 | Letters of Mrs. Adams, |  |
"Do you say that Scott has arrived in England?"
said I to my friend, when he returned from
Paris, "and that Messrs. Tracy and Jackson have
received their letters by the post, and that we have
none? How can this be? News, too, of Mr.
Smith's arrival." Thus passed the day, and the
next which followed; but in the evening a letter was
brought for J. Q. A. from London, from Charles
Storer, informing us that he had received sundry
large packets from America; not being able to find
a private conveyance, he had sent them by the new
diligence, lately set up, which passed once a week
in that night, because a servant could not get them.
There was nothing to be done but to wait patiently
until the next morning. As soon as breakfast was
over, the carriage was ordered, and Mr. J. Q. A.
set off for Paris. About two o'clock he returned, and
was met with a "Well; have you found the letters?"
"Yes, he had heard of them, but could
not procure them; they refused to deliver them at
the post-office, because he had carried no proof that
the letters belonged to the family; he might be an
impostor, for aught they knew, and they were answerable
for them; he scolded and fretted, but all
to no purpose; they finally promised to send them
out in the evening to our hotel." O how provoking!
About eight in the evening, however, they
were brought in and safely delivered, to our great
joy. We were all together. Mr. Adams in his
easy-chair upon one side of the table, reading
Plato's Laws; Mrs. A. upon the other, reading Mr.
St. John's "Letters"; Abby, sitting upon the left
hand, in a low chair, in a pensive posture;—enter
J. Q. A. from his own room, with the letters in his
hand, tied and sealed up, as if they were never
to be read; for Charles had put half a dozen new
covers upon them. Mr. A. must cut and undo them
leisurely, each one watching with eagerness. Finally,
the originals were discovered; "Here is one
for you, my dear, and here is another; and here,
Miss Abby, are four, five, upon my word, six, for
you, and more yet for your mamma. Well, I fancy
"Are there none for me, Sir?" says Mr. J. Q. A.,
erecting his head, and walking away a little mortified.
We then began to unseal and read; and a rich
repast we had. Thank you, my dear sister, for
your part of the entertainment. I will not regret
sending my journal, uncouth as I know it was; to
friends, who so nearly interest themselves in the
welfare of each other, every event, as it passes,
becomes an object of their attention. You will
chide me, I suppose, for not relating to you an
event, which took place in London; that of unexpectedly
meeting there my long absent friend; for,
from his letters by my son, I had no idea that he
would come. But you know, my dear sister, that
poets and painters wisely draw a veil over those
scenes, which surpass the pen of the one, and the
pencil of the other. We were, indeed, a very,
very happy family, once more met together, after a
separation of four years. For particular reasons
we remained but one day in England, after the
arrival of Mr. A. We set off on Sunday morning,
as I believe I have before related, in a coach, and
our two servants in a post-chaise. As we travelled
over the same part of the country which I had before
described in my journey up to London, I was
not particular in relating my journey to Dover. We
were about twelve hours in crossing to Calais.
The difference is so great between travelling
through England and through France, that no person
separated only by a few leagues. Their horses,
their carriages, their postilions, their inns! I know
not how to point out the difference, unless you will
suppose yourself a stranger in your own country,
first entertained at Mr. Swan's, then at General
Warren's, and next at Bracket's tavern. Such is
the difference, I assure you. From Calais to Paris
you pass through a number of villages, which have
the most miserable appearance, in general; the
houses of the peasants being chiefly low, thatched
huts, without a single glass window. Their fields
were well cultivated, and we saw everywhere women
and children laboring in them. There is not,
however, that rich luxuriance, which beauteous
England exhibits, nor have they ornamented their
fields with the hedge, which gives England a vast
advantage, in appearance, over this country. The
place most worthy of notice between Calais and
Paris, is Chantilly, where we stopped one day; but,
as I was so much fatigued with my journey, I made
no minute of what I saw there, though richly worth
a particular description. I must, therefore, request
the favor of Mr. J. Q. A. to transcribe a few incorrect
minutes from his journal, which will give you
some idea of what we saw there. I have not a wish
to repeat this journey in the winter season; but I
greatly fear we shall be obliged to do so, as England
does not choose to treat in France. This, however,
you will not mention at present; as I cannot yet
sent to that Court.
This is the twelfth of December; and a severer
snow-storm than the present is seldom seen in our
country at this season. I was pleased at the appearance,
because it looked so American; but the poor
Frenchman will shrug his shoulders.
I feel very loth to part with my son, and shall
miss him more than I can express; but I am convinced
that it will be much for his advantage to spend
one year at Harvard, provided he makes, as I have
no reason to doubt, a suitable improvement of his
time and talents; the latter, the partiality of a mother
would say, no young fellow of his age can boast
superior; yet there are many branches of knowledge
in which he is deficient, and which, I think, he will
be best able to acquire in his own country. I am
sure he will acquire them with more pleasure to himself,
because he will find there companions and
associates. Besides, America is the theatre for a
young fellow who has any ambition to distinguish
himself in knowledge and literature; so that, if his
father consents, I think it not unlikely that you
will see him in the course of next summer. I
hope I shall follow him the next spring. Europe
will have fewer charms for me then, than it has at
present.
I know not how to bid adieu. You did not say a
word of uncle Quincy. How does he do? My
duty to him; tell him, if Mr. A. was in Braintree, he
would walk twice a week to see him. Madam Quincy,
Wibird, who, I think, misses me as much as I do his
friendly visits.
| Letters of Mrs. Adams, | |