d near it. I
arrived there somewhat fatigued, and sat down by the fountain to
repose myself. It gushes, of the size of a river, from a secluded
valley of the mountain, the ruins of Petrarch's chateau being perched
on a rock two hundred feet perpendicular above. To add to the
enchantment of the scene, every tree and bush was filled with
nightingales in full song. I think you told me that you had not yet
noticed this bird. As you have trees in the garden of the Convent [_in
Paris, where Martha was at school_], there might be nightingales in
them, and this is the season of their song. Endeavor, my dear, to make
yourself acquainted with the music of this bird, that when you return
to your own country you may be able to estimate its merit in
comparison with that of the mocking-bird. The latter has the advantage
of singing through a great part of the year, whereas the nightingale
sings but about five or six weeks in the spring, and a still shorter
term, and with a more feeble voice, in the fall.

I expect to be in Paris about the middle of next month. By that time
we may begin to expect our dear Polly [_the younger daughter, Maria_]
It will be a circumstance of inexpressible comfort to me to have you
both with me once more. The object most interesting to me for the
residue of my life, will be to see you both developing daily those
principles of virtue and goodness which will make you valuable to
others and happy in yourselves, and acquiring those talents and that
degree of science which will guard you at all times against _ennui_,
the most dangerous poison of life. A mind always employed is always
happy. This is the true secret, the grand recipe, for felicity. The
idle are the only wretched. In a world which furnishes so many
employments which are useful, and so many which are amusing, it is our
own fault if we ever know what _ennui_ is, or if we are ever driven to
the miserable resource of gaming, which corrupts our dispositions, and
teaches us a habit of hostility against all mankind.

We are now entering the port of Toulouse, where I quit my bark, and of
course must conclude my letter. Be good and be industrious, and you
will be what I shall most love in the world. Adieu, my dear child.

Yours affectionately,
TH. JEFFERSON.

JEFFERSON'S LAST LETTER, IN ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO BE PRESENT AT
THE CELEBRATION OF THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE,
IN WASHINGTON.--TO MR. WEIGHTMA