University of Virginia Library

LETTERS.

TO MRS. CRANCH.

I have been sixteen days at sea, and have not
attempted to write a single letter. 'T is true, I have
kept a journal whenever I was able; but that must
be close locked up, unless I was sure to hand it you
with safety.

'T is said of Cato, the Roman Censor, that one of
the three things, which he regretted during his life,
was going once by sea when he might have made
his journey by land. I fancy the philosopher was
not proof against that most disheartening, dispiriting
malady, sea-sickness. Of this I am very sure, that
no lady would ever wish a second time to try the
sea, were the objects of her pursuit within the reach
of a land journey. I have had frequent occasion,
since I came on board, to recollect an observation of

my best friend's, "that no being in nature was so
disagreeable as a lady at sea," and this recollection
has in a great measure reconciled me to the thought
of being at sea without him; for one would not wish,
my dear sister, to be thought of in that light by
those, to whom we would wish to appear in our best
array. The decency and decorum of the most
delicate female must in some measure yield to the
necessities of nature; and, if you have no female
capable of rendering you the least assistance, you
will feel grateful to any one who will feel for you,
and relieve or compassionate your sufferings.

And this was truly the case of your poor sister
and all her female companions, when not one of us
could make her own bed, put on or take off her
shoes, or even lift a finger. As to our other clothing,
we wore the greater part of it until we were
able to help ourselves. Added to this misfortune,
Briesler, my man-servant, was as bad as any of us.
But for Job, I know not what we should have done.
Kind, attentive, quick, neat, he was our nurse for
two days and nights; and, from handling the sails
at the top-gallant-mast head, to the more feminine
employment of making wine-cordial, he has not his
equal on board. In short, he is the favorite of the
whole ship. Our sickness continued for ten days,
with some intermissions. We crawled upon deck
whenever we were able; but it was so cold and
damp, that we could not remain long upon it. And
the confinement of the air below, the constant rolling
of the vessel, and the nausea of the ship, which was

much too tight, contributed to keep up our disease.
The vessel is very deep loaded with oil and potash.
The oil leaks, the potash smokes and ferments.
All adds to the flavor. When you add to all this
the horrid dirtiness of the ship, the slovenliness of
the steward, and the unavoidable slopping and spilling
occasioned by the tossing of the ship, l am sure
you will be thankful that the pen is not in the hand of
Swift or Smollet, and still more so that you are far
removed from the scene. No sooner was I able to
move, than I found it necessary to make a bustle
amongst the waiters, and demand a cleaner abode.
By this time, Briesler was upon his feet, and, as I
found I might reign mistress on board without any
offence, I soon exerted my authority with scrapers,
mops, brushes, infusions of vinegar, &c., and in a
few hours you would have thought yourself in a
different ship. Since which, our abode is much
more tolerable, and the gentlemen all thank me for
my care. Our captain is an admirable seaman,
always attentive to his sails and his rigging; keeps
the deck all night; careful of everybody on board;
watchful that they run no risk; kind and humane to
his men, who are all as still and quiet as any private
family; nothing cross or dictatorial in his manners;
a much more agreeable man than I expected to find
him. He cannot be called a polished gentleman;
but he is, so far as I have seen, a very clever man.

We have for passengers, a Colonel Norton, who is
a grave, sedate man, of a good natural understanding,
improved by business and converse with mankind;

his literary accomplishments not very great. A Mr.
Green, a Scotchman I am persuaded; a high prerogative
man; plumes himself upon his country; haughty
and imperious, but endeavours to hide this with
the appearance of politeness, which, however, he is
too apt to transgress upon any occasion when a
subject arises which does not entirely agree with
his sentiments; he calls himself an Englishman; has
been in the British service during the war, as a
secretary on board some of the British admirals.
He is a man of sense and of reading, the most so of
any we have on board. Next to him is Dr. Clark,
to whom we are under obligations for every kindness
and every attention, that it is in the power of a
gentleman and a physician to show. Humane, benevolent,
tender, and attentive not only to the ladies,
but to every one on board, to the servant as well as
the master, he has rendered our voyage much more
agreeable and pleasant than it possibly could have
been without him. His advice we have stood in
need of, and his care we have felt the benefit of.
A brother could not have been kinder, nor a parent
tenderer, and it was all in the pleasant, easy, cheerful
way, without any thing studied, labored, or fulsome;
the natural result of a good heart, possessed
with the power of making others happy.

'T is not a little attention that we ladies stand in
need of at sea; for it is not once in the twenty-four
hours that we can even cross the cabin without being
held or assisted. Nor can we go upon deck without
the assistance of two gentlemen, and when there, we

are always bound into our chairs. Whilst you,
I imagine, are scorching under the midsummer heat,
we can comfortably bear our double calico gowns,
our baize ones upon them, and a cloth cloak in addition
to all these.

Mr. Foster is another passenger on board, a merchant,
a gentleman soft in his manners, very polite
and kind; loves domestic life, and thinks justly of it.
I respect him on this account. Mr. Spear brings up
the rear, a single gentleman, with a great deal of
good humor, some wit, and much drollery; easy
and happy, blow high or blow low; can sleep and
laugh at all seasons. These are our male companions.
I hardly thought a Lieutenant Mellicot
worth mentioning, who is, I believe, a mere post-companion,
though he keeps not with us except at
meal-times, when he does not behave amiss. My
namesake[1] you know. She is a modest, pretty
woman, and behaves very well.

I have accustomed myself to writing a little every
day, when I was able, so that a small motion of the
ship does not render it more unintelligible than
usual; but there is no time, since I have been at
sea, when the ship is what we call still, that its
motion is not equal to the moderate rocking of a
cradle. As to wind and weather, since we came out,
they have been very fortunate for us in general.
We have had three calm days, and two days contrary

wind, with a storm, I called it; but the sailors
say it was only a breeze. This was upon the Banks
of Newfoundland, the wind at east; through the day
we could not sit in our chairs, only as some gentleman
sat by us with his arm fastened into ours, and
his feet braced against a table or chair, that was
lashed down with ropes; bottles, mugs, plates,
crashing to pieces, first on one side and then on the
other; the sea running mountain-high, and knocking
against the sides of the vessel as though it would
burst them. When I became so fatigued with
the incessant motion as not to be able to sit any
longer, I was assisted into my cabin, where I was
obliged to hold myself in with all my might the remainder
of the night. No person, who is a stranger
to the sea, can form an adequate idea of the debility
occasioned by sea-sickness. The hard rocking of a
ship in a storm, and the want of sleep for many
nights, altogether reduce one to such a lassitude
that you care little for your fate. The old seamen
thought nothing of all this, nor once entertained an
idea of danger. Compared to what they have suffered,
I do suppose it was trifling; but to me it was
alarming, and I most heartily prayed, if this was
only a breeze, to be delivered from a storm.

