Grandmother sat at her spinning wheel
In the dust of the long ago,
And listened, with scarlet dyeing her cheeks,
For the step she had learned to know.
A courtly lover, was he who came,
With frill and ruffle and curl--
They dressed so queerly in the days
When grandmother was a girl!
"Knickerbockers" they called them then,
When they spoke of the things at all--
Grandfather wore them, buckled and trim,
When he sallied forth to call.
Grandmother's eyes were youthful then--
His "guiding stars," he said;
While she demurely watched her wheel
And spun with a shining thread.
Frill, and ruffle, and curl are gone,
But the "knickers" are with us still--
And so is love and the spinning wheel,
But we ride it now--if you will!
In grandfather's "knickers" I sit and watch
For the gleam of a lamp afar;
And my heart still turns, as theirs, methinks,
To my wheel and my guiding star.
The Love Story of the "Sage of
Monticello"
American history holds no more beautiful love-story than that of
Thomas Jefferson, third President of the United States, and author of
the Declaration of Independence. It is a tale of single-hearted,
unswerving devotion, worthy of this illustrious statesman. His love
for his wife was not the first outpouring of his nature, but it was
the strongest and best--the love, not of the boy, but of the man.
Jefferson was not particularly handsome as a young man, for he was
red-haired, awkward, and knew not what to do with his hands, though he
played the violin passably well. But his friend, Patrick Henry, suave,
tactful and popular, exerted himself to improve Jefferson's manners
and fit him for general society, attaining at last very pleasing
results, although there was a certain roughness in his nature, shown
in his correspondence, which no amount of polishing seemed able to
overcome.
John Page was Jefferson's closest friend, and to him he wrote very
fully concerning the state of his mind and heart, and with a certain
quaint, uncouth humour, which to this day is irresistible.
For instance, at Fairfield, Christmas day, 1762, he wrote to his
friend as follows:
"DEAR PAGE
"This very day, to others the day of greatest mirth and
jolity, sees me overwhelmed with more and greater
misfortunes than have befallen a descendant of Adam for
these thousand years past, I am sure; and perhaps, after
excepting Job, since the creation of the world.
"You must know, Dear Page, that I am now in a house
surrounded by enemies, who take counsel together against my
soul; and when I lay me down to rest, they say among
themselves, 'Come let us destroy him.'
"I am sure if there is such a thing as a Devil in this
world, he must have been here last night, and have had some
hand in what happened to me. Do you think the cursed rats
(at his instigation I suppose) did not eat up my pocket
book, which was in my pocket, within an inch of my head? And
not contented with plenty for the present, they carried away
my gemmy worked silk garters, and half a dozen new minuets I
had just got, to serve, I suppose, as provision for the
winter.
"You know it rained last night, or if you do not know it, I
am sure I do. When I went to bed I laid my watch in the
usual place, and going to take her up after I arose this
morning, I found her in the same place, it is true, but all
afloat in water, let in at a leak in the roof of the house,
and as silent, and as still as the rats that had eaten my
pocket book.
"Now, you know if chance had anything to do in this matter,
there were a thousand other spots where it might have
chanced to leak as well as this one which was
perpendicularly over my watch. But I'll tell you, it's my
opinion that the Devil came and bored the hole over it on
purpose.
"Well, as I was saying, my poor watch had lost her speech. I
would not have cared much for this, but something worse
attended it--the subtle particles of water with which the
case was filled had, by their penetration, so overcome the
cohesion of the particles of the paper, of which my dear
picture, and watch patch paper, were composed, that in
attempting to take them out to dry them, my cursed fingers
gave them such a rent as I fear I shall never get over.
"... And now, though her picture be defaced, there is so
lively an image of her imprinted in my mind, that I shall
think of her too often, I fear for my peace of mind; and too
often I am sure to get through old Coke this winter, for I
have not seen him since I packed him up in my trunk in
Williamsburg. Well, Page, I do wish the Devil had old Coke
for I am sure I never was so tired of the dull old scoundrel
in my life....
"I would fain ask the favor of Miss Bettey Burwell to give
me another watch paper of her own cutting, which I should
esteem much more though it were a plain round one, than the
nicest in the world cut by other hands; however I am afraid
she would think this presumption, after my suffering the
other to get spoiled. If you think you can excuse me to her
for this, I should be glad if you would ask her...."
Page was a little older than Jefferson, and the young man thought much
of his advice. Six months later we find Page advising him to go to
Miss Rebecca Burwell and "lay siege in form."
There were many objections to this--first, the necessity of keeping
the matter secret, and of "treating with a ward before obtaining
the consent of her guardian," which at that time was considered
dishonourable, and second, Jefferson's own state of suspense and
uneasiness, since the lady had given him no grounds for hope.
"If I am to succeed [he wrote], the sooner I know it the
less uneasiness I shall have to go through. If I am to meet
with disappointment, the sooner I know it, the more of life
I shall have to wear it off; and if I do meet with one, I
hope and verily believe it will be the last.
"I assure you that I almost envy you your present freedom
and I assure you that if Belinda will not accept of my
heart, it shall never be offered to another."
In his letters he habitually spoke of Miss Burwell as "Belinda,"
presumably on account of the fear which he expresses to Page, that the
letters might possibly fall into other hands. In some of his letters
he spells "Belinda" backward, and with exaggerated caution, in Greek
letters.
Finally, with much fear and trembling, he took his friend's advice,
and laid siege to the fair Rebecca in due form. The day
afterward--October 7, 1763--he confided in Page:
"In the most melancholy fit that ever a poor soul was, I sit
down to write you. Last night, as merry as agreeable company
and dancing with Belinda could make me, I never could have
thought that the succeeding sun would have seen me so
wretched as I now am!
