We have from the most authentic source the account of an incident which occurred on one of his rides while President. He was riding along one of the highways leading into Washington, when he overtook a man wending his way towards the city. Jefferson, as was his habit, drew up his horse and touched his hat to the pedestrian. The man returned the salutation, and began a conversation with the President—not knowing, of course, who he was. He at once entered upon the subject of politics—as was the habit of the day—and began to abuse the President, alluding even to some of the infamous calumnies against his private life. Jefferson's first impulse was to say "good-morning" and ride on, but, amused at his own situation, he asked the man if he knew the President personally? "No," was the reply, "nor do I wish to." "But do you think it fair," asked Jefferson, "to repeat such stories about a man, and condemn one whom you dare not face?" "I will never shrink from meeting Mr. Jefferson should he ever come in my way," replied the stranger, who was a country merchant in high standing from Kentucky. "Will you, then, go to his house to-morrow at — o'clock and be introduced to him, if I promise to meet you there at that hour?" asked Jefferson, eagerly. "Yes, I will," said the man, after a moment's thought. With a half-suppressed smile, and excusing himself from any further conversation, the President touched his hat and rode on.

Hardly had Jefferson disappeared from sight before a suspicion of the truth, which he soon verified, flashed through the stranger's mind. He stood fire, however, like a true man, and at the appointed hour the next day the card of Mr. ——, "Mr. Jefferson's yesterday's companion," was handed to the President. The next moment he was announced and entered. His situation was embarrassing, but with a gentlemanly bearing, though with some confusion, he began, "I have called, Mr. Jefferson, to apologize for having said to a stranger—" "Hard things of an imaginary being who is no relation of mine," said Jefferson, interrupting him, as he gave him his hand, while his countenance was radiant with a smile of mingled good-nature and amusement. The Kentuckian once more began his apologies, which Jefferson good-naturedly laughed off, and, changing the subject, had soon captivated his guest by launching forth into one of his most delightful strains of animated conversation, which so charmed Mr. ——, that the dinner-hour had arrived before he was aware how swiftly the pleasant hours had flown by. He rose to go, when Jefferson urged him to stay to dinner. Mr. —— declined, when Jefferson repeated the invitation, and, smiling, asked if he was afraid to meet Mr. ——, a Republican. "Don't mention him," said the other, "and I will stay."

It is needless to add that this Kentuckian remained ever afterwards firmly attached to Jefferson: his whole family became his staunch supporters, and the gentleman himself, in telling the story, would wind up with a jesting caution to young men against talking too freely with strangers.

The following letters were written to Mrs. Eppes, after her return to Virginia from a visit to Washington:

To Mary Jefferson Eppes.

Washington, Jan. 18th, 1803.

My dear Maria—Yours by John came safely to hand, and informed me of your ultimate arrival at Edgehill. Mr. Randolph's letter from Gordon's, received the night before, gave me the first certain intelligence I had received since your departure. A rumor had come here of your having been stopped two or three days at Ball Run, and in a miserable hovel; so that I had passed ten days in anxious uncertainty about you. Your apologies, my dear Maria, on the article of expense, are quite without necessity. You did not here indulge yourselves as much as I wished, and nothing prevented my supplying your backwardness but my total ignorance in articles which might suit you. Mr. Eppes's election [to Congress] will, I am in hopes, secure me your company next winter, and perhaps you may find it convenient to accompany your sister in the spring. Mr. Giles's aid, indeed, in Congress, in support of our Administration, considering his long knowledge of the affairs of the Union, his talents, and the high ground on which he stands through the United States, had rendered his continuance here an object of anxious desire to those who compose the Administration; but every information we receive states that prospect to be desperate from his ill health, and will relieve me from the imputation of being willing to lose to the public so strong a supporter, for the personal gratification of having yourself and Mr. Eppes with me. I inclose you Lemaire's receipts. The orthography will be puzzling and amusing; but the receipts are valuable. Present my tender love to your sister, kisses to the young ones, and my affections to Mr. Randolph and Mr. Eppes, whom I suppose you will see soon. Be assured of my unceasing and anxious love for yourself.

TH. JEFFERSON.

The following playfully-written note was sent to his young grandson:

To Thomas Jefferson Randolph.

