the silence and cold respect they observe towards you.  Still, they cannot prevent at times the flames bursting from under the embers, as Mr. Pickering’s letters, report, and conversations testify, as well as the indecent expressions respecting you, indulged by some of them in the debate on these despatches.  These sufficiently show that you are never more to be honored or trusted by them, and that they wait to crush you for ever, only till they can do it without danger to themselves.

When I sat down to answer your letter, but two courses presented themselves, either to say nothing or every thing; for half confidences are not in my character.  I could not hesitate which was due to you.  I have unbosomed myself fully; and it will certainly be highly gratifying if I receive like confidence from you.  For even if we differ in principle more than I believe we do, you and I know too well the texture of the human mind, and the slipperiness of human reason, to consider differences of opinion otherwise than differences of form or feature.  Integrity of views, more than their soundness, is the basis of esteem.  I shall follow your direction in conveying this by a private hand; though I know not as yet when one worthy of confidence will occur.  And my trust in you leaves me without a fear that this letter, meant as a confidential communication of my impressions, may ever go out of your own hand, or be suffered in any wise to commit my name.  Indeed, besides the accidents which might happen to it even under your care, considering the accident of death to which you are liable, I think it safest to pray you, after reading it as often as you please, to destroy at least the second and third leaves.  The first contains principles only, which I fear not to avow; but the second and third contain facts stated for your information, and which, though sacredly conformable to my firm belief, yet would be galling to some, and expose me to illiberal attacks.  I therefore repeat my prayer to burn the second and third leaves.  And did we ever expect to see the day, when, breathing nothing but sentiments of love to our country and its freedom and happiness, our correspondence must be as secret as if we were hatching its destruction?  Adieu, my friend, and accept my sincere and affectionate salutations.  I need not add my signature.

LETTER CCXLVI.—­TO EDMUND PENDLETON, January 29, 1799

TO EDMUND PENDLETON.

Philadelphia, January 29, 1799.

Dear Sir,

Your patriarchal address to your country is running through all the republican papers, and has a very great effect on the people.  It is short, simple, and presents things in a view they readily comprehend.  The character and circumstances too of the writer leave them without doubts of his motives.  If, like the patriarch of old, you had but one blessing to give us, I should have wished it directed to a particular