Renominated as President.—Letter to Mazzei.—Slanders against Jefferson.—Sad Visit to Monticello.—Second Inauguration.—Receives the Bust of the Emperor of Russia.—Letters to and from the Emperor.—To Diodati.—To Dickinson.—To his Son-in-law.—Devotion to his Grandchildren.—Letter to Monroe.—To his Grandchildren.—His Temper when roused.—Letter to Charles Thompson.—To Dr. Logan.—Anxious to avoid a Public Reception on his Return home.—Letter to Dupont de Nemours.—Inauguration of Madison.—Harmony in Jefferson's Cabinet.—Letter to Humboldt.—Farewell Address from the Legislature of Virginia.—His Reply.—Reply to an Address of Welcome from the Citizens of Albemarle.—Letter to Madison.—Anecdote of Jefferson.

Weary of office, and longing for the tranquillity of private life amidst the groves of his beautiful home at Monticello, it was the first wish of Jefferson's heart to retire at the close of his first Presidential term. His friends, however, urged his continuance in office for the next four years, and persisted in renominating him as the Republican candidate in the coming elections. There were other reasons which induced him to yield his consent besides the entreaties of his friends. We find these alluded to in the following extract from a letter written to Mazzei on the 18th of July, 1804:

I should have retired at the end of the first four years, but that the immense load of Tory calumnies which have been manufactured respecting me, and have filled the European market, have obliged me to appeal once more to my country for justification. I have no fear but that I shall receive honorable testimony by their verdict on these calumnies. At the end of the next four years I shall certainly retire. Age, inclination, and principle all dictate this. My health, which at one time threatened an unfavorable turn, is now firm.

During the summer of 1804 Jefferson made his usual visit to Monticello, where his quiet enjoyment of home-life was saddened by the remembrance of the painful scenes through which he had so lately passed there.

At the time of his second inauguration, on the 5th of March, 1805, Jefferson was in his sixty-second year. His inaugural address closed with the following eloquent words:

I fear not that any motives of interest may lead me astray; I am sensible of no passion which could seduce me knowingly from the path of justice; but the weakness of human nature, and the limits of my own understanding, will produce errors of judgment sometimes injurious to your interests. I shall need, therefore, all the indulgence I have heretofore experienced—the want of it will certainly not lessen with increasing years. I shall need, too, the favor of that Being in whose hands we are, who led our forefathers, as Israel of old, from their native land, and planted them in a country flowing with all the necessaries and comforts of life; who has covered our infancy with his providence, and our riper years with his wisdom and power; and to whose goodness I ask you to join with me in supplications that He will so enlighten the minds of your servants, guide their councils, and prosper their measures, that whatsoever they do shall result in your good, and shall secure to you the peace, friendship, and approbation of all nations.

The next two years of his life possess nothing worthy of special notice in this volume. The reader will find interesting the following extract from one of his letters of 1806:

To Mr. Harris.

Washington, April 18th, 1806.

Sir—It is now some time since I received from you, through the house of Smith & Buchanan, at Baltimore, a bust of the Emperor Alexander, for which I have to return you my thanks. These are the more cordial because of the value the bust derives from the great estimation in which its original is held by the world, and by none more than by myself. It will constitute one of the most valued ornaments of the retreat I am preparing for myself at my native home. Accept, at the same time, my acknowledgments for the elegant work of Atkinson and Walker on the customs of the Russians. I had laid down as a law for my conduct while in office, and hitherto scrupulously observed, to accept of no present beyond a book, a pamphlet, or other curiosity of minor value; as well to avoid imputation on my motives of action, as to shut out a practice susceptible of such abuse. But my particular esteem for the character of the Emperor places his image, in my mind, above the scope of law. I receive it, therefore, and shall cherish it with affection. It nourishes the contemplation of all the good placed in his power, and of his disposition to do it.

A day later he wrote to the Emperor himself:

To the Emperor Alexander.

I owe an acknowledgment to your Imperial Majesty for the great satisfaction I have received from your letter of August the 20th, 1805, and embrace the opportunity it affords of giving expression to the sincere respect and veneration I entertain for your character. It will be among the latest and most soothing comforts of my life to have seen advanced to the government of so extensive a portion of the earth, at so early a period of his life, a sovereign whose ruling passion is the advancement of the happiness and prosperity of his people; and not of his own people only, but who can extend his eye and his good-will to a distant and infant nation, unoffending in its course, unambitious in its views.

