Jefferson Quotes & Family Letters

La-fourche February 8th 1823—

I know, my dear Virginia, that you will feel angry with me for not writing sooner, when I tell you that the mail by which your last letter came, also brought one which gives me [. . .] the dawn of hope, of being able to keep my appointment with You for the 2d of June.—Yes, my beloved friend! I shall perhaps embrace you in a few months; and my sanguine temper has made of this dawn, a glorious noon-day in which my heart has been basking ever since.—do not imitate me however! The pain of disappointment is always proportioned to the pleasure of anticipation; and if it so happens that my return must be delayed, what shall I not suffer.—

The letter that brought the joyful news, is from Natchez; informing me that the person who was in possession of our land there, has, after putting me to the trouble and expense of instituting a Suit, made a renunciation; and that my friend there has offered it to Mr Dunbar at the price which had been agreed upon, for the part already in his possession.—I need not say how very anxious I am to hear learn Mr D’s determination. You should have been informed of this by the Last mail, but we did not return until Saturday night: the next morning, the boy came from the post office; and with your letter for companion, I [. . .] again mounted my horse, to return only the next following day, after the sale had commenced. It has Lasted three days; & we are still employed delivering property, writing bonds; and overwhelmed by a whole ocean of trifling, perplexing business, from which I stole a moment the other evening, to write a letter of one page, to my Grandmother.—

The object of our journey down the bayou, was to examine a plantation which, as we purpose embarking in the culture of cane, my father thought it would be advantageous for us to purchase, instead of the one we are on. Its owner, Mr Somerville, a Gentleman of fortune living in Maryland, & [. . .] an old school fellow of your brother’s, after sinking from 10 to 15 thousand dollars on it, is very desirious of selling, and especially to us.—we should have bought it, if this had found a purchaser: its not having been pushed to 15.000 dollars, the cash evaluation, although it was offered payable in four equal annual instalments, will give you an idea of the extreme hardness of the times. The Law requires that it be reestimated, and again put up for sale; and we shall probably purchase it, as we have most of the negroes, in company with my father.—The whole property, will not amount to 60.000 dollars, and every one says that four years ago it would have produced from 130 to 150.000. Six months ago, it would certainly not have been far short of 100.000.—But we must not despair! Times cannot easily grow worse, and may improve greatly within the next year. once clear of debt, with a share in a well conducted sugar plantation I shall feel easy—My poor Law books! I have scarcely read ten pages in them for the last month, and shall not have time to look at them perhaps, for a month to come; perhaps not until you shall have become my wife.—

Let me repeat, my own dear Virginia , that you can never be “too frank” in your conduct towards me. You cannot give so strong, and therefore so delightful a proof that you[r] heart reposes on mine in the manner I wish, as by making me the depository of every thing you feel.—Act, as you say you will, in defiance of their notions, who being incapable of loving like you, cannot confide as you do. And recollect that nothing is wanting to constitute you my wife, but a ceremony which in itself signifies nothing. All its [. . .] essence had been long one of the constituent principles of my existence.—You are mistaken, I assure you, in supposing that I have ever deceived you as to my health. I have even been so minute as to mention head-aches, colds &c—Rest assured therefore, that I am well when I say so.—The prospect of soon leaving Louisiana places me in no little perplexity about our dear little charge. Her father is, without any exception, the most unfit person to have the direction of a child, that I ever met with. I firmly believe that if Mary or Julian took it into their heads, they could prevail on him to give them a rasor; or the most dangerous instruments, to play with; a little crying would carry the point directly.—On no occasion does he ever show the least firmness.—While saying their lessons, they are both in the habit of striking him, when they get angry, and they are never punished by him, except with a slap, given in momentary anger.—Julian, who has one of the sweetest and most even tempers that mortal was ever blessed with, and never dreams of contradicting or disobeying me, is towards his father, one of the most forward and worst behaved children I ever heard of. he obeys or disobeys him, just as he thinks proper; [. . .] contradicts and curses him on all occasions, when Browse or myself are not by. It is too ridiculous and provoking, to receive a messages from his father to “be so good as to come and make master Julian put on his jacket,” or his cravat, or do something which he orders him, and which is refuses.—You may conceive what the effect of the same management must be on Mary, who to extraordinary sense and quickness, joins an irrepressible levity, and a most encroaching disposition: so much so that although I make it a rule never to yield a point, or pass over an instance of disobedience, yet I find it a very difficult thing to maintain my ground against her. she has, I assure you, cost me many a painful reflection; and from the bottom of my soul, I think that the greatest curse which can now befal her, is to remain with her father three or four years longer. Of this her Grandmother is so fully sensible, that I scarcely ever take Mary on my knee and talk to her about you, but she says “it would be a painful thing, God knows, to part with You; but my mind would be at ease, if You were once with your brother and sister:’ so would mine, but, it would be cruel to take from her, however willingly she makes the sacrifice, her only companion and comfort.—My Grandmother cannot have many years to live; And I should make up my mind to leave my sister with her, if I was not afraid that the consequence will be her falling into the hands of Mrs Livingston.

When Mr Tournillon was in town, Mrs L. pressed him earnestly to confide Mary to her; and I believe he was weak enough to entertain the idea of doing so.—His directing spirit is fled, my dearest Virginia , and he now appears to both Browse and me, a man of good heart, but of excessive weakness. He has not, I verily believe, a single principle to govern his actions by: all spring from the impulse of the moment.—He saw Cora Livingston, who was always a sweet creature, and is now from all accounts, a most accomplished Girl; his paternal vanity rose with the prospect of seeing his daughter like her: and he forgot that Mrs L. was notoriously a woman of intrigue; and the very last of all her acquaintance to whom Mary’s mother would have entrusted her. He returned from town full of the idea and after I had set out for New orleans, [. . .] he communicated Mrs L.’s proposal to Browse, who expressed his feelings on the subject so plainly, that I believe the project is entirely dropped for the moment: But any some new impulse might may awaken it, if I do not take advantage of his present disposition to let Mary go with me: and I had rather see my sister stung by a rattlesnake, than [. . .] not to be able to place the most implicit faith in her virtue & purity; which I could not do, were she brought up by Mrs L.—What shall I do? Let mother and you advise me! You were the persons elected for the trust—

Adieu My best beloved—how my heart leaps at the idea that we shall soon embrace. Our correspondence is, I trust drawing to a close; write often therefore, until I tell you to stop; and prepare for the 2d of June