Our accommodations on board are not what I
could wish, or hoped for. We cannot be alone,
only when the gentlemen are thoughtful enough to
retire upon deck, which they do for about an hour
in the course of the day. Our state-rooms are about
half as large as cousin Betsey's little chamber, with

two cabins in each. Mine had three, but I could not
live so. Upon which Mrs. Adams's brother gave up
his to Abby,[2] and we are now stowed two and two.
This place has a small grated window, which opens
into the companion-way, and by this is the only air
admitted. The door opens into the cabin, where the
gentlemen all sleep, and where we sit, dine, &c.
We can only live with our door shut, whilst we dress
and undress. Necessity has no law; but what should
I have thought on shore, to have laid myself down to
sleep in common with half a dozen gentlemen?
We have curtains, it is true, and we only in part
undress, about as much as the Yankee bundlers; but
we have the satisfaction of falling in with a set of
well-behaved, decent gentlemen, whose whole deportment
is agreeable to the strictest delicacy, both
in word and action.

If the wind and weather continue as favorable as
they have hitherto been, we expect to make our
passage in thirty days, which is going a hundred
miles a day. 'T is a vast tract of ocean which we
have to traverse; I have contemplated it with its
various appearances. It is indeed a secret world of
wonders, and one of the sublimest objects in Nature.

They proclaim the Deity, and are objects too vast
for the control of feeble man. That Being alone,

who "maketh the clouds his chariot, and rideth upon
the wings of the wind," is equal to the government
of this stupendous part of creation.

And now, my dear sister, after this minute account
of my important self, which, judging by myself, you
take an affectionate interest in, I call upon you to
inquire after your welfare, my much esteemed
brother's, and my dear niece's. Not a day or night
but I visit your calm retreat, look at my own deserted
habitation, and recollect past endearments
with a melancholy composure, and really am so
vain as to commiserate you on account of the vacuity
I fancy my absence occasions.

"We are so formed," says an ingenious writer,
"as to be always pleased with somewhat in prospect,
however distant, or however trivial." Thus do I
gratify myself with the idea of returning to my native
land, though the prospect is distant. "Pleasures,"
says Pope, "are ever in our hands or
eyes." I have lost part of the other line, but
the idea is, that, if we are not in the present possession
of them, they rise to us in prospect.[3] I
will now tell you where I am sitting. At a square
table in the great cabin, at one corner of which are
Colonel Norton and Mr. Foster, engaged in playing
backgammon; at the other, Mr. Green, writing;
and at the fourth, Dr. Clark, eating ham. Behind
Colonel Norton, Mr. Spear, reading Thomson's
"Seasons" with his hat on. Young Lawrence behind

me, reading Anson's "Voyages;" Esther,[4]
knitting; the steward and boys, bustling about after
wine and porter; and last of all, as the least importantly
employed, Mrs. Adams and Abby, in their
cabin asleep, and this at twelve o'clock in the day.
O shame! The Captain comes down and finds me
writing; kindly tenders me some large paper to
write upon; I believe he thinks I shall have occasion
for it. This man has a kindness in his disposition,
which his countenance does not promise. Mr. Green
comes down from deck, and reports that the mate
says we are sixteen hundred miles on our way. This
is good nearing; I can scarcely realize myself upon
the ocean, or that I am within fourteen hundred
miles of the British coast. I rejoice with trembling;
painful and fearful ideas will arise and intermix with
the pleasurable hopes of a joyful meeting of my long
absent friend. I frequently recollect some lines of
Miss More's, in her "Sir Eldred of the Bower,"
describing a mixture of hope and anxiety. She
says;

I shall write, whilst I am on board, whenever I can
catch a quiet time. It is an amusement to me; reading
tires one; work I do sometimes, but, when there

is no writing, there is less pleasure in working; I
shall keep the letter open until I arrive, and put it on
board the first vessel I find coming to America.
'T is impossible for me to find any variety at sea
to entertain my friends with, so that this letter with
all its inaccuracies must be submitted to them. Do
not however expose me, especially where I have a
little credit; you know very well that affection and
intimacy will cover a multitude of faults.

If I did not write every day, I should lose the
days of the month and of the week; confined all day
on account of the weather, which is foggy, misty, and
wet. You can hardly judge how irksome this confinement
is. When the whole ship is at our service,
it is little better than a prison. We suppose ourselves
near the Western Islands. O dear variety!
how pleasing to the human mind is change. I cannot
find such a fund of entertainment within myself
as not to require outward objects for my amusement.
Nature abounds with variety, and the mind, unless
fixed down by habit, delights in contemplating new
objects, and the variety of scenes which present
themselves to the senses were certainly designed to
prevent our attention from being too long fixed upon
any one object. "This," says a late celebrated
medical writer, "greatly conduces to the health of
the animal frame; your studious people and your
deep thinkers," he observes, "seldom enjoy either
health or spirits."

I have been in much trouble, upon looking over my
letters since I came on board, to find those given me
by my friend, Mrs. Warren, missing. I cannot account
for it in any other way, than that I must have
put them into the pocket of the chaise, when I received
them, which I recollect; and I did not think
to take them out. You remember the day with all
the circumstances, and will accordingly apologize to
our friend, whose goodness, I know, will pardon the
omission, nor add to my mortification by charging it
to inattention.

Another wet, drizzly day, but we must not complain,
for we have a fair wind, our sails all square,
and go at seven knots an hour. I have made a great
acquisition. I have learnt the names and places of
all the masts and sails; and the Captain compliments
me by telling me that he is sure I know well enough
how to steer, to take a turn at the helm. I may do
pretty well in fair weather, but't is your masculine
spirits that are made for storms. I love the tranquil
scenes of life. Nor can I look forward to those in
which 't is probable I shall soon be engaged with
those pleasurable ideas, which a retrospect of the past
presents to my mind.

I went last evening upon deck, at the invitation of
Mr. Foster, to view that phenomenon of Nature, a
blazing ocean. A light flame spreads over the ocean,
in appearance, with thousands of thousands of sparkling

gems, resembling our fire-flies in a dark night.
It has a most beautiful appearance. I never view the
ocean without being filled with ideas of the sublime,
and am ready to break forth with the Psalmist,
"Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God
Almighty; in wisdom hast thou made them all."