I have lying before me a letter, written in French, and over a superb signature, from the Emperor Alexander to Mr. Jefferson. It is dated "À St. Petersbourg, ce 7 Novembre, 1804," and at the close has this graceful paragraph:

From the Emperor Alexander.

Truly grateful for the interest which you have proved to me that you take in the well-being and prosperity of Russia, I feel that I can not better express similar feelings towards the United States, than by hoping they may long preserve at the head of their administration a chief who is as virtuous as he is enlightened.

The bust of the Emperor was placed in the hall at Monticello, facing one of Napoleon, which stood on the opposite side of the door leading into the portico.

Writing to one of his French friends—M. le Comte Diodati—on January 13, 1807, Jefferson says:

To Comte Diodati.

At the end of my present term, of which two years are yet to come, I propose to retire from public life, and to close my days on my patrimony of Monticello, in the bosom of my family. I have hitherto enjoyed uniform health; but the weight of public business begins to be too heavy for me, and I long for the enjoyments of rural life—among my books, my farms, and my family. Having performed my quadragena stipendia, I am entitled to my discharge, and should be sorry, indeed, that others should be sooner sensible than myself when I ought to ask it. I have, therefore, requested my fellow-citizens to think of a successor for me, to whom I shall deliver the public concerns with greater joy than I received them. I have the consolation, too, of having added nothing to my private fortune during my public service, and of retiring with hands as clean as they are empty.

Wearied with the burden of public life, Jefferson had written his old friend, John Dickinson, two months earlier:

To John Dickinson.

I have tired you, my friend, with a long letter. But your tedium will end in a few lines more. Mine has yet two years to endure. I am tired of an office where I can do no more good than many others who would be glad to be employed in it. To myself, personally, it brings nothing but unceasing drudgery and daily loss of friends.

A letter written to Mr. Eppes in July, 1807, alludes to the death of little Maria, the youngest child left by his lost daughter. He writes:

To Mr. Eppes.

Yours of the 3d is received. At that time, I presume, you had not got mine of June 19th, asking the favor of you to procure me a horse. I have lost three since you left this place [Washington]; however, I can get along with the three I have remaining, so as to give time for looking up a fourth, suitable in as many points as can be obtained. My happiness at Monticello (if I am able to go there) will be lessened by not having Francis and yourself there; but the circumstance which prevents it is one of the most painful that ever happened to me in life. Thus comfort after comfort drops off from us, till nothing is left but what is proper food for the grave. I trust, however, we shall have yourself and Francis the ensuing winter, and the one following that, and we must let the after-time provide for itself. He will ever be to me one of the dearest objects of life.

The following letter from Lafayette to Jefferson explains itself:

From the Marquis Lafayette.

Auteuil, January 11th, 1808.

My dear friend—The constant mourning of your heart will be deepened by the grief I am doomed to impart to it. Who better than you can sympathize for the loss of a beloved wife? The angel who for thirty-four years has blessed my life, was to you an affectionate, grateful friend. Pity me, my dear Jefferson, and believe me, forever, with all my heart, yours,

LAFAYETTE.

M. and Madame de Telli, at whose house we have attended her last moments, are tolerably well. We now are, my children and myself, in the Tracy family, and shall return to La Grange as soon as we can.

We find in Jefferson's correspondence of this year a letter written to his friend Dr. Wistar, of Philadelphia, in which he bespeaks his kind offices for his young grandson, Thomas Jefferson Randolph, then in his fifteenth year, and whom Mr. Jefferson wished to send to Philadelphia, that he might there prosecute his studies in the sciences. The devotion of this grandson and grandfather for each other was constant and touching. When the former went to Philadelphia, he left Monticello with his grandfather, and went with him as far as Washington, where he spent some days. Nothing could have exceeded his grandfather's kindness and thoughtfulness for him on this occasion. He looked over, with him, his wardrobe, and examined the contents of his trunk with as much care as if he had been his mother, and then, taking out a pencil and paper, made a list of purchases to be made for him, saying, "You will need such and such things when you get to Philadelphia." Nor would he let another make the purchases, but, going out with his grandson, got for him himself what he thought was suitable for him, though kindly consulting his taste. I give this incident only as a proof of Jefferson's thoughtful devotion for his grandchildren and of the perfect confidence which existed between himself and them.

