 | Letters of Mrs. Adams, |  |
TO MRS. CRANCH.
If, as the poet says, "expectation makes the blessing
sweet," your last letter was peculiarly so. As you
conjectured, I was not a little anxious that neither
Captain Barnard nor Davis brought me a line. I was
apprehensive that something was the matter, some
imminent danger threatening some friend, of which
my friends chose not to inform me until their fate
was decided. I sent on board the ship; the solitary
box of meal was searched throughout. What, not
never before failed me? Can it be possible? Uncle
Smith did not, as usual, say in his letter, that all
friends were well. Dr. Tufts, for the first time,
omitted mentioning my children. That might be
because he thought that they had written. Thus was
my mind agitated until Captain Scott's arrival, who
brought me your kind letter of May the 20th, but
none from either of my nieces or children. Those
dear lads do not write so often as I wish them to do,
because they have nothing more to say than that they
are well; not considering how important that intelligence
is to an affectionate parent. Mr. J. Cranch
wrote to me soon after Barnard's arrival, and sent me
an extract of a letter from Miss B. Palmer, with a
particular account of the performances in April, at
Cambridge, in which your son and mine bore a part.
These young gentlemen are much indebted to her
for her partiality and the very flattering manner in
which she describes them. I hope they will continue
to deserve the esteem of all good judges, and
do honor to themselves and their country. The account
you give me of the health of J. Q. A. is no
more than I expected to hear. I warned him frequently
before he left me, and have been writing him
ever since. I hope he will take warning before it is
too late. It gives me great satisfaction to learn that
he has passed through the University with so much
reputation, and that his fellow students are attached
to him. I have never once regretted the resolution
he took of quitting Europe, and placing himself upon
spared, I presume he will neither be an idle nor useless
spectator. Heaven grant, that he may not have
more distressing scenes before him, and a gloomier
stage to tread, than those on which his father has
acted for twelve years past. But the curtain rises
before him, and instead of Peace waving her olive-branch,
or Liberty seated in a triumphal car, or Commerce,
Agriculture, and Plenty, pouring forth their
stores, Sedition hisses, Treason roars, Rebellion
gnashes her teeth, Mercy suspends the justly merited
blow, but Justice strikes the guilty victim. Here may
the scene close, and brighter prospects open before us
in future. I hope the political machine will move with
more safety and security this year than the last, and
that the new head may be endowed with wisdom sufficient
to direct it. There are some good spokes in
the wheels, though the master workmen have been
unskilful in discarding some of the best, and choosing
others not sufficiently seasoned; but the crooked and
cross-grained will soon break to pieces; though this
may do much mischief in the midst of a journey,
and shatter the vehicle, yet another year may repair
the damages. But to quit allegory, or you will
think I have been reading Johnny Bunyan, the conduct
of a certain gentleman is rather curious. I
really think him an honest man, but ambition is a
very wild passion, and there are some characters,
that never can be pleased unless they have the entire
direction of all public affairs. And, when they
are unemployed, they are continually blaming those
and spreading alarms that the country is
ruined and undone; but put them into office, and
it is more than probable they will pursue the same
conduct which they had before condemned. But
no man is fit to be trusted, who is not diffident of
himself. Such is the frailty of human nature, and
so great a flatterer is self-love, that it presents false
appearances, and deceives its votaries.
I have had with me for a fortnight a little daughter
of Mr. Jefferson's, who arrived here with a young
negro girl, her servant, from Virginia. Mr. Jefferson
wrote me some months ago that he expected
them, and desired me to receive them. I did so,
and was amply repaid for my trouble. A finer
child of her age I never saw. So mature an understanding,
so womanly a behaviour, and so much sensibility,
united, are rarely to be met with. I grew so
fond of her, and she was so attached to me, that,
when Mr. Jefferson sent for her, they were obliged
to force the little creature away. She is but eight
years old. She would sit sometimes, and describe
to me the parting with her aunt who brought her
up, the obligations she was under to her, and the
love she had for her little cousins, till the tears
would stream down her cheeks; and how I had
been her friend, and she loved me. Her papa
would break her heart by making her go again.
She clung round me so that I could not help shedding
a tear at parting with her. She was the favorite
of every one in the house. I regret that such
She is a beautiful girl, too.
This, I presume, is Commencement day. I dare
say the young folks feel anxious. I don't know
whether I should venture to be a hearer, if I was in
America. I should have as many perturbations as
the speakers. I hope they will acquit themselves
with honor. Mr. Adams desires me to tell cousin
Cranch that any of his books are at his service.
I believe we must send some of these young men to
settle in Vermont. Can they get their bread in Massachusetts?
But "the world is all before them";
may "Providence be their guide."
| Letters of Mrs. Adams, | |