Victory, May 5, 1804.

I find, my Dearest Emma, that your picture is very much admired by
the French Consul at Barcelona; and that he has not sent it to be
admired--which, I am sure, it would be--by Buonaparte.

They pretend, that there were three pictures taken. I wish, I had
them: but they are all gone, as irretrievably as the dispatches;
unless we may read them in a book, as we printed their correspondence
from Egypt.

But, from us, what can they find out! That I love you, most dearly;
and hate the French, most damnably.

Dr. Scott went to Barcelona, to try to get the private letters; but,
I fancy, they are all gone to Paris. The Swedish and American Consuls
told him, that the French Consul had your picture, and read your
letters; and, Doctor thinks, one of them probably read the letters.

By the master's account of the cutter, I would not have trusted a pair
of old shoes in her. He tells me, she did not sail, but was a good
sea-boat.

I hope, Mr. Marsden will not trust any more of my private letters in
such a conveyance; if they choose to trust the affairs of the public
in such a thing, I cannot help it.

I long for the invasion being over; it must finish the war, and I have