Yesterday was a very pleasant day. Very little
wind, but a fine sun and a smooth sea. I spent most
of the day upon deck, reading; it was not, however,
so warm but a baize gown was very comfortable.
The ship has gradually become less irksome to me.
If our cook was but tolerably clean, I could relish
my food. But he is a great, dirty, lazy negro, with
no more knowledge of cookery than a savage, nor
any kind of order in the distribution of his dishes;
but on they come, higgledy-piggledy, with a leg of
pork all bristly; a quarter of an hour after, a pudding;
or, perhaps, a pair of roast fowls, first of all,
and then will follow one by one a piece of beef,
and, when dinner is nearly completed, a plate of
potatoes. Such a fellow is a real imposition upon
the passengers. But gentlemen know but little
about the matter, and, if they can get enough to eat
five times a day, all goes well. We ladies have not
eaten, upon our whole passage, more than just
enough to satisfy nature, or to keep body and soul
together.

On Sunday, I wrote part of a letter to sister Shaw,
since which I have not used my pen, even in my
journal. Monday we had a fair wind, but too much
to be able to write, as it was right aft, and we pitched
exceedingly, which is a motion more disagreeable
to me than the rocking, though less fatiguing. On
Tuesday a calm. Should you not suppose that in a
calm we at least had the satisfaction of lying still?
Alas! it is far otherwise, as my flesh and bones
witness; a calm generally succeeds a storm or a
fresh breeze; the sea has a great swell after the
wind is silent, so that the ship lies entirely at the
mercy of the waves, and is knocked from side to side
with a force you can form no idea of without experience.
I have been more wearied and worn out
with the motion and exercise of a calm than in riding
fifty miles in a day. We have had three days
in succession nearly calm; the first is the most
troublesome, as the motion of the sea subsides in a
degree. It is, however, a great trial of one's patience,
to think yourself within a few days of your
desired port, to look at it as the promised land, and
yet to be held fast;

I begin to think, that a calm is not desirable in any
situation in life. Every object is most beautiful in
motion; a ship under sail, trees gently agitated with

the wind, and a fine woman dancing, are three instances
in point. Man was made for action and for
bustle too, I believe. I am quite out of conceit with
calms. I have more reason for it, too, than many
others, for the dampness of the ship has for several
days threatened me with the rheumatism: and yesterday
morning I was seized with it in good earnest.
I could not raise my head, nor get out of bed without
assistance. I had a good deal of fever, and was
very sick. I was fearful of this before I came to
sea, and had proper medicine put up, which the
doctor administered. What with that, good nursing
and rubbing, flannel, &c., I am able to-day to sit up
in my bed and write, as you see. To-day we have
a small wind, but 't is right ahead. This is still
mortifying, but what we had reason to expect. Patience,
patience, patience, is the first, second, and
third virtue of a seaman, or, rather, as necessary to
him as to a statesman. Three days' good wind
would give us land.

We have another wet, misty day; the cabin so
damp that I dare not sit in it; I am therefore
obliged, confined as it is, to keep in my own little
room, and upon my bed. I long for the day which
will give us land. Esther makes but a poor hand
at sea. Scarcely a day, but what she is sick some
part of it. I hope she will be the better for it when
she gets on shore. We have but one passenger

whom we should have been willing to have been
without. I have no particular reason to dislike
him, as he is studiously complaisant to me; but
I know his politeness to me is not personally
upon my own account, but because of my connexion,
which gives me importance sufficient to
entitle me to his notice. Abby says he is exactly
such a character as Mr. A—. I really think
there is a striking resemblance. He was always
inquiring, "Who was such a general? What was
his origin and rank in life?" I have felt a disposition
to quarrel with him several times, but have
restrained myself, and only observed to him, mildly,
that merit, not title, gave a man preëminence in
our country; that I did not doubt it was a mortifying
circumstance to the British nobility to find themselves
so often conquered by mechanics and mere
husbandmen; but that we esteemed it our glory to
draw such characters not only into the field, but into
the Senate; and I believed no one would deny that
they had shone in both. All our passengers enjoyed
this conversation, and the gentleman was civil enough
to drop the subject; but the venom spits out very
often; yet the creature is sensible and entertaining
when upon indifferent subjects. He is a haughty
Scotchman; he hates the French, and upon all occasions
ridicules them and their country. I fancy,
from his haughty airs, that his own rank in life has
not been superior to those whom he affects to despise.
He is not a man of liberal sentiments, and is
less beloved than any passenger we have on board.
A man's humor contributes much to the making him
agreeable or otherwise. Dark and sour humors,
especially those which have a spice of malevolence
in them, are vastly disagreeable. Such men have
no music in their souls. I believe he would hardly
be so complaisant, if he knew how meanly I thought
of him; but he deserves it all; his whole countenance
shows his heart.

Give me joy, my dear sister; we have sounded today
and found bottom, fifty-five fathom. We have
seen, through the course of the day, twenty different
sail, and spoke with a small boat upon a smuggling
expedition, which assured us we were within the
Channel.

This day four weeks we came on board. Are
you not all calculating to-day that we are near the
land? Happily, you are not wrong in your conjectures.
I do not despair of seeing it yet before night,
though our wind is very small and light. The
captain has just been down to advise us, as the vessel
is so quiet, to get what things we wish to carry
on shore into our small trunks. He hopes to land
us at Portsmouth, seventy miles distant from London,
to-morrow or next day; from thence we are to
proceed, in post-chaises, to London. The ship may

be a week in the Channel before she will be able to
get up.

