While visiting in Washington I had the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with Isaac Hull Adams of the Coast Survey. He was a bachelor, and his sister, Miss Elizabeth Combs Adams, always lived with him. They were children of Judge Thomas Boylston Adams, a son of President John Adams, and resided in the old Adams homestead in Quincy, Massachusetts. I had originally known both of them in earlier life in New York, and it was a sincere pleasure to meet them again. Miss Adams was a generous and broad-minded woman who inherited the intellectuality of her ancestors. Her reminiscences of the White House during the Monroe administration, when her uncle, John Quincy Adams, was Secretary of State, were of the deepest interest. She also loved to dwell upon the days of the administration which followed, when she was a constant visitor at the White House as the guest of her uncle, the President. I called upon her a few years ago in Quincy, while I was visiting in Boston, and found her living quietly in the old home, surrounded by her many household gods. She died soon after I saw her, but the memory of her friendship is enduring.
Before making my visit to Quincy I wrote to Miss Adams asking her whether she was equal to seeing me. She was then nearly ninety-two years old, having been born on the 9th of February, 1808. In a few days I received the following letter from her own pen:
21 Elm Street, Quincy, Mass., November 16, 1899.
My dear Mrs. Gouverneur:
I was very glad to receive your note saying that you would come to see us in a few days. I am a very poor writer, not holding the old pen of the "ready writer," and my brother Isaac Hull is a great invalid and not able to get about, so lame.
I began two or three notes to you but my fingers are so stiff I do not hold the pen, but wish to tell you that we shall be glad to see you. We are both tired of being invalids. We do not forget good old times far back in the century. The steam cars leave Boston at the South Station. I think I sent you a letter yesterday, but if you fail to get it, I shall be very sorry.
I have so many letters to write and can but just keep the pen going. It is a lovely day, but I never go out now and Isaac Hull is suffering all sorts of pains. Comes down when he can. Sorry to send such a poor sample. I have not been at Jamaica Plain for two years.
We live in the oldest house and are the oldest couple in "all Connecticut," as Hull used to sing.
Very truly yours,
E. C. Adams.