Yesterday was our Thanksgiving day. In our
own way, and with tempers suited to the occasion,
we gave thanks for those blessings which we felt
had been granted to us in the year past, for the
restoration and recovery from dangerous sickness of
members of our own family; and, although in one instance
we had been called to weep, in many others
we had cause of rejoicing. We were in health; we
had good news from a far country; we had food and
raiment, and we still enjoyed liberty, and our rulers
were men of our own election, and removable by
the people. Dear Caroline, I have trespassed upon
you. I will close by saying, that your uncle and
aunt, with their three children, your aunt Smith,
George and John Adams, with our own family,
made the joyful group. We remembered the absent,
and sent our wishes to Russia and the valley;
but wishes were empty.—No, they bore upon their
wings blessings, a portion of which were for my dear
Caroline,
From her affectionate grandmother,
Abigail Adams.
