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protects will chastise us if necessary and will punish an ungrateful people in ways more analogous to the usual doings of providence, than to suffer a new formed Nation to be trodden down ere it arrives to maturity. America is a theatre just erected—the Drama is here but begun—while the actors of the old World have run through every species of pride, luxury, venality, and vice.—Their characters will become less interesting and the western wilds, which for ages have been little known, may exhibit those striking traits of Wisdom and Grandure and magnificence which the Divine Oeconomist may have reserved to crown the closing scene. Yet—— ————————5 Adieu, M. Warren6 mwp2, draft7 1. I.e., the nap of the sleeping muses. 2. The “sacred nine” are the ancient Greek Muses. Clio is the Muse of history; Calliope, of eloquence and poetic epic; Melpomene, of tragedy. 3. In this sentence, “soil” and “happy” are the original terms, but each is scored through with “fortunate” and “clime” inserted, possibly by another hand. 4. Nabby Adams, still visiting mow in Plymouth. The afc editors were not able to discover the manuscript by young Abigail indicated here. 5. Dash as it appears in ms. 6. Below the signature is written “Mrs. John Adams.” 7. This letter exists in three versions: the rc printed in afc 3: 189–91, a transcribed draft in the Letterbook, and this one—quite possibly the first draft and therefore the closest to mow’s original intentions. 43 to janet livingston montgomery Plymouth March 18th 1779 “Affliction is the good man’s shining scene.”1 Though I am persuaded Mrs. Montgomery rendered herself amiable in the sunshine of prosperity and in the brightest smiles of pleasure by her engaging affability endeared herself to her connexions, yet is not that character heightened by adversity, when from its mournful accents it to janet montgomery, march 1779  109 makes itself not only esteemed, but really beloved by those who have not the happy opportunity of a personal acquaintance? I feel myself so tenderly touched with the epithets of sorrow which fall from your descriptive pen, that I am at a loss whether I ought to call up another sigh from a benevolent heart by communicating any part of my own. Yet as you still drop the filial tear over the tomb of a deceased parent, let me tell you the day your last favour was dated, the heart of your distant friend beat in unison of agony with the dying pangs of an excellent Father2 ;—in his public transactions the patriotic character was conspicuous, and in his private life the social and domestic virtues mourn the loss of an exemplary friend. Nor have I yet a mother from whose lips flowed the instructive precept. Ever ready to draw from the pure fountain of Religion, arguments sufficient to console a rational mind under the adverse strokes of a momentary existence: that blessed Saint bade adieu to mortality some years since, after consigning three most amiable Daughters in the bloom of life, & in the meridian of usefulness.3 You my dear madam, can still listen to the soft voice of maternal tenderness, and the smiling sister will not suffer you to weep: while a dead silence now reigns in the mansion of my youthful days where fraternal love once glistened in every eye and heightened the joys of innocence. Thus Madam[?] before I was aware have I precluded the necessity of any future apology for the plaintiveness of your pen, by laying open the wounds in my own bosom, nor shall I ask an excuse for dwelling on the domestic tale, but still continue it long enough to thank heaven I have yet a friend, the partner of my felicities, and the support of my pensive hours. Methinks on the comparison I hear a gently reproving voice, complain not ungrateful woman, so long as such a companion is lent to smooth the thorns in the part of private life and to bear you above the billows that break on the public stage. I stand admonished—and bid a Truce to my tears;—but will readily accompany the widowed hand to spread over the Cypress and pour a plentiful shower into the Urn of a Montgomery. It was needless, my dear madam, to remind me thereof;—the anniversary of that day when the hero fell in the reins of glory and thus insured the applause of his enemies will never be...

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