and Plato, of Epicurus and Cicero, and derived a new pleasure from the studies of their youth, by applying to them the results of their long experience. The armour which, like old soldiers after their dismission from honourable service, they could no longer use, it was their pride to keep polished, and retain in their sight. While the busy world around them was engaged in the contentions of party, or of business, they were peacefully interchanging their reminiscences of early life; inquiring after their surviving and departed companions; correcting inaccurate relations of their own history; or comparing their reflections on the books. which had become their resource and solace. Their strongest and latest feelings were in favour of the liberty of men and of nations: and it is a most interesting fact, that the last words of Mr. Adams were those of patriotick ejaculation, responsive to the bell which then rung in celebration of the anniversary of our independence; and the last letter of Mr. Jefferson was an expression of a hopeless wish "to participate with his friends in the rejoicings on that day." The same day which had marked the most honourable epoch of their lives, was that in which Providence gave them the privilege to die.

It is from this portion of his works, too, as has been observed, that we obtain the best view of his general character and sentiments, which are poured out in his letters with full and unaffected freedom; and it is from these that we shall make such extracts as may impress on our readers more correctly and clearly his peculiar personal traits. His habits and occupations, after his retirement from office enabled him to arrange

them with more satisfaction and regularity, are best described in his own words, which we select from dif ferent parts of his correspondence.

Like my

"I live so much like other people, that I might refer to ordinary life as the history of my own. friend Dr. Rush, I have lived temperately, eating little animal food, and that not as an aliment so much as a condiment for the vegetables, which constitute my principal diet. I double, however, the doctor's glass and a half of wine, and even treble it with a friend; but halve its effects by drinking the weak wines only.The ardent wines I cannot drink, nor do I use ardent spirits in any form. Malt liquors and cider are my table drinks, and my breakfast, like that also of my friend, is of tea and coffee. I have been blest with organs of digestion which accept and concoct, without ever murmuring, whatever the palate chooses to consign to them, and I have not yet lost a tooth by age. I was a hard student until I entered on the business of life, the duties of which leave no idle time to those disposed to fulfil them; and now retired, and at the age of seventy-six, I am again a hard student. Indeed, my fondness for reading and study revolts me from the drudgery of letter writing; and a stiff wrist, the consequence of an early dislocation, makes writing both slow and painful. I am not so regular in my sleep as the doctor says he was, devoting to it from five to eight hours, according as my company or the books I am reading interests me; and I never go to bed without an hour or half hour's previous reading of something moral, whereon to ruminate in the intervals of sleep. But whether I retire to bed early or late, I rise

with the sun. I use spectacles at night, but not necessarily in the day, unless in reading small print. My hearing is distinct in particular conversation, but confused when several voices cross each other, which unfits me for the society of the table. I have been more fortunate than my friend in the article of health. So free from catarrhs, that I have not had one (in the breast, I mean) on an average of eight or ten years through life. I ascribe this exemption partly to the habit of bathing my feet in cold water every morning, for sixty years past. A fever of more than twenty-four hours I have not had above two or three times in my life.— A periodical headache has afflicted me occasionally, once, perhaps, in six or eight years, for two or three weeks at a time, which seems now to have left me. Retired at Monticello, in the bosom of my family, and surrounded by my books, I enjoy a repose to which I was long a stranger. My mornings are devoted to correspondence. From breakfast to dinner, I am in my shops, my garden, or on horseback among my farms; from dinner to dark, I give to society and recreation with my neighbours and friends; and from candle light to early bed time, I read. My health is perfect; and my strength considerably reinforced by the activity of the course I pursue; perhaps it is as great as usually falls to the lot of one of my age. talk of ploughs and harrows, seeding and harvesting, with my neighbours, and of politicks, too, if they choose, with as little reserve as the rest of my fellow citizens, and feel at length the blessing of being free to say and do what I please, without being responsible for it to any mortal. A part of my occupation, and by

I

no means the least pleasing, is the direction of the studies of such young men as ask it. They place themselves in the neighbouring village, and have the use of my library and counsel, and make a part of my society. In advising the course of their reading, I endeavour to keep their attention fixed on the main objects of all science, the freedom and happiness of man. So that coming to bear a share in the councils and government of their country, they will ever keep in view the sole objects of all legitimate government. As to politicks, of which I have taken final leave, I think little of them, and say less. I have given up newspapers in exchange for Tacitus and Thucydides, for Newton and Euclid, and I find myself much the happier. Sometimes, indeed, I look back to former occurrences, in remembrance of our old friends and fellow labourers who have fallen before us. Of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, I see now living, not more than half a dozen north of the Potomack, and on this side, myself alone. You (Mr. Adams) and I have been wonderfully spared, and myself with remarkable health, and a considerable activity of body and mind. I am on horseback three or four hours of every day; visit three or four times a year a possession I have ninety miles distant, performing the winter journey on horseback. I walk little, however; a single mile being too much for me; and I live in the midst of my grandchildren, one of whom has lately promoted me to be a great grandfather. I have heard with pleasure that you also retain good health, and a greater power of exercise in walking than I do. But I would rather have heard this from

yourself, and that, writing a letter like mine, full of egotisms, and of details of your health, your habits, occupations, and enjoyments, I should have the pleasure of knowing, that in the race of life, you do not keep, in its physical decline, the same distance ahead of me, which you have done in political honours and achievements. No circumstances have lessened the interest I feel in these particulars respecting yourself; none have suspended for one moment my sincere esteem for you, and I now salute you with unchanged affection and respect."

The Duke of Saxe Weimar, who was in this cour try in 1825 and 1826, thus, at this late period, describes the appearance of the sage of Monticello, who had invited him to dine.

"Our long walk caused such a delay, that we found the company at table when we entered; but Mr. Jefferson came very kindly to meet us, forced us to our seats, and ordered dinner to be served up anew. He was an old man of eighty-two years of age, of tall stature, plain appearance, and long white hair.

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In conversation he was very lively, and his spirits, as also his hearing and sight, seemed not to have decreased at all with his advancing age. I found him a man who retained his faculties remarkably well in his old age, and one would have taken him for a man of sixty."

The following letter of Mr. Jefferson to his young relative, though long, is so full of good sense and sound advice, that we cannot avoid inserting it. It was written somewhat before the period to which we have now arrived.