He had now by these writings made enemies of every friend of religion and his country (for patriotism was identical with respect for Washington), and when he returned to America in 1802, it was to fall rapidly in public estimation, with the additional incumbrance of the personal neglect and vices of intemperance and avarice into which he fell in his old age. That the former had anticipated his return to America is proved by the Paris correspondence of Gouverneur Morris, who writes of him June 25, 1793, as a little more drunk than usual," and the following year, March 6, in the best of times he had a larger share of every other sense than of common sense, and lately the intemperate use of ardent spirit has, I am told, considerably impaired the sinall stock which he originally possessed." He visited Jefferson at Washington, who, remembering his early position, had agreed to his request to bring him home in a national vessel; but the most ardent political reminiscences could not compensate for Paine's personal habits, and the popular contempt into which he had fallen. His friend and biographer Rickman takes Barlow to task for omitting any mention of him among the heroes of the American war in the Columbiad, and proposes to give him a snug place between Washington and Franklin in the fifth book of that poem. His last days at New Rochelle and New York have been ruthlessly brought to the gaze of the world by his American biographer, Cheetham, who sometimes forgets the decencies due even to drunkenness, and always to old age.* Paine's vanity was wounded by the neglect into which he had fallen; his early habits of neatness, when he was painted by Romney, and "looked altogether like a gentleman of the old French school," could not be detected in the filth into which he had fallen. His intemperance was notorious. His treatment of Madame Bonneville, whom he had induced to follow him from Paris, not without scandal, was cruel. He was arraigned in court for a petty debt, and exposed by his servants: one of whoin is said to have attempted his life in revenge for his ill treatment. Jarvis, the painter, tolerated his presence in his bachelor's quarters, and has left us a melancholy memorial of his appearance in the plaster bust which is preserved in the rooms of the New York Historical Society. While the artist was at work matic direction to the sculptor who should make the statue of Washington: Take from the mine the coldest, hardest stone, But if you chisel, let your strokes be rude, And on his breast engrave INGRATITUDE. Cheetham's revised private copy of the Life of Paine is in the New York Historical Society; the corrections in his own bandwriting and Intended for a second edition. In the prellminary address to Clinton, the strong animadversions on the despousin of Jefferson's demeeracy, and his fears of the duration of the Republic, are mitted. The style is generally improved by slight verbal alterations. In the description of his Arst interview with Paine in the Preface, the comparison of the philosopher's nose to Bardolph's, as described by Falstaff, is stricken out. Cheetham was an English radical fiom Man chester, who edited in New York the American Citizen, holding a trenchant pen for a newspaper. At first he was the friend of Paine. Paine has had numerous blographers, including Francis Oldys, a fictitious name on a partisan pamphlet, written by the refugee loyalist, the author of the Political Annals, George Chalmers, l'alue's name is spelt Pain throughout this production. There is a volume of Memoirs by W. T. Sherwin, London, 1810; by Thomas Cllo Rickman, of the same date; and a later voluine by G. Valo, New York, 1841. upon it, he exclaimed, “I shall secure him to a nicety, if I am so fortunate as to get plaster enough for his carbuncled_nose.”* He would lodge at different places about town as opportunity served, his habits rendering frequent changes of lodging inevitable. One of his tenements, in not the most agreeable locality, he shared with a show of wild beast. Death approaching, he desired, in recollection of his Quaker parentage, to be interred in the cemetery of that body, but this consolation was refused him,-a circumstance which is said to have affected him deeply. In his closing days he was visited by clergymen and others to convert him from his irreligion or testify to his infidelity. He died quietly in New York, June 8, 1809. His remains were taken to New Rochelle where he was interred on his farm, with an inscription on a stone, "Thomas Paine, auther of Common Sense." In 1819, ten years afterwards, when Cobbett wished to create a sensa tion, he absurdly ritled the grave of the bones, which he carried to England. The merit of Paine's style as a prese writer is very great. He had the art of saying a familiar thing in a familiar way, and at the same time imparting to it great spirit and freshness. He could sometimes introduce an apposite story almost as well as Franklin. His wit was ready, and generally pungent enough. After his return to America in 1802, he writes, "Some of John Adams' loyal sul jects, I see, have been to present him with an address on his birth-day; but the language they use is too tame for the occasion. Birth-day addresses, like birth-day odes, should not creep along like drops of dew down a cabbage leaf, but roll in a torrent of poetical metaphor."