Page:The Bloom of Monticello (1926).pdf/38

 "Dear Grandpapa," again she wrote: "I would have written last post if I had had time, but I am determined to do it, although I have not much to say—unless I talk about the plants. Those in the large box were killed to the roots, but they are coming up all over the box. Those in the small pot were killed also, but are putting out small fresh buds. The evergreens have lost all their leaves, but one branch on each which looks lively enough. In the large pot there is not the least appearance of life, but mama preserved a little pod full of seed from it. Poor James has been inoculated with the vaccine, and is very unwell."

"The children and mamma send their love to you. I am, dear Grandpapa, your most affectionate Grand daughter,

"."

"Edgehill, January 26, 1809." As a postscript she added: "The sweet-scented grass looks very badly, although mama separated the roots and planted them with great care in a box of fine, wet sand, and the season in which it was done was warm and rainy."

The mind of the President was largely taken up with keeping the United States out of the Napoleonic wars in which most of Europe was then embroiled; a new line-up had formed in Congress, and some of his friends were deserting him; the end of his presidency was drawing near; he was breaking up his establishment, and winding up his affairs, with a deficit staring him in the face that had made his nights sleepless, but he proposed, nevertheless, if possible, to set things right at Monticello by forwarding a few further facts.