Heaven be praised, I have safely landed upon the
British coast. How flattering, how smooth the ocean,
how delightful was Sunday, the 18th of July. We
flattered ourselves with the prospect of a gentle
breeze to carry us on shore at Portsmouth, where
we agreed to land, as going up the Channel always
proves tedious; but on Sunday night the wind shifted
to the southwest, which, upon this coast, is the same
with our northeast winds. It blew a gale on Sunday
night, on Monday and Monday night, equal to
an equinoctial. We were obliged to carry double-reefed
topsails only, and what added to our misfortunes
was, that, though we had made land the day
before, it was so thick that we could not certainly
determine what land it was. It is now Tuesday,
and I have slept only four hours since Saturday
night, such was the tossing and tumbling on board
our ship. The captain never left the deck the
whole time, either to eat or sleep, though they told
me there was no danger; nor do I suppose that
there really was any, as we had sea-room enough.
Yet, the great number of vessels constantly coming
out of the Channel, and the apprehension of
being run down, or being nearer the land than
we imagined, kept me constantly agitated. Added
to this, I bad a violent sick headache. O! what

would I have given to have been quiet upon the
land. You will hardly wonder, then, at the joy we
felt this day in seeing the cliffs of Dover, Dover
castle, and town. The wind was in some measure
subsided. It rained, however, and was as squally
as the month of March; the sea ran very high; a
pilot-boat came on board at about ten o'clock this
morning. The captain came to anchor with his
ship in the Downs, and the little town of Deal lay
before us. Some of the gentlemen talked of going
on shore with the pilot-boat, and sending for us if
the wind subsided. The boat was about as large as
a Charlestown ferry-boat, and the distance from the
ship about twice as far as from Boston to Charlestown;
a shore as bold as Nantasket beach; no
wharf, but you must be run right on shore by a
wave, where a number of men stand to catch hold
of the boat, and draw it up. The surf ran six feet
high, but this we did not know until driven on by a
wave; for the pilots, eager to get money, assured
the gentlemen they could land us safe, without our
being wet; and, as we saw no prospect of its being
better through the day, we accordingly agreed to go.
We were wrapped up and lowered from the ship
into the boat; the whole ship's crew eager to assist
us; the gentlemen attentive and kind as though we
were all brothers and sisters. We have spent a
month together, and were as happy as the sea would
permit us to be. We set off from the vessel, now
mounting upon the top of a wave high as a steeple,
and then so low that the boat was not to be seen.
I could keep myself up no other way than as one of
the gentlemen stood braced up against the boat, fast
hold of me, and I with both my arms round him;
the other ladies were held in the same manner,
whilst every wave gave us a broadside, and finally a
wave landed us with the utmost force upon the
beach, the broadside of the boat right against the
shore, which was owing to the bad management of
the men, and the high sea.

(Thus far I had proceeded in my account, when a
summons to tea prevented my adding more; since
which I have not been able to take my pen. Though
now, at my lodgings in London, I will take up the
thread where I left it, until the whole ball is unwound.
Every particular will be interesting to my
friends, I presume, and to no others expose this incorrect
scrawl.)

We consequently all pressed upon the side next
the shore, to get out as quick as possible, which we
need not have done, if we had known what I afterwards
found to be the case, that it was the only way
in which we could be landed, and not, as I at first
supposed, owing to the bad management of the
boatmen. We should have sat still for a succession
of waves to have carried us up higher, but the roar
of them terrified us all, and we expected the next
would fill our boat; so out we sprang, as fast as
possible, sinking every step into the sand, and looking
like a parcel of Naiads, just rising from the sea.
A public house was fortunately just at hand, into
which we thankfully entered, changed our clothing,

dried ourselves, and, not being able to procure carriages
that day, we engaged them for six o'clock the
next morning, and took lodgings there, all of us, ten
in number. Mr. Green set off immediately for London;
nobody mourned. We were all glad to retire
early to rest. For myself, I was so faint and fatigued,
that I could get but little. We rose at five,
and, our post-chaises being all at the door, we set
off, in the following order; Mr. Foster, myself, and
Esther, in one, Dr. Clark and Abby in the second,
Colonel Norton, Mrs. Adams and brother, in the
third, and Mr. Spear and Lieutenant Mellicot brought
up the rear. Our first stage was eighteen miles, from
Deal to Canterbury, where we breakfasted; the
roads are fine, and a stone a novelty; I do not recollect
to have seen one, except the pavements of
Canterbury and other towns, from Deal to London,
which is seventy-two miles. Vast fields of wheat,
oats, English beans, and the horse-bean, with hops,
are the produce of the country through which we
passed, which is cultivated like a garden down to
the very edge of the road, and what surprised me
was that very little was enclosed within fences.
Hedge fences are almost the only kind you see; no
cattle at large without a herdsman; the oxen are
small, but the cows and sheep very large, such as I
never saw before. When we arrive at the end of
our stage, we discharge the first carriages, and call
for new ones, which will be ready in a few moments
after you issue your orders. Call for breakfast, you
have it, perhaps, in ten minutes for ten people, with
the best of attendance, and at a reasonable price.
Canterbury is a larger town than Boston. It contains
a number of old Gothic cathedrals, which are
all of stone, very heavy, with but few windows,
which are grated with large bars of iron, and look
more like jails for criminals, than places designed
for the worship of the Deity. One would suppose,
from the manner in which they are guarded, that
they apprehended devotion would be stolen. They
have a most gloomy appearance, and really made
me shudder. The houses, too, have a heavy look,
being chiefly thatched roofs, or covered with crooked
brick tiles. Now and then you would see upon the
road a large wood, looking like a forest, for a whole
mile, enclosed with a high brick wall, or cemented
stone; an enormous iron gate would give one a peep,
as we passed, of a large pile of building, which
looked like the castles of some of the ancient
barons; but, as we were strangers in the country,
we could only conjecture what they were, and what
they might have been. We proceeded from Canterbury
to Rochester, about fifteen miles, another
pretty town, not so large as the former. From
thence to Chatham, where we stopped at a very
elegant inn to dine. As soon as you drive into the
yard, you have at these places as many footmen
round you as you have carriages, who, with their
politest airs, take down the step of your carriage,
assist you out, inquire if you want fresh horses or
carriages; "Will supply you directly, Sir," is the answer;
a well-dressed hostess steps forward, making
a lady-like appearance, and wishes your commands;
if you desire a chamber, the chambermaid attends;
you request dinner, say in half an hour; the bill of
fare is directly brought; you mark what you wish to
have, and suppose it to be a variety of fish, fowl, and
meat, all of which we had, up to eight different
dishes, besides vegetables. The moment the time
you stated is out, you will have your dinner upon
table in as elegant a style as at any gentleman's
table, with your powdered waiters, and the master
or mistress always brings the first dish upon table
in person. But you must know that travelling in a
post-chaise is what entitles you to all this respect.

