NEW YORK (AP) -- In the winter of 1825, former President John Adams was of anxious mind as he wrote to his son, John Quincy: "My dear son, Never did I feel so much solemnity as upon this occasion. The multitude of my thoughts, and the intensity of my feelings are too much for a mind, like mine, in its 90th year." The occasion was not a death or a political setback. Quite the opposite, actually, for John Quincy Adams had just been elected president of the United States, a job he had been groomed for since his father's administration.

In the nation's history, the Adamses have been the only father and son elected president, an achievement that will be seconded should George W. Bush win this fall. But the eager Bushes, with their personal wealth and desire to win, contrast with the dour Adamses, for whom electoral politics was common business and worldly gain to be questioned as much as desired. "They had a belief that wealth and power were ultimately corrupting. It was basically a Puritan view,'' said Joseph Ellis, author of "American Sphinx,'' a biography of Thomas Jefferson, and the upcoming "Founding Brothers,'' in which John Adams is featured. Like the Bushes, the Adamses were political aristocracy. John Adams was an indispensable figure in the American Revolution, vice president under George Washington and the second president of the United States. John Quincy served as a diplomat, senator and secretary of state before becoming the sixth president.

Between the fathers there are other similarities. Both were vice presidents for more famous commanders-in-chief (Bush served under Ronald Reagan) and both lost when they ran for a second term. Presidential candidates did not "campaign" in John Adams' time; he might never have made it otherwise. As described by Ellis, he was a "short, stout, candid-to-a-fault New Englander ... whose favorite form of conversation was an argument." Adams entered office in a bad temper. He won by just three electoral votes in 1796, and since the runner-up in those days was elected vice president, his second-in-command was the leader of the opposition party, Thomas Jefferson. In the interest of unity, he retained the cabinet of Washington's administration. The cabinet, however, proved loyal to Washington's secretary of the treasury, Alexander Hamilton, now a New York lawyer plotting to raise an army and conquer France. Adams dedicated himself instead to peace with France, and once said that that unpopular position was what he hoped to be remembered for ? the equivalent of George Bush saying he hoped to be remembered for breaking his "no new taxes'' pledge.

Easily defeated by Jefferson in 1800, Adams returned to the family home in Quincy, Mass., where he spent the rest of his life reading Cicero, bantering with Jefferson (they both died on July 4, 1826, exactly 50 years after the Declaration of Independence) and closely following his son's career. "John Adams took his defeat for re-election very hard, which his son was most aware of,'' said David McCullough, a Pulitzer Prize-winning biographer whose next book will be about the senior Adams. "And John Adams saw the rise of his son with nothing but pleasure. Although he worried about the strain of the presidency on him, it seems pretty apparent he saw his son as redeeming his defeat.''

Like George W. Bush, John Quincy Adams knew privilege from his early years. Because of his father's positions in Congress and the executive branch, including ambassador to China, George W. had a close view of history, though he reportedly thought little about major events of his time. At Yale, he was a so-so student who reigned as the High Commissioner of Stickball. For young "Johnny Adams'' privilege meant at age 8 standing across the road from the family farm and watching the Battle of Bunker Hill. It meant reading Thucydides, in Greek, at age 10. It meant studying Latin in Amsterdam at age 13 and on school holiday joining a diplomatic mission to Russia. "John Quincy Adams grew up feeling enormous pressure,'' Ellis says, to carry on the political legacy. (In this way, Ellis says, he was also like the young Al Gore, also the son of a famous politician who suffered defeat.)

McCullough says that if you gave each president an IQ test, John Quincy Adams would score highest. Politically, however, he was well short of genius. Having won the presidency in the House of Representatives after finishing second in the popular vote, he proceeded to name his key congressional supporter, Speaker Henry Clay, as secretary of state. "People assumed he had made a deal, but Adams didn't think like that,'' Ellis says. Adams seemed as indifferent as his father to popular favor. His ideas were high-minded -- for instance, he envisioned a galaxy of astronomical stations, "light-houses in the sky" -- but he had no facility for enacting them. Even his inaugural address suggested a man at odds with the country he was supposed to serve. "While foreign nations, less blessed with freedom ... than ourselves are advancing with gigantic strides in the career of public improvements,'' he stated, "are we to slumber in our indolence or fold up our arms and proclaim to the world that we are palsied by the will of our constituents?''

Easily defeated in 1828 by the populist Andrew Jackson, whose campaign slogan was "Jackson Who Can Fight, and Adams Who Can Write,'' John Quincy refused to attend his successor's inauguration. For a brief time he retired, meaning to organize his father's papers. But then, to the surprise of many, he returned to public life as a congressman. He helped found the Smithsonian Institute, opposed the Mexican War and was a leading abolitionist. As recorded in the Steven Spielberg film "Amistad," he successfully defended before the U.S. Supreme Court a group of Africans who took control of a slave ship and were captured off the Atlantic Coast. Ralph Waldo Emerson thought Adams chose a wise path. "He is no literary old gentleman, but a bruiser, and he loves the melee," Emerson wrote. "He ... must have sulphuric acid in his tea."

Adams died in action. In 1848, during a House debate on the Mexican War, he voted "No" on a resolution to commend soldiers in recent battles. As he rose to speak, he collapsed and fell to the floor and was carried to the speaker's chamber. The 80-year-old Adams had suffered a fatal seizure. His final words were soon transmitted across telegraph wires: "This is my last on Earth; I am composed."