In a letter, full of good feeling and good advice, written to Mr. Monroe in February, 1808, he cautions him against the danger of politics raising a rivalship between Mr. Madison and himself, and then, alluding to his own personal feelings, closes thus affectionately:

To James Monroe.

My longings for retirement are so strong, that I with difficulty encounter the daily drudgeries of my duty. But my wish for retirement itself is not stronger than that of carrying into it the affections of all my friends. I have ever viewed Mr. Madison and yourself as two principal pillars of my happiness. Were either to be withdrawn, I should consider it as among the greatest calamities which could assail my future peace of mind. I have great confidence that the candor and high understanding of both will guard me against this misfortune, the bare possibility of which has so far weighed on my mind, that I could not be easy without unburdening it. Accept my respectful salutations for yourself and Mrs. Monroe, and be assured of my constant and sincere friendship.

The following letters to two of his grandchildren give a pleasant picture of his attachment to and intimate intercourse with them:

To Cornelia Randolph.[55]

Washington, April 3d, '08.

My dear Cornelia—I have owed you a letter two months, but have had nothing to write about, till last night I found in a newspaper the four lines which I now inclose you; and as you are learning to write, they will be a good lesson to convince you of the importance of minding your stops in writing. I allow you a day to find out yourself how to read these lines, so as to make them true. If you can not do it in that time, you may call in assistance. At the same time, I will give you four other lines, which I learnt when I was but a little older than you, and I still remember.

"I've seen the sea all in a blaze of fire

I've seen a house high as the moon and higher

I've seen the sun at twelve o'clock at night

I've seen the man who saw this wondrous sight."

All this is true, whatever you may think of it at first reading. I mentioned in my letter of last week to Ellen that I was under an attack of periodical headache. This is the 10th day. It has been very moderate, and yesterday did not last more than three hours. Tell your mamma that I fear I shall not get away as soon as I expected. Congress has spent the last five days without employing a single hour in the business necessary to be finished. Kiss her for me, and all the sisterhood.[56] To Jefferson I give my hand, to your papa my affectionate salutations. You have always my love.

TH. JEFFERSON.

P.S.—April 5.—I have kept my letter open till to-day, and am able to say now that my headache for the last two days has been scarcely sensible.

To Thomas Jefferson Randolph.

Washington, Oct. 24th, 1808.

Dear Jefferson—I inclose you a letter from Ellen, which I presume, will inform you that all are well at Edgehill. I received yours without date of either time or place, but written, I presume, on your arrival at Philadelphia. As the commencement of your lectures is now approaching, and you will hear two lectures a day, I would recommend to you to set out from the beginning with the rule to commit to writing every evening the substance of the lectures of the day. It will be attended with many advantages. It will oblige you to attend closely to what is delivered to recall it to your memory, to understand, and to digest it in the evening; it will fix it in your memory, and enable you to refresh it at any future time. It will be much better to you than even a better digest by another hand, because it will better recall to your mind the ideas which you originally entertained and meant to abridge. Then, if once a week you will, in a letter to me, state a synopsis or summary view of the heads of the lectures of the preceding week, it will give me great satisfaction to attend to your progress, and it will further aid you by obliging you still more to generalize and to see analytically the fields of science over which you are travelling. I wish to hear of the commissions I gave you for Rigden, Voight, and Ronaldson, of the delivery of the letters I gave you to my friends there, and how you like your situation. This will give you matter for a long letter, which will give you as useful an exercise in writing as a pleasing one to me in reading.

God bless you, and prosper your pursuits.

TH. JEFFERSON.

To Thomas Jefferson Randolph.

Washington, November 24th, 1808.

My dear Jefferson—.... I have mentioned good-humor as one of the preservatives of our peace and tranquillity. It is among the most effectual, and its effect is so well imitated, and aided, artificially, by politeness, that this also becomes an acquisition of first-rate value. In truth, politeness is artificial good-humor; it covers the natural want of it, and ends by rendering habitual a substitute nearly equivalent to the real virtue. It is the practice of sacrificing to those whom we meet in society all the little conveniences and preferences which will gratify them, and deprive us of nothing worth a moment's consideration; it is the giving a pleasing and flattering turn to our expressions, which will conciliate others, and make them pleased with us as well as themselves. How cheap a price for the good-will of another! When this is in return for a rude thing said by another, it brings him to his senses, it mortifies and corrects him in the most salutary way, and places him at the feet of your good-nature in the eyes of the company. But in stating prudential rules for our government in society, I must not omit the important one of never entering into dispute or argument with another. I never yet saw an instance of one of two disputants convincing the other by argument. I have seen many of their getting warm, becoming rude, and shooting one another. Conviction is the effect of our own dispassionate reasoning, either in solitude, or weighing within ourselves, dispassionately, what we hear from others, standing uncommitted in argument ourselves.