From Chatham we proceeded on our way as fast
as possible, wishing to pass Blackheath before dark.
Upon this road, a gentleman alone in a chaise passed
us, and very soon a coach before us stopped, and
there was a hue and cry, "A robbery, a robbery!"
The man in the chaise was the person robbed, and
this in open day with carriages constantly passing.
We were not a little alarmed, and every one was
concealing his money. Every place we passed and
every post-chaise we met was crying out, "A robbery!"
Where the thing is so common, I was surprised
to see such an alarm. The robber was pursued
and taken in about two miles, and we saw the poor
wretch, ghastly and horrible, brought along on foot;
his horse ridden by a person who took him, who also
had his pistol. He looked like a youth of twenty
only, attempted to lift his hat, and looked despair.
You can form some idea of my feelings when they

told him, "Ay, you have but a short time; the assize
sits next month; and then, my lad, you swing."
Though every robber may deserve death, yet to exult
over the wretched is what our country is not
accustomed to. Long may it be free from such
villanies, and long may it preserve a commiseration
for the wretched.

We proceeded, until at about eight o'clock I
was set down at Low's Hotel in Covent Garden,
the Court end of the town. These lodgings I took
only for one night, until others more private could be
procured. As I found Mr. Adams was not here,
I did not wish such expensive apartments. It was
the hotel at which he kept, when he resided here.
Mr. Spear set out in quest of Mr. Smith; but he
had received intelligence of my coming out with
Captain Lyde, and had been in quest of me but
half an hour before at this very place. Mr. Spear
was obliged to go first to the custom-house, and,
as good fortune would have it, Mr. Smith and Mr.
Storer were near it and saw him alight from the
coach, upon which he informed them of my arrival.
Though a mile distant, they set out upon a
full run, (they say,) and very soon, to our mutual
satisfaction, we met in the hotel. "How do you?"
and "How do ye?" "We rejoice to see you here;"
and a thousand such kind of inquiries as take place
between friends, who have not seen each other for a
long time, naturally occurred. My first inquiry was
for Mr. Adams. I found that my son had been a
month waiting for my arrival in London, expecting

me with Callaghan, but that, upon getting letters by
him, he returned to the Hague. Mr. Smith had received
a letter from his father, acquainting him that
I had taken passage with Captain Lyde. This intelligence
be forwarded three days before I came, so that
I hourly expect either Mr. Adams or Master John. I
should have mentioned, that Mr. Smith had engaged
lodgings for me, to which Mr. Storer and he accompanied
me this morning, after paying a guinea and a
half for tea last evening, and lodging and breakfast, a
coach included, not however to carry me a greater
distance than from your house to our own. The gentlemen
all took less expensive lodgings than mine,
excepting Dr. Clark, who tarried with us. He said
he would not quit us until we were fixed in our
present hotel; the direction to which is "Osborne's
New Family Hotel, Adelphi, at Mrs. Sheffield's,
No. 6" Here we have a handsome drawing-room,
genteelly furnished, and a large lodging-room. We
are furnished with a cook, chambermaid, waiter, &c.,
for three guineas a week; but in this is not included
a mouthful of victuals or drink, all of which is to be
paid for separately.

I have little time for writing now, I have so
many visiters. I hardly know how to think myself
out of my own country, I see so many Americans
about me. The first persons who called to see me

after my arrival here, were Mr. Jackson, Mr. Winslow
Warren, Mr. Rogers, Mr. Ward Boylston, Mrs.
Atkinson, and yesterday morning before I had breakfasted,
(for the fashionable hours of the city had
taken hold of me, not out of choice but necessity;
Miss A. having a hairdresser. I had directed breakfast
at nine o'clock; it was ten, however, but those
were early visiting hours for this fine city, yet,) whilst
I was breakfasting, who should be announced to me
but Parson Walter and Mrs. Hallowell?[5] both appeared
very glad to see me. Mrs. Hallowell treated
me with her old affability and engaged me to dine
with her to-day; "not," says she, "to a feast, for
we make none; but to an unceremonious family
dinner. Luxury," says she, "is the mode, but we
know, too, how to practise frugality and economy."

I am not a little surprised to find dress, unless
upon public occasions, so little regarded here. The
gentlemen are very plainly dressed, and the ladies
much less so than with us. 'T is true, you must put
a hoop on and have your hair dressed, but a common
straw hat, no cap, with only a ribbon upon the crown,
is thought dress sufficient to go into company. Muslins
are much in taste; no silks but lutestrings worn;
but send not to London for any article you want;
you may purchase any thing you can name much
lower in Boston. I went yesterday into Cheapside
to purchase a few articles, but found every thing

higher than in Boston. Silks are in a particular
manner so; they say, when they are exported, there
is a drawback upon them which makes them lower
with us. Our country, alas, our country! they are
extravagant to astonishment in entertainments compared
with what Mr. Smith and Mr. Storer tell me
of this. You will not find at a gentleman's table
more than two dishes of meat, though invited
several days beforehand. Mrs. Atkinson went out
with me yesterday, and Mrs. Hay, to the shops. I
returned and dined with Mrs. Atkinson, by her invitation
the evening before, in company with Mr.
Smith, Mrs. Hay, Mr. Appleton. We had a turbot,
a soup, and a roast leg of lamb, with a cherry pie.
I was more gratified by the social, friendly style in
which I was treated, than if a sumptuous feast had
been set before me. Mr. Gorham, a Dr. Parker, Mr.
Bromfield, and a Mr. Murray from the Hague, came
to see me yesterday morning; and, when I returned
last evening, I found cards left by a number of gentlemen,
some of whom I knew, others I did not; but,
knowing Mr. Adams, and being Americans, they
called to make their compliments. Prentice Cushing
I met with yesterday at Mr. A.'s. I am going to-day
to see Mr. Copley's pictures. I am told he has an excellent
likeness of Mr. Adams. Mr. Murray informed
me, that he left Mr. Adams last Friday excessively
anxious for my arrival. He had removed Mr. Dumas
and family in expectation of my coming. He
says, John, with whom he went to the Hague, was
melancholy when Callaghan arrived without me, and
Mr. Adams more so. I have sent to-day by the post,
to acquaint him with my being here, but hope every
hour to see him or Master John.

The wind has prevented the arrival of the post.
The city of London is pleasanter than I expected;
the buildings more regular, the streets much wider,
and more sunshine than I thought to have found;
but this, they tell me, is the pleasantest season to
be in the city. At my lodgings I am as quiet as at
any place in Boston; nor do I feel as if it could be
any other place than Boston. Dr. Clark visits us
every day; says he cannot feel at home anywhere
else; declares he has not seen a handsome woman
since he came into the city; that every old woman
looks like Mrs. H—, and every young one like—
like the D—l. They paint here nearly as much
as in France, but with more art. The head-dress
disfigures them in the eye of an American. I have
seen many ladies, but not one elegant one since I
came; there is not to me that neatness in their appearance,
which you see in our ladies.

