“. . . I believe I told you they fled from wretched
France. They landed near Haverford West, and were used worse, they declare,
than if they had been in Paris. The P[rimat], though he had fainted among the
savages, had a stone flung at his head, and [was] guarded all night—though he
expected every moment to be his last; for, in spite of the letter to
Government, they were treated as Republicans. This good creature was compelled
to walk three miles, though nearly fainting at every step he took, surrounded
by men, women, and children, gazing, not at his pale face, but at a
handkerchief that supplied the place of a wig that
| GILBERT IMLAY. | 213 |
“He was for a year and a half concealed by friends from the Republicans, and was so narrowly watched, that neither of the brothers saw daylight during that period. They at last made their escape, merely with the hope of saving the family who had sheltered them. At fifty, it is dreadful to be snatched from the lap of abundance, for M. Graux had his carriage and every elegance of life, and to feel all the horrors of dependence in a strange country.”
