Philadelphia, May 17th, '98.

Having nothing of business to write on to Mr. Randolph this week, I with pleasure take up my pen to express all my love to you, and my wishes once more to find myself in the only scene where, for me, the sweeter affections of life have any exercise. But when I shall be with you seems still uncertain. We have been looking forward from three weeks to three weeks, and always with disappointment, so that I know not what to expect. I shall immediately write to Maria, and recommend to Mr. Eppes and her to go up to Monticello....

For you to feel all the happiness of your quiet situation, you should know the rancorous passions which tear every breast here, even of the sex which should be a stranger to them. Politics and party hatreds destroy the happiness of every being here. They seem, like salamanders, to consider fire as their element. The children, I am afraid, will have forgotten me. However, my memory may perhaps be hung on the Game of the Goose which I am to carry them. Kiss them for me.... And to yourself, my tenderest love, and adieu.

To Martha Jefferson Randolph.—[Extract.]

Philadelphia, May 31st, '98.

Yours of the 12th did not get to hand till the 29th; so it must have laid by a post somewhere. The receipt of it, by kindling up all my recollections, increases my impatience to leave this place, and every thing which can be disgusting, for Monticello and my dear family, comprising every thing which is pleasurable to me in this world. It has been proposed in Congress to adjourn on the 14th of June. I have little expectation of it; but, whatever be their determination, I am determined myself; and my letter of next week will probably carry orders for my horses. Jupiter should, therefore, be in readiness to depart at a night's warning....

I am sorry to hear of Jefferson's indisposition, but glad you do not physic him. This leaves nature free and unembarrassed in her own tendencies to repair what is wrong. I hope to hear or find that he is recovered. Kiss them all for me.

To Mary Jefferson Eppes.

Monticello, July 13th, '98.

My dear Maria—I arrived here on the 3d instant, expecting to have found you here, and we have been ever since imagining that every sound we heard was that of the carriage which was once more to bring us together. It was not till yesterday I learnt, by the receipt of Mr. Eppes's letter of June 30th, that you had been sick, and were only on the recovery at that date. A preceding letter of his, referred to in that of the 30th, must have miscarried. We are now infinitely more anxious, not so much for your arrival here, as your firm establishment in health, and that you may not be thrown back by your journey. Much, therefore, my dear, as I wish to see you, I beg you not to attempt the journey till you are quite strong enough, and then only by short days' journeys. A relapse will only keep us the longer asunder, and is much more formidable than a first attack. Your sister and family are with me. I would have gone to you instantly on the receipt of Mr. Eppes's letter, had not that assured me you were well enough to take the bark. It would also have stopped my workmen here, who can not proceed an hour without me, and I am anxious to provide a cover which may enable me to have my family and friends about me. Nurse yourself, therefore, with all possible care for your own sake, for mine, and that of all those who love you, and do not attempt to move sooner or quicker than your health admits. Present me affectionately to Mr. Eppes, father and son, to Mrs. Eppes and all the family, and be assured that my impatience to see you can only be moderated by the stronger desire that your health may be safely and firmly re-established. Adieu, affectionately.

TH. J.

To Martha Jefferson Randolph.

Ellen appeared to be feverish the evening you went away; but visiting her, a little before I went to bed, I found her quite clear of fever, and was convinced the quickness of pulse which had alarmed me had proceeded from her having been in uncommon spirits and constantly running about the house through the day, and especially in the afternoon. Since that she has had no symptom of fever, and is otherwise better than when you left her. The girls, indeed, suppose she had a little fever last night; but I am sure she had not, as she was well at 8 o'clock in the evening, and very well in the morning, and they say she slept soundly through the night. They judged only from her breathing. Every body else is well, and only wishing to see you. I am persecuted with questions "When I think you will come?"... If you set out after dinner, be sure to get off between four and five. Adieu, my dear.

Wednesday, Aug. 15th, '98.

The following letter, without date, was written to the daughter of his friend Mrs. Church:

To Catherine Church.

I received, my dear Catherine, from the hands of your brother, the letter you have done me the favor to write me. I see in that letter the excellent disposition which I knew in you in an earlier period of life. These have led you to mistake, to your own prejudice, the character of our attentions to you. They were not favors, but gratifications of our own affections to an object who had every quality which might endear her to us. Be assured we have all continued to love you as if still of our fireside, and to make you the very frequent theme of our family conversations. Your friend Maria has, as you supposed, changed her condition; she is now Mrs. Eppes. She and her sister, Mrs. Randolph, retain all their affection for you, and never fail in their friendly inquiries after you whenever an opportunity occurs. During my winter's absence, Maria is with the family with which she has become allied; but on my return they will also return to reside with me. My daughter Randolph has hitherto done the same, but lately has removed with Mr. Randolph to live and build on a farm of their own, adjoining me; but I still count on their passing the greater part of their time at Monticello. Why should we forbid ourselves to believe that some day or other some circumstance may bring you also to our little society, and renew the recollections of former scenes very dear to our memory. Hope is so much more charming than disappointments and forebodings, that we will not set it down among impossible things. We will calculate on the circumstance that you have already crossed the ocean which laid between us, and that in comparison with that the space which remains is as nothing. Who knows but you may travel to see our springs and our curiosities—not, I hope, for your health, but to vary your summer scenes, and enlarge your knowledge of your own country. In that case we are on your road, and will endeavor to relieve the fatigues of it by all the offices of friendship and hospitality. I thank you for making me acquainted with your brother. The relations he bears to the best of people are sufficient vouchers to me of his worth. He must be of your party when you come to Monticello. Adieu, my dear Catherine. I consign in a separate letter my respects to your good mother. I have here, therefore, only to claim your acceptance of the sincere attachment of yours affectionately,

TH. JEFFERSON.