John Quincy Adams to Louisa Catherine Adams, June 17, 1804

Quincy 17. June 1804.

My best friend.

Yesterday my mother went to Boston, and in the Evening brought out
M rs: Foster with her two children, one of whom is unwell,
and requires the benefit of a little rural air— 1 But what was of more immediate consequence to
myself, was your letter of the 6 th: inst t: which my mother also brought out, the profiles and all. One
of your profiles is much more like than the other; and that of course I keep for myself,
together with Caroline’s— My Mother spoke for one of yours before she knew it was
intended for her— And so I consented she should have it— I shall send or give your
enclosed paper and orders to M rs. Whitcomb— When your things
were sent on she had not got all the bills, and of course did not know the prices— I
have been into Boston but once since, and then had not time to settle— But in a few
days, I propose to undertake that weighty expedition again, and then shall be able to
let you know what the prices are.

There is nothing on this earth that can give me more sincere and
heart-felt pleasure, than to hear of any thing prosperous befalling any part of your
family— And I most ardently sympathize with your joy, at the
brightening prospects which promise to add comfort to the future situation of your
beloved mother— The letter to M r: Murdoch which you sent me
to forward with your last, will go by the ship Warrington to Liverpool, now just about
to sail.— 2 Poor Shaw is confined to his
chamber, with the rhumatism.

The name of the Prussian Gentleman, whom you mention as having been
at Washington is Humboldt — I think I recollect hearing of
him, and of his voyage to South America while we were at Berlin.

Since I last wrote you my remotest expedition has been to Weymouth,
where I went with my mother to tea at D r: Tufts’s— We called
also at M r: Norton’s, whose wife is just getting up from the
birth of another daughter— 3 So you see
she is not in a decline— The last fortnight the weather here has been very warm and dry—
The pease and strawberries are just come— My farming labours slacken, as the Sun becomes
intense; but I find enough to do within doors.— We have not much solitude— Since my last
we have had visits from D r: Welsh and his Lady— M r: & M rs. Otis (the elder)
with their daughters—M rs: Quincy, with two of her children
and Sister Margaret— She (not Margaret, but M rs: Quincy)
looks portly again

Our State Legislature have had some very animated debates within
the last ten days— If you read the Boston papers you may have remarked the answer of the Senate to the Governor’s Speech— I believe
Quincy drew it up— It contains some remarks which stirr’d the blood of several
Gentlemen, who thought that every censure upon political hypocrites and impostors must
of course be meant for them— They attack’d it with no small violence, but without
success. 4

Then came on a question about the manner of choosing electors for
President and Vice-President— Whether by Districts or by a general ticket— The latter
was adopted, after long and bitter opposition—among the supporters of which M r: Morton has made himself very conspicuous. 5

Last of all they have begun to carve out work for their Senators in
Congress. A motion has pass’d the House of Representatives, and either has or probably
will go through the Senate, to Instruct the Senators of the State in the National
Legislature, to use their endeavours for obtaining an Amendment to the Constitution of
the United States, whereby the representation of Slaves shall be done away— All this I
know only by hearsay, and the newspapers; for I have not been near Boston since the
General Court met. 6

My brother has been gone nearly a week upon a tour to Haverhill— I presume he passes his time there as agreeably as here— Miss H. Adams has
been here some days; deeply engaged in the compilation of her new work

In the course of my recent reading, I met for the first time some
verses by D r: Donne to his wife, on his being obliged to go
to France, and leave her behind in England. They struck me the more forcibly as they are
so peculiarly applicable to this painful separation, which we endure

Our two souls therefore, which are one

Though I must go, indure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if t’other do;

And though it in the center sit,

Yet when the other far doth rome,

It leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must

Like t’other foot, obliquely run:

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun— 7

The versification is not quite so perfect as it would have been, if
written 200 years later, but if I could have sent you any thing half so pretty as the
thought, of my own growth, I would not have turn’d copyist even of Donne’s poetry to
show you, how faithfully I ever am, your affectionate

John Q. Adams.