My dearest Friend,--I have omitted writing by the last opportunity to
Holland, because I had but small faith in the designs of the owners or
passengers; and I had just written you so largely, by a vessel bound to
France, that I had nothing new to say. There are few occurrences in this
northern climate, at this season of the year, to divert or entertain
you; and, in the domestic way, should I draw you the picture of my
heart, it would be what I hope you still would love, though it contained
nothing new. The early possession you obtained there, and the absolute
power you have ever maintained over it, leave not the smallest space
unoccupied. I look back to the early days of our acquaintance and
friendship, as to the days of love and innocence, and with an
indescribable pleasure I have seen near a score of years roll over our
heads, with an affection heightened and improved by time; nor have the
dreary years of absence in the smallest degree effaced from my mind the
image of the dear, untitled man to whom I gave my heart. I cannot
sometimes refrain considering the honors with which he is invested as
badges of my unhappiness. The unbounded confidence I have in your
attachment to me and the dear pledges of our affection has soothed the
solitary hour, and rendered your absence more supportable; for, had I
loved you with the same affection, it must have been misery to have
doubted. Yet a cruel world too often injures my feelings by wondering
how a person possessed of domestic attachments can sacrifice them by
absenting himself _for years_.
"If you had known," said a person to me the other day, "that Mr. Adams
would have remained so long abroad, would you have consented that he
should have gone?" I recollected myself a moment, and then spoke the
real dictates of my heart: "If I had known, sir, that Mr. Adams could
have effected what he has done, I would not only have submitted to the
absence I have endured, painful as it has been, but I would not have
opposed it, even though three years more should be added to the number
(which Heaven avert!) I feel a pleasure in being able to sacrifice my
selfish passions to the general good, and in imitating the example which
has taught me to consider myself and family but as the small dust of the
balance, when compared with the great community."
It is now, my dear friend, a long, long time since I had a line from
you. The fate of Gibraltar leads me to fear that a peace is far distant,
and that I shall not see you,--God only knows when. I shall say little
about my former request; not that my desire is less, but, before this
can reach you, 't is probable I may receive your opinion; if in favor of
my coming to you, I shall have no occasion to urge it further; if
against it, I would not embarrass you by again requesting it. I will
endeavor to sit down and consider it as the portion allotted me. My dear
sons are well. Their application and improvement go hand in hand. Our
friends all desire to be remembered. The fleet of our allies expects to
sail daily, but where destined we know not. A great harmony has
subsisted between them and the Americans ever since their residence
here. This letter is to go by the _Iris_, which sails with the fleet. I
hope it will reach you in safety.
Adieu, my dear friend. Why is it that I hear so seldom from my dear
John? But one letter have I ever received from him since he arrived in
Petersburg. I wrote him by the last opportunity. Ever remember me, as I
do you, with all the tenderness which it is possible for one object to
feel for another, which no time can obliterate, no distance alter, but
which is always the same in the bosom of