† To Franklin's saying, “Where liberty is, there is my coun try," his retort was, "Where liberty is not, there is my country." A minister of a new sect came to him to explain the Scriptures, asserting that the key had been lost these four thousand years, and they had found it. "It must have been very rusty, then," was his reply. Some of his sentences are felicitous as Sheridan's for neatness and point. Thus in his letter to the Earl of Shelburne, of the loss of reputation: "There are cases in which it is as impossible to restore character to life, as it is to recover the dead. It is a phoenix that can expire Lut once, and from whose ashes there is no resurrection;" and to the samo nobleman on obedience to outlandish authority: "For a thousand reasons England would be the last country to yield it to. She has been treacherous, and we know it. Her character is gone, and we have seen the funeral." To the Abbé Raynal he says, holding Britain to account for keeping the world ir disturbance and war: "Is life so very long thet it is necessary, nay even a duty, to shake the sand and hasten out the period of duration?" "Science," he says, "the partisan of no country, but the benevolent patroness of all, has liberally opened a temple wliere all may meet. The philosopher of one country sees not an enemy in the philosopher of another: he takes his seat in the • Francis's Reminiscences of Printers, Authors, &o. There was an old couplet sung by the boys in the streets Tom Paine is come from far, from far, Ilis nose is like a blazing star! + Second Letter to the Citizens of the U. 8. Nov. 19, 18.8, in the Nat, Intell temple of science, and asks not who sits beside him." Literature, he calls "the tongue of the world." "War," he says in the Rights of Man, "is the Pharo table of governments, and nations the dupes of the game." It was this word and a blow, this powerful expression in ordinary symbols, which gained Paine the ear of the public during the Revolutionary war. His phrases put American resistance in an incontrovertible form. Paine's slight claims as a poet depend upon a few showy pieces, more remarkable for their collocation of fine words than just thought or expression. He had fancy, but wanted poetic feeling. In another light the study of Paine's character may be of importance to the world, in showing that a certain degree of rea ly tact and ability, and a certain amount of benevolence, may consist with the utter absence of the higher philosophical and moral qualities. Paine had a great deal of wit and sagacity, but their exercise was contined to a narrow field. When he undertook his attack upon the Christian religion, it was without the learning, the thought, or the feeling requisite for its study. It is much to ask us to believe that he was sustained by any better motive than vanity. Notwithstanding his experience of the French Revolution in the cell of the Luxembourg, he could not relinquish the egotism and self-sufficiency productive of the excesses which had placed him there. Suffering from lawlessness, he was vain and empty enough to seek to inflict that curse upon the worl in its most important relations. The Age of Reison is justly treated with contempt, but it points a most significant moral of the worthlessness of the shallow powers of the understanding divorced from the control of the higher faculties of the soul. "It must soon sink into infamy," said William Linn, from the pulpit, who had commended Paine's political writings in the same place, and "carry his own name along with it. There is nothing new in the perfor mance, save the bold and indecent manner. Indeed it is provoking to see the Christian religion, after having withstood the roarings of the lion, insulted by the brayings of the ass."* The prophecy has been verified, and under the odiuin into which he cast himself few readers of the present day are familiar with the brilliant qualities which once excited our forefathers. ODE, ON THE Death of GENERAL WOLFE. In a mouldering cave where the wretched retreat, BRITANNIA sat wasted with care; She mourn'd for her WOLFE, and exclaim'd against fate, And gave herself up to despair. The walls of her cell she had sculptured around Was engraved with the deeds he had done. The sire of the GoD3 from his crystalline throne And moved with her tears he sent MERCURY down, Linn's Discourse, Fall of Antichrist. Beries "Signs of the Times," 1794. An Epigrammatist wrote: Hero les Tom Paine, who wrote in liberty's defence, BRITANNIA forbear, not a sigh nor a tear The sons of the East, the proud giants of old, That WOLFE should be called to the armies above, To the plains of QUEBEC with the orders I flew, Ile cry'd, Oh! forbear, let me victory hear, Lest the fondness he bore to his own native shore, REFLECTIONS ON THE LIFE AND DEATH OF LORD CLIVE Ah! the tale is told-the scene is ended-and the curtain falls. As an emblem of the vanity of all earthly pomp, let his monument be a globe, but, be that globe a bubble; let his effigy be a man walking round it in his sleep; and let Fame, in the character of a shadow, inscribe his honors on the air. I view him but as yesterday on the burning plains of Plassey, doubtful of life, health, or victory. I see him in the instant when "To be, or not to be," were equal chances to a human eye. To be a lord or a slave, to return loaded with the spoils, or remain mingled with the dust of India. Did necessity always justify the severity of a conqueror, the rude tongue of