Washington, Feb. 21st, 1803.

I have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 3d, my dear Jefferson, and to congratulate you on your writing so good a hand. By the last post I sent you a French Grammar, and within three weeks I shall be able to ask you, "Parlez vous FranÇais, monsieur?" I expect to leave this about the 9th, if unexpected business should not detain me, and then it will depend on the weather and the roads how long I shall be going—probably five days. The roads will be so deep that I can not flatter myself with catching Ellen in bed. Tell her that Mrs. Harrison Smith desires her compliments to her. Your mamma has probably heard of the death of Mrs. Burrows. Mrs. Brent is not far from it. Present my affections to your papa, mamma, and the young ones, and be assured of them yourself.

TH. JEFFERSON.

In a letter written to a friend in the winter of this year (1803) he thus alludes to his health: "I retain myself very perfect health, having not had twenty hours of fever in forty-two years past. I have sometimes had a troublesome headache and some slight rheumatic pains; but, now sixty years old nearly, I have had as little to complain of in point of health as most people."

We have in the following letter one of the very few allusions to his religion which he ever made to any of his family:

To Martha Jefferson Randolph.

Washington, April 25th, 1803.

My dear Martha—A promise made to a friend some years ago, but executed only lately, has placed my religious creed on paper. I have thought it just that my family, by possessing this, should be enabled to estimate the libels published against me on this, as on every other possible subject. I have written to Philadelphia for Dr. Priestley's history of the corruptions of Christianity, which I will send you and recommend to an attentive perusal, because it establishes the ground-work of my view of this subject.

I have not had a line from Monticello or Edgehill since I parted with you. Peter Carr and Mrs. Carr, who staid with me five or six days, told me Cornelia had got happily through her measles, and that Ellen had not taken them. But what has become of Anne?[50] I thought I had her promise to write once a week, at least the words "All's well."

It is now time for you to let me know when you expect to be able to set out for Washington, and whether your own carriage can bring you half-way. I think my Chickasaws, if drove moderately, will bring you well that far. Mr. Lilly knows you will want them, and can add a fourth. I think that by changing horses half-way you will come with more comfort. I have no gentleman to send for your escort. Finding here a beautiful blue cassimere, water-proof, and thinking it will be particularly À propos for Mr. Randolph as a travelling-coat for his journey, I have taken enough for that purpose, and will send it to Mr. Benson, postmaster at Fredericksburg, to be forwarded by Abrahams, and hope it will be received in time.

Mr. and Mrs. Madison will set out for Orange about the last day of the month. They will stay there but a week. I write to Maria to-day; but supposing her to be at the Hundred, according to what she told me of her movements, I send my letter there. I wish you to come as early as possible; because, though the members of the Government remain here to the last week in July, yet the sickly season commences, in fact, by the middle of that month, and it would not be safe for you to keep the children here longer than that, lest any one of them, being taken sick early, might detain the whole here till the season of general danger, and perhaps through it. Kiss the children for me. Present me affectionately to Mr. Randolph, and accept yourself assurances of my constant and tenderest love.

TH. JEFFERSON.

The following extract from a letter written December 1st, 1804, to John Randolph by Jefferson, shows how little of a politician the latter was in his own family, and how careful he was not to try and influence the political opinions of those connected with him:

To John Randolph.

I am aware that in parts of the Union, and even with persons to whom Mr. Eppes and Mr. Randolph are unknown, and myself little known, it will be presumed, from their connection, that what comes from them comes from me. No men on earth are more independent in their sentiments than they are, nor any one less disposed than I am to influence the opinions of others. We rarely speak of politics, or of the proceedings of the House, but merely historically, and I carefully avoid expressing an opinion on them in their presence, that we may all be at our ease. With other members, I have believed that more unreserved communications would be advantageous to the public.

I give now Jefferson's letters to Mrs. Eppes, scattered over a period of several months. They possess unusual interest, from the fact that they are the last written by this devoted father to his lovely daughter. Mrs. Eppes being in extremely delicate health, and her husband having to be in Washington as a member of Congress, she early in the fall repaired to Edgehill, there to spend the winter with her sister, Mrs. Randolph—Mr. Randolph also being a member of Congress.

To Mary Jefferson Eppes.

Washington, Nov. 27th, 1803.

