perpetual policy and perfect justice, which every other nation must adopt or be overthrown. I wish Mr. O. and every other minister would preach a sermon, once a quarter, expressly on that text. Affiliations, combinations, correspondences, corporate acts of such societies must be prohibited. A snake with one head at each end, crawling opposite ways, must split the snake in two, unless one head is so much stronger than the other as to drag it along over thorns and stones till it loses its headship. So the King of France's constitution acted. A man drawn between two horses is a neat image of a nation drawn between its government and self-created societies acting as corporations and combining together.

Hay for the horses I know you must purchase, and I always expected it. Buy the best and enough of it. The weather is here this day as fine as you describe the day before Christmas, when our friends were so good as to visit you, bright, clear, mild; farmers ploughing every where. Letters from Connecticut say the cankerworm millers, and slugs, are going up the apple trees. Tar our trees in the garden and see if you catch any.

There is an unusual calm and dearth of news at present. Most important events are expected to be imported by the first vessels. I am myself much inclined to doubt whether the French will get to Amsterdam. There are obstacles in their way very serious and which may be made invincible. Amsterdam may be defended by an inundation. Even without an inundation, it is capable of a good defence.

A strong wall, a wide, deep ditch, a numerous artillery, and I am not willing to believe that the people are asleep or will be idle. I am, with the tenderest of all sentiments,

Ever yours,

LETTER CCXLIII.

JOHN ADAMS.

Philadelphia, 29 January, 1795.

MY DEAREST FRIEND,

THE public prints announce the death of my old, esteemed friend General Roberdeau, whose virtues in heart-searching times endeared him to Philadelphia and to his country. His friendly attention to me when Congress held their sessions at Yorktown, I can never forget, and it excites a more lively interest in his loss than that of some others who have lately gone before him.

Mr. King is re-elected by the legislature of New York, by a majority of five in the house and two in the senate, in opposition to Mr. Tillotson, whom you know to have married a sister of Chancellor Livingston. This is a great point gained. Mr. Jay, Chancellor Livingston, Mr. Burr, Mr. Yates, and Mr. Hamilton, are mentioned as successors to Governor Clinton, who has resigned. Mr. Jay, if he should not return, will not run very fast. Mr. Hamilton, it is

said, will not serve.

Chancellor will stand no chance, doubted whether Burr or Yates

as I hear, and it is will prevail. We are still at uncertainties whether Mr. Jay, or despatches from him, will arrive before the fourth of March, which makes me still dubious whether it will be right for me to go away. I am most earnestly and ardently desirous of it, but will it do?

Mrs. Washington is very happy at present in a visit from her two granddaughters, N.'s sisters, as I suppose they are. One of them is a fine, blooming, rosy girl, who, I dare say, has had more liberty and exercise than Nelly. I dined yesterday at Mr. Morris's, whose hospitality is always precious. A company of venerable old rakes of us, threescore years of age, or a little over or a little under, sat smoking cigars, drinking Burgundy and Madeira, and talking politics till almost eleven o'clock. This will do once in a great while, not often for me.

In Senate, we have no feelings this session. All is cool. No passions, no animation in debate. I never sat in any public assembly so serenely. What storm may be preparing I know not. A great calm at sea, or an uncommonly fine day at land, is called a weather-breeder. But if Jay's despatches don't arrive, we shall have no tempestuous weather this session. I wish you a pleasant thanksgiving, though I fear I shall not be with you according to my wishes. Adieu.

Instead of an additional snow and a return of cold, as I hoped this morning, we have now a a warm

and plentiful rain, which is melting the snow and spoiling the sleighing. I hope you have more snow, more steady cold, and good sledding. The post today brought me no letter. I don't always very sanguinely look for a letter on Thursday. I should be inconsolable on a disappointment, on Monday.

LETTER CCXLIV.

MY DEAREST FRIEND,

Philadelphia, 2 February, 1795.

THIS morning I received your favor of the 21st of January. I am sure your people do a great deal of work, so don't be concerned. I am very well satisfied with your agricultural diary.

The venerable governor made the best speech he ever made, but the old leven ferments a little in it. I wonder you had not received two letters from T., which I enclosed to you. I now enclose you one from Mr. Jay, which shows that our sons were arrived in Holland, and had passed through their ceremonies at the Hague, and gone to Amsterdam to look, as I suppose, after the imprudent Van Staphorst and American money in his hands.

The enclosed postscript to Dunlap will show you that the expectation of a treaty hourly to arrive, will not allow me to leave my chair till the fourth of March. I shall be charged with deserting the Presi

dent, forsaking the Secretary of State, betraying my friend Jay, abandoning my post, and sacrificing my country to a weak attachment to a woman, and a weaker fondness for my farm, if I quit at this moment. So, be thou thankful alone, that thou hast a good husband here, that thy children are safe and in honor in Europe, and that thy daughter has given thee a fine grand-daughter; besides innumerable blessings to thy country. I will be thankful and joyous here all alone.

We momently expect the treaty; but it may not arrive this month. When it does, I expect to see wry faces as well as smiling ones. Perhaps much debate may take place. Let us know what it is first, however, before we oppose, or criticise, or applaud, or approve. Your son John says it is better than war. That is all I know about it.

Tenderly adieu.

LETTER CCXLV.

MY DEAREST FRIEND,

Philadelphia, 15 February, 1795.

THIS is the coldest day we have felt this winter, and if it were not for the hope I have of a letter from you to-morrow, I should freeze, for what I know, to-night. This month has been all unpleasant weather, but none severe. You have had a north-east storm, I