University of Virginia Library

TO JOHN ADAMS.

Shall I tell my dearest, that tears of joy filled may
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, contained
an account, under the Paris news, of your arrival
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 11th of
March, and that he had letters for me, but destroyed
them when he was taken; and this is all the information
I have ever been able to obtain. Our enemies
have told us the vessel was taken, and named the

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 assassination
was received from France, and sent by
Mr. Purveyance, of Baltimore, to Congress and to
Boston. Near two months, before that was contradicted.
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 troubled
sea.

You will easily conceive, how grateful your favor
of April 25th, and those of our son, were to 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 ladies,
though you profess yourself an admirer of
them) and a thousand circumstances which I wish
to know, and which are always particularly interesting
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 thinking
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

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 separated.
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, contracted
education of the females of my own country.
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 sensation than men; what
touches them, is for the most part true in nature,
whereas men, warped by education, judge amiss
from previous prejudice, and, referring all things to
the mode of the ancieats, condemn that by comparison,
where no true similitude ought to be expected.

But, in this country, you need not be told how
much female education is neglected, nor how fashionable
it has been to ridicule female learning;
though I acknowledge it my happiness to be connected
with a person of a more generous mind and
liberal sentiments. I cannot forbear transcribing a
few generous sentiments which I lately met with upon
this subject.

"If women," says the writer, "are to be esteemed
our enemies, methinks it is an ignoble cowardice,
thus to disarm them, and not allow them the same
weapon 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;
their 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 intellects.
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,

there is always observed to be the most modesty
and rectitude of manners."[1]