It was one of the rules which, above all others, made Doctor Franklin the most amiable of men in society, never to contradict any body. If he was urged to announce an opinion, he did it rather by asking questions, as if for information, or by suggesting doubts. When I hear another express an opinion which is not mine, I say to myself, He has a right to his opinion, as I to mine; why should I question it? His error does me no injury, and shall I become a Don Quixote, to bring all men by force of argument to one opinion? If a fact be misstated, it is probable he is gratified by a belief of it, and I have no right to deprive him of the gratification. If he wants information, he will ask it, and then I will give it in measured terms; but if he still believes his own story, and shows a desire to dispute the fact with me, I hear him and say nothing. It is his affair, not mine, if he prefers error.

There are two classes of disputants most frequently to be met with among us. The first is of young students, just entered the threshold of science, with a first view of its outlines, not yet filled up with the details and modifications which a further progress would bring to their knowledge. The other consists of the ill-tempered and rude men in society who have taken up a passion for politics. (Good-humor and politeness never introduce into mixed society a question on which they foresee there will be a difference of opinion.) From both of these classes of disputants, my dear Jefferson, keep aloof, as you would from the infected subjects of yellow fever or pestilence. Consider yourself, when with them, as among the patients of Bedlam, needing medical more than moral counsel. Be a listener only, keep within yourself, and endeavor to establish with yourself the habit of silence, especially in politics. In the fevered state of our country, no good can ever result from any attempt to set one of these fiery zealots to rights, either in fact or principle. They are determined as to the facts they will believe, and the opinions on which they will act. Get by them, therefore, as you would by an angry bull; it is not for a man of sense to dispute the road with such an animal. You will be more exposed than others to have these animals shaking their horns at you because of the relation in which you stand with me....

My character is not within their power. It is in the hands of my fellow-citizens at large, and will be consigned to honor or infamy by the verdict of the republican mass of our country, according to what themselves will have seen, not what their enemies and mine shall have said. Never, therefore, consider these puppies in politics as requiring any notice from you, and always show that you are not afraid to leave my character to the umpirage of public opinion. Look steadily to the pursuits which have carried you to Philadelphia, be very select in the society you attach yourself to; avoid taverns, drinkers, smokers, idlers, and dissipated persons generally; for it is with such that broils and contentions arise; and you will find your path more easy and tranquil. The limits of my paper warn me that it is time for me to close, with my affectionate adieu.

TH. JEFFERSON.

P.S.—Present me affectionately to Mr. Ogilvie; and in doing the same to Mr. Peale, tell him I am writing with his polygraph, and shall send him mine the first moment I have leisure enough to pack it.

T. J.

To Cornelia Randolph.

Washington, Dec. 26th, '08.

I congratulate you, my dear Cornelia, on having acquired the valuable art of writing. How delightful to be enabled by it to converse with an absent friend as if present! To this we are indebted for all our reading; because it must be written before we can read it. To this we are indebted for the Iliad, the Æneid, the Columbiad, Henriad, Dunciad, and now, for the most glorious poem of all, the Terrapiniad, which I now inclose you. This sublime poem consigns to everlasting fame the greatest achievement in war ever known to ancient or modern times: in the battle of David and Goliath, the disparity between the combatants was nothing in comparison to our case. I rejoice that you have learnt to write, for another reason; for as that is done with a goose-quill, you now know the value of a goose, and of course you will assist Ellen in taking care of the half-dozen very fine gray geese which I shall send by Davy. But as to this, I must refer to your mamma to decide whether they will be safest at Edgehill or at Monticello till I return home, and to give orders accordingly. I received letters a few days ago from Mr. Bankhead and Anne. They are well. I had expected a visit from Jefferson at Christmas, had there been a sufficient intermission in his lectures; but I suppose there was not, as he is not come. Remember me affectionately to your papa and mamma, and kiss Ellen and all the children for me.

TH. JEFFERSON.

