"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. 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 'tis right ahead. This is still mortifying, but

what we had reason to expect.

I

"We have but one passenger whom we should have been willing to have been without; I have no particu lar 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 connection 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 preeminence 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 believe no one would deny 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 who 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.

the

"Heaven be praised, I have safely landed upon 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 north-east winds. It blew a gale on Sunday night, on Monday and Monday night, equal to an equinoctial. We were obliged to carry double-reefed top-sails only, and what added to our misfortune, 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 apprehensions of being run down, or being nearer land than we imagined, kept me constantly agitated. * 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 pilotboat, 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 Nastasket's 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 pull 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 safely 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, having 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 broad side of the boat right against the shore, which was owing to the bad management of the men, and the high sea. 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 afterward 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."

Mrs. Adams reached London the twenty-third of July, 1784. "My first inquiry," she says, "was for Mr. Adams. I found that my son had been a month waiting for my arrival, expecting me with Callaghen, but that upon getting letters by him, he returned to the Hague." Her son retraced his steps at once to London, and when he presented himself, his mother and sister could scarcely convince themselves that he was the same, "his eyes only appearing," says his mother, "what he once was." It was the first time she had seen him in six years, and he had grown out of all infantine appearance. Meeting her husband, Mrs. Adams and her two children proceeded with him to Paris, and established themselves at Auteuil, a small village adjoining Passi, the residence of Doctor Franklin. One year the long severed family remained at this beautiful retreat, and then took up their residence in London, Mr. Adams having been appointed minister to that government. Mrs. Adams found herself, at the age of forty, suddenly transplanted into a scene wholly new. From a life of the utmost retirement, in a small and quiet country town of New England, she was at once thrown into the busy and bustling scenes of the populous and wealthy cities of Europe. Not only was her position novel to herself, but there had been nothing like it among her countrywomen.