But I assure you I am obliged to make use of reason and philosophy in addition to custom, to feel patient. Be assured I always remember you as I ought, that is, with the kindest affection.
Portia.
99. Abigail Adams.
21 April, 1776.
I have to acknowledge the receipt of a very few lines dated the 12th of April. You make no mention of the whole sheets I have wrote to you, by which I judge you either never received them, or that they were so lengthy as to be troublesome; and in return you have set me an example of being very concise. I believe I shall not take the hint, but give as I love to receive. Mr. Church talked a week ago of setting off for Philadelphia. I wrote by him, but suppose it has not yet gone. You have perhaps heard that the bench is filled by Messrs. Foster and Sullivan, so that a certain person is now excluded. I own I am not of so forgiving a disposition as to wish to see him holding a place which he refused merely from a spirit of envy.
I give up my request for Chesterfield's "Letters," submitting entirely to your judgment, as I have ever found you ready to oblige me in this way whenever you thought it would contribute either to my entertainment or improvement. I was led to the request from reading the following character of him in my favorite Thomson, from some spirited and patriotic speeches of his in the reign of George II.:—
"O thou whose wisdom, solid yet refined,
Whose patient-virtues and consummate skill
To touch the finer springs that move the world,
Joined to whate'er the Graces can bestow,
And all Apollo's animating fire,
Give thee with pleasing dignity to shine
At once the guardian, ornament, and joy
Of polished life. Permit the rural muse,
O Chesterfield! to grace thee with her song,
Ere to the shades again she humbly flies;
Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train
(For every muse has in thy train a place)
To mark thy various, full accomplished mind,—
To mark that spirit which, with British scorn,
Rejects th' allurements of corrupted power;
That elegant politeness which excels,
Even in the judgment of presumptuous France,
The boasted manner of her shining court;
That wit, the vivid energy of sense,
The truth of nature, which, with Attic point,
And kind, well-tempered satire, smoothly keen,
Steals through the soul, and, without pain, corrects."
I think the speculations you inclose prove that there is full liberty of the press. Cato shows he has a bad cause to defend; whilst the Forester writes with a spirit peculiar to himself, and leads me to think that he has an intimate acquaintance with "Common Sense."
We have intelligence of the arrival of some of the Tory fleet at Halifax; that they are much distressed for want of houses,—obliged to give six dollars per month for one room; provisions scarce and dear. Some of them with six or eight children around them, sitting upon the rocks, crying, not knowing where to lay their heads.