Yesterday, by the post, I received yours of 25 September. And it renewed
a grief and anxiety that were before almost removed from my mind. Two
days before, I had the pleasure of a very valuable letter from Colonel
Quincy, in which he kindly informed me that you and our family were so
much better that you and my dear Abby had made a visit at his house; and
Mr. Williams, who brought the letter, acquainted me that he had been to
Braintree after the date of it, that you was in good spirits, that Tommy
was so much better as to be playing abroad, and that he hoped Patty was
not in danger. You will easily believe that this information gave me
great pleasure and fine spirits. It really relieved me from a heavy
load. But your last letter has revived my concern. I will still hope,
however, that your excellent mother will yet be spared for a blessing to
her family, and an example to the world. I build my hopes of her
recovery upon the advantage of a constitution which has hitherto
sustained so many attacks, and upon a long course of exact temperance,
which, I hope, has deprived the distemper of its most dangerous food and
fuel. However, our lives are not in our own power. It is our duty to
submit. "The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate," its designs are
often inscrutable, but are always wise and just and good.
It was long before I had the least intimation of the distress of the
family, and I fear that your not receiving so many letters from me as
usual may have been one cause of infelicity to you. Really, my dear, I
have been more cautious than I used to be. It is not easy to know whom
to trust in these times; and if a letter from any person in the
situation I am in can be laid hold of, there are so many lies made and
told about it, so many false copies taken and dispersed, and so many
false constructions put, that one ought to be cautions.
The situation of things is so alarming, that it is our duty to prepare
our minds and hearts for every event, even the worst. From my earliest
entrance into life, I have been engaged in the public cause of America;
and from first to last I have had upon my mind a strong impression that
things would be wrought up to their present crisis. I saw from the
beginning that the controversy was of such a nature that it never would
be settled, and every day convinces me more and more. This has been the
source of all the disquietude of my life. It has lain down and risen up
with me these twelve years. The thought that we might be driven to the
sad necessity of breaking our connection with Great Britain, exclusive
of the carnage and destruction, which it was easy to see must attend the
separation, always gave me a great deal of grief. And even now I would
cheerfully retire from public life forever, renounce all chance for
profits or honors from the public, nay, I would cheerfully contribute my
little property, to obtain peace and liberty. But all these must go, and
my life too, before I can surrender the right of my country to a free
Constitution. I dare not consent to it. I should be the most miserable
of mortals ever after, whatever honors or emoluments might surround me.