The last Letter I wrote you should have gone by the Galen,1 but from being postponed to the last moment, the opportunity was lost, and it will now be delivered to you, together with this by my friend Mr: Gardner who goes with Scott. He has also the goodness to take charge of the cloaks for yourself and Louisa, for which you wrote to my brother Thomas. As he remained at the Hague, I undertook the commission myself, and hope you will think I have acquitted myself of it to your satisfaction. I must not however pride myself much upon the subject, for I have given full proof upon another commission which came at the same time, of satin for Mrs: Welsh, that I am not always to be trusted in this way. The Doctor sent a small strip for a pattern, and I am perfectly ashamed to say that I have lost it2

The cloaks were chosen by Mrs: Johnson, and by her second daughter, a very amiable young lady bearing the name of Louisa Catherine, which was one of my inducements for requesting her to select the cloak for her namesake.3 You will please to request of Louisa her acceptance of it as a token of my regard, and will permit me to present the other, as a mark of grateful affection to yourself.

I have received your letter by Mr: Coles, containing twenty coupons for which you wish to have new obligations taken.4 As I am in expectation of returning in a short time to the Hague I shall take them with me. I shall purchase you a watch agreeable to your request, but such an article requiring some time for trial before its merit can be ascertained I shall send it by some future opportunity.

From the newspapers which I send you will find that nothing very 191 material is now passing in Europe. The talk about negotiations for Peace continues, but it is too late in the season to expect an agreement without the trial of another campaign. Such at least is the probable appearance, though all the belligerent powers

are exhausted beyond the possibility of much further endurance

The pamphlets of Louvet and Madame Roland. The life of Dumouriez and the apologetic account of Sieyes have been so long published, that possibly they may have reached you already.6 They contain many curious and interesting details upon the strange eventful history of the french Revolution, which has had so many desperate enemies, so many frantic friends, and so few impartial judges.

Every thing here is very quiet, although the scarcity of bread is constantly increasing. The winter has been mild beyond all example, which has been a great alleviation to those who would have suffered most from the scarcity, but apprehensions are entertained that its effect upon the following harvest, will be unfavourable.

Our latest Letters from America, give us upon the whole a more pleasing aspect of the state of affairs than we had apprehended. They encourage the hope that our Peace will yet be preserved, and this comprehends in itself the enjoyment of almost every blessing that a Nation can possess.

Mr: Randolph’s pamphlet has been republished here, and a very curious thing it is.7 Among the thousand proofs that I meet with every day of the influence that party spirit has upon the moral sense I have considered it as one of the strongest, that there are Americans who avow themselves of opinion that his conduct amounted only to an indiscretion, and that he has been harshly treated.

While I am writing I receive the Boston Centinels to the 27th: of January. The speech of the Governor at the opening of the Session is almost as strange to me as Randolph’s Vindication. Indeed the People of Massachusetts have great respect for persons, or they would hardly suffer a man depreciated to the delivery of such a speech to appear in the face of the World, as their chief Magistrate. The answers of the two Houses are a little more considerate, though the “most popular” branch as his Excellency has it, cannot help a trifle of trimming as usual.

My latest letters from my brother Thomas were of January 27.8 He 192 has had a touch of his old rheumatic complaint but had got better, and writes in good spirits. I hope to see him again soon, but how soon I am yet unable to say.

Your ever affectionate Son

I am very sorry that I could not send Betsy Quincy with her Cousin,1 but my being unwell prevented my having her in readiness— Upon my own account I feel loth to part with her, but when I consider her advantage, & how much she improved in the last year, 193 I think I should be doing her injustice, if I were not solicitous to place her again in a situation, where having gained five talents, she might gain five more; wishing that she might have her mind impressed with the necessity of striving to excell in Every thing that is worthy of praise—in that kind of knowledge which may qualify her for useful life—cultivating that modest condescending, sweet disposition which is the ornament of our Sex, & the only mean of making ourselves, or others happy. Betsy Quincy has enjoyed very good health since she came home, has not been troubled with alarming head-ach’s— I suppose her ride home was of service to her—but I fear as the Spring comes on, she will be unstrung again— my Children’s fibres are all too relaxed— They partake too much of their Mothers feeble Constitution. When I think of my self, I am astonished that this feeble fabrick of mine should have continued to this day— I know not how it has been preserved—it seems as if much firmer tenements must have fallen— After severe shocks I recruit, & hope to be useful Yet in Life, & enjoy my full portion of happiness, by endeavouring to make those arround me pleased, accommodating myself not only to the Family I am in, but to the Parish, learning of you to rise with dignity, & fall with ease—with the grave to be serious, with the gay, to be cheerfull, kindly affectioned to all, evincing to the world a principle within, which like a pole Star guides & directs Every motion—

I thank you for all your kindness to William, I hope he will be preserved from evil, & those temptations which await an inexperienced youth—

I know you will be sorry to find Betsy still stoops downward. I have done everything in my power to persuade, & command, & flatter her, if possible into a more erect posture—but all in vain— her bones will be closely knit soon, & her shape will be ruined— I have had more hard words upon this account than I ever thought I should have with a child— She is always displeased when I tell her she can, & ought to stand better— I had some serious talk with her upon the subject, & have told her, I should not say more, she might take her course— She might see me look distressed by her leaning, & standing, but I would not speak unless I forgot— Still my Sister I am loth to give her up. I wish you if possible my Sisters to devise some method to get her up— I know she can stand as strait as you, or I, & it is nothing but a trick— It seems as if my Children, had more singularities than others— I intend to keep a close watch upon 194 Abby—& in Mr Peabody I have an attentive Partner, who is one of the warmest advocates for female education, & will I doubt not, assist me in the education of this little cheerful creature— he loves her very much already— He thinks Betsy Quincy capable of making a fine woman, when her Judgment is properly matured—that she still wants a steady hand, firm, & tender—

You say you gave William leave to open my Letter, I believe we must be a little cautious— I forget particulars— I think it was not quite so bad as “whip the bearer”—though possibly he might find a check upon himself—2

I hope you will make Betsy useful to you, it will most assuredly give her pleasure, as well as to your affectionate / Sister