“But engineers, engineers and powder! Or the money to buy them!” (Gaillardet.) Three days later, London, May 11, 1776.... “All the quarrels for the last eight days are in relation to the _quomodo_ of the evacuation of Boston. The opposition and the ministry are openly tearing out each other’s eyes about it. The whole affair consists of the doctors deciding how the sick man died. Let them dispute over that great coffin. The couriers arrive at every moment.... To-morrow all the news of the American papers will be printed in the English ones. The whole affair begins to clear up. You were certainly very near me as you said, when I imagined you very very far.” (Gaillardet.) “London, May 17, 1776. ... Eight days ago a pack boat from Virginia sent by Lord Dunmore brought news to the government, but it was so bad that it was thought advisable to say that the chest containing the mail was washed overboard in a storm. Admirable ruse! Effort of superior genius! Yesterday another vessel arrived from Canada. A man jumped into a boat and the vessel pushed out again. That man hurried straight to London without stopping. No one can find out his errand. From these incidents comes the refrain; the news must be very black since it is kept such a mystery.” (Gaillardet.) Thus ended the first phase of the activity of Beaumarchais in the cause of the Americans. In a few more days he was back in France ready to turn the force of his mind, the power of his intellect and all the energy of his being into the development of that vast mercantile establishment which was for a time to supply the colonies with munitions of war and other necessities. As a proof that no one ever was able to pass from grave to gay with more facility than Beaumarchais, we will close the present chapter with a rather lengthy extract from an article which appeared in the London _Morning Chronicle_ shortly before his return to France: From the _Morning Chronicle_, London, May 6, 1776. “Monsieur, the Editor: “I am a stranger, full of honor. If it is not to inform you absolutely who I am, it is at least to tell you in more than one sense who I am not. “Day before yesterday, at the Pantheon, after the concert and during the dance, I found under my feet a lady’s mantle of black taffeta, lined with the same and bordered with lace. I am ignorant to whom this mantle belongs, never having seen, even at the Pantheon, her who wore it and all my investigations since have not enabled me to learn anything in relation to her. “I therefore beg you, M. the Editor, to announce in your paper this lost mantle so that it may be returned faithfully to whomever shall reclaim it.