censure would be silent, and however painfully he might look back on scenes of horror, the pensive reflection would not alarm him. Though his feelings suffered, his conscience would be acquitted. The sad remembrance would move serenely, and leave the mind without a wound. But, oh, India! thou loud proclaimer of European_cruelties, thou bloody monument of unnecessary deaths, be tender in the day of enquiry, and shew a Christian world thou canst suffer and forgive. Departed from India, and loaded with the plander, I see him doubling the Cape and looking wistfully to Europe. I see him contemplating on years of pleasure, and gratifying his ambition with expected honours, I see his arrival pompously announced in every newspaper, his eager eye rambling through the crowd in quest of homage, and his ear listening lest an applause should escape him. Happily for him he arrived before his fame, and the short interval was a time of rest. From the crowd I follow him to the court, I see him enveloped in the sunshine of popular favour, rivalling the great in honours, the proud in splendour, and the rich in wealth. From the court I trace him to the country, his equipage moves like a camp; every village bell proclaims his coming; the wandering peasants admire his pomp, and his heart runs over with joy. But, alas! not satisfied with uncountable thouBands, I accompany him again to India. I mark the variety of countenances which appear at his landing. Confusion spreads the news Every passion seems alarmed. The wailing widow, the crying orphan, and the childless parent remember and lament; the rival nabobs court his favour; the rich dread his power and the poor his severity. Fear and terror march like pioneers before his camp, murder and rapine accompany it, famine and wretchedness fol low in the rear. Resolved on accumulating an unbounded fortune, he enters into all the schemes of war, treaty, and intrigue. The British sword is set up for sale; the heads of contending nabobs are offered at a price, and the bribe taken from both sides. Thousands of men or money are trifles in an Indian bargain. The field is an empire, and the treasure almost without end. The wretched inhabitants are glad to compound for offences never committed, and to purchase at any rate the privilege to breathe, while he, the Eole ford of their lives and fortunes, disposes of either as he pleases, and prepares for Europe. Uncommon fortunes require an uncommon date of life to enjoy them in. The usual period is spent in preparing to live: and unless nature prolongs the time, fortune bestows her excess of favours in vain. The conqueror of the East having nothing more to expect from the one, has all his court to make to the other. Anxiety for wealth gives place to anxiety for life; and wisely recollecting that the sca is no respecter of persons, resolves on taking his route to Europe by land. Little beings move unseen, or unobserved, but he engrosses whole kingdoms in his march, and is gazed at like a comet The burning desert, the pathless mountains, and the fertile valleys, are in their turns explored and passed over. No material accident distresses his progress, and England once more receives the spoiler. How sweet is rest to the weary traveller; the retrospect heightens the enjoyment; and if the future prospect be serene, the days of case and hap piness are arrived. An uninquiring observer might have been inclined to consider Lord Clive, under all these agreeable circumstances: one, whose every care was over, and who had nothing to do but to sit down and say, soul, take thine ease, thou hast goods laid up in store for many years. The reception which he met with on his second arrival was in every instance equal, and in many, it exceeded, the honours of the first. Tis the peculiar temper of the English to applaud before they think. Generous of their praise, they frequently bestow it unworthily; but when once the truth arrives, the torrent stops, and rushes back again with the same violence. Scarcely had the echo of applause ceased upon the ear, than the rude tongue of censure took up the tale. The newspapers, fatal enemies to illgotten wealth, began to buzz a general suspicion of his conduct, and the inquisitive public soon refined it into particulars. Every post gave a stab to fame -a wound to his peace, and a nail to his coffin. Like spectres from the grave they haunted him in every company, and whispered murder in his car. A life chequered with uncommon varieties is seldoin a long one. Action and care will, in time, wear down the strongest frame, but guilt and melancholy are poisons of quick dispatch. Say, cool deliberate reflection, was the prize, though abstracted from the guilt, worthy of the rains? Ah! no, Fatigued with victory, he sat down to rest, and while he was recovering breath he lost it. A conqueror more fatal than himself beset him, and revenged the injuries done to India. He As a cure for avarice and ambition, let us take a view of him in his latter years. Hah! what gloomy Being wanders yonder? How visibly is the mela choly heart delineated on his countenance. mourns no common care-his very steps are timed to sorrow-he trembles with a kind of mental palsy; Perhaps 'tis some broken-hearted parent, some David mourning for his Absalom, or some Heraclitus weep ing for the world. I hear him utter something about wealth-perhaps he is poor and hath not wherewithal to hide his head. Some debtor started from his sleepless pillow, to ruminate oa poverty, and ponder on the horrors of a jail; poor man, l'il to him and relieve him. Hah! 