& 
 
Prof. G. W. Bunnell 
 
LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 MRS. ADAMS 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 MRS. ADAMS, 
 
 * 
 
 THE WIFE OF JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 WITH AN 
 
 */* 
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR 
 
 au 
 
 BY HER GRANDSON, 
 
 CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 CHARLES C. LITTLE AND JAMES BROWN. 
 
 M DCCC XL. 
 
Z4- 
 
 13 
 
 U/. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1840, by 
 
 CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS, 
 
 in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of 
 Massachusetts. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PRINTED BY FREEMAN AND BOLLES, 
 
 WASHINGTON STREET. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 THE extremely favorable reception which the 
 Letters of Mrs. Adams have thus far met with 
 from the American public, encourages the Editor 
 to attempt the present republication of them. The 
 opportunity has been taken to revise the text by 
 a fresh comparison with the original manuscripts, 
 and carefully to correct that portion of the wQrk 
 which was supplied by himself. Objections to 
 the somewhat unwieldy size of the former volume 
 have been removed by dividing the matter which 
 it contained into two. In order to do this, how 
 ever, it was found necessary to add a few letters. 
 These, together with a commentary upon them 
 in the memoir, originally prepared for the first 
 
 616034 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 edition, and finally excluded from it only because 
 of the unexpectedly large space which the letters 
 of earlier date were found to occupy, are now 
 inserted. In all other respects the two editions 
 do not differ. 
 Boston, December, 1840. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 MEMOIR xiii 
 
 1761. 
 
 To Mrs. H. Lincoln. 5 October. Accepts the offer to 
 correspond with her.. Views of life 3 
 
 1764. 
 
 To John Adams. 10 April. Pleasure in writing. Ques 
 tions about his health 7 
 
 To the same. 19-20 April. Wishes to know her faults. 
 Dreams 8 
 
 1767. 
 
 To the same. 14 September. Family well. At her fa 
 ther s 12 
 
 1774. 
 
 To the same. 19 August. Time tedious in his absence. 
 Anxiety for the future. Reading Rollin 13 
 
 To the same. 2 September. Popular excitement. Seiz 
 ure of the warrants for summoning juries. Drought . 15 
 
 To the same. 14-16 September. Warlike preparations 
 of Governor Gage. The gunpowder in Braintree se 
 cured by the people. They force the Sheriff to surren 
 der warrants and burn them. Dismay of the Tories. 
 At Colonel Quincy s. Students at law in her house. 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Mr. Thaxter teaches her son. Morals of children. 
 
 Popular feeling in Taunton 18 
 
 To the same. 22 September. Visit to Boston. State of 
 
 the town. Negro conspiracy 23 
 
 To the same. 1C October. Desires his return. Fears 
 
 for the future. Necessity of economy. General Gage. 
 
 Departure of Josiah Quincy, Jr. , for England ... 25 
 
 1775. 
 
 To the same. 4 May. Affairs at home. Hutchinson s 
 letters. Mr. Quincy s death 29 
 
 To the same. 7 May. Cheering news from North Caro 
 lina. Distress of Boston 31 
 
 To the same. 24 May. Alarm in Braintree. British 
 foraging party. Arrival of Dr. Franklin from Europe. 
 Fire in Boston. State of her house 32 
 
 To the same. 15 June. Arrival of British recruits. Ap 
 prehensions. Mr. Bowdoin. Importance of soldiers. 
 Scarcity of pins 35 
 
 To the same. 18- 20 June. Action on Bunker s Hill. 
 Death of Dr. Warren 39 
 
 To the same. 22 June. Answers inquiries. Dr. Tufts. 
 Preparations for removal 41 
 
 To the same. 25 June. Particulars of the action on 
 Bunker s Hill. Divine service. Preacher not ardent 
 enough. Condition of Boston. Effect of reports . . 43 
 
 To the same. 5 July. Pleasure of telling news. State 
 of Boston. Not afraid. Scarcity of grain . . . . 47 
 
 To the same. 16 July. Appointment of Washington 
 and Lee satisfactory. First impressions upon seeing 
 them. State of Boston. British attacked upon Long 
 Island. Braintree elects a representative. Scarcity of 
 foreign goods 50 
 
 To the same. 25 July. Boston lighthouse burnt by a party 
 of Americans. Restrictions on the inhabitants of Boston. 
 Generals Burgoyne and Clinton. Visit to Dedham . 57 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 Page 
 
 To the same. 31 July -2 August. Inveighs against 
 Britain. Treatment of Dr. Warren s remains. British 
 carpenters attacked at the lighthouse. Four prisoners 
 with whom she converses G3 
 
 To the same. 1 October. Death of her mother. In 
 great distress. Prevalence of disease G7 
 
 To the same. 21 October. Sickness abated. State of 
 Boston. Dr. Church. Her father s grief. Complains 
 of her long separation from her husband. Want of 
 needles and cloth G9 
 
 To the same. 22 October. Describes her mother s death. 
 Effect upon herself. British demand upon Falmouth. 
 Tory satires in Boston 73 
 
 To the same. 5 November. Dines in company with 
 Dr. Franklin. Reflections upon Dr. Church. Hopes 
 for her husband s return 76 
 
 To the same. 12 November. Renounces attachment to 
 Britain. Skirmish at Lechmere s Point. Her own mel 
 ancholy 78 
 
 To the same. 27 November. Regrets his prolonged 
 stay. Reflections upon government 80 
 
 To the same. 10 December. Visits the American camp. 
 Generals Lee and Sullivan. Suggests measures. Scar 
 city of foreign goods. Congress too timid .... 83 
 
 1776. 
 
 To the same. 2- 9 March. Ridiculous rumor. Desires 
 independence to be declared. Roar of cannon from 
 Dorchester Heights. Disappointment at the result. 
 Movements in Congress g7 
 
 To the same. 7-11 April. British troops removed. 
 Funeral of Dr. Warren. Engaged in farming. Cap 
 ture of a British vessel. News 93 
 
 To the same. 7 -9 May. Neglect of preparations for 
 defence. Necessity for government. More captures 9G 
 
 To the same. 17 June. At Plymouth. Goes on board 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 the brig Defence. Account of the capture of two 
 
 transports. Confidence in the future 100 
 
 To the same. 29 September. Anxious for news. High 
 prices paid for drafted men. Great number in the 
 public service, and in privateers. Willing to reap the 
 harvests 105 
 
 1777. 
 
 To the same. 30-31 July. Bad news from the north. 
 Distrust of foreign officers. Female mob in Boston . 107 
 
 To the same. 5 August. Alarm in Boston. Proves 
 unfounded. Mourns her separation from him . . . 110 
 
 To the same. 17 September. Letter from Mr. Lovell. 
 Horrible apprehensions . 113 
 
 To the same. 25 October. General Burgoyne s sur 
 render. Generous terms offered to him. Reflections 
 upon her wedding anniversary 114 
 
 1778. 
 
 To the same. 8 March. Rumor of Dr. Franklin s as 
 sassination. Apprehensions at her husband s departure 
 for Europe. Directions to her son 116 
 
 To the same. 18 May. Anxious for intelligence of him. 
 Attachment to her native country. Opposite conduct of 
 France and of Great Britain. Depreciated currency . 119 
 
 To John Quincy Adams. June. Advice 122 
 
 To John Adams. 30 June. Receipt of his first letter 
 from abroad. Begs for more. Defective female edu 
 cation in America. Shebbeare s Letters 125 
 
 To the same. October. Officers of the French fleet. 
 Visits the ship of Count d Estaing. Is displeased with 
 the brevity of her husband s letters. Paper money . 129 
 
 To the same. 27 December. Her lonely situation this 
 winter. Effect of a Scotch song 132 
 
 1779. 
 
 To the same. 20 March - 23 April. Letters intercepted. 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 Page 
 
 Paper money. Public news. Capture of British ves 
 sels 134 
 
 To the same. 8 June. Depreciated currency. Death 
 of Dr. Winthrop 138 
 
 To the same. 14 November. Her house looks discon 
 solate at his departure 142 
 
 1780. 
 
 To John Quincy Adams. 12 January. Advice. Advan 
 tages of travelling. Great necessities call out great 
 virtues 143 
 
 To the same. 20 March. Religion the only foundation 
 of virtue. Self-knowledge recommended, and self- 
 government 146 
 
 To John Adams. 1C July. Receipt of letters. Sacri 
 fices to support the war 151 
 
 To the same. 15 October. Arnold s plot. Prices cur 
 rent 154 
 
 1781. 
 
 To the same. 28 January. Repeal of the tender law. 
 
 Heavy taxes. British employ Arnold 157 
 
 To the same. 25 May. Beauty of the season. Hopes 
 
 he may make a treaty with Holland. The currency 
 
 has lost all value 160 
 
 To the same. 9 December. Marquis de la Fayette. The 
 
 surrender of Cornwallis. Anxiety about the return of 
 
 her second son. Has the heart-ache for want of letters. 
 
 Requests assistance for townsmen in British prisons. 
 
 Hopes for his return. Affairs of business 163 
 
 1762. 
 
 To the same. 25 October. Eighteenth anniversary of 
 her wedding. Reflections. Return of the prisoners . 168 
 
 To the same. 13-25 November. Regrets his long ab 
 sence. Her confidence in him 172 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 To the same. 23 December. Expresses her feelings. 
 Willing to sacrifice them for the common good . . . 175 
 
 1783. 
 
 To the same. 28-29 April. Joy at the news of peace. 
 Amused by his journal. Movement in Congress. 
 Doubts about accepting his invitation to join him in 
 Europe 177 
 
 To the same. 20 June. Uncertainty as to his course. 
 Doubtful state of the country. Would prefer his return 
 to going to join him 182 
 
 To the same. 19 November. Decides not to cross the 
 ocean this winter. Anxious about his health . . . 186 
 
 To John Quincy Adams. 20 November. Rejoiced to 
 hear at last from him. Advice 188 
 
 To John Adams. 18 December. Attends divine service 
 in Boston. Feelings occasioned by the Thanksgiving 
 sermon of Dr. Clarke. Arrival of, and interview with, 
 Mr. Dana. Answers her husband s pressing invitation 
 to join him 192 
 
 To John Quincy Adams. 26 December. Comparison of 
 Russia and America. Causes of the rise and fall of 
 nations. Advice . 196 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 THE memorials of that generation, by whose 
 efforts the independence of the United States 
 was achieved, are in great abundance. There 
 is hardly an event of importance, from the year 
 1765 to the date of the definitive treaty of peace 
 with Great Britain, in September, 1783, which 
 has not been recorded, either by the industry 
 of actors upon the scene, or by the indefatiga 
 ble activity of a succeeding class of students. 
 These persons have devoted themselves, with a 
 highly commendable zeal, to the investigation 
 of all particulars, even the most minute, that 
 relate to this interesting period. The individu 
 als, called to act most conspicuously in the Re 
 volution, have many of them left voluminous 
 collections of papers, which, as time passes, find 
 their way to the light by publication, and fur 
 nish important illustrations of the feelings and 
 motives under which the contest was carried 
 on. The actors are thus made to stand in bold 
 
XIV MEMOIR. 
 
 relief before us. We not only see the public 
 record, but the private commentary also ; and 
 these, taken in connexion with the contempo 
 raneous histories, all of which, however defec 
 tive in philosophical analysis, are invaluable 
 depositories of facts related by living witnesses, 
 will serve to transmit to posterity the details for 
 a narration in as complete a form as will in all 
 probability ever be attained by the imperfect 
 faculties of man. 
 
 Admitting these observations to be true, there 
 is, nevertheless, a distinction to be drawn be 
 tween the materials for a history of action and 
 those for one of feeling : between the conduct of 
 men aiming at distinction among their fellow- 
 beings, and the private, familiar sentiments, that 
 run into the texture of the social system, with 
 out remark or the hope of observation. Here it 
 is, that something like a void in our annals ap 
 pears still to exist. Our history is for the most 
 part wrapped up in the forms of office. The 
 great men of the Revolution, in the eyes of 
 posterity, are. many of them, like heroes of a 
 mythological age. They are seen, for the most 
 part, when conscious that they are acting upon 
 a theatre, where individual sentiment must be 
 sometimes disguised, and often sacrificed, for 
 the public good. Statesmen and generals rarely 
 say all they think or feel. The consequence is, 
 
MEMOIR. XV 
 
 that, in the papers which come from them, they 
 are made to assume a uniform of grave hue, 
 which, though it doubtless exalts the opinion 
 entertained of their perfections, somewhat di 
 minishes the interest with which later genera 
 tions study their character. Students of human 
 nature seek for examples of man under cir 
 cumstances of difficulty and trial; man as 
 he is, not as he would appear; but there are 
 many reasons why they are often baffled in the 
 search. We look for the workings of the heart, 
 when those of the head alone are presented to 
 us. We watch the emotions of the spirit, and 
 yet find clear traces only of the reasoning of the 
 intellect. The solitary meditation, the confi 
 dential whisper to a friend, never meant to 
 reach the ear of the multitude, the secret wishes, 
 not to be blazoned forth to catch applause, the 
 fluctuations between fear and hope, that most 
 betray the springs of action, these are the 
 guides to character, which most frequently 
 vanish with the moment that called them forth, 
 and leave nothing to posterity but the coarser 
 elements for judgment, that may be found in 
 elaborated results. 
 
 There is, moreover, another distinction to be 
 observed, which is not infrequently lost sight 
 of. It is of great importance not only to 
 understand the nature of the superiority of 
 
XVI MEMOIR. 
 
 the individuals, who have made themselves 
 a name above their fellow-beings, but to esti 
 mate the degree in which the excellence for 
 which they were distinguished was shared by 
 those among whom they lived. Inattention 
 to this duty might present Patrick Henry 
 and James Otis, Washington, Jefferson, and 
 Samuel Adams, as the causes of the American 
 Revolution, which they were not There was 
 a moral principle in the field, to the power 
 of which a great majority of the whole popula 
 tion of the colonies, whether male or female, 
 old or young, had been Jong and habitually 
 trained to do homage. The individuals named, 
 with the rest of their celebrated associates, who 
 best represented that moral principle before the 
 world, were not the originators, but the spokes 
 men of the general opinion, and instruments 
 for its adaptation to existing events. Whether 
 fighting in the field, or deliberating in the Sen 
 ate, their strength against Great Britain was 
 not that of numbers, nor of wealth, nor of 
 genius ; but it drew its nourishment from the 
 sentiment that pervaded the dwellings of the 
 entire population. 
 
 How much this home sentiment did then, and 
 does ever, depend upon the character of the 
 female portion of the people, will be too readily 
 understood by all, to require explanation. The 
 
MEMOIR. XV11 
 
 domestic hearth is the first of schools, and the 
 best of lecture-rooms ; for there the heart will 
 cooperate with the mind, the affections with the 
 reasoning power. And this is the scene for the 
 almost exclusive sway of the weaker sex. Yet, 
 great as the influence thus exercised undoubt 
 edly is, it escapes observation in such a manner, 
 that history rarely takes much account of it. 
 The maxims of religion, faith, hope, and char 
 ity, are not passed through the alembic of logi 
 cal proof, before they are admitted into the 
 daily practice of women. They go at once into 
 the teachings of infancy, and thus form the 
 only high and pure motives of which matured 
 manhood can, in its subsequent action, ever 
 boast. Neither, when the stamp of duty is to 
 be struck in the young mind, is there commonly 
 so much of alloy in the female heart as with 
 men, with which the genuine metal may be 
 fused, and the face of the coin made dim. 
 There is not so much room for the doctrines of 
 expediency, and the promptings of private in 
 terest, to compromise the force of public exam 
 ple. In every instance of domestic convulsions, 
 and when the pruning-hook is deserted for the 
 sword and musket, the sacrifice of feelings 
 made by the female sex is unmixed with a 
 hope of worldly compensation. With them 
 there is no ambition to gratify, no fame to be 
 VOL. i. E 
 
XV111 MEMOIR. 
 
 gained by the simply negative virtue of priva 
 tions suffered in silence. There is no action to 
 drown in its noise and bustle a full sense of the 
 pain that must inevitably attend it. The lot of 
 woman, in times of trouble, is to be a passive 
 spectator of events, which she can scarcely 
 hope to make subservient to her own fame, or 
 to control. 
 
 If it were possible to get at the expression of 
 feelings by women in the heart of a community, 
 at a moment of extraordinary trial, recorded in 
 a shape evidently designed to be secret and 
 confidential, this would seem to present the 
 surest and most unfailing index to its general 
 character. Hitherto we have not gathered 
 much of this material in the United States. 
 The dispersion of families, so common in Amer 
 ica, the consequent destruction of private papers, 
 the defective nature of female education before 
 the Revolution, the difficulty and danger of 
 free communication, and the engrossing charac 
 ter, to the men, of public, and to the women, of 
 domestic cares, have all contributed to cut short, 
 if not completely to destroy, the sources of in 
 formation. It is truly remarked, in the present 
 volume, that " instances of patience, persever 
 ance, fortitude, magnanimity, courage, human 
 ity, and tenderness, which would have graced 
 the Roman character, were known only to those 
 
MEMOIR. XIX 
 
 who were themselves the actors, and whose 
 modesty could not suffer them to blazon abroad 
 their own fame." 1 The heroism of the females 
 of the Revolution has gone from memory with 
 the generation that witnessed it, and nothing, 
 absolutely nothing, remains upon the ear of the 
 young of the present day. but the faint echo of 
 an expiring general tradition. Neither is there 
 much remembrance of the domestic manners of 
 the last century, when, with more of admitted 
 distinctions than at present, there was more of 
 general equality ; nor of the state of social feel 
 ing, or of that simplicity of intercourse, which, 
 in colonial times, constituted in New England 
 as near an approach to the successful exempli 
 fication of the democratic theory, as the irregu 
 larity in the natural gifts of men will, in all 
 probability, evor practically allow. 
 
 It is the purpose of the present volume to 
 contribute something to the supply of this de 
 ficiency, by giving to tradition a form partially 
 palpable. The present is believed to be the 
 first attempt, in the United States, to lay before 
 the public a series of private letters, written 
 without the remotest idea of publication, by a 
 woman, to her husband, and others of her near 
 est and dearest relations. Their greatest value 
 
 1 Letter, 4 March, 1786. 
 
XX MEMOIR. 
 
 consists in the fact, susceptible of no miscon 
 ception, that they furnish an exact transcript of 
 the feelings of the writer, in times of no ordi 
 nary trial. Independently of this, the variety 
 of scenes in which she wrote, and the opportu 
 nities furnished for observation in the situations 
 in which she was placed by the elevation of her 
 husband to high official positions in the coun 
 try, may contribute to sustain the interest with 
 which they will be read. The undertaking is, 
 nevertheless, too novel not to inspire the Editor 
 with some doubt of its success, particularly as 
 it brings forward to public notice a person who 
 has now been long removed from the scene of 
 action, and of whom, it is not unreasonable to 
 suppose, the present generation of readers have 
 neither personal knowledge nor recollection. 
 For the sake of facilitating their progress, and 
 explaining the allusions to persons and objects 
 very frequently occurring, it may not be deemed 
 improper here to premise some account of her 
 life. 
 
 There were few persons of her day and gen 
 eration, who derived their origin, or imbibed 
 their character, more exclusively from the gen 
 uine stock of the Massachusetts Puritan settlers, 
 than Abigail Smith. Her father, the Reverend 
 William Smith, was the settled minister of the 
 Congregational Church at Weymouth, for more 
 
MEMOIR. XXI 
 
 than forty years, and until his death. Her 
 mother, Elizabeth Quincy, was the grand 
 daughter of the Reverend John Norton, long 
 the pastor of a church of the same denomina 
 tion in the neighbouring town of Hingham, and 
 the nephew of John Norton, well known in the 
 annals of the colony. 1 Her maternal grand 
 father, John Quincy, was the grandson of 
 Thomas Shepard, minister of Charlestown. dis 
 tinguished in his day, and the son of the more 
 distinguished Thomas Shepard of Cambridge, 
 whose name still lives in one of the churches of 
 that town. These are persons whose merits 
 may be found fully recorded in the pages of 
 Mather and of Neal. They were among the 
 most noted of the most reputed class of their 
 day. In a colony, founded so exclusively upon 
 motives of religious zeal as Massachusetts was, 
 it necessarily followed, that the ordinary dis 
 tinctions of society were in a great degree sub 
 verted, and that the leaders of the church, 
 though without worldly possessions to boast of, 
 were the most in honor everywhere. Educa 
 tion was promoted only as it was subsidiary to 
 the great end of studying or expounding the 
 Scriptures ; and whatever of advance was made 
 in the intellectual pursuits of society, was rather 
 
 1 Hutchinson, Vol. I. pp. 220, et seq. 
 
XX11 MEMOIR. 
 
 the incidental than the direct result of studies 
 necessary to fit men for a holy calling. Hence 
 it was, that the higher departments of know 
 ledge were entered almost exclusively by the 
 clergy. Classical learning was a natural, though 
 indirect consequence of the acquisition of those 
 languages, in which the New Testament and 
 the Fathers were to be studied ; and dialectics 
 formed the armour, of which men were com 
 pelled to learn the use, as a preparation for the 
 wars of religious controversy. The mastery of 
 these gave power and authority to their posses 
 sors, who, by a very natural transition, passed 
 from being the guides of religious faith to their 
 fellow men, to be guardians of their educa 
 tion. To them, as the fountains of knowledge, 
 and possessing the gifts most prized in the com 
 munity, all other ranks in society cheerfully 
 gave place. If a festive entertainment was 
 meditated, the minister was sure to be first on 
 the list of those to be invited. If any assembly 
 of citizens was held, he must be there to open 
 the business with prayer. If a political measure 
 was in agitation, he was among the first whose 
 opinion was to be consulted. Even the civil 
 rights of the other citizens for a long time de 
 pended, in some degree, upon his good- word; 
 and, after this rigid rule was laid aside, he yet 
 continued, in the absence of technical law and 
 
MEMOIR. XX111 
 
 lawyers, to be the arbiter and the judge in the 
 differences between his fellow men. He was 
 not infrequently the family physician. The 
 great object of instruction being religious, the 
 care of the young was also in his hands. The 
 records of Harvard University, the child and 
 darling of Puritan affections, show that of all 
 the presiding officers, during the century and a 
 half of colonial days, but two were laymen, and 
 not ministers of the prevailing denomination ; 
 and that of all, who in the early times, availed 
 themselves of such advantages as this institu 
 tion could then offer, nearly half the number 
 did so for the sake of devoting themselves to 
 the service of the gospel. 
 
 But the prevailing notion of the purpose of 
 education was attended with one remarkable 
 consequence. The cultivation of the female 
 mind was regarded with utter indifference. It 
 is not impossible, that the early example of Mrs. 
 Hutchinson, and the difficulties in which the 
 public exercise of her gifts involved the colony, 
 had established in the public mind a conviction 
 of the danger that may attend the meddling of 
 women with abstruse points of doctrine; and 
 these, however they might confound the strong 
 est intellect, were, nevertheless, the favorite 
 topics of thought and discussion in that genera 
 tion. Waving a decision upon this, it may very 
 
XXIV MEMOIR. 
 
 safely be assumed, not only that there was very 
 little attention given to the education of women, 
 but that, as Mrs. Adams, in one of her letters, 1 
 says, "It was fashionable to ridicule female 
 learning." The only chance for much intellect 
 ual improvement in the female sex was, there 
 fore, to be found in the families of that, which 
 was the educated class, and in occasional inter 
 course with the learned of their day. What 
 ever of useful instruction was received in the 
 practical conduct of life, came from maternal 
 lips ; and what of further mental developement, 
 depended more upon the eagerness with which 
 the casual teachings of daily conversation were 
 treasured up, than upon any labor expended 
 purposely to promote it. 
 
 Abigail Smith was the second of three daugh 
 ters. Her father, as has been already mention 
 ed, was the minister of a small Congregational 
 Church in the town of Weymouth, during the 
 middle of the last century. She was born in 
 that town, on the llih of November, 1744, O. S. 
 In her neighbourhood, there were not many ad 
 vantages of instruction to be found ; and even 
 in Boston, the small metropolis nearest at hand, 
 for reasons already stated, the list of accom 
 plishments within the reach of females was, 
 probably, very short. She did not enjoy an 
 
 1 Vol. I. page 128. 
 
MEMOIR. XXV 
 
 opportunity to acquire even such as there might 
 have been, for the delicate state of her health 
 forbade the idea of sending her away from 
 home to obtam them. In a letter, written in 
 1817, the year before her death, speaking of her 
 own deficiencies, she says; " My early educa 
 tion did not partake of the abundant opportuni 
 ties which the present days offer, and which 
 even our common country schools now afford. 
 / never was sent to any school. I was always 
 sick. Female education, in the best families, 
 went no further than writing and arithmetic ; 
 in some few and rare instances, music and danc 
 ing." Hence it is not unreasonable to suppose* 
 that the knowledge gained by her was rather 
 the result of the society into which she was 
 thrown, than of any elaborate instruction. 
 
 This fact, that the author of the letters in the 
 present volume never went to any school, is a 
 very important one to a proper estimate of her 
 character. For, whatever may be the decision 
 of the long-vexed question between the advan 
 tages of public and those of private education, 
 few persons will deny, that they produce mark 
 ed differences in the formation of character. 
 Seclusion from companions of the same age, at 
 any time of life, is calculated to develope the 
 imaginative faculty, at the expense of the judg 
 ment ; but especially in youth, when the most 
 
XXVI MEMOIR. 
 
 durable impressions are making. The ordina 
 ry consequence, in females of a meditative turn 
 of rnind, is the indulgence of romantic and ex 
 aggerated sentiments drawn from books, which, 
 if subjected to the ordinary routine of large 
 schools, are worn down by the attrition of social 
 intercourse. These ideas, formed in solitude, 
 in early life, often, though not always, remain 
 in the rnind, even after the realities of the world 
 surround those who hold them, and counteract 
 the tendency of their conclusions. They are 
 constantly visible, in the letters of these volumes, 
 even in the midst of the severest trials. They 
 form what may be considered the romantic turn 
 of the author s mind ; but, in her case, they 
 were so far modified by a great admixture of 
 religious principle and by natural good sense, 
 as to be of eminent service in sustaining her 
 through the painful situations in which she 
 was placed, instead of nursing that species of 
 sickly sensibility, which too frequently, in sim 
 ilar circumstances, impairs, if it does not de 
 stroy, the power of practical usefulness. 
 
 At Mount Wollaston, a part of Braintree, the 
 town next adjoining Weymouth, lived Colonel 
 John Quincy, her grandfather on the mother s 
 side, and a gentleman, who, for very many 
 years, enjoyed, in various official situations, 
 much of the confidence of the Colony. At his 
 
MEMOIR. XXV11 
 
 house, and under the instruction of his wife, 
 her grandmother, she appears to have imbibed 
 most of the lessons which made the deepest 
 impression upon her mind. Of this lady, the 
 daughter of the Reverend John Norton, nothing 
 is now known, but what the frequent and cheer 
 ful acknowledgment of her merit, by her disci 
 ple, tells us. " I have not forgotten," says the 
 latter to her own daughter, in the year 1795, 
 " the excellent lessons which I received from 
 my grandmother, at a very early period of life. 
 I frequently think they made a more durable 
 impression upon my mind, than those which I 
 received from my own parents. Whether it 
 was owing to the happy method of mixing in 
 struction and amusement together, or from an 
 inflexible adherence to certain principles, the 
 utility of which I could not but see and approve 
 when a child, I know not ; but maturer years 
 have rendered them oracles of wisdom to me. 
 I love and revere her memory; her lively, 
 cheerful disposition animated all around her, 
 whilst she edified all by her unaffected piety. 
 This tribute is due to the memory of those vir 
 tues, the sweet remembrance of which will 
 flourish, though she has long slept with her an 
 cestors." Again, in another letter to the same 
 person, in 1808, she says; "I cherish her me 
 mory with holy veneration, whose maxims I 
 
XXV111 MEMOIR. 
 
 have treasured up, whose virtues live in my 
 remembrance ; happy if I could say, they have 
 been transplanted into my life." 
 
 But, though her early years were spent in a 
 spot of so great seclusion as her grandfather s 
 house must then have been, it does not appear 
 that she remained wholly unacquainted with 
 young persons of her own sex and age. She 
 had relations and connexions, both on the 
 father s and the mother s side ; and with these 
 she was upon as intimate terms as circum 
 stances would allow. The distance between 
 the homes of the young people was, however, 
 too great, and the means of their parents too 
 narrow, to admit of very frequent personal in 
 tercourse ; the substitute for which was a rapid 
 interchange of written communications. The 
 letter- writing propensity manifested itself early 
 in this youthful circle. A considerable number 
 of the epistles of her correspondents have been 
 preserved among the papers of Mrs. Adams. 
 They are deserving of notice only as they fur 
 nish a general idea of the tastes and pursuits of 
 the young women of that day. Perhaps the 
 most remarkable thing about them is the evi 
 dent influence upon the writers, which the stu 
 dy of " The Spectator," and of the poets, appears 
 to have had. This is perceptible in the more 
 important train of thought and structure of Ian- 
 
MEMOIR. XXIX 
 
 guage, as well as in the lesser trifles of the taste 
 for quotation and for fictitious signatures. Cal 
 liope and Myra, Arpasia and Anrelia, have 
 effectually succeeded in disguising their true 
 names from the eyes of younger generations. 
 The signature of Miss Smith appears to have 
 been Diana, a name which she dropped after 
 her marriage, without losing the fancy that 
 prompted to its selection. Her letters, during 
 the Revolution, show clearly enough the ten 
 dency of her own thoughts and feelings in the 
 substitute, she then adopted, of Portia. Her 
 fondness for quotations, the fashion of that day, 
 it will be seen, was maintained through life. 
 
 Perhaps there is no species of exercise, in 
 early life, more productive of results useful to 
 the mind, than that of writing letters. Over 
 and above the mechanical facility of construct 
 ing sentences, which no teaching will afford so 
 well, the interest with which the object is com 
 monly pursued, gives an extraordinary impulse 
 to the intellect. This is promoted, in a degree 
 proportionate to the scarcity of temporary and 
 local subjects for discussion. Where there is 
 little gossip, the want of it must be supplied 
 from books. The flowers of literature spring 
 up where the weeds of scandal take no root. 
 The young ladies of Massachusetts, in the last 
 century, were certainly readers, even though 
 
XXX MEMOIR. 
 
 only self-taught ; and their taste was not for the 
 feeble and nerveless sentiment, or the frantic 
 passion, which comes from the novels and ro 
 mances in the circulating library of our day, 
 but was derived from the deepest wells of Eng 
 lish literature. The poets and moralists of the 
 mother country furnished to these inquiring 
 minds their ample stores, and they were used 
 to an extent, which it is at least doubtful if the 
 more pretending and elaborate instruction of the 
 present generation would equal. 
 
 Of Mrs. Adams s letters during this period of 
 her youth, but very few remain in possession of 
 her descendants. One specimen has been acci 
 dentally obtained, which makes the first in, the 
 present, publication. The writer was, at the 
 date of the letter, not quite seventeen, and was 
 addressing a lady some years older than herself. 
 This may account for a strain of gravity rather 
 beyond her years or ordinary disposition. Two 
 other letters, written to Mr. Adams, after she 
 was betrothed, and before she was married to 
 him, have been added, because they are believ 
 ed to be more indicative of her usual temper at 
 that age. These have been admitted to a place 
 in the selection, not so much as claiming a par 
 ticular merit, as because they are thought to 
 furnish a standard of her mind, and general 
 character, when a girl, by which the improve- 
 
MEMOIR. XXXI 
 
 ment and full developement of her powers as a 
 woman may readily be measured. 
 
 The father of Mrs. Adams was a pious man, 
 with something of that vein of humor, not un 
 common among the clergy of New England, 
 which ordinarily found such a field for exercise 
 as is displayed in the pages of Cotton Mather. 
 He was the father of three daughters, all of them 
 women of uncommon force of intellect, though 
 the fortunes of two of them confined its influ 
 ence to a sphere much more limited than that 
 which fell to the lot of Mrs. Adams. Mary, the 
 eldest, was married, in 1762, to Richard Cranch, 
 an English emigrant, who had settled at Ger- 
 mantown, a part of Braintree, and who subse 
 quently became a Judge of the Court of Com 
 mon Pleas in Massachusetts, and died, highly 
 respected, in the early part of the present cen 
 tury. The present William Cranch, of Wash 
 ington, who has presided so long, and with so 
 much dignity and fidelity, over the Circuit 
 Court of the District of Columbia, is the son of 
 this marriage. Elizabeth, the youngest, was 
 twice married ; first, to the Reverend John 
 Shaw, minister of Haverhill. in Massachusetts, 
 and, after his death, to the Reverend Mr. Pea- 
 body, of Atkinson, New Hampshire. Thus 
 much is necessary to be stated, in order to ex 
 plain the relations, which the parties, in many 
 
XXX11 MEMOIR. 
 
 of the letters, bore to each other. It is an anec 
 dote, told of Mr. Smith, that, upon the marriage 
 of his eldest daughter, he preached to his people 
 from the text in the forty-second verse of the 
 tenth chapter of Luke, " And Mary hath chosen 
 that good part, which shall not be taken away 
 from her." Two years elapsed, and his second 
 daughter, the subject of this notice, was about 
 to marry John Adams, then a lawyer in good 
 practice, when some disapprobation of the 
 match appears to have manifested itself among 
 a portion of his parishioners. The profession of 
 law was, for a long period in the colonial his 
 tory of Massachusetts, unknown ; and, after 
 circumstances called it forth, the prejudices of 
 the inhabitants, who thought it a calling hardly 
 honest, were arrayed against those who adopted 
 it. There are many still living, who can re 
 member how strong they remained, even down 
 to the time of the adoption of the present Fede 
 ral Constitution ; and the records of the General 
 Court, at its very last session, of 1840, will 
 show, that they have not quite disappeared at 
 this day. Besides this, the family of Mr. Adams, 
 the son of a small farmer of the middle class in 
 Brain tree, was thought scarcely good enough 
 to match with the minister s daughter, descend 
 ed from so many of the shining lights of the 
 colony. It is probable, that Mr. Smith was 
 
MEMOIR. xxxiii 
 
 made aware of the opinions expressed among 
 his people, for he is said, immediately after the 
 marriage took place, to have replied to them by 
 a sermon, the text of which, in evident allusion 
 to the objection against lawyers, was drawn 
 from Luke vii. 33; "For John came neither 
 eating bread nor drinking wine, and ye say, He 
 hath a devil" 3 
 
 Mrs. Adams was married on the 25th of Oc 
 tober, 1764, having then nearly completed her 
 twentieth year. The ten years immediately 
 following present little that is worthy of record 
 ing. She appears to have passed a quiet, and 
 apparently very happy life, having her residence 
 in Braintree, or in Boston, according as the 
 state of her husband s health, then rather im 
 paired, or that of his professional practice, made 
 the change advisable. Within this period she 
 became the mother of a daughter, and of three 
 sons, whose names will frequently appear in 
 her letters ; and her domestic cares were reliev- 
 
 1 As this anecdote rests entirely upon tradition, it has 
 been differently told; and it is here admitted in this form 
 rather as a characteristic feature of the age, and of the 
 individual, than from any positive reliance upon its accu 
 racy. There are yet transmitted, among the inhabitants 
 of Weymouth and Hingham, many stories of Mr. Smith s 
 application of texts, in a similar manner, to the events of 
 the Revolution, which render the truth of this far from 
 improbable. 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
XXXIV MEMOIR. 
 
 ed by the presence of her husband, who was 
 absent from home only upon those occasions, 
 when he, with the other lawyers of his time, 
 was compelled to follow the court in its circuits. 
 During these times, he used to write regularly 
 to his wife, an account of his adventures and of 
 his professional success. These letters remain, 
 and furnish a curious record of the manners and 
 customs of the provincial times. She does not 
 appear to have often replied to them. The only 
 example is given in the present volume, and 
 makes the fourth of the selection ; a letter, re 
 markable only for the picture it presents of 
 peaceful domestic life, in contrast to the stormy 
 period immediately succeeding. 
 
 It is said by Governor Hutchinson, in the 
 third volume of his History, that neither the 
 health of Mr. Adams, nor his business, admitted 
 of his constant application to public affairs in 
 the manner that distinguished his kinsman, 
 Samuel Adams, during the years preceding the 
 breaking out of the Revolution. If the sum of 
 that application is to be measured by the fre 
 quency of his appearance before the public as 
 an actor in an official character upon the scene, 
 the remark is true ; for, up to the year 1774, he 
 had served but once or twice as a representa 
 tive in the General Court, and in no other situ 
 ation. But this would furnish a very unfair 
 
MEMOIR. XXXV 
 
 standard, by which to try the extent of his la 
 bors for the public. Very often, as much is 
 done by beforehand preparing the public mind 
 for action, as by the conduct of that action after 
 it has been commenced ; although the visible 
 amount of exertion, by which alone the world 
 forms its judgments, is in the two cases widely 
 different. From the time of his marriage, in 
 1764, perhaps still earlier, when he, as a young 
 lawyer, in 1761, took notes of the argument in 
 the celebrated cause of the Writs of Assistance, 
 there is evidence constantly presented of his 
 active interest in the Revolutionary struggle. 
 There is hardly a year in the interval between 
 the earliest of these dates, and 1774, that the 
 traces of his hand are not visible in the news 
 papers of Boston, elaborately discussing the 
 momentous questions, which preceded the crisis. 
 It was during this period, that the " Essay on 
 Canon and Feudal Law" was written. A long 
 controversy with Major Brattle, upon the pay 
 ment of the judges, and the papers of " Novan- 
 glus," were other, though by no means all. the 
 results of his labors. He drafted several of the 
 papers of Instructions to the Representatives to 
 the General Court, both in Boston and in his 
 native town, and also some of the most elabo 
 rate legal portions of the celebrated controversy 
 between that body and Governor Hntchinson. 
 
XXXVI MEMOIR. 
 
 The tendency, which all these papers show, to 
 seek for political truth in its fundamental prin 
 ciples and most abstract forms, whilst it takes 
 off much from the interest with which the 
 merely general reader would now consider 
 them, is yet of historical importance, as estab 
 lishing the fact, how little of mere impulse there 
 was in his mode of action against the mother 
 country. They also show the extent of the 
 studies to which his mind applied itself, and the 
 depth of the foundation laid by him for his sub 
 sequent career. Yet, during all this time, his 
 professional labors were never intermitted, and 
 ceased only with the catastrophe which shut up 
 the courts of justice, and rendered exertion upon 
 a different theatre absolutely necessary to the 
 maintenance of the fabric of society. 
 
 Perhaps the preceding detail belongs more 
 properly to a memoir of Mr. Adams, than to 
 that of his wife. Yet it would be impossible to 
 furnish any accurate idea of her character, 
 without explaining the precise nature of the 
 influences acting upon her, whilst still young, 
 and when that character was taking its perma 
 nent form. There was no one, who witnessed 
 his studies with, greater interest, or who sym 
 pathized with him in the conclusions, to which 
 his mind was forcing him, more deeply, than 
 Mrs. Adams. And hence it was, that, as the 
 
MEMOIR. XXXV11 
 
 day of trial came, and the hour for action drew 
 near, she was found not unprepared to submit 
 to the lot appointed her. Mr. Adams was elect 
 ed one of the delegates on the part of Massa 
 chusetts, instructed to meet persons chosen in 
 the same manner from the other colonies, for 
 the purpose of consulting in common upon the 
 course most advisable to be adopted by them. 
 In the month of August, 1774, he left home, in 
 company with Samuel Adams, Thomas Gush 
 ing, and Robert Treat Paine, to go to Philadel 
 phia, at which place the proposed assembly was 
 to be held. It is from this period, that the cor 
 respondence, Mrs. Adams s portion of which is 
 now submitted to the public, becomes interest 
 ing. The letter of the 19th of August of this 
 year 1 portrays her own feelings upon this, the 
 first separation of importance from her husband, 
 and the anxiety with which she was watching 
 the course of events. Yet there is in it not a 
 syllable of regret for the past, or of fear for the 
 future; but, on the contrary, an acute percep 
 tion of the obstacles in the way of an immedi 
 ate return to peaceful times, and a deliberate 
 preparation, by reading and reflection, for the 
 worst. The Congress confined itself, in its first 
 sessions, to consultation and remonstrance. It 
 
 1 Vol. I. page 13. 
 
XXXV111 MEMOIR. 
 
 therefore adjourned after the lapse of only two 
 months. It is during this time, that the five 
 letters in the present volume which bear date 
 in 1774, were written. They furnish a lively 
 exhibition of the state of public feeling in Mas 
 sachusetts. That dated on the 14th of Septem 
 ber, is particularly interesting, as it gives an 
 account of the securing the gunpowder from the 
 British, in her own town of Braintree, as well 
 as a highly characteristic trait of New England, 
 in the refusal to cheer on a Sunday. The last 
 of this series, dated on the 16th of October, 
 shows that all remaining hopes of peace and 
 reconciliation were fast vanishing from her 
 mind; and in an affecting manner she " bids 
 adieu to domestic felicity perhaps until the 
 meeting with her husband in another world, 
 since she looks forward to nothing further in 
 this than sacrifices, as the result of the impend 
 ing contest." ] 
 
 The second meeting of the Congress, which 
 took place in May, 1775, was marked by events 
 which wholly changed the nature of its deliber 
 ations. Up to that period, the struggle had 
 been only a dispute. It then took the more 
 fearful shape of a war. Mr. Adams left his 
 house and family at Braintree on the 14th of 
 
 1 Vol. I. page 26. 
 
MEMOIR. XXXIX 
 
 April, only five days before the memorable in 
 cident at Lexington, which was a signal for the 
 final appeal to arms. The news of the affair 
 reached him at Hartford, on his way to Phila 
 delphia. General Gage had planned his attack 
 upon Lexington with the knowledge that John 
 Hancock and Samuel Adams, two of the dele 
 gates to the general Congress, were in that 
 place at the time ; and it was probably one of 
 his objects to seize them, if they could be found. 
 Gordon, the historian, attributes their escape 
 only to a friendly warning given them by a 
 woman residing in Boston, but " unequally 
 yoked in politics." There was nearly the same 
 reason for apprehension on the part of John 
 Adams. His house was situated still nearer to 
 Boston, could be more easily approached by 
 water, and his family, if not he himself, was 
 known to be residing there. Under these cir 
 cumstances, what the feelings of Mrs. Adams, 
 left with the care of four small children, the 
 eldest not ten years of age, must have been, 
 may readily be conceived. But the letters, in 
 which she describes them, bring the idea home 
 to the mind with still greater force. She tells 
 us, that, upon the separation from her husband, 
 " her heart had felt like a heart of lead," and 
 that " she never trusts herself long with the 
 terrors that sometimes intrude themselves upon 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 her ;" that " since the never-to-be-forgotten day 
 of his departure, the 14th of April, nothing had 
 agitated her so much as the news of the arrival 
 of recruits ;" and that, " she lives in continual 
 expectation of alarms." Neither were these 
 apprehensions altogether groundless. The let 
 ter of the 4th of May mentions that Colonel 
 Quincy s family, whose residence was nearer to 
 the water-side than hers, had taken refuge for 
 one night with her. That of the 24th, gives a 
 highly vivid picture of the consternation into 
 which the whole town was thrown by a party 
 of British, foraging upon an island in the har 
 bour, close upon the town. Then follow the 
 account of the battle on Bunker s Hill, and the 
 burning of Charlestown, dreadful events to 
 those in the immediate vicinity of Boston and 
 to herself; yet, in the midst of them, the writer 
 adds, that she is " distressed, but not dis 
 mayed," and that " she has been able to main 
 tain a calmness and presence of mind, and 
 hopes she shall, let the exigency of the time be 
 what it will." l 
 
 But it is superfluous to endeavour to heighten 
 the picture given in the letters with so much 
 distinctness. Mr. Adams seems to have been 
 startled on the arrival of the intelligence at 
 
 1 Vol. I. pages 3043. 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 Hartford. Conscious, however, that his return 
 would rather tend to add to, than diminish, the 
 hazard to which his family was exposed, he 
 contented himself with writing encouragement, 
 and, at the same time, his directions in case of 
 positive danger. "In a cause which interests 
 the whole globe," he says, " at a time when 
 my friends and country are in such keen dis 
 tress, I am scarcely ever interrupted in the least 
 degree by apprehensions for my personal safety. 
 I am often concerned for you and our dear 
 babes, surrounded, as you are, by people who 
 are too timorous, and too much susceptible of 
 alarms. Many fears and jealousies and imagi 
 nary evils will be suggested to you, but I hope 
 you will not be impressed by them. In case of 
 real danger, of which you cannot fail to have 
 previous intimations, fly to the woods with our 
 children." 
 