It is rare, my ever dear Maria, during a session of Congress, that I can get time to write any thing but letters of business, and this, though a day of rest to others, is not all so to me. We are all well here, and hope the post of this evening will bring us information of the health of all at Edgehill, and particularly that Martha and the new bantling[51] are both well, and that her example gives you good spirits. When Congress will rise no mortal can tell—not from the quantity but dilatoriness of business.

Mr. Lilly having finished the mill, is now, I suppose, engaged in the road which we have been so long wanting; and that done, the next job will be the levelling of Pantops. I anxiously long to see under way the work necessary to fix you there, that we may one day be all together. Mr. Stewart is now here on his way back to his family, whom he will probably join Thursday or Friday. Will you tell your sister that the pair of stockings she sent me by Mr. Randolph are quite large enough, and also have fur enough in them. I inclose some papers for Anne; and must continue in debt to Jefferson a letter for a while longer. Take care of yourself, my dearest Maria, have good spirits, and know that courage is as essential to triumph in your case as in that of a soldier. Keep us all, therefore, in heart of being so yourself. Give my tender affections to your sister, and receive them for yourself also, with assurances that I live in your love only and in that of your sister. Adieu, my dear daughter.

TH. JEFFERSON.

To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Edgehill.

Washington, Dec. 26th, 1803.

I now return, my dearest Maria, the paper which you lent me for Mr. Page, and which he has returned some days since. I have prevailed on Dr. Priestley to undertake the work, of which this is only the syllabus or plan. He says he can accomplish it in the course of a year. But, in truth, his health is so much impaired, and his body become so feeble, that there is reason to fear he will not live out even the short term he has asked for it.

You may inform Mr. Eppes and Mr. Randolph that no mail arrived the last night from Natchez. I presume the great rains which have fallen have rendered some of the water-courses impassable. On New-year's-day, however, we shall hear of the delivery of New Orleans[52] to us! Till then the Legislature seem disposed to do nothing but meet and adjourn.

Mrs. Livingston, formerly the younger Miss Allen, made kind inquiries after you the other day. She said she was at school with you at Mrs. Pine's. Not knowing the time destined for your expected indisposition, I am anxious on your account. You are prepared to meet it with courage, I hope. Some female friend of your mamma's (I forget whom) used to say it was no more than a jog of the elbow. The material thing is to have scientific aid in readiness, that if any thing uncommon takes place it may be redressed on the spot, and not be made serious by delay. It is a case which least of all will wait for doctors to be sent for; therefore with this single precaution nothing is ever to be feared. I was in hopes to have heard from Edgehill last night, but I suppose your post has failed.

I shall expect to see the gentlemen here next Sunday night to take part in the gala of Monday. Give my tenderest love to your sister, of whom I have not heard for a fortnight, and my affectionate salutations to the gentlemen and young ones, and continue to love me yourself, and be assured of my warmest affections.

TH. JEFFERSON.

To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Edgehill.

Washington, Jan. 29th, 1804.

My dearest Maria—This evening ought to have brought in the Western mail, but it is not arrived; consequently we hear nothing from our neighborhood. I rejoice that this is the last time our Milton mail will be embarrassed with that from New Orleans, the rapidity of which occasioned our letters often to be left in the post-office. It now returns to its former establishment of twice a week, so that we may hear oftener from you; and, in communicating to us frequently of the state of things, I hope you will not be sparing, if it be only by saying that "All is well!"

I think Congress will rise the second week in March, when we shall join you; perhaps Mr. Eppes may sooner. On this I presume he writes you. It would have been the most desirable of all things could we have got away by this time. However, I hope you will let us all see that you have within yourself the resource of a courage not requiring the presence of any body.

Since proposing to Anne the undertaking to raise bantams, I have received from Algiers two pair of beautiful fowls, something larger than our common fowls, with fine aigrettes. They are not so large nor valuable as the East India fowl, but both kinds, as well as the bantams, are well worthy of being raised. We must, therefore, distribute them among us, and raise them clear of mixture of any kind. All this we will settle together in March, and soon after we will begin the levelling and establishing of your hen-house at Pantops. Give my tenderest love to your sister, to all the young ones kisses, to yourself every thing affectionate.

