red to repair to the lines. The result was thus
related: "I have just returned from Penn's Hill, where I have been
sitting to hear the amazing roar of cannon, and from whence I could
see every shell which was thrown. The sound, I think, is one of the
grandest in nature, and is of the true species of the sublime. * * * I
could no more sleep than if I had been in the engagement: the rattling
of the windows, the jar of the house, the continual roar of
twenty-four pounders, and the bursting of shells, give us such ideas,
and realize a scene to us of which we could form scarcely any
conception. * * * All my distress and anxiety is at present at an end.
I feel disappointed. This day our militia are all returning without
effecting any thing more than taking possession of Dorchester Hill. I
hope it is wise and just, but, from all the muster and stir, I hoped
and expected more important and decisive scenes. I would not have
suffered all I have for two such hills." The British soon afterwards
evacuated Boston, and Massachusetts never again became the theatre of
war.

In 1778, the fortitude of Mrs. Adams received a new trial. Her husband
was appointed one of the commissioners at the court of France. The sea
was covered with the enemy's ships; and, should he escape these and
all the natural dangers of the seas, and arrive at the place of his
destination in safety, rumor said that he would there be exposed to
one of a more terrific character, "to the dark assassin, to the secret
murderer, and the bloody emissary of as cruel a tyrant as God, in his
righteous judgments, ever suffered to disgrace the throne of Britain.
I have," continues Mrs. Adams, writing soon after her husband's
departure, "travelled with you across the Atlantic, and could have
landed you safe, with humble confidence, at your desired haven, and
then have set myself down to enjoy a negative kind of happiness, in
the painful part which it has pleased Heaven to allot me; but the
intelligence with regard to that great philosopher, able statesman,
and unshaken friend of his country,"--alluding to a report of Dr.
Franklin's assassination in Paris,--"has planted a dagger in my
breast, and I feel with a double edge the weapon that pierced his
bosom. * * * To my dear son remember me in the most affectionate
terms. Enjoin it upon him never to disgrace his mother, and to behave
worthily of his father. I console myself with the hopes of his reaping
advantages under the careful