 Mr. Adams very well knew to whom he was 
 recommending such an appalling alternative, 
 the very idea of which would have been intol 
 erable to many women. The trial Mrs. Adams 
 was called to undergo from the fears of those 
 immediately around her, was one in addition 
 to that caused by her own apprehensions ; a 
 trial, it may be remarked, of no ordinary nature ; 
 since it demands the exercise of a presence of 
 mind and accuracy of judgment in distinguish- 
 
Xlii MEMOIR. 
 
 ing the false from the true, that falls to the lot 
 of few even of the stronger sex. It is the ten 
 dency of women in general, to suffer quite as 
 much anxiety from the activity of the imagina 
 tion, as if it was, in every instance, founded 
 upon reasonable cause. 
 
 But the sufferings of this remarkable year 
 were not limited to the mind alone. The ter 
 rors of war were accompanied with the ravages 
 of pestilence. Mr. Adams was at home during 
 the period of adjournment of the Congress, 
 which was only for the month of August ; but 
 scarcely had he crossed his threshold, when the 
 dysentery, a disease which had already signi 
 fied its approach in scattering instances about 
 the neighbourhood of the besieged town of Bos 
 ton where it had commenced, assumed a highly 
 epidemic character, and marked its victims in 
 every family. A younger brother of Mr. Ad 
 ams had fallen among the earliest in the town ; 
 but it was not till his departure for Philadel 
 phia, that almost every member of his own 
 household was seized. The letters written 
 during the month of September, 1775, besides 
 being exclusively personal, are too uniformly 
 mournful in their tone to be suitable for inser 
 tion in full in the present collection ; yet it 
 would be failing to give an accurate idea of the 
 character of Mrs. Adams, to omit a notice of 
 
MEMOIR. xliii 
 
 them altogether. A few extracts, reserved for 
 this personal narrative, have been thought likely 
 to answer the purpose better than if they were 
 submitted in full to the public eye. 
 
 On the 8th of September, she commences 
 thus ; 
 
 " Since you left me, I have passed through 
 great distress both of body and mind ; and 
 whether greater is to be my portion, Heaven 
 only knows. You may remember Isaac was 
 unwell when you went from home. His dis 
 order increased, until a violent dysentery was 
 the consequence of his complaints. There was 
 no resting-place in the house for his terrible 
 groans. He continued in this state nearly one 
 week, when his disorder abated, and we have 
 now hopes of his recovery. Two days after he 
 was sick, I was seized in a violent manner. 
 Had I known you were at Watertown, I should 
 have sent Bracket for you. I suffered greatly 
 between my inclination to have you return, and 
 my fear of sending, lest you should be a parta 
 ker of the common calamity. After three days, 
 an abatement of my disease relieved me from 
 that anxiety. The next person in the same 
 week, was Susy ; her we carried home, and 
 hope she will not be very bad. Our little 
 Tommy was the next, and he lies very ill now. 
 Yesterday Patty was seized. Our house is a 
 
xllV MEMOIR. 
 
 hospital in every part, and, what with my own 
 weakness and distress of mind for my family, I 
 have been unhappy enough. And such is the 
 distress of the neighbourhood, that I can scarcely 
 find a well person to assist me in looking after 
 the sick." 
 
 On the 16th, after saying that her letter will 
 be only a bill of mortality, and that, of all the 
 members of her household, one only had escap 
 ed the disorder, she adds ; 
 
 " The dread upon the minds of people of 
 catching the distemper is almost as great as if 
 it was the small-pox. I have been distressed, 
 more than ever I was in my life, to procure 
 watchers and to get assistance. We have been 
 four Sabbaths without any meeting. Thus does 
 pestilence travel in the rear of war, to remind 
 us of our entire dependence upon that Being, 
 who not only directeth the arrow by day, but 
 has also at His command l the pestilence which 
 walketh in darkness. So uncertain and so 
 transitory are all the enjoyments of life, that, 
 were it not for the tender connexions which 
 bind us, would it not be a folly to wish for a 
 continuance here ?" 
 
 On the 25th, she mentions the illness of her 
 mother. 
 
 "I sit down with a heavy heart to write to 
 you. I have had no other since you left me. 
 
MEMOIR. Xv 
 
 Woe follows woe, and one affliction treads upon 
 the heels of another. My distress in my own 
 family having in some measure abated, it is ex 
 cited anew upon that of my dear mother. Her 
 kindness brought her to see me every day when 
 I was ill, and our little Thomas. She has 
 taken the disorder, and lies so bad, that we 
 have little hope of her recovery." 
 
 On the 29th; 
 
 " It is allotted me to go from the sick and 
 almost dying bed of one of the best of parents, 
 to my own habitation, where again I behold 
 the same scene, only varied by a remoter con 
 nexion, 
 
 A bitter change, severer for severe. 
 
 You can more easily conceive than I describe, 
 what are the sensations of my heart when 
 absent from either, continually expecting a 
 messenger with the fatal tidings." 
 
 Then follows the letter of the 1st of October, 
 which, as making the climax of her distress, is 
 inserted at length in this volume. 1 The follow 
 ing week, Patty, the female domestic mentioned 
 as the other sick person, also died ; after which, 
 there appears to have been no return of the dis 
 ease. But among all the trying scenes of the 
 
 1 Vol. I. page 67. 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 war of the Revolution, it is doubtful whether 
 any much exceeded this. 
 
 " The desolation of war is not so distressing," 
 she writes, " as the havoc made by the pesti 
 lence. Some poor parents are mourning the 
 loss of three, four, and five children ; and some 
 families are wholly stripped of every member." 
 
 Such as these are the kinds of trial, of which 
 history takes little or no note, yet in which 
 female fortitude is most severely exercised. 
 Without designing to detract from the unques 
 tioned merit of that instrument, it must never 
 theless be affirmed, that the Declaration of 
 Independence, called by the celebrated John 
 Randolph " a fanfaronade of abstractions," 
 might very naturally be expected to reward the 
 efforts of its signers with a crown of immor 
 tality ; whilst the large share of the cost of 
 maintaining it, wrung from the bleeding hearts 
 of the women of the Revolution, was paid with 
 out any hope or expectation of a similar com 
 pensation. 
 
 Mr. Adams was again at home in the month 
 of December, during the sessions of the Con 
 gress, which were now continued without inter 
 mission. It was upon his departure for the 
 third time, that the long and very remarkable 
 letter, bearing date March 2d, 1776, 1 and con- 
 
 1 Vol. I. p. 87. 
 
MEMOIR. Xlvii 
 
 tinned through several days, was written ; a 
 letter composed in the midst of the din of war, 
 and describing hopes and fears in a manner 
 deeply interesting. With this the description of 
 active scenes in the war terminates. The Brit 
 ish force soon afterwards evacuated Boston arid 
 Massachusetts, which did not again become the 
 field of military action. The correspondence 
 now changes its character. From containing 
 accounts of stirring events directly under the 
 writer s eye, the letters assume a more private 
 form, and principally relate to the management 
 of the farm and the household. Few of these 
 would be likely to amuse the general reader ; 
 yet some are necessary, as specimens of a por 
 tion of the author s character. Mr. Adams was 
 never a man of large fortune. His profession, 
 which had been a source of emolument, was 
 now entirely taken away from him ; and his 
 only dependence for the support of his family 
 was in the careful husbanding of the means in 
 actual possession. It is not giving to his wife 
 too much credit to affirm, that by her prudence 
 through the years of the Revolution, and indeed 
 during the whole period when the attention of 
 her husband was engrossed by public affairs, 
 she saved him from the mortification in his last 
 days, which some of those who have been, like 
 him, elevated to the highest situations in the 
 
xlviii MEMOIR. 
 
 country, have, for want of such care, not alto 
 gether escaped. 
 
 In the month of November, 1777, Mr. Adams 
 again visited his home, and never afterwards 
 rejoined the Congress ; for that body, in his ab 
 sence, had elected him to perform a duty in a 
 distant land. This was destined to furnish a 
 severe trial to the fortitude of Mrs. Adams. On 
 the 25th of October, she had written a letter to 
 him, it being the anniversary of their wedding- 
 day, in which she notices the fact, that "out of 
 thirteen years of their married life, three had 
 been passed in a state of separation." Yet in 
 these years, the distance between them had never 
 been very great, and the means of communica 
 tion almost always reasonably speedy and cer 
 tain. She appears little to have anticipated, 
 that in a few short weeks she was to be depriv 
 ed of even these compensations, and to send her 
 husband to a foreign country, over seas covered 
 with the enemy s ships. " I very well remem 
 ber," she says, in an earlier letter, " when the 
 eastern circuits of the courts, which lasted a 
 month, were thought an age, and an absence of 
 three months, intolerable; but we are carried 
 from step to step, and from one degree to ano 
 ther, to endure that which first we think in 
 supportable." It was in exact accordance with 
 this process, that the separations of half a year 
 or more were to be followed by those which 
 
MEMOIR. xlix 
 
 lasted many years, and the distance from Bos 
 ton to Philadelphia or Baltimore was lengthen 
 ed to Paris and a different quarter of the globe. 
 Upon the reception of the news of his appoint 
 ment as joint commissioner at the court of 
 France, in the place of Silas Deane, Mr. Adams 
 lost no time in making his arrangements for the 
 voyage. But it was impossible for him to think 
 of risking his wife and children all at once with 
 him in so perilous an enterprise. The frigate 
 Boston, a small, and not very good vessel, 
 mounting twenty-eight guns, had been ordered 
 to transport him to his destination. The Brit 
 ish fleet, stationed at Newport, perfectly well 
 knew the circumstances under which she was 
 going, and was on the watch to favor the new 
 commissioner with a fate similar to that after 
 wards experienced by Mr. Laurens. The 
 political attitude of France still remained 
 equivocal. Hence, on every account, it seemed 
 advisable that Mr. Adams should go upon his 
 mission alone. He left the shores of his native 
 town to embark in the frigate, in February, 
 1778, accompanied only by his eldest son, John 
 Quincy Adams, then a boy not quite eleven 
 years of age. 
 
 It is not often that, even upon that boisterous 
 ocean, a voyage combines greater perils of war 
 and of the elements, than did this of the Boston. 
 
 VOL. I. 1) 
 
1 MEMOIR. 
 
 Yet it is by no means unlikely, that the light 
 ning which struck the frigate, and the winds 
 that nearly sent it to the bottom, were effective 
 instruments to deter the enemy from a pursuit 
 which threatened to end in capture. This is 
 not, however, the place to enlarge upon this 
 story. It is alluded to only as connected with 
 the uneasiness experienced by Mrs. Adams, who 
 was left alone to meditate upon the hazard to 
 which her husband was exposed. Her letter, 
 written not long after the sailing of the frigate, 
 distinctly shows her feelings. 1 But we find by 
 it, that, to all the causes for anxiety which 
 would naturally have occurred to her mind, 
 there was superadded one growing out of a 
 rumor then in circulation, that some British 
 emissary had made an attempt upon the life of 
 Dr. Franklin, whilst acting at Paris in the very 
 commission, of which her husband had been 
 made a part. This was a kind of apprehension 
 as new as it was distressing ; one too, the vague 
 nature of which tended infinitely to multiply 
 those terrors that had a better foundation in 
 reality. 
 
 The news of the surrender of General Bur- 
 goyne had done more to hasten the desired ac 
 knowledgment, by France, of the independence 
 of the United States, than all the efforts which 
 
 1 Vol. I. page 116. 
 
MEMOIR. H 
 
 Commissioners could have made. Upon his 
 arrival in France, Mr. Adams found the great 
 object of his mission accomplished, and himself, 
 consequently, left with little or no occupation. 
 He did not wait in Europe to know the further 
 wishes of Congress, but returned home in Au 
 gust, 1779. Only a brief enjoyment of his soci 
 ety by his family was the result, inasmuch as 
 in October he was again ordered by Congress 
 to go to Europe, and there to wait until Great 
 Britain should manifest an inclination to treat 
 with him, and terminate the war. In obedience 
 to these directions, he sailed in November on 
 board of the French frigate Sensible, taking 
 with him upon this occasion his two eldest sons. 
 The day of his embarkation is marked by a 
 letter in the present collection, quite touching 
 in its character. 1 
 
 The ordinary occupations of the female sex 
 are necessarily of a kind which must ever pre 
 vent it from partaking largely of the action of 
 life. However keenly women may think or 
 feel, there is seldom an occasion when the sphere 
 of their exertions can with propriety be extend 
 ed much beyond the domestic hearth or the so 
 cial circle. Exactly here are they to be seen 
 most in their glory. Three or four years pass 
 ed whilst Mrs. Adams was living in the utmost 
 
 1 Vol. I. page 142. 
 
Ill MEMOIR. 
 
 seclusion of country life, during which, on ac 
 count of the increasing vigilance of British 
 cruisers, she very seldom heard from her hus 
 band. The material for interesting letters was 
 proportionately small, and yet there was no 
 time when she was more usefully occupied. It 
 is impossible to omit all notice of this period, 
 however deficient it may prove in variety. The 
 depreciation of the Continental paper money, 
 the difficulties in the way of managing the 
 property of her husband, her own isolation, and 
 the course of public events in distant parts of 
 the country, form her constant topics. Only 
 a small number of the letters which discuss 
 them, yet enough to show her situation at this 
 period, have been admitted into these volumes. 
 They are remarkable, because they display the 
 readiness with which she could devote herself 
 ito the most opposite duties, and the cheerful 
 manner in which she could accommodate her 
 self to the difficulties of the times. She is a 
 farmer cultivating the land, and discussing the 
 weather and the crops; a merchant reporting 
 prices-current and the rates of exchange, and 
 directing the making up of invoices ; a politician 
 speculating upon the probabilities of peace or 
 war ; and a mother writing the most exalted 
 sentiments to her son. All of these pursuits she 
 adopts together ; some from choice, the rest 
 
MEMOIR. llll 
 
 from the necessity of the case ; and in all she 
 appears equally well. Yet, among the letters 
 of this period, there will be found two or three, 
 which rise in their tone very far above the rest, 
 and which can scarcely fail to awaken the 
 sympathy of the coldest reader. 1 
 
 The signature of the Treaty of Peace with 
 Great Britain, which fully established the Inde 
 pendence of the United States, did not termi 
 nate the residence of Mr. Adams in Europe. 
 He was ordered by Congress to remain there, 
 and, in conjunction with Dr. Franklin and Mr. 
 Jefferson, to establish by treaty commercial re 
 lations with foreign powers. And not long 
 afterwards a new commission was sent him as 
 the first representative of the nation to him who 
 had been their King. The duties prescribed 
 seemed likely to require a residence sufficiently 
 long to authorize him in a request that Mrs. 
 Adams should join him in Europe. After some 
 hesitation, she finally consented ; and, in June, 
 1784, she sailed from Boston in a merchant 
 vessel bound to London. The journal of her 
 voyage, given in a letter to her sister, Mrs. 
 Cranch, makes a part of the present collection. 2 
 From this date the correspondence assumes a 
 
 1 Vol. I. pages 168, 172, 175. 
 * Vol. II. page 3. 
 
Hv MEMOIR. 
 
 new character. Mrs. Adams found herself, at 
 the age of forty, suddenly transplanted into a 
 scene wholly new. From a life of the utmost 
 retirement, in a small and quiet country town 
 of New England, she was at once transferred 
 to the busy and bustling scenes of the populous 
 and wealthy cities of Europe. Not only was 
 her position novel to herself, but there had been 
 nothing like it among her countrywomen. She 
 was the first representative of her sex from the 
 United States at the Court of Great Britain. 
 The impressions made upon her mind were 
 therefore received when it was uncommonly 
 open, and free from the ordinary restraints 
 which an. established routine of precedents is 
 apt to create. Her residence in France during 
 the first year of her European experience ap 
 pears to have been much enjoyed, notwith 
 standing the embarrassment felt by her from 
 not speaking the language. That in England, 
 which lasted three years, was somewhat affect 
 ed by the temper of the sovereign. George and 
 his Queen could not get over the mortification 
 attending the loss of the American Colonies, nor 
 at all times suppress the manifestation of it, 
 when the presence of their Minister forced the 
 subject on their recollection. Mrs. Adams s 
 account of her presentation is among the letters 
 
MEMOIR. IV 
 
 of this period. 1 It was not more than civilly 
 met on the part of the Queen, whose subsequent 
 conduct was hardly so good as on that occasion. 
 Mrs. Adams appears never to have forgotten it ; 
 for at a much later period, when, in consequence 
 of the French Revolution, the throne of Eng 
 land was thought to be in danger, she writes to 
 her daughter with regret at the prospect for the 
 country, but without sympathy for the Queen. 
 " Humiliation for Charlotte," she says, " is no 
 sorrow for me. She richly deserves her full 
 portion for the contempt and scorn which she 
 took pains to discover." Of course, the cour 
 tiers followed the lead thus given to them, and 
 the impression made against America at the 
 very outset of its national career has hardly 
 been effaced down to this day. It is to be ob 
 served, however, that one circumstance con 
 tributed to operate against the situation of the 
 first American Minister to Great Britain, which 
 has affected none of his successors. This was 
 the conduct of the States whilst yet under the 
 Confederation, justifying the general impression 
 that they were incapable of the self-govern 
 ment, the right to which they had so zealously 
 fought to obtain. Of the effect of this upon 
 herself, Mrs. Adams will be found frequently to 
 speak. 
 
 1 24 June, 1785. 
 
Ivi MEMOIR. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding these drawbacks, she 
 seems to have enjoyed much her residence in 
 the mother country. Her letters to her sisters 
 during this period have been admitted almost 
 in extenso in the present volume. They describe 
 no scenes of particular novelty to the reading 
 public, it is true ; but they delineate in so natu 
 ral and easy a manner the impressions received 
 from objects new to the writer, that it is hoped 
 they will fully reward perusal. The period 
 was not without its peculiar character to Amer 
 icans. Their country, exhausted by her efforts 
 in the war of Independence, had not yet put 
 herself in the way of restoration by adopting a 
 good form of government. It was even a mat 
 ter of doubt whether her liberty was likely to 
 prove a blessing, or to degenerate into a curse. 
 On the other hand, France, Holland, and Great 
 Britain respectively presented an outward spec 
 tacle of wealth and prosperity not perceptibly 
 impaired by the violent struggle between them, 
 that had just terminated. This contrast is fre 
 quently marked in the letters of Mrs. Adams ; 
 but the perception of it does not appear to have 
 in any degree qualified the earnestness of her 
 attachment to her own very modest home. 
 " Whatever is to be the fate of our country," 
 she says to her sister, " we have determined to 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 come home and share it with you." 1 She had 
 very little of that susceptibility of transfer, 
 which is a characteristic, not less of the culti 
 vated and wealthy class of our countrymen, 
 who cling to the luxury of the old world, than 
 of the adventurous and hardy sons of labor, 
 who carve out for themselves a new home in 
 the forests of the West. 
 
 The return of Mr. Adams, with his family, 
 to the United States, the liberty for which was 
 granted by Congress to his own request, was 
 simultaneous with the adoption of the present 
 Constitution by the decision of the ratifying 
 Conventions. Upon the organization of the 
 government under the new form, he was elected 
 to fill the office of Vice-President, that of Presi 
 dent being, by a more general consent, awarded 
 to General Washington. By this arrangement, 
 a residence at the seat of government during the 
 sessions of the Senate was made necessary ; 
 and, as that was fixed first at New York, and 
 then at Philadelphia, Mrs. Adams enjoyed an 
 opportunity to mix freely with the society of 
 both places. Some of her letters descriptive of 
 it have been selected for publication in this col* 
 lection. 
 
 The voluntary retirement of General Wash 
 ington, at the end of eight years, from the 
 
 1 25 February, 1787. 
 
Iviii MEMOIR. 
 
 Presidency, was the signal for the great strug 
 gle between the two political parties, which 
 had been rapidly maturing their organization, 
 during his term of administration. Mr. Adams 
 was elected his successor by a bare majority of 
 the electoral colleges, and against the inclina 
 tions of one section even of that party which sup 
 ported him. The open defection of that section, 
 at the following election, turned the scale against 
 him, and brought Mr. Jefferson into his place. 
 Of course, the letters of Mrs. Adams, at this 
 period, largely partake of the excitement of the 
 day. From early life, she had learnt to take a 
 deep interest in the course of political affairs, 
 and it is not to be supposed that this. would 
 decline, whilst her husband was a chief actor 
 in the scene, and a butt for the most malignant 
 shafts which party animosity could throw. As 
 it is not the design of this publication to revive 
 any old disputes, most of these letters have been 
 excluded from it. Two or three exceptions, 
 however, have been made. The first is the 
 letter of the 8th of February, 1797, the day 
 upon which the votes for President were count 
 ed, and Mr. Adams, as Vice-President, was 
 required by law to announce himself the Presi 
 dent elect for the ensuing term. This, though 
 extremely short, appears to the Editor to be the 
 gem of the collection j for the exalted feeling of 
 
MEMOIR. llX 
 
 the moment shines out with all the lustre of 
 ancient patriotism. Perhaps there is not, among 
 the whole number of her letters, one which, in 
 its spirit, brings so strongly to mind, as this 
 does, the celebrated Roman lady, whose signa 
 ture she at one time assumed ; whilst it is 
 chastened by a sentiment of Christian humility, 
 of which ancient history furnishes no example. 
 At this time, the health of Mrs. Adams, which 
 had never been very firm, began decidedly to 
 fail. Her residence at Philadelphia had not 
 been favorable, as it had subjected her to the 
 attack of an intermittent fever, from the effects 
 of which she was never afterwards perfectly 
 free. The desire to enjoy the bracing air of 
 her native climate, as well as to keep together 
 the private property of her husband, upon which 
 she early foresaw that he would be obliged to 
 rely for their support in their last years, prompted 
 her to reside, much of the time, at Quincy. 
 Such was the name now given to that part of 
 the ancient town of Braintree, in which she 
 had always lived. Yet when at the seat of 
 Government, whether in Philadelphia or Wash 
 ington, t ie influence of her kindly feelings and 
 cheerful temper did much to soften the asper 
 ities of the time. A good idea of the privations 
 and discomforts, to which she was subjected in 
 the President s House at Washington, when 
 
IX MEMOIR. 
 
 that place had scarcely emerged from the prim 
 itive forest, may be formed from one or two 
 other letters, which, in this view, are excepted 
 from the general exclusion. 1 In the midst of 
 public or private troubles, the buoyant spirit of 
 Mrs. Adams never forsook her. " I am a mor 
 tal enemy," she writes upon one occasion to her 
 husband, " to any thing but a cheerful coun 
 tenance and a merry heart, which, Solomon 
 tells us, does good like a medicine." This spirit 
 contributed greatly to lift up his heart, when 
 surrounded by difficulties and danger, exposed 
 to open hostility and secret detraction, and re 
 sisting a torrent of invective, such as it may 
 well be doubted whether any other individual 
 in public station in the United States has ever 
 tried to stem. It was this spirit, which soothed 
 his wounded feelings, when the country, which 
 he had served in the full consciousness of the 
 perfect honesty of his motives, threw him off, 
 and signified its preference for other statesmen. 
 There often are, even in this life, more compen 
 sations for the severest of the troubles that 
 afflict mankind, than we are apt to think. It 
 may be questioned whether Mr. Adams s more 
 successful rival, who, in the day of his power, 
 wielded popular masses with far greater skill 
 and success than he, ever realized, in the hours 
 
 1 21 and 27 November, 1800. 
 
MEMOIR. Ixi 
 
 of his subsequent retirement, any consolation 
 for his pecuniary embarrassments, like that 
 which Mr. Adams enjoyed from the faithful 
 devotedness of his wife, and, it may be added, 
 the successful labors of his son. 
 
 There were many persons, in the lifetime of 
 the parties, who ascribed to Mrs. Adams a de 
 gree of influence over the public conduct of her 
 husband, far greater than there was any foun 
 dation for in truth. Perhaps it is giving more 
 than its due importance to this idea to take any 
 notice at all of it in this place. But the design 
 of this Memoir is to set forth, in as clear a light 
 as possible, the character of its subject ; and 
 this cannot well be done without a full expla 
 nation of her personal relations to those about 
 her. That her opinions, even upon public af 
 fairs, had at all times great weight with her 
 husband, is unquestionably true, for he fre 
 quently marked upon her letters his testimony 
 to their solidity ; but there is no evidence, that 
 they either originated or materially altered any 
 part of the course he had laid out for himself. 
 Whenever she differed in sentiment from him, 
 which was sometimes the case, she perfectly 
 well understood her own position, and that the 
 best way of recommending her views was by 
 entire concession. The character of Mr, Adams 
 is clearly visible in his own papers. Ardent, 
 
Ix MEMOIR. 
 
 vehement in support of what he believed to be 
 right, easily roused to anger by opposition, but 
 sincere, placable, and generous, when made 
 conscious of having committed the slightest 
 wrong, there is no individual of this time, about 
 whom there are so few concealments, of either 
 faults or virtues. Instances of his imprudence 
 are visible, and of the mode in which his wife 
 treated them, in at least two letters of this vol 
 ume. 1 She was certain that a word said, riot at 
 the moment of irritation, but immediately after 
 it had passed, would receive great consideration 
 from him. She therefore waited the favorable 
 time, and thus, b^the->>cjdiL^es^}f^^ 
 
 of negative influence, 
 
 which often.. prevented ev-il -consequences from 
 
 m^mejija.rxJlldkfij^Lion. But her power ex- 
 
 | tended no farther, nor did she seek to make it 
 
 do so, and in this consisted her principal merit. 
 
 Perhaps it may be added, that, to men of ardent 
 
 and excitable temperament, no virtue is more 
 
 necessary in a wife, and none more essential to 
 
 the happiness and prosperity of both the parties, 
 
 than that which has been now described. 
 
 Four letters addressed to Mr. Jefferson in the 
 year 1804 have been admitted into the present 
 collection for reasons which require a particular 
 
 1 Letters of 10 January, 1785, and 21 November, 1786. 
 
MEMOIR. Ixiii 
 
 explanation. The answers written by that 
 gentleman were published some time since in 
 the collection of his works made under the 
 authority and supervision of his grandson, Mr. 
 Thomas Jefferson Randolph, though unaccom 
 panied by any comment which could show 
 what it was that they replied to or how Mrs. 
 Adarns got into the rather singular position 
 which she occupies of a disputant with him 
 upon the leading political questions of the time., 
 In order to understand this, it is necessary to 
 go back and trace the early relations between 
 the parties and the reasons why those rela 
 tions were afterwards changed. Mr. Jeffer 
 son went to Europe at nearly the same time 
 with Mrs. Adams. Their residence there was 
 of similar duration, though not always in the 
 same place. Throughout the period of that 
 residence an active interchange of good offices 
 was carried on between them. The official 
 connexion that existed between Mr. Jefferson 
 and Mr. Adams, while the latter remained in 
 France, was improved into a pleasant social 
 intimacy. And out of the small circle of 
 Americans, whom Mrs. Adams met with in that 
 country, Mr. Jefferson could hardly have failed 
 to prove, as he did, by far the most agreeable in 
 dividual to her. It will hence be seen, that upon 
 her departure from Paris, the principal regret 
 
xv MEMOIR. 
 
 v which she expresses to her friend in America is 
 /at. the necessity of leaving that gentleman for 
 ft" he," she adds, " is one of the choice ones of 
 Hhe earth." l Again, she manifests the confidence 
 which she entertains, both in his patriotism and 
 his personal friendship, in a letter written to 
 another friend 3 after her arrival in London. 
 Her kindly feelings were still further developed 
 by the arrival of his little daughter from Vir 
 ginia, and by the care she was requested by 
 him to take of her during the brief interval that 
 elapsed before he could send for her to join him. 
 Indeed, so far did they go, that when the mo 
 ment of departure took place, the affectionate 
 regret which the child manifested at the sepa 
 ration, appears to have left an indelible impres 
 sion upon her mind. 3 
 
 From the incidental notices thus gathered out 
 of Mrs. Adams s private correspondence with her 
 friends at home, it cannot be doubted, that up 
 to the period of return to America of the parties 
 now in question, t]iL..most amir.ablfi relations 
 had existed^dihotrtinterriiption between thmn. 
 Even after that time, and when under the ad 
 ministration of President Washington, it be- 
 
 1 Letter to Mrs. Shaw, 8 May, 1785. 
 
 2 Letter to Mrs. Cranch, 1 October, 1785. 
 
 3 Letter to Mrs. Cranch, 16 July, 1787, and that to Mr. 
 Jefferson, 20 May, 1804. 
 
MEMOIR. 1XV 
 
 came certain that a difference in political senti 
 ments must inevitably have the effect to throw 
 two persons, so distinguished as Mr. Jefferson 
 and Mr. Adams were, into collision, the social 
 intimacy between them, though slightly relaxed, 
 was not materially disturbed. The address of 
 the former gentleman to the Senate, upon taking 
 his place as Vice-President, shows the desire 
 he then entertained to continue it. But events 
 were destined to be stronger than men. Thef] 
 vehement contest for the Presidency in 1801J/ 
 scattered to the winds all traces of formeJj 
 friendship. It was at that time that each party 
 in turn strove to discover in certain overt acts 
 of the other, a justification for estrangement, 
 which would as certainly have occurred, whether 
 those acts had or had not been committed with a 
 design to give it a form of expression. It is not 
 in the nature of men to be able entirely to resist 
 the force of those passions which rivalry in a 
 common object of ardent desire will stir up in 
 their bosoms. The earnestness with which 
 Mr. Jefferson endeavors to deny their operation 
 upon him, whilst every page of his letters shows 
 as clearly as light how much sway they had 
 over him, constitutes the most serious impeach 
 ment that can be brought against his sincerity. 
 Tiieie is an appearance of duplicity in this par t 
 of his conductjvyjiicjhjjj^diffi^^ to 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
xv MEMOIR. 
 
 explain away. The writer does not however 
 attach great weight to the charge in this in 
 stance. For the fact can scarcely be doubted, 
 that both Mr. Adams and Mr. Jefferson tried, as 
 hard as men could do, to resist the natural effect 
 upon them of their antagonist positions. They 
 strove, each in turn, to stem the prescriptive fury 
 of the parties to which they belonged, and that 
 with equally bad success. But as the mode in 
 which they attempted it is singularly illustrative 
 of the opposite character of the two men, per 
 haps it may not be without its use to the pres 
 ent generation, to venture upon a feeble descrip 
 tion of it. 
 
 It is a well attested fact, that Mr. Adams 
 hardly attained to the Presidency before he 
 began to devise a mode by which he could 
 bring into office those leading individuals of the 
 party politically opposed to him whom he per- 
 sonally esteemed. His offers to Mr. Jefferson, 
 to Mr. Madison and to Mr. Gerry, the last of 
 whom only accepted them, are perfectly well 
 known. These offers were not however made 
 without prodigious resistance on the part of 
 numbers of his own political friends, and pro 
 bably contributed much to weaken the attach 
 ment of many, and to promote the disaffection 
 of more of them. The pnn^pgn^nre, wp g hi g 
 fall from power as the penalty of a disregard to 
 
MEMOIR. Ixvii 
 
 prudent counsels. On the other hand, Mr. Jef 
 ferson, when elected to the same office, though 
 professing much good will towards, and per 
 sonal esteem of his opponent, Mr. Adams, yet 
 candidly admits 1 that he suffered the dic 
 tates of his heart to be ovprrnlprl hy fhp. r[p- 
 Gided negative interposed to nr.tion nprm Jhgjn 
 on.-the_part.of-his partisans-advisers. It is not 
 probable, that, even had he carried into effect his 
 proposed design to offer to Mr. Adams an office 
 of trust and profit in Massachusetts, this gentle 
 man would have accepted it ; but the offer alone 
 would have been invaluable to him at the mo 
 ment of defeat, as a testimonial openly given by 
 his successful rival both to his public and private 
 integrity. And it would have forever after 
 estopped the friends of the victorious candidate 
 from taking any ungenerous advantage of their 
 victory over him. 
 
 But the prudence of Mr. Jefferson gained the 
 mastery over his liberality of feeling. It went 
 even further for not content with doing 
 nothing at all for his rival, he actually inflicted 
 upon him a blow. He removed, without cause 
 assigned, his son, John Quincy Adams, from a 
 very subordinate office, the instant that it hap- 
 
 1 See the " Memoir, Correspondence and Miscellanies, 
 from the papers of Thomas Jefferson edited by Thomas 
 Jefferson Randolph." Vol. IV. p. 158. 
 
Ixviii MEMOIR. 
 
 pened to come within the reach of his reform 
 ing power. This was perhaps the act that 
 carried with it the most of bitterness to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Adams. It is no more than due to the 
 author of it to add his explanation. He sol 
 emnly affirms thaLhe made the removal with- 
 oiiLkno w i n g whom-h^was.j^moving. Perh aps 
 the great majority of readers will agree with 
 the writer in thinking much less unfavorably 
 of the deed itself, than of the apology it was 
 thought advisable to make for it. 
 
 For after all, it can never be any great im 
 peachment of Mr. Jefferson to say that he 
 attempted no serious opposition to the party 
 torrent that bore him into power ; a torrent 
 which must always have its course in the 
 United States, let who will endeavour to resist 
 it. He knew the effort would be futile, and 
 could be executed only to his own destruction. 
 The true ground of exception against him is, 
 that seeing and feeling the necessity of submis 
 sion, he did not do it at once with perfect 
 frankness. Considering the very high opinion 
 which he continued to profess towards his rival, 
 and which there is no doubt he felt when his 
 interests were not so deeply involved as to lead 
 him to suppress it, it would seem as if he was 
 under some responsibility for the odium which 
 it was in his day, and still is the pleasure of his 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 political disciples, very unjustly to cast upon 
 Mr. Adams. There were, doubtless, great and 
 radical differences of opinion upon abstract 
 points in the theory of government, between the 
 two gentlemen. And the soundness of their 
 respective notions, as Mr. Jefferson truly re 
 marks, yet remains to be tested by the passage 
 of time and the world s experience. In the 
 mean while, however, there is no more reason for 
 condemning the one party on account of his 
 opinions than the other. Yet, notwithstanding 
 the frequent admission of this truth in his pri 
 vate letters, it can scarcely be denied, that Mr. 
 Jefferson drew, during his public life, every 
 possible advantage from the prevalence of a 
 wholly opposite conviction in the popular mind. 
 A very large number of the citizens of the 
 Union were impressed not simply with a dislike 
 of the sentiments of Mr. Adams, but with a 
 conviction that our republican institutions were 
 in danger from their predominance in his person. 
 This conviction, which was never entertained 
 by Mr. Jefferson, a few words inserted in any 
 document, designed to be public, and from his 
 own hand when President, would have gone 
 very far to dispel. He never chose to give this 
 form of utterance to them. It consequently 
 happened, that whilst he could affirm that in 
 private, " none ever misrepresented Mr. Adams 
 
1XX MEMOIR. 
 
 in his presence without his asserting his just 
 character," his official conduct and the tone of 
 all his political friends, was constantly giving a 
 sanction to the grossest and most unequivo 
 cal misrepresentations of him. And whilst he 
 was professing in secret a wish to give him an 
 honorable office, his party was studiously mak 
 ing his very name a word of fear to all the less 
 intelligent classes of the community. This in 
 consistency may have been, it is true, a conse 
 quence not so much of the will of Mr. Jeiferson 
 as of the necessity in which he was placed, 
 ftluch allowance must often be made for the 
 difficult positions of our public statesmen. He 
 is also entitled to much credit for his voluntary 
 efforts, in after life, to repair the injury he must 
 have been aware he had committed. This 
 conduct, on his part, was not without a degree 
 of magnanimity, which may have its use, as an 
 example to future political rivals in America. 
 There will doubtless be many instances in our 
 history, in which the victor in party strife will 
 have gained much by fomenting popular preju 
 dices against his opponent ; but it is not equally 
 certain, that there will be as many, in which 
 he will afterwards endeavour to repair the injury 
 done, by leaving behind him upon record the 
 amplest testimonials to that opponent s public 
 virtue. 
 
MEMOIR. xx 
 
 Tt is by no means the disposition of the pres 
 ent writer to judge with an undue degree of 
 harshness. But no duty appears to him more 
 absolutely incumbent upon all who address the 
 American public than that of exercising the 
 faculty of clear, moral discrimination, and he 
 should have felt himself deserving of censure 
 if he had omitted to attempt it to this extent 
 upon the present occasion. 
 
 Mrs. Adams felt, as women only feel, what 
 she regarded as the ungenerous conduct of Mr. 
 Jefferson towards her husband during the latter 
 part of his public life. And when she retired 
 from Washington, notwithstanding the kindest 
 professions from his mouth were yet ringing in 
 her ears, all communication between the parties 
 ceased. Still, there remained on both sides, 
 pleasant reminiscences to soften the irritation 
 that had taken place, and to open a way for 
 reconciliation whenever circumstances should 
 present a suitable opportunity. The little 
 daughter of Mr. Jefferson, in whom Mrs. Ad 
 ams had taken so much interest in 1787, had in 
 the interval grown into a woman, and had been 
 married to Mr. Eppes, of Virginia. In 1804 she 
 ceased to be numbered among the living. The 
 intelligence of her death revived all the kind 
 feelings that had long been smothered in the 
 breast of Mrs. Adams, and impelled her, almost 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 against her judgment, to pen the short letter of 
 condolence to the lady s father which makes 
 the first of the series now submitted to the 
 public. Mr. Jefferson appears to have been 
 much affected by this testimony of her sympa 
 thy. He replied, but not confining himself 
 to the subject matter of her letter, he added 
 a request to know her reasons for the estrange 
 ment that had occurred. These reasons were 
 given in the letters that follow, now and then 
 betraying a little of the asperity to which 
 the contest had given birth on each side. The 
 correspondence ended without entire satisfac 
 tion to either. It appears, from Mr. Jefferson s 
 statement, afterwards made in a letter to Dr. 
 Rush, that he did not choose at first to believe 
 Mrs. Adams s assertion that she had written to 
 him without the knowledge of her husband. 
 It further appears, that without any new evi 
 dence upon which to found a change of opinion, 
 he afterwards convinced himself that what she 
 had written was true. Fortunately, the origi 
 nal endorsement, made in the handwriting of 
 Mr. Adams, upon the copy of the last of the 
 letters retained by herself, will serve to put this 
 matter beyond question. Readers will be apt 
 to judge of the reasoning contained in the 
 correspondence, according to the political pre 
 possessions they may happen to entertain. 
 
MEMOIR. Ixxiii 
 
 But whichsoever way they may incline, one 
 thing they will all be glad to know, and of that 
 they may be assured, namely, that the argu 
 ment of Mrs. Adams was entirely her own. If 
 it were not for this certainty, a great deduction 
 would be necessary from the interest that must 
 now be felt in her part of the correspondence. 
 As the letters of a man, trained in the discipline 
 and the logic of the schools, they would make 
 but a poor figure against the plausible and 
 adroit special pleading of the opposing party ; 
 but when viewed as the simple offspring of good 
 sense and right feeling, combining in a woman 
 to form just as well as straight-forward conclu 
 sions upon the most difficult public questions, 
 they are not without their value, even though 
 set in contrast to the polished productions of so 
 celebrated a writer as Mr. Jefferson. 
 
 It has been already remarked, that the cor 
 respondence ended without appearing to pro 
 duce any favourable effect in restoring the 
 parties to their pristine cordiality. The prin 
 cipal reason for this, probably was, that Mr. 
 Jefferson was still President of the United 
 States ; and that a change then brought about 
 in consequence of a step first taken by Mrs. 
 Adams, might have subjected her conduct to the 
 possibility of misconstruction. This her spirit 
 would never have willingly submitted to. Per- 
 
XXIV MEMOIR. 
 
 haps the same consideration had its effect upon 
 the general tone of her letters, which is not so 
 conciliatory, as from other parts of her character, 
 one might be led to expect. It was felt to be not 
 so by Mr. Jefferson, who considered it as hav 
 ing interposed a new barrier to reconciliation, 
 rather than as having removed the old ones. 
 But such did not prove its ultimate effect. 
 The parties relapsed into silence for a time, it 
 is true, but there is evidence that they began 
 again to think kindly of each other. And 
 when they had come once more upon equal 
 terms, by the retirement of Mr. Jefferson from 
 public life, Dr. Rush, a common friend, found 
 no great difficulty in removing all obstacles to 
 a renewed communication. A correspondence 
 was again established which gradually improved 
 into something of the ancient kindliness. But 
 Mrs. Adams appears to have taken no part in 
 it ; and it may be doubted whether it was before 
 the beautiful letter 1 of condolence, written to 
 him by Mr. Jefferson upon the news of her 
 decease, that the heart of Mr. Adams softened 
 
 1 Perhaps there is not, among all the productions of 
 Mr. Jefferson, a more graceful and delicate specimen of 
 his style than this short letter. As connected with the 
 present subject, it may not be unacceptable to the reader 
 to find it appended to the close of this Memoir. 
 
MEMOIR. LxXV 
 
 into perfect cordiality towards his ancient and 
 his successful opponent. 
 
 From the year 1801 down to the day of her 
 death, wjaich }^^eu^^^Jj[i^2Bib^i October, 
 118, she remained uninterruptedly at home in 
 Ghiincy. This period furnishes abundance of 
 familiar letters. Her interest in public affairs 
 did not cease with the retirement of her hus 
 band. She continued to write to her friends 
 her free opinions, both of men and measures, 
 perhaps with a more sustained hand on account 
 of the share her son was then taking in politics. 
 But these letters bring us down to times so 
 recent, and they contain so many allusions to 
 existing persons and matters of a domestic and 
 wholly private nature, that they are not deemed 
 suitable for publication, at least at present. On 
 some accounts, this is perhaps to be regretted. 
 None of her letters present a more agreeable 
 picture of life, or a more characteristic idea of 
 their author, than these. T hp rfA ag^ nf Mr g 
 
 Adams was rint. rmp. nf gripf aiKlLiepining^ of 
 
 clouds pnrl darkness. Her cheerfulness con 
 tinued, with the full possession of her faculties, 
 to the last ; and her sunny spirit enlivened the 
 small social circle around her, brightened the 
 solitary hours of her husband, and spread the 
 influence of its example over the town where 
 she lived. " Yesterday," she writes to a grand- 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 daughter on the 26th of October, 1814, "yes 
 terday completes half a century since I entered 
 the married state, then just your age. I have 
 great cause of thankfulness, that I have lived 
 so long, and enjoyed so large a portion of hap 
 piness as has been my lot. The greatest source 
 of unhappiness I have known in that period 
 has arisen from the long and cruel separations, 
 which I was called, in a time of war and with 
 a young family around me, to submit to." Yet 
 she had not been without her domestic afflic 
 tions. A daughter lost in infancy ; a son grown 
 up to manhood, who died in 1800 ; and thirteen 
 years afterwards, the death of her only remain 
 ing daughter, the wife of Colonel W. S. Smith, 
 furnished causes of deep and severe grief, which 
 threw a shadow of sadness over the evening of 
 her life. But they produced no permanent 
 gloom, nor did they prevent her from enjoying 
 the consolations to be found in gratitude to the 
 Divine Being for the blessings that still remained 
 1 to her. She was rewarded for the painful sep 
 aration from her eldest son, when he went 
 abroad in the public service under circumstan 
 ces which threatened a long absence, by sur 
 viving the whole period of eight years that it 
 lasted, and witnessing his return to receive from 
 the Chief Magistrate elect, Mr. Monroe, the 
 highest testimony he could give him of his 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 confidence. This was the fulfilment of the 
 wish nearest to her heart. The letters addressed 
 to him when a youth, which have been admit 
 ted into this volume, will abundantly show the 
 deep interest she had felt in his success. His 
 nom i nation as Sertay~o-S4ate wa& the-efown- 
 of her -life. Had she survived the 
 
 attack of the fever which proved fatal, it is true 
 that she might have seen him exalted still 
 higher, to that station which her husband and 
 his father had held before him ; but it is very 
 doubtful whether her satisfaction would have 
 been at all enhanced. The commencement of 
 Mr. Monroe s administration was marked by a 
 unanimity of the popular voice, the more grati 
 fying to her because it was something so new. 
 Later times have only carried us back to party 
 divisions, of the bitterness of which she had 
 during her lifetime tasted too largely to relish 
 even the little of sweet which they might have 
 to give. 
 
 The obsequies of Mrs. Adams were attended 
 by a great concourse of people, who voluntarily 
 came to pay this last tribute to her memory. Sev 
 eral brief but beautiful notices of her appeared 
 in the newspapers of the day, and a sermon was 
 preached by the late Reverend Dr. Kirkland, 
 then President of Harvard University, which 
 closed with a delicate and affecting testimony to 
 
Ixxviii MEMOIR. 
 
 her worth. " Ye will seek to mourn, bereaved 
 friends," it says, " as becomes Christians, in a 
 manner worthy of the person you lament. You 
 do, then, bless the Giver of life, that the 
 course of your endeared and honored friend 
 was so long and so bright ; that she entered so 
 fully into the spirit of those injunctions which 
 we have explained, and was a minister of bless 
 ings to all within her influence. You are sooth 
 ed to reflect, that she was sensible of the many 
 tokens of divine goodness which marked her 
 lot; that she received the good of her existence 
 with a cheerful and grateful heart; that, when 
 called to weep, she bore adversity with an 
 equal mind ; that she used the world as not 
 abusing it to excess, improving well her time, 
 talents, and opportunities, and, though desired 
 longer in this world, was fitted for a better hap 
 piness than this world can give." 
 
