“I think the visit (not a very long one) made by my mother and aunt to their father in Washington, must have been in the winter of 1802–3. My aunt, I believe, was never there again; but after her death, about the winter of 1805–6, my mother, with all her children, passed some time at the President’s House. I remember that both my father and uncle Eppes were then in Congress, but cannot say whether this was the case in 1802–3.”
Ever delighting in the society of his two children and deeply attached to his home, Mr. Jefferson felt this blow with terrible anguish. Worthy of so good a man’s affection, they were never so happy as in being with their father, contributing to his comfort in numberless ways. They both married cousins when quite young, but were never far from their childhood’s home, and were always under his roof when he paid his semi-annual visits there. Mrs. Randolph was a brilliant woman; and had her tastes been less inclined to domestic life, she would have been a renowned belle. Educated abroad and strengthened mentally by travel and the society of the literary talent ever to be found about her father, she became conversant with knowledge’s richest store, and surpassed most of the women of her day in accomplishments. Though widely different in other respects, there was much resemblance between the President and Vice-President in the intensity of their love for their daughters. Theodosia Burr and Martha Jefferson will be familiar names so long as the history of this country, shall be among the things of earth. Both intellectual companions of their only parents, both ardently attached to fathers they deemed the wisest and greatest of earth—they have become forever linked with the life and times of each, and covers for the one a multitude of faults, and has made the other dear to his people. Both were great men, adored by daughters gifted and good. Theodosia Burr has thrown around her father’s name a romantic interest which veils many infirmities, and adds lustre to the traits which in the eyes of the world redeemed him.
Mrs. Adams, who had known Maria Jefferson and loved her when a child, overcame the pride she had allowed to control her silent pen, and wrote to Mr. Jefferson, awakening in his heart tender feelings of friendship too long allowed to lie dormant. He replied that her former kindnesses to his lost child made a deep impression on her mind, and that to the last, on our meetings after long separations, “whether I had heard lately of you,” and “how you did,” were among the earliest of her inquiries. Mrs. Adams’ letter was as follows:
“Quincy, 20th May, 1804.
“Had you been no other than the private inhabitants of Monticello, I should, ere this time, have addressed you with that sympathy which a recent event has awakened in my bosom; but reasons of various kinds withheld my pen, until the powerful feelings of my heart burst through the restraint, and called upon me to shed the tear of sorrow over the departed remains of your beloved and deserving daughter—an event which I sincerely mourn.
“The attachment which I formed for her when you committed her to my care, upon her arrival in a foreign land, under circumstances peculiarly interesting, has remained with me to this hour: and the account of her death, which I read in a late paper, recalled to my recollection the tender scene of her separation from me, when, with the strongest sensibility, she clung round my neck, and wet my bosom with her tears, saying, ‘Oh! now I have learned to love you, why will they take me from you?’
“It has been some time since I conceived that any event in this life could call forth feelings of mutual sympathy. But I know how closely entwined around a parent’s heart are those cords which bind the paternal to the filial bosom; and, when snapped asunder, how agonizing the pangs. I have tasted of the bitter cup, and bow with reverence and submission before the great Dispenser of it, without whose permission and overruling providence not a sparrow falls to the ground. That you may derive comfort and consolation in this day of your sorrow and affliction from that only source calculated to heal the wounded heart—a firm belief in the being, perfection and attributes of God—is the sincere and ardent wish of her who once took pleasure in subscribing herself your friend,
“Abigail Adams.”
Mr. Jefferson was inaugurated President a second time on the 4th of March, 1805, then in the sixty-second year of his age. The following winter his only daughter, with all her children, passed most of the season in Washington. She never made but two visits there; one with her sister, the second year of his first term, and this last one in the winter of 1805–6, after her sister’s death. Means of travel were not so rapid or pleasant as now, and the laborious and extremely tedious undertaking of travelling so far in a carriage was sufficient to dampen the desire of living for a few alternate months with her father. The unhealthy condition of Washington at that time, its low and marshy condition, engendering disease, rendered it absolutely necessary for those unacclimated to be out of its limits during the hot months of summer. The increasing cares of children and the duties of Virginia matrons also deterred Mrs. Randolph from becoming, as we must only regret she did not, permanently located in the President’s House.
