4636. LETTER-WRITING, Voluminous.—
I do not know how far you may suffer,
as I do, under the persecution of letters, of
which every mail brings me a fresh load. They
are letters of enquiry, for the most part, always
of good will, sometimes from friends whom I
esteem, but much oftener from persons whose
names are unknown to me, but written kindly
and civilly, and to which, therefore, civility requires
answers. * * * I happened to turn to
my letter-list some time ago, and a curiosity
was excited to count those received in a single
year. It was the year before the last. I found
the number to be one thousand two hundred and
sixty-seven, many of them requiring answers of
elaborate research, and all to be answered with
due attention and consideration. Take an average
of this number for a week or a day, and I
will repeat the question * * * is this life? At
best, it is but the life of a mill-horse, who sees
no end to his circle but in death. To such a
life, that of a cabbage is paradise.—
To John Adams. Washington ed. vii, 254.
Ford ed., x, 218.
(M.
1822)