TH. JEFFERSON.

To Mary Jefferson Eppes, Edgehill.

Washington, Feb. 26th, 1804.

A thousand joys to you, my dear Maria, on the happy accession to your family. A letter from our dear Martha by last post gave me the happy news that your crisis was happily over, and all well. I had supposed that if you were a little later than your calculation, and the rising of Congress as early as we expected, we might have been with you at the moment when it would have been so encouraging to have had your friends around you. I rejoice, indeed, that all is so well.

Congress talk of rising the 12th of March; but they will probably be some days later. You will doubtless see Mr. Eppes and Mr. Randolph immediately on the rising of Congress. I shall hardly be able to get away till some days after them. By that time I hope you will be able to go with us to Monticello, and that we shall all be there together for a month; and the interval between that and the autumnal visit will not be long. Will you desire your sister to send for Mr. Lilly, and to advise him what orders to give Goliath for providing those vegetables which may come into use for the months of April, August, and September? Deliver her also my affectionate love. I will write to her the next week. Kiss all the little ones, and be assured yourself of my tender and unchangeable affection.

TH. JEFFERSON.

The relief of Mr. Jefferson's anxieties concerning his daughter's health was of but short duration. Shortly after writing the preceding letter, he received intelligence of her being dangerously ill. It is touching to see, in his letters, his increasing tenderness for her as her situation became more critical; and we find him chafing with impatience at being prevented by official duties from flying at once to her side on hearing of her illness.

To Mary Jefferson Eppes.

Washington, Mar. 3d, 1804.

The account of your illness, my dearest Maria, was known to me only this morning. Nothing but the impossibility of Congress proceeding a single step in my absence presents an insuperable bar. Mr. Eppes goes off, and I hope will find you in a convalescent state. Next to the desire that it may be so, is that of being speedily informed, and of being relieved from the terrible anxiety in which I shall be till I hear from you. God bless you, my ever dear daughter, and preserve you safe to the blessing of us all.

TH. JEFFERSON.

The news of Mrs. Eppes's convalescence revived her father's hopes about her health, and we find him writing, in the following letter to Mr. Eppes, about settling him at Pantops (one of his farms a few miles from Monticello), in the fond anticipation of thus fixing his daughter near him for life.

To John W. Eppes, Edgehill.

Washington, March 15th, 1804.

Dear Sir—Your letter of the 9th has at length relieved my spirits; still the debility of Maria will need attention, lest a recurrence of fever should degenerate into typhus. I should suppose the system of wine and food as effectual to prevent as to cure that fever, and think she should use both as freely as she finds she can bear them—light food and cordial wines. The sherry at Monticello is old and genuine, and the Pedro Ximenes much older still, and stomachic. Her palate and stomach will be the best arbiters between them.

Congress have deferred their adjournment a week, to wit, to the 26th; consequently we return a week later. I presume I can be with you by the first of April. I hope Maria will by that time be well enough to go over to Monticello with us, and I hope you will thereafter take up your residence there. The house, its contents, and appendages and servants, are as freely subjected to you as to myself, and I hope you will make it your home till we can get you fixed at Pantops. I do not think Maria should be ventured below after this date. I will endeavor to forward to Mr. Benson, postmaster at Fredericksburg, a small parcel of the oats for you. The only difficulty is to find some gentleman going on in the stage who will take charge of them by the way. My tenderest love to Maria and Patsy, and all the young ones. Affectionate salutations to yourself.

TH. JEFFERSON.

Jefferson reached Monticello early in April, where his great and tender heart was to be wrung by the severest affliction which can befall a parent—the loss of a well-beloved child. Mrs. Eppes's decline was rapid; and the following line in her father's handwriting, in his family register, tells its own sad tale:

"Mary Jefferson, born Aug. 1, 1778, 1h. 30m. A.M. Died April 17, 1804, between 8 and 9 A.M."

The following beautiful account of the closing scenes of this domestic tragedy is from the pen of a niece of Mrs. Eppes, and was written at the request of Mr. Randall, Jefferson's worthy biographer:

Boston, 15th January, 1856.