P.S.—Since writing the above, I have a letter from Mr. Peale informing me that Jefferson is well, and saying the best things of him.

The Mr. Bankhead mentioned in the preceding letter was a gentleman who had married Mrs. Randolph's eldest daughter, Anne.

The following letter I give here, though of a later date by nearly two years than others that follow:

To Cornelia Randolph.

Monticello, June 3d, '11.

My dear Cornelia—I have lately received a copy of Miss Edgeworth's Moral Tales, which, seeming better suited to your years than mine, I inclose you the first volume. The other two shall follow as soon as your mamma has read them. They are to make a part of your library. I have not looked into them, preferring to receive their character from you, after you shall have read them. Your family of silk-worms is reduced to a single individual. That is now spinning his broach. To encourage Virginia and Mary to take care of it, I tell them that, as soon as they can get wedding-gowns from this spinner, they shall be married. I propose the same to you; that, in order to hasten its work, you may hasten home; for we all wish much to see you, and to express in person, rather than by letter, the assurance of our affectionate love.

TH. JEFFERSON.

P.S.—The girls desire me to add a postscript to inform you that Mrs. Higginbotham has just given them new dolls.

The precepts inculcating good temper, good humor and amiability, which we have found Jefferson giving to his grandson in the foregoing letters were faithfully carried into practice by him. There never lived a more amiable being than himself; yet, like all men of powerful minds and strong wills, he was not incapable of being aroused in anger on occasions of strong provocation. His biographer mentions two instances of this kind. On one occasion it was with his favorite coachman, Jupiter. A boy had been ordered to take one of the carriage-horses to go on an errand. Jupiter refused to allow his horses to be used for any such purpose. The boy returned to his master with a message to that effect. Mr. Jefferson, thinking it a joke of Jupiter's played off on the boy, sent him back with a repetition of the order. He, however, returned in a short time, bearing the same refusal from the coachman. "Tell Jupiter to come to me at once," said Mr. Jefferson, in an excited tone. Jupiter came, and received the order and a rebuke from his master in tones and with a look which neither he nor the terrified bystanders ever forgot.

On another occasion he was crossing a river in a ferryboat, accompanied by his daughter Martha. The two ferrymen were engaged in high quarrel when Mr. Jefferson and his daughter came up. They suppressed their anger for a time and took in the passengers, but in the middle of the stream it again broke forth with renewed force, and with every prospect of their resorting to blows. Mr. Jefferson remonstrated with them; they did not heed him, and the next moment, with his eyes flashing, he had snatched up an oar, and, in a voice which rung out above the angry tones of the men, flourished it over their heads, and cried out "Row for your lives, or I will knock you both overboard!" And they did row for their lives; nor, I imagine, did they soon forget the fiery looks and excited appearance of that tall weird-like-looking figure brandishing the heavy oar over their offending heads.

The following extract is taken from a letter written towards the close of the year 1808 to Doctor Logan: "As the moment of my retirement approaches, I become more anxious for its arrival, and to begin at length to pass what yet remains to me of life and health in the bosom of my family and neighbors, and in communication with my friends, undisturbed by political concerns or passions."

Having heard that the good people of Albemarle wished to meet him on the road, and give him a public reception on his return home, with his usual dislike of being lionized, he hastened, in a letter to his son-in-law, Mr. Randolph, to put them off, with many thanks, by saying "the commencement and termination" of his journey would be too uncertain for him to fix upon a day that he might be expected. This letter was written on Feb. 28th, 1809. I give the following extract:

But it is a sufficient happiness to me to know that my fellow-citizens of the country generally entertain for me the kind sentiments which have prompted this proposition, without giving to so many the trouble of leaving their homes to meet a single individual. I shall have opportunities of taking them individually by the hand at our court-house and other public places, and of exchanging assurances of mutual esteem. Certainly it is the greatest consolation to me to know that, in returning to the bosom of my native country, I shall be again in the midst of their kind affections; and I can say with truth that my return to them will make me happier than I have been since I left them.

Two days before his release from harness he wrote to his friend Dupont de Nemours:

To Dupont de Nemours.