The American ladies are much admired here by
the gentlemen, I am told, and in truth I wonder not
at it. O, my country, my country! preserve, preserve
the little purity and simplicity of manners you
yet possess. Believe me, they are jewels of inestimable
value; the softness, peculiarly characteristic
of our sex, and which is so pleasing to the gentlemen,
is wholly laid aside here for the masculine
attire and manners of Amazonians.

This moment a very polite card is delivered me

from Mrs. Hallowell, desiring me to remove my
lodgings to her house whilst I continue in London;
to which I have replied, with thanks, excusing myself,
that I am very well accommodated, and in
hourly expectation of my son; not the less obliged,
however, by her politeness. Mr. Elworthy I have
not yet seen, though I have had several messages
from him. This is not owing to inattention in him,
but to being informed that every thing was done for
me before my arrival, which I stood in need of. Our
ship is not yet got up the Channel; what a time we
should have had of it, if we had not landed. Mr.
Smith expects to sail on Monday or Tuesday; I shall
keep open this letter until he goes; let sister Shaw
see it, and read such parts as you think proper to
the rest of our friends; but do not let it go out of
your hands. I shall not have time to write to the
rest of my friends; they must not think hardly of
me; I could only repeat what I have here written,
and I think it is best to have the whole budget together;
besides, Abby writes to all her acquaintance,
which must answer for me. Remember me
to them all; first, to my dear and aged parent,[6] to
whom present my duty; to Dr. Tufts, to my aunt,
to uncle Quincy, to Mr. Wibird, to all my friends
and neighbours.

I went yesterday, accompanied by Mr. Storer and
Mr. Smith, to Mr. Copley's, to see Mr. Adams's
picture.[7] This, I am told, was taken at the request
of Mr. Copley, and belongs to him. It is a full-length
picture, very large, and a very good likeness.
Before him stands the globe; in his hand a map of
Europe; at a small distance, two female figures,
representing Peace and Innocence. It is a most
beautiful painting. From thence, we went to what
is called Mr. Copley's exhibition. Here is the
celebrated picture, representing the death of Lord
Chatham in the House of Commons; his three sons
around him, each with strong expressions of grief
and agitation in his countenance. Every member
is crowding around him with a mixture of surprise and
distress. I saw in this picture, what I have every day
noticed since I came here, a strong likeness of some
American or other; and I can scarcely persuade
myself that I have not seen this person, that, and the
other, before, their countenances appear so familiar
to me, and so strongly mark our own descent.
There was another painting, which struck me more
than this. It is the death of Major Pierson, the particular
account of which I enclose to you. I never
saw painting more expressive than this. I looked
upon it until I was faint; you can scarcely believe
but you hear the groans of the sergeant, who is

wounded, and holding the handkerchief to his side,
whilst the blood streams over his hand. Grief, despair,
and terror are strongly marked, whilst he
grows pale and faint with loss of blood. The officers
are holding Major Pierson in their arms, who is
mortally wounded, and the black servant has levelled
his piece at the officer who killed him. The
distress in the countenances of the women, who are
flying, one of whom has a baby in her arms, is
beautifully represented; but descriptions of these
things give you but a faint resemblance of what in
reality they are.

From thence I went to see the celebrated Mrs.
Wright, Messrs. Storer and Smith accompanying
us. Upon my entrance, (my name being sent
up,) she ran to the door, and caught me by the
hand; "Why, is it really and in truth Mrs.
Adams? and that your daughter? Why, you dear
soul you, how young you look. Well, I am glad to
see you. All of you Americans? Well, I must kiss
you all." Having passed the ceremony upon me
and Abby, she runs to the gentlemen. "I make no
distinction," says she, and gave them a hearty buss;
from which we would all rather have been excused,
for her appearance is quite the slattern. "I love
everybody that comes from America," says she;
"here," running to her desk, "is a card I had from
Mr. Adams; I am quite proud of it; he came to see
me, and made me a noble present. Dear creature,
I design to have his head. There," says she, pointing
to an old man and woman, who were sitting in

one corner of the room, "are my old father and
mother; don't be ashamed of them because they
look so. They were good folks;" (these were their
figures in wax-work;) "they turned Quakers, and
never would let their children eat meat, and that is
the reason we were all so ingenious; you had heard
of the ingenious Mrs. Wright in America, I suppose?"
In this manner she ran on for half an hour.
Her person and countenance resemble an old maiden
in your neighbourhood, Nelly Penniman, except that
one is neat, the other the queen of sluts, and her
tongue runs like Unity Badlam's. There was an
old clergyman sitting reading a paper in the middle
of the room; and, though I went prepared to see
strong representations of real life, I was effectually
deceived in this figure for ten minutes, and was
finally told that it was only wax. From Mrs.
Wright's I returned to my hotel, dressed, and at four
went to dine with Mrs. Hallowell. Mr. H. had in the
morning been to see me, and Mr. Thomas Boylston,
both of whom urged me to take up my lodgings
with Mrs. Hallowell. I chose to decline, but went
and dined with them. Here I found Parson Walter.
We had a handsome dinner of salt fish, pea soup,
boiled fowl and tongue, roast and fried lamb, with a
pudding and fruit. This was a little in the Boston
style. Messrs. Smith and Storer dined with us. Mr.
Hallowell lives handsomely, but not in that splendor
which he did in Boston.[8] On Sunday, I engaged to
take a coach for the day, which is only twelve-and-sixpence
sterling, and go to church at the Foundling
Hospital. Messrs. Atkinson, Smith, and Storer with
me.

Well, my dear sister, if you are not tired with
following me, I will carry you to the Foundling
Hospital, where I attended divine service yesterday
morning. Really glad I was that I could, after so
long an absence, again tread the courts of the Most
High, and I hope I felt not unthankful for the mercies
I had received.

