^\)c laumxQ ilToittl)li) bisitor. 



55 



*iiie rruv'uleiice, is nsgood as cnii be expected by 

 a person like myself under llie infirnihies of nge 

 nnd decays of irieiital faculties. It is a general 

 time of liealtli in these parts at tliis time. 1 

 f^liDiild not at tliis time have troubled yon with 

 tiiis scroll, had it not been to acknowledge the 

 receipt of yonr kind and beautiful present, which 

 yoii sent me by my son James. Jt was not only 

 lieautiful, lint sweet and wholesome ; and 1 thank 

 yon kindly lor it. I perceive yon have not lost 

 your faculty of pleasing children, whether they 

 be old or young. It strikes my mind that the 

 white wafers [lozenges} are fit emblems of inno- 

 cence, kindness and benevolence — desirable vir- 

 tues indeed. It has long been impressed on my 

 mind that your bosom contained a true, loyal atui 

 faithful heart, and well might the emblem be 

 «vveet and spotless, of which I have lusted and 

 visted, and smacked my lips, and tasted again. 

 And if the substance is as sweet us the shadow 

 which I have tasted, and 1 presume it is much 

 more so, how happy must they be who possess 

 it? And although I have tasted, I have not des- 

 troyed the shape — neither is ft broken, nor do 1 

 mean that it ever shall be, but be kept through my 

 life in remembrance of the person from whom I 

 received it. Dear lady, 1 have nothing 1 can send 

 to you, that is worth half the preseut you sent to 

 me. VVafers I have none. Hearts I have but 

 one, nnd that so poor that if I could convey it to 

 you 1 might well expect it woidd be refused with 

 disdain. Still, however poor it is, und deposited 

 in n tabernacle of clay, it never censes to wish 

 you all the happiness this life can afford, nnd an 

 Mnmoriulity of endless bliss in the life to cotne. 



Give my respects to your surviving children, 

 one and all, aiul to your grandchildren as you 

 have opportunity, nnd to all enquiring friends. 

 I don't know whether you will make out to read 

 fiiy poor old fashioned writing; but if you can, 

 and there find any th«ng llmt does or may give 

 offence to atiy one, I pray you destroy this without 

 exposing the impertinence of the writer. Dear 

 sister, let me hear from you ns o^ten as you have 

 opportunity, I delight to hear from iny friends, 

 anil especially from the oidy old neighbor wliich 

 is now living, and so near iny own age. I should 

 greatly rfjnice to see you once more in this life, 

 but it is more than I can expect; but shall ever 

 reriiaiii yoin- loving brother, JOHN ADAMS. 



To IMrs. Doi.i-v Gibson. 



JOHN ADAMS to JOHN ADAMS, 3d. 



Haiford, Feb. 7, 1846. 



Beloved Ciandson : — This morning 1 received 

 the kindness of your letter, nnd among other 

 thi'ngs ri brought the sorrowful and melancholy 

 tidings of the death of your venerable grand- 

 mother Gibson. The news has struck me with 

 uncommon feelings of sorrow. 1 presmne you 

 are not unacquainted with the friendship that has 

 for many long years subsisted between the old 

 lady, your grandmother, and myself, and hope 

 YOII will not wonder at my being overpowered. 

 My mind is too much distiu'bed to be able to 

 write. O what a vale of tears is this pilgrimage, 

 — this worldly state in which we are placed ? 

 And how we are excited to syttipathise with each 

 other nuiler the bereavements which we have 

 sustained since 1 saw you last, when we look 

 rouiul and see what slaughter the King of Ter- 

 rors has been permitted to make in our fiimily. 

 O, how many of our nearest relations and even 

 our bosom companions are no more; and last of 

 all your beloved grandmother, my friend nnd 

 sister. .\iu\ where now shall we look for conso- 

 lation ? To God and to' the Gispel of his Son. 

 There, and there alone, shall we find relief. 

 if' Love to your children and all enquiring friends 

 your uncle Samuel's [Gibson] family in particular. 

 With the affections of a parent, I remain 

 JOHN ADAMS. 



To John Adams. 



Of all the series of letters, copies of which 

 have come to our knowledge or possession, we 

 are inclined to give the preference to the two 

 following, written as he has remarked on them 

 himself, at the nge of one hundred and one years. 