 It often happens, that, when the life of a 
 woman is the topic of discussion, men think it 
 necessary either to fall into a tone of affected gal 
 lantry and unmeaning compliment, or to assume 
 the extreme of unnatural and extravagant eulo 
 gy. Yet there seems no reason, in the nature 
 of things, why the same laws of composition 
 should not be made to apply to the one sex as 
 to the other. It has been the wish of the Ed 
 itor to avoid whatever might be considered as 
 
MEMOIR. Ixxix 
 
 mere empty praise of his subject, in which, if 
 he has not altogether succeeded, some allow 
 ance may, it is hoped, be made for the natural 
 bias under which he writes. It has been his 
 purpose to keep far within the line marked out 
 by the great master of composition, who, in al 
 lusion to the first instance in Rome when a 
 woman, Popilia, was publicly praised by her 
 son Catulus, defines the topics which may be 
 treated with propriety upon any similar occa 
 sion. 1 He does not claim for the letters now 
 published to the world, that they are models of 
 
 1 " Ex his enim fontibus, uncle omnia ornate dicendi 
 praecepta sumuntur, licebit etiam laudationem ornare, 
 neque ilia elementa desiderare ; quse ut nemo tradat, quis 
 est, qui nesciat, quse sint in homine laudanda? Positis 
 enim iis rebus, quas Crassus in illius orationis suae, 
 quam contra collegam censor habuit, principle dixit; 
 Qua3 natura aut fortuna darentur hominibus, in iis rebus, 
 se vinci posse ammo cequo pati : qu& ipsi sibi homines parare 
 possent, in iis rebus se pati vinci non posse; qui laudabit 
 quempiarn, intelliget, exponenda sibi esse fortunae bona. 
 Ea sunt, generis, pecuniae, propinquorum, amicorum, 
 opum, valetudinis, formae, virium, ingenii, caeterarumque 
 rerum, quae sunt aut corporis, aut extranese : si habuerit, 
 bene his usum : si non habuerit, sapienter caruisse : si 
 amiserit, moderate tulisse. Deinde, quid sapienter is, 
 quern laudet, quid liberaliter, quid fortiter, quid juste, 
 quid magnifice, quid pie, quid grate, quid humaniter, quid 
 denique cum aliqua virtute, aut fecerit aut tulerit" 
 Cicera, de Oratore, II. 11. 
 
1XXX MEMOIR. 
 
 style, though in behalf of some of them such a 
 claim might, perhaps, be reasonably urged; 
 nor yet that they contain much novel or impor 
 tant historical information. What merit they 
 may have will be found in the pictures of social 
 life which they present, during a period daily 
 becoming more interesting as it recedes from us, 
 and in the high moral and religious tone which 
 uniformly pervades them. They are here given 
 to the public exactly as they were written, with 
 only those corrections or omissions which were 
 absolutely necessary either to perfect the sense, 
 or to avoid subjects exclusively personal. It was 
 the habit of the writer to make first a rough 
 draft of what she intended to say, and from 
 this to form a fair copy for her correspondent ; 
 but in the process she altered so much of the 
 original, that, in every instance where the two 
 have been compared, they are by no means thje 
 same thing. Only in one or two cases, and for 
 particular reasons, has the loss of the real letter 
 been supplied by the first draft. The principal 
 difference between them ordinarily is, that the 
 former is much the most full. Frequently, it 
 will be seen that she did not copy, the task 
 being, as she testifies in the postcript, extremely 
 irksome to her. 
 
 The value attached to her letters by some of 
 her correspondents, even during her lifetime, 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 was so considerable, that it produced from one 
 of them, the late Judge Vanderkemp of New 
 York, a request that a collection should then be 
 made for publication. In allusion to this, Mrs. 
 Adams writes in a note to a female friend ; 
 
 tl The President has a letter from Vander 
 kemp, in which he proposes to have him send a 
 collection of my letters to publish ! A pretty 
 figure I should make. No. No. I have not 
 any ambition to appear in print. Heedless 
 and inaccurate as I am, I have too much van 
 ity to risk my reputation before the public." 
 
 And, on the same day, she replied to Judge 
 Vanderkemp as follows ; 
 
 " Quincy, 24 January, 1818. 
 
 President Monroe was in Boston, upon 
 his late tour, encompassed by citizens, sur 
 rounded by the military, harassed by invita 
 tions to parties, and applications innumerable 
 for office, some gentleman asked him if he was 
 not completely worn out? To which he replied, 
 O no. A little flattery will support a man 
 through great fatigue. I may apply the obser 
 vation to myself and say, that the flattery in 
 your letter leads me to break through the aver- 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 sion, which is daily increasing upon me, to 
 writing. 
 
 "You terrify me, my dear Sir, when you 
 ask for letters of mine to publish. It is true, 
 that Dr. Disney, to whom the late Mr. Hollis 
 bequeathed his property, found amongst his pa 
 pers some letters from the President and from 
 me, which he asked permission to publish. 
 We had both forgotten the contents of them, 
 but left them to his judgment to do with them 
 as he pleased, and accordingly he published 
 some of them. One other letter to my son, 
 when he first went to France in the year 1778, 
 by some means or other, was published in an 
 English Magazine ; and those, I believe, are all 
 the mighty works of mine, which ever have, 
 or will, by my consent, appear before the pub 
 lic. Style I never studied. My language is 
 
 Warm from the heart, and faithful to its fires, 
 
 the spontaneous effusions of friendship. As 
 such I tender them to Mr. Yanderkemp, sure 
 of his indulgence, since I make no pretensions 
 to the character which he professes to fear, that 
 of a learned lady." 
 
 These observations are strictly true. To 
 learning, in the ordinary sense of that term, 
 Mrs. Adams could make no claim. Her read- 
 
MEMOIR. Ixxxiii 
 
 ing had been extensive in the lighter departments 
 of literature, and she was well acquainted 
 with the poets in her own language ; but it 
 went no further. Itjs the soul, shining jJrr_Qngh 
 . tliemjhei_r^great__attrac- 
 
 tion ; the spirit, ever equal to the occasion, 
 whether a great or a small one a spirit, in- 
 qui&tisfi_ajDji.fiamstJn the little details of. life, 
 as when she was in France and England ; 
 playful, when she describes daily duties ; * but 
 rising to. .Jthe... call, when the roar of cannon 
 is in_lier ears, 2 or when she reproves her hus-1. 
 band for not knowing her better than to think j 
 her a coward and to fear telling her bad news, 3 
 or when she warns her son, that she " would 
 rather he had found his grave in the ocean, or 
 that any untimely death should crop him in his 
 infant years, than see him an immoral, profli 
 gate, or graceless child." 4 
 
 In conclusion, and in order to avoid the 
 possibility of misconstruction, it is proper to 
 state, that for the selection which has now 
 been made, and for the sentiments expressed 
 by the Editor, he is exclusively responsible. 
 He has consulted with no person in the pro 
 gress of his duty ; hence, if it should be thought 
 
 1 Letter, 19 November, 1812. * Vol. I. pages 88-92. 
 3 Vol. I. page 107. 4 Vol. I. page 123. 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 that errors of judgment have been committed, 
 the fault must he held to lie wholly with him. 
 The individuals in whose hands are the letters, 
 from which this compilation has been made, 
 furnished them to him at his request, without 
 limitation or restriction; for which manifesta 
 tion of their confidence in him, he begs leave thus 
 publicly to express his gratitude. Among those 
 persons, he would make known his obligations 
 particularly to Mrs. John Greenleaf, of Quincy, 
 and Mrs. Felt, of Boston, respectively daugh 
 ters of the two sisters of Mrs. Adams ; Mrs. C. 
 A. De Wint, of Fishkill, New York, the daugh 
 ter of Mrs. W. S. Smith ; and Mrs. and Miss 
 Quincy, of Cambridge. It is hardly necessary 
 to add, that to his father, John Quincy Adams, 
 and to the widow of his uncle, the late Judge 
 Thomas B. Adams, he is indebted for the op 
 portunity of freely examining and using the 
 great mass of papers in their possession. It 
 was the fortune of the Editor to know the sub 
 ject of his Memoir only during the last year of 
 her life, and when he was too young fully to 
 comprehend the worth of her character ; but it 
 will be a source of unceasing gratification to 
 him as long as he lives, that he has been per 
 mitted to pay this small tribute, however inade 
 quate, to her memory. 
 
NOTE. The following letter is the one alluded to in the 
 Note to page Ixxiv of this Memoir. 
 
 THOMAS JEFFERSON TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Monticello, 13 November, 1818. 
 
 THE public papers, my dear friend, announce 
 the fatal event of which your letter of October 
 the 20th had given me ominous foreboding. 
 Tried myself in the school of affliction, by the 
 loss of every form of connexion which can rive 
 the human heart, I know well, and feel what 
 you have lost, what you have suffered, are 
 suffering, and have yet to endure. The same 
 trials have taught me, that for ills so immeasur 
 able, time and silence are the only medicine. 
 I will not therefore, by useless condolences, open 
 afresh the sluices of your grief, nor, although 
 mingling sincerely^ my tears with yours, will I 
 say a word more where words are vain ; but 
 that it is of some comfort to us both, that the 
 term is not very distant, at which we are to 
 deposit in the same cerement our sorrows and 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 suffering bodies, and to ascend in essence to an 
 ecstatic meeting with the friends we have loved 
 and lost, and whom we shall still love and 
 never lose again. 
 
 God bless you and support you under your 
 heavy affliction. 
 
 TH : JEFFERSON. 
 
LETTERS . 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
LETTERS. 
 
 TO MRS. H. LINCOLN. 1 
 
 Weymouth, 5 October, 1761. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, 
 
 DOES not my friend think me a stupid girl, when 
 she has kindly offered to correspond with me, that 
 I should be so senseless as not to accept the offer ? 
 Senseless and stupid I would confess myself, and 
 that to the greatest degree, if I did not foresee the 
 many advantages I shall receive from corresponding 
 with a lady of your known prudence and under 
 standing. 
 
 I gratefully accept your offer ; although I may be 
 charged with vanity in pretending to entertain you 
 with my scrawls ; yet I know your generosity is such, 
 
 1 For this letter I have to acknowledge myself indebted to 
 the kindness of Miss E. S. Quincy, a grand-niece of the lady 
 to whom it was addressed. After the death of Dr. Lincoln 
 she was married to Ebenezer Storer, Esq., of Boston, and died 
 only a few years ago. 
 
4 LETTERS. 
 
 that, like a kind parent, you will bury in oblivion 
 &11 my imperfections. I do not aim at entertaining. 
 I write merely for the instruction and edification 
 which I shall receive, provided you honor me with 
 your correspondence. 
 
 Your letter I received, and, believe me, it has not 
 been through forgetfulness, that I have not before 
 this time returned you my sincere thanks for the kind 
 assurance you then gave me of continued friendship. 
 You have, I hope, pardoned my suspicions ; they 
 arose from love. What persons in their right senses 
 would calmly, and without repining or even inquiring 
 into the cause, submit to lose their greatest temporal 
 good and happiness ? for thus the divine, Dr. Young, 
 looks upon a true friend, when he says, 
 
 " A friend is worth all hazards we can run. 
 Poor is the friendless master of a world ; 
 A worfd in purchase for a friend is gain." 
 
 Who, that has once been favored with your friend 
 ship, can be satisfied with the least diminution of it ? 
 Not those who value it according to its worth. 
 
 You have, like king Ahasuerus, held forth, though 
 not a golden sceptre, yet one more valuable, the 
 sceptre of friendship, if I may so call it. Like Es 
 ther, I would draw nigh and touch it. W T ill you 
 proceed and say, " What wilt thou ? " and " What 
 is thy request ? it shall be even given thee to the 
 half of my heart." Why, no. I think I will not 
 have so dangerous a present, lest your good man 
 should find it out and challenge me ; but, if you 
 
LETTERS. 5 
 
 please, I 11 have a place in one corner of it, a place 
 well guarded and fortified, or still I shall fear being 
 jostled out by him. Now do not deny my request 
 on purpose to make me feel the weight of your 
 observation, " that we are often disappointed when 
 we set our minds upon that which is to yield us 
 great happiness." I know it too well already. Daily 
 experience teaches me that truth. 
 
 And now let me ask you, my friend, whether you 
 do not think, that many of our disappointments and 
 much of our unhappiness arise from our forming 
 false notions of things and persons. We strangely 
 impose upon ourselves ; we create a fairy land of 
 happiness. Fancy is fruitful and promises fair, but, 
 like the dog in the fable, we catch at a shadow, and 
 when we find the disappointment, we are vexed, not 
 with ourselves, who are really the impostors, but with 
 the poor, innocent thing or person of whom we have 
 formed such strange ideas. When this is the case, 
 I believe we always find, that we have enjoyed more 
 pleasure in the anticipation than in the real enjoy 
 ment of our wishes. 
 
 Dr. Young says, " Our wishes give us not our 
 wishes." Some disappointments are, indeed, more 
 grievous than others. Since they are our lot, let us 
 bear them with patience. That person, that cannot 
 bear a disappointment, must not live in a world so 
 changeable as this, and t is wise it should be so ; for, 
 were we to enjoy a continual prosperity, we should 
 be too firmly attached to the world ever to think of 
 quitting it, and there would be room to fear, that we 
 
b LETTERS. 
 
 should be so far intoxicated with prosperity as to 
 swim smoothly from joy to joy, along life s short cur 
 rent, wholly unmindful of the vast ocean, Eternity. 
 
 If I did not know that it would be adding to the 
 length of my letter, I might make some excuse for 
 it ; but that and another reason will hinder me. 
 
 You bid me tell one of my sparks (I think that 
 was the word) to bring me to see you. Why ! I 
 believe you think they are as plenty as herrings, 
 when, alas ! there is as great a scarcity of them as 
 there is of justice, honesty, prudence, and many 
 other virtues. I ve no pretensions to one. Wealth, 
 wealth is the only thing that is looked after now. 
 T is said Plato thought, if Virtue would appear to 
 the world, all mankind would be enamoured with 
 her, but now interest governs the world and men 
 neglect the golden mean. 
 
 But, to be sober, I should really rejoice to come 
 and see you, but if I wait till I get a (what did you 
 call em ?) I fear you 11 be blind with age. 
 
 I can say, in the length of this epistle, I ve made 
 the golden rule mine. Pray, my friend, do not let it 
 be long before you write to your ever affectionate 
 
 A. S. 
 
 P. S. My regards to your good man. I ve no 
 acquaintance with him, but if you love him, I do, 
 and should be glad to see him. 
 
LETTERS. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 1 
 
 Wey mouth, 16 April, 1764. 
 
 MY FRIEND, 
 
 I THixK I write to you every day. Shall not I make 
 my letters very cheap ? Don t you light your pipe 
 with them ? I care not if you do. T is a pleasure 
 to me to write. Yet I wonder I write to you with 
 so little restraint, for as a critic I fear you more than 
 any other person on earth, and t is the only charac 
 ter in which I ever did or ever will fear you. What 
 say you ? Do you approve of that speech ? Don t 
 you think me a courageous being ? Courage is a 
 laudable, a glorious virtue in your sex, why not in 
 mine ? For my part, I think you ought to applaud 
 me for mine. 
 
 Exit Rattle. 
 
 Solus your Diana. 
 
 And now, pray tell me, how you do ? Do you 
 feel any venom working in your veins ? Did you 
 ever before experience such a feeling ? (This letter 
 will be made up with questions, I fancy, not set in 
 order before you, neither.) How do you employ 
 yourself ? Do you go abroad yet ? Is it not cruel 
 to bestow those favors upon others, which I should 
 rejoice to receive, yet must be deprived of ? 
 
 1 Mr. Adams was in Boston, undergoing the process, then 
 in vogue, of inoculation with the smallpox. 
 
8 LETTERS. 
 
 I have lately been thinking whether my mamma 
 when I write again I will tell you something. 
 Did not you receive a letter to-day by Hannes ? 
 
 This is a right girl s letter, but I will turn to 
 the other side and be sober, if I can. 
 
 But what is bred in the bone will never be out of 
 the flesh, (as Lord M. would have said.) 
 
 As I have a good opportunity to send some milk, 
 I have not waited for your orders, lest, if I should 
 miss this, I should not catch such another. If you 
 want more balm, I can supply you. 
 
 Adieu; evermore remember me with the ten- 
 derest affection, which is also borne unto you by 
 your 
 
 A. SMITH. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Thursday Eve. Weymouth, 19 April, 1764. 
 WHY, my good man, thou hast the curiosity of a girl. 
 Who could have believed, that only a slight hint 
 would have set thy imagination agog in such a man 
 ner. And a fine encouragement I have to unravel 
 the mystery as thou callest it. Nothing less, truly, 
 than to be told something to my disadvantage. What 
 an excellent reward that will be ! In what court of 
 justice didst thou learn that equity ? I thank thee, 
 friend ; such knowledge as that is easy enough to be 
 obtained without paying for it. As to the insinua- 
 
LETTERS. y 
 
 tion, it doth not give me any uneasiness ; for, if it is 
 any thing very bad, I know thou dost not believe it. 
 I am net conscious of any harm that I have done or 
 wished to any mortal. I bear no malice to any 
 being. To my enemies, if any I have, I am willing 
 to afford assistance ; therefore towards man I main 
 tain a conscience void of offence. 
 
 Yet by this I mean not that I am faultless. But 
 tell me what is the reason, that persons would rather 
 acknowledge themselves guilty than be accused by 
 others ? Is it because they are more tender of them 
 selves, or because they meet with more favor from 
 others when they ingenuously confess ? Let that be 
 as it will, there is something which makes it more 
 agreeable to condemn ourselves than to be con 
 demned by others. 
 
 But, although it is vastly disagreeable to be ac 
 cused of faults, yet no person ought to be offended 
 when such accusations are delivered in the spirit of 
 friendship. I now call upon you to fulfil your prom 
 ise, and tell me all my faults both of omission and 
 commission, and all the evil you either know or 
 think of me. Be to me a second conscience, nor 
 put me off to a more convenient season. There can 
 be no time more proper than the present. It will be 
 harder to erase them when habit has strengthened 
 and confirmed them. Do not think I trifle. These 
 are really meant as words of truth and soberness, 
 For the present, good night. 
 
N 
 
 10 LETTERS. 
 
 Friday Morning, April 20th. 
 
 What does it signify ? Why may not I visit you 
 days as well as nights ? I no sooner close my eyes, 
 than some invisible being, swift as the Alborack of 
 Mahomet, bears me to you, I see you, but cannot 
 make myself visible to you. That tortures me, but 
 it is still worse when I do not come, for I am then 
 haunted by half a dozen ugly sprites. One will 
 catch me and leap into the sea ; another will carry 
 me up a precipice like that which Edgar describes 
 in Lear, then toss rne down, and, were I not then 
 light as the gossamer, I should shiver into atoms ; 
 another will be pouring down my throat stuff worse 
 than the witches broth in Macbeth. Where I shall 
 be carried next I know not, but I would rather have 
 the smallpox by inoculation half a dozen times than 
 be sprited about as I am. What say you ? Can 
 you give me any encouragement to come ? By the 
 time you receive this I hope from experience you 
 will be able to say, that the distemper is but a trifle. 
 Think you I would not endure a trifle for the pleas 
 ure of seeing you ? Yes, were it ten times that 
 trifle, I would. But my own inclinations must not 
 be followed, to duty I sacrifice them. Yet, O my 
 mamma, forgive me if I say, you have forgot or 
 
 never knew but hush, and do you excuse me 
 
 that something I promised you, since it was a speech 
 more undutiful than that which I just now stopped 
 myself in. For the present, good bye. 
 
LETTERS. 11 
 
 Friday Evening. 
 
 I hope you smoke your letters well, before you 
 deliver them. Mamma is so fearful lest I should 
 catch the distemper, that she hardly ever thinks the 
 letters are sufficiently purified. Did you never rob a 
 bird s nest ? Do you remember how the poor bird 
 would fly round and round, fearful to come nigh, yet 
 not know how to leave the place ? Just so they say 
 I hover round Tom, whilst he is smoking my letters. 
 
 But heyday, Mr. What s your name, who taught 
 you to threaten so vehemently ? " A character be 
 sides that of a critic, in which if I never did, I always 
 hereafter shall fear you." Thou canst not prove a 
 villain, impossible, I, therefore, still insist upon it, 
 that I neither do nor can fear thee. For my part, I 
 know not that there is any pleasure in being feared ; 
 but, if there is, I hope you will be so generous as to 
 fear your Diana, that she may at least be made sen 
 sible of the pleasure. Mr. Ayers will bring you this 
 letter and the lag. Do not repine, it is filled with 
 balm. 
 
 Here is love, respects, regards, good wishes a 
 whole wagon load of them, sent you from all the 
 good folks in the neighbourhood. 
 
 To-morrow makes the fourteenth day. How many 
 more are to come ? I dare not trust myself with 
 the thought. Adieu. Let me hear from you by 
 Mr. Ayers, and excuse this very bad writing ; if 
 you had mended my pen it would have been better. 
 Once more, adieu. Gold and silver have I none, 
 
12 LETTERS. 
 
 but such as I have give I unto thee, which is the 
 affectionate regard of your 
 
 A. S. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 Weymouth, Sunday Evening, 14 September, 17G7. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 THE Doctor talks of setting out to-morrow for New 
 Braintree. I did not know but that he might chance 
 to see you in his way there. I know from the ten 
 der affection you bear me and our little ones, that 
 you will rejoice to hear that we are well. Our son 
 is much better than when you left home, and our 
 daughter rocks him to sleep with the song of 4 Come, 
 papa, come home to brother Johnny." Sunday seems 
 a more lonely day to me than any other when you 
 are absent ; for, though I may be compared to those 
 climates which are deprived of the sun half the 
 year, yet upon a Sunday you commonly afforded us 
 your benign influence. I am now at Weymouth, my 
 father brought me here last night ; to-morrow I re 
 turn home, where I hope soon to receive the dearest 
 of friends, and the tenderest of husbands, with that 
 unabated affection w r hich has for years past, and will 
 whilst the vital spark lasts, burn in the bosom of your 
 affectionate 
 
 A. ADAMS. 
 
LETTERS. 13 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 19 August, 1774. 
 
 THE great distance between us makes the time ap 
 pear very long to me. It seems already a month 
 since you left me. The great anxiety I feel for my 
 country, for you, and for our family, renders the day 
 tedious, and the night unpleasant. The rocks and 
 quicksands appear upon every side. What course 
 you can or will take is all wrapped in the bosom of 
 futurity. Uncertainty and expectation leave the 
 mind great scope. Did ever any kingdom or state/ 
 regain its liberty, when once it was invaded, with 
 out bloodshed ? I cannot think of it without horror. 
 Yet we are told, that all the misfortunes of Sparta 
 were occasioned by their too great solicitude for 
 present tranquillity, and, from an excessive love of 
 peace, they neglected the means of making it sure 
 and lasting. They ought to have reflected, says Po- 
 lybius, that, " as there is nothing more desirable or 
 advantageous than peace, when founded in justice 
 and honor, so there is nothing more shameful, and 
 at the same time more pernicious, when attained by 
 bad measures, and purchased at the price of liber 
 ty." I have received a most charming letter from 
 our friend Mrs. Warren. 1 She desires me to tell you 
 
 1 Mrs. Mercy Warren, the wife of General James Warren, of 
 Plymouth, and the sister of James Otis. 
 
14 LETTERS. 
 
 that her best wishes attend you through your jour 
 ney, both as a friend and a patriot, hopes you will 
 have no uncommon difficulties to surmount, or hostile 
 movements to impede you, but, if the Locrians 
 should interrupt you, she hopes that you will beware, 
 that no future annals may say you chose an ambi 
 tious Philip for your leader, who subverted the noble 
 order of the American Amphictyons, and built up a 
 monarchy on the ruins of the happy institution. 
 
 I have taken a very great fondness for reading 
 Rollin s Ancient History since you left me. I am 
 determined to go through with it, if possible, in these 
 my days of solitude. I find great pleasure and en 
 tertainment from it, and I have persuaded Johnny to 
 read me a page or two every day, and hope he will, 
 from his desire to oblige me, entertain a fondness for 
 it. We have had a charming rain, which lasted 
 twelve hours, and has greatly revived the dying 
 fruits of the earth. 
 
 I want much to hear from you. I long impatiently 
 to have you upon the stage of action. The first of 
 September, or the month of September, perhaps, may 
 be of as much importance to Great Britain, as the Ides 
 of March were to Csesar. I wish you every public, 
 as well as private blessing, and that wisdom which is 
 profitable both for instruction and edification, to con 
 duct you in this difficult day. The little flock re 
 member papa, and kindly wish to see him ; so does 
 your most affectionate 
 
 ABIGAIL ADAMS. 
 
LETTERS. 15 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 2 September, 1774. 
 
 I AM very impatient to receive a letter from you. 
 You indulged me so much in that way in your last 
 absence, that I now think I have a right to hear as 
 often from you, as you have leisure and opportunity 
 to write. I hear that Mr. Adams 1 wrote to his son, 
 and the Speaker 1 to his lady ; but perhaps you did 
 not know of the opportunity. I suppose you have 
 before this time received two letters from me, and 
 will write me by the same conveyance. I judge you 
 reached Philadelphia last Saturday night. I cannot 
 but felicitate you upon your absence a little while 
 from this scene of perturbation, anxiety, and distress. 
 I own I feel not a little agitated with the accounts 
 I have this day received from town ; great commo 
 tions have arisen in consequence of a discovery of a 
 traitorous plot of Colonel Brattle s, his advice to 
 Gage, to break every commissioned officer, and to 
 seize the province s and town s stock of gunpow 
 der. This has so enraged and exasperated the peo 
 ple, that there is great apprehension of an immediate 
 rupture. They have been all in flames ever since 
 the new-fangled counsellors have taken their oaths. 
 The importance, of which they consider the meet- 
 
 1 Mr. Samuel Adams. Mr. Gushing had been the Speaker 
 of the House of Representatives in Massachusetts until cho 
 sen a delegate to the Congress. 
 
16 LETTERS. 
 
 ing of the Congress, and the result thereof to the 
 community, withholds the arm of vengeance already 
 lifted, which would most certainly fall with accumu 
 lated wrath upon Brattle, were it possible to come 
 at him ; but no sooner did he discover that his 
 treachery had taken air, than he fled, not only to 
 Boston, but into the camp, for safety. You will, by 
 Mr. Tudor, no doubt have a much more accurate 
 account than I am able to give you ; but one thing I 
 can inform you of, which perhaps you may not have 
 heard, namely, Mr. Vinton, our Sheriff, it seems, re 
 ceived one of those twenty warrants, 1 which were is 
 sued by Messrs. Goldthwait and Price, which has cost 
 them such bitter repentance and humble acknowl 
 edgments, and which has revealed the great secret 
 of their attachment to the liberties of their country, 
 and their veneration and regard for the good will of 
 their countrymen. See their address to Hutchinson 
 and Gage. This warrant, which was for Stoughton- 
 ham, 2 Vinton carried and delivered to a constable 
 there ; but, before he had got six miles, he was over 
 taken by sixty men on horseback, who surrounded 
 him, and told him, unless he returned with them and 
 demanded back that warrant and committed it to the 
 flames before their faces, he must take the conse- 
 
 1 These were warrants issued by the clerks of the court by 
 which the juries were summoned. 
 
 5 Now Sharon. The history of the events alluded to in 
 this letter, may be found more at large in Gordon s " History 
 of the American War," Vol. I. pp. 366, 3c>7. 
 
LETTERS. 17 
 
 quences of a refusal ; and he, not thinking it best to 
 endure their vengeance, returned with them, made 
 his demand of the warrant, and consumed it, upon 
 which they dispersed and left him to his own reflec 
 tions. Since the news of the Quebec bill arrived, 
 all the Church people here have hung their heads, 
 and will not converse upon politics, though ever so 
 much provoked by the opposite party. Before that, 
 parties ran very high, and very hard words and 
 threats of blows upon both sides were given out. 
 They have had their town meeting here, which was 
 full as usual, chose their committee for the county 
 meeting, and did business without once regarding or 
 fearing for the consequences. 
 
 I should be glad to know how you found the peo 
 ple as you travelled from town to town. I hear you 
 met with great hospitality and kindness in Connecti 
 cut. Pray let me know how your health is, and 
 whether you have not had exceeding hot weather. 
 The drought has been very severe. My poor cows 
 will certainly prefer a petition to you, setting forth 
 their grievances, and informing you that they have 
 been deprived of their ancient privileges, whereby 
 they are become great sufferers, and desiring that 
 they may be restored to them. More especially, as 
 their living, by reason of the drought, is all taken 
 from them, and their property which they hold 
 elsewhere is decaying, they humbly pray that you 
 would consider them, lest hunger should break 
 through stone walls. 
 
 VOL. i. 2 
 
18 LETTERS. 
 
 The tenderest regard evermore awaits you from 
 your most affectionate 
 
 ABIGAIL ADAMS. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 14 September, 1774. 
 
 DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 FIVE weeks have passed and not one line have I re 
 ceived. I would rather give a dollar for a letter by 
 the post, though the consequence should be, that I 
 ate but one meal a day these three weeks to come. 
 Every one I see is inquiring after you. When did 
 I hear? All my intelligence is collected from the 
 newspaper, and I can only reply that I saw by that, 
 you arrived such a day. I know your fondness for 
 writing, and your inclination to let me hear from you 
 by the first safe conveyance, which makes me sus 
 pect that some letter or other has miscarried, but 
 I hope, now you have arrived at Philadelphia, you 
 will find means to convey me some intelligence. 
 We are all well here. I think I enjoy better health 
 than I have done these two years. I have not been 
 to town since I parted with you there. The Gov 
 ernor is making all kinds of warlike preparations, 
 such as mounting cannon upon Beacon Hill, digging 
 intrenchments upon the Neck, placing cannon there, 
 encamping a regiment there, throwing up breast* 
 works, &c. The people are much alarmed, and the 
 
LETTERS. 19 
 
 selectmen have waited upon him in consequence of 
 it. The County Congress have also sent a commit 
 tee ; all which proceedings you will have a more 
 particular account of, than I am able to give you, 
 from the public papers. But, as to the movements 
 of this town, perhaps you may not hear them from 
 any other person. 
 
 In consequence of the powder being taken from 
 Charlestown, a general alarm spread through many 
 towns and was caught pretty soon here. The report 
 took here on Friday, and on Sunday a soldier was seen 
 lurking about the Common, supposed to be a spy, 
 but most likely a deserter. However, intelligence 
 of it was communicated to the other parishes, and 
 about eight o clock, Sunday evening, there passed 
 by here about two hundred men, preceded by a 
 horsecart, and marched down to the powder house, 
 from whence they took the powder, and carried it 
 into the other parish and there secreted it. 1 opened 
 the window upon their return. They passed with 
 out any noise, not a word among them till they came 
 against this house, when some of them perceiving 
 me, asked me if I wanted any powder. I replied, 
 No, since it was in so good hands. The reason 
 they gave for taking it was, that we had so many 
 Tories here, they dared not trust us with it ; they had 
 taken Vinton in their train, and upon their return 
 they stopped between Cleverly s and Etter s and 
 called upon him to deliver two warrants. 1 Upon his 
 
 For 
 
 summoning juries. 
 
20 LETTERS. 
 
 producing them, they put it to vote whether they 
 should burn them, and it passed in the affirmative. 
 They then made a circle and burnt them. They 
 then called a vote whether they should huzza, but, it 
 being Sunday evening, it passed in the negative. 
 They called upon Vinton to swear, that he would 
 never be instrumental in carrying into execution any 
 of these new acts. They were not satisfied with his 
 answers ; however, they let him rest. A few days 
 afterwards, upon his making some foolish speeches, 
 they assembled to the amount of two or three hundred, 
 and swore vengeance upon him unless he took a solemn 
 oath. Accordingly, they chose a committee and sent 
 it with him to Major Miller s to see that he complied ; 
 and they waited his return, which proving satisfacto 
 ry, they dispersed. This town appears as high as 
 you can well imagine, and, if necessary, would soon 
 be in arms. Not a Tory but hides his head. The 
 Church parson thought they were coming after him, 
 and ran up garret ; they say another jumped out of 
 his window and hid among the corn, whilst a third 
 crept under his board fence and told his beads. 
 
 16 September, 1774. 
 
 I dined to-day at Colonel Quincy s. They were 
 so kind as to send me and Abby and Betsey an invi 
 tation to spend the day with them ; and, as I had not 
 been to see them since I removed to Braintree, I ac 
 cepted the invitation. After I got there came Mr. 
 Samuel Quincy s wife and Mr. Sumner, Mr. Josiah 
 
LETTERS. 21 
 
 and wife. 1 A little clashing of parties, you may be 
 sure. Mr. Sam s wife said, she thought it high time 
 for her husband to turn about ; he had not done half 
 so cleverly since he left her advice ; said they both 
 greatly admired the most excellent speech of the 
 Bishop of St. Asaph, which I suppose you have seen. 
 It meets, and most certainly merits, the greatest en 
 comiums. 
 
 Upon my return at night, Mr. Thaxter met me 
 at the door with your letter, dated at Princeton, 
 New Jersey. It really gave me such a flow of spir 
 its, that I was not composed enough to sleep until 
 one o clock. You make no mention of one I wrote 
 you previous to that you received by Mr. Breck, and 
 sent by Mr. Cunningham. I am rejoiced to hear you 
 are well. I want to know many more particulars 
 than you write me, and hope soon to hear from you 
 again. I dare not trust myself with the thought how 
 long you may perhaps be absent. I only count the 
 weeks already past and they amount to five. I am 
 not so lonely as I should have been without my two 
 neighbours ; we make a table-full at meal times. All 
 the rest of their time they spend in the office. Nev 
 er were two persons who gave a family less trouble 
 than they do. It is at last determined, that Mr. 
 Rice keep the school here. Indeed, he has kept 
 ever since he has been here, but not with any ex 
 pectation that he should be continued ; but the peo 
 ple, finding no small difference between him and his 
 
 1 It is well known, that these two brothers took opposite 
 sides in the struggle that ensued. 
 
22 LETTERS. 
 
 predecessor, chose he should be continued. I have 
 not sent Johnny. 1 He goes very steadily to Mr. 
 Thaxter, who I believe takes very good care of him ; 
 and, as they seem to have a liking to each other, 
 I believe it will be best to continue him with him. 
 However, when you return, we can consult what 
 will be best. I am certain that, if he does not get so 
 much good, he gets less harm ; and I have always 
 thought it of very great importance, that children 
 should, in the early part of life, be unaccustomed to 
 such examples as would tend to corrupt the purity of 
 their words and actions, that they may chill with 
 horror at the sound of an oath, and blush with indig 
 nation at an obscene expression. These first princi 
 ples, which grow with their growth, and strengthen 
 with their strength, neither time nor custom can to 
 tally eradicate. You will perhaps be tired. No. 
 Let it serve by way of relaxation from the more im 
 portant concerns of the day, and be such an amuse 
 ment, as your little hermitage used to afford you 
 here. You have before you, to express myself in 
 the words of the Bishop, the greatest national con 
 cerns that ever came before any people ; and, if the 
 prayers and petitions ascend unto Heaven, which 
 are daily offered for you, wisdom will flow down as 
 a stream, and righteousness as the mighty waters, 
 and your deliberations will make glad the cities of 
 our God. 
 
 I was very sorry I did not know of Mr. Gary s 
 
 1 Her son, John Quincy Adams. 
 
LETTERS. 23 
 
 going ; it would have been so good an opportunity to 
 have sent this, as I lament the loss of. You have 
 heard, no doubt, of the people s preventing the court 
 from sitting in various counties ; and last week, in 
 Taunton, Angier urged the court s opening, and call 
 ing out the actions, but could not effect it. I saw a 
 letter from Miss Eunice, wherein she gives an ac 
 count of it, and says there were two thousand men 
 assembled round the court-house, and, by a commit 
 tee of nine, presented a petition requesting that they 
 would not sit, and with the utmost order waited two 
 hours for their answer, when they dispersed. 
 
 You will burn all these letters, lest they should 
 fall from your pocket, and thus expose your most 
 affectionate friend, 
 
 ABIGAIL ADAMS. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Boston Garrison, 22 September, 1774. 
 
 I HAVE just returned from a visit to my brother with 
 my father, who carried me there the day before yes 
 terday, and called here on my return, to see this 
 much injured town. I view it with much the same 
 sensations that I should the body of a departed 
 friend ; as having only put off its present glory, to 
 rise finally to a more happy state. I will not despair, 
 but will believe, that, our cause being good, we shall 
 finally prevail. The maxim, " In time of peace pre- 
 
LETTERS. 
 
 pare for war," (if this may be called a time of peace,) 
 resounds throughout the country. Next Tuesday they 
 are warned at Braintree, all above fifteen and under 
 sixty, to attend with their arms ; and to train once a 
 fortnight from that time is a scheme which lies much 
 at heart with many. 
 
 Scott has arrived, and brings news that he expect 
 ed to find all peace and quietness here, as he left 
 them at home. You will have more particulars than 
 I am able to send you, from much better hands. 
 There has been in town a conspiracy of the negroes. 
 At present it is kept pretty private, and was discov 
 ered by one who endeavoured to dissuade them from 
 it. He being threatened with his life, applied to Jus 
 tice Quincy for protection. They conducted in this 
 way, got an Irishman to draw up a petition to the 
 Governor, telling him they would fight for him pro 
 vided he would arm them, and engage to liberate 
 them if he conquered. And it is said that he attend 
 ed so much to it, as to consult Percy upon it, and 
 one Lieutenant Small has been very busy and ac 
 tive. There is but little said, and what steps they 
 will take in consequence of it I know not. I wish 
 most sincerely there was not a slave in the province ; 
 it always appeared a most iniquitous scheme to me 
 to fight ourselves for what we are daily robbing and 
 plundering from those who have as good a right to 
 freedom as we have. You know my mind upon 
 this subject. 
 
 I left all our little ones well, and shall return to 
 them to-night. I hope to hear from you by the re? 
 
LETTERS. 25 
 
 turn of the bearer of this, and by Revere. I long 
 for the day of your return, yet look upon you as 
 much safer where you are, but know it will not do 
 for you ; not one action has been brought to this 
 court, no business of any sort in your way, all 
 law ceases, and the gospel will soon follow ; for they 
 are supporters of each other. Adieu, my father hur 
 ries me. 
 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 ABIGAIL ADAMS. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 16 October, 1774. 
 
 MY MUCH LOVED FRIEND, 
 
 I DARE not express to you, at three hundred miles 
 distance, how ardently I long for your return. I 
 have some very miserly wishes, and cannot consent 
 to your spending one hour in town, till, at least, I 
 have had you twelve. The idea plays about my heart, 
 unnerves my hand, whilst I write, awakens all 
 the tender sentiments, that years have increased and 
 matured, and which, when with me, were every day 
 dispensing to you. The whole collected stock of ten 
 weeks absence knows not how to brook any longer 
 restraint, but will break forth and flow through my 
 pen. May the like sensations enter thy breast, and 
 (spite of all the weighty cares of state) mingle them 
 selves with those I wish to communicate ; for, in 
 
26 LETTERS. 
 
 giving them utterance, I have felt more sincere 
 pleasure, than I have known since the 10th of Au 
 gust. 1 Many have been the anxious hours I have 
 spent since that day ; the threatening aspect of our 
 public affairs, the complicated distress of this prov 
 ince, the arduous and perplexed business in which 
 you are engaged, have all conspired to agitate my 
 bosom with fears and apprehensions to which I have 
 heretofore been a stranger ; and, far from thinking 
 the scene closed, it looks as though the curtain was 
 but just drawn, and only the first scene of the infernal 
 plot disclosed ; and whether the end will be tragical, 
 Heaven alone knows. You cannot be, I know, nor 
 do I wish to see you, an inactive spectator ; but, if the 
 sword be drawn, I bid adieu to all domestic felicity, 
 and look forward to that country, where there are 
 neither wars nor rumors of war, in a firm belief, that, 
 through the mercy of its King, we shall both rejoice 
 there together. 
 
 I greatly fear, that the arm of treachery and vio 
 lence is lifted over us, as a scourge and heavy pun 
 ishment from Heaven for our numerous offences, 
 and for the misimprovement of our great advantages. 
 If we expect to inherit the blessings of our fathers, 
 we should return a little more to their primitive sim 
 plicity of manners, and not sink into inglorious ease. 
 We have too many high-sounding words, and too 
 few actions that correspond with themA I have spent 
 one Sabbath in town since you left. I saw no differ- 
 
 The day on which he left her. 
 
LETTERS. 27 
 
 ence in respect to ornament, &c. ; but in the coun 
 try you must look for that virtue, of which you find 
 but small glimmerings in the metropolis. Indeed, 
 they have not the advantages, nor the resolution, 
 to encourage our own manufactories, which peo 
 ple in the country have. To the mercantile part, it 
 is considered as throwing away their own bread ; 
 but they must retrench their expenses, and be con 
 tent with a small share of gain, for they will find but 
 few who will wear their livery. As for me, I will 
 seek wool and flax, and work willingly with my 
 hands ; and, indeed, there is occasion for all our in 
 dustry and economy. You mention the removal of 
 our books, &c., from Boston ; I believe they are safe 
 there, and it would incommode the gentlemen to re 
 move them, as they would not then have a place to 
 repair to for study. I suppose they would not choose 
 to be at the expense of boarding out. Mr. Williams, 
 I believe, keeps pretty much with his mother. Mr. 
 Hill s father had some thoughts of removing up to 
 Braintree, provided he could be accommodated with 
 a house, which he finds very difficult. 
 
 Mr. Cranch s last determination was to tarry in 
 town, unless any thing new takes place. His friends 
 in town oppose his removal so much, that he is de 
 termined to stay. The opinion you have entertained 
 of General Gage is, I believe, just. Indeed, he pro 
 fesses to act only upon the defensive. The people 
 in the country begin to be very anxious for the 
 Congress to rise ; they have no idea of the weighty 
 business you have to transact, and their blood boils 
 
28 LETTERS. 
 
 with indignation at the hostile preparations they are 
 constant witnesses of. Mr. Quincy s so secret de 
 parture is matter of various speculation ; some say 
 he is deputed by the Congress, others, that he is gone 
 to Holland, and the Tories say he is gone to be 
 hanged. 1 
 
 I rejoice at the favorable account you give me of 
 your health. May it be continued to you. My health 
 is much better than it was last fall ; some folks say 
 I grow very fat. I venture to write almost any thing 
 in this letter, because I know the care of the bearer. 
 He will be most sadly disappointed, if you should be 
 broken up before he arrives ; as he is very desirous 
 of being introduced by you to a number of gentle 
 men of respectable character. I almost envy him, 
 that he should see you before I can. Mr. Thaxter 
 and Mr. Rice present their regards to you. Uncle 
 Quincy, too, sends his love to you. He is very good 
 to call and see me, and so have many other of my 
 friends been. Colonel Warren and lady were here on 
 Monday, and send their love to you. The Colonel 
 promised to write. Mrs. Warren will spend a day or 
 two, on her return, with me. I told Betsey 2 to write 
 to you ; she says she would, if you were her husband. 
 
 Your mother sends her love to you ; and all your 
 family, too numerous to name, desire to be remem- 
 
 1 See the " Memoir of the Life of Josiah Quincy, Jr.," by 
 his son, Josiah Quincy, p. 182. 
 
 2 Mrs. Adams s sister ; who was afterwards married to the 
 Rev. John Shaw, and to whom several of the letters in this 
 volume were addressed. 
 
LETTERS. 29 
 
 bered. You will receive letters from two, who are 
 as earnest to write to papa, as if the welfare of a 
 kingdom depended upon it. If you can give any 
 guess, within a month, let me know when you think 
 of returning. 
 
 Your most affectionate 
 
 ABIGAIL ADAMS. 
 
 JBraintree, 4 May, 1775. 
 
 I HAVE but little news to write you. Every thing of 
 that kind you will learn by a more accurate hand 
 than mine. Things remain in much the same situa 
 tion here, that they were when you went away. 
 There has been no descent upon the seacoast. 
 Guards are regularly kept ; and people seem more 
 settled, and are returning to their husbandry. I feel 
 somewhat lonely. Mr. Thaxter is gone home. Mr. 
 Rice is going into the army, as captain of a com 
 pany. We have no school. I know not what to do 
 with John. As government is assumed, I suppose 
 courts of justice will be established, and in that case, 
 there may be business to do. If so, would it not be 
 best for Mr. Thaxter to return ? They seem to be 
 discouraged in the study of law, and think there 
 
 1 Mr. Adams was at home during the interval between the 
 sessions of Congress, marked by the dates of this and the 
 preceding letter. 
 
30 LETTERS. 
 
 never will be any business for them. I could have 
 wished they had consulted you upon the subject, be 
 fore you went away. 
 
