University of Virginia Library

TO JOHN ADAMS.

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

from nay 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 capable
of any thing she undertakes with spirit and
vigor. "Brave in distress, serene in conquest, drowsy
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

great, no price of property too dear. My whole soul
is absorbed in the idea. The honor of my dearest
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 Abbé 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

I have called upon his lady, and we enjoyed an afternoon
of sweet communion. I find she would not be
averse to taking a voyage, should he be continued
abroad. She groans most bitterly, and is irreconcilable
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 sentiments;
and never omitted without pain to the affectionate
bosom of your