My dear Mr. Randall—I find an old memorandum made many years ago, I know not when nor under what circumstances, but by my own hand, in the fly-leaf of a Bible. It is to this effect:

"Maria Jefferson was born in 1778, and married, in 1797, John Wayles Eppes, son of Francis Eppes and Elizabeth Wayles, second daughter of John Wayles. Maria Jefferson died April, 1804, leaving two children, Francis, born in 1801, and Maria, who died an infant."

I have no recollection of the time when I made this memorandum, but I have no doubt of its accuracy.

Mrs. Eppes was never well after the birth of her last child. She lingered a while, but never recovered. My grandfather was in Washington, and my aunt passed the winter at Edgehill, where she was confined. I remember the tender and devoted care of my mother, how she watched over her sister, and with what anxious affection she anticipated her every want. I remember, at one time, that she left her chamber and her own infant, that she might sleep in my aunt's room, to assist in taking care of her and her child. I well recollect my poor aunt's pale, faded, and feeble look. My grandfather, during his Presidency, made two visits every year to Monticello—a short one in early spring, and a longer one the latter part of the summer. He always stopped at Edgehill, where my mother was then living, to take her and her whole family to Monticello with him. He came this year as usual, anxious about the health of his youngest daughter, whose situation, though such as to excite the apprehensions of her friends, was not deemed one of immediate danger. She had been delicate, and something of an invalid, if I remember right, for some years. She was carried to Monticello in a litter borne by men. The distance was perhaps four miles, and she bore the removal well. After this, however, she continued, as before, steadily to decline. She was taken out when the weather permitted, and carried around the lawn in a carriage, I think drawn by men, and I remember following the carriage over the smooth green turf. How long she lived I do not recollect, but it could have been but a short time.

One morning I heard that my aunt was dying. I crept softly from my nursery to her chamber door, and, being alarmed by her short, hard breathing, ran away again. I have a distinct recollection of confusion and dismay in the household. I did not see my mother. By-and-by one of the female servants came running in where I was, with other persons, to say that Mrs. Eppes was dead. The day passed I do not know how. Late in the afternoon I was taken to the death-chamber. The body was covered with a white cloth, over which had been strewed a profusion of flowers. A day or two after I followed the coffin to the burying-ground on the mountain-side, and saw it consigned to the earth, where it has lain undisturbed for more than fifty years.

My mother has told me that on the day of her sister's death she left her father alone for some hours. He then sent for her, and she found him with the Bible in his hands. He who has been so often and so harshly accused of unbelief—he, in his hour of intense affliction, sought and found consolation in the Sacred Volume. The Comforter was there for his true heart and devout spirit, even though his faith might not be what the world calls orthodox.

There was something very touching in the sight of this once beautiful and still lovely young woman, fading away just as the spring was coming on with its buds and blossoms—nature reviving as she was sinking, and closing her eyes on all that she loved best in life. She perished, not in autumn with the flowers, but as they were opening to the sun and air in all the freshness of spring. I think the weather was fine, for over my own recollections of these times there is a soft dreamy sort of haze, such as wraps the earth in warm dewy spring-time.

You know enough of my aunt's early history to be aware that she did not accompany her father, as my mother did, when he first went to France. She joined him, I think, only about two years before his return, and was placed in the same convent where my mother received her education. Here she went by the name of Mademoiselle Polie. As a child, she was called Polly by her friends. It was on her way to Paris that she staid a while in London with Mrs. Adams, and there is a pleasing mention of her in that lady's published letters.

I think the visit (not a very long one) made by my mother and aunt to their father in Washington must have been in the winter of 1802-'3. My aunt, I believe, was never there again; but after her death, about the winter of 1805-'6, my mother, with all her children, passed some time at the President's house. I remember that both my father and uncle Eppes were then in Congress, but can not say whether this was the case in 1802-'3.

My aunt, Mrs. Eppes, was singularly beautiful. She was high-principled, just, and generous. Her temper, naturally mild, became, I think, saddened by ill health in the latter part of her life. In that respect she differed from my mother, whose disposition seemed to have the sunshine of heaven in it. Nothing ever wearied my mother's patience, or exhausted, what was inexhaustible, her sweetness, her kindness, indulgence, and self-devotion. She was intellectually somewhat superior to her sister, who was sensible of the difference, though she was of too noble a nature for her feelings ever to assume an ignoble character. There was between the sisters the strongest and warmest attachment, the most perfect confidence and affection.

