a determination in each to consider the love of the other as of more value than any object whatever on which a wish had been fixed. How light, in fact, is the sacrifice of any other wish when weighed against the affections of one with whom we are to pass our whole life! And though opposition in a single instance will hardly of itself produce alienation, yet every one has their pouch into which all these little oppositions are put; while that is filling the alienation is insensibly going on, and when filled it is complete. It would puzzle either to say why; because no one difference of opinion has been marked enough to produce a serious effect by itself. But he finds his affections wearied out by a constant stream of little checks and obstacles. Other sources of discontent, very common indeed, are the little cross-purposes of husband and wife, in common conversation, a disposition in either to criticise and question whatever the other says, a desire always to demonstrate and make him feel himself in the wrong, and especially in company. Nothing is so goading. Much better, therefore, if our companion views a thing in a light different from what we do, to leave him in quiet possession of his view. What is the use of rectifying him if the thing be unimportant; and if important, let it pass for the present, and wait a softer moment and more conciliatory occasion of revising the subject together. It is wonderful how many persons are rendered unhappy by inattention to these little rules of prudence. I have been insensibly led, by the particular case you mention, to sermonize you on the subject generally; however, if it be the means of saving you from a single heartache, it will have contributed a great deal to my happiness; but before I finish the sermon, I must add a word on economy. The unprofitable condition of Virginia estates in general leaves it now next to impossible for the holder of one to avoid ruin. And this condition will continue until some change takes place in the mode of working them. In the mean time, nothing can save us and our children from beggary but a determination to get a year beforehand, and restrain ourselves vigorously this year to the clear profits of the last. If a debt is once contracted by a farmer, it is never paid but by a sale. The article of dress is perhaps that in which economy is the least to be recommended. It is so important to each to continue to please the other, that the happiness of both requires the most pointed attention to whatever may contribute to it—and the more as time makes greater inroads on our person. Yet, generally, we become slovenly in proportion as personal decay requires the contrary. I have great comfort in believing that your understanding and dispositions will engage your attention to these considerations; and that you are connected with a person and family, who of all within the circle of my acquaintance are most in the dispositions which will make you happy. Cultivate their affections, my dear, with assiduity. Think every sacrifice a gain which shall tend to attach them to you. My only object in life is to see yourself and your sister, and those deservedly dear to you, not only happy, but in no danger of becoming unhappy. I have lately received a letter from your friend Kitty Church. I inclose it to you, and think the affectionate expressions relative to yourself, and the advance she has made, will require a letter from you to her. It will be impossible to get a crystal here to fit your watch without the watch itself. If you should know of any one coming to Philadelphia, send it to me, and I will get you a stock of crystals. The river being frozen up, I shall not be able to send you things till it opens, which will probably be some time in February. I inclose to Mr. Eppes some pamphlets. Present me affectionately to all the family, and be assured of my tenderest love to yourself. Adieu. TH. JEFFERSON.
To Martha Jefferson Randolph. Philadelphia, Feb. 8th, '98. I ought oftener, my dear Martha, to receive your letters, for the very great pleasure they give me, and especially when they express your affections for me; for, though I can not doubt them, yet they are among those truths which, though not doubted, we love to hear repeated. Here, too, they serve, like gleams of light, to cheer a dreary scene; where envy, hatred, malice, revenge, and all the worst passions of men, are marshalled to make one another as miserable as possible. I turn from this with pleasure, to contrast it with your fireside, where the single evening I passed at it was worth more than ages here. Indeed, I find myself detaching very fast, perhaps too fast, from every thing but yourself, your sister, and those who are identified with you. These form the last hold the world will have on me, the cords which will be cut only when I am loosened from this state of being. I am looking forward to the spring with all the fondness of desire to meet you all once more, and with the change of season to enjoy also a change of scene and society. Yet the time of our leaving this is not yet talked of. I am much concerned to hear of the state of health of Mr. Randolph and family, mentioned in your letters of Jan. 22d and 28th. Surely, my dear, it would be better for you to remove to Monticello. The south pavilion, the parlor, and study will accommodate your family; and I should think Mr. Randolph would find less inconvenience in the riding it would occasion him than in the loss of his own and his family's health. Let me beseech you, then, to go there, and to use every thing and every body as if I were there.... All your commissions shall be executed, not forgetting the Game of the Goose, if we can find out what it is, for there is some difficulty in that. Kiss all the little ones for me. Present me affectionately to Mr. Randolph, and my warmest love to yourself. Adieu. TH. JEFFERSON.
