The affectionate sentiments which you have had the goodness to express in your letter of May 20. towards my dear departed daughter, have awakened in me sensibilities natural to the occasion, & recalled your kindnesses to her which I shall ever remember with gratitude & friendship. I can assure you with truth they had made an indelible impression on her mind, and that, to the last, on our meetings after long separations, whether I had heard lately of you, and how 393 you did, were among the earliest of her enquiries. in giving you this assurance I perform a sacred duty for her, & at the same time am thankful for the occasion furnished me of expressing my regret that circumstances should have arisen which have seemed to draw a line of separation between us. the friendship with which you honoured me has ever been valued, and fully reciprocated; & altho’ events have been passing which might be trying to some minds, I never believed yours to be of that kind, nor felt that my own was. neither my estimate of your character, nor the esteem founded in that, have ever been lessened for a single moment, although doubts whether it would be acceptable may have forbidden manifestations of it.

Mr. Adams’s friendship & mine began at an earlier date. it accompanied us thro’ long & important scenes. the different conclusions we had drawn from our political reading & reflections were not permitted to lessen mutual esteem, each party being conscious they were the result of an honest conviction in the other. like differences of opinion existing among our fellow citizens attached them to the one or the other of us, and produced a rivalship in their minds which did not exist in ours. we never stood in one another’s way: for if either had been withdrawn at any time, his favorers would not have gone over to the other, but would have sought for some one of homogeneous opinions. this consideration was sufficient to keep down all jealousy between us, & to guard our friendship from any disturbance by sentiments of rivalship: and I can say with truth that one act of mr̃ Adams’s life, excepted and one only, ever gave me a moment’s personal displeasure. I did consider his last appointments to office as personally unkind. they were from among my most ardent political enemies, from whom no faithful cooperation could ever be expected, and laid me under the embarrasment of acting thro’ men whose views were to defeat mine; or to encounter the odium of putting others in their places. it seemed but common justice to leave a successor free to act by instruments of his own choice. if my respect for him did not permit me to ascribe the whole blame to the influence of others, it left something for friendship to forgive, and after brooding over it for some little time, and not always resisting the expression of it, I forgave it cordially, and returned to the same state of esteem & respect for him which had so long subsisted. having come into life a little later than mr̃ Adams, his career has preceded mine, as mine is followed by some other, and it will probably be closed at the same distance after him which time originally 394 placed between us. I maintain for him, & shall carry into private life an uniform & high measure of respect and good will, and for yourself a sincere attachment.

I have thus, my dear Madam, opened myself to you without reserve, which I have long wished an opportunity of doing; and, without knowing how it will be recieved, I feel relief from being unbosomed. and I have now only to entreat your forgiveness for this transition from a subject of domestic affliction to one which seems of a different aspect. but tho connected with political events, it has never been viewed by me most strongly in it’s unfortunate bearings on my private friendships. the injury these have sustained have been a heavy price for what has never given me equal pleasure. that you may both be favored with health, tranquility and long life, is the prayer of one who tenders you the assurances of his highest consideration and esteem.

Yesterday my mother went to Boston, and in the Evening brought out Mrs: Foster with her two children, one of whom is unwell, and requires the benefit of a little rural air—1 But what was of more immediate consequence to myself, was your letter of the 6th: instt: which my mother also brought out, the profiles and all. One of your profiles is much more like than the other; and that of course I keep for myself, together with Caroline’s— My Mother spoke for one of yours before she knew it was intended for her— And so I consented she should have it— I shall send or give your enclosed paper and orders to Mrs. Whitcomb— When your things were sent on she had not got all the bills, and of course did not know the prices— I have been into Boston but once since, and then had not time to settle— But in a few days, I propose to undertake that weighty expedition again, and then shall be able to let you know what the prices are.

There is nothing on this earth that can give me more sincere and heart-felt pleasure, than to hear of any thing prosperous befalling any part of your family— And I most ardently sympathize with your 395 joy, at the brightening prospects which promise to add comfort to the future situation of your beloved mother— The letter to Mr: Murdoch which you sent me to forward with your last, will go by the ship Warrington to Liverpool, now just about to sail.—2 Poor Shaw is confined to his chamber, with the rhumatism.

The name of the Prussian Gentleman, whom you mention as having been at Washington is Humboldt— I think I recollect hearing of him, and of his voyage to South America while we were at Berlin.

Since I last wrote you my remotest expedition has been to Weymouth, where I went with my mother to tea at Dr: Tufts’s— We called also at Mr: Norton’s, whose wife is just getting up from the birth of another daughter—3 So you see she is not in a decline— The last fortnight the weather here has been very warm and dry— The pease and strawberries are just come— My farming labours slacken, as the Sun becomes intense; but I find enough to do within doors.— We have not much solitude— Since my last we have had visits from Dr: Welsh and his Lady— Mr: & Mrs. Otis (the elder) with their daughters—Mrs: Quincy, with two of her children and Sister Margaret— She (not Margaret, but Mrs: Quincy) looks portly again

Our State Legislature have had some very animated debates within the last ten days— If you read the Boston papers you may have remarked the answer of the Senate to the Governor’s Speech— I believe Quincy drew it up— It contains some remarks which stirr’d the blood of several Gentlemen, who thought that every censure upon political hypocrites and impostors must of course be meant for them— They attack’d it with no small violence, but without success.4

Then came on a question about the manner of choosing electors for President and Vice-President— Whether by Districts or by a general ticket— The latter was adopted, after long and bitter opposition—among the supporters of which Mr: Morton has made himself very conspicuous.5

Last of all they have begun to carve out work for their Senators in Congress. A motion has pass’d the House of Representatives, and either has or probably will go through the Senate, to Instruct the Senators of the State in the National Legislature, to use their endeavours for obtaining an Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, whereby the representation of Slaves shall be done away— All this I know only by hearsay, and the newspapers; for I have not been near Boston since the General Court met.6

My brother has been gone nearly a week upon a tour to 396 Haverhill— I presume he passes his time there as agreeably as here— Miss H. Adams has been here some days; deeply engaged in the compilation of her new work

In the course of my recent reading, I met for the first time some verses by Dr: Donne to his wife, on his being obliged to go to France, and leave her behind in England. They struck me the more forcibly as they are so peculiarly applicable to this painful separation, which we endure

The versification is not quite so perfect as it would have been, if written 200 years later, but if I could have sent you any thing half so pretty as the thought, of my own growth, I would not have turn’d copyist even of Donne’s poetry to show you, how faithfully I ever am, your affectionate