My Dearest Friend

The Weather is very ugly, and I have a cold, and no News arrives with any Authenticity, so that there is a kind of dull suspense. The People however are in deep meditation, and you may conjecture that my Thoughts are not idle.

I wish Brislers Wife were here. I fear I must send him home to fetch her, and what I shall do without him is a difficult Question.

Mr. Maund writes me that he has sent a Barrell of seed Oats to Boston. I am sorry for it. But if they arrive give a Bushell to my Brother, a Bushell to Josiah Bass, a Bushell to Captn. Beal and a Bushell to Mr. Black upon condition that they will sow them. Sow a Bushell for Us or French, or give our Bushell to Unkle Quincy or Dr. Tufts. Mr. Otis comes in. I am