 The first letter, addressed to Mr. Joel Foster, of 

 Asliburnham, was drawn forth, like that address- 

 ed to the editor of theiVisitor one year later, by 

 the request of one who well recollected him 

 while both resided in the sanie town and oeigh- 



borhood: the father of Mr. Foster was of the 

 first settlers at Asliburnham, who had often acted 

 with him as a selectman, " doing the town busi- 

 ness together," but who deceased more than fifty 

 years ago. We first saw and copied this It-tter 

 while on a visit to Ashburnham last summer. — 

 Nearer than either of the other lelteis, it is pre- 

 sented aiiiiost verbatim : there was scarcely n 

 grnmmnlicnl error in the whole letter. Mr. Fos- 

 ter woulil for no price part with the original. — ' 

 The momentary surprise and eiuhiniiasm from 

 reading this letter induced us to solicit copies of 

 such others as we have presented. Every one of 

 them we wished to preserve ; and we knew no 

 way so effectual as to print them. The last let- 

 ter to a grandson, (a son of James) ij advice to a 

 young man who had left his family in Pennsyl- 

 vania to seek employment in the country nnd- 

 among the friends from which the family had re- 

 moved — brought up under the roof where his 

 grand parent had resided. 



JOHN ADAMS Ta Jt)EL FOSTER. 



Harford, Feb. 3, 1846. 



Respected Friend: — I ain now with a weak nnd 

 faltering hand attempting to comply with your 

 request by writing a few lines to you, hoping this 

 will find you and yonr family in health and pros- 

 pering. 1 would inform you that my health is as 

 good as may be expected by a person like myself 

 under the infirmities of old age and the decays 

 of mental faculties. Dear sir, I received your 

 friendly letter by my son James, and took miicli 

 pleasuie in reading the contents of it; it always 

 gives me pleasure to receive a letlcr from my 

 Massachusetts friends,but especially fiom a family 

 where I have been so agreeably acquainted as 1 

 was with your honored father and his family. It 

 reuiinds me of bygone days when we were do- 

 ing town bus'rness together. If ever i took satis- 

 faction in that business it was when I was con- 

 nected with your father. True he was not a 

 ready writer; but his candor, his judicious and 

 sound judgment, and unprejudiced miiiil and ex- 

 tensive knowledge of the town and its affairs, 

 qualified him for the business in which be was 

 often engaged. I presume you remember me 

 often ut your house, and I knew something of its 

 afiiiirs ; aud truly I thouglil your father and his 

 family was a worthy example, and on his farm a 

 pattern of industry, diligence and economy — in 

 the town, a pillar to the community, a blessing 

 to all, an honest man, which is the noblest work 

 of God. But his God whosn he served saw fit 

 ill the midst of his days to call hrm hence: and 

 shall not the Lord of heaven and earth do right? 

 And who shall say to the Almighty, what doest 

 thou, or why doest thou so? 



I understand by you letters that in years past 

 you have been visited by sickness und the loss of 

 friends, even your bosom friend. In this I can 

 feelingly sympathize with you, having been tried 

 in the same furnace of affliction, losing the wife 

 of my youth with whom I lived fifty-three years, 

 every year adding strength to the tie of ufilt'ction. 

 But iii'ider these trials it l>ecomea us to cultivate 

 a spirit of resignation whereby we may be ena- 

 bled to say from the heart, Not my will, heavenly 

 Father, but thine be done. 



Dear friend, I now take the liberty to congrat- 

 ulate you on the happy connexion which you have 

 formed with the once Mrs. Cobleigh, a lady with 

 whom I have in time past had some uc<|uain- 

 tance, and view her to be a lady of virtue, intel- 

 ligence and beneficence, and with wliom 1 wish 

 you to enjoy a long, peaceful, joyful, [irosperous 

 nnd happy life. 



1 must write one sad piece of news, if you have 

 not henrd of it. Our coal mine about eighteen 

 miles from here, about a forliiight ;igo broke in 

 and covered seventeen men which have not yet 

 been found. [This event will be remembered as 

 occuring in the Pennsylvania coal mines in the 

 winter of last year, then noticed in the newspa- 

 pers.] 