"I was prepared to say a great deal. I had dressed up in my
own mind, such thoughts as occurred to me, in as moving
language as I knew how, and expected to have performed in a
tolerably creditable manner. But ... when I had an
opportunity of venting them, a few broken sentences, uttered
in great disorder, and interrupted by pauses of uncommon
length were the too visible marks of my strange confusion!
"The whole confab I will tell you, word for word if I can
when I see you which God send, may be soon."
After this, he dates his letters at "Devilsburg," instead of
Williamsburg, and says in one of them, "I believe I never told you
that we had another occasion." This time he behaved more creditably,
told "Belinda" that it was necessary for him to go to England,
explained the inevitable delays and told how he should conduct himself
until his return. He says that he asked no questions which would admit
of a categorical answer--there was something of the lawyer in this
wooing! He assured Miss Rebecca that such a question would one day be
asked. In this letter she is called "Adinleb" and spoken of as "he."
Miss Burwell did not wait, however, until Jefferson was in a position
to seek her hand openly, but was suddenly married to another. The news
was a great shock to Jefferson, who refused to believe it until Page
confirmed it; but the love-lorn swain gradually recovered from his
disappointment.
With youthful ardour they had planned to buy adjoining estates and
have a carriage in common, when each married the lady of his love,
that they might attend all the dances. A little later, when Page was
also crossed in love, both forswore marriage forever.
For five or six years, Jefferson was faithful to his vow--rather an
unusual record. He met his fate at last in the person of a charming
widow--Martha Skelton.
The death of his sister, his devotion to his books, and his
disappointment made him a sadder and a wiser man. His home at Shadwell
had been burned, and he removed to Monticello, a house built on the
same estate on a spur of the Blue Ridge Mountains, five hundred feet
above the common level.
He went often to visit Mrs. Skelton who made her home with her father
after her bereavement. Usually he took his violin under his arm, and
out of the harmonies which came from the instrument and the lady's
spinet came the greater one of love.
They were married in January of 1772. The ceremony took place at "The
Forest" in Charles City County. The chronicles describe the bride as a
beautiful woman, a little above medium height, finely formed, and with
graceful carriage. She was well educated, read a great deal, and
played the spinet unusually well.
The wedding journey was a strange one. It was a hundred miles from
"The Forest" to Monticello, and years afterward their eldest daughter,
Martha Jefferson Randolph, described it as follows:
"They left 'The Forest' after a fall of snow, light then,
but increasing in depth as they advanced up the country.
They were finally obliged to quit the carriage and proceed
on horseback. They arrived late at night, the fires were all
out, and the servants had retired to their own houses for
the night. The horrible dreariness of such a house, at the
end of such a journey, I have often heard both relate."
Yet, the walls of Monticello, that afterwards looked down upon so much
sorrow and so much joy, must have long remembered the home-coming of
master and mistress, for the young husband found a bottle of old wine
"on a shelf behind some books," built a fire in the open fireplace,
and "they laughed and sang together like two children."
And that life upon the hills proved very nearly ideal. They walked and
planned and rode together, and kept house and garden books in the most
minute fashion.
Births and deaths followed each other at Monticello, but there was
nothing else to mar the peace of that happy home. Between husband and
wife there was no strife or discord, not a jar nor a rift in that
unity of life and purpose which welds two souls into one.
Childish voices came and went, but two daughters grew to womanhood,
and in the evening, the day's duties done, violin and harpsichord
sounded sweet strains together.
They reared other children besides their own, taking the helpless
brood of Jefferson's sister into their hearts and home when Dabney
Carr died. Those three sons and three daughters were educated with his
own children, and lived to bless him as a second father.
One letter is extant which was written to one of the nieces whom
Jefferson so cheerfully supported. It reads as follows:
"PARIS, June 14, 1787.
"I send you, my dear Patsey, the fifteen livres you desired.
You propose this to me as an anticipation of five weeks'
allowance, but do you not see, my dear, how imprudent it is
to lay out in one moment what should accommodate you for
five weeks? This is a departure from that rule which I wish
to see you governed by, thro' your whole life, of never
buying anything which you have not the money in your pocket
to pay for.
"Be sure that it gives much more pain to the mind to be in
debt than to do without any article whatever which we may
seem to want.
"The purchase you have made is one I am always ready to make
for you because it is my wish to see you dressed always
cleanly and a little more than decently; but apply to me
first for the money before making the purchase, if only to
avoid breaking through your rule.
"Learn yourself the habit of adhering vigorously to the
rules you lay down for yourself. I will come for you about
eleven o'clock on Saturday. Hurry the making of your gown,
and also your redingcote. You will go with me some day next
week to dine at the Marquis Fayette. Adieu, my dear
daughter,
"Yours affectionately,
"TH. JEFFERSON"
Mrs. Jefferson's concern for her husband, the loss of her children,
and the weary round of domestic duties at last told upon her strong
constitution.
After the birth of her sixth child, Lucy Elizabeth, she sank rapidly,
until at last it was plain to every one, except the distracted
husband, that she could never recover.
Finally the blow fell. His daughter Martha wrote of it as follows:
"As a nurse no female ever had more tenderness or anxiety.
He nursed my poor mother in turn with Aunt Carr, and her own
sister--sitting up with her and administering her medicines
and drink to the last.
"When at last he left his room, three weeks after my
mother's death, he rode out, and from that time, he was
incessantly on horseback, rambling about the mountain."
Shortly afterward he received the appointment of Plenipotentiary to
Europe, to be associated with Franklin and Adams in negotiating peace.
He had twice refused the same appointment, as he had promised his wife
that he would never again enter public life, as long as she lived.