Within a few days I retire to my family, my books, and farms; and having gained the harbor myself, I shall look on my friends still buffeting the storm with anxiety indeed, but not with envy. Never did a prisoner, released from his chains, feel such relief as I shall on shaking off the shackles of power. Nature intended me for the tranquil pursuits of science, by rendering them my supreme delight. But the enormities of the times in which I have lived have forced me to take a part in resisting them, and to commit myself on the boisterous ocean of political passions. I thank God for the opportunity of retiring from them without censure, and carrying with me the most consoling proofs of public approbation. I leave every thing in the hands of men so able to take care of them, that, if we are destined to meet misfortunes, it will be because no human wisdom could avert them. Should you return to the United States, perhaps your curiosity may lead you to visit the hermit of Monticello. He will receive you with affection and delight; hailing you in the mean time with his affectionate salutations and assurances of constant esteem and respect.

On the day of the inauguration of his successor, Jefferson rode on horseback to the Capitol, being accompanied only by his grandson, Jefferson Randolph—then a lad in his seventeenth year. He had heard that a body of cavalry and infantry were preparing to escort him to the Capitol, and, still anxious to avoid all kinds of display, hurried off with his grandson. As they rode along Pennsylvania Avenue, Mr. Jefferson caught a glimpse of the head of the column coming down one of the cross-streets. He touched his hat to the troops, and, spurring up his horse, trotted past them. He again "hitched his horse to the palisades" around the Capitol, and, entering the building, there witnessed the transfer of the administration of the Government from his own hands into those of the man who, above all others, was the man of his choice for that office—his long-tried and trusted friend, James Madison. Thus closed forever his public career.

The perfect harmony between himself and his cabinet is alluded to in a letter written nearly two years after his retirement from office. He writes:

The third Administration, which was of eight years, presented an example of harmony in a cabinet of six persons, to which perhaps history has furnished no parallel. There never arose, during the whole time, an instance of an unpleasant thought or word between the members. We sometimes met under differences of opinion, but scarcely ever failed, by conversing and reasoning, so to modify each other's ideas as to produce an unanimous result.

A few days before leaving Washington, he wrote to Baron Humboldt:

To Baron Humboldt.

You mention that you had before written other letters to me. Be assured I have never received a single one, or I should not have failed to make my acknowledgments of it. Indeed I have not waited for that, but for the certain information, which I had not, of the place where you might be. Your letter of May 30th first gave me that information. You have wisely located yourself in the focus of the science of Europe. I am held by the cords of love to my family and country, or I should certainly join you. Within a few days I shall now bury myself within the groves of Monticello, and become a mere spectator of the passing events. Of politics I will say nothing, because I would not implicate you by addressing to you the republican ideas of America, deemed horrible heresies by the royalism of Europe.

At the close of a letter written on the 8th of March to Mr. Short, he says: "I write this in the midst of packing and preparing for my departure, of visits of leave, and interruptions of every kind."

In February the Legislature of Virginia had passed an address of farewell to him as a public man. This address, penned by William Wirt, closes thus handsomely:

In the principles on which you have administered the Government, we see only the continuation and maturity of the same virtues and abilities which drew upon you in your youth the resentment of Dunmore. From the first brilliant and happy moment of your resistance to foreign tyranny until the present day, we mark with pleasure and with gratitude the same uniform and consistent character—the same warm and devoted attachment to liberty and the Republic—the same Roman love of your country, her rights, her peace, her honor, her prosperity. How blessed will be the retirement into which you are about to go! How deservedly blessed will it be! For you carry with you the richest of all rewards, the recollection of a life well spent in the service of your country, and proofs the most decisive of the love, the gratitude, the veneration of your countrymen. That your retirement may be as happy as your life has been virtuous and useful; that our youth may see in the blissful close of your days an additional inducement to form themselves on your model, is the devout and earnest prayer of your fellow-citizens who compose the General Assembly of Virginia.

In his reply to this address, Jefferson closes as follows:

In the desire of peace, but in full confidence of safety from our unity, our position, and our resources, I shall retire into the bosom of my native State, endeared to me by every tie which can attach the human heart. The assurances of your approbation, and that my conduct has given satisfaction to my fellow-citizens generally, will be an important ingredient in my future happiness; and that the Supreme Ruler of the universe may have our country under his special care, will be among the latest of my prayers.

The following reply to an address of welcome from the citizens of Albemarle is one of the most beautiful, graceful, and touching productions of his pen:

To the Inhabitants of Albemarle County, in Virginia.

April 3d, 1809.