To Martha Jefferson Randolph.—[Extract.] Philadelphia, May 17th, '98. Having nothing of business to write on to Mr. Randolph this week, I with pleasure take up my pen to express all my love to you, and my wishes once more to find myself in the only scene where, for me, the sweeter affections of life have any exercise. But when I shall be with you seems still uncertain. We have been looking forward from three weeks to three weeks, and always with disappointment, so that I know not what to expect. I shall immediately write to Maria, and recommend to Mr. Eppes and her to go up to Monticello.... For you to feel all the happiness of your quiet situation, you should know the rancorous passions which tear every breast here, even of the sex which should be a stranger to them. Politics and party hatreds destroy the happiness of every being here. They seem, like salamanders, to consider fire as their element. The children, I am afraid, will have forgotten me. However, my memory may perhaps be hung on the Game of the Goose which I am to carry them. Kiss them for me.... And to yourself, my tenderest love, and adieu.
To Martha Jefferson Randolph.—[Extract.] Philadelphia, May 31st, '98. Yours of the 12th did not get to hand till the 29th; so it must have laid by a post somewhere. The receipt of it, by kindling up all my recollections, increases my impatience to leave this place, and every thing which can be disgusting, for Monticello and my dear family, comprising every thing which is pleasurable to me in this world. It has been proposed in Congress to adjourn on the 14th of June. I have little expectation of it; but, whatever be their determination, I am determined myself; and my letter of next week will probably carry orders for my horses. Jupiter should, therefore, be in readiness to depart at a night's warning.... I am sorry to hear of Jefferson's indisposition, but glad you do not physic him. This leaves nature free and unembarrassed in her own tendencies to repair what is wrong. I hope to hear or find that he is recovered. Kiss them all for me.
To Mary Jefferson Eppes. Monticello, July 13th, '98. My dear Maria—I arrived here on the 3d instant, expecting to have found you here, and we have been ever since imagining that every sound we heard was that of the carriage which was once more to bring us together. It was not till yesterday I learnt, by the receipt of Mr. Eppes's letter of June 30th, that you had been sick, and were only on the recovery at that date. A preceding letter of his, referred to in that of the 30th, must have miscarried. We are now infinitely more anxious, not so much for your arrival here, as your firm establishment in health, and that you may not be thrown back by your journey. Much, therefore, my dear, as I wish to see you, I beg you not to attempt the journey till you are quite strong enough, and then only by short days' journeys. A relapse will only keep us the longer asunder, and is much more formidable than a first attack. Your sister and family are with me. I would have gone to you instantly on the receipt of Mr. Eppes's letter, had not that assured me you were well enough to take the bark. It would also have stopped my workmen here, who can not proceed an hour without me, and I am anxious to provide a cover which may enable me to have my family and friends about me. Nurse yourself, therefore, with all possible care for your own sake, for mine, and that of all those who love you, and do not attempt to move sooner or quicker than your health admits. Present me affectionately to Mr. Eppes, father and son, to Mrs. Eppes and all the family, and be assured that my impatience to see you can only be moderated by the stronger desire that your health may be safely and firmly re-established. Adieu, affectionately. TH. J.
To Martha Jefferson Randolph. Ellen appeared to be feverish the evening you went away; but visiting her, a little before I went to bed, I found her quite clear of fever, and was convinced the quickness of pulse which had alarmed me had proceeded from her having been in uncommon spirits and constantly running about the house through the day, and especially in the afternoon. Since that she has had no symptom of fever, and is otherwise better than when you left her. The girls, indeed, suppose she had a little fever last night; but I am sure she had not, as she was well at 8 o'clock in the evening, and very well in the morning, and they say she slept soundly through the night. They judged only from her breathing. Every body else is well, and only wishing to see you. I am persecuted with questions "When I think you will come?"... If you set out after dinner, be sure to get off between four and five. Adieu, my dear. Wednesday, Aug. 15th, '98.
