<p><span class="deck">Eighteenth-century equivalents of “Yankee go home!” greeted the Adams family when, in 1785, they arrived in London. Nevertheless, there were certain delightful compensations—especially for an eligible young lady</span></p>
<p><span class="deck">The courtship and fifty-four-year marriage of John and Abigail Adams was, despite separation and war and tragedy, a moving and highly literate love feast between two "Dearest Friends"</span></p>
<p>Eleanor Roosevelt thought the "young man from Massachusetts" was a fine senator, but <span class="body">too inexperienced to be President.</span></p>
<p><span class="body"><span class="body">Wilson's letters to Mary were frequent and intimate, but it </span></span>would have been political suicide to marry a divorcee by the post-Victorian standards of the time</p>
<p><span class="deck"><span class="typestyle">The ground rules have changed drastically since 1789. Abigail Adams, stifled in her time, would have loved being First Lady today.</span> </span></p>
<p>I was a writer on the staff of the Hunter College newspaper when Eleanor Roosevelt, completely alone, would stop by looking for someone to talk to.</p>
<p><span class="deck">Her son had her committed. She said it was so he could get his hands on her money. Now, 130 years after this bitter and controversial drama, a trove of letters—long believed destroyed—sheds new light on it.</span></p>