Returning to the scenes of my birth and early life, to the society of those with whom I was raised, and who have been ever dear to me, I receive, fellow-citizens and neighbors, with inexpressible pleasure, the cordial welcome you are so good as to give me. Long absent on duties which the history of a wonderful era made incumbent on those called to them, the pomp, the turmoil, the bustle, and splendor of office have drawn but deeper sighs for the tranquil and irresponsible occupations of private life, for the enjoyment of an affectionate intercourse with you, my neighbors and friends, and the endearments of family love, which nature has given us all, as the sweetener of every hour. For these I gladly lay down the distressing burden of power, and seek, with my fellow-citizens, repose and safety under the watchful cares, and labors, and perplexities of younger and abler minds. The anxieties you express to administer to my happiness, do, of themselves, confer that happiness; and the measure will be complete, if my endeavors to fulfill my duties in the several public stations to which I have been called have obtained for me the approbation of my country. The part which I have acted on the theatre of public life has been before them, and to their sentence I submit it; but the testimony of my native county, of the individuals who have known me in private life, to my conduct in its various duties and relations, is the more grateful, as proceeding from eye-witnesses and observers, from triers of the vicinage. Of you, then, my neighbors, I may ask, in the face of the world, "Whose ox have I taken, or whom have I defrauded? Whom have I oppressed, or of whose hand have I received a bribe to blind mine eyes therewith?" On your verdict I rest with conscious security. Your wishes for my happiness are received with just sensibility, and I offer sincere prayers for your own welfare and prosperity.

Jefferson arrived at Monticello on the 15th of March, and two days later wrote to Madison as follows:

"I had a very fatiguing journey, having found the roads excessively bad, although I have seen them worse. The last three days I found it better to be on horseback, and travelled eight hours through as disagreeable a snow-storm as I was ever in. Feeling no inconvenience from the expedition but fatigue, I have more confidence in my vis vitÆ than I had before entertained."

He was at this time in his sixty-sixth year.

The following anecdote of Jefferson—which I have on the best authority—is too characteristic of his feeling for the suffering of another, his bold and rash spirit of reform, and the bitter feelings towards him of his political adversaries, to be omitted.

In going from Washington to Monticello, Jefferson generally left the city in the afternoon, and spent the first night of his journey with his friend Mr. William Fitzhugh, of Ravensworth, who lived nine or ten miles from Washington. It so happened that there lived near Ravensworth a Doctor Stuart, of Chantilly, who was a bitter Federalist, and consequently a violent hater of Jefferson, in whom he could not believe there was any good whatever. He was intimate, however, with Mr. Fitzhugh, and, being a great politician, generally found his way over to Ravensworth the morning after Jefferson's visit, to inquire what news he had brought from the capital.

On the occasion of one of these visits, while Mr. Fitzhugh and his distinguished guest were strolling round the beautiful lawn at Ravensworth enjoying the fresh morning air, a servant ran up to tell them that a negro man had cut himself severely with an axe. Mr. Fitzhugh immediately ordered the servant to go for a physician. Jefferson suggested that the poor negro might bleed to death before the doctor could arrive, and, saying that he himself had some little skill and experience in surgery, proposed that they should go and see what could be done for the poor fellow. Mr. Fitzhugh willingly acquiesced, and, on their reaching the patient, they found he had a severe cut in the calf of his leg. Jefferson soon procured a needle and silk, and in a little while had sewed up the wound and carefully bandaged the leg.

As they walked back from the negro's cabin, Jefferson remarked to his friend that, though the ways of Divine Providence were all wise and beneficent, yet it had always struck him as being strange that the thick, fleshy coverings and defenses of the bones in the limbs of the human frame were placed in their rear, when the danger of their fracture generally came from the front. The remark struck Fitzhugh as being an original and philosophical one, and served to increase his favorable impressions of his friend's sagacity.

Jefferson had not long departed and resumed his journey, before Dr. Stuart arrived, and greeted Mr. Fitzhugh with the question of, "What news did your friend give you, and what new heresy did the fiend incarnate attempt to instill into your mind?" "Ah! Stuart," Mr. Fitzhugh began, "you do Jefferson injustice; he is a great man, a very great man;" and then went on to tell of the accident which had befallen the negro, Jefferson's skill in dressing the wound, and his remark afterwards, which had made such an impression upon him.

"Well," cried Dr. Stuart, raising his hands with horror, "what is the world coming to! Here this fellow, Jefferson, after turning upside down every thing on the earth, is now quarrelling with God Almighty himself!"