This hospital is a large, elegant building, situated
in a spot as airy, and much more beautiful than
Boston Common. The chapel, which is upon the
second floor, is as large as what is called the Old
South with us. There is one row of galleries; upon
the floor of this chapel there are rows of seats like
Concert Hall, and the pulpit is a small ornamented
box, near the centre. There were about two thousand
persons, as near as I could guess, who attended.
In the gallery, opposite to where I sat, was the
organ loft; upon each side an alcove, with seats,
which run up like a pyramid. Here the foundlings
sat, upon one side the boys, upon the other the girls,
all in uniform; none appeared under five, nor any
older than twelve. About three hundred attended
the service. The uniform of the boys was a brown
cloth, with a red collar, and a red stripe upon the

shoulder. The girls were in brown, with a red girdle
round the waist, a checked stomacher and apron;
sleeves turned up, and white cloth caps with a
narrow lace, clean and neat as wax; their governesses
attended with them. They performed the
vocal music; one man and woman upon each side
the organ, who sung an anthem; both blind, and
educated at this foundling hospital. When we came
down, we went into the dining-rooms, which were
upon each side of the ascent into the chapel; here
the tables were all arranged, and the little creatures
curtseying and smiling; some as sweet children as
ever you saw. There is an inscription over the
door, in gold letters; "Can a mother forget her sucking
child," &c. In a hall are placed the pictures
of many noted benefactors and founders of this institution.
(I should have mentioned that the chapel
windows are painted glass; the arms and names of
the most distinguished benefactors are in the different
squares of the glass.) We were shown into
their bed-chambers, which are long, airy chambers,
with ten or fifteen windows in each, and about fifty
or sixty beds, placed in rows upon each side, covered
with blue and white furniture check. At the
head of the chamber is a bed for the governess.
When you have seen one of them, you have a specimen
of the whole.

I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson, in company
with Messrs. Jackson, Smith, &c. Mr. Atkinson is a
very modest, worthy man, and Mrs. Atkinson a most
amiable woman. You see no parade, no ceremony.

I am treated with all the kindness of a sister, in as
easy a way as I could wish. As I took the carriage
for the day, after forenoon service, we rode out to
see Mrs. Atkinson's twins, who are at nurse at
Islington, about two miles from the city. It is a
fine ride. We went through a number of the great
squares. Portland Square is one of the finest. In
short, the representations, which you and I amused
ourselves with looking at not long ago, are very
near the life. When we returned, we dined, and at
six o'clock went to the Magdalen Hospital, which is
three miles from where I dined; for this is a monstrous
great city. We were admitted with a ticket.
This assembly was very full and crowded. Yet no
children or servants are admitted. In short, I begin
to hope that this people are more serious and religious
than I feared they were. There is great
decorum and decency observed. Here are only
two small galleries, which hold the unhappy beings
who are the subjects of this merciful institution.
Those who attend the service are placed upon seats
below, like Concert Hall. The building is about as
large again as Braintree church, in a most delightful
situation, surrounded by weeping willows. All
the public buildings here have large open spaces
around them, except those churches which are in
the heart of the city. I observed, upon going in, a
gallery before me, raised very high, and covered
with green canvass. Here sat these unhappy
women, screened from public view. You can discern
them through the canvass, but not enough to
distinguish countenances. I admired the delicacy
of this thought. The singing was all performed by
these females, accompanied with the organ; the
melancholy melody of their voices, the solemn
sound of the organ, the serious and affecting discourse
of the preacher, together with the humiliating
objects before me, drew tears from my eyes.
The chapel to these apartments is always in the
heart of the building; the dining, working, and
lodging apartments surround them.

Returned about eight o'clock; found many cards
left for me; some from Virginians, some from
Marylanders, some from Connecticut. Colonel
Trumbull has called twice upon me, but I was so
unfortunate as not to be at home. Amongst the
Americans who called yesterday to see me during
my absence, was Mr. Joy. He left his name and
direction, with a polite billet, inviting me to dine
with him on Tuesday, if I was not engaged; and, if
I was, the first day I was disengaged. I have replied
to him that I will wait upon him on Wednesday.
Invited by Mr. Murray to the play this
evening; declined going, in hopes my best friend
will be here to attend me very soon; besides, have
no clothes yet which will do. No mail from Holland
yet arrived; the wind has been so contrary
that two are now due. Dr. Clark, our constant and
daily visiter, is just come in to drink tea with me.
Messrs. Smith and Storer are here great part of the
day. Captain Lyde did not get up the Channel
until Sunday, so that I have no occasion to repent

landing when I did; contrary winds and bad weather
prevented his coming up only with the tide; his
vessel, too, had like to have been sunk by a collier
running foul of him. They did him a good
deal of damage; these are vessels that take pleasure
in injuring others. He told me many dismal
stories about coming up the Channel, which made
me determined to land at any rate.

On Saturday, Mr. Elworthy called upon me, and
tendered me any service I could wish for. I thanked
him, but Messrs. Smith and Storer and Dr. Clark
render any other assistance unnecessary, as any
and all of them are ready and willing to oblige me.
On Sunday morning, Mr. and Mrs. Elworthy came
to see me. She is a very agreeable woman, and looks
like one of us, that is, she had more of our American
neatness about her than any lady I have seen;
for I am yet so impolite as not to be reconciled to
the jaunty appearance and the elegant stoop. There
is a rage of fashion which prevails here with despotic
sway; the color and kind of silk must be attended
to, and the day for putting it on and off; no fancy
to be exercised, but it is the fashion, and that is argument
sufficient to put one in or out of countenance.
I am coming on half-way. I breakfast at nine, and
dine at three, when at home; but I rise at six. I am
not obliged to conform in that; the other hours I am
forced to submit to, upon account of company. This
morning, Dr. Clark and Colonel Trumbull are to
breakfast with me. I long for the hour, when I shall
set off for the Hague, or see Mr. Adams here. I

meet with so many acquaintances, that I shall feel
loth to quit the city upon that account. There
are no Americans in Holland, and the language will
prevent any sociability but what I find in my own
family; but, having a house, garden, and servants
at command, feeling at home will in some measure
compensate for the rest. I have a journey of eighty
miles to make, to Margate, before I can embark;
and, as soon as Mr. Jefferson arrives, I suppose we
must go to France. I have not executed your orders
with regard to satin, because, upon inquiry, I find
you can buy cheaper with you. I have not found
any thing, except shoes, that are lower; such a satin
as my black, you must give as much sterling for a
yard, as I gave lawful money;—no silks but lute-string,
and those which are thinner, are worn at this
season;—mode cloaks, muslin and sarsnet,—gauze
hats, bonnets, and ribbons,—every thing as light
and thin as possible,—different gowns and skirts,—
muslin skirts, flounced chintz, with borders white,
with a trimming that looks like gartering;—the silk,
which is most in taste, is what is called "new-mown
hay,"—the pattern I enclose; and this part of the
letter is for the tasty folks of my acquaintance. Mr.
Smith brings home a specimen of the newest fashioned
hats.