 I suppose you will receive two or three volumes 
 of that forlorn wretch Hutchinson s letters. Among 
 many other things, I hear he wrote, in 1772, that 
 Deacon Phillips and you had like to have been 
 chosen into the Council, but, if you had, you should 
 have shared the same fate with Bowers. 1 May the 
 fate of Mordecai be his. There is nobody admitted 
 into town yet. I have made two or three attempts 
 to get somebody in, but cannot succeed ; so have not 
 been able to do the business you left in charge with 
 me. I want very much to hear from you, how you 
 stood your journey, and in what state you find your 
 self now. I felt very anxious about you ; though I 
 endeavoured to be very insensible and heroic, yet 
 my heart felt like a heart of lead. The same night 
 you left me, I heard of Mr. Quincy s death, which, 
 at this time, was a most melancholy event ; especially, 
 as he wrote in minutes, which he left behind, that 
 he had matters of consequence intrusted with him, 
 which, for want of a confidant, must die with him. 2 
 I went to see his distressed widow last Saturday, at 
 the Colonel s ; and, in the afternoon, from an alarm 
 they had, she and her sister, with three others of the 
 family, took refuge with me and tarried all night. 
 She desired me to present her regards to you, and let 
 
 1 That is, would have received his negative. 
 8 See " Memoir of Josiah Quincy, Jr." p. 345. 
 
LETTERS. 31 
 
 you know, she wished you every blessing, should 
 always esteem you, as a sincere friend of her deceas 
 ed husband. Poor afflicted woman ; my heart was 
 wounded for her. I must quit the subject, and entreat 
 you to write me by every opportunity. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 7 May, 1775. 
 
 I RECEIVED by the Deacon two letters from you, this 
 day, from Hartford. I feel a recruit of spirits upon 
 the reception of them, and the comfortable news 
 which they contain. We had not heard any thing 
 from North Carolina before, and could not help feel 
 ing anxious, lest we should find a defection there, 
 arising more from their ancient feuds and animosi 
 ties, than from any settled ill-will in the present con 
 test ; but the confirmation of the choice of their del 
 egates by their Assembly, leaves not a doubt of their 
 firmness ; nor doth the eye say unto the hand, " I 
 have no need of thee." The Lord will not cast off 
 his people, neither will he forsake his inheritance. 
 Great events are most certainly in the womb of fu 
 turity ; and, if the present chastisements which we 
 experience have a proper influence upon our conduct, 
 the event will certainly be in our favor. The distresses 
 of the inhabitants of Boston are beyond the power of 
 
32 LETTERS. 
 
 language to describe ; there are but very few who are 
 permitted to come out in a day ; they delay giving 
 passes, make them wait from hour to hour, and their 
 counsels are not two hours together alike. One day, 
 they shall come out with their effects ; the next day, 
 merchandise is not effects. One day, their house 
 hold furniture is to come out ; the next, only wear 
 ing apparel ; the next, Pharaoh s heart is hardened, 
 and he refuseth to hearken to them, and will not let 
 the people go. May their deliverance be wrought 
 out for them, as it was for the children of Israel. I 
 do not mean by miracles, but by the interposition of 
 Heaven in their favor. They have taken a list of 
 all those who they suppose were concerned in watch 
 ing the tea, and every other person whom they call 
 obnoxious, and they and their effects are to suffer 
 destruction. Yours, 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 24 May, 1775. 
 
 I SUPPOSE you have had a formidable account of the 
 alarm we had last Sunday morning. When I rose, 
 about six o clock, I was told, that the drums had been 
 some time beating, and that three alarm guns were 
 fired ; that Weymouth bell had been ringing, and 
 Mr. Weld s was then ringing. I immediately sent 
 off an express to know the occasion, and found the 
 
LETTERS. 33 
 
 whole town in confusion. Three sloops and one 
 cutter had come out and dropped anchor just below 
 Great Hill. It was difficult to tell their designs ; 
 some supposed they were coming to Germantown, 
 others, to Weymouth ; people, women, children, 
 from the iron-works, came flocking down this way ; 
 every woman and child driven off from below my 
 father s ; my father s family flying. The Doctor l is 
 in great distress, as you may well imagine, for my 
 aunt had her bed thrown into a cart into which she 
 got herself, and ordered the boy to drive her to 
 Bridgewater, which he did. The report was to them, 
 that three hundred had landed, and were upon their 
 march up into town. The alarm flew like lightning, 
 and men from all parts came flocking down, till two 
 thousand were collected. But, it seems, their expe 
 dition was to Grape Island for Levett s hay. There 
 it was impossible to reach them, for want of boats ; 
 but the sight of so many persons, and the firing at 
 them, prevented their getting more than three tons of 
 hay, though they had carted much more down to the 
 water. At last a lighter was mustered, and a sloop 
 from Hingham, which had six port holes. Our men 
 eagerly jumped on board, and put off for the island. 
 As soon as they perceived it, they decamped. Our 
 people landed upon the island, and in an instant set 
 fire to the hay, which, with the barn, was soon con- 
 
 1 Dr. Cotton Tufts, of Weymouth, well known for many 
 years, as a leading man in the County of Norfolk, had married 
 a daughter of Colonel John Quincy s, and, therefore, a sister 
 of Mrs. Adams s mother. 
 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
34 LETTERS. 
 
 sumed ; about eighty tons, it is said. We expect 
 soon to be in continual alarms, till something deci 
 sive takes place. We wait, with longing expectation, 
 in hopes to hear the best accounts from you, with 
 regard to union and harmony, &c. We rejoice 
 greatly on the arrival of Dr. Franklin, as he must 
 certainly be able to inform you very particularly of 
 the situation of affairs in England. I wish you 
 would, if you can get time, be as particular as you 
 may, when you write, Every one hereabouts comes 
 to me, to hear what accounts I have. I was so un 
 lucky, as not to get the letter you wrote at New 
 York. Captain Beale forgot it, and left it behind. 
 We have a flying report here, with regard to New 
 York, but cannot give any credit to it, as yet, that 
 they had been engaged, with the ships, which Gage 
 sent there, and had taken them, with great loss upon 
 both sides. 
 
 Yesterday we had an account of three ships com 
 ing into Boston. I believe it is true, as there was a 
 salute from the other ships, though I have not been 
 able to learn from whence they come. I suppose you 
 have had an account of the fire, which did much 
 damage to the warehouses, and added greatly to the 
 distresses of the inhabitants, whilst it continued. The 
 bad conduct of General Gage 1 was the means of its 
 doing so much damage. 
 
 Our house has been, upon this alarm, in the same 
 
 1 He had taken the engines under guard, in consequence of 
 a report, that the liberty party intended to fire the town. See 
 " The Remembrancer," for 1775, pp. 95, 98. 
 
LETTERS. 35 
 
 scene of confusion, that it was upon the former. 
 , ! >oldiers coming in for a lodging, for breakfast, for 
 Uupper, for drink, &c. Sometimes refugees from 
 
 Boston, tired and fatigued, seek an asylum for a day, 
 
 a night, a week. You can hardly imagine how we 
 
 live ; yet, 
 
 " To the houseless child of want 
 
 Our doors are open still ; 
 And, though our portions are but scant, 
 
 We give them with good will." 
 
 My best wishes attend you, both for your health 
 and happiness, and that you may be directed into the 
 wisest and best measures for our safety, and the 
 security of our posterity. I wish you were nearer to 
 us ; we know not what a day will bring forth, nor 
 what distress one hour may throw us into. Hitherto 
 I have been able to maintain a calmness and pres 
 ence of mind, and hope I shall, let the exigency of 
 the time be what it will. Adieu, breakfast calls. 
 Your affectionate 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 "VVey mouth, 15 June, 1775. 
 
 I SAT down to write to you on Monday, but really 
 could not compose myself sufficiently ; the anxiety I 
 
36 LETTERS. 
 
 suffered from not hearing one syllable from you for 
 more than five weeks, and the new distress arising 
 from the arrival of recruits, agitated me more than 
 I have been since the never-to-be-forgotten 14th of 
 April. 1 I have been much revived by receiving two 
 letters from you last night ; one by the servant of 
 your friend, and the other by the gentleman you 
 mention, though they both went to Cambridge, and 
 I have not seen them. I hope to send this, as a re 
 turn to you. 
 
 I feared much for your health, when you w r ent 
 away. I must entreat you to be as careful as you 
 can consistently with the duty you owe your country. 
 That consideration, alone, prevailed with me to con 
 sent to your departure, in a time so perilous and 
 so hazardous to your family, and with a body so 
 infirm as to require the tenderest care and nursing. 
 I wish you may be supported and divinely assisted 
 in this most important crisis, when the fate of em 
 pires depends upon your wisdom and conduct. I 
 greatly rejoice to hear of your union and determina 
 tion to stand by us. 
 
 We cannot but consider the great distance you are 
 from us as a very great misfortune, when our criti 
 cal situation renders it necessary to hear from you 
 every week, and will be more and more so, as dif 
 ficulties arise. We now expect our seacoast rav 
 aged ; perhaps the very next letter I write will inform 
 you, that I am driven away from our yet quiet cot- 
 
 1 The day upon which he left her. 
 
LETTERS. 37 
 
 tage. Necessity will oblige Gage to take some des 
 perate steps. We are told for truth, that he is now 
 eight thousand strong. We live in continual expec 
 tation of alarms. Courage, I know we have in 
 abundance, conduct, I hope we shall not want ; 
 but powder, where shall we get a sufficient sup 
 ply ? I wish we may not fail there. Every town is 
 filled with the distressed inhabitants of Boston. Our 
 house among others is deserted, and by this time, 
 like enough, made use of as a barrack. Mr. Bow- 
 doin and his lady are at present in the house of Mrs. 
 Borland, and are going to Middleborough, to the 
 house of Judge Oliver. He, poor gentleman, is so 
 low, that I apprehend he is hastening to a house not 
 made with hands ; he looks like a mere skeleton, 
 speaks faint and low, is racked with a violent cough, 
 and, I think, far advanced in a consumption. I went 
 to- see him last Saturday. He is very inquisitive of 
 every person with regard to the times ; begged I 
 would let him know of the first intelligence I had 
 from you ; is very unable to converse by reason of 
 his cough. He rides every pleasant day, and has 
 been kind enough to call at the door (though unable 
 to get out) several times. He says the very name 
 of Hutchinson distresses him. Speaking of him, the 
 other day, he broke out, " Religious rascal ! how 
 I abhor his name." 
 
 Pray be as particular as possible when you write. 
 Everybody wants to hear and to know what is do 
 ing, and what may be communicated do not fail to 
 inform me of. All our friends desire to be kindly 
 
38 LETTERS. 
 
 remembered to you. Gage s proclamation you 
 will receive by this conveyance. All the records of 
 time cannot produce a blacker page. Satan, when 
 driven from the regions of bliss, exhibited not more 
 malice. Surely the father of lies is superseded. 
 Yet we think it the best proclamation he could have 
 issued. 
 
 I shall, whenever I can, receive and entertain, in 
 the best manner I am capable, the gentlemen who 
 have so generously proffered their services in our 
 army. Government is wanted in the army and else 
 where. We see the want of it more from so large 
 a body being together, than when each individual 
 was employed in his own domestic circle. My best 
 regards attend every man you esteem. You will 
 make my compliments to Mr. Mifflin and lady. I do 
 not now wonder at the regard the ladies express for 
 a soldier. Every man who wears a cockade appears 
 of double the importance he used to do, and I feel 
 a respect for the lowest subaltern in the army. You 
 tell me you know not when you shall see me. I 
 never trust myself long with the terrors which some 
 times intrude themselves upon me. 
 
 1 hope we shall see each other again, and rejoice 
 together in happier days ; the little ones are well, 
 and send duty to papa. Don t fail of letting me 
 hear from you by every opportunity. Every line is 
 like a precious relic of the saints. 
 
 I have a request to make of you ; something like 
 the barrel of sand, I suppose you will think it, but 
 really of much more importance to me. It is, that 
 
LETTERS. 39 
 
 you would send out Mr. Bass, 1 and purchase me a 
 bundle of pins, and put them in your trunk for me. 
 The cry for pins is so great, that what I used to buy 
 for seven shillings and sixpence, are now twenty 
 shillings, and not to be had for that. A bundle con 
 tains six thousand, for which I used to give a dollar ; 
 but if you can procure them for fifty shillings, or 
 three pounds, 2 pray let me have them. 
 I am, with the tenderest regard, 
 
 Your 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Sunday, 18 June, 1775. 
 
 DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 THE day, perhaps, the decisive day, is come, on 
 which the fate of America depends. My bursting 
 heart must find vent at my pen. I have just heard, 
 that our dear friend, Dr. Warren, is no more, but 
 fell gloriously fighting for his country ; saying, bet 
 ter to die honorably in the field, than ignominiously 
 hang upon the gallows. Great is our loss. He has 
 distinguished himself in every engagement, by his 
 courage and fortitude, by animating the soldiers, and 
 
 1 A man who accompanied Mr. Adams in the capacity of 
 a servant. 
 
 2 This price must have been caused by the obstruction of 
 trade, as there had been no emission of paper money of im 
 portance. 
 
40 LETTERS. 
 
 leading them on by his own example. A particular 
 account of these dreadful, but I hope glorious days 
 will be transmitted you, no doubt, in the exactest 
 manner. 
 
 " The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to 
 the strong ; but the God of Israel is he, that giveth 
 strength and power unto his people. Trust in him 
 at all times, ye people, pour out your hearts before 
 him ; God is a refuge for us." Charlestown is laid 
 in ashes. The battle began upon our intrenchments 
 upon Bunker s Hill, Saturday morning about three 
 o clock, and has not ceased yet, and it is now three 
 o clock Sabbath afternoon. 
 
 It is expected they will come put over the Neck 
 to-night, and a dreadful battle must ensue. Almighty 
 God, cover the heads of our countrymen, and be a 
 shield to our dear friends ! How many have fallen, 
 we know not. The constant roar of the cannon is 
 so distressing, that we cannot eat, drink, or sleep. 
 May we be supported and sustained in the dreadful 
 conflict. I shall tarry here till it is thought unsafe 
 by my friends, and then I have secured myself a 
 retreat at your brother s, who has kindly offered me 
 part of his house. I cannot compose myself to write 
 any further at present. I will add more as I hear 
 further. 
 
 Tuesday Afternoon. 
 
 I have been so much agitated, that I have not 
 been able to write since Sabbath day. When I say, 
 that ten thousand reports are passing, vague and un- 
 
LETTERS, 41 
 
 certain as the wind, I believe I speak the truth. I 
 am not able to give you any authentic account of 
 last Saturday, but you will not be destitute of intelli 
 gence. Colonel Palmer has just sent me word, that 
 he has an opportunity of conveyance. Incorrect as 
 this scrawl will be, it shall go. I ardently pray, that 
 you may be supported through the arduous task you 
 have before you. I wish I could contradict the re 
 port of the Doctor s death ; but it is a lamentable 
 truth, and the tears of multitudes pay tribute to his 
 memory ; those favorite lines of Collins continually 
 sound in my ears ; 
 
 " How sleep the brave," <fec. 1 
 
 I must close, as the Deacon waits. I have not 
 pretended to be particular with regard to what I 
 have heard, because I know you will collect better 
 intelligence. The spirits of the people are very 
 good ; the loss of Charlestown affects them no more 
 than a drop of the bucket. I am, most sincerely, 
 
 Yours, 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 22 June, 1775. 
 
 I RECEIVED yours of June 10th, for which I thank 
 you. I want you to be more particular. Does every 
 
 * Collins s Ode is too well known to need insertion. 
 
42 LETTERS. 
 
 member feel for us ? Can they realize what we 
 suffer ? And can they believe, with what patience 
 and fortitude we endure the conflict ? Nor do we 
 even tremble at the frowns of power. 
 
 You inquire of me who were at the engagement 
 at Grape Island. I may say, with truth, all of Wey- 
 mouth, Braintree, Hingham, who were able to bear 
 arms, and hundreds from other towns within twenty, 
 thirty, and forty miles of Weymouth. Our good 
 friend, the Doctor, 1 is in a miserable state of health, 
 and hardly able to go from his own house to my 
 father s. Danger, you know, sometimes makes timid 
 men bold. He stood that day very well, and gener 
 ously attended, with drink, biscuit, flints, &c., five 
 hundred men, without taking any pay. He has since 
 been chosen one of the Committee of Correspondence 
 for that town, and has done much service, by estab 
 lishing a regular method of alarm from town to town. 
 Both your brothers were there ; your younger brother, 
 with his company, who gained honor by their good 
 order that -day. He was one of the first to venture 
 on board a schooner, to land upon the island. As to 
 Chelsea, I cannot be so particular, as I know only in 
 general, that Colonel Putnam commanded there, and 
 had many gentlemen volunteers. We have two com 
 panies stationed in this town ; at Germantown, Cap 
 tain Turner ; at Squantum, Captain Vinton ; in Wey 
 mouth, one ; in Hingham, two, &c. I believe I shall 
 remove your books this week to your brother s. We 
 
 1 Dr. Tufts. 
 
LETTERS. 43 
 
 think it advisable. Colonel Quincy has procured his 
 family a retreat at Deacon Holbrook s. Mr. Cranch 
 has one at Major Bass s, in case of necessity, to which 
 we hope not to be driven. We hear, that the troops 
 destined for New York are all expected here ; but 
 we have got to that pass, that a whole legion of them 
 would not intimidate us. I think I am very brave, 
 upon the whole. If danger comes near my dwelling, 
 I suppose I shall shudder. We want powder, but, 
 with the blessing of Heaven, we fear them not. 
 Write every opportunity you can. 
 
 I am yours, 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 25 June, 1775. 
 
 DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 MY father has been more afflicted by the destruction 
 of Charlestown than by any thing which has hereto 
 fore taken place. Why should not his countenance 
 be sad, when the city, the place of his father s 
 sepulchre, lieth waste, and the gates thereof are con 
 sumed with fire ? Scarcely one stone remaineth 
 upon another ; but in the midst of sorrow we have 
 abundant cause of thankfulness, that so few of our 
 brethren are numbered with the slain, whilst our 
 enemies were cut down like the grass before the 
 scythe. But one officer of all the Welsh fusileers 
 
44 LETTERS. 
 
 remains to tell his story. Many poor wretches die 
 for want of proper assistance and care of their 
 wounds. 
 
 Every account agrees in fourteen or fifteen hun 
 dred slain and wounded upon their side, nor can I 
 learn that they dissemble the number themselves. 
 We had some heroes that day, who fought with 
 amazing intrepidity and courage. 
 
 " Extremity is the trier of spirits ; 
 common chances common men can bear ; " 
 And " when the sea is calm, all boats alike 
 Show mastership in floating. But fortune s blows, 
 When most struck home, being bravely warded, crave 
 A noble cunning." 
 
 I hear that General Howe has said, that the battle 
 upon the plains of Abram was but a bauble to this. 
 When we consider all the circumstances attending 
 this action, we stand astonished that our people were 
 not all cut off. They had but one hundred feet in 
 trenched, the number who were engaged did not ex 
 ceed eight hundred, and they with not half ammu 
 nition enough ; the reinforcement not able to get to 
 them seasonably. The tide was up, and high, so that 
 their floating batteries came upon each side of the 
 causeway, and their row-galleys kept a continual fire. 
 Added to this, the fire from Cops Hill, and from the 
 ships ; the town in flames, all around them, and the 
 heat from the flames so intense as scarcely to be 
 borne ; the day one of the hottest we have had this 
 season, and the wind blowing the smoke in their 
 faces, only figure to yourself all these circumstan- 
 
LETTERS. 45 
 
 ces, and then consider that we do not count sixty men 
 lost. 1 My heart overflows at the recollection. 
 
 We live in continual expectation of hostilities. 
 Scarcely a day that does not produce some ; but, like 
 good Nehemiah, having made our prayer unto God, 
 and set the people with their swords, their spears, 
 and their bows, we will say unto them, " Be not ye 
 afraid of them ; remember the Lord, who is great 
 and terrible, and fight for your brethren, your sons 
 and your daughters, your wives and your houses." 
 
 I have just received yours of the 17th of June, in 
 seven days only ; every line from that far 2 country is 
 precious ; you do not tell me how you do, but I will 
 hope better. Alas, you little thought what distress 
 we were in the day you wrote. 3 They delight in- 
 molesting us upon the Sabbath. Two Sabbaths we 
 have been in such alarm that we have had no meet 
 ing ; this day we have sat under our own vine in 
 quietness ; have heard Mr. Taft, from Psalms, " The 
 Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over 
 all his works." The good man was earnest and 
 pathetic ; I could forgive his weakness for the sake of 
 his sincerity, but I long for a Cooper and an Eliot. 
 
 1 This was below the truth ; but accuracy in these details 
 will not be looked for in a letter written at the moment, upon 
 information necessarily defective. 
 
 2 The younger generation of the present day may need to be 
 reminded that the " far country," a letter from which had 
 arrived in seven days only" was Philadelphia. 
 
 3 It is a little singular, that the letter written upon that day, 
 gives her the first intelligence of the election of Washington 
 to the chief command. 
 
46 LETTERS. 
 
 I want a person, who has feeling and sensibility, who 
 
 can take one up with him, 
 
 And " in his duty prompt, at every call," 
 
 Can " watch, and weep, and pray, and feel for all." 
 
 Mr. Rice joins General Heath s regiment to-mor 
 row, as adjutant. Your brother is very desirous of 
 being in the army, but your good mother is really 
 violent against it. I cannot persuade nor reason her 
 into a consent. Neither he nor I dare let her know 
 that he is trying for a place. My brother has a 
 captain s commission, and is stationed at Cambridge. 
 I thought you had the best of intelligence, or I 
 should have taken pains to be more particular. As 
 to Boston, there are many persons yet there, who 
 would be glad to get out if they could. Mr. Boyls- 
 ton, and Mr. Gill, the printer, with his family, are 
 held upon the black list, it is said. Tis certain 
 they watch them so narrowly, that they cannot es 
 cape. Mr. Mather got out a day or two before 
 Charlestown was destroyed, and had lodged his pa 
 pers and what else he got out, at Mr. Gary s, but 
 they were all consumed ; so were many other peo 
 ple s, who thought they might trust their little there, 
 till teams could be procured to remove them. The 
 people from the almshouse and workhouse were sent 
 to the lines, last week, to make room for their 
 wounded, they say. Medford people are all re 
 moved. Every seaport seems in motion. O North, 
 may the groans and cries of the injured and oppress 
 ed harrow up thy soul. We have a prodigious ar 
 my, but we lack many accommodations, which we 
 
LETTERS. 47 
 
 need. I hope the appointment of these new gener 
 als will give satisfaction ; they must be proof against 
 calumny. In a contest like this, continual reports 
 are circulated by our enemies, and they catch with 
 the unwary and the gaping crowd, who are ready 
 to listen to the marvellous, without considering of 
 consequences, even though their best friends are 
 injured. 
 
 I have not ventured to inquire one word of you 
 about your return. I do not know whether I ought 
 to wish for it ; it seems as if your sitting together 
 was absolutely necessary, whilst every day is big 
 with events. 
 
 Mr. Bowdoin called Friday, and took his leave of 
 me, desiring I would present his affectionate regards 
 to you. I have hopes that he will recover, he has 
 mended a good deal. He wished he could have 
 stayed in Braintree, but his lady was fearful. 
 Yours evermore, 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 5 July, 1775. 
 
 I HAVE received a good deal of paper from you. I 
 wish it had been more covered ; the writing is very 
 scant, yet I must not grumble. I know your time is 
 not yours nor mine. Your labors must be great and 
 your mouth closed ; but all you may communicate, I 
 
48 LETTERS. 
 
 beg you would. There is a pleasure, I know not 
 whence it ai ises, nor can I stop now to find it out, 
 but I say there is a degree of pleasure in being able 
 to tell news, especially any that so nearly concerns 
 us, as all your proceedings do. 
 
 I should have been more particular, but I thought 
 you knew every thing that passed here. The pres 
 ent state of the inhabitants of Boston is that of the 
 most abject slaves, under the most cruel and despotic 
 of tyrants. Among many instances I could men 
 tion, let me relate one- Upon the 17th of June, 
 printed handbills were posted up at the corners of 
 the streets and upon houses, forbidding any inhabit 
 ants to go upon their houses, or upon any eminence, 
 on pain of death ; the inhabitants dared not to look 
 out of their houses, nor to be heard or seen to ask 
 a question. Our prisoners were brought over to the 
 Long Wharf, and there lay all night, without any 
 care of their wounds or any resting-place but the 
 pavements, until the next day, when they exchanged 
 it for the jail, since which we hear they are civilly 
 treated. Their living cannot be good, as they can 
 have no fresh provisions ; their beef, we hear, is all 
 gone, and their own wounded men die very fast, so 
 that they have a report that the bullets were poison 
 ed. Fish they cannot have, they have rendered it 
 so difficult to procure ; and the admiral is such a 
 villain as to oblige every fishing schooner to pay a 
 dollar every time it goes out. The money that has 
 been paid for passes is incredible. Some have given 
 ten, twenty, thirty, and forty dollars, to get out with 
 
LETTERS. 49 
 
 a small proportion of their things. It is reported 
 and believed, that they have taken up a number of 
 persons and committed them to jail, we know not for 
 what in particular. Master Lovell is confined in the 
 dungeon ; a son of Mr. Edes is in jail, and one Wi- 
 burt, a ship carpenter, is now upon trial for his life. 
 God alone knows to what length these wretches will 
 go, and will I hope restrain their malice. 
 
 I would not have you be distressed about me. 
 Danger, they say, makes people valiant. Hitherto 
 I have been distressed, but not dismayed. I have 
 felt for my country and her sons, and have bled 
 with them and for them. Not all the havoc and 
 devastation they have made, has wounded me like 
 the death of Warren. We want him in the Senate ; 
 we want him in his profession ; we want him in the 
 field. We mourn for the citizen, the senator, the 
 physician, and the warrior. May we have others 
 raised up in his room. 
 
 I have had a very kind and friendly visit from our 
 dear friends Colonel Warren, lady, and son. Mrs. 
 Warren spent almost a week with me, and he came 
 and met her here, and kept Sabbath with me. I 
 suppose she will write to you, though she says you 
 are in her debt. 
 
 You scarcely make mention of Dr. Franklin. 
 Surely he must be a valuable member. Pray, what 
 is become of your Judas r 1 I see he is not with 
 
 1 It is uncertain who is alluded to here ; probably Mr. Gal 
 loway of Pennsylvania, who was a member of the first Con- 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
50 LETTERS. 
 
 you upon the list of delegates. I wish I could come 
 and see you. I never suffer myself to think you are 
 about returning soon. Can it, will it be ? May I 
 ask may I wish for it ? When once I expect you, 
 the time will crawl till I see you. But hush ! Do 
 you know it is eleven o clock at night ? We have 
 had some very fine rains since I wrote you last. I 
 hope we shall not now have famine added to war. 
 Grain, grain is what we want here. Meat we have 
 enough, and to spare. Pray don t let Bass forget my 
 pins. Hardwick has applied to me for Mr. Bass to 
 get him a hundred of needles, number six, to carry 
 on his stocking weaving. We shall very soon have 
 no coffee, nor sugar, nor pepper here ; but whortle 
 berries and milk we are not obliged to commerce 
 for. Good night. With thoughts of thee do I close 
 my eyes. Angels guard and protect thee ; and may 
 a safe return ere long bless thy 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 16 July, 1775. 
 
 DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 I HAVE seen your letters to Colonels Palmer and 
 Warren. I pity your embarrassments. How diffi 
 cult the task to quench the fire and the pride of pri- 
 
 gress. resisted the measures adopted by it, and subsequently 
 became one of the most active of the loyal refugees. 
 
LETTERS. 51 
 
 vate ambition, and to sacrifice ourselves and all our 
 hopes and expectations to the public weal I How 
 few have souls capable of so noble an undertaking ! 
 How often are the laurels worn by those who have 
 had no share in earning them ! But there is a future 
 recompense of reward, to which the upright man 
 looks, and which he will most assuredly obtain, pro 
 vided he perseveres unto the end. 
 
 The appointment of the generals Washington and 
 Lee gives universal satisfaction. The people have 
 the highest opinion of Lee s abilities, but you know 
 the continuation of the popular breath depends much 
 upon favorable events. I had the pleasure of see 
 ing both the generals and their aids-de-camp soon 
 after their arrival, and of being personally made 
 known to them. They very politely express their 
 regard for you. Major Mifflin said he had orders 
 from you to visit me at Braintree. I told him I 
 should be very happy to see him there, and accord 
 ingly sent Mr. Thaxter to Cambridge with a card, to 
 him and Mr. Read, to dine with me. Mrs. Warren 
 and her son were to be with me. They very po 
 litely received the message, and lamented that they 
 were not able to come, upon account of expresses 
 which they were on that day to get in readiness to 
 send off, 
 
 I was struck with General Washington. You had 
 prepared me to entertain a favorable opinion of him, 
 but I thought the half was not told me. Dignity 
 with ease and complacency, the gentleman and sol 
 dier, look agreeably blended in him. Modesty marks 
 
OxS LETTERS. 
 
 every line and feature of his face. Those lines of 
 Dryden instantly occurred to rne ; 
 
 " Mark his majestic fabric ! he s a temple 
 Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine; 
 His soul s the deity that lodges there ; 
 Nor is the pile unworthy of the god." 
 
 General Lee looks like a careless, hardy veteran, 
 and, by his appearance, brought to my mind his 
 namesake, Charles the Twelfth, of Sweden. The 
 elegance of his pen far exceeds that of his person. 
 
 You have made frequent complaints that your 
 friends do not write to you. I have stirred up some 
 of them. May not I in my turn make complaints ? 
 All the letters I receive from you seem to be written 
 in so much haste, that they scarcely leave room for 
 a social feeling. They let me know that you exist, 
 but some of them contain scarcely six lines. I want 
 some sentimental effusions of the heart. I am sure 
 you are not destitute of them ; or are they all ab 
 sorbed in the great public ? Much is due to that, I 
 know ; but, being part of the public, I lay claim to a 
 larger share than I have had. You used to be more 
 communicative on Sundays. I always loved a Sab 
 bath day s letter, for then you had a greater com 
 mand of your time ; but hush to all complaints. 
 
 I am much surprised that you have not been more 
 accurately informed of what passes in the camps. 
 As to intelligence from Boston, it is but very seldom 
 we are able to collect any thing that may be relied 
 on ; and to report the vague, flying rumors, would be 
 endless. I heard yesterday, by one Mr. Roulstone, 
 
LETTERS. 53 
 
 a goldsmith, who got out in a fishing schooner, that 
 their distress increased upon them fast. Their beef 
 is all spent ; their malt and cider all gone. All the 
 fresh provisions they can procure, they are obliged 
 to give to the sick and wounded. Thirteen of our 
 
 o 
 
 men who were in jail, and were wounded at the bat 
 tle of Charlestown, were dead. No man dared now 
 to be seen talking to his friend in the street. They 
 were obliged to be within, every evening, at ten 
 o clock, according to martial law ; nor could any 
 inhabitant walk any street in town after that time, 
 without a pass from Gage. He has ordered all the 
 molasses to be distilled up into rum for the soldiers ; 
 taken away all licenses, and given out others, ob 
 liging to a forfeiture of ten pounds, if any rum is sold 
 without written orders from the general. He gives 
 much the same account of the killed and wounded 
 we have from others. The spirit, he says, which 
 prevails among the soldiers, is a spirit of malice and 
 revenge ; there is no true courage and bravery to be 
 observed among them. Their duty is hard, always 
 mounting guard with their packs at their backs, 
 ready for an alarm, which they live in continual haz 
 ard of. Dr. Eliot is not on board a man-of-war, as 
 has been reported, but perhaps was left in town, as 
 the comfort and support of those who cannot escape. 
 He was constantly with our prisoners. Messrs. Lov- 
 ell and Leach, with others, are certainly in jail. A 
 poor milch cow was last week killed in town, and 
 sold for a shilling sterling per pound. The trans 
 ports arrived last week from York, but every addi- 
 
54 LETTERS. 
 
 tional man adds to their distress. There has been a 
 little expedition this week to Long Island. 1 There 
 have been, before, several attempts to go on, but 
 three men-of-war lay near, and cutters all round the 
 island, so that they could not succeed. A number 
 of whaleboats lay at Germantown. Three hundred 
 volunteers, commanded by one Captain Tupper, 
 came on Monday evening and took the boats, went 
 on, and brought off seventy odd sheep, fifteen head 
 of cattle, and sixteen prisoners, thirteen of whom 
 were sent by (Simple Sapling) 2 to mow the hay, 
 which they had very badly executed. They were 
 all asleep in the house and barn. When they were 
 taken, there were three women with them. Our 
 heroes came off in triumph, not being observed by 
 their enemies. This spirited up others, who could 
 not endure the thought that the house and barn 
 should afford them any shelter ; they did not de 
 stroy them the night before for fear of being dis 
 covered. Captain Wild, of this town, with about 
 twenty-five of his company ; Captain Gold, of Wey- 
 mouth, with as many of his, and some other volun 
 teers, to the amount of a hundred, obtained leave to 
 go on and destroy the hay, together with the house 
 and barn ; and in open day, in full view of the men- 
 of-war, they set off from the Moon? so called, cov- 
 
 1 In Boston harbor. This event is repeatedly noticed in 
 "The Remembrancer," for 1775, pp. 242, 257, 262. 
 
 2 These are the words in the original, but the Editor cannot 
 explain them. 
 
 3 The name given to a small island in Boston harbor. 
 
LETTERS. 55 
 
 ered by a number of men who were placed there, 
 went on and set fire to the buildings and hay. 
 A number of armed cutters immediately surrounded 
 the island and fired upon our men. They came off 
 with a hot and continued fire upon them, the bullets 
 flying in every direction, and the men-of-war s boats 
 plying them with small arms. Many in this town, 
 who were spectators, expected every moment our 
 men would all be sacrificed, for sometimes they 
 were so near as to be called and damned by their 
 enemies, and ordered to surrender ; yet they all re 
 turned in safety, not one man even wounded. Upon 
 the Moon we lost one man, from the cannon on 
 board the man-of-war. On the evening of the same 
 day, a man-of-war came and anchored near Great 
 Hill, and two cutters came to Pig Rocks. It occa 
 sioned an alarm in this town, and we were up all 
 night. They remain there yet, but have not ventured 
 to land any men. 
 
 This town have chosen their representative. Co 
 lonel Palmer is the man. There was a considerable 
 muster upon Thayer s side, and Vinton s company 
 marched up in order to assist, but got sadly disap 
 pointed. Newcomb insisted upon it that no man 
 should vote who was in the army. He had no no 
 tion of being under the military power ; said we 
 might be so situated as to have the greater part of 
 the people engaged in the military, and then all 
 power would be wrested out of the hands of the civil 
 magistrate. He insisted upon its being put to vote, 
 and carried his point immediately. It brought 
 
56 LETTERS. 
 
 Thayer to his speech, who said all he could against 
 it. 
 
 As to the situation of the camps, our men are in 
 general healthy, much more so at Roxbury than at 
 Cambridge, and the camp is in vastly better order. 
 General Thomas has the character of an excellent 
 officer. His merit has certainly been overlooked, as 
 modest merit generally is. I hear General Washing 
 ton is much pleased with his conduct. 
 
 Every article here in the West India way is very 
 scarce and dear. In six weeks we shall not be able 
 to purchase any article of the kind. I wish you would 
 let Bass get me one pound of pepper, and two yards 
 of black calamanco for shoes. I cannot wear leath 
 er, if I go barefoot. Bass may make a fine profit 
 if he lays in a stock for himself. You can hardly 
 imagine how much we want many common small 
 articles, which are not manufactured amongst our 
 selves ; but we will have them in time ; not one pin 
 to be purchased for love or money. I wish you 
 could convey me a thousand by any friend travelling 
 this way. It is very provoking to have such a plenty 
 so near us, but, Tantalus-like, not be able to touch. 
 I should have been glad to have laid in a small stock 
 of the West India articles, but I cannot get one cop 
 per ; no person thinks of paying any thing, and I do 
 not choose to run in debt. 
 
 We have not yet been much distressed for grain. 
 Every thing at present looks blooming. O that peace 
 would once more extend her olive branch ; 
 
LETTERS. 57 
 
 " This day be bread and peace my lot; 
 
 All else beneath the sun, 
 Thou knowest if best bestowed or not, 
 
 And let thy will be done." 
 
 " But is the Almighty ever bound to please, 
 Build by my wish, or studious of my ease ? 
 Shall I determine where his frowns shall fall, 
 And fence my grotto from the lot of all ? 
 Prostrate, his sovereign wisdom I adore, 
 Intreat his mercy, but I dare no more." 
 
 I have now written you all I can collect from every 
 quarter. T is fit for no eyes but yours, because you 
 can make all necessary allowances. I cannot copy. 
 
 There are yet in town three of the selectmen and 
 some thousands of inhabitants, t is said. I hope to 
 hear from you soon. Do let me know if there is 
 any prospect of seeing you ? Next Wednesday is 
 thirteen weeks since you went away. I must bid 
 you adieu. 
 
 You have many friends, though they have not no 
 ticed you by writing. I am sorry they have been so 
 negligent. I hope no share of that blame lies upon 
 Your most affectionate 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADA.MS. 
 
 Braintree, 25 July, 1775. 
 
 DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 I RECEIVED yours of July 7th, for which I heartily 
 thank you. It was the longest and best letter I have 
 
58 LETTERS. 
 
 had ; the most leisurely, and therefore the most sen 
 timental. Previous to your last, I had written you 
 and made some complaints of you, but I will take 
 them all back again. Only continue your obliging 
 favors, whenever your time will allow you to devote 
 one moment to your absent Portia. 
 
 This is the 25th of July. Gage has not made any 
 attempts to march out since the battle at Charles- 
 town. Our army is restless, and wish to be doing 
 something to rid themselves and the land of the ver 
 min and locusts which infest it. Since I wrote you 
 last, the companies stationed upon the coast, both in 
 this town, Weymouth, and Hingham, were ordered 
 to Nantasket, to reap and bring off the grain, which 
 they accomplished, all except a field or two which 
 was not ripe ; and having whaleboats, they under 
 took to go to the Lighthouse and set fire to it, which 
 they effected in open day, and in fair sight of several 
 men-of-war. Upon their return, came down upon 
 them eight barges, one cutter, and one schooner, all 
 in battle array, and poured whole broad sides upon 
 them ; but our men all reached the shore, and not 
 one life lost, two only slightly wounded in their legs. 
 They marched up a hill, and drew into order, in 
 hopes the marines would land ; but they chose rather 
 to return without a land engagement, though t is 
 thought they will burn the town down as soon as our 
 forces leave it. I had this account from Captain 
 Vinton, who with his company were there. These 
 little skirmishes seem trifling, but they serve to inure 
 our men, and harden them to danger. I hear the 
 
LETTERS. 59 
 
 rebels are very wroth at the destruction of the light 
 house. 
 
 There has been an offer from Gage to send the 
 poor of Boston to Salem by water, but not complied 
 with on our part ; they returned for answer, they 
 would receive them upon the lines. Dr. Tufts saw 
 a letter from Deacon Newall, in which he mentions 
 the death of John Cotton ; he says it is very sickly in 
 town. Every fishing vessel is now obliged to enter 
 and clear out, as though she was going a foreign 
 voyage. No inhabitant is suffered to partake, but 
 obliged to wait till the army is supplied, and then, if 
 one remains, they are allowed to purchase it. An 
 order has been given out in town, that no person 
 shall be seen to wipe his face with a white hand 
 kerchief. The reason I hear is, that it is a signal of 
 mutiny. General Burgoyne lives in Mr. Sam Quin- 
 cy s house. A lady, who lived opposite, says she 
 saw raw meat cut and hacked upon her mahogany 
 tables, and her superb damask curtain and cushions 
 exposed to the rain as if they were of no value. 
 How much better do the Tories fare than the Whigs ? 
 I suppose this worthy, good man was put in with all 
 confidence that nothing should be hurt. 
 
 I was very much pleased with General Lee s let 
 ter, 1 and really entertained a more favorable opinion 
 of Burgoyne than I before had imbibed from his 
 speech ; but a late letter from London, written to Mr. 
 
 1 This correspondence between Lee and Burgoyne, is in 
 " The Remembrancer," for 1775, pp. 150 ct scq. 
 
60 LETTERS. 
 
 Josiah Quincy, and, in case of his absence, to be 
 opened either by you or Mr. Samuel Adams, or either 
 of the Warrens, has left me no room to think that 
 he is possessed either of generosity, virtue, or human 
 ity. His character runs thus ; 
 
 "As to Burgoyne, 1 I am not master of language 
 sufficient to give you a true idea of the horrible 
 wickedness of the man. His designs are dark ; his 
 dissimulation of the deepest dye ; for, not content 
 with deceiving mankind, he practises deceit on God 
 himself, by assuming the appearance (like Hutchin- 
 son) of great attention to religious worship, when 
 every action of his life is totally abhorrent to all 
 ideas of true religion, virtue, or common honesty. 
 An abandoned, infamous gambler, of broken fortune, 
 and the worst and most detestable of the Bedford 
 gang, who are wholly bent on blood, tyranny, and 
 spoil, and therefore the darling favorite of our unri 
 valled ruler, Lord Bute." 
 
 The character of Howe is not drawn much more 
 favorably, but Clinton s general character very good, 
 and tis said he does not relish the service he is sent 
 upon. I am ready to believe this of Clinton, as I 
 have never heard of any speeches of his since his 
 arrival, nor scarcely any mention of him. That 
 such characters as Burgoyne and Howe should en 
 gage in such a cause is not to be wondered at ; but it 
 
 1 Much allowance must occasionally be made for the ex 
 citement naturally growing out of the circumstances of the 
 war. General Burgoyne by no means bore any such charac 
 ter as this. 
 
LETTERS. 61 
 
 is really to be lamented, when a man, possessed of 
 one spark of virtue, should be drawn aside, and dis 
 grace himself and posterity by adding one more to 
 the already infamous list. I suppose you have heard 
 of Darby s arrival, 1 and the intelligence he brings. I 
 could not refrain wishing them everlasting fetters ; 
 " the news received with some symptoms of pleas 
 ure," and " our friends increased," and a few more 
 such sugar plums. Were they suffering as we are, 
 could Americans sit thus coldly whilst Britons were 
 bleeding ? How is it possible, that the love of gain 
 and the lust of domination should render the human 
 mind so callous to every principle of honor, generos 
 ity, and benevolence ? 
 
 May that day be far distant from America, when 
 " trade s unfeeling train," shall " usurp this land, 
 and dispossess the swain." 
 
 " 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
 Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ; 
 Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; 
 A breath can make them, as a breath has made ; 
 But a bold peasantry, their country s pride, 
 When once destroyed, can never be supplied." 
 
 Your address meets with general approbation here ; 
 your petitioning the King again, pleases (forgive me 
 if I say the timid and the weak) those persons who 
 were esteemed the lukewarm, and who think no 
 works of supererogation can be performed to Great 
 
 1 From England. 
 
62 LETTERS. 
 
 Britain ; whilst others say you heap coals of fire 
 upon the heads of your enemies. You know you 
 are considered here as a most perfect body ; if one 
 member is by any means rendered incapable of act 
 ing, t is supposed the deficiency will be made up. 
 The query is, why your President left the Congress 
 so long as to make it necessary to choose another 
 member, whether he declined returning to you 
 again ? 
 
 I suppose you have a list of our Council. It was 
 generally thought that Gage would make an attempt 
 to come out either Election day, or upon the Fast ; 
 but I could not believe we should be disturbed upon 
 that day. Even " the devils believe and tremble," and 
 I really believe they are more afraid of the Ameri 
 cans prayers than of their swords. I could not bear 
 to hear our inanimate old bachelor. Mrs. Cranch 
 and I took our chaise and. went to hear Mr. Haven, 
 of Declham, and we had no occasion to repent eleven 
 miles ride ; especially as I had the pleasure of spend 
 ing the day with my namesake and sister delegate. 
 Why should we not assume your titles when we give 
 you up our names ? I found her comfortably situ 
 ated in a little country cottage, with patience, perse 
 verance, and fortitude for her companions, and in 
 better health than she has enjoyed for many months 
 past. 
 
 I fear General Thomas being overlooked, and 
 Heath placed over him, will create much uneasiness. 
 I know not who was to blame, but it is likely to 
 make a great and fatal gap in the army. If Tho- 
 
LETTERS. 63 
 
 mas resigns, all his officers resign ; and Mr. Thomas 
 cannot with honor hold under Heath. The camp 
 will evince to every eye how good an officer he has 
 been ; but this is out of my sphere. I only say what 
 others say, and what the general disposition of the 
 people is. 
 
 I need not say how much I want to see you, but 
 no one will credit my story of your returning in a 
 month. I hope to have the best of proofs to convince 
 them. 
 
 It cannot need any to convince you how sincerely 
 I am your affectionate 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 31 July, 1775. 
 