Give iny respects to all your surviving family 

 and inquiring friends. When I think of Ash- 

 burnham, it seems as though I wns at home, be- 

 ing the place where I spent the prime nnd vigor 

 of iny days, nnd where thero are now mnny of 



my near relations and dear friends sleeping in the 

 dust. Peace to their ashes ; and peace to the 

 town; long may it continue to prosper; and may 

 truth nnd lighteousness grow and flourish. Di- 

 vine Providence, it seem.=i, has so ordered that 

 my body must return to dust in a strange laud — 

 tliat is, in a laud fir distant fiom where rest most 

 of the ashes of mj beloved relatives. Truly such , 

 would not have been my choice : but why should , 

 we be anxious about the clay when liie spirit has 

 taken its flight to God who gave it? And blessed 

 be God for the hope which is the anchor of the 

 BOiil sure and steadfast, that we in his own time 

 meet and worship him and his son Jesua Christ 

 our Redeemer, joi ling in a new nnd never end- 

 ing anthem and song, even the song of redeem- 

 ing love. 



And here, dear sir, I niustcoiiclud(! my broken 

 epistle ; and bidding you good bye, I remniiiyour 

 sincere friend, JOHN ADAMS, 



aged one hundred and one years. 



Mr. Joel FosTr.n. 



JOHN ADAMS TO ANDREW J. ADAMS. 



Harford, January 22, 1846, 

 Beloved Grandson : — You having gone from 

 your father's house, nnd at a distance from the 

 family, I thought to write a few lines to you would 

 not be disagreeable, and to let you know that we 

 ure nil well nnd we hope this will find yotr and 

 nil our friends so. 1 understand you have an idea 

 of going to live itsth Doctor Gibson, [at New 

 Ipswich] nnd I tliink it may he much \o your 

 interest, if you by being faithful in his business 

 and irue to his afttirs, can gain his good will, nnd 

 the good will of liis family, which I doubt not 

 yon may by doing your tluty as a hired man and 

 a kind member of liis liimily. This you will find 

 will be to your honor as well ns benefit. Your 

 parents will rejoice, and 1 shall be glad wtien we 

 perceive you are in a fair way to be a respectable 

 man. Now is the time for you to lay the foun- 

 dation for a character that you will wish to con- 

 tinue through life. In your choice of compan- 

 ions avoid those of a loo.se and unguarded sect. 

 "A man is known by the company he keeps." 

 I presume you have had better counsel than 1 

 can give you, nnd I wilt forhenr ; but suffer [me] 

 to add a word or two which is needful for us all 

 and well may be called the golden rule, which 

 n " to do to others as we would have others do 

 to us." Let lis hear from you as often ns you cnn 

 conveniently ; nnd wishing yon health and jiros- 

 perity, I remain your loviuii grandljitlier, 

 JOHN ADAMS, 

 aged one hundred and one years. 

 To Andrew J. Adams, Ashburnham. 

 If the general reader shall not be equally in- 

 terested with us in the perusal of letters written 

 with no expectation ever to meet the public eye, 

 as presenting a fpicluie of the habits, the man- 

 ners, the morals, and we may add the religion of 

 the generations of farmers und working men and 

 women of New England who have gone before 

 us, independent of the remarkable faculty of 

 writing at an nge almost without a parallel, we 

 hope these letters and the remarks which they 

 have occasioned, may be received in a spirit of 

 kindness nnd give offence to none. 



S'Ubsoilhig. 



E.vlract from a report of llie Pendleton (S. C.) Farmers' Society. 



That subsoiling iiicreases the productiveness of 

 all soils, and more especially those resting on stiff 

 and ailhesive subsoils, independently of any ap- 

 plication of manures, will not be doubted by any 

 " book firmer " of our day, or by any practical 

 man that has tested its,effects. And your com- 

 mittee might adduce any desired amount of au- 

 thority to sustain them in this position, but deem 

 it scarcely necessary, us it would extend their re- 

 port, wliiidi must necessarily be long, to too great 

 length. It may, however, be proper to make a 

 few extracts from, and reference to, some of the 

 many communications from practical and scien- 

 tific men on this subject. 



We are informed by the editor of the Albany 

 Cultivator, (Vol. 1, N. S, p. 41,) that Mr. C. N. 

 Bement, erates that a few years ago, he siibsoiled 

 n part of a piece of ground which he planted in 

 Indian corn. The piece was on a light, loamy 

 or s,nndy knoll, and he subsoilcd it in "strips," 