The following letter, without date, was written to the daughter of his friend Mrs. Church: To Catherine Church. I received, my dear Catherine, from the hands of your brother, the letter you have done me the favor to write me. I see in that letter the excellent disposition which I knew in you in an earlier period of life. These have led you to mistake, to your own prejudice, the character of our attentions to you. They were not favors, but gratifications of our own affections to an object who had every quality which might endear her to us. Be assured we have all continued to love you as if still of our fireside, and to make you the very frequent theme of our family conversations. Your friend Maria has, as you supposed, changed her condition; she is now Mrs. Eppes. She and her sister, Mrs. Randolph, retain all their affection for you, and never fail in their friendly inquiries after you whenever an opportunity occurs. During my winter's absence, Maria is with the family with which she has become allied; but on my return they will also return to reside with me. My daughter Randolph has hitherto done the same, but lately has removed with Mr. Randolph to live and build on a farm of their own, adjoining me; but I still count on their passing the greater part of their time at Monticello. Why should we forbid ourselves to believe that some day or other some circumstance may bring you also to our little society, and renew the recollections of former scenes very dear to our memory. Hope is so much more charming than disappointments and forebodings, that we will not set it down among impossible things. We will calculate on the circumstance that you have already crossed the ocean which laid between us, and that in comparison with that the space which remains is as nothing. Who knows but you may travel to see our springs and our curiosities—not, I hope, for your health, but to vary your summer scenes, and enlarge your knowledge of your own country. In that case we are on your road, and will endeavor to relieve the fatigues of it by all the offices of friendship and hospitality. I thank you for making me acquainted with your brother. The relations he bears to the best of people are sufficient vouchers to me of his worth. He must be of your party when you come to Monticello. Adieu, my dear Catherine. I consign in a separate letter my respects to your good mother. I have here, therefore, only to claim your acceptance of the sincere attachment of yours affectionately, TH. JEFFERSON.
The following gives some glimpses of the French friends of Jefferson: To Mrs. Church. Dear Madam—Your favor of July 6th was to have found me here, but I had departed before it arrived. It followed me here, and of necessity the inquiries after our friend Madame de Corny were obliged to await Mrs. M.'s arrival at her own house. This was delayed longer than was expected, so that by the time I could make the inquiries I was looking again to my return to Philadelphia. This must apologize for the delay which has taken place. Mrs. M. tells me that Madame Corny was at one time in extreme distress, her revenue being in rents, and these paid in assignats worth nothing. Since their abolition, however, she receives her rents in cash, and is now entirely at her ease. She lives in hired lodgings furnished by herself, and every thing about her as nice as you know she always had. She visited Mrs. M. freely and familiarly in a family way, but would never dine when she had company, nor remain if company came. She speaks seriously sometimes of a purpose to come to America, but she surely mistakes a wish for a purpose; you and I know her constitution too well, and her horror of the sea, to believe she could pass or attempt the Atlantic. Mrs. M. could not give me her address. In all events, it is a great consolation that her situation is easy. We have here a Mr. Niemcewitz, a Polish gentleman who was with us in Paris while Mrs. Cosway was there, and who was of her society in London last summer. He mentions the loss of her daughter, the gloom into which that and other circumstances have thrown her, and that it has taken the form of religion. Also that she is solely devoted to religious exercises and the superintendence of a school for Catholic children, which she has instituted, but she still speaks of her friends with tenderness. Our letters have been rare, but they have let me see that her gayety was gone, and her mind entirely fixed on a world to come. I have received from my young friend Catherine a letter, which gratifies me much, as it proves that our friendly impressions have not grown out of her memory.... Be so good as to present my respects to Mr. C., and accept assurances of the unalterable attachment of your affectionate friend and servant, TH. JEFFERSON.
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