 I DO not feel easy more than two days together 
 without writing to you. If you abound, you must 
 lay some of the fault upon yourself, who have made 
 such sad complaints for letters ; but I really believe 
 I have written more than all -my sister delegates. 
 There is nothing new transpired since I wrote you 
 last, but the sailing of some transports, and five de 
 serters having come into our camp. One of them 
 is gone, I hear, to Philadelphia. I think I should be 
 cautious of him. No one can tell the secret designs 
 of such fellows, whom no oath binds. He may be 
 
64 LETTERS. 
 
 sent with assassinating designs. I can credit any 
 villany, that a Csesar Borgia would have been guilty 
 of, or Satan himself would rejoice in. Those who 
 do not scruple to bring poverty, misery, slavery, and 
 death upon thousands, will not hesitate at the most 
 diabolical crimes ; and this is Britain. Blush, O 
 Americans, that ever you derived your origin from 
 such a race. 
 
 We learn from one of these deserters, that our 
 ever valued friend, Warren, dear to us even in death, 
 was not treated with any more respect than a com 
 mon soldier ; but the savage wretches, called officers, 
 consulted together, and agreed to sever his head 
 from his body and carry it in triumph to Gage, who 
 no doubt would have " grinned horribly a ghastly 
 smile," instead of imitating Csesar, who far from be 
 ing gratified with so horrid a spectacle as the head 
 even of his enemy, turned away from Pompey s with 
 disgust, and gave vent to his pity in a flood of tears. 
 How much does Pagan tenderness put Christian 
 benevolence to shame ! What humanity could not 
 obtain, the rites and ceremonies of a mason demand 
 ed. An officer, who, it seems, was one of the brother 
 hood, requested, that as a mason, he might have the 
 body unmangled, and find a decent interment for it. 
 He obtained his request, but, upon returning to secure 
 it, he found it already thrown into the earth, only with 
 the ceremony of being first placed there with many 
 bodies over him ; 
 
 " Nor writ his name, whose tomb should pierce the skies." 
 
LETTERS. 65 
 
 " Glows my resentment into guilt ? What guilt 
 Can equal violations of the dead ? 
 The dead how sacred ! Sacred is the dust 
 Of this heaven-labored form, erect, divine ! 
 This heaven-assumed, majestic robe of earth." 
 
 2 August. 
 
 Thus far I wrote and broke off; hearing there was 
 a probability of your return, I thought not to send it ; 
 but the reception of yours this morning, of July 23d, 
 makes me think the day further off than I hoped. I 
 therefore will add a few lines, though very unfit. I 
 went out yesterday to attend the funeral of the poor 
 fellow who, the night before, fell in battle, as they 
 were returning from the lighthouse ; I caught some 
 cold. Sabbath evening there was a warm fire from 
 Prospect Hill and Bunker s Hill, begun first by the 
 riflemen taking off their guard. Two men upon our 
 side were killed ; five of their guards were killed, 
 two taken. I believe my account will be very con 
 fused, but I will relate it as well as I am able. 1 Sab 
 bath evening a number of men, in whaleboats, went 
 off from Squantum and Dorchester, to the lighthouse, 
 where the general, Gage, had again fixed up a lamp, 
 and sent twelve carpenters to repair it. Our people 
 went on amidst a hot fire from thirty marines, who 
 were placed there as a guard to the Tory carpenters, 
 burnt the dwell inghouse, took the Tories and twenty- 
 eight marines, killed the lieutenant and one man, 
 
 1 These events are briefly mentioned in " The Remem 
 brancer," for the year 1775, pp. 2G9, 270. 
 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
66 LETTERS. 
 
 brought off all the oil and stores which were sent, 
 without the loss of a man, until they were upon their 
 return ; when they were so closely pursued, that they 
 were obliged to run one whaleboat ashore, and leave 
 her to them ; the rest arrived safe, except the unhap 
 py youth, whose funeral I yesterday attended, who 
 received a ball through the temple, as he was rowing 
 the boat. He belonged to Rhode Island. His name 
 was Griffin. He, with four wounded marines, was 
 brought by Captain Turner to Germantown, and 
 buried from there with the honors of war. Mr. Wi- 
 bird, upon the occasion, made the best oration (he 
 never prays, you know,) I ever heard from him. The 
 poor wounded fellows (who were all wounded in 
 their arms) desired they might attend. They did, 
 and he very pathetically addressed them, with which 
 they appeared affected. I spoke with them, I told 
 them, it was very unhappy that they should be obliged 
 to fight their best friends. They said they were sorry ; 
 they hoped in God an end would be speedily put to 
 the unhappy contest ; when they came, they came in 
 the way of their duty, to relieve Admiral Montague, 
 with no thought of fighting, but their situation was 
 such as obliged them to obey orders ; but they wished 
 with all their souls, that they that sent them here 
 had been in the heat of the battle ; expressed grati 
 tude at the kindness they received ; and said in that 
 they had been deceived, for they were told, if they 
 were taken alive, they would be sacrificed by us. 
 Dr. Tufts dressed their wounds. 
 
 I had a design to write something about a talked 
 
LETTERS. 67 
 
 of appointment of a friend of mine to a judicial de 
 partment, 1 but hope soon to see that friend, before 
 his acceptance may be necessary. I enclose a com 
 pliment, copied by a gentleman from a piece in the 
 Worcester paper, signed " Lycurgus." 
 
 I can add no more, as the good Colonel Palmer 
 waits. Only my compliments to Mrs. Mifflin, and 
 tell her I do not know whether her husband is safe 
 here. Bellona and Cupid have a contest about him. 
 You hear nothing from the ladies but about Major 
 Mifflin s easy address, politeness, complaisance, &c. 
 T is well he has so agreeable a lady at Philadel 
 phia. They know nothing about forts, intrench- 
 ments, &c., when they return ; or, if they do, they 
 are all forgotten and swallowed up in his accom 
 plishments. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest friend, and always believe me 
 Unalterably yours, 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 2 
 
 Weymouth, 1 October, 1775. 
 
 HAVE pity upon me. Have pity upon me, O thou 
 my beloved, for the hand of God presseth me sore. 
 
 1 Mr. Adams was made Chief Justice of the State Court, 
 but never acted in that capacity. 
 
 2 Mr. Adams was at home during the adjournment of Con 
 gress, from the 1st of August, to the 5th of September. 
 
68 LETTERS. 
 
 Yet will I be dumb and silent, and not open my 
 mouth, because thou, O Lord, hast done it. 
 
 How can I tell you, (O my bursting heart!) that 
 my dear mother has left me ? this day, about 
 five o clock, she left this world for an infinitely 
 better. 
 
 After sustaining sixteen days severe conflict, na 
 ture fainted, and she fell asleep. Blessed spirit ! 
 where art thou ? At times, I am almost ready to 
 faint under this severe and heavy stroke, separated 
 from tliee, who used to be a comforter to me in 
 affliction ; but, blessed be God, his ear is not heavy 
 that he cannot hear, but he has bid us call upon him 
 in time of trouble. 
 
 I know you are a sincere and hearty mourner 
 with me, and will pray for me in my affliction. My 
 poor father, like a firm believer and a good Chris 
 tian, sets before his children the best of examples of 
 patience and submission. My sisters send their love 
 to you, and are greatly afflicted. You often express 
 ed your anxiety for me when you left me before, 
 surrounded with terrors ; but my trouble then was 
 as the small dust in the balance, compared to what I 
 have since endured. I hope to be properly mindful 
 of the correcting hand, that I may not be rebuked in 
 anger. , 
 
 You will pardon and forgive all my wanderings of 
 mind, I cannot be correct. 
 
 T is a dreadful time with the whole province. 
 Sickness and death are in almost every family. I 
 
LETTERS. 69 
 
 have no more shocking and terrible idea of any dis 
 temper, except the plague, than this. 1 
 
 Almighty God ! restrain the pestilence which walk- 
 eth in darkness and wasteth at noonday, and which 
 has laid in the dust one of the dearest of parents. 
 May the life of the other be lengthened out to his 
 afflicted children. 
 
 From your distressed 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 21 October, 1775. 
 
 THE sickness has abated here and in the neighbouring 
 towns. In Boston I am told it is very sickly among 
 the inhabitants and the soldiery. By a man, one 
 Haskins, who came out the day before yesterday, I 
 learn, that there are but about twenty-five hundred sol 
 diers in town. How many there are at Charlestown, 
 he could not tell. He had been in irons three weeks, 
 some malicious fellow having said that he saw him 
 at the battle of Lexington ; but he proved that he was 
 not out of Boston that day, upon which he was re- 
 
 1 The dysentery prevailed among the British troops, who 
 were great sufferers from their confinement in Boston, and it 
 appears to have spread among the inhabitants in the vicinity. 
 Mrs. Adams lost, besides her mother and a brother of her hus 
 band, a domestic in her own house ; but she and the rest of 
 her family, who were all, with a single exception, more or less 
 
 , recovered. 
 
 T 
 
70 LETTERS. 
 
 leased, and went with two other men out in a small 
 boat, under their eye, to fish. They played about 
 near the shore, while catching small fish, till they 
 thought they could possibly reach Dorchester Neck ; 
 no sooner were they perceived attempting to escape, 
 than they had twenty cannons discharged at them, 
 but they all happily reached the shore. He says, 
 no language can paint the distress of the inhabit 
 ants ; most of them destitute of wood and of provis 
 ions of every kind. The bakers say, unless they 
 have a new supply of wood, they cannot bake above 
 one fortnight longer ; their biscuit are not above one 
 half the former size ; the soldiers are obliged to do 
 very hard duty, and are uneasy to a great degree, 
 many of them declaring they will not continue much 
 longer in such a state, but at all hazards will escape. 
 The inhabitants are desperate, and contriving means 
 of escape. A floating battery of ours, went out two 
 nights ago, and rowed near the town, and then dis 
 charged their guns. Some of the balls went into the 
 workhouse, some through the tents in the Common, 
 and one through the sign of the Lamb Tavern. He 
 says, it drove them all out of the Common, men, 
 women, and children screaming, and threw them 
 into the utmost distress ; but, very unhappily for us, 
 in the discharge of one of the cannon, the ball not 
 being properly rammed down, it split and killed two 
 men, and wounded seven more, upon which they 
 were obliged to return. He also says, that the Tories 
 are much distressed about the fate of Dr. Church, 
 and very anxious to obtain him, and would exchange 
 
LETTERS. 71 
 
 Lovell for him. This man is so exasperated at the 
 ill usage he has received from them, that he is deter 
 mined to enlist immediately. They almost starved 
 him whilst he was in irons. He says, he hopes it 
 will be in his power to send some of them to heaven 
 for mercy. They are building a fort by the hay- 
 market, and rending down houses for timber to do it 
 with. In the course of the last week, several per 
 sons have found means to escape. One of them 
 says it is talked in town, that Howe will issue a proc 
 lamation, giving liberty to all, who will not take up 
 arms, to depart the town, and making it death to 
 have any intercourse with the country afterwards. 
 
 At present it looks as if there was no likelihood 
 of peace ; the ministry are determined to proceed at 
 all events ; the people are already slaves, and have 
 neither virtue nor spirit to help themselves nor us. 
 The time is hastening, when George, like Richard, 
 may cry, " My kingdom for a horse ! " and want 
 even that wealth to make the purchase. I hope by 
 degrees, we shall be inured to hardships, and be 
 come a virtuous, valiant people, forgetting our form 
 er luxury, and each one apply with industry and 
 frugality to manufactures and husbandry, till we ri 
 val all other nations by our virtues. 
 
 I thank you for your amusing account of the Qua 
 ker ; their great stress with regard to color in their 
 dress, &c., is not the only ridiculous part of their 
 sentiments with regard to religious matters. 
 
 " There s not a day, but to the man of thought 
 Betrays some secret, that throws new reproach 
 On life, and makes him sick of seeing more." 
 
72 LETTERS. 
 
 What are your thoughts with regard to Dr. Church ? 
 Had you much knowledge of him ? I think you had 
 no intimate acquaintance with him. 
 
 " A foe to God was ne er true friend to man ; 
 Some sinister intent taints all he does." 
 
 It is matter of great speculation what will be his 
 punishment ; the people are much enraged against 
 him ; if he is set at liberty, even after he has receiv 
 ed a severe punishment, I do not think he will be 
 safe. He will be despised and detested by every 
 one, and many suspicions will remain in the minds 
 of people in regard to our rulers ; they are for sup 
 posing this person is not sincere, and that one they 
 have jealousy of. 
 
 Have you any prospect of returning ? I hoped to 
 have heard from you by the gentlemen who came 
 as a committee here ; but they have been here a 
 week, and I have not any letters. 
 
 My father and sister Betsey desire to be remem 
 bered to you. He is very disconsolate. It makes 
 my heart ache to see him, and I know not how to go 
 to the house. He said to me the other day, " Child, 
 I see your mother, go to what part of the house I 
 will." I think he has lost almost as much flesh as 
 if he had been sick ; and Betsey, poor girl, looks 
 broken and worn with grief. These near connex 
 ions, how they twist and cling about the heart, and 
 when torn off, draw the best blood from it. 
 
 " Each friend by fate snatched from us, is a plume 
 Plucked from the wing of human vanity." 
 
LETTERS. 73 
 
 Be so good as to present my regards to Mrs. Han 
 cock. I hope she is very happy. Mrs. Warren 
 called upon me on her way to Watertown. I wish I 
 could as easily come to you as she can go to Water- 
 town. But it is my lot. In the twelve years we have 
 been married, 1 believe we have not lived together 
 more than six. 
 
 If you could, with any conveniency, procure me 
 the articles I wrote for, I should be very glad, more 
 especially the needles and cloth ; they are in such 
 demand, that we are really distressed for want of 
 them. 
 
 Adieu. I think of nothing further to add, but that 
 I am, with the tenderest regard, your 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 22 October, 1775. 
 
 MR. LOTHROP called here this evening, and brought 
 me yours of the 1st of October ; a day which will 
 ever be remembered by me, for it was the most dis 
 tressing one I ever experienced. That morning I rose, 
 and went into my mother s room, not apprehending 
 her so near her exit ; went to her bed with a cup of 
 tea in my hand, and raised her head to give it to her. 
 She swallowed a few drops, gasped, and fell back 
 upon her pillow, opening her eyes with a look that 
 pierced my heart, and which I shall never forget ; it 
 was the eagerness of a last look ; 
 
 " And O, the last sad silence of a friend." 
 
74 LETTERS. 
 
 Yet she lived till five o clock that day, but I could 
 not be with her. My dear father prayed twice be 
 side her bed that day. God Almighty was with him 
 and supported him that day, and enabled him to go 
 through the services of it. It was his communion 
 day ; he had there a tender scene to pass through, a 
 young granddaughter, Betsey Cranch, joining herself 
 to the church, and a beloved wife dying, to pray for. 
 Weeping children, weeping and mourning parishion 
 ers all round him, for every eye streamed, his own 
 heart almost bursting as he spoke. How painful is 
 the recollection, and yet how pleasing ! 
 
 I know I wound your heart. Why should I ? 
 Ought I to give relief to my own by paining yours ? 
 
 " Yet the grief, that cannot speak, 
 Whispers the o erfraught heart, and bids it burst." 
 
 My pen is always freer than my tongue. I have 
 written many things to you that I suppose I never 
 could have talked. My heart is made tender by 
 repeated affliction ; it never was a hard heart. The 
 death of Patty came very near me, having lived 
 four years with me under my care. I hope it will 
 make me more continually mindful and watchful of 
 all those who are still committed to my charge. 
 T is a great trust ; I daily feel more and more of the 
 weight and importance of it, and of my own inability. 
 I wish I could have more of the assistance of my 
 dearest friend, but these perilous times swallow him 
 up. 
 
 Mr. Lothrop has given me this account of the de- 
 
LETTERS. 75 
 
 mand upon Falmouth. A man-of-war and two tend 
 ers went down, and sent to the inhabitants to demand 
 their arms, and require them to stand neuter. They 
 required time to consider ; they had until nine o clock 
 the next day, which time they employed in remov 
 ing the women, children, and the rest of their most 
 valuable effects, out of danger, when they sent their 
 answer in the negative. Upon this, the enemy be 
 gan a cannonade, and were continuing it when the 
 express came away. Hitchbourne and another gen 
 tleman got out of town in a small boat, one of the 
 foggy nights we have had this week. I have not 
 heard what intelligence he brings. Another person 
 says, that Howe enlarged all the prisoners but Lovell r 
 and he would not come out. 
 
 I have since seen the Paraphrase, 1 as it is called ; 
 but t is as low as the mock oration, 1 though no re 
 flection upon your private character, further than 
 immoderately whipping your scholars when you kept 
 school ; a crime any one will acquit you of who 
 knows you. As a specimen of the wit and humor it 
 contained, I will give you the title. "A Paraphrase 
 upon the Second Epistle of John the Roundhead, to 
 James, the Prolocutor of the Rump Parliament. Dear 
 Devil," &c. J had it, but it was when I was in so 
 much distress that I cared nothing about it. I will 
 
 1 Scurrilous publications, made by the Tories and British 
 officers in Boston, during the siege. The first of these was a 
 paraphrase of an intercepted letter of Mr. Adams, to General 
 James Warren, then President of the Provincial Congress. 
 
76 LETTERS. 
 
 mention, when I see you, the foolish conjectures of 
 some, who want always to be finding out something 
 extraordinary in whatever happens. 
 
 I hope to hear often from you, which is all the 
 alleviation I have in your absence, and is, next to 
 seeing you, the greatest comfort of your 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 5 November, 1775. 
 
 I HOPE you have received several letters from me in 
 this fortnight past. I wrote by Mr. Lynch and by 
 Dr. Franklin, the latter of whom I had the pleasure 
 of dining with, and of admiring him, whose charac 
 ter from my infancy I had been taught to venerate. 
 I found him social but not talkative, and, when he 
 spoke, something useful dropped from his tongue. 
 He was grave, yet pleasant and affable. You know 
 I make some pretensions to physiognomy, and I 
 thought I could read in his countenance the virtues 
 of his heart, among which, patriotism shone in its 
 full lustre ; and with that is blended every virtue of 
 a Christian. For a true patriot must be a religious 
 man. I have been led to think from a late defection, 1 
 that he who neglects his duty to his Maker, may 
 well be expected to be deficient and insincere in his 
 duty towards the public. Even suppose him to pos 
 sess a large share of what is called honor and pub- 
 1 Of Dr. Church. 
 
LETTERS. 77 
 
 lie spirit, yet, do not these men, by their bad exam 
 ple, by a loose, immoral conduct, corrupt the minds 
 of youth, and vitiate the morals of the age, and thus 
 injure the public more than they can compensate by 
 intrepidity, generosity, and honor ? Let revenge or 
 ambition, pride, lust, or profit, tempt these men to a 
 base and vile action ; you may as well hope to bind 
 up a hungry tiger with a cobweb, as to hold such 
 debauched patriots in the visionary chains of decen 
 cy, or to charm them with the intellectual beauty of 
 truth and reason. 
 
 But where am I running ? I mean to thank you 
 for all your obliging favors lately received ; and 
 though some of them are very laconic, yet, were 
 they to contain only two lines to tell me that you 
 were well, they would be acceptable to me. I think 
 however, you are more apprehensive than you need 
 be ; the gentleman, to whose care they have always 
 been directed, has been very kind in his conveyance, 
 and very careful. I hope, however, that it will not 
 now be long before we shall have nearer interviews. 
 You must tell me, that you will return next month ; 
 a late appointment ! will make it inconvenient (pro 
 vided you accept) for you to go again to Congress. 
 
 /It seems human nature is the same in all ages and 
 countries. Ambition and avarice reign everywhere, 
 and, where they predominate, there will be bicker 
 ings after places of honor and profit. There is an 
 old adage, " Kissing goes by favor," that is daily veri- 
 
 1 That of Chief Justice, alluded to in a preceding letter. 
 
78 LETTERS. 
 
 fied. I inclose to you the paper you sent for. Your 
 busiriess in collecting facts will be very difficult, and 
 the sufferings of this people cannot be described 
 with pen, ink, and paper. Besides, these ministers of 
 Satan are rendering it every day more and more 
 difficult, by their ravages and devastation, to tell a 
 tale which will freeze the young blood of succeed 
 ing generations, as well as harrow up the souls of 
 the present. 
 
 Nothing new has transpired since I wrote you 
 last. I have not heard of one person s escape out 
 of town, nor of any manoeuvre of any kind. 
 
 I will only ask you to measure by your own the 
 affectionate regard of your nearest friend. 1 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 12 November, ]775. 
 
 THE intelligence 2 you will receive before this reaches 
 you, will, I should think, make a plain path, though 
 a dangerous one, for you. I could not join to-day, in 
 the petitions of our worthy pastor, for a reconcilia 
 tion between our no longer parent state, but tyrant 
 
 1 This letter is without signature, as was generally the case 
 during the war, when a fictitious one was not attached. 
 
 2 This probably alludes to the act passed by the Provincial 
 Congress on the 10th of the month, to authorize privateering. 
 " The first avowal of offensive hostility against the mother 
 country to be found in the annals of the revolution." Aus 
 tin s Life of E. Gerry, Vol. I. p. 94, and Appendix A. 
 
LETTERS. 79 
 
 state, and these colonies. Let us separate ; they are 
 unworthy to be our brethren. Let us renounce 
 them ; and, instead of supplications as formerly, for 
 their prosperity and happiness, let us beseech the 
 Almighty to blast their counsels, and bring to nought 
 all their devices. 
 
 I have nothing remarkable to write you. A little 
 skirmish happened last week ; the particulars I have 
 endeavoured to collect, but whether I have the facts 
 right, I am not certain. A number of cattle were 
 kept at Lechmere s point, where two sentinels were 
 placed. In a high tide, it is an island ; the regulars 
 had observed this, and a scheme was laid to send a 
 number of them over and take off the stock. Ac 
 cordingly a number of boats and about four hundred 
 men were sent. They landed, it seems, unperceived 
 by the sentinels, who were asleep ; one of whom 
 they killed, and took the other prisoner. As soon 
 as they were perceived, they fired the cannon from 
 Prospect Hill upon them, which sunk one of their 
 boats ; but, as the tide was very high, it was difficult 
 getting over, and some time before any alarm was 
 given. A Colonel Thompson, of the riflemen, march 
 ed instantly with his men ; and, though a very stormy 
 day, they regarded not the tide nor waited for boats, 
 but marched over neck high in water, and discharged 
 their pieces, when the regulars ran, without wait 
 ing to get off their stock, and made the best of their 
 way to the opposite shore. 1 The General sent his 
 
 1 This affair also is mentioned in "The Remembrancer" 
 for 1776, Vol. I. p. 22D. 
 
80 LETTERS. 
 
 thanks in a public manner to ihe brave officer and 
 his men. Major Mifflin, I hear, was there, and flew 
 about as though he would have raised the whole 
 army. May they never find us deficient in courage 
 and spirit. 
 
 Dr. Franklin invited me to spend the winter in 
 Philadelphia. I shall wish to be there unless you 
 return. I have been like a nun in a cloister, ever 
 since you went away, and have not been into any 
 other house than my father s and sister s, except 
 once to Colonel Quincy s. Indeed, I have had no 
 inclination for company. My evenings are lone 
 some and melancholy. In the daytime family af 
 fairs take off my attention, but the evenings are 
 spent with my departed parent. I then ruminate 
 upon all her care and tenderness, and am sometimes 
 lost and absorbed in a flood of tenderness, ere I am 
 aware of it, or can call to my aid my only prop and 
 support. I must bid you adieu ; t is late at night. 
 Most affectionately yours. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS* 
 
 27 November, 1775. 
 
 COLONEL WARREN returned last week to Plymouth, 
 so that I shall not hear any thing from you, until he 
 goes back again, which will not be till the last of 
 this month. He damped my spirits greatly by tell- 
 
LETTERS. 81 
 
 ing me, that the Court 1 had prolonged your stay 
 another month. I was pleasing myself with the 
 thought, that you would soon be upon your return. 
 It is in vain to repine. I hope the public will reap 
 what I sacrifice. 
 
 I wish I knew what mighty things were fabricat 
 ing. If a form of government is to be established 
 here, what one will be assumed ? Will it be left to 
 our Assemblies to choose one ? And will not many 
 men have many minds ? And shall we not run into 
 dissensions among ourselves ? 
 
 I am more and more convinced, that man is a 
 dangerous creature ; and that power, whether vested 
 in many or a few, is ever grasping, and, like the 
 grave, cries " Give, give." The great fish swallow 
 up the small ; and he, who is most strenuous for the 
 rights of the people, when vested with power is as 
 eager after the prerogatives of government. You 
 tell me of degrees of perfection to which human 
 nature is capable of arriving, and I believe it, but, 
 at the same time, lament that our admiration should 
 arise from the scarcity of the instances. 
 
 The building up a great empire, which was only 
 hinted at by my correspondent, may now, I suppose, 
 be realized even by the unbelievers. Yet, will not 
 ten thousand difficulties arise in the formation of it ? 
 The reins of government have been so long slack 
 ened, that I fear the people will not quietly submit 
 to those restraints, which are necessary for the peace 
 
 1 The General Court of the Province. 
 VOL. I. C 
 
82 LETTERS. 
 
 and security of the community. If we separate 
 from Britain, what code of laws will be established ? - 
 How shall we be governed, so as to retain our lib 
 erties ? Can any government be free, which is not 
 administered by general stated laws ? Who shall 
 frame these laws ? Who will give them force and 
 energy ? It is true, your resolutions, as a body, 
 have hitherto had the force of laws ; but will they 
 continue to have ? 
 
 When I consider these things, and the prejudices 
 of people in favor of ancient customs and regula 
 tions, I feel anxious for the fate of our monarchy or 
 democracy, or whatever is to take place. I soon get 
 lost in a labyrinth of perplexities ; but, whatever 
 occurs, may justice and righteousness be the stability 
 of our times, and order arise out of confusion. Great 
 difficulties may be surmounted by patience and per 
 severance. 
 
 I believe, I have tired you with politics ; as to 
 news we have not any at all. I shudder at the 
 approach of winter, when I think I am to remain 
 desolate. 
 
 I must bid you good night ; t is late for me, who 
 am much of an invalid. I was disappointed last 
 week in receiving a packet by the post, and, upon 
 unsealing it, finding only four newspapers. I think 
 you are more cautious than you need be. All let 
 ters, I believe, have come safe to hand. I have 
 sixteen from you, and wish I had as many more. 
 Adieu, yours. 
 
LETTERS. 83 
 
 t, 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 10 December, 1775. 
 
 I RECEIVED your obliging favor by Mrs. Morgan, with 
 the papers and the other articles you sent, which 
 were very acceptable to me, as they are not to be 
 purchased here. I shall be very choice of them. 
 
 I have, according to your desire, been upon a visit 
 to Mrs. Morgan, who keeps at Major Mifflin s. I 
 had received a message from Mrs. Mifflin some time 
 ago, desiring I would visit her. My father, who, 
 you know, is very obliging in this way, accompanied 
 me, and I had the pleasure of drinking coffee with 
 the Doctor and his lady, the Major and his lady, and 
 a. Mr. and Mrs. Smith from New York, a daughter 
 of the famous son of liberty, Captain Sears ; Generals 
 Gates and Lee ; a Dr. M Henry and a Mr. Ehvyn, 
 with many others who were strangers to me. I 
 was very politely entertained, and noticed by the 
 generals ; more especially General Lee, who was 
 very urgent with me to tarry in town, and dine with 
 him and the ladies present, at Hobgoblin Hall, but I 
 excused myself. The General was determined, that 
 I should not only be acquainted with him, but with 
 his companions too, and therefore placed a chair 
 before me, into which he ordered Mr. Spada to 
 mount and present his paw to me for a better ac 
 quaintance. I could not do otherwise than accept 
 
84 LETTERS. 
 
 it. "That, Madam," says he, "is the dog which 
 Mr. has rendered famous." 
 
 I was so little while in company with these per 
 sons, and the company so mixed, that it was almost 
 impossible to form any judgment of them. The 
 Doctor appeared modest, and his lady affable and 
 agreeable. Major Mifflin, you know, I was always 
 an admirer of, as well as of his delicate lady. I 
 believe Philadelphia must be an unfertile soil, or it 
 would not produce so many unfruitful women. I al 
 ways conceive of these persons as wanting one ad 
 dition to their happiness ; but, in these perilous 
 times, I know not, whether it ought to be consider 
 ed as an infelicity, since they are certainly freed 
 from the anxiety every parent must feel for their 
 rising offspring. 
 
 I drank coffee one day with General Sullivan upon 
 Winter Hill. He appears to be a man of sense and 
 spirit. His countenance denotes him of a warm con 
 stitution, not to be very suddenly moved, but, when 
 once roused, not very easily lulled, easy and so 
 cial, well calculated for a military station, as he 
 seems to be possessed of those popular qualities, 
 necessary to attach men to him. 
 
 By the way, I congratulate you upon our late 
 noble acquisition of military stores. 1 It is a most 
 grand mortar, I assure you. Surely Heaven smiles 
 upon us in many respects, and we have continually 
 
 1 By the capture of the brig Nancy, bound for Boston, with 
 ordnance from "Woolwich. 
 
LETTERS. 85 
 
 to speak of mercies, as well as of judgments. I 
 wish our gratitude may be anywise proportionate to 
 our benefits. I suppose, in Congress, you think of 
 every thing relative to trade and commerce, as well 
 as other things ; but, as I have been desired to men 
 tion to you some things, I shall not omit them. 
 One is, that there may be something done, in a Con 
 tinental way, with regard to excise upon spirituous 
 liquors, that each of the New England colonies may 
 be upon the same footing ; whereas we formerly 
 used to pay an excise, and the other colonies none, 
 or very little, by which means they drew away our 
 trade. That an excise is necessary, though it may 
 be objected to by the mercantile interest, as a too 
 frequent use of spirits endangers the wellbeing of 
 society. Another article is, that some method may 
 be devised to keep among us our gold and silver, 
 which are now every day shipped off to the West In 
 dies for molasses, coffee, and sugar ; and this I can 
 say of my own knowledge, that a dollar in silver is 
 now become a great rarity, and our traders will give 
 you a hundred pounds of paper for ninety of silver, 
 or nearly that proportion. If any trade is allowed 
 to the West Indies, would it not be better to carry 
 some commodity of our own produce in exchange ? 
 Medicines, cotton wool, and some other articles, we 
 are in great want of. Formerly we used to purchase 
 cotton wool at one shilling, lawful money, per bag ; 
 now it is three, and the scarcity of that article dis 
 tresses us, as it was wrought up with less trouble 
 than any other article of clothing. Flax is now from 
 
00 LETTERS. 
 
 a shilling to one and sixpence per pound, sheep s 
 wool eighteen pence, and linens not to be had at any 
 price. I cannot mention the article in the English 
 goods way, which is not double ; and, in the West 
 India, molasses by retail I used formerly to purchase 
 at one and eight pence, now it is two and eight 
 pence ; rum, three shillings ; coffee, one and three 
 pence, and all other things in proportion. Corn is 
 four shillings per bushel ; rye, five ; oats, three and 
 eight pence ; hay, five and six shillings per hundred ; 
 wood, twenty shillings per cord ; but meat of all 
 kinds cheap. 
 
 My uncle Quincy desires to be remembered to 
 you ; he inquired when you talked of coming home. 
 
 1 told him you had not fixed any time. He says, if 
 you don t come soon, he would advise me to procure 
 another husband. He, 1 of all persons, ought not to 
 give me such advice, I told him, unless he set a 
 better example himself. 
 
 Be kind enough to burn this letter. It is written 
 in great haste, and a most incorrect scrawl it is. 
 But I cannot conclude without telling you, we are all 
 very angry with your House of Assembly for their 
 instructions." They raise prejudices in the minds of 
 
 1 Norton Quincy, the only son of Colonel John Quincy, 
 and the uncle of Mrs. Adams, was married early. His wife 
 died within the first year of the marriage, and the depth of his 
 feelings at this bereavement was such as to make him a recluse 
 for life. Hence the point of her remark. 
 
 2 It is a little doubtful to what this alludes. Probably to 
 the application made by New Hampshire to Congress, for 
 
LETTERS. 87 
 
 people, and serve to create in their minds a terror at 
 a separation from a people wholly unworthy of us. 
 We are a little of the spaniel kind ; though so often 
 spurned, still to fawn, argues a meanness of spirit, 
 that, as an individual, I disclaim, and would rather 
 endure any hardship than submit to it. 
 
 Yours. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Saturday Evening-, 2 March, 1776. 
 
 I WAS greatly rejoiced, at the return of your servant, 
 to find you had safely arrived, and that you were 
 well I had never heard a word from you after you 
 had left New York, and a most ridiculous story 
 had been industriously propagated in this and the 
 neighbouring towns to injure the cause and blast your 
 reputation; namely, that you and your President 1 
 had gone on board of a man-of-war from New York, 
 and sailed for England. I should not mention so 
 idle a report, but that it had given uneasiness to 
 some of your friends ; not that they, in the least, 
 credited the report, but because the gaping vulgar 
 swallowed the story. One man 2 had deserted them 
 
 advice to establish a form of government for itself. This ad- 
 vice was given, although not without reluctance. A number 
 of the members opposed it, as being too decisive a step to 
 wards independence. See Gordon s " History," Vol. II. p. 
 150. 
 
 1 John Hancock. * Dr. Church. 
 
88 LETTERS. 
 
 and proved a traitor, another might, &c. I assure 
 you, such high disputes took place in the public 
 house of this parish, that some men were collared 
 and dragged out of the shop with great threats, for 
 reporting such scandalous lies, and an uncle of ours 
 offered his life as a forfeit for you, if the report 
 proved true. However, it has been a nine days 
 marvel, and will now cease. I heartily wish every 
 Tory was extirpated from America ; they are contin 
 ually, by secret means, undermining and injuring our 
 cause. 
 
 I am charmed with the sentiments of " Common 
 Sense," and wonder how an honest heart, one who 
 wishes the welfare of his country and the happiness 
 of posterity, can hesitate one moment at adopting 
 them. I want to know how these sentiments are re 
 ceived in Congress. I dare say there would be no 
 difficulty in procuring a vote and instructions from all 
 the Assemblies in New England for Independency. 
 I most sincerely wish, that now, in the lucky moment, 
 it might be done. 
 
 I have been kept in a continual state of anxiety 
 and expectation, ever since you left me. It has been 
 said " to-morrow " and " to-morrow " for this month, 
 but when the dreadful to-morrow will be, I know not. 
 But hark ! The house this instant shakes with the 
 roar of cannon. I have been to the door and find it 
 is a cannonade from our army. Orders, I find, are 
 come for all the remaining militia to repair to the 
 lines Monday night by twelve o clock. No sleep for 
 me to-night. And if I cannot, who have no guilt 
 
LETTERS. 89 
 
 upon my soul with regard to this cause, how shall 
 the miserable wretches, who have been the pro 
 curers of this dreadful scene, and those who are to 
 be the actors, lie down with the load of guilt upon 
 their souls ? 
 
 Sunday Evening, 3 March. 
 
 I went to bed after twelve, but got no rest ; the 
 cannon continued firing, and my heart beat pace 
 with them all night. We have had a pretty quiet 
 day, but what to-morrow will bring forth, God only 
 knows. 
 
 Monday Evening. 
 
 Tolerably quiet. To-day the militia have all 
 mustered, with three days provision, and are all 
 marched by three o clock this afternoon, though 
 their notice was no longer ago than eight o clock, 
 Saturday. And now we have scarcely a man, but 
 our regular guards, either in Wey mouth, Hing- 
 ham, Braintree, or Milton, and the militia from the 
 more remote towns are called in as seacoast guards. 
 Can you form to yourself an idea of our sensa 
 tions ? 
 
 I have just returned from Perm s Hill, where I 
 have been sitting to hear the amazing roar of can 
 non, and from whence I could see every shell which 
 was thrown. The sound, I think, is one of the 
 grandest in nature, and is of the true species of the 
 Sublime. T is now an incessant roar ; but O ! the 
 fatal ideas, which are connected with the sound ! 
 How many of our dear countrymen must fall ! 
 
90 LETTERS. 
 
 Tuesday Morning. 
 
 I went to bed about twelve, and rose again a little 
 after one. I could no more sleep, than if I had been 
 in the engagement ; the rattling of the windows, the 
 jar of the house, the continual roar of twenty-four 
 pounders, and the bursting of shells, give us such 
 ideas, and realize a scene to us of which we could 
 form scarcely any conception. About six, this morn 
 ing, there was quiet. I rejoiced in a few hours 
 calm. I hear we got possession of Dorchester hill 
 last night ; four thousand men upon it to-day ; lost 
 but one man. The ships are all drawn rourid the 
 town. To-night we shall realize a more terrible 
 scene still. I sometimes think I cannot stand it. I 
 wish myself with you, out of hearing, as I cannot 
 assist them. I hope to give you joy of Boston, even 
 if it is in ruins, before I send this away. I am too 
 much agitated to write as I ought, and languid for 
 want of rest. 
 
 Thursday. Fast-day. 
 
 All my anxiety and distress is at present at an 
 end. I feel disappointed. This day our militia are 
 all returning without effecting any thing more than 
 taking possession of Dorchester hill. I hope it is 
 wise and just, but, from all the muster and stir, I 
 hoped and expected more important and decisive 
 scenes. I would not have suffered all I have for 
 two such hills. Ever since the taking of that, we 
 have had a perfect calm : nor can I learn yet, what 
 
LETTERS. 91 
 
 effect it has had in Boston. I do not hear of one 
 person s escaping since. 
 
 I was very much pleased with your choice of a 
 committee for Canada. All those to whom I have 
 ventured to show that part of your letter, approve the 
 scheme of the priest, as a master-stroke of policy. 1 
 I feel sorry, that General Lee has left us, but his 
 presence at New York was no doubt of great impor 
 tance, as we have reason to think it prevented Clinton 
 from landing and gathering together such a nest of 
 vermin, as would at least have distressed us greatly. 
 But how can you spare him from here ? Can you 
 make his place good ? Can you supply it with a man 
 equally qualified to save us ? How do the Virginians 
 relish the troops said to be destined for them ? Are 
 they putting themselves into a state of defence ? I 
 cannot bear to think of your continuing in a state of 
 supine ness this winter. 
 
 " There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat ; 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 Or lose our ventures." 
 
 1 The members chosen on the committee were Dr. Franklin, 
 Mr. Samuel Chase, and Mr. Charles Carroll, of Carrollton. 
 At the same time it was " Resolved, That Mr. Carroll be re 
 quested to prevail on Mr. John Carroll to accompany the 
 committee to Canada, to assist them in such matters as they 
 shall think useful." Journal of Congress, February 15th, 
 1776. 
 
92 LETTERS. 
 
 Sunday Evening. 
 
 I had scarcely finished these lines when my ears 
 were again assaulted by the roar of cannon. I could 
 not write any further. My hand and heart will 
 tremble at this " domestic fury and fierce civil strife," 
 which " cumber all " our " parts " ; though " blood 
 and destruction " are " so much in use," " and dread 
 ful objects so familiar," yet is not " pity choked," 
 nor my heart grown callous. I feel for the unhappy 
 wretches, who know not where to fly for safety. I 
 feel still more for my bleeding countrymen, who are 
 hazarding their lives and their limbs. A most ter 
 rible and incessant cannonade from half after eight 
 till six this morning. I hear we lost four men killed, 
 and. some wounded, in attempting to take the hill 
 nearest the town, called Nook s Hill. We did some 
 work, but the fire from the ships beat off our men, 
 so that they did not secure it, but retired to the fort 
 upon the other hill. 
 
 I have not got all the particulars ; I wish I had ; 
 but, as I have an opportunity of sending this, I shall 
 endeavour to be more particular in my next. 
 
 If there are reinforcements here, I believe we shall 
 be driven from the seacoast ; but, in whatever state 
 I am, I will endeavour to be therewith content. 
 
 " Man wants but little here below, 
 , Nor wants that little long." 
 
 You will excuse this very incorrect letter. You 
 see in what perturbation it has been written, and 
 how many times I have left off. Adieu. Yours. 
 
LETTERS. 93 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 7 April, 1776. 
 
 I HAVE received all the papers you sent, the oration 
 and the magazines. In the small papers I sometimes 
 find pieces begun and continued, (for instance, John 
 ston s speech,) but am so unlucky as not to get the 
 papers in order, and miss of seeing the whole. 
 
 The removal of the army seems to have stopped 
 the current of news. I want to know to what part 
 of America they are now wandering. It is reported 
 and credited, that Manly has taken a schooner be 
 longing to the fleet, richly laden with money, plate, 
 and English goods, with a number of Tories. The 
 particulars I have not yet learned. Yesterday the 
 remains of our worthy General Warren were dug 
 up upon Bunker s hill, and carried into town, and on 
 Monday are to be interred, with all the honors of 
 war. 
 
 10 April. 
 
 The Doctor was buried on Monday ; the masons 
 walking in procession from the Statehouse, with the 
 military in uniforms, and a large concourse of peo 
 ple attending. He was carried into the Chapel, 
 and there a funeral dirge was played, an excellent 
 prayer by Dr. Cooper, and an oration by Mr. Morton, 
 which I hope will be printed. I think the subject 
 must have inspired him. A young fellow could 
 
94 LETTERS. 
 
 not have wished a finer opportunity to display his 
 talents. The amiable and heroic virtues of the de 
 ceased, recent in the minds of the audience ; the 
 noble cause to which he fell a martyr ; their own 
 sufferings and unparalleled injuries, all fresh in their 
 minds, must have given weight and energy to what 
 ever could be delivered upon the occasion. The 
 dead body, like that of Caesar, before their eyes, 
 whilst each wound, 
 
 " like dumb mouths, did ope their ruby lips, 
 To beg the voice and utterance of a tongue. 
 Woe to the hands that shed this costly blood, 
 A curse shall light" upon their line. 1 
 
 11 April. 
 
 I take my pen and write just as I can get time ; 
 my letters will be a strange mixture. I really am 
 " cumbered about many things," and scarcely know 
 which way to turn myself. I miss my partner, and 
 find myself unequal to the cares which fall upon me. 
 I find it necessary to be the directress of our hus 
 bandry. I hope in time to have the reputation of 
 being as good a farmeress, as my partner has of 
 being a good statesman. To ask you any thing about 
 your return, would, I suppose, be asking a question 
 which you cannot answer. 
 
 1 The quotations from Shakspeare s " Julius Caesar," so fre 
 quently to be met with in this and the preceding letter, betray 
 as strongly the historical precedents to which the rnind of the 
 writer at this time inclined, as the signature which she as 
 sumed. 
 
LETTERS. 95 
 
 Retirement, rural quiet, domestic pleasures, all, all, 
 must give place to the weighty cares of state. It 
 would bo 
 
 " meanly poor in solitude to hide 
 An honest zeal, unwarped by party rage." 
 
 " Though certain pains attend the cares of state, 
 A good man owes his country to be great, 
 Should act abroad the high distinguished part, 
 And show, at least, the purpose of his heart." 
 
 I hope your Prussian general 1 will answer the high 
 character which is given of him. But we, who have 
 been bred in a land of liberty, scarcely know how to 
 give credit to so unjust and arbitrary a mandate of a 
 despot. To cast oft* a faithful servant only for being 
 the unhappy bearer of ill news, degrades the man, 
 and dishonors the prince. The Congress, by em 
 ploying him, have shown a liberality of sentiment, 
 not confined to colonies or continents, but, to use the 
 words of " Common Sense," have " carried their 
 friendship on a larger scale, by claiming brotherhood 
 with every European Christian, and may justly 
 triumph in the generosity of the sentiment." 
 
 Yesterday, was taken and carried into Cohasset, 
 by three whaleboats, who went from the shore on 
 purpose, a snow from the Grenadas, laden with 
 
 1 Probably the Baron de Woedtke, who was appointed by 
 Congress a brigadier-general on the 16th of March, and order 
 ed to Canada. He died shortly afterwards, at Lake George. 
 See Sparks s edition of " Washington s Writings," Vol. IV. 
 p. G, note. 
 
96 LETTERS. 
 
 three hundred and fifty-four puncheons of West In 
 dia rum, forty-three barrels of sugar, twelve thou 
 sand and five hundred weight of coffee ; a valuable 
 prize. A number of Eastern sloops have brought 
 wood into town since the fleet sailed. We have a 
 rumor of Admiral Hopkins being engaged with a 
 number of ships and tenders off Rhode Island ; and 
 are anxious to know the event. Be so good as to 
 send me a list of the vessels which sail with Hop 
 kins, their names, weight of metal, and number of 
 men ; all the news you know, &c. 
 
 I hear our jurors refuse to serve, because the writs 
 are issued in the King s name. Surely, they are for 
 independence. 
 
 Write me how you do this winter. I want to say 
 many things I must omit. It is not fit " to wake the 
 soul by tender strokes of art," or to ruminate upon 
 happiness we might enjoy, lest absence become in 
 tolerable. Adieu. Yours. 
 
 I wish you would burn all my letters. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 7 May, 1770. 
 
 How many are the solitary hours I spend, ruminat 
 ing upon the past, and anticipating the future, whilst 
 you, overwhelmed with the cares of state, have but 
 a few moments you can devote to any individual. 
 
