Writing to one of his French friends—M. le Comte Diodati—on January 13, 1807, Jefferson says:
To Comte Diodati.
At the end of my present term, of which two years are yet to come, I propose to retire from public life, and to close my days on my patrimony of Monticello, in the bosom of my family. I have hitherto enjoyed uniform health; but the weight of public business begins to be too heavy for me, and I long for the enjoyments of rural life—among my books, my farms, and my family. Having performed my quadragena stipendia, I am entitled to my discharge, and should be sorry, indeed, that others should be sooner sensible than myself when I ought to ask it. I have, therefore, requested my fellow-citizens to think of a successor for me, to whom I shall deliver the public concerns with greater joy than I received them. I have the consolation, too, of having added nothing to my private fortune during my public service, and of retiring with hands as clean as they are empty.
Wearied with the burden of public life, Jefferson had written his old friend, John Dickinson, two months earlier:
To John Dickinson.
I have tired you, my friend, with a long letter. But your tedium will end in a few lines more. Mine has yet two years to endure. I am tired of an office where I can do no more good than many others who would be glad to be employed in it. To myself, personally, it brings nothing but unceasing drudgery and daily loss of friends.
A letter written to Mr. Eppes in July, 1807, alludes to the death of little Maria, the youngest child left by his lost daughter. He writes:
To Mr. Eppes.
Yours of the 3d is received. At that time, I presume, you had not got mine of June 19th, asking the favor of you to procure me a horse. I have lost three since you left this place [Washington]; however, I can get along with the three I have remaining, so as to give time for looking up a fourth, suitable in as many points as can be obtained. My happiness at Monticello (if I am able to go there) will be lessened by not having Francis and yourself there; but the circumstance which prevents it is one of the most painful that ever happened to me in life. Thus comfort after comfort drops off from us, till nothing is left but what is proper food for the grave. I trust, however, we shall have yourself and Francis the ensuing winter, and the one following that, and we must let the after-time provide for itself. He will ever be to me one of the dearest objects of life.
The following letter from Lafayette to Jefferson explains itself: