Paris, 17 June, 1780.
My dear Portia,--I yesterday received a letter of the 26th of April from
brother Cranch, for which I thank him, and will answer as soon as
possible. He tells me you have drawn a little bill upon me. I am sorry
for it, because I have sent and should continue to send you small
presents, by which you would be enabled to do better than by drawing
bills. I would not have you draw any more. I will send you things which
will defray your expenses better. The machine is horribly dear. Mr. C.
desires to know if he may draw on me. I wish it was in my power to
oblige him, but it is not. I have no remittances, nor anything to depend
on. Not a line from Congress, nor any member, since I left you. My
expenses through Spain were beyond all imagination, and my expenses here
are so exorbitant that I can't answer any bill from anybody, not even
from you, excepting the one you have drawn. I must beg you to be as
prudent as possible. Depend upon it, your children will have occasion
for all your economy. Mr. Johonnot must send me some bills. Every
farthing is expended, and more. You can have no idea of my unavoidable
expenses. I know not what to do. Your little affairs and those of all
our friends, Mr. Wibird, etc., are on board the _Alliance_, and have
been so these four months, or ready to be. Pray write me by way of Spain
and Holland, as well as France. We are all well. My duty to your father,
my mother, and affection and respects where due. My affections, I fear,
got the better of my judgment in bringing my boys. They behave very
well, however.
London is in the horrors. Governor Hutchinson fell down dead at the
first appearance of mobs. They have been terrible. A spirit of bigotry
and fanaticism, mixing with the universal discontents of the nation, has
broken out into violences of the most dreadful nature, burned Lord
Mansfield's house, books, manuscripts; burned the King's Bench prison
and all the other prisons, let loose all the debtors and criminals, tore
to pieces Sir George Saville's house, insulted all the lords of
Parliament, etc., etc. Many have been killed, martial law proclaimed,
many hanged. Lord George Gordon committed to the Tower for high treason,
and where it will end, God only knows. The mobs all cried, Peace with
America and war with France. Poor wretches! as if this were possible!
In the English papers they have inserted the death of Mr. Hutchinson
with severity, in these words: "Governor Hutchinson is no more. On
Saturday last he dropped down dead. It is charity to hope that his sins
will be buried with him in the tomb, but they must be recorded in his
epitaph. His misrepresentations have contributed to the continuance of
the war with America. Examples are necessary. It is to be hoped that all
will not escape into the grave without a previous appearance either on a
gibbet or a scaffold."
Governor Bernard, I am told, died last fall. I wish that, with these
primary instruments of the calamities that now distress almost all the
world, the evils themselves may come to an end. For although they will
undoubtedly end in the welfare of mankind, and accomplish the benevolent
designs of Providence towards the two worlds, yet for the present they
are not joyous but grievous. May Heaven permit you and me to enjoy the
cool evening of life in tranquillity, undisturbed by the cares of
politics or war, and above all, with the sweetest of all reflections,
that neither ambition nor vanity nor avarice nor malice nor envy nor
revenge nor fear nor any base motive or sordid passion, through the
whole course of this mighty revolution, and the rapid, impetuous course
of great and terrible events that have attended it, have drawn us aside
from the line of our duty and the dictates of our consciences. Let us
have ambition enough to keep our simplicity or frugality, and our
integrity, and transmit these virtues as the fairest of inheritances to
our children.