LETTERS. 97 
 
 All domestic pleasures and enjoyments are absorbed 
 in the great and important duty you owe your coun 
 try, " for our country is, as it were, a secondary 
 god, and the first and greatest parent. It is to be 
 preferred to parents, wives, children, friends, and all 
 things, the gods only excepted ; for, if our country 
 perishes, it is as impossible to save an individual, as 
 to preserve one of the fingers of a mortified hand." 
 Thus do I suppress every wish, and silence every 
 murmur, acquiescing in a painful separation from 
 the companion of my youth, and the friend of my 
 heart. 
 
 I believe t is near ten days since I wrote you a 
 line. I have not felt in a humor to entertain you if 
 I had taken up my pen. Perhaps some unbecoming 
 invective might have fallen from it. The eyes of 
 our rulers have been closed, and a lethargy has seiz 
 ed almost every member. I fear a fatal security 
 has taken possession of them. Whilst the building 
 is in flames, they tremble at the expense of water to 
 quench it. In short, two months have elapsed since 
 the evacuation of Boston, and very little has been 
 done in that time to secure it, or the harbour, from 
 future invasion. The people are all in a flame, and 
 no one among us, that I have heard of, even men 
 tions expense. They think, universally, that there 
 has been an amazing neglect somewhere. Many 
 have turned out as volunteers to work upon Noddle s 
 Island, and many more would go upon Nantasket, if 
 the business was once set on foot. " T is a maxim 
 of state, that power and liberty are like heat and 
 
 VOL. i. 7 
 
98 LETTERS. 
 
 moisture. Where they are well mixed, eveiy thing 
 prospers ; where they are single, they are destruc 
 tive." 
 
 A government of more stability is much wanted 
 in this colony, and they are ready to receive it from 
 the hands of the Congress. And since I have begun 
 with maxims of state, I will add another, namely, 
 that a people may let a king fall, yet still remain a 
 people ; but, if a king let his people slip from him, 
 he is no longer a king. And as this is most certainly 
 our case, why not proclaim to the world, in decisive 
 terms, your own importance ? 
 
 Shall we not be despised by foreign powers, for 
 hesitating so long at a word ? 
 
 I cannot say, that 1 think you are very generous to 
 the ladies ; for, whilst you are proclaiming peace and 
 good -will to men, emancipating all nations, you in 
 sist upon retaining an absolute power over wives. 
 But you must remember, that arbitrary power is like 
 most other things which are very hard, very liable 
 to be broken ; and, notwithstanding all your wise laws 
 and maxims, we have it in our power, not only to 
 free ourselves, but to subdue our masters, and, with 
 out violence, throw both your natural and legal 
 authority at our feet ; 
 
 " Charm by accepting, by submitting sway, 
 Yet have our humor most when we obey." 
 
 I thank you for several letters which I have re 
 ceived since I wrote last ; they alleviate a tedious 
 absence, and I long earnestly for a Saturday eve- 
 
LETTERS. 99 
 
 ning, and experience a similar pleasure to that which 
 I used to find in the return of my friend upon that 
 day after a week s absence. The idea of a year 
 dissolves all my philosophy. 
 
 Our little ones, whom you so often recommend to 
 my care and instruction, shall not be deficient in 
 virtue or probity, if the precepts of a mother have 
 their desired effect ; but they would be doubly en 
 forced, could they be indulged with the example of a 
 father alternately before them. I often point them 
 to their sire, 
 
 " engaged in a corrupted state, 
 Wrestling with vice and faction." 
 
 9 May. 
 
 I designed to have finished the sheet, but, an 
 opportunity offering, I close, only just informing you 
 that, May the 7th, our privateers took two prizes in 
 the bay, in fair sight of the man-of-war ; one, a brig 
 from Ireland ; the other from Fayal, loaded with 
 wine, brandy, &c. ; the other with beef, &c. The 
 wind was east, and a flood tide, so that the tenders 
 could not get out, though t they tried several times ; 
 the lighthouse fired signal guns, but all would not do. 
 They took them in triumph, and carried them into 
 Lynn. 
 
 Pray be kind enough to remember me at all times, 
 and write, as often as you possibly can, to your 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
100 LETTERS. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Plymouth, 17 June, 1776, a remarkable day. 
 
 I THIS day received by the hands of our worthy 
 friend, a large packet, which has refreshed and com 
 forted me. Your own sensations have ever been 
 similar to mine. I need not then tell you how grati 
 fied I am at the frequent tokens of remembrance 
 with which you favor me, nor how they rouse every 
 tender sensation of my soul, which sometimes will 
 find vent at my eyes. Nor dare I describe how 
 earnestly I long to fold to my fluttering heart the 
 object of my warmest affections ; the idea soothes 
 me. I feast upon it with a pleasure known only to 
 those whose hearts and hopes are one. 
 
 The approbation you give to my conduct in the 
 management of our private affairs, is very grateful 
 to me, and sufficiently compensates for all my anxi 
 eties and endeavours to discharge the many duties 
 devolved upon me in consequence of the absence of 
 my dearest friend. Were they discharged according 
 to my wishes, I should merit the praises you bestow. 
 
 You see I date from Plymouth. I came upon a 
 visit to our amiable friends, accompanied by my sis 
 ter Betsey, a day or two ago. It is the first night I 
 have been absent since you left me. Having deter 
 mined upon this visit for some time, I put my family 
 in order and prepared for it, thinking I might leave 
 it with safety. Yet, the day I set out, I was under 
 
LETTERS. 101 
 
 many apprehensions, by the coming in of ten trans 
 ports, who were seen to have many soldiers on board, 
 and the determination of the people to go and fortify 
 upon Long Island, Pettick s Island, Nantasket, and 
 Great Hill. It was apprehended they would attempt 
 to land somewhere, but the next morning I had the 
 pleasure to hear they were all driven out, Commo 
 dore and all ; not a transport, a ship, or a tender 
 to be seen. This shows what might have been long 
 ago done. Had this been done in season, the ten 
 transports, with many others, in all probability would 
 have fallen into our hands ; but the progress of wisdom 
 is slow. 
 
 Since I arrived here I have really had a scene 
 quite novel to me. The brig Defence^ from Con 
 necticut, put in here for ballast. The officers, who 
 are all from thence, and who are intimately ac 
 quainted at Dr. Lothrop s, invited his lady to come 
 on board, and bring with her as many of her friends 
 as she could collect. She sent an invitation to our 
 friend, Mrs. Warren, and to us. The brig lay about 
 a mile and a half from town. The officers sent 
 their barge, and we went. Every mark of respect 
 and attention which was in their power, they showed 
 us. She is a fine brig, mounts sixteen guns, twelve 
 swivels, and carries one hundred and twenty men. 
 A hundred and seventeen were on board, and no 
 private family ever appeared under better regulation 
 than the crew. It was as still as though there had 
 been only half a dozen ; not a profane word among 
 any of them. The captain himself is an exemplary 
 
102 LETTERS. 
 
 man ; (Harden his name) has heen in nine sea 
 engagements ; says if he gets a man who swears, 
 and finds he cannot reform him, he turns him on 
 shore, yet is free to confess, that it was the sin of his 
 youth. He has one lieutenant, a very fine fellow, 
 Smelden by name. We spent a very agreeable af 
 ternoon, and drank tea on board. They showed us 
 their arms, which were sent by Queen Anne, and 
 everything on board was a curiosity to me. They 
 gave us a mock engagement with an enemy, and the 
 manner of taking a ship. The young folks went 
 upon the quarter deck and danced. Some of their 
 Jacks played very well upon the violin and German 
 flute. The brig bears the Continental colors, and 
 was fitted out by the Colony of Connecticut. As we 
 set off from the brig, they fired their guns in honor 
 to us, a ceremony I would very readily have dispensed 
 with. 
 
 I pity you, and feel for you under all the difficul 
 ties you have to encounter. My daily petitions to 
 Heaven for you are, that you may have health, 
 wisdom, and fortitude sufficient to carry you through 
 the great and arduous business in which you are en 
 gaged, and that your endeavours may be crowned 
 with success. Canada seems a dangerous and ill- 
 fated place. It is reported here, that General Thom 
 as is no more, that he took the smallpox, and died 
 with it. Every day some circumstance arises, which 
 shows me the importance of having the distemper 
 in youth. Dr. Bulfinch has petitioned the General 
 Court for leave to open a hospital somewhere, and 
 
LETTERS. 103 
 
 it will be granted him. I shall, with all the children, 
 be one of, the first class, you may depend upon it. 
 
 I have just this moment heard, that the brig, which 
 I was on board of on Saturday, and which sailed 
 yesterday morning from this place, fell in with two 
 transports, having each of them a hundred and fifty 
 men on board, and took them, and has brought them 
 into Nantasket Roads, under cover of the guns which 
 are mounted there. I will add further particulars as 
 soon as I am informed, 
 
 I am now better informed, and will give you the 
 truth. The brig Defence, accompanied by a small 
 privateer, sailed in concert Sunday morning. About 
 twelve o clock they discovered two transports, and 
 made for them. Two privateers, which were small, 
 had been in chase of them, but finding the enemy 
 was of much larger force, had run under Cohasset 
 rocks. The Defence gave a signal gun to bring 
 them out. Captain Burk, who accompanied the De 
 fence, being a prime sailer, he came up first, and 
 poured a broadside on board a sixteen gun brig. 
 The Defence soon attacked her upon her bows. An 
 obstinate engagement ensued. There was a con 
 tinual blaze upon all sides for many hours, and it 
 was near midnight before they struck. In the en 
 gagement, the Defence lost one man, and five wound 
 ed. With Burk, not one man received any dam 
 age ; on board the enemy, fourteen killed, among 
 whom was a major, and sixty wounded. They are 
 part of the Highland soldiers. The other transport 
 mounted six guns. When the fleet sailed out of this 
 
104 LETTERS. 
 
 harbor last week, they blew up the lighthouse. They 
 met six transports coming in, which they carried off 
 with them. I hope we shall soon be in such a posture 
 of defence, as to bid them defiance. 
 
 I feel no great anxiety at the large armament de 
 signed against us. The remarkable interpositions of 
 Heaven in our favor cannot be too gratefully ac 
 knowledged. He who fed the Israelites in the wil 
 derness, " who clothes the lilies of the field, and feeds 
 the young ravens when they cry," will not forsake a 
 people engaged in so righteous a cause, if we re 
 member his loving-kindness. We wanted powder, 
 we have a supply. We wanted arms, we have 
 been favored in that respect. We wanted hard mon 
 ey, twenty-two thousand dollars, and an equal 
 value in plate, are delivered into our hands. 
 
 You mention your peas, your cherries, and your 
 strawberries, &c. Ours are but just in blossom. We 
 have had the coldest spring I ever knew. Things 
 are three weeks behind what they generally used to 
 be. The corn looks poor. The season now is rather 
 dry. I believe I did not understand you, when in 
 a former letter you said, "I want to resign my of 
 fice, for a thousand reasons." If you mean that of 
 judge, I know not what to say. I know it will be a 
 difficult and arduous station ; but, divesting myself 
 of private interest, which would lead me to be against 
 your holding that office, I know of no person who 
 is so well calculated to discharge the trust, or who I 
 think would act a more conscientious part. 
 
LETTERS. 105 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 29 September, 1776. 
 
 NOT since the 5th of September, have I had one line 
 from you, which makes me very uneasy. Are you 
 all this time conferring with his Lordship ? l Is there 
 no communication ? or, are the post-riders all dis 
 missed ? Let the cause be what it will, not hearing 
 from you has given me much uneasiness. 
 
 We seem to be kept in total ignorance of affairs 
 at York. I hope you at Congress are more enlight 
 ened. Who fell, who are wounded, who prisoners or 
 their number, is as undetermined as it was the day 
 after the battle. 2 If our army is in ever so critical a 
 state I wish to know it, and the worst of it. If all 
 America is to be ruined and undone by a pack of 
 cowards and knaves, I wish to know it. Pitiable is 
 the lot of their commander. Caesar s tenth legion 
 never was forgiven. We are told for truth, that a 
 regiment of Yorkers refused to quit the city ; and, 
 that another regiment behaved like a pack of cow 
 ardly villains by quitting their posts. If they are 
 unjustly censured, it is for want of proper intelli 
 gence. 
 
 1 Dr. Franklin. Mr. John Adams, and Mr. Rutledge, were 
 elected a Committee on the part of Congress, to confer with 
 Lord Howe, respecting his powers to treat. Journals of 
 Congress, September 6th, 1776. 
 
 2 On Long Island. 
 
106 LETTERS. 
 
 I am sorry to see a spirit so venal prevailing every 
 where. When our men were drawn out for Canada, 
 a very large bounty was given them ; and now 
 another call is made upon us ; no one will go without 
 a large bounty, though only for two months, and each 
 town seems to think its honor engaged in outbidding 
 the others. The province pay is forty shillings. In 
 addition to that, this town voted to make it up six 
 pounds. They then drew out the persons most un 
 likely to go, and they are obliged to give three 
 pounds to hire a man. Some pay the whole fine, 
 ten pounds. Forty men are now drafted from this 
 town. More than one half, from sixteen to fifty, 
 are now in the service. This method of conducting 
 will create a general uneasiness in the Continental 
 army. I hardly think you can be sensible how 
 much we are thinned in this province. 
 
 The rage for privateering is as great here as any 
 where. Vast numbers are employed in that way. 
 If it is necessary to make any more drafts upon 
 us, the women must reap the harvests. I am willing 
 to do my part. I believe I could gather corn, and 
 husk it ; but I should make a poor figure at digging 
 potatoes. 
 
 There has been a report, that a fleet was seen in 
 our bay yesterday. I cannot conceive from whence, 
 nor do I believe the story. 
 
 Tis said you have been upon Staten Island to 
 hold your conference. Tis a little odd, that I have 
 never received the least intimation of it from you. 
 Did you think I should be alarmed ? Don t you 
 
LETTERS. 1^7 
 
 know me better than to think me a coward ? I hope 
 you will write me every thing concerning this affair. 
 I have a great curiosity to know the result. 
 
 As to government, nothing is yet done about it. 
 The Church is opened here every Sunday, and the 
 King prayed for, as usual, in open defiance of Con 
 gress. 
 
 If the next post does not bring me a letter, I think 
 I will leave off writing, for I shall not believe you 
 get mine. 
 
 Adieu. Yours, . 
 
 P. S. e Master John has become post-rider from 
 Boston to Braintree. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 30 July, 1777. 
 
 I DARE say, before this time you have interpreted the 
 Northern Storm. If the presages chilled your blood, 
 how must you be frozen and stiffened at the disgrace 
 brought upon our arms ! l unless some warmer pas 
 sion seize you, and anger and resentment fire your 
 breast. How are all our vast magazines of cannon, 
 powder, arms, clothing, provision, medicine, &c., to 
 be restored to us ? But, what is vastly more, how 
 shall the disgrace be wiped away ? How shall our 
 
 1 The evacuation of Ticonderoga and Mount Independence, 
 by General St. Clair. 
 
108 LETTERS. 
 
 lost honor be retrieved ? The reports with regard 
 to that fortress are very vague and uncertain. Some 
 write from thence, that there was not force sufficient 
 to defend it. Others say it might have stood a long 
 siege. Some there are, who ought to know why and 
 wherefore we have given away a place of such 
 importance. 
 
 That the inquiry will be made, I make no doubt ; 
 and, if cowardice, guilt, deceit, are found upon any 
 one, howsoever high or exalted his station, may 
 shame, reproach, infamy, hatred, and the execrations 
 of the public, be his portion. 
 
 I would not be so narrow-minded, as to suppose, 
 that there are not many men of all nations, pos 
 sessed of honor, virtue, and integrity ; yet, it is to be 
 lamented, that we have not men among ourselves, 
 sufficiently qualified for war, to take upon them the 
 most important command. 
 
 It was customary among the Carthaginians, to 
 have a military school, in which the flower of their 
 nobility, and those whose talents and ambition 
 prompted them to aspire to the first dignities, learned 
 the art of war. From among these, they selected 
 all their general officers ; for, though they employed 
 mercenary soldiers, they were too jealous and sus 
 picious to employ foreign generals. Will a foreigner, 
 whose interest is not naturally connected with ours 
 (any otherwise than as the cause of liberty is the 
 cause of all mankind), will he act with the same 
 zeal, or expose himself to equal dangers, with the 
 same resolution, for a republic of which he is not a 
 
LETTERS. 109 
 
 member, as he would have done for his own native 
 country ? And can the people repose an equal con 
 fidence in them, even supposing them men of integ 
 rity and abilities, and that they meet with success 
 equal to their abilities ? How much envy and malice 
 are employed against them ! And how galling to 
 pride, how mortifying to human nature, to see itself 
 excelled. 
 
 31 July. 
 
 I have nothing new to entertain you with,jjj^less 
 it is an account of a new set of mobility, which has 
 lately taken the lead in Boston. You must know 
 that* there is a great scarcity of sugar and coffee, 
 articles which the female part of the state is very 
 loth to give up, especially whilst they consider the 
 scarcity occasioned by the merchants having secret 
 ed a large quantity. There had been much rout 
 and noise in the town for several weeks. Some 
 stores had been opened by a number of people, and 
 the coffee and sugar carried into the market, and 
 dealt out by pounds. It was rumored that an emi 
 nent, wealthy, stingy merchant 1 (who is a bachelor) 
 had a hogshead of coffee in his store, which he re 
 fused to sell to the committee under six shillings per 
 pound. A number of females, some say a hundred, 
 some say more, assembled with a cart and trucks, 
 marched down to the warehouse, and demanded the 
 
 1 Said to have been Thomas Boylston, who afterwards left 
 this country and settled in London. 
 
110 LETTERS. 
 
 keys, which he refused to deliver. Upon which, one 
 of them seized him by his neck, and tossed him into 
 the cart. Upon his finding no quarter, he delivered 
 the keys, when they tipped up the cart and discharg 
 ed him ; then opened the warehouse, hoisted out the 
 coffee themselves, put it into the truck, and drove off. 
 
 It was reported, that he had personal chastisement 
 among them ; but this, I believe, was not true. A 
 large concourse of men stood amazed, silent specta 
 tors of the whole transaction. 
 
 A^^eu. Your good mother is just come ; she 
 desires to be remembered to you ; so do my father 
 and sfeter, who have just left me, and so does she, 
 whose greatest happiness consists in being tenderly 
 beloved by her absent friend, and who subscribes 
 herself ever his 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 5 August, 1777. 
 
 IF alarming half a dozen places at the same time is 
 an act of generalship, Howe may boast of his late 
 conduct. We have never, since the evacuation of 
 Boston, been under apprehensions of an invasion 
 from them, equal to what we suffered last week. 
 All Boston was in confusion, packing up and carting 
 out of town household furniture, military stores, 
 
LETTERS. Ill 
 
 goods, &c. Not less than a thousand teams were em 
 ployed on Friday and Saturday ; and, to their shame 
 be it told, not a small trunk would they carry under 
 eight dollars, and many of them, I am told, asked a 
 hundred dollars a load ; for carting a hogshead of 
 molasses eight miles, thirty dollars. O human na 
 ture ! or rather, O inhuman nature ! what art thou ? 
 The report of the fleet s being seen off Cape Ann 
 Friday night gave me the alarm, and, though pretty 
 weak, I set about packing up my things, and on 
 Saturday removed a load. 
 
 When I looked around me and beheld the boun 
 ties of Heaven so liberally bestowed, in fine n%ds of 
 corn, grass, flax, and English grain, and thought it 
 might soon become a prey to these merciless rav- 
 agers, our habitations laid waste, and, if our flight 
 preserved our lives, we must return to barren fields, 
 empty barns, and desolate habitations, if any we 
 find, (perhaps not where to lay our heads,) my heart 
 was too full to bear the weight of affliction which I 
 thought just ready to overtake us, and my body too 
 weak almost to bear the shock, unsupported by my 
 better half. 
 
 But, thanks be to Heaven, we are at present re 
 lieved from our fears respecting ourselves. I now 
 feel anxious for your safety, but hope prudence will 
 direct to a proper care and attention to yourselves. 
 May this second attempt of Howe s prove his utter 
 ruin. May destruction overtake him as a whirlwind. 
 
 We have a report of an engagement at the north 
 ward, in which our troops behaved well, drove the 
 
112 LETTERS. 
 
 enemy into their lines, killed and took three hun 
 dred and fifty prisoners. The account came in last 
 night. I have not particulars. We are under ap 
 prehensions that the Hancock is taken. 
 
 Your obliging letters of the 8th, 10th, and 13th, 
 came to hand last week. I hope before this time 
 you are relieved from the anxiety you express for 
 your bosom friend. I feel my sufferings amply re 
 warded, in the tenderness you express for me. But, 
 in one of your letters, you have drawn a picture 
 which drew a flood of tears from my eyes, and 
 wrung my heart with anguish inexpressible. I pray 
 Heaven, I may not live to realize it. 
 
 It is almost thirteen years since we were united, 
 but not more than half that time have we had the 
 happiness of living together. The unfeeling world 
 may consider it in what light they please. I con 
 sider it as a sacrifice to my country, and one of my 
 greatest misfortunes, to be separated from my child 
 ren, at a time of life when the joint instructions and 
 admonition of parents sink deeper than in maturer 
 years. 
 
 The hope of the smiles and approbation of my 
 friend sweetens all my toils and labors. 
 
 Ye Powers, whom men and birds obey, 
 Great rulers of your creatures, say 
 Why mourning comes, by bliss conveyed, 
 And even the sweets of love allayed. 
 Where grows enjoyment tall and fair, 
 Around it twines entangling care ; 
 
LETTERS. 113 
 
 While fear for what our sons possess 
 Enervates every power to bless. 
 Yet friendship forms the bliss above, 
 And, life, what art thou without love ?" 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 ]7 September, 1777. 
 
 I HAVE to acknowledge a feast of letters from you 
 since I wrote last ; their dates from August 19th 
 to September 1st. It is a very great satisfaction to 
 me to know from day to day the movement of Howe 
 and his banditti. We live in hourly expectation of 
 important intelligence . from both armies. Heaven 
 grant us victory and peace ; two blessings, I fear, 
 we are very undeserving of. 
 
 Enclosed you will find a letter to Mr. Lovell, 1 who 
 was so obliging as to send me a plan of that part of 
 the country, which is like to be the present seat of 
 war. He accompanied it with a very polite fetter, 
 and I esteem myself much obliged to him ; but there 
 is no reward this side the grave that would be a 
 temptation to me to undergo the agitation and dis 
 tress I was thrown into by receiving a letter in his 
 handwriting, franked by him. It seems almost im 
 possible, that the human mind could take in, in so 
 
 1 James Lovell ; at. this time, and for several years after, a 
 delegate from Massachusetts to the General Congress. 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
1 14 LETTERS. 
 
 small a space of time, so many ideas as rushed upon 
 mine in the space of a moment. I cannot describe 
 to you what I felt. 
 
 The sickness or death of the dearest of friends, 
 with ten thousand horrors, seized my imagination. I 
 took up the letter, then laid it down, then gave it out 
 of my hand unable to open it, then collected reso 
 lution enough to unseal it, but dared not read it ; 
 began at the bottom, read a line, then attempted 
 to begin it, but could not. A paper was enclosed, 
 I ventured upon that, and, finding it a plan, recovered 
 enough to read the letter ; but I pray Heaven, I may 
 never realize such another moment of distress*, 
 
 I designed to have written you a long letter, for 
 really I owe you one, but have been prevented by 
 our worthy Plymouth friends, who are here upon a 
 visit, in their way home ; and it is now so late at 
 night, just struck twelve, that I will defer any thing 
 further till the next post. Good night, friend of my 
 heart, companion of my youth, husband, and lover. 
 Angels watch thy repose ! 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Boston, 25 October, 1777. 
 
 THE joyful news of the surrender of General Bur- 
 goyne and all his army, to our victorious troops, 
 prompted me to take a ride this afternoon with my 
 daughter to town, to join, to-morrow, with my friends 
 
LETTERS. 115 
 
 in thanksgiving and praise to the Supreme Being, 
 who hath so remarkably delivered our enemies into 
 our hands. And, hearing that an express is to go off 
 to-morrow morning, I have retired to write you a few 
 lines. I hove received no letters from you since you 
 left Philadelphia 1 by the post, and but one by any 
 private hand. 
 
 Burgoyne is expected in by the middle of the 
 week. I have read many articles of capitulation, 
 but none which ever before contained so generous 
 terms. Many people find fault with them, but per 
 haps do not consider sufficiently the circumstances 
 of General Gates, who, by delaying and exacting 
 more, might have lost all. This must be said of 
 him, that he has followed the golden rule, and done 
 as he would wish himself, in like circumstances, to 
 be dealt with. Must not the vaporing Burgoyne, 
 who, it is said, possesses great sensibility, be humbled 
 to the dust ? He may now write the Blockade of 
 Saratoga. I have heard it proposed, that he should 
 take up his quarters in the Old South, but believe 
 he will not be permitted to come to this town. 
 Heavc-n grant us success at the southward. That 
 saying of Poor Richard often occurs to my mind, 
 4 God helps them who help themselves ;" but, if men 
 turn their backs and run from an enemy, they cannot 
 surely expect to conquer him. 
 
 This day, dearest of friends, completes thirteen 
 years since we were solemnly united in wedlock. 
 
 1 For Yorktown, whither the Congress had adjourned. 
 
116 LETTERS. 
 
 Three years of this time we have been cruelly sep 
 arated. I have, patiently as I could, endured it, with 
 the belief that you were serving your country, and 
 rendering your fellow creatures essential benefits. 
 May future generations rise up and call you blessed, 
 and the present behave worthy of the blessings you 
 are laboring to secure to them, and I shall have less 
 reason to regret the deprivation of my own particular 
 felicity. 
 
 Adieu, dearest of friends, adieu. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 8 March, 1778. 
 
 T is a little more than three weeks since the dearest 
 of friends and tenderest of husbands left l his solitary 
 partner, and quitted all the fond endearments of 
 domestic felicity for the dangers of the sea, exposed, 
 perhaps, to the attack of a hostile foe, and, O good 
 Heaven ! can I add, to the dark assassin, to the secret 
 murderer, and the bloody emissary of as cruel a 
 tyrant as God, in his righteous judgments, ever suf 
 fered to disgrace the throne of Britain. 
 
 I have travelled with you over the wide Atlantic, 
 and could have landed you safe, with humble confi 
 dence, at your desired haven, and then have set 
 myself down to enjoy a negative kind of happiness, 
 
 1 Mr. Adams, with his eldest son, sailed for France in the 
 frigate Boston in February of this year. 
 
LETTERS. 117 
 
 in the painful part which it has pleased Heaven to 
 allot me ; but the intelligence with regard to that 
 great philosopher, able statesman, and unshaken 
 friend of his country, 1 has planted a dagger in my 
 breast, and I feel, with a double edge, the weapon 
 that pierced the bosom of a Franklin. 
 
 " For nought avail the virtues of the heart, 
 Nor towering genius claims its due reward ; 
 
 From Britain s fury, as from death s keen dart, 
 No worth can save us, and no fame can guard." 
 
 The more distinguished the person, the greater 
 the inveteracy of these foes of human nature. The 
 argument of my friends to alleviate my anxiety, by 
 persuading me that this shocking attempt will put 
 you more upon your guard and render your person 
 more secure than if it had never taken place, is kind 
 in them, and has some weight ; but my greatest com 
 fort and consolation arise from the belief of a su 
 perintending Providence to whom I can, with confi 
 dence, commit you, since not a sparrow falls to the 
 ground without his notice. Were it not for this, I 
 should be miserable and overwhelmed by my fears 
 and apprehensions. 
 
 Freedom of sentiment, the life and soul of friend 
 ship, is in a great measure cut off by the danger of 
 miscarriage, and the apprehension of letters falling 
 into the hands of our enemies. Should this meet 
 with that fate, may they blush for their connexion 
 
 1 An unfounded rumor of the assassination of Dr. Franklin 
 in Paris. 
 
118 LETTERS. 
 
 with a nation who have rendered themselves infa 
 mous and abhorred, by a long list of crimes, which 
 not their high achievements, nor the lustre of former 
 deeds, nor the tender appellation of parent, nor the 
 fond connexion which once subsisted, can ever blot 
 from our remembrance, nor wipe out those indelible 
 stains of their cruelty and baseness. They have en 
 graven them with a pen of iron on a rock for ever. 
 
 To my dear son remember me in the most affec 
 tionate terms. I would have written to him, but my 
 notice is so short that I have not time. Enjoin it 
 upon him never to disgrace his mother, and to be 
 have worthily of his father. Tender as maternal 
 affection is, it was swallowed up in what I found a 
 stronger, or so intermixed that I felt it not in its full 
 force till after he had left me. I console myself with 
 the hopes of his reaping advantages under the care 
 ful eye of a tender parent, which it was not in my 
 power to bestow upon him. 
 
 There has nothing material taken place in the po 
 litical world since you left us. This letter will go by 
 a vessel for Bilboa, from whence you may, perhaps, 
 get better opportunities of conveyance than from any 
 other place. The letter you delivered to the pilot 
 came safe to hand. All the little folks are anxious 
 for the safety of their papa and brother, to whom 
 they desire to be remembered ; to which is added the 
 tenderest sentiments of affection, and the fervent 
 prayers for your happiness and safety, of your 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
LETTERS. 119 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 18 May, 1773. 
 
 I HAVE waited with great patience, restraining, as 
 much as possible, every anxious idea for three 
 months. But now every vessel which arrives sets 
 my expectation upon the wing, and I pray my guard 
 ian genius to waft me the happy tidings of your safe 
 ty and welfare. Hitherto my wandering ideas have 
 roved, like the son of Ulysses, from sea to sea, and 
 from shore to shore, not knowing where to find you ; 
 sometimes I fancied you upon the mighty waters, 
 sometimes at your desired haven, sometimes upon 
 the ungrateful and hostile shore of Britain, but at 
 all times, and in all places, under the protecting care 
 and guardianship of that Being, who not only clothes 
 the lilies of the field, and hears the young ravens 
 when they cry, but hath said, " Of how much more 
 worth are ye than many sparrows ;" and this con 
 fidence, which the world cannot deprive me of, is 
 my food by day, and my rest by night, and was all 
 my consolation under the horrid ideas of assassina 
 tion, the only event of which I had not thought, 
 and, in some measure, prepared my mind. 
 
 When my imagination sets you down upon the 
 Gallic shore, a land to which Americans are now 
 bound to transfer their affections, and to eradicate 
 all those national prejudices, which the proud and 
 haughty nation, whom we once revered, craftily in* 
 
120 LETTERS. 
 
 stilled into us, whom they once styled their children, 
 I anticipate the pleasure you must feel, and, though 
 so many leagues distant, share in the joy of finding 
 the great interest of our country so generously es 
 poused and nobly aided by so powerful a monarch. 
 Your prospects must be much brightened ; for, when 
 you left your native land, they were rather gloomy 
 If an unwearied zeal and persevering attachment to 
 the cause of truth and justice, regardless of the al 
 lurements of ambition on the one hand, or the threats 
 of calamity on the other, can entitle any one to the 
 reward of peace, liberty, and safety, a large portion 
 of those blessings are reserved for my friend in his 
 native land. 
 
 " O ! wouldst thou keep thy country s loud applause, 
 
 Loved as her father, as her God adored, 
 
 Be still the bold asserter of her cause, 
 
 Her voice in council ; (in the fight her sword ;) 
 
 In peace, in war, pursue thy country s good, 
 
 For her, bare thy bold breast and pour thy generous blood." 
 
 Difficult as the day is, cruel as this war has been, 
 separated as I am, on account tof it, from the dearest 
 connexion in life, I would not exchange my country 
 for the wealth of the Indies, or be any other than an 
 American, though I might be queen or empress of 
 any nation upon the globe. My soul is unambitious 
 of pomp or power. Beneath my humble roof, bless 
 ed with the society and tenderest affection of my 
 dear partner, I have enjoyed as much felicity and as 
 exquisite happiness, as falls to the share of mortals. 
 
LETTERS. 121 
 
 And, though I have been called to sacrifice to my 
 country, I can glory in my sacrifice and derive pleas 
 ure from my intimate connexion with one, who is 
 esteemed worthy of the important trust devolved 
 upon him. 
 
 Britain, as usual, has added insult to injustice and 
 cruelty, by what she calls a conciliatory plan. From 
 my soul I despise her meanness ; but she has long 
 ago lost that treasure, which, a great authority tells 
 us, exalteth a nation, and is receiving the reproaches 
 due to her crimes. I have been much gratified with 
 the perusal of the Duke of Richmond s speech. 
 Were there ten such men to be found, I should still 
 have some hopes, that a revolution would take place 
 in favor of the virtuous few, " and the laws, the 
 rights, the generous plan of power delivered down 
 from age to age by our renowned forefathers," be 
 again restored to that unhappy island. 
 
 Our public finances are upon no better footing 
 than they were when you left us. Five hundred dol 
 lars is now offered by this town, per man, for nine 
 months, to recruit the army. Twelve pounds a month 
 for farming labor is the price, and it is not to be 
 procured under. Our friends are all well and desire 
 to be remembered to you. So many tender senti 
 ments rush upon my mind, when about to close this 
 letter to you, that I can only ask you to measure 
 them by those which you find in your own bosom for 
 Your affectionate 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
122 LETTERS. 
 
 TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 
 
 June, 1778. 
 
 MY DEAR SON, 
 
 T is almost four months since you left your native 
 land, and embarked upon the mighty waters, in quest 
 of a foreign country. Although I have not particu 
 larly written to you since, yet you may be assured 
 you have constantly been upon my heart and mind. 
 
 It is a very difficult task, my dear son, for a tender 
 parent to bring her mind to part with a child of 
 your years going to a distant land ; nor could I have 
 acquiesced in such a separation under any other care 
 than that of the most excellent parent and guardian 
 who accompanied you. You have arrived at years 
 capable of improving under the advantages you will 
 be likely to have, if you do but properly attend to 
 them. They are talents put into your hands, of 
 which an account will be required of you hereafter ; 
 and, being possessed of one, two, or four, see to it 
 that you double your numbers. 
 
 The most amiable and most useful disposition in a 
 young mind is diffidence of itself; and this should 
 lead you to seek advice and instruction from him, 
 who is your natural guardian, and will always coun 
 sel and direct you in the best manner, both for your 
 present and future happiness. You are in possession 
 of a natural good understanding, and of spirits un 
 broken by adversity and untamed with care. Im- 
 
LETTERS. 123 
 
 prove your understanding by acquiring useful knowl 
 edge and virtue, such as will render you an orna 
 ment to society, an honor to your country, and a 
 blessing to your parents. Great learning and supe 
 rior abilities, should you ever possess them, will be 
 of little value and small estimation, unless virtue, 
 honor, truth, and integrity are added to them. Ad 
 here to those religious sentiments and principles 
 which were early instilled into your mind, and re 
 member, that you are accountable to your Maker 
 for all your words and actions. 
 
 Let me enjoin it upon you to attend constantly and 
 steadfastly to the precepts and instructions of your 
 father, as you value the happiness of your mother 
 and your own welfare. His care and attention to 
 you render many things unnecessary for me to 
 write, which I might otherwise do ; bat the inadver 
 tency and heedlessness of youth require line upon 
 line and precept upon precept, and, when enforced 
 by the joint efforts of both parents, will, I hope, have 
 a due influence upon your conduct ; for, dear as you 
 are to me, I would much rather you should have 
 found your grave in the ocean you have crossed, or 
 that any untimely death crop you in your infant 
 years, than see you an immoral, profligate, or grace 
 less child. 
 
 You have entered early in life upon the great 
 theatre of the world, which is full of temptations 
 and vice of every kind. You are not wholly unac 
 quainted with history, in which you have read of 
 crimes which your inexperienced mind could scarcely 
 
124 LETTERS. 
 
 believe credible. You have been taught to think 
 of them with horror, and to view vice as 
 
 " a monster of so frightful mien, 
 That, to be hated, needs but to be seen." 
 
 Yet you must keep a strict guard upon yourself, 
 or the odious monster will soon lose its terror by be 
 coming familiar to you. The modern history of our 
 own times, furnishes as black a list of crimes, as can 
 be paralleled in ancient times, even if we go back to 
 Nero, Caligula, or Caesar Borgia. Young as you 
 are, the cruel war, into which we have been compel 
 led by the haughty tyrant of. Britain and the bloody 
 emissaries of his vengeance, may stamp upon your 
 mind this certain truth, that the welfare and pros 
 perity of all countries, communities, and, I may add, 
 individuals, depend upon their morals. That nation 
 to which we were once united, as it has departed 
 from justice, eluded and subverted the wise laws 
 which formerly governed it, and suffered the worst 
 of crimes to go unpunished, has lost its valor, wis 
 dom, and humanity, and, from being the dread and 
 terror of Europe, has sunk into derision and infamy. 
 
 But, to quit political subjects, I have been greatly 
 anxious for your safety, having never heard of the 
 frigate since she sailed, till, about a week ago, a 
 New York paper informed, that she was taken and 
 carried into Plymouth. I did not fully credit this 
 report, though it gave me much uneasiness. I yes 
 terday heard that a French vessel was arrived at 
 Portsmouth, which brought news of the safe arrival 
 
LETTERS. 125 
 
 of the Boston ; but this wants confirmation. I hope 
 it will not be long before I shall be assured of your 
 safety. You must write me an account of your 
 voyage, of your situation, and of every thing enter 
 taining you can recollect. 
 
 Be assured I am most affectionately yours, 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 30 June, 1778. 
 
 DEAREST OF FRIENDS, 
 
 SHALL I tell my dearest, that tears of joy filled my 
 eyes this morning at the sight of his well-known 
 hand ? the first line which has blessed my sight, 
 since his four months absence, during which time I 
 have never been able to learn a word from him or 
 my dear son, till, about ten days ago, an English 
 paper, taken in a prize and brought into Salem, con- 
 tained an account, under the Paris news, of your ar 
 rival at the abode of Dr. Franklin ; and, last week, a 
 cartel, from Halifax, brought Captain Welch, of the 
 Boston, who informed that he left you well the llth of 
 March, and that he had letters for me, but destroyed 
 them when he was taken ; and this is all the informa 
 tion I have ever been able to obtain. Our enemies 
 have told us the vessel was taken, and named the 
 
126 LETTERS. 
 
 frigate which took her, and that she was carried into 
 Plymouth. I have lived a life of fear and anxiety 
 ever since you left me. Not more than a week after 
 your absence, the horrid story of Dr. Franklin s as 
 sassination was received from France, and sent by 
 Mr. Purveyance, of Baltimore, to Congress and to 
 Boston. Near two months, before that was contra 
 dicted. Then we could not hear a word from the 
 Boston, and most people gave her up, as taken or 
 lost. Thus has my mind been agitated like a trou 
 bled sea. 
 
 You will easily conceive, how grateful your favor 
 of April 25th, and those of our son, were tg me 
 and mine ; though I regret your short warning, and 
 the little time you had to write, by which means I 
 know not how you fared upon your voyage, what 
 reception you have met with (not even from the la 
 dies, though you profess yourself an admirer of 
 them) and a thousand circumstances which I wish 
 to know, and which are always particularly interest 
 ing to near connexions, I must request you always 
 to be minute, and to write me by every conveyance. 
 Some, perhaps, which may appear unlikely to reach 
 me, will be the first to arrive. I own I was mortified 
 at so short a letter, but I quiet my heart with think 
 ing there are many more upon their passage to me. 
 I have written several before this, and some of them 
 very long. 
 
 Now I know you are safe, I wish myself with 
 you. Whenever you entertain such a wish, recollect 
 that I would have willingly hazarded all dangers to 
 
LETTERS. 1*27 
 
 have been your companion ; but, as that was not 
 permitted, you must console me in your absence, by 
 a recital of all your adventures ; though, methinks, I 
 would not have them in all respects too similar to 
 those related of your venerable colleague, whose 
 Mentor-like appearance, age, and philosophy most 
 certainly lead the politico-scientific ladies of France 
 to suppose they are embracing the god of wisdom 
 in a human form ; but I, who own that I never yet 
 " wished an angel, whom I loved a man," shall be full 
 as content if those divine honors are omitted. The 
 whole heart of my friend is in the bosom of his 
 partner. More than half a score of years have so 
 riveted it there, that the fabric which contains it 
 must crumble into dust, ere the particles can be sep 
 arated. I can hear of the brilliant accomplishments 
 of any of my sex with pleasure, and rejoice in that 
 liberality of sentiment which acknowledges them. 
 At the same time, I regret the trifling, narrow, con 
 tracted education of the females of my own coun 
 try. I have entertained a superior opinion of the 
 accomplishments of the French ladies, ever since I 
 read the letters of Dr. Shebbeare, who professes that 
 he had rather take the opinion of an accomplished 
 lady, in matters of polite writing, than the first wits 
 of Italy ; and should think himself safer, with her 
 approbation, than with that of a long list of literati ; 
 and he gives this reason for it, that women have, in 
 general, more delicate sensations than men ; what 
 touches them, is for the most part true in nature, 
 whereas men, warped by education, judge amiss 
 
128 LETTERS. 
 
 from previous prejudice, and, referring all things to 
 the mode of the ancients, condemn that by com 
 parison, where no true similitude ought to be ex 
 pected. 
 
 But, in this country, you need not be told how 
 much female education is neglected, nor how fash 
 ionable it has been to ridicule female learning ; 
 though I acknowledge it my happiness to be con 
 nected with a person of a more generous mind and 
 liberal sentiments. I cannot forbear transcribing a 
 few generous sentiments which I lately met with up 
 on this subject. 
 
 " If women," says the writer, " are to be esteem 
 ed our enemies, methinks it is an ignoble cowardice, 
 thus to disarm them, and not allow them the same 
 weapons we use ourselves ; but, if they deserve the 
 title of our friends, t is an inhuman tyranny to debar 
 them of the privileges of ingenuous education, which 
 would also render their friendship so much the more 
 delightful to themselves and us. Nature is seldom 
 observed to be niggardly of her choicest gifts to the 
 sex. Their senses are generally as quick as ours ; 
 tJbeir reason as nervous, their judgment as mature 
 and solid. To these natural perfections add but the 
 advantages of acquired learning, what polite and 
 charming creatures would they prove ; whilst their 
 external beauty does the office of a crystal to the 
 lamp, not shrouding, but disclosing, their brighter in 
 tellects. Nor need we fear to lose our empire over 
 them by thus improving their native abilities ; since, 
 where there is most learning, sense, and knowledge, 
 
LETTERS. 129 
 
 there is always observed to be the most modesty 
 and rectitude of manners." 1 
 
 THE morning after I received your very short letter, 
 I determined to devote the day to writing to my 
 friend ; but I had only just breakfasted, when I had 
 a visit from Monsieur Riviere, an officer on board 
 the Languedoc, who speaks English well, the cap 
 tain of the Zara, arid six or eight other officers, from 
 on board another ship. The first gentleman dined 
 with me, and spent the day, so that I had no oppor 
 tunity of writing that day. The gentlemen officers 
 have made me several visits, and I have dined twice 
 on board, at very elegant entertainments. Count 
 d Estaing has been exceedingly polite to me. Soon 
 after he arrived here, I received a message from 
 him, requesting that I would meet him at Colonel 
 QuincyX as it was inconvenient leaving his ship for 
 any long time. I waited upon him, and was very 
 politely received. Upon parting, he requested that 
 
 1 This letter probably failed in reaching its destination. The 
 rough copy only remains, which ends in an abrupt manner, with 
 the quotation as above. 
 
 * This is taken from a rough draft ; the original letter, if it 
 was ever sent, was probably captured by the enemy or sunk. 
 It is without date, but the contents fix it in October, 1776. 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
130 LETTERS. 
 
 the family would accompany me on board his ship 
 and dine with him the next Thursday, with any 
 friends we chose to bring ; and his barge should 
 come for us. We went, according to the invitation, 
 and were sumptuously entertained, with every deli 
 cacy that this country produces, and the addition of 
 every foreign article that could render our feast 
 splendid. Music and dancing for the young folks 
 closed the day. 
 
 The temperance of these gentlemen, the peacea- 
 .ble, quiet disposition both of officers and men, joined 
 to many other virtues which they have exhibit 
 ed during their continuance with us, are sufficient 
 to make Europeans, and Americans too, blush at 
 their own degeneracy of manners. Not one officer 
 has been seen the least disg ised with liquor since 
 their arrival. Most that I have seen, appear to be 
 gentlemen of family and education. I have been 
 the more desirous to take notice of them, as I cannot 
 help saying, that th y have been neglected in the 
 town of Boston. Generals Heath and Hancock have 
 done their part, but very few, if any, private families 
 have any acquaintance with them. Perhaps I feel 
 more anxious to have them distinguished, on account 
 of the near and dear connexions I have among them. 
 It would gratify me much, if I had it in my power, 
 to entertain every officer in the fleet. 
 