My aunt utterly undervalued and disregarded her own beauty, remarkable as it was. She was never fond of dress or ornament, and was always careless of admiration. She was even vexed by allusions to her beauty, saying that people only praised her for that because they could not praise her for better things. If my mother inadvertently exclaimed, half sportively, "Maria, if I only had your beauty," my aunt would resent it as far as she could resent any thing said or done by her sister.

It may be said that the extraordinary value she attached to talent was mainly founded in her idea that by the possession of it she would become a more suitable companion for her father. Both daughters considered his affection as the great good of their lives, and both loved him with all the devotion of their most loving hearts. My aunt sometimes mourned over the fear that her father must prefer her sister's society, and could not take the same pleasure in hers. This very humility in one so lovely was a charm the more in her character. She was greatly loved and esteemed by all her friends. She was on a footing of the most intimate friendship with my father's sister, Mrs. T. Eston Randolph, herself a most exemplary and admirable woman, whose daughter, long years after, married Francis, Mrs. Eppes's son.

I know not, my dear Mr. Randall, whether this letter will add any thing to the knowledge you already possess of this one of my grandfather's family. Should it not, you must take the will for the deed, and as I am somewhat wearied by the rapidity with which I have written, in order to avoid delay, I will bid you adieu, with my very best wishes for your entire success in your arduous undertaking.

Very truly yours

ELLEN W. COOLIDGE.

How heart-rending the death of this "ever dear daughter" was to Jefferson, may be judged from the following touching and beautiful letter, written by him two months after the sad event, in reply to one of condolence from his old and constant friend, Governor Page:

To Governor Page.

Your letter, my dear friend, of the 25th ultimo, is a new proof of the goodness of your heart, and the part you take in my loss marks an affectionate concern for the greatness of it. It is great indeed. Others may lose of their abundance, but I, of my want, have lost even the half of all I had. My evening prospects now hang on the slender thread of a single life. Perhaps I may be destined to see even this last cord of parental affection broken! The hope with which I had looked forward to the moment when, resigning public cares to younger hands, I was to retire to that domestic comfort from which the last great step is to be taken, is fearfully blighted.

When you and I look back on the country over which we have passed, what a field of slaughter does it exhibit! Where are all the friends who entered it with us, under all the inspiring energies of health and hope? As if pursued by the havoc of war, they are strewed by the way, some earlier, some later, and scarce a few stragglers remain to count the numbers fallen, and to mark yet, by their own fall, the last footsteps of their party. Is it a desirable thing to bear up through the heat of action, to witness the death of all our companions, and merely be the last victim? I doubt it. We have, however, the traveller's consolation. Every step shortens the distance we have to go; the end of our journey is in sight—the bed wherein we are to rest, and to rise in the midst of the friends we have lost! "We sorrow not, then, as others who have no hope;" but look forward to the day which joins us to the great majority.

But whatever is to be our destiny, wisdom, as well as duty, dictates that we should acquiesce in the will of Him whose it is to give and take away, and be contented in the enjoyment of those who are still permitted to be with us. Of those connected by blood, the number does not depend on us. But friends we have if we have merited them. Those of our earliest years stand nearest in our affections. But in this, too, you and I have been unlucky. Of our college friends (and they are the dearest) how few have stood with us in the great political questions which have agitated our country: and these were of a nature to justify agitation. I did not believe the Lilliputian fetters of that day strong enough to have bound so many.

Will not Mrs. Page, yourself, and family, think it prudent to seek a healthier region for the months of August and September? And may we not flatter ourselves that you will cast your eye on Monticello? We have not many summers to live. While fortune places us, then, within striking distance, let us avail ourselves of it, to meet and talk over the tales of other times.

He also wrote to Judge Tyler:

I lament to learn that a like misfortune has enabled you to estimate the afflictions of a father on the loss of a beloved child. However terrible the possibility of such another accident, it is still a blessing for you of inestimable value that you would not even then descend childless to the grave. Three sons, and hopeful ones too, are a rich treasure. I rejoice when I hear of young men of virtue and talents, worthy to receive, and likely to preserve, the splendid inheritance of self-government which we have acquired and shaped for them.