Determined to tarry at home to-day, and see company.
Mr. Joy came in and spent an hour. He is

the same pleasing man you formerly knew him;
that bashful diffidence is supplied by manly confidence,
and acquaintance with the world has given
ease and politeness to his manners. He really is
quite the accomplished gentleman, bears a very good
character, has made a great deal of money, and
married a Yorkshire lady of handsome fortune
about three months since. He again repeated his
invitation to me to dine with him, accompanied by
Mr. Smith. To-morrow, I go. Many gentlemen
have called upon me this forenoon, so that I have
only time to dress before dinner, which I order at an
earlier hour than the London fashion. At three is
my hour, and breakfast at nine. I cannot dine
earlier, because from nine till three I am subject
to company. From the hours of three till five and
six, I am generally alone, or only Mr. Smith, or Mr.
Storer here, to whom I am never denied. The servant
will frequently come and ask me if I am at
home.

I have walked out to-day, for the first time, and a
jaunt Mr. Storer has led me. I shall not get the
better of it for a week. The walking is very easy
here, the sides of the street being wholly of flat
stones; and the London ladies walk a great deal, and
very fast. My walk out and in was only four miles;
judge you then, what an effect it had upon me. I
was engaged to dine out. I got home at one, but

was obliged to lie upon the bed an hour, and have
not recovered from it yet.

At four, I was obliged to go out. Mr. Joy lives
three miles from where I lodge. The house in which
he lives is very elegant, not large, but an air of taste
and neatness is seen in every apartment. We were
shown into the drawing-room, where he awaited us
at the door, and introduced us to his lady and her
sister. She is quite young, delicate as a lily, modest
and diffident, not a London lady by any means.
After we had dined, which was in company with
five American gentlemen, we retired to the drawing-room,
and there I talked off the lady's reserve, and
she appeared agreeable. Her dress pleased me,
and answered to the universal neatness of the apartments,
furniture, and entertainment. It was a delicate
blue and white copper-plate calico, with a blue
lute-string skirt, flounced; a muslin apron and handkerchief,
which are much more worn than gauze;
her hair, a fine black, dressed without powder, with
a fashionable cap, and straw ribbons upon her head
and breast, with a green morocco slipper. Our dinner
consisted of fried fish of a small kind, a boiled
ham, a fillet of veal, a pair of roast ducks, an almond
pudding, currants and gooseberries, which in
this country are very fine. Painted muslin is much
worn here; a straw hat with a deep crown, lined,
and a white, green, or any colored ribbon you choose.
I returned, and found a number of cards left by
gentlemen who had called during my absence. Tomorrow
I am invited to dine again with Mr. Atkinson

and lady. I feel almost ashamed to go again, but,
not being otherwise engaged, they insist upon it. It
is a thanksgiving day for the peace. I design to
hear Mr. Duché, who officiates at the Asylum or
Orphan House.

I found myself so unwell, that I could not venture
to-day into a crowded assembly. My walk yesterday
gave me a pain in my head, and stiffened me so
that I can scarcely move. Abby, too, has the London
cold, which they say every body experiences,
who comes here; but Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson would
not excuse my dining with them, and Charles came
for us. We went and found the same friendly,
hospitable attention,—nothing more on account of
the day,—a neat, pretty dinner, consisting of two
dishes and vegetables. After dinner, returned the
visit of Mr. and Mrs. Elworthy, who were very glad
to see me. Mr. Elworthy carried us to Drapers'
Hall. This is a magnificent building, belonging to
a company of that people, to which is a most
beautiful garden. To walk in some of these places,
you would think yourself in a land of enchantment.
It would just suit my dear Betsy's romantic fancy.
Tell her I design very soon to write to her. It shall
be a description of some pretty scene at the Hague;
and Lucy shall have a Parisian letter; but, writing
to one, I think I am writing to you all.

To-day, my dear sister, I have determined upon
tarrying at home, in hopes of seeing my son
or his papa; but, from a hint dropped by Mr. Murray,
I rather think it will be my son, as political
reasons will prevent Mr. Adams's journey here.
Whilst I am writing, a servant in the family runs
puffing in, as if he were really interested in the matter;
"Young Mr. Adams is come." "Where, where
is he?" we all cried out. "In the other house,
Madam; he stopped to get his hair dressed." Impatient
enough I was; yet, when he entered, we had so
many strangers, that I drew back, not really believing
my eyes, till he cried out, "O, my mamma
and my dear sister!" Nothing but the eyes, at first
sight, appeared what he once was. His appearance
is that of a man, and in his countenance the most
perfect good humor; his conversation by no means
denies his stature. I think you do not approve the
word feelings, but I know not what to substitute in
lieu, or even to describe mine. His sister, he says,
he should have known in any part of the world.

Mr. Adams chooses I should come to the Hague
and travel with him from thence; and says it is the
first journey he ever looked forward to with pleasure,
since he came abroad. I wish to set out on Friday;
but, as we are obliged to purchase a carriage, and
many other matters to do, Master John thinks we
cannot go until the Tuesday after. In the mean
time, I shall visit the curiosities of the city; not

feeling twenty years younger, as my best friend says
he does, but feeling myself exceedingly matronly
with a grown up son on one hand, and daughter
upon the other, and, were I not their mother, I would
say a likelier pair you will seldom see in a summer's
day. You must supply words where you find them
wanting, and imagine what I have left unfinished,
for my letter is swelled to such a bulk that I have
not even time to peruse it. Mr. Smith goes to-morrow
morning, and I must now close, requesting you to
make the distribution of the little matters I send, as
directed. Tell Dr. Tufts, my dear and valued uncle
and friend, that I design to write to him by the next
vessel.

Particularly remember me to uncle Quincy, to
Mrs. Quincy and Nancy, and to all my dear Boston
friends. Tell Mr. Storer, that Charles is very good
to me, and that, walking with Abby, the other day,
she was taken for his wife. Ask him if he consents.
Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson treat me like a sister. I cannot
find myself in a strange land. I shall experience
this, when I get to a country the language of which
I cannot speak. I sincerely wish the treaty might
have been concerted here. I have a partiality for
this country; but, where my treasure is, there shall
my heart go.

I know not when to close; you must write often
to me, and get uncle Smith to cover to Mr. Atkinson;
then, wherever I am, the letters will come safe.

Adieu, once more, my dear sister, and believe me