 In the very few lines I have received from you, 
 not the least mention is made, that you have ever re 
 ceived a line from me. I have not been so parsimo 
 nious as my friend, perhaps I am not so prudent ; 
 
LETTERS. 131 
 
 but I cannot take my pen, with my heart overflow 
 ing, and not give utterance to some of the abun 
 dance which is in it. Could you, after a thousand 
 fears and anxieties, long expectation, and painful 
 suspense, be satisfied with my telling you, that I was 
 well, that I wished you were with me, that my 
 daughter sent her duty, that I had ordered some arti 
 cles for you, which I hoped would arrive, &c. &c. ? 
 By Heaven, if you could, you have changed hearts 
 with some frozen Laplander, or made a voyage to 
 a region that has chilled every drop of your blood ; 
 but I will restrain a pen already, I fear, too rash, nor 
 shall it tell you how much I have suffered from this 
 appearance of inattention. 
 
 The articles sent by Captain Tucker have arrived 
 safe, and will be of great service to me. Our mo 
 ney is very little better than blank paper. It takes 
 forty dollars to purchase a barrel of cider ; fifty 
 pounds lawful for a hundred of sugar, and fifty dol 
 lars for a hundred of flour ; four dollars per day for 
 a laborer, and find him, which will amount to four 
 more. You will see, by bills drawn before the date 
 of this, that I had taken the method which I was 
 happy in finding you had directed me to. I shall 
 draw for the rest as I find my situation requires. 
 No article that can be named, foreign or domestic, 
 but what costs more than double in hard money what 
 it once sold for. In one letter I have given you an 
 account of our local situation, and of every thing I 
 thought you might wish to know. Four or five sheets 
 of paper, written to you by the last mail, were de- 
 
132 LETTERS. 
 
 stroyed when the vessel was taken. Duplicates are 
 my aversion, though I believe I should set a value 
 upon them, if I were to receive them from a certain 
 friend * ; a friend who never was deficient in testify 
 ing his regard and affection to his 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Sunday Evening, 27 December, 1778. 
 How lonely are my days ? how solitary are, my 
 nights ? secluded from all society but my two little 
 boys and my domestics. By the mountains of snow 
 which surround me, I could almost fancy myself in 
 Greenland. We have had four of the coldest days 
 I ever knew, and they were followed by the severest 
 snow-storm I ever remember. The wind, blowing 
 like a hurricane for fifteen or twenty hours, rendered 
 it impossible for man or beast to live abroad, and has 
 blocked up the roads so that they are impassable. 
 A week ago I parted with my daughter, at the request 
 of our Plymouth friends, to spend a month with them ; 
 so that I am solitary indeed. 
 
 Can the best of friends recollect, that for fourteen 
 years past I have not spent a whole winter alone. 
 Some part of the dismal season has heretofore been 
 
 1 It is proper to remark here, that the inattention which 
 called forth these complaints was only apparent, and caused by 
 the capture of nearly all the vessels which brought letters. 
 
LETTERS. 133 
 
 mitigated and softened by the social converse and 
 participation of the friend of my youth. 
 
 How insupportable the idea, that three thousand 
 miles and the vast ocean now divide us ! but divide 
 only our persons, for the heart of my friend is in the 
 bosom of his partner. More than half a score of 
 years has so riveted it there, that the fabric which 
 contains it must crumble into dust ere the particles 
 can be separated ; for 
 
 " in one fate, our hearts, our fortunes, 
 And our beings blend." 
 
 I cannot describe to you how much I was affected 
 the other day with a Scotch song, which was sung 
 to me by a young lady in order to divert a melan 
 choly hour ; but it had quite a different effect, and 
 the native simplicity of it had all the power of a well- 
 wrought tragedy. When I could conquer my sensi 
 bility I begged the song, and Master Charles has 
 learned it, and consoles his mamma by singing it to 
 her. I will enclose it to you. It has beauties in it 
 to me, which an indifferent person would not feel 
 perhaps. 
 
 " His very foot has music in t, 
 As he comes up the stairs." 
 
 How oft has my heart danced to the sound of that 
 
 music ? 
 
 " And shall I see his face again ? 
 And shall I hear him speak ? " 
 
134 LETTERS. 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! hear and answer my daily pe 
 tition, by banishing all my grief. 
 
 I am sometimes quite discouraged from writing. 
 So many vessels are taken, that there is little chance 
 of a letter s reaching your hands. That I meet with 
 so few returns, is a circumstance that lies heavy at 
 my heart. If this finds its way to you, it will go by 
 the Alliance. By her I have written before. She 
 has not yet sailed, and I love to amuse myself with 
 my pen, and pour out some of the tender sentiments 
 of a heart overflowing with affection, not for the eye 
 of a cruel enemy, who, no doubt, would ridicule 
 every humane and social sentiment, long ago grown 
 callous to the finer sensibilities, but for the sympa 
 thetic heart that beats in unison with 
 
 PORTIA S. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 20 March, 1779. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 YOUR favor of December 9th, came to hand this 
 evening from Philadelphia. By the same post I re 
 ceived a letter from Mr. Lovell, transcribing some 
 passages from one of the same date to him, and the 
 only one, he says, which he has received since your 
 absence, and his pocket book proves, that he has 
 written eighteen different times ; yet possibly you 
 may have received as few from him. The watery 
 world alone can boast of large packets received ; a 
 
LETTERS. 135 
 
 discouraging thought when I take my pen. Yet I 
 will not be discouraged. I will persist in writing, 
 though but one in ten should reach you. I have 
 been impatient for an opportunity, none having of 
 fered since January, when the Alliance sailed, which, 
 my presaging mind assures me, will arrive safe in 
 France, and I hope will return as safely. 
 
 Accept my thanks for the care you take of me, in 
 so kindly providing for me the articles you mention. 
 Should they arrive safe, they will be a great assist 
 ance to me. The safest way, you tell me, of sup 
 plying my wants, is by drafts ; but I cannot get hard 
 money for bills. You had as good tell me to pro 
 cure diamonds for them ; and, when bills will fetch 
 but five for one, hard money will exchange ten, 
 which I think is very provoking ; and I must give at 
 the rate of ten, and sometimes twenty, for one, for 
 every article I purchase. I blush whilst I give you 
 a price current ; all butcher s meat from a dollar to 
 eight shillings per pound ; corn twenty-five dollars, 
 rye thirty, per bushel ; flour fifty pounds per hun 
 dred ; potatoes ten dollars per bushel ; butter twelve 
 shillings a pound, cheese eight ; sugar twelve shil 
 lings a pound ; molasses twelve dollars per gallon ; 
 labor six and eight dollars a day ; a common cow, 
 from sixty to seventy pounds ; and all English goods 
 in proportion. This is our present situation. It is a 
 risk to send me any thing across the water, I know ; 
 yet, if one in three arrives, I should be a gainer. I 
 have studied, and do study, every method of economy 
 in my power ; otherwise a mint of money would not 
 
136 LETTERS. 
 
 support a family. I could not board our two sons under 
 forty dollars per week apiece at a school. I there 
 fore thought it most prudent to request Mr. Thaxter 
 to look after them, giving him his board and the use 
 of the office, which he readily accepted, and, having 
 passed the winter with me, will continue through the 
 summer, as I see no probability of the times speedily 
 growing better. 
 
 We have had much talk of peace through the 
 mediation of Spain, and great news from Spain, and 
 a thousand reports, as various as the persons who 
 tell them ; yet I believe slowly, and rely more upon 
 the information of my friend, than on all the whole 
 legion of stories which rise with the sun, and set as 
 soon. Respecting Georgia, 1 other friends have writ 
 ten you. I shall add nothing of my own, but that 
 I believe it will finally be a fortunate event to us. 
 
 Our vessels have been fortunate in making prizes, 
 though many were taken in the fall of the year. We 
 have been greatly distressed for [want of] grain. I 
 scarcely know the looks or taste of biscuit or flour 
 for this four months ; yet thousands have been much 
 worse off, having no grain of any sort. 
 
 The great commotion raised here by Mr. Deane 
 has sunk into contempt for his character ; and it 
 would be better for him to leave a country, which is 
 now supposed to have been injured by him. His 
 friends are silent, not knowing how to extricate him. 
 
 1 The descent of the British, under General Prevost and 
 Colonel Campbell, upon Georgia. 
 
LETTERS. 137 
 
 It would be happy for him, if he had the art himself. 
 He most certainly had art enough, in the beginning, 
 to blow up a flame, and to set the whole continent in 
 agitation. 
 
 23 April. 
 
 More than a month has passed away since writing 
 the above, and no opportunity has yet offered of con 
 veying you a line ; next to the pain of not receiving, 
 is that of not being able to send a token of remem 
 brance and affection. (You must excuse my not copy 
 ing, as paper is ten dollars per quire.) Last week a 
 packet arrived from Brest, with despatches for Con 
 gress, but no private letters. I was disappointed, but 
 did not complain. You would have written, I know, 
 had you supposed she was coming to Boston. By 
 her we heard of the safe arrival of the Alliance in 
 France, which gave me much pleasure. May she 
 have as safe a return to us again. Last week, ar 
 rived here the frigate Warren, after a successful 
 cruise. She had been out about six weeks, in com 
 pany with the Queen of France, and the Ranger, 
 Captain Jones. They fell in with, and captured, a 
 fleet, bound from New York to Georgia, consisting 
 of ship Jason, twenty guns, and one hundred and 
 fifty men ; ship Maria, sixteen guns, eighty-four 
 men, having on board eighteen hundred barrels of 
 flour ; privateer schooner Hibernian, eight guns, 
 and forty-five men ; brigs Patriot, Prince Frederick, 
 Bachelor John, and schooner Chance ; all of which 
 are safe arrived, to the universal joy and satisfaction 
 
138 LETTERS. 
 
 of every well-wisher of his country. The officers 
 who were captured, acknowledge that this loss will 
 be severely felt by the enemy, and it is hoped that 
 it will give General Lincoln important advantages 
 over him in Georgia. 
 
 Respecting domestic affairs, I shall do tolerably, 
 whilst my credit is well supported abroad ; and my 
 demands there shall be as small as possible, consid 
 ering the state of things here ; but I cannot purchase 
 a bushel of grain under three hard dollars, though 
 the scarcity of that article makes it dearer than other 
 things. 
 
 My pen is really so bad that I cannot add any fur 
 ther, than that I am wholly 
 
 Yours. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 8 June, 1779. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 Six months have already elapsed since I heard a 
 syllable from you or my dear son, and five, since I 
 have had one single opportunity of conveying a line to 
 you. Letters of various dates have lain months at 
 the Navy Board, and a packet and frigate, both ready 
 to sail at an hour s warning, have been months wait 
 ing the orders of Congress. They no doubt have 
 their reasons, or ought to have, for detaining them. 
 I must patiently wait their motions, however pain- 
 
LETTERS. 139 
 
 ful it is ; and that it is so, your own feelings will 
 testify. Yet I know not but you are less a sufferer 
 than you would be to hear from us, to know our dis 
 tresses, and yet be unable to relieve them. The 
 universal cry for bread, to a humane heart, is painful 
 beyond description, and the great price demanded 
 and given for it verifies that pathetic passage of sa 
 cred writ, " All that a man hath will he give for his 
 life." Yet He who miraculously fed a multitude 
 with five loaves and two fishes, has graciously inter 
 posed in our favor, and delivered many of the ene 
 my s supplies into our hands, so that our distresses 
 have been mitigated. I have been able as yet to 
 supply my own family, sparingly, but at a price that 
 would astonish you. Corn is sold at four dollars, 
 hard money, per bushel, which is equal to eighty at 
 the rate of exchange. 
 
 Labor is at eight dollars per day, and in three 
 weeks it will be at twelve, t is probable, or it will be 
 more stable than any thing else. Goods of all kinds 
 are at such a price that I hardly dare mention it. 
 Linens are sold at twenty dollars per yard ; the most 
 ordinary sort of calicoes at thirty and forty ; broad 
 cloths at forty pounds per yard ; West India goods full 
 as high ; molasses at twenty dollars per gallon ; sugar 
 four dollars per pound ; bohea tea at forty dollars ; 
 and our own produce in proportion. Butcher s meat 
 at six and eight shillings per pound ; board at fifty 
 and sixty dollars per week ; rates high. That, I sup 
 pose you will rejoice at ; so would I, did it remedy 
 the evil. I pay five hundred dollars, and a new 
 
140 LETTERS. 
 
 continental rate has just appeared, my proportion of 
 which will be two hundred more. I have come to 
 this determination, to sell no more bills, unless I can 
 procure hard money for them, although I shall be 
 obliged to allow a discount. If I sell for paper, I 
 throw away more than half, so rapid is the depre 
 ciation ; nor do I know that it will be received long. 
 I sold a bill to Blodget at five for one, which was 
 looked upon as high at that time. The week after I 
 received it, two emissions were taken out of circula 
 tion, and the greater part of what I had, proved to be 
 of that sort ; so that those, to whom I was indebted, 
 are obliged to wait, and before it becomes due, or is 
 exchanged, it will be good for as much as it will 
 fetch, which will be nothing, if it goes on as it has 
 done for this three months past. I will not tire your 
 patience any longer. I have not drawn any further 
 upon you. I mean to wait the return of the Alli 
 ance, which with longing eyes I look for. God grant 
 it may bring me comfortable tidings from my dear, 
 dear friend, whose welfare is so essential to my hap 
 piness, that it is entwined around my heart, and can 
 not be impaired or separated from it without rending 
 it asunder. 
 
 In contemplation of my situation, I am sometimes 
 thrown into an agony of distress. Distance, dangers, 
 and O ! I cannot name all the fears which sometimes 
 oppress me, and harrow up my soul. Yet must the 
 common lot of man one day take place, whether we 
 dwell in our own native land, or are far, distant from 
 it. That we rest under the shadow of the Almighty 
 
LETTERS. 141 
 
 is the consolation to which I resort, and find that 
 comfort which the world cannot give. If He sees 
 best to give me back my friend, or to preserve my 
 life to him, it will be so. 
 
 Our worthy friend, Dr. Winthrop, is numbered 
 with the great congregation, to the inexpressible loss 
 of Harvard College. 
 
 " Let no weak drop 
 
 Be shed for him. The virgin, in her bloom 
 Cut off, the joyous youth, and darling child, 
 These are the tombs that claim the tender tear, 
 And elegiac song. But Winthrop calls 
 For other notes of gratulation high, 
 That now he wanders through those endless worlds 
 He here so well descried, and wondering talks, 
 And hymns their Author with his glad compeers." 
 
 The testimony he gave with his dying breath, in 
 favor of revealed religion, does honor to his memory, 
 and will endear it to every lover of virtue. I know 
 not who will be found worthy to succeed him. 
 
 Congress have not yet made any appointment of 
 you to any other court. There appears a dilatori- 
 ness, an indecision, in their proceedings. I have in 
 Mr. Lovell an attentive friend, who kindly informs me 
 of every thing which passes relative to you and your 
 situation, and gives me extracts of your letters both 
 to himself and others. I know you will be unhappy 
 whenever it is not in your power to serve your coun 
 try, and wish yourself at home, where at least you 
 might serve ^our family. I cannot say that I think 
 our affairs go very well here. Our currency seems 
 
142 LETTERS. 
 
 to be the source of all our evils. We cannot fill up 
 our Continental army by means of it. No bounty 
 will prevail with them. What can be done with it ? 
 It will sink in less than a year. The advantage the 
 enemy daily gains over us is owing to this. Most 
 truly did you prophesy, when you said that they 
 would do all the mischief in their power with the 
 forces they had here. 
 
 My tenderest regards ever attend you in all places 
 and situations. . 
 
 Ever, ever yours. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 DEAREST OF FRIENDS, 
 
 MY habitation, how disconsolate it looks ! my table, I 
 sit down to it, but cannot swallow my food ! O, why 
 was I born with so much sensibility, and why, pos 
 sessing it, have I so often been called to struggle 
 with it ? I wish to see you again. Were I sure you 
 would not be gone, I could not withstand the tempta 
 tion of coming to town, though my heart would suffer 
 over again the cruel torture of separation. 
 
 1 Mr. Adams had returned from France in August, but was 
 required by Congress again to embark at this time, with pow 
 ers to negotiate a peace with Great Britain. He took with 
 him, upon this occasion^ his two eldest sons. 
 
LETTERS. 143 
 
 What a cordial to my dejected spirits were the 
 few lines last night received ! And does your heart 
 forebode that we shall again be happy ? My hopes 
 and fears rise alternately. I cannot resign more 
 than I do, unless life itself were called for. My dear 
 sons, I cannot think of them without a tear. Little 
 do they know the feelings of a mother s heart. May 
 they be good and useful as their father ! Then will 
 they, in some measure, reward the anxiety of a 
 mother. My tcnderest love to them. Remember me 
 also to Mr. Thaxter, whose civilities and kindness I 
 shall miss. 
 
 God Almighty bless and protect my dearest friend, 
 and in his own time, restore him to the affectionate 
 
 bosom of 
 
 PORTIA. 
 14 November, 1779. 
 
 TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 
 
 12 January, 1780. 
 
 MY DEAR SON, 
 
 I HOPE you have had no occasion, either from ene 
 mies or the dangers of the sea, to repent your second 
 voyage to France. If I had thought your reluctance 
 arose from proper deliberation, or that you were ca 
 pable of judging what was most for your own bene 
 fit, I should not have urged you to accompany your 
 father and brother when you appeared so averse to 
 the voyage. 
 
144 LETTERS. 
 
 You, however, readily submitted to my advice, 
 and, I hope, will never have occasion yourself, nor 
 give me reason, to lament it. Your knowledge of 
 the language must give you greater advantages now 
 than you could possibly have reaped whilst ignorant 
 of it ; and as you increase in years, you will find 
 your understanding opening and daily improving. 
 
 Some author, that I have met with, compares a 
 judicious traveller to a river, that increases its stream 
 the further it flows from its source ; or to certain 
 springs, which, running through rich veins of miner 
 als, improve their qualities as they pass along. It 
 will be expected of you, my son, that, as you are 
 favored with superior advantages under the instruc 
 tive eye of a tender parent, your improvement should 
 bear some proportion to your advantages. Nothing 
 is wanting with you but attention, diligence, and 
 steady application. Nature has not been deficient. 
 
 These are times in which a genius would wish to 
 live. It is not in the still calm of life, or the repose 
 of a pacific station, that great characters are formed. 
 Would Cicero have shone so distinguished an orator 
 if he had not been roused, kindled, and inflamed by 
 the tyranny of Catiline, Verres, and Mark Anthony ? 
 The habits of a vigorous mind are formed in con 
 tending with difficulties. All history will convince 
 you of this, and that wisdom and penetration are the 
 fruit of experience, not the lessons of retirement and 
 leisure. Great necessities call out great virtues. 
 When a mind is raised and animated by scenes that 
 engage the heart, then those qualities, which would 
 
LETTERS. 145 
 
 otherwise lie dormant, wake into life and form the 
 character of the hero and the statesman. War, tyran 
 ny, and desolation are the scourges of the Almighty, 
 and ought no doubt to be deprecated. Yet it is your 
 lot, my son, to be an eyewitness of these calamities 
 in your own native land, and, at the same time, to 
 owe your existence among a people who have made 
 a glorious defence of their invaded liberties, and 
 who, aided by a generous and powerful ally, with 
 the blessing of Heaven, will transmit this inheritance 
 to ages yet unborn. 
 
 Nor ought it to be one of the least of your incite 
 ments towards exerting every power and faculty of 
 your mind, that you have a parent who has taken so 
 large and active a share in this contest, and dis 
 charged the trust reposed in him with so much satis 
 faction as to be honored with the important embassy 
 which at present calls him abroad. 
 
 The strict and inviolable regard you have ever paid 
 to truth, gives me pleasing hopes that you will not 
 swerve from her dictates, but add justice, fortitude, 
 and every manly virtue which can adorn a good 
 citizen, do honor to your country, and render your 
 parents supremely happy, particularly your ever 
 affectionate mother, 
 
 A. A. 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
146 LETTERS. 
 
 TO JOHN QUINGY ADAMS. 
 
 20 March, 17 
 
 MY DEAR SON, 
 
 YOUR letter, last evening received from Bilboa, re 
 lieved me from much anxiety ; for, having a day or 
 two before received letters from your papa, Mr. 
 Thaxter, 1 and brother^ in which packet I found none 
 from you, nor any mention made of you, my mind, 
 ever fruitful in conjectures, was instantly alarmed. 
 I feared you were sick, unable to write, and your 
 papa, unwilling to give me uneasiness, had conceal 
 ed it from me ; and this apprehension was confirmed 
 by every person s omitting to say how long they 
 should continue in Bilboa. 
 
 Your father s letters came to Salem, yours to 
 Newburyport, and soon gave ease to my anxiety, at 
 the same time that it excited gratitude and thankful 
 ness to Heaven, for the preservation you all experi 
 enced in the imminent dangers which threatened 
 you. You express in both your letters a degree of 
 thankfulness. I hope it amounts to more than words, 
 and that you will never be insensible to the particu 
 lar preservation you have experienced in both your 
 voyages. You have seen how inadequate the aid of 
 man would have been, if the winds and the seas had 
 
 1 This gentleman, who was a student at law in the office of 
 Mr. Adams, at the commencement of the troubles, accompan 
 ied him in the capacity of private secretary on this mission. 
 
LETTERS. 147 
 
 not been under the particular government of that 
 Being, who " stretched out the heavens as a span," 
 who " holdeth the ocean in the hollow of his hand," 
 and " rideth upon the wings of the wind." 
 
 If you have a due sense of your preservation, your 
 next consideration will be, for what purpose you are 
 continued in life. It is not to rove from clime to 
 clime, to gratify an idle curiosity ; but every new 
 mercy you receive is a new debt upon you, a new 
 obligation to a diligent discharge of the various rela 
 tions in which you stand connected ; in the first place, 
 to your great Preserver ; in the next, to society in 
 general ; in particular, to your country, to your 
 parents, and to yourself. 
 
 The only sure and permanent foundation of virtue 
 is religion. Let this important truth be engraven 
 upon your heart. And also, that the foundation 
 of religion is the belief of the one only God, and 
 a just sense of his attributes, as a being infinitely 
 wise, just, and good, to whom you owe the highest 
 reverence, gratitude, and adoration ; who superin 
 tends and governs all nature, even to clothing the 
 lilies of the field, and hearing the young ravens when 
 they cry ; but more particularly regards man, whom 
 he created after his own image, and breathed into 
 him an immortal spirit, capable of a happiness be 
 yond the grave ; for the attainment of which he is 
 bound to the performance of certain duties, which all 
 tend to the happiness and welfare of society, and are 
 comprised in one short sentence, expressive of uni 
 versal benevolence, " Thou shalt love thy neighbour 
 
148 LETTERS. 
 
 as thyself." This is elegantly defined by Mr. Pope, 
 in his " Essay on Man." 
 
 " Remember, man, the universal cause 
 Acts not by partial, but by general laws, 
 And makes what happiness we justly call, 
 Subsist not in the good of one, but all. 
 There s not a blessing individuals find, 
 But some way leans and hearkens to the kind. 
 
 Thus has the Supreme Being made the good will 
 of man towards his fellow-creatures an evidence of 
 his regard to Him, and for this purpose has constitut 
 ed him a dependent being and made his happiness 
 to consist in society. Man early discovered this pro 
 pensity of his nature, and found 
 
 " Eden was tasteless till an Eve was there." 
 
 Justice, humanity, and benevolence are the duties 
 you owe to society in general. To your country 
 the same duties are incumbent upon you, with the 
 additional obligation of sacrificing ease, pleasure, 
 wealth, and life itself for its defence and security. 
 To your parents you owe love, reverence, and obe 
 dience to all just and equitable commands. To your 
 self, here, indeed, is a wide field to expatiate upon. 
 To become what you ought to be, and what a fond 
 mother wishes to see you, attend to some precepts 
 and instructions from the pen of one, who can have 
 no motive but your welfare and happiness, and who 
 wishes in this way to supply to you the personal 
 watchfulness and care, which a separation from you 
 deprived you of at a period of life, when habits are 
 
LETTERS. 149 
 
 easiest acquired and fixed ; and, though the advice 
 may not be new, yet suffer it to obtain a place in your 
 memory, for occasions may offer, and perhaps some 
 concurring circumstances unite, to give it weight and 
 force. 
 
 Suffer me to recommend to you one of the most 
 useful lessons of life, the knowledge and study of 
 yourself. There you run the greatest hazard of 
 being deceived. Self-love and partiality cast a mist 
 before the eyes, and there is no knowledge so hard 
 to be acquired, nor of more benefit when once 
 thoroughly understood. Ungoverned passions have 
 aptly been compared to the boisterous ocean, which 
 is known to produce the most terrible effects. " Pas 
 sions are the elements of life," but elements which 
 are subject to the control of reason. Whoever will 
 candidly examine themselves, will find some degree 
 of passion, peevishness, or obstinacy in their natural 
 tempers. You will seldom find these disagreeable 
 ingredients all united in one ; but the uncontrolled in 
 dulgence of either is sufficient to render the posses 
 sor unhappy in himself, and disagreeable to all who 
 are so unhappy as to be witnesses of it, or suffer 
 from its effects. 
 
 You, my dear son, are formed with a constitution 
 feelingly alive ; your passions are strong and impetu 
 ous ; and, though I have sometimes seen them hurry 
 you into excesses, yet with pleasure I have ob 
 served a frankness and generosity accompany your 
 efforts to govern and subdue them. Few persons 
 are so subject to passion, but that they can com- 
 
150 LETTERS. 
 
 mand themselves, when they have a motive suffi 
 ciently strong ; and those who are most apt to trans 
 gress will restrain themselves through respect and 
 reverence to superiors, and even, where they wish 
 to recommend themselves, to their equals. The due 
 government of the passions, has been considered in 
 all ages as a most valuable acquisition. Hence an 
 inspired writer observes, " He that is slow to anger, 
 is better than the mighty ; and he that ruleth his 
 spirit, than he that taketh a city." This passion, 
 cooperating with power, and unrestrained by reason, 
 has produced the subversion of cities, the desola 
 tion of countries, the massacre of nations, and filled 
 the world with injustice and oppression. Behold 
 your own country, your native land, suffering from 
 the effects of lawless power and malignant passions, 
 and learn betimes, from your own observation and 
 experience, to govern and control yourself. Having 
 once obtained this self-government, you will find a 
 foundation laid for happiness to yourself and use 
 fulness to mankind. " Virtue alone is happiness 
 below ;" and consists in cultivating and improving 
 every good inclination, and in checking and sub 
 duing every propensity to evil. I have been particu 
 lar upon the passion of anger, as it is generally the 
 most predominant passion at your age, the soonest 
 excited, and the least pains are taken to subdue it ; 
 
 " what composes man, can man destroy." 
 
 I do not mean, however, to have you insensible to 
 real injuries. He who will not turn when he is 
 
LETTERS. 151 
 
 trodden upon is deficient in point of spirit ; yet, if 
 you can preserve good breeding and decency of 
 manners, you will have an advantage over the ag 
 gressor, and will maintain a dignity of character, 
 which will always insure you respect, even from the 
 offender. 
 
 I will not overburden your mind at this time. I 
 mean to pursue the subject of self-knowledge in 
 some future letter, and give you my sentiments 
 upon your future conduct in life, when I feel dis 
 posed to resume my pen. 
 
 In the mean time, be assured, no one is more 
 sincerely interested in your happiness, than your 
 ever affectionate mother, 
 
 A. A. 
 
 Do not expose my letters. I would copy, but 
 hate it. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Sunday Evening, 16 July, 1780. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 I HAD just returned to my chamber, and taken up my 
 pen to congratulate you upon the arrival of the fleet 
 of our allies at Newport, when I was called down to 
 receive the most agreeable of presents, letters 
 
152 LETTERS. 
 
 from my dearest friend. One bearing date March 
 28th, by Mr. Izard, and one of May 3d, taken out of 
 the post-office ; but to what port they arrived first I 
 know not. They could not be those by the fleet, as 
 in these you make mention of letters, which I have 
 not yet received, nor by the Alliance, since Mr. 
 Williams sailed twenty-five days after the fleet, and 
 she was then in France. A pity, I think, that she 
 should stay there when here we are almost destitute. 
 Our navy has been unfortunate indeed. I am sorry 
 to find, that only a few lines have reached you from 
 me. I have written by way of Spain, Holland, and 
 Sweden, but not one single direct conveyance have 
 I had to France since you left me. I determine to 
 open a communication by way of Gardoqui, and wish 
 you would make use of the same conveyance. 
 
 What shall I say of our political affairs ? Shall I 
 exclaim at measures now impossible to remedy ? 
 No. I will hope all from the generous aid of our 
 allies, in concert with our own exertions. I am not 
 suddenly elated or depressed. I know America ca 
 pable of any thing she undertakes with spirit and 
 vigor. " Brave in distress, serene in conquest, drow 
 sy when at rest," is her true characteristic. Yet I 
 deprecate a failure in our present effort. The efforts 
 are great, and we give, this campaign, more than half 
 our property to defend the other. He who tarries 
 from the field cannot possibly earn sufficient at home 
 to reward him who takes it. Yet, should Heaven 
 bless our endeavours, and crown this year with the 
 blessings of peace, no exertion will be thought too 
 
LETTERS. 153 
 
 great, no price of property too dear. My whole soul 
 is absorbed in the idea- The honor of my dear 
 est friend, the welfare and happiness of this wide- 
 extended country, ages yet unborn, depend for their 
 happiness and security upon the able and skilful, the 
 honest and upright, discharge of the important trust 
 committed to him. It would not become me to write 
 the full flow of my heart upon this occasion. My 
 constant petition for him is, that he may so discharge 
 the trust reposed in him as to merit the approving 
 eye of Heaven, and peace, liberty, and safety crown 
 his latest years in his own native land. 
 
 The Marchioness, 1 at the Abbe Raynal s, is not the 
 only lady who joins an approving voice to that of 
 her country, though at the expense of her present 
 domestic happiness. It is easier to admire virtue 
 than to practise it ; especially the great virtue of 
 self-denial. I find but few sympathizing souls. Why 
 should I look for them ? since few have any souls, 
 but of the sensitive kind. That nearest allied to my 
 own they have taken from me, and tell me honor 
 and fame are a compensation. 
 
 " Fame, wealth, or honor, what are ye to love ? " 
 
 But hushed be my pen. Let me cast my eye upon 
 the letters before me. What is the example? I 
 follow it in silence. 
 
 Present my compliments to Mr. Dana. 2 Tell him 
 
 1 Doubtless the Marchioness Lafayette. 
 
 2 Francis Dana was appointed by Congress secretary to Mr. 
 
154 LETTERS. 
 
 I have called upon his lady, and we enjoyed an after 
 noon of sweet communion. I find she would not he 
 averse to taking a voyage, should he be continued 
 abroad. She groans most bitterly, and is irreconcila 
 ble to his absence. I am a mere philosopher to her. 
 I am inured, but not hardened, to the painful portion. 
 Shall I live to see it otherwise ? 
 
 Your letters are always valuable to me, but more 
 particularly so when they close with an affectionate 
 assurance of regard, which, though I do not doubt, 
 is never repeated without exciting the tenderest sen 
 timents ; and never omitted without pain to the affec 
 tionate bosom of your 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 15 October, 1780. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 I CLOSED a long letter to you only two days ago, but 
 as no opportunity is omitted by me, I embrace this, 
 as Colonel Fleury was kind enough to write me on 
 purpose, from Newport, to inform me of it, and to 
 promise a careful attention to it. Yet I feel doubt 
 ful of its safety. The enemy seems to be collect- 
 Adams upon this mission, and accompanied him in his voyage. 
 He was afterwards sent to Russia as Minister ; upon which 
 occasion Mr. Adams s eldest son went with him to St, Peters- 
 burgh. 
 
LETTERS. 155 
 
 ing a prodigious force into these seas, and is bent 
 upon the destruction of oar allies. We are not a 
 little anxious for them, and cannot but wonder, that 
 they are not yet reinforced. Graves s fleet, Arbuth- 
 not s, and Rodney s, all here ; with such a superiority, 
 can it be matter of surprise, if M. de Ternay should 
 fall a sacrifice ? My own mind, I own, is full of 
 apprehension ; yet I trust we shall not be delivered 
 over to the vengeance of a nation more wicked and 
 perverse than our own. We daily experience the 
 correcting and the defending arm. The enclosed 
 papers will give you the particulars of an infernal 
 plot, and the providential discovery of it. For, how 
 ever the belief of a particular Providence may be ex 
 ploded by the modern wits, and the infidelity of too 
 many of the rising generation deride the idea, yet the 
 virtuous mind will look up and acknowledge the great 
 First Cause, without whose notice not even a sparrow 
 falls to the ground. 
 
 I am anxious to hear from you. Your last letter, 
 which I have received, was dated June the 17th. I 
 have written you repeatedly, that my trunk was not 
 put on board the Alliance ; that poor vessel was the 
 sport of more than winds and waves. The conduct 
 with regard to her is considered as very extraordinaiy. 
 She came to Boston, as you have no doubt heard. 
 Landais is suspended. The man must be new made 
 before he can be entitled to command. I hope Captain 
 Sampson arrived safe. He carried the resolve of 
 Congress, which you wanted. 
 
 You tell me to send you prices current. I will 
 
156 LETTERS. 
 
 aim at it. Corn, is now thirty pounds, rye twenty- 
 seven, per bushel. Flour from a hundred and forty 
 to a hundred and thirty per hundred. Beef, eight 
 dollars per pound ; mutton, nine ; lamb, six, seven, 
 and eight. Butter twelve dollars per pound ; cheese, 
 ten. Sheep s wool thirty dollars per pound ; flax, 
 twenty. West India articles ; sugar, from a hun 
 dred and seventy to two hundred pounds per hundred ; 
 molasses, forty-eight dollars per gallon ; tea, nine 
 ty ; coffee, twelve ; cotton wool, thirty per pound. 
 Exchange from seventy to seventy-five for hard mo 
 ney. Bills at fifty. Money scarce ; plenty of goods ; 
 enormous taxes. Our State affairs are thus. Han 
 cock will be Governor, by a very great majority ; the 
 Senate will have to choose the Lieutenant-Governor. 
 X3ur constitution is read with great admiration in New 
 / York, and pronounced by the Royal Governor the 
 "best republican form he ever saw, but with sincere 
 hopes that it might not be accepted. How will it be 
 administered ? is now the important question. 
 
 The report of the day is, that three thousand troops 
 are arrived at New York from England. 
 
 Adieu ! Most affectionately yours. 
 
LETTERS. 157 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 28 January, 1781. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 LAST evening General Lincoln called here, introduc 
 ing to me a gentleman, by the name of Colonel Lau- 
 rens, the son, as I suppose, of your much esteemed 
 friend, the late President of Congress ; who informed 
 me, that he expected to sail for France in a few 
 days, and would take despatches from me. Although 
 I closed letters to you, by way of Holland, a few 
 days ago, I would not omit so good an opportunity 
 as the present. T is a long time since the date of 
 your last letters, the 25th of September. I wait w r ith 
 much anxiety, listening to the sound of every gun, 
 but none announce the arrival of the Fame, from 
 Holland, which we greatly fear is taken or lost, or 
 the Mars, from France. Colonel Laurens is ena 
 bled, I suppose, to give you every kind of intelli 
 gence respecting the army, which you may wish to 
 learn. 
 
 I have the pleasure to inform you, that a repeal of 
 the obnoxious tender act has passed the House and 
 Senate. The Governor, as has been heretofore pre 
 dicted, when any thing not quite popular is in agita 
 tion, has the gout, and is confined to his bed. A 
 false weight and a false balance are an abomination, 
 and in that light this tender act must be viewed by 
 every impartial person. Who, but an idiot, would 
 
158 LETTERS. 
 
 believe that forty were equal to seventy-five ? But 
 the repeal gives us reason to hope, that justice and 
 righteousness will again exalt our nation ; that public 
 faith will be restored ; that individuals will lend to 
 the public ; and that the heavy taxes, which now dis 
 tress all orders, will be lessened. 
 
 A late committee, who have been sitting upon 
 ways and means for raising money, tell us, that a 
 tax for two years more, equal to what we have paid 
 in the last, would clear this State of debt. You may 
 judge of the weight of them ; yet our State taxes are 
 but as a grain of mustard seed, when compared with 
 our town taxes. Clinton, I hear, has sent out a pro 
 clamation upon Germain s plan, inviting the people to 
 make a separate peace, which will only be a new 
 proof of the ignorance and folly of our enemies, 
 without making a single proselyte. Even the revolt 
 ed Pennsylvania troops gave up to justice the spies, 
 whom Clinton sent to them, offering them clothing 
 and pay ; letting him know, that it was justice from 
 their State, not favors from their enemies, which they 
 wanted. 
 
 It is reported, that Arnold, with a body of troops, 
 is gone to Virginia, where it is hoped he and his 
 Myrmidons will meet their fate. Had Clinton been 
 a generous enemy, or known human nature, he 
 would, like Aurelian, upon a like occasion, have 
 given up the traitor to the hands of justice ; knowing 
 that it was in vain to expect fidelity in a man who 
 had betrayed his own country, which, from his de 
 fection, may learn to place a higher value upon in- 
 
LETTERS. 159 
 
 tegrity and virtue than upon a savage ferocity, so 
 often mistaken for courage. He who, as an individ 
 ual, is cruel, unjust, and immoral, will not be likely 
 to possess the virtues necessary in a general or 
 statesman. Yet, in our infant country, infidelity and 
 debauchery are so fashionably prevalent, that less 
 attention is paid to the characters of those who fill 
 important offices, than a love of virtue and zeal for 
 public liberty can warrant ; which, we are told by 
 wise legislators of old, are the surest preservatives 
 of public happiness. 
 
 You observe in a late letter, that your absence 
 from your native State will deprive you of an oppor 
 tunity of being a man of importance in it. I hope 
 you are doing your country more extensive service 
 abroad, than you could have done, had you been 
 confined to one State only ; and, whilst you continue 
 in the same estimation among your fellow-citizens 
 in which you are now held, you will not fail of being 
 of importance to them at home or abroad. 
 
 Heaven preserve the life and health of my dear 
 absent friend, and, in its own time, return him to his 
 country and to the arms of his ever affectionate 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
160 LETTERS. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 25 May, 1781. 
 
 IN this beautiful month, when Nature wears her 
 gayest garb, and animal and vegetable life is dif 
 fused on every side ; when the cheerful hand of in 
 dustry is laying a foundation for a plentiful harvest, 
 Who can forbear to rejoice in the season, or refrain 
 from looking " through nature up to nature s God ; " 
 
 ".To feel the present Deity, and taste 
 The joy of God, to see a happy world." 
 
 While my heart expands, it, sighing, seeks its associ 
 ate, and joins its first parent in that beautiful descrip 
 tion of Milton. 
 
 " Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet, 
 With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun, 
 When first on this delightful land he spreads 
 His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
 Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth 
 After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on 
 Of grateful Evening mild ; then silent Night 
 With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, 
 And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train : 
 But neither breath of morn when she ascends 
 W ith charm of earliest birds ; nor rising sun 
 On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, 
 Glistering with dew ; nor fragrance after showers ; 
 Nor grateful Evening mild ; nor silent Night 
 With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, 
 Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet." 
 
LETTERS. 161 
 
 This passage has double charms for me, painted 
 by the hand of truth ; and for the same reason, that 
 a dear friend of mine, after having viewed a pro 
 fusion of beautiful pictures, pronounced that which 
 represented the parting of Hector and Andromache 
 to be worth them all. The journal in which this is 
 mentioned does not add any reason why it was so ; 
 but Portia felt its full force, and paid a grateful tear 
 to the acknowledgment. 
 
 We are anxiously waiting for intelligence from 
 abroad. We shall have in the field a more respect 
 able army, than has appeared there since the com 
 mencement of the war ; and all raised for three 
 years or during the war, most of them men who 
 have served before. The towns have exerted them 
 selves upon this occasion with a spirit becoming 
 patriots. We wish for a naval force, superior to 
 what we have yet had, to act in concert with our 
 army. We have been flattered from day to day, 
 yet none has arrived. The enemy exults in the 
 delay, and is improving the time to ravage Caro 
 lina and Virginia. 
 
 We hardly know what to expect from the United 
 Provinces, because we are not fully informed of their 
 disposition. Britain has struck a blow, by the cap 
 ture of Eustatia, sufficient to arouse and unite them 
 against her, if there still exists that spirit of liberty, 
 which shone so conspicuous in their ancestors, and 
 which, under much greater difficulties, led their 
 hardy forefathers to reject the tyranny of Philip. I 
 wish your powers may extend to an alliance with 
 
 VOL. i. 11 
 
162 LETTERS. 
 
 them, and that you may be as successful against the 
 artifices of Britain, as a former ambassador 1 was 
 against those of another nation, when he negotiated 
 a triple alliance in the course of five days, with an 
 address which has ever done honor to his memory. 
 If I was not so nearly connected, I should add, that 
 there is no small similarity in the character of my 
 friend and the gentleman, whose memoirs I have 
 read with great pleasure. 
 
 Our State affairs I will write you, if the vessel 
 does not sail till after election. Our friend, Mr. 
 Cranch, goes from here representative, by a unani 
 mous vote. Dr. Tufts, of Weymouth, is chosen 
 senator. Our governor and lieutenant-governor, as 
 at the beginning. Our poor old currency is breath- 
 ing its last gasp. It received a most fatal wound 
 from a collection of near the whole body s entering 
 here from the southward ; having been informed, 
 that it was treated here with more respect, and that 
 it could purchase a solid and durable dress here for 
 seventy-five paper dollars, but half the expense it 
 must be at there, it travelled here with its whole 
 train ; and, being much debauched in its manners^ 
 communicated the contagion all of a sudden, and is 
 universally rejected. It has given us a great shock. 
 Your ever affectionate 
 
 PORTIA. 
 1 Sir William Temple. 
 
LETTERS. 163 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 9 December, 1781. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 I HEAR the Alliance is again going to France, with 
 the Marquis de la Fayette and the Count de Noailles. 
 I will not envy the Marquis the pleasure of annually 
 visiting his family, considering the risk he runs in 
 doing it ; besides, he deserves the good wishes of 
 every American, and a large portion of the honors 
 and applause of his own country. He returns with the 
 additional merit of laurels won at Yorktown by the 
 capture of a whole British army. America may 
 boast, that she has accomplished what no power be 
 fore her ever did, contending with Britain, captur 
 ed two of their celebrated generals, and each with 
 an army of thousands of veteran troops to support 
 them. This event, whilst it must fill Britain with 
 despondency, will draw the Union already framed 
 still closer and give us additional allies ; and, if prop 
 erly improved, will render a negotiation easier and 
 more advantageous to America. 
 
 But I cannot reflect much upon public affairs, 
 until I have unburdened the load of my own heart. 
 Where shall I begin my list of grievances ? Not by 
 accusations, but lamentations. My first is, that I do 
 not hear from you ; a few lines only, dated in April 
 and May, have come to hand for fifteen months. 
 
164 LETTERS. 
 
 You do not mention receiving any from me except 
 by Captain Casneau, though I wrote by Colonel 
 Laurens, by Captain Brown, by Mr. Storer, Dexter, 
 and many others ; to Bilboa by Trask, and several 
 times by way of France. You will refer me to Gil- 
 Ion, I suppose. Gillon has acted a base part, of 
 which, no doubt, you are long ere now apprized. 
 You had great reason to suppose, that he would 
 reach America as soon or sooner than the merchant 
 vessels, and placed much confidence in him by the 
 treasure you permitted to go on board of him. Ah ! 
 how great has my anxiety been. What have I not 
 suffered since I heard my dear Charles was on board, 
 and no intelligence to be procured of the vessel for 
 four months after he sailed. Most people concluded, 
 that she was foundered at sea, as she sailed before a 
 violent storm. Only three weeks ago did I hear the 
 contrary. My uncle despatched a messenger, the 
 moment a vessel from Bilboa arrived with the happy 
 tidings, that she was safe at Corunna ; that the pas 
 sengers had all left the ship in consequence of Gil- 
 Ion s conduct, and were arrived at Bilboa. The ves 
 sel sailed the day that the passengers arrived at 
 Bilboa, so that no letters came by Captain Lovett ; 
 but a Dr. Sands reports, that he saw a child, who 
 they told him was yours, and that he was well. This 
 was a cordial to my dejected spirits. I know not 
 what to wish for. Should he attempt to come at 
 this season upon the coast, it has more horrors than 
 I have fortitude. I am still distressed ; I must resign 
 him to the kind, protecting hand of that Being, who 
 
LETTERS. 165 
 
 hath hitherto preserved him, and submit to whatever 
 dispensation is allotted me. 
 
 What is the matter with Mr. Thaxter ? Has he 
 forgotten all his American friends, that, out of four 
 vessels which have arrived, not a line is to be found 
 on board of one of them from him ? I could quarrel 
 with the climate, but surely, if it is subject to the 
 ague, there is a fever fit as well as a cold one. Mr. 
 Guild tells me, he was charged with letters, but left 
 them, with his other things, on board the frigate. 
 She gave him the slip and he stepped on board of 
 Captain Brown s ship, and happily arrived safe. 
 From him I have learned many things respecting my 
 dear connexions ; but still I long for that free com 
 munication, which I see but little prospect of obtain 
 ing. Let me again entreat you to write by way of 
 Guardoqui. Bilboa is as safe a conveyance as I 
 know of. Ah, my dear John ! where are you ? In 
 so remote a part of the globe, that I fear I shall not 
 hear a syllable from you. Pray write me all the in 
 telligence you get from him ; send me his letters to 
 you. Do you know I have not had a line from him 
 for a year and a half ? Alas ! my dear, I am much 
 afflicted with a disorder called the heartache, nor 
 can any remedy be found in America. It must be 
 collected from Holland, Petersburg, and Bilboa. 
 