Among the many letters of condolence which poured in upon Mr. Jefferson from all quarters on this sad occasion, was the following very characteristic one from Mrs. Adams. It shows in the writer a strange mixture of kind feeling, goodness of heart, and a proud, unforgiving spirit.

From Mrs. Adams.

Quincy, 20th May, 1804.

Sir—Had you been no other than the private inhabitant of Monticello, I should, ere this time, have addressed you with that sympathy which a recent event has awakened in my bosom; but reasons of various kinds withheld my pen, until the powerful feelings of my heart burst through the restraint, and called upon me to shed the tear of sorrow over the departed remains of your beloved and deserving daughter—an event which I most sincerely mourn. The attachment which I formed for her when you committed her to my care upon her arrival in a foreign land, under circumstances peculiarly interesting, has remained with me to this hour; and the account of her death, which I read in a late paper, recalled to my recollection the tender scene of her separation from me, when, with the strongest sensibility, she clung around my neck, and wet my bosom with her tears, saying, "Oh, now I have learned to love you, why will they take me from you?"

It has been some time since I conceived that any event in this life could call forth feelings of mutual sympathy. But I know how closely entwined around a parent's are those cords which bind the parental to the filial bosom, and, when snapped asunder, how agonizing the pangs. I have tasted of the bitter cup, and bow with reverence and submission before the great Dispenser of it, without whose permission and overruling providence not a sparrow falls to the ground. That you may derive comfort and consolation, in this day of your sorrow and affliction, from that only source calculated to heal the broken heart, a firm belief in the being, perfections, and attributes of God, is the sincere and ardent wish of her who once took pleasure in subscribing herself your friend.

ABIGAIL ADAMS.[53]

To this letter Mr. Jefferson replied as follows:

To Mrs. Adams.

Washington, June 13th, 1804.

Dear Madam—The affectionate sentiments which you have had the goodness to express, in your letter of May the 20th, towards my dear departed daughter have awakened in me sensibilities natural to the occasion, and recalled your kindnesses to her, which I shall ever remember with gratitude and friendship. I can assure you with truth, they had made an indelible impression on her mind, and that to the last, on our meetings after long separations, whether I had heard lately of you, and how you did, were among the earliest of her inquiries. In giving you this assurance, I perform a sacred duty for her, and, at the same time, am thankful for the occasion furnished me of expressing my regret that circumstances should have arisen which have seemed to draw a line of separation between us. The friendship with which you honored me has ever been valued and fully reciprocated; and although events have been passing which might be trying to some minds, I never believed yours to be of that kind, nor felt that my own was. Neither my estimate of your character, nor the esteem founded in that, has ever been lessened for a single moment, although doubts whether it would be acceptable may have forbidden manifestations of it.

Mr. Adams's friendship and mine began at an earlier date. It accompanied us through long and important scenes. The different conclusions we had drawn from our political reading and reflections were not permitted to lessen personal esteem—each party being conscious they were the result of an honest conviction in the other. Like differences of opinion among our fellow-citizens attached them to one or the other of us, and produced a rivalship in their minds which did not exist in ours. We never stood in one another's way; but if either had been withdrawn at any time, his favorers would not have gone over to the other, but would have sought for some one of homogeneous opinions. This consideration was sufficient to keep down all jealousy between us, and to guard our friendship from any disturbance by sentiments of rivalship; and I can say with truth, that one act of Mr. Adams's life, and one only, ever gave me a moment's personal displeasure. I did consider his last appointments to office as personally unkind. They were from among my most ardent political enemies, from whom no faithful co-operation could ever be expected; and laid me under the embarrassment of acting through men whose views were to defeat mine, or to encounter the odium of putting others in their places. It seems but common justice to leave a successor free to act by instruments of his own choice. If my respect for him did not permit me to ascribe the whole blame to the influence of others, it left something for friendship to forgive; and after brooding over it for some little time, and not always resisting the expression of it, I forgave it cordially, and returned to the same state of esteem and respect for him which had so long subsisted.

Having come into life a little later than Mr. Adams, his career has preceded mine, as mine is followed by some other; and it will probably be closed at the same distance after him which time originally placed between us. I maintain for him, and shall carry into private life, an uniform and high measure of respect and good-will, and for yourself a sincere attachment.