'tis Lord Clive dimself! Bless me, what a change! He makes, I see, for yonder cypress shade-fit scene for melancholy hearts! I'll watch him there, and listen to his story. Lord Clive. Can I but suiler when a beggar pities me? Ere while I heard a ragged wretch, who every mark of poverty had on, say to a sooty sweep, “Ah, poor Lord Clive!” while he, the negro-colored vagrant, more mercifully cruel, curst me in my hearing. There was a time when fortune, like a yielding mistress, courted me with smiles. She never waited to be told my wishes, but studied to discover them; and seemed not happy to herself, but when she had some favour to bestow. Ah, little did I think the fair enchantress would desert me thus, and after lavishing her smiles upon me, turn my reproacher, and publish me in folio to the world. Volumes of morality are dull and spiritless compared to me. Lord Clive is himself a treatise upon vanity, printed on a golden type. The most unlettered clown writes explanatory notes thereon, and reads them to his children. Yet I could bear these insults could I but bear myself. A strange unwelcome something hangs about me. In company I seem no company at all. The festive board appears to me a stage, the crimson-colored port resembles blood. Each glass is strangely metamorphosed to a man in armour, and every bowl appears a nabob. The joyous toast is like the sound of murder, and the loud laugh are groans of dying men. The scenes of India are all rehearsed, and no one sees the tragedy but nyself. Ah! I discover things which are not, and hear unuttered sounds. Oh, peace! thou sweet companion of the calm and innocent! w her art thou fled? Here, take my gold, and all the world calls mine, and come thou in exchange. Or thou, thou noisy sweep, who mix thy food with soot and relish it, who canst descend from lofty heights and walk the humble earth again, without repining at the change, come, teach that mystery to me. Or thou, thou ragged wandering beggar, who, when thou canst not beg successfully, will pilfer from the hound, and eat the dirty morsel sweetly-be thou Lord Clive, and I will beg, so I may laugh like thee. Could I unlearn what I've already learned-unact what I've already acted-or would one sacred power convey me back to youth and innocence, I'd act another part-I'd keep within the vale of humble life, nor wish for what the world calls pomp. -But since this cannot be. And only a few days and sad remain for ine, I'll haste to quilt the seene; for what is life When ev'ry passion of the soul's at strife. THE AMERICAN CRISIS-NUMBER ONE These are the times that try inea's souls: The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it Now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly-Tis dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to set a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed, if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be Some time before his death, he became very melancholysubject to strange finagluations—and was found dead at last.Author's Note, highly ratel Britain, with an army to enforce her tyranny, has declared, that she has a right (not only to Tax, but)" to BIND us in ALL CASES WHATSOEVER," and if being bound in that manner is not slavery, then is there not such a thing as slavery upon earth. Even the expression is impious, for so unlimited a power can belong only to GOD. Whether the Independence of the Continent was declared too soon, or delayed too long, I will not now enter into as an argument; my own simple opinion is, that had it been eight months earlier, it would have been much better. We did not make a proper use of last winter, neither could we, while we were in a dependent state. However, the fault, if it were one, was all our own; we have none to blame but ourselves," But no great deal is lost yet; all that Howe has been doing for this month past is rather a ravage than a conquest, which the spirit of the Jersies a year ago would have quickly repulsed, and which time and a little resolution will soon recover. I have as little superstition in me as any man living, but my secret opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Almighty will not give up a people to military destruction, or leave them unsupportedly to perish, who had so earnestly and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities of war, by every decent method which wisdom could invent. Neither have I so much of the infidel in me, as to suppose, that He has relinquished the government of the world, and given us up to the care of devils; and as I do not, I cannot see on what grounds the king of Britain can look up to heaven for help against us: A common murderer, a highwayman, or a housebreaker, has as good a pretence as he. Tis surprising to see how rapidly a panic will sometimes run through a country. All nations and ages have been subject to them: Britain has trembled like an ague at the report of a French fleet of flat bottomed boats; and in the fourteenth century the whole English army, after ravaging the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified with fear; and this brave exploit was performed by a few broken forces collected and headed by a woman, Joan of Arc. Would that Heaven might inspire some Jersey Maid