 And now, having recited my griefs and com 
 plaints, the next in place are those of my neigh 
 bours. I have been applied to by the parents of 
 several Braintree youth to write to you in their be 
 half, requesting your aid and assistance, if it is in 
 
166 LETTERS. 
 
 your power to afford it. Captain Cathcart, in the 
 privateer Essex, from Salem, went out on a cruise 
 last April in the Channel of England, and was, on 
 the 10th of June, so unfortunate as to be taken and 
 carried into Ireland. The officers were confined 
 there, but the sailors were sent prisoners to Ply 
 mouth jail, twelve of whom are from this town, a list 
 of whom I enclose. The friends of these people 
 have received intelligence by way of an officer, who 
 belonged to the Protector, and who escaped from the 
 jail, that in August last they were all alive, several 
 of them very destitute of clothing, having taken but 
 a few with them and those for the summer, particu 
 larly Ned Savil and Job Field. Their request is, 
 that, if you can, you would render them some assist 
 ance ; if not by procuring an exchange, that you 
 would get them supplied with necessary clothing. I 
 have told them, that you would do all in your power 
 for them, but what that would be, I could not say. 
 Their friends here are all well, many of them greatly 
 distressed for their children, and in a particular man 
 ner the mother of Josiah Bass. I wish you to be 
 very particular in letting me know, by various oppor 
 tunities and ways after the receipt of this, whether 
 you have been able to do any thing for them, that 
 I may relieve the minds of these distressed parents. 
 The Captain got home about three months ago by 
 escaping to France, but could give no account of his 
 men after they were taken. 
 
 Two years, my dearest friend, have passed away 
 since you left your native land. Will you not re- 
 
LETTERS. 167 
 
 turn ere the close of another year ? I will purchase 
 you a retreat in the woods of Vermont, and retire 
 with you from the vexations, toils, and hazards of 
 public life. Do you not sometimes sigh for such a 
 seclusion ? Public peace and domestic happiness ; 
 
 " an elegant sufficiency, content, 
 Retirement, rural quiet; friendship, books, 
 Ease and alternate labor; useful life, 
 Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven." 
 
 May the time, the happy time soon arrive, when 
 we may realize these blessings, so elegantly described 
 by Thomson ; for, though many of your countrymen 
 talk in a different style with regard to their intentions, 
 and express their wishes to see you in a conspicuous 
 point of view in your own State, I feel no ambition 
 for a share of it. I know the voice of fame to be a 
 mere weather-cock, unstable as water and fleeting as 
 a shadow. Yet I have pride ; I know I have a large 
 portion of it. 
 
 I very fortunately received, by the Apollo, by the 
 Juno, and by the Minerva, the things you sent me, 
 all in good order. They will enable me to do, I 
 hope, without drawing upon you, provided I can part 
 with them ; but money is so scarce, and taxes so 
 high, that few purchasers are found. Goods will not 
 double, yet they are better than drawing bills, as 
 these cannot be sold but with a large discount. I 
 could not get more than ninety for a hundred dollars, 
 should I attempt it. 
 
 I shall enclose an invoice to the house of Ingra- 
 
168 LETTERS. 
 
 ham and Bromfield, and one to De Neufville. There 
 is nothing from Bilboa that can be imported to advan 
 tage. Handkerchiefs are sold here at seven dollars 
 and a half per dozen. There are some articles 
 which would be advantageous from Holland, but 
 goods there run high, and the retailing vendues, 
 which are tolerated here, ruin the shopkeepers. 
 The articles put up by the American house were 
 better in quality for the price than those by the 
 house of De Neufville. Small articles have the best 
 profit ; gauze, ribbons, feathers, and flowers, to make 
 the ladies gay, have the best advance. There are 
 some articles, which come from India, I should sup 
 pose would be lower-priced than many others, Ben 
 gals, nankeens, Persian silk, and bandanna handker 
 chiefs ; but the house of Bromfield know best what 
 articles will suit here. 
 
 Believe me, with more affection than words can 
 express, ever, ever, yours. 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 25 October, 1782. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 THE family are all retired to rest ; the busy scenes 
 of the day are over ; a day which I wished to have 
 devoted in a particular manner to my dearest friend ; 
 
LETTERS. Iby 
 
 but company falling in prevented it, nor could I claim 
 a moment until this silent watch of the night. 
 
 Look, (is there a dearer name than friend ? Think 
 of it for me,) look to the date of this letter, and tell 
 me, what are the thoughts which arise in your mind ? 
 Do you not recollect, that eighteen years have run 
 their circuit since we pledged our mutual faith to 
 each other, and the hymeneal torch was lighted at 
 the altar of Love ? Yet, yet it burns with unabating 
 fervor. Old Ocean has not quenched it, nor old Time 
 smothered it in this bosom. It cheers me in the 
 lonely hour ; it comforts me even in the gloom which 
 sometimes possesses my mind. 
 
 It is, my friend, from the remembrance of the joys 
 I have lost, that the arrow of affliction is pointed. I 
 recollect the untitled man, to whom I gave my heart, 
 and, in the agony of recollection, when time and 
 distance present themselves together, wish he had 
 never been any other. Who shall give me back time ? 
 Who shall compensate to me those years I cannot 
 recall ? How dearly have I paid for a titled hus 
 band ? Should I wish you less wise, that I might 
 enjoy more happiness ? I cannot find that in my 
 heart. Yet Providence has wisely placed the real 
 blessings of life within the reach of moderate abilities ; 
 and he who is wiser than his neighbour sees so much 
 more to pity and lament, that I doubt whether the 
 balance of happiness is in his scale. 
 
 I feel a disposition to quarrel with a race of beings 
 who have cut me off, in the midst of my days, from 
 the only society I delighted in. " Yet no man liveth 
 
170 LETTERS. 
 
 for himself," says an authority I will not dispute. 
 Let me draw satisfaction from this source, and, in 
 stead of murmuring and repining at my lot, consider 
 it in a more pleasing view. Let me suppose, that 
 the same gracious Being, who first smiled upon our 
 union and blessed us in each other, endowed my 
 friend with powers and talents for the benefit of man 
 kind, and gave him a willing mind to improve them 
 for the service of his country. You have obtained 
 honor and reputation at home and abroad. O ! may 
 not an inglorious peace wither the laurels you have 
 won. 
 
 I wrote you by Captain Grinnell. The Firebrand 
 is in great haste to return, and I fear will not give me 
 time to say half I wish. I want you to say many 
 more things to me than you do ; but you write so 
 wise, so like a minister of state. I know your 
 embarrassments. Thus again I pay for titles. Life 
 takes its complexion from inferior things. It is little 
 attentions and assiduities that sweeten the bitter draught 
 and smooth the rugged road. 
 
 I have repeatedly expressed my desire to make a 
 part of your family. But " Will you come and see 
 me ? " cannot be taken in that serious light 1 should 
 choose to consider an invitation from those I love. 
 I do not doubt but that you would be glad to see me, 
 but I know you are apprehensive of dangers and 
 fatigues. I know your situation may be unsettled, 
 and it may be more permanent than I wish it. Only 
 think how the words, " three, four, and five years 
 absence," sound ? They sink into my heart with a 
 
LETTERS. 171 
 
 weight I cannot express. Do you look like the min 
 iature you sent ? I cannot think so. But you have 
 a better likeness, I am told. Is that designed for me ? 
 Gracious Heaven ! restore to me the original, and I 
 care not who has the shadow. 
 
 We are hoping for the fall of Gibraltar, because 
 we imagine that will facilitate a peace ; and who is 
 not weary of the war ? The French fleet still re 
 main with us, and the British cruisers insult them. 
 More American vessels have been captured since 
 they have lain here than for a year before ; the 
 General Greene is taken and carried into Halifax, by 
 which, I suppose, I have lost some small bundles or 
 packages. Beals told me, that you gave him seven 
 small packages, which he delivered Captain Bacon 
 for me. The prisoners have all arrived, except 
 Savil, who is yet in France. I mentioned to you 
 before, that some of them had been with me, and 
 offered to repay the money with which you supplied 
 them. I could only tell them, that I had never re 
 ceived a line from you concerning the matter, and that 
 I chose first to hear from you. I would not receive 
 a farthing, unless I had your express direction, and 
 your handwriting to prove, that what you had done 
 was from your private purse, which I was confident 
 was the case, or you would have been as ready to 
 have relieved others, if you had any public funds for 
 that purpose, as those which belonged to this town. 
 I found a story prevailing, that what you had done 
 was at the public expense. This took its rise either 
 from ignorance or ingratitude ; but it fully determin- 
 
172 LETTERS. 
 
 ed me to receive your direction. The persons who 
 have been with me are the two Clarks, the two 
 Beales, and Job Field. 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend. Ever, ever, yours, 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 13 November, 1782. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 I HAVE lived to see the close of the third year of our 
 separation. This is a melancholy anniversary to 
 me, and many tender scenes arise in my mind upon 
 the recollection. I feel unable to sustain even the 
 idea, that it will be half that period ere we meet 
 again. Life is too short to have the dearest of its 
 enjoyments curtailed ; the social feelings grow cal 
 lous by disuse, and lose that pliancy of affection 
 which sweetens the cup of life as we drink it. The 
 rational pleasures of friendship and society, and 
 the still more refined sensations of which delicate 
 minds only are susceptible, like the tender blossom, 
 when the rude northern blasts assail them, shrink 
 within and collect themselves together, deprived of 
 the all-cheering and beamy influence of the sun. 
 The blossom falls and the fruit withers and decays ; 
 but here the similitude fails, for, though lost for the 
 
LETTERS. 173 
 
 present, the season returns, the tree vegetates anew, 
 and the blossom again puts forth. 
 
 But, alas ! with me, those days which are past 
 are gone for ever, and time is hastening on that 
 period when I must fall to rise no more, until mor 
 tality shall put on immortality, and we shall meet 
 again, pure and disembodied spirits. Could we live 
 to the age of the antediluvians, we might better sup 
 port this separation ; but, when threescore years and 
 ten circumscribe the life of man, how painful is the 
 idea, that, of that short space, only a few years of 
 social happiness are our allotted portion. 
 
 Perhaps I make you unhappy. No. You will 
 enter with a soothing tenderness into my feelings. 
 I see in your eyes the emotions of your heart, and 
 hear the sigh that is wafted across the Atlantic to 
 the bosom of Portia. But the philosopher and the 
 statesman stifles these emotions, and regains a firm 
 ness which arrests my pen in my hand. 
 
 25 November. 
 
 I received from France by the Alexander yours, 
 bearing no date, but, by the contents, written about 
 the same time with those I received by Mr. Guild. 
 Shall I return the compliment, and tell you in a 
 poetical style, 
 
 - Should at my feet the world s great master fall, 
 Himself, his world, his throne, I d scorn them all." 
 
 No. Give me the man I love ; you are neither 
 
174 LETTERS. 
 
 of an age or temper to be allured by the splendor of 
 a court, or the smiles of princesses. 1 never suf 
 fered an uneasy sensation on that account. I know 
 I have a right to your whole heart, because my own 
 never knew another lord ; and such is my con 
 fidence in you, that, if you were not withheld by the 
 strongest of all obligations, those of a moral nature, 
 your honor would not suffer you to abuse my con 
 fidence. 
 
 But whither am I rambling? We have not any 
 thing in the political way worth noticing. The fleet 
 of our allies still remains with us. 
 
 Who is there left that will sacrifice as others have 
 done ? Portia, I think, stands alone, alas, in more 
 senses than one. This vessel will convey to you the 
 packets designed for the Firebrand. I hope, unim 
 portant as they are, they will not be lost. 
 
 Shall I close here, without a word of my voyage ? 
 I believe it is best to wait a reply, before I say any 
 thing further. Our friends desire me to remember 
 them to you. Your daughter, your image, your su 
 perscription, desires to be affectionately remembered 
 to you. O, how many of the sweet domestic joys 
 do you lose by this separation from your family. I 
 have the satisfaction of seeing my children thus far 
 in life behaving with credit and honor. God grant 
 the pleasing prospect may never meet with an alloy, 
 and return to me the dear partner of my early years, 
 rewarded for his past sacrifices by the consciousness 
 of having been extensively useful, not having lived 
 to himself alone ; and may the approving voice of his 
 
LETTERS. 175 
 
 country crown his later days in peaceful retirement, 
 in the affectionate bosom of 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 23 December, 1782. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 I HAVE omitted writing by the last opportunity to 
 Holland, because I had but small faith in the designs 
 of the owners or passengers ; and I had just written 
 you so largely, by a vessel bound to France, that I 
 had nothing new to say. There are few occurrences 
 in this northern climate, at this season of the year, 
 to divert or entertain you ; and, in the domestic way, 
 should I draw you the picture of my heart, it would 
 be what I hope you still would love, though it con 
 tained nothing new. The early possession you ob 
 tained there, and the absolute power you have ever 
 maintained over it, leave not the smallest space un 
 occupied. I look back to the early days of our ac 
 quaintance and friendship, as to the days of love and 
 innocence, and, with an indescribable pleasure, I 
 have seen near a score of years roll over our heads, 
 with an affection heightened and improved by time ; 
 nor have the dreary years of absence in the smallest 
 degree effaced from my mind the image of the dear, 
 untitled man to whom I gave my heart. I cannot 
 
176 LETTERS. 
 
 sometimes refrain considering the honors with which 
 he is invested, as badges of my unhappiness. The 
 unbounded confidence I have in your attachment to 
 me and the dear pledges of our affection, has soothed 
 the solitary hour, and rendered your absence more 
 supportable ; for, had I loved you with the same af 
 fection, it must have been misery to have doubted. 
 Yet a cruel world too often injures my feelings, by 
 wondering how a person, possessed of domestic at 
 tachments, can sacrifice them by absenting himself 
 for years. 
 
 " If you had known," said a person to me the 
 other day, " that Mr. Adams would have remained 
 so long abroad, would you have consented that he 
 should have gone ? " I recollected myself a moment, 
 and then spoke the real dictates of my heart. " If I 
 had known, Sir, that Mr. Adams could have effected 
 what he has done, I would not only have submitted 
 to the absence I have endured, painful as it has been, 
 but I would not have opposed it, even though three 
 years more should be added to the number, (which 
 Heaven avert !) I feel a pleasure in being able to 
 sacrifice my selfish passions to the general good, 
 and in imitating the example, which has taught me 
 to consider myself and family but as the small dust 
 of the balance, when compared with the great com 
 munity." 
 
 It is now, my dear friend, a long, long time, since 
 I had a line from you. The fate of Gibraltar leads 
 me to fear, that a peace is far distant, and that I shall 
 not see you, God only knows when. I shall say 
 
LETTERS. 177 
 
 little about my former request ; not that my desire is 
 less, but, before this can reach you, tis probable I 
 may receive your opinion ; if in favor of my coming 
 to you, I shall have no occasion to urge it further ; 
 if against it, I would not embarrass you by again re 
 questing it. I will endeavour to sit down and consider 
 it as the portion allotted me. My dear sons are well. 
 Our friends all desire to be remembered. The fleet 
 of our allies expects to sail daily, but where destined 
 we know not. A great harmony has subsisted be 
 tween them and the Americans ever since their resi 
 dence here. 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend. Why is it, that I hear so 
 seldom from my dear John ? But one letter have I 
 ever received from him since he arrived in Peters- 
 burgh. I wrote him by the last opportunity. Ever 
 remember me, as I do you, with all the tenderness, 
 which it is possible for one object to feel for another, 
 which no time can obliterate, no distance alter, but 
 which is always the same in the bosom of 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 28 April, 1783. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 AT length an opportunity offers, after a space of near 
 five months, of again writing to you. Not a vessel 
 from any port in this State has sailed since January, 
 VOL. i. 12 
 
178 LETTERS. 
 
 ,by which I could directly convey you a line. I have 
 written twice by way of Virginia, but fear the let 
 ters will never reach you. From you, I have lately 
 received several letters, containing the most pleasing 
 intelligence. 
 
 " Peace o er the world her oli^e branch extends." 
 
 Hail, " Goddess, heavenly bright, 
 Profuse of joy and pregnant with delight." 
 
 The garb of this favorite of America is woven of 
 an admirable texture, and proves the great skill, wis 
 dom, and abilities of the master workmen. It was 
 not fabricated in the loom of France, nor are the 
 materials English, but they are the product of our 
 own American soil, raised and nurtured, not by the 
 gentle showers of Heaven, but by the hard labor and 
 indefatigable industry and firmness of her sons, and 
 watered by the blood of many of them. May its 
 duration be in proportion to its value, and, like the 
 mantle of the prophet, descend with blessings to 
 generations yet to come. And may you, my dearest 
 friend, return to your much loved solitude, with the 
 pleasing reflection of having contributed to the hap 
 piness of millions. 
 
 We have not received any account of the signing 
 the definitive treaty, so that no public rejoicings have 
 taken place as yet. The fifth article in the treaty 
 has raised the old spirit against the Tories to such a 
 height that it would be at the risk of their lives, 
 should they venture here. It may subside after a 
 
LETTERS. 179 
 
 while, but I question whether any State in the Union 
 will admit them, even for twelve months. What 
 then would have been the consequence, if compensa 
 tion had been granted them ? 
 
 Your Journal has afforded me and your friends 
 much pleasure and amusement. You will learn, 
 perhaps^ from Congress, that the Journal you meant 
 for Mr. Jackson, was, by some mistake, 1 enclosed to 
 the Minister for Foreign Affairs, and consequently 
 came before Congress, -wjth other public papers. 
 The Massachusetts delegates applied for it, but were 
 refused it. Mr. Jackson w r as kind enough to wait 
 upon rrfe, and show me your letter to him, and the 
 other papers enclosed ; and I communicated the 
 Journal to him. Mr. Higginson writes, that it was 
 moved in Congress by Hamilton, of N Virginia, and 
 Wilson of Pennsylvania, to censure their ministers 
 for departing from their duty, in not adhering to 
 their instructions, and for giving offence to the Court 
 of France by distrusting their friendship. They, 
 however, could not carry their point. It was said, 
 the instruction alluded to was founded upon reciproci 
 ty, and that Count de Vergennes had not acted upon 
 that principle. When these gentry found, that it 
 would not be considered in the light in which they 
 wished, they gave out, that, if no more was said upon 
 that subject, the other would drop. This is all I have 
 
 1 It \vas this mistake which furnished the principal accusa 
 tion made against Mr. Adams in Alexander Hamilton s cele 
 brated pamphlet, published in le OO, upon the eve of the Pres 
 idential election. 
 
180 LETTERS. 
 
 been able to collect. My intelligence is very im 
 perfect l since Mr. Lovell left Congress. Mr. Gerry, 
 I believe, is determined to go again. I shall then 
 have a friend and correspondent who will keep me 
 informed. 
 
 Upon receiving a letter from you, in which you 
 desire me to come to you, should you be .long de 
 tained abroad, I took the liberty of writing to Dr. 
 Lee, 2 requesting him to give me the earliest intelli 
 gence respecting the acceptance of your resignation. 
 I do not think it will be accepted, by what I have 
 already learnt. If it is not, I shall still feel undeter 
 mined what to do. From many of your letters, 
 I was led to suppose you would not return without 
 permission. Yet I do not imagine the bare renewal 
 
 1 This will account for the errors, which are many and 
 striking in this paragraph. No motion of the kind alluded to 
 appears in the Journal of Congress. But by the papers of 
 Mr. Madison, lately published, we find that it was made, and 
 particularly directed against Mr. Adams. It was offered, 
 however, by Mr. Mercer of Virginia, and seconded by Mr. 
 Madison himself, for reasons which are stated by the latter ; 
 but it was found not to be acceptable to a large proportion of 
 the members, particularly to the Eastern delegates, and was, 
 therefore, never pressed to a decision. Neither Mr. Hamilton 
 of New York, nor Mr. Wilson of Pennsylvania, appears to 
 have been anxious to adopt it. 
 
 Upon this, the most controverted and debatable ground of 
 the history of our Revolution, which has been elaborately 
 occupied of late by Mr. Sparks, in his various contributions 
 to it, the present is not the fitting occasion to add a word of 
 commentary. See the Papers of James Madison, p. 407. 
 
 2 Arthur Lee, then a member of Congress from Virginia. 
 
LETTERS. 181 
 
 of a former commission would induce you to tarry. 
 I shall not run the risk, unless you are appointed 
 Minister at the Court of Great Britain. 
 
 Our friends are all well, and desire to be affec 
 tionately remembered to you. Where is our son ? 
 I hear no more of him than if he was out of the 
 world. You wrote me in yours of December 4th, 
 that he was upon his journey to you, but I have 
 never heard of his arrival. Need I add how earnest 
 ly I long for the day when Heaven will again bless 
 us in the society of each other ? Whether upon 
 European or American ground, is yet in the book of 
 uncertainty ; but, to feel entirely happy and easy, 
 I believe it must be in our own republican cottage, 
 with the simplicity which has ever distinguished it 
 and your ever affectionate 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 29 April. 
 
 I last evening received yours of February 18th, 
 in which you are explicit with regard to your return. 
 I shall, therefore, (let Congress renew or create what 
 commission they please,) at least wait your further 
 direction, though you should be induced to tarry 
 abroad. I have taken no step as yet with regard to 
 coming out, except writing to Dr. Lee, as mentioned 
 before. Heaven send you safe to your ever affec 
 tionate 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
182 LETTERS. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 20 June, 1783. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 IF I was certain I should welcome you to your native 
 land in the course of the summer, I should not re 
 gret Mr. Smith s going abroad without me. Should 
 it be otherwise, should you still be detained abroad, 
 I must submit, satisfied that you judge best, and that 
 you would not subject me to so heavy a disappoint 
 ment, or yourself to so severe a mortification as I 
 flatter myself it would be, but for the general good. 
 A European life, would, you say, be the ruin of our 
 children. If so, I should be as loth as you to hazard 
 their imbibing sentiments and opinions, which might 
 make them unhappy in a sphere of life, which t is 
 probable they must fill, not by indulging in luxuries 
 for which it is more than possible they might con 
 tract a taste and inclination, but in studious and la 
 borious pursuits. 
 
 You have before this day received a joint commis 
 sion for forming a commercial treaty with Britain. 
 I am at a loss to determine whether you will consid 
 er yourself so bound by it, as to tarry longer abroad. 
 Perhaps there has been no juncture in the public af 
 fairs of our country, not even in the hour of our 
 deepest distress, when able statesmen and wise coun 
 sellors were more wanted than at the present day. 
 Peace abroad leaves us at leisure to look into our own 
 
LETTERS. 183 
 
 domestic affairs. Although, upon an estimate of our 
 national debt, it appears but as the -small dust of the 
 balance when compared to the object we have ob 
 tained, and the benefits we have secured, yet the 
 restless spirit of man will not be restrained ; and we 
 have reason to fear, that domestic jars and confusion 
 will take place of foreign contentions and devasta 
 tion. Congress have commuted with the army, by 
 engaging to them five years pay in lieu of half-pay 
 for life. With security for this, they will disband 
 contented ; but our wise legislators are about disput 
 ing the power of Congress to do either, without con 
 sidering their hands in the mouth of the lion, and that, 
 if the just and necessary food is not supplied, the out 
 rageous animal may become so ferocious as to spread 
 horror and devastation. Another Theseus may arise, 
 who, by his reputation and exploits of valor, his 
 personal character and universal popularity, may 
 destroy our Amphictyonic system, and subjugate our 
 infant republic to monarchical domination. 
 
 Our House of Representatives is this year com 
 posed of more than a hundred new members, some 
 of whom, no doubt, are good men. Nearly all the 
 able and skilful members, who composed the last 
 House, have lost their seats by voting for the return 
 of Mr. Brattle, notwithstanding the strongest evidence 
 in his favor, and the many proofs which were pro 
 duced of his friendly conduct towards America. For 
 this crime, our worthy friend Mr. Cranch was drop 
 ped by this town. The Senate is a loser this year, 
 by the resignation of some excellent members. We 
 
184 LETTERS. 
 
 have in this State an impost of five per cent., and 
 an excise act, whilst the neighbouring States have 
 neither. Foreigners, finding this the case, carry 
 their cargoes to other States. At this the merchant 
 grumbles, ^he farmer groans with his taxes, and the 
 mechanic for want of employ. Heaven avert, that, 
 like the Greek republics, we should, by civil dissen 
 sion, weaken our power and crush our rising great 
 ness, that the blood of our citizens should be shed in 
 vain, and the labor and toil of our statesmen be 
 finally baffled through niggardly parsimony, lavish 
 prodigality, or ignorance of our real interests. We 
 want a Solomon in wisdom, to guide and conduct 
 this great people at this critical era, when the coun 
 sels which are taken and the measures which are 
 pursued will mark our future character, either with 
 honor and fame, or disgrace and infamy. In adver 
 sity, we have conducted with prudence and magna 
 nimity. Heaven forbid that we should grow giddy 
 with prosperity ; or the height, to which we have 
 soared, render a fall conspicuously fatal. 
 
 Thus far I had written when your welcome favor 
 of March 28th reached me. I was not disappointed 
 in finding you uncertain with regard to the time of 
 your return. Should the appointment, which I fear 
 and you have hinted at, take place, it would indeed 
 be a dull day to me. I have not a wish to join in a 
 scene of life so different from that, in which I have 
 been educated, and in which my early, and, I must 
 suppose, happier days, have been spent. Curiosity 
 satisfied, and I shall sigh for tranquil scenes, 
 
LETTERS. 185 
 
 " And wish that Heaven had left me still 
 The whispering zephyr and the purling rill." 
 
 Well-ordered home is my chief delight, and the 
 affectionate, domestic wife, with the relative duties 
 which accompany that character, my highest am 
 bition. It was the disinterested wish of sacrificing 
 my personal feelings to the public utility, which first 
 led me to think of unprotectedly hazarding a voyage. 
 I say unprotectedly, for so I consider every lady, 
 who is not accompanied by her husband. This 
 objection could only be surmounted by the earnest 
 wish I had to soften those toils which were not to be 
 dispensed with ; and, if the public welfare required 
 your labors and exertions abroad, I flattered myself 
 that, if I could be with you, it might be in my power 
 to contribute to your happiness and pleasure. But 
 the day is now arrived, when, with honor and well- 
 earned fame, you may return to your native land ; 
 when I cannot any longer consider it as my duty to 
 submit to a further separation ; and when it appears 
 necessary, that those abilities, which have crowned 
 you with laurels abroad, shall be exerted at home 
 for the public safety. 
 
 I do not wish you to accept an embassy to Eng 
 land, should you be appointed. This little cottage 
 has more heart-felt satisfaction for you than the 
 most brilliant court can afford. 
 
 I will bid you good night. Yours, 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
186 LETTERS. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 19 November, 1783. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 YOUR favor, dated at Amsterdam in July, was last 
 evening handed me, and this evening your letter of 
 the 10th of September, by Colonel Ogden, reached 
 me. I had for some time supposed that the delay 
 of public business would retard your return ; and, 
 knowing that the definitive treaty was not completed 
 until September, and that the commercial treaty was 
 still to form, I had little reason to expect you, unless 
 your state of health required an immediate resigna 
 tion of all public business. Your letter, therefore, 
 which informs me of your determination to pass 
 another winter abroad, is by no means unexpected. 
 That we must pass it with a vast ocean between us 
 is a reflection no ways pleasurable, yet this must be 
 the case. I had much to do to persuade myself to 
 venture a summer passage, but a winter one I never 
 could think of encountering. I am too much of a 
 coward. It is now the middle of November. It 
 would be December or January, before I could pos 
 sibly adjust all my affairs ; and I know of no person 
 with whom I am acquainted, except Mr. Jackson of 
 Newburyport, who is now going abroad. Mr. Tem 
 ple and family sail this month. Besides, there is a 
 stronger objection with me than even a winter s 
 voyage. Congress have not appointed any person 
 
LETTERS. 187 
 
 yet to the Court of Britain. There are many who 
 wish for that place. Many who have a more splen 
 did title, and many more thousands, to claim it with. 
 I know Mr. Jay has written pressingly to Congress 
 in your favor, and absolutely declined it himself; 
 but whether you will finally be the person is among 
 the uncertain events. One thing, however, is certain ; 
 that I do not wish it. I should have liked very well 
 to have gone to France and resided there a year ; 
 but to think of going to England in a public charac 
 ter, and engaging, at my time of life, in scenes quite 
 new, attended with dissipation, parade, and nonsense, 
 I am sure I should make an awkward figure. The 
 retired domestic circle, " the feast of reason and the 
 flow of soul," are my ideas of happiness, and my most 
 ardent wish is to have you return and become master 
 of the feast. My health is infirm. I am still subject 
 to a severe nervous pain in my head, and fatigue of 
 any kind will produce it. Neither of us appears to 
 be built for duration. Would to Heaven, the few 
 remaining days allotted us might be enjoyed to 
 gether. It has been my misfortune, that I could not 
 attend to your health, watch for your repose, alle 
 viate your hours of anxiety, and make you a home 
 wherever you resided. More, says a skilful doctor, 
 depends upon the nurse than the physician. My 
 determination is to tarry at 1 home this winter ; and, if 
 I cannot prevail upon you to return to me in the 
 spring, you well know that I may be drawn to you, 
 provided there is any stability in Congress. One 
 strong tie, which held me here, is dissolved. My 
 
188 LETTERS. 
 
 dear parent used to say, " You must never go, child, 
 whilst I live." It is far from being my inclination. 
 
 Mr. Thaxter will be able to give me, when he 
 arrives, the best intelligence upon the subject. I 
 wrote largely to you last week. I hope this letter will 
 go by a French brig. 
 
 Adieu, and believe me, whether present or absent, 
 Most affectionately yours. 
 
 TO JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 20 November, 1783. 
 
 THIS evening, as I was sitting with only your sister 
 by my side, who was scribbling to some of her cor 
 respondents, my neighbour, Field, entered with, " I 
 have a letter for you, Madam." My imagination was 
 wandering to Paris, ruminating upon the long, long 
 absence of my dear son and his parent, so that I was 
 rather inattentive to what he said, until he repeated, 
 " I have letters for you from abroad." The word 
 " abroad," roused my attention, and I eagerly seized 
 the letters, the handwriting and seal of which gave 
 me hopes, that I was once more about to hear from 
 my young wanderer ; nor was I disappointed. 
 
 After two years silence, and a journey of which 
 I can scarcely form an idea, to find you safely re- 
 
 1 The death of the Rev. Mr. Smith, the father of Mrs. 
 Adarns, took place not long before the date of this letter. 
 
LETTERS. 189 
 
 turned to your parent, to hear of your health and to 
 see your improvements ! You cannot know, should 
 I describe to you, the feelings of a parent. Through 
 your father, I sometimes heard from you, but one 
 letter only ever reached me after you arrived in 
 Russia. Your excuses, however, have weight and 
 are accepted ; but you must give them further ener 
 gy by a ready attention to your pen in future. Four 
 years have already passed away since you left your 
 native land and this rural cottage ; humble indeed 
 when compared to the palaces you have visited, and 
 the pomp you have been witness to ; but I dare say, 
 you have not been so inattentive an observer as to 
 suppose, that sweet peace and contentment cannot 
 inhabit the lowly roof and bless the tranquil inhab 
 itants, equally guarded and protected in person and 
 property in this happy country as those who reside 
 in the most elegant and costly dwellings. If you 
 live to return, I can form to myself an idea of the 
 pleasure you will take in treading over the ground 
 and visiting every place your early years were ac 
 customed wantonly to gambol in ; even the rocky 
 common and lowly whortleberry bush will not be 
 without their beauties. 
 
 My anxieties have been and still are great, lest 
 the numerous temptations and snares of vice should 
 vitiate your early habits of virtue, and destroy those 
 principles, which you are now capable of reasoning 
 upon, and discerning the beauty and utility of, as the 
 only rational surce of happiness here, or foundation 
 of felicity hereafter. Placed as we are in a transi- 
 
190 LETTERS. 
 
 tory scene of probation, drawing nigher and still 
 nigher day after day to that important crisis which 
 must introduce us into a new system of things, it 
 ought certainly to be our principal concern to become 
 qualified for our expected dignity. 
 
 What is it, that affectionate parents require of their 
 children, for all their care, anxiety, and toil on their 
 account ? Only that they would be wise and virtuous, 
 benevolent and kind. 
 
 Ever keep in mind, my son, that your parents are 
 your disinterested friends, and that if, at any time, 
 their advice militates with your own opinion or the 
 advice of others, you ought always to be diffident of 
 your own judgment ; because you may rest assured, 
 that their opinion is founded on experience and long 
 observation, and that they would not direct you but 
 to promote your happiness. Be thankful to a kind 
 Providence, who has hitherto preserved the lives of 
 your parents, the natural guardians of your youthful 
 years. With gratitude I look up to Heaven, blessing 
 the hand which continued to me my dear and hon 
 ored parents until I was settled in life ; and, though 
 now I regret the loss of them, and daily feel the want 
 of their advice and assistance, I cannot suffer as I 
 should have done, if I had been early deprived of 
 them. 
 
 You will doubtless have heard of the death of your 
 worthy grandpapa before this reaches you. He 
 left you a legacy more valuable than gold or silver ; 
 he left you his blessing and his prayers that you 
 might return to your country and friends, improved 
 
LETTERS. 
 
 191 
 
 in knowledge and matured in virtue ; that you might 
 become a useful citizen, a guardian of the laws, 
 liberty, and religion of your country, as your father 
 (he was pleased to say) had already been. Lay this 
 bequest up in your memory, and practise upon it ; 
 believe me, you will find it a treasure that neither 
 moth nor rust can devour. 
 
 I received letters from your father last evening, 
 dated in Paris the 10th of September, informing me 
 of the necessity of his continuance abroad this win 
 ter. The season is so far advanced that I readily 
 sacrifice the desire of seeing him to his safety ; a 
 voyage upon this coast at this season is fraught with 
 dangers. He has made me a request, that I dare 
 not comply with at present. No husband, no son, to 
 accompany me upon the boisterous ocean, to ani 
 mate my courage and dispel my fears, I dare not 
 engage with so formidable a combatant. If I should 
 find your father fixed in the spring, and determined 
 to continue abroad a year or two longer, the earnest 
 desire I have to meet him and my dear son might 
 overcome the reluctance I feel at the idea of engag 
 ing in a new scene, and the love I have for domestic 
 attachments and the still calm of life. But it would 
 be more agreeable to me to enjoy all my friends to 
 gether in my own native land ; from those who have 
 visited foreign climes I could listen with pleasure to 
 the narrative of their adventures, and derive satisfac 
 tion from the learned detail, content, myself, that 
 
 " The little learning 1 have gained, 
 Is all from simple nature drained." 
 
192 LETTERS. 
 
 I have a desire that you might finish your educa 
 tion at our University, and I see no chance for it 
 unless you return in the course of the year. Your 
 cousin, W. Cranch, expects to enter next July. He 
 would be happy to have you his associate. I hope 
 your father will indulge you with a visit to England 
 this winter. It is a country J should be fond of your 
 seeing. Christianity, which teaches us to forgive our 
 enemies, prevents me from enjoining upon you a 
 similar vow to that which Hamilcar obtained from 
 his son Hannibal, but I know not how to think of 
 loving those haughty islanders. 
 
 Your friends send you their affectionate regards ; 
 and I enjoin it upon you to write often to your 
 ever affectionate mother, 
 
 A. ADAMS. 
 
 TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 18 December, 1783. 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 I RETURNED last evening from Boston, where I went 
 at the kind invitation of my uncle and aunt, to cele 
 brate our annual festival. Dr. Cooper being dan 
 gerously sick, I went to hear Mr. Clark, who is 
 settled with Dr. Chauncy. This gentleman gave us 
 an animated, elegant, and sensible discourse, from 
 Isaiah, 55th chapter, and 12th verse. " For ye 
 
LETTERS. 193 
 
 shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace ; 
 the mountains and the hills shall break forth before 
 you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall 
 clap their hands." 
 
 Whilst he ascribed glory and praise unto the Most 
 High, he considered the worthy, disinterested, and 
 undaunted patriots as the instruments in the hand of 
 Providence for accomplishing what was marvellous 
 in our eyes. He recapitulated the dangers they had 
 passed through, and the hazards they had run ; the 
 firmness which had, in a particular manner, distin 
 guished some characters, not only early to engage 
 in so dangerous a contest, but, in spite of our gloomy 
 prospects, to persevere even unto the end, until 
 they had obtained a peace, safe and honorable, large 
 as our desires, and much beyond our expectations. 
 
 How did my heart dilate with pleasure, when, as 
 each event was particularized, I could trace my 
 friend as a principal in them ; could say it was he 
 who was one of the first in joining the band of 
 patriots, who formed our first national council ; it 
 was he, who, though happy in his domestic attach 
 ments, left his wife, his children, then but infants, 
 even surrounded with the horrors of war, terrified 
 and distressed, the week before the memorable 19th 
 of April, left them to the protection of that Provi 
 dence which has never forsaken them, and joined 
 himself undismayed to that respectable body, of 
 which he was a member. Trace his conduct through 
 every period, you will find him the same undaunted 
 character, encountering the dangers of the ocean, 
 
 VOL. i. 13 
 
194 LETTERS. 
 
 risking captivity and a dungeon ; contending with 
 wickedness in high places ; jeoparding his life, en 
 dangered by the intrigues, revenge, and malice of a 
 potent, though defeated nation. These are not the 
 mere eulogiums of conjugal affection, but certain 
 facts and solid truths. My anxieties, my distresses, 
 at every period, bear witness to them ; though now, 
 by a series of prosperous events, the recollection is 
 more sweet than painful. 
 
 Whilst I was in town, Mr. Dana arrived very 
 unexpectedly ; for I had not received your letters by 
 Mr. Thaxtcr. My uncle fortunately discovered him 
 as he came up State Street, and instantly engaged 
 him to dine with him, acquainting him that I was in 
 town and at his house. The news soon reached my 
 ears; "Mr. Dana arrived," "Mr. Dana arrived," 
 from every person you saw ; but how was I affect 
 ed ? The tears involuntarily flowed from my eyes. 
 Though God is my witness, I envied not the felicity 
 of others, yet my heart swelled with grief; and 
 the idea that I, I only, was left alone, recalled all 
 the tender scenes of separation, and overcame all 
 my fortitude. I retired, and reasoned myself into 
 composure sufficient to see him without a childish 
 emotion. 
 
 But, O! my dearest friend, what shall I say to 
 you in reply to your pressing invitation. I have 
 already written to you in answer to your letters, 
 which were dated September 10th, and reached me 
 a month before those by Mr. Thaxter. I related to 
 you all my fears respecting a winter s voyage. My 
 
LETTERS. 195 
 
 friends are all against it, and Mr. Gerry, as you will 
 see by the copy of his letter enclosed, has given his 
 opinion upon well grounded reasons. If I should 
 leave my affairs in the hands of my friends, there 
 would be much to think of and much to do, to place 
 them in that method and order I would wish to leave 
 them in. Theory and practice are two very different 
 things, and the object is magnified as I approach 
 nearer to it. I think if you were abroad in a private 
 character, and necessitated to continue there, I should 
 not hesitate so much at coming to you ; but a mere 
 American as I am, unacquainted with the etiquette 
 of courts, taught to say the thing I mean, and to 
 wear my heart in my countenance, I am sure I 
 should make an awkward figure ; and then it would 
 mortify my pride, if I should be thought to disgrace 
 you. Yet, strip royalty of its pomp and power, and 
 what are its votaries more than their fellow worms ? 
 
 I have so little of the ape about me, that I have 
 refused every public invitation to figure in the gay 
 world, and sequestered myself in this humble cot 
 tage, content with rural life and my domestic em 
 ployment, in the midst of which I have sometimes 
 smiled upon recollecting that I had the honor of 
 being allied to an ambassador. 
 
 Adieu. 
 
196 LETTERS. 
 
 TO JOHN QTJINCY ADAMS. 
 
 Braintree, 26 December, 1783. 
 
 MY DEAR SON, 
 
 YOUR letters by Mr. Thaxter, I received, and was 
 not a little pleased with them. If you do not write 
 with the precision of a Robertson, nor the elegance 
 of a Voltaire, it is evident you have profited by the 
 perusal of them. The account of your northern 
 journey, and your observation upon the Russian gov 
 ernment, would do credit to an older pen. 
 
 The early age at which you went abroad gave 
 you not an opportunity of becoming acquainted with 
 your own country. Yet the revolution, in which we 
 were engaged, held it up in so striking and impor 
 tant a light, that you could not avoid being in some 
 measure irradiated with the view. The characters 
 with which you were connected, and the conversa 
 tion you continually heard, must have impressed 
 your mind with a sense of the laws, the liberties, 
 and the glorious privileges, which distinguish the free, 
 sovereign, independent States of America. 
 
 Compare them with the vassalage of the Russian 
 government you have described, and say, were 
 this highly favored land barren as the mountains of 
 Switzerland, and covered ten months in the year 
 with snow, would she not have the advantage even 
 of Italy, with her orange groves, her breathing 
 statues, and her melting strains of music ? or of 
 
LETTERS. 197 
 
 Spain, with her treasures from Mexico and Peru ? not 
 one of which can boast that first of blessings, the 
 glory of human najure, the inestimable privilege of 
 sitting down under their vines and fig-trees, enjoying 
 in peace and security whatever Heaven has lent 
 them, having none to make them afraid. 
 
 Let your observations and comparisons produce in 
 your mind an abhorrence of domination and power, 
 the parent of slavery, ignorance, and barbarism, 
 which places man upon a level with his fellow 
 tenants of the woods ; 
 
 " A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty 
 Is worth a whole eternity of bondage." 
 
 You have seen power in its various forms, a 
 benign deity, when exercised in the suppression of 
 fraud, injustice, and tyranny, but a demon, when 
 united with unbounded ambition, a wide-wasting 
 fury, who has destroyed her thousands. Not an 
 age of the world but has produced characters, to 
 which whole human hecatombs have been sacri 
 ficed. 
 
 What is the history of mighty kingdoms and na 
 tions, but a detail of the ravages and cruelties of the 
 powerful over the weak ? Yet it is instructive to 
 trace the various causes, which produced the strength 
 of one nation, and the decline and weakness of 
 another ; to learn by what arts one man has been 
 able to subjugate millions of his fellow creatures, 
 the motives which have put him upon action, and 
 the causes of his success ; sometimes driven by 
 
198 LETTERS. 
 
 ambition and a lust of power ; at other times, swal 
 lowed up by religious enthusiasm, blind bigotry, and 
 ignorant zeal ; sometimes enervated with luxury and 
 debauched by pleasure, until the most powerful na 
 tions have become a prey and been subdued by 
 these Sirens, when neither the number of their ene 
 mies, nor the prowess of their arms, could conquer 
 them. History informs us that the Assyrian empire 
 sunk under the arms of Cyrus, with his poor but 
 hardy Persians. The extensive and opulent empire 
 of Persia fell an easy prey to Alexander and a hand 
 ful of Macedonians ; and the Macedonian empire, 
 when enervated by the luxury of Asia, was com 
 pelled to receive the yoke of the victorious Romans. 
 Yet even this mistress of the world, as she is proudly 
 styled, in her turn defaced her glory, tarnished her 
 victories, and became a prey to luxury, ambition, 
 faction, pride, revenge, and avarice, so that Jugur- 
 tha, after having purchased an acquittance for the 
 blackest of crimes, breaks out into an exclamation, 
 " O city, ready for sale, if a buyer rich enough can 
 be found ! " 
 
 The history of your own country and the late 
 revolution are striking and recent instances of the 
 mighty things achieved by a brave, enlightened, and 
 hardy people, determined to be free ; the very yeo 
 manry of which, in many instances, have shown 
 themselves superior to corruption, as Britain well 
 knows, on more occasions than the loss of her 
 Andre. Glory, my son, in a country which has 
 given birth to characters, both in the civil and mili- 
 
LETTERS. 199 
 
 tary departments, which may vie with the wisdom 
 and valor of antiquity. As an immediate descendant 
 of one of those characters, may you be led to an 
 imitation of that disinterested patriotism and that 
 noble love of your country, which will teach you to 
 despise wealth, titles, pomp, and equipage, as mere 
 external advantages, which cannot add to the inter 
 nal excellence of your mind, or compensate for the 
 want of integrity and virtue. 
 
 May your mind be thoroughly impressed with the 
 absolute necessity of universal virtue and goodness, 
 as the only sure road to happiness, and may you 
 walk therein with undeviating steps, is the sincere 
 and most affectionate wish of 
 
 Your mother, 
 
 A. ADAMS. 
 
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