In 1817, President Madison’s term expired, and his Secretary of State, James Monroe, assumed the duties of President. Washington had so long been the home of Mrs. Madison, that it was with much regret she prepared to leave the city. Many and dear were her friends, and the society of relatives was another strong link binding her to the city.
Always fond of agricultural pursuits, Mr. Madison joyfully returned to his beautiful and peaceful home. Montpelier was within less than a day’s ride of Monticello, and in the estimate of a Virginian, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison were neighbors.
The National Republican, of November 2d, 1831, thus speaks of Mr. and Mrs. Madison:
MONTPELIER—THE HOME OF PRESIDENT MADISON.
“How must they look in these days on the tempestuous sea of liberty; on the dangers incident to the little barks now floating on its agitated surface. Can they feel for the safety of that on which embarked the fortunes of Henry Clay? We hope and trust they do; and at any rate we rejoice that, safe in port, they can review with just pride and pleasure their own safe and triumphant voyage, and can recollect the auspicious day of their landing. One of them the rallying point, the beginning and end of the cabinet in all of its just works, and the other the chief ornament and glory of the drawing-room, in the purest and most intelligent days of our Republic.”
“Embosomed among the hills which lie at the foot of the South Mountain, is the paternal estate of Mr. Madison. A large and commodious mansion, designed more for comfort and hospitality than ornament and display, rises at the foot of a high wooded hill, which, while it affords shelter from the northwest winds, adds much to the picturesque beauty of the scene. The grounds around the house owe their ornaments more to nature than art, as, with the exception of a fine garden behind, and a wide-spread lawn before the house, for miles around the ever-varying and undulating surface of the ground is covered with forest trees. The extreme salubrity of the situation induced the proprietor to call it Montpelier.
“One wing of the house during her lifetime was exclusively appropriated to the venerable and venerated mother of Mr. Madison, to which were attached offices and gardens, forming a separate establishment, where this aged matron preserved the habits and the hours of her early life, attended by old family slaves, and surrounded by her children and grandchildren.
“Under the same roof, divided only by a partition-wall, were thus exhibited the customs of the beginning and end of a century; thus offering a strange but most interesting exhibition of the differences between the old and the new age. By only opening a door, the observer passed from the elegancies, refinements, and gayeties of modern life into all that was venerable, respectable, and dignified in gone-by days; from the airy apartments—windows opening to the ground, hung with light silken drapery, French furniture, light fancy chairs, gay carpets, etc., etc., to the solid and heavy carved and polished mahogany furniture darkened by age, the thick rich curtains, and other more comfortable adjustments of our great-grandfathers’ times. It was considered a great favor and distinction by the gay visitors who thronged Mrs. Madison’s hospitable mansion, to be admitted to pay the homage of their respect to his reverend mother.” A lady who visited Montpelier in 1836, when the latter was in her ninety-seventh year, said of her:
“She still retained all her faculties, though not free from the bodily infirmities of age. She was sitting, or rather reclining, on a couch; beside her was a small table filled with large, dark, and worn quartos and folios of most venerable appearance. She closed one as we entered, and took up her knitting which lay beside her. Among other inquiries, I asked her how she passed her time. ‘I am never at a loss,’ she replied; ‘this and these (touching her knitting and her books) keep me always busy; look at my fingers, and you will perceive I have not been idle.’ In truth, her delicate fingers were polished by her knitting-needles. ‘And my eyes, thanks be to God, have not failed me yet, and I read most part of the day; but in other respects I am feeble and helpless, and owe everything to her,’ pointing to Mrs. Madison, who sat by us. ‘She is my mother now, and tenderly cares for all my wants.’ My eyes were filled with tears as I looked from the one to the other of these excellent women, and thought of the tender ties by which they were united. Never, in the midst of a splendid drawing-room, surrounded by all that was courtly and brilliant, all that was admired and respected—the centre of attraction—the object of admiration—never was Mrs. Madison so interesting, so lovely, so estimable as in her attendance on this venerable woman, the acknowledged object of her grateful affection.