SIR,--I have the honor of communicating to your Excellency the copy of a treaty of amity and commerce concluded between the United States of America and his late Majesty the King of Prussia, in the two languages in which it was written, each of which was agreed to be equally original. The exchange of ratifications we made but little before the death of the King. This circumstance, with the delays which have attended the printing and transmitting the copies of the treaty to me, have prevented my making an earlier communication of it to your Excellency, as a mark of the confidence and the respect we bear to the nation whom you so worthily represent here, and with which we have the honor of being allied. I have the honor to be, with sentiments of the most perfect respect and esteem, your Excellency's most obedient, and most humble servant. TO MRS. COSWAY. PARIS, October 26, 1786. MY DEAR MADAM,--Having performed the last sad office of handing you into your carriage, at the pavillon de St. Denis, and seen the wheels get actually into motion, I turned on my heel and walked, more dead than alive, to the opposite door, where my own was awaiting me. Mr. Danquerville was missing. He was sought for, found, and dragged down stairs. We were crammed into the carriage, like recruits for the Bastille, and not having soul enough to give orders to the coachman, he presumed Paris our destination, and drove off. After a considerable interval, silence was broke, with a "_Je suis vraiment afflige du depart de ces bons gens_." This was a signal for a mutual confession of distress. We began immediately to talk of Mr. and Mrs. Cosway, of their goodness, their talents, their amiability; and, though we spoke of nothing else, we seemed hardly to have entered into the matter, when the coachman announced the rue St. Denis, and that we were opposite Mr. Danquerville's. He insisted on descending there, and traversing a short passage to his lodgings. I was carried home. Seated by my fireside, solitary and sad, the following dialogue took place between my Head and my Heart. _Head._ Well, friend, you seem to be in a pretty trim. _Heart._ I am indeed the most wretched of all earthly beings. Overwhelmed with grief, every fibre of my frame distended beyond its natural powers to bear, I would willingly meet whatever catastrophe should leave me no more to feel, or to fear. _Head._ These are the eternal consequences of your warmth and precipitation. This is one of the scrapes into which you are ever leading us. You confess your follies, indeed; but still you hug and cherish them; and no reformation can be hoped where there is no repentance.