Without date, 1780.
My dear Portia,--Yesterday we went to see the garden of the King,
_Jardin du Roi_, and his cabinet of natural history, _cabinet d'histoire
naturelle_. The cabinet of natural history is a great collection of
metals, minerals, shells, insects, birds, beasts, fishes, and precious
stones. They are arranged in good order and preserved in good condition,
with the name of everything, beautifully written on a piece of paper,
annexed to it. There is also a collection of woods and marbles. The
garden is large and airy, affording fine walks between rows of trees.
Here is a collection, from all parts of the world, of all the plants,
roots, and vegetables that are used in medicine, and indeed of all the
plants and trees in the world. A fine scene for the studious youths in
physic and philosophy. It was a public day. There was a great deal of
company, and I had opportunity only to take a cursory view. The whole is
very curious. There is a handsome statue of M. Buffon, the great natural
historian, whose works you have, whose labors have given fame to this
cabinet and garden. When shall we have in America such collections? The
collection of American curiosities that I saw in Norwalk, in
Connecticut, made by Mr. Arnold, which he afterwards, to my great
mortification, sold to Governor Tryon, convinces me that our country
affords as ample materials for collections of this nature as any part of
the world.
Five midshipmen of the _Alliance_ came here last night, Marston, Hogan,
Fitzgerald, and two others, from Norway, where they were sent with
prizes, which the court of Denmark were absurd and unjust enough to
restore to the English. They, however, treated the officers and people
well, and defrayed their expenses. They say the Norwegians were very
angry with the court of Copenhagen for delivering up these vessels. It
was the blunder of ignorance, I believe, rather than any ill will.
Every day, when I ride out without any particular business to do or
visit to make, I order my servant to carry me to some place where I
never was before, so that, at last, I believe, I have seen all Paris and
all the fields and scenes about it that are near it. It is very
pleasant. Charles is as well beloved here as at home. Wherever he goes
everybody loves him. Mr. Dana is as fond of him, I think, as I am. He
learns very well.
There is a volume in folio just published here, which I yesterday ran
over at a bookseller's shop. It is a description and a copper-plate of
all the engravings upon precious stones in the collection of the Duke of
Orleans. The stamps are extremely beautiful, and are representations of
the gods and heroes of antiquity, with most of the fables of their
mythology. Such a book would be very useful to the children in studying
the classics, but it is too dear; three guineas, unbound. There is
everything here that can inform the understanding or refine the taste,
and indeed, one would think, that could purify the heart. Yet it must be
remembered there is everything here, too, which can seduce, betray,
deceive, deprave, corrupt, and debauch it. Hercules marches here in full
view of the steeps of virtue on one hand and the flowery paths of
pleasure on the other, and there are few who make the choice of
Hercules. That my children may follow his example is my earnest prayer;
but I sometimes tremble when I hear the siren song of sloth, lest they
should be captivated with her bewitching charms and her soft,
insinuating music.