The patriarchs John Adams and Thomas Jefferson still lingered on the shores of time.  The former had attained the good old age of 90 years, and the latter 82.  Mrs. Adams, the venerable companion of the ex-President, died in Quincy, on the 28th of Oct., 1818, aged 74 years.  Although, amid the various political strifes through which they had passed during the half century they had taken prominent parts in the affairs of their country, Adams and Jefferson had frequently been arrayed in opposite parties, and cherished many views quite dissimilar, yet their private friendship and deep attachment had been unbroken.  It continued to be cherished with generous warmth to the end of their days.  This pleasing fact, together with the wonderful vigor of their minds in extreme old age, is proved by the following interesting correspondence between them, which took place four years before their decease:—­

Mr. Jefferson to Mr. Adams.

“Monticello, June 1, 1822.  “It is very long, my dear sir, since I have written to you.  My dislocated wrist is now become so stiff, that I write slowly, and with pain; and therefore write as little as I can.  Yet it is due to mutual friendship, to ask once in a while how we do?  The papers tell us that General Starke is off, at the age of ninety-three. ***** still lives at about the same age, cheerful, slender as a grasshopper, and so much without memory, that he scarcely recognizes the members of his household.  An intimate friend of his called on him, not long since.  It was difficult to make him recollect who he was, and sitting one hour, he told him the same story four times over.  Is this life?—­with laboring step

  ’To tread our former footsteps? pace the round
  Eternal?—­to beat and beat
  The beaten track—­to see what we have seen
  To taste the tasted—­o’er our palates to decant
  Another vintage?’

“It is, at most, but the life of a cabbage, surely not worth a wish.  When all our faculties have left, or are leaving us, one by one, sight, hearing, memory, every avenue of pleasing sensation is closed, and athumy, debility, and malaise left in their places, when the friends of our youth are all gone, and a generation is risen around us whom we know not, is death an evil?

  ’When one by one our ties are torn,
  And friend from friend is snatch’d forlorn;
  When man is left alone to mourn,
    Oh, then, how sweet it is to die!

  ’When trembling limbs refuse their weight,
  And films slow gathering dim the sight;
  When clouds obscure the mental light,
  ‘Tis nature’s kindest boon to die!’