I have thus, my dear madam, opened myself to you without reserve, which I have long wished an opportunity of doing; and without knowing how it will be received, I feel relief from being unbosomed. And I have now only to entreat your forgiveness for this transition from a subject of domestic affliction to one which seems of a different aspect. But though connected with political events, it has been viewed by me most strongly in its unfortunate bearings on my private friendships. The injury these have sustained has been a heavy price for what has never given me equal pleasure. That you may both be favored with health, tranquillity, and long life, is the prayer of one who tenders you the assurance of his highest consideration and esteem.

Several other letters were exchanged by Jefferson and Mrs. Adams, and explanations followed, which did not, however, result at the time in restoring friendly intercourse between them, that not being resumed until some years later.[54] Mrs. Adams, it seemed, was offended with him because, in making appointments to fill certain Federal offices in Boston, her son, who held one of these offices, was not reappointed. Jefferson did not know, when he made the appointments, that young Adams held the office, and gave Mrs. Adams an assurance to that effect in one of the letters alluded to above, but she seems not to have accepted the explanation.

The history of the midnight judges referred to in Jefferson's first letter to Mrs. Adams was briefly this: Just at the close of Adams's Administration a law was hurried through Congress by the Federalists, increasing the number of United States Courts throughout the States. At that time twelve o'clock on the night of the 3d of March was the magical hour when one Administration passed out and the other came in. The law was passed at such a late hour, that, though the appointments for the new judgeships created by it had been previously selected, yet the commissions had not been issued from the Department of State. Chief-justice Marshall, who was then acting as Secretary of State, was busily engaged filling out these commissions, that the offices might be filled with Federal appointments while the outgoing Administration was still in power. The whole proceeding was known to Jefferson. He considered the law unconstitutional, and acted in the premises with his usual boldness and decision. Having chosen Levi Lincoln as his Attorney General, he gave him his watch, and ordered him to go at midnight and take possession of the State Department, and not allow a single paper to be removed from it after that hour.

Mr. Lincoln accordingly entered Judge Marshall's office at the appointed time. "I have been ordered by Mr. Jefferson," he said to the Judge, "to take possession of this office and its papers." "Why, Mr. Jefferson has not yet qualified," exclaimed the astonished Chief-justice. "Mr. Jefferson considers himself in the light of an executor, bound to take charge of the papers of the Government until he is duly qualified," was the reply. "But it is not yet twelve o'clock," said Judge Marshall, taking out his watch. Mr. Lincoln pulled out his, and, showing it to him, said, "This is the President's watch, and rules the hour."

Judge Marshall could make no appeal from this, and was forced to retire, casting a farewell look upon the commissions lying on the table before him. In after years he used to laugh, and say he had been allowed to pick up nothing but his hat. He had, however, one or two of the commissions in his pocket, and the gentlemen who received them were called thereafter "John Adams's midnight judges."

In his message to Congress some months later, Jefferson demonstrated that, so far from requiring an increased number of courts, there was not work enough for those already existing.

To John W. Eppes.

Monticello, August 7th, 1804.

Dear Sir—Your letters of July 16th and 29th both came to me on the 2d instant. I receive with great delight the information of the perfect health of our dear infants, and hope to see yourself, the family and them, as soon as circumstances admit. With respect to Melinda, I have too many already to leave here in idleness when I go away; and at Washington I prefer white servants, who, when they misbehave, can be exchanged. John knew he was not to expect her society but when he should be at Monticello, and then subject to the casualty of her being here or not. You mention a horse to be had—of a fine bay; and again, that he is of the color of your horse. I do not well recollect the shade of yours; but if you think this one would do with Castor or Fitzpartner, I would take him at the price you mention, but should be glad to have as much breadth for the payment as the seller could admit, and at any rate not less than ninety days. I know no finer horse than yours, but he is much too fiery to be trusted in a carriage—the only use I have for him while Arcturus remains. He is also too small. I write this letter in the hope you will be here before you can receive it, but on the possibility that the cause which, detained you at the date of yours may continue. My affectionate salutations and esteem attend the family at Eppington and yourself.

TH. JEFFERSON.

P.S.—By your mentioning that Francis will be your constant companion, I am in hopes I shall have him here with you during the session of Congress.

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