to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair fellow-sufferers from ravage and ravishment! Yet panies, in some cases, have their uses; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is always short; the mind soon grows thro' them, and acquires a firmer habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the touchstones of sincerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to light, which might otherwise have lain for ever undiscovered. In fact, they have the same effect on secret traitors, which an imaginary apparition would upon a private mur derer. They sift out the hidden thoughts of man, and hold them up in publie to the world. Many a dignified Tory has lately shewn his heal, that shall penitentially solemnize with curses the day on which Howe arrived upon the Delaware. As I was with the troops at Fort Lee, and marched with them to the edg of Pennsylvania, I am well acquainted with many circumstances, which those, who lived at a distance, know but little or nothing of. Our situation there was exceedingly cramped, the place being on a narrow neck of land between "The present winter" (meaning the last) "is worth an age, if rightly employed, but if lost, or neglected, the whole Continent will partake of the evil; and there is no punishment that man does not deserve, be he who, or what, or where he wil, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious and useful."-Author's Note the North River and the Hackensack. Our force was inconsiderable, being not one fourth so great as Howe could bring against us. We had no army at hand to have relieved the garrison, had we shut ourselves up and stood on the defence. Our amınunition, light artillery, and the best part of our stores, had been removed upon the apprehension that Howe would endeavour to penetrate the Jersies, in which case Fort Lee could be of no use to us; for it must occur to every thinking man, whether in the army or not, that these kind of field forts are only for temporary purposes, and last in use no longer, than the enemy directs his force against the particular object, which such forts are raised to defend. Such was our situation and condition at Fort Lee on the morning of the 20th of November, when an officer arrived with informa tion, that the enemy with 200 boats had landed about seven or eight miles above: Major-General Green, who commanded the garrison, immediately ordered them under arins, and sent express to his Excellency General Washington at the town of Hackensack, distant by the way of the ferry six niles. Our first object was to secure the bridge over the Hackensack, which laid up the river be tween the enemy and us, about six miles from us and three from them. General Washington arrived in about three quarters of an hour, and marched at the head of the troops towards the bridge, which place I expected we should have a brush for; however, they did not chuse to dispute it with us, and the greatest part of our troops went over the bridge, the rest over the ferry, except some which passed at a mill on a small creek, between the bridge and the ferry, and made their way through some marshy grounds up to the town of Hackensack, and there passed the river. We brought off as much baggage us the waggons could contain, the rest was lost. The simple object was to bring off the garrison, and to march them on till they could be strengthened by the Jersey or Pennsylvania militia, so as to be enabled to make a stand. We staid four days at Newark, collected in our out-posts, with some of the Jersey militia, and marched out twice to meet the enemy on information of their being advancing, though our numbers were greatly inferior to theirs. Howe, in my little opinion, committed a great error in generalship, in not throwing a body of forces off from Staatan Island through Amboy, by which means he might have seized all our stores at Brunswick, and intercepted our march into Pennsylvania: But, if we believe the power of hell to be limited, we must likewise believe that their agents are under some providential controul. I shall not now attempt to give all the particulars of our retreat to the Delaware; suffice it for the present to say, that both officers and men, though greatly harassed and fatigued, frequently without rest, covering, or provision, the inevitable consequences of a long retreat, bore it with a manly and a martial spirit. All their wishes were one, which was, that the country would turn out and he'n them to drive the enemy back. Voltaire has marked, that King William never appeared to full advantage but in difliculties and in action; the same remark may be made on General Washington, for te o`ìa, racter fits him. There is a natural firinness in some minds which cannot be unlocked by trifles, but which, when unlocked, discovers a cabinet of forti tude; and I reckon it among those kind of public blessings, which we do not immediately see, that God hath blest him with uninterrupted health, and given him a mind that can even flourish upon care, I shall conclude this paper with some misella cons remarks on the state of our affairs; and shall begin with asking the following question, Why is it that the enemy hath left the New England provinces, and made these middle ones the seat of war? The answer is easy: New England is not infested with Tories, and we are. I have been tender in raisi: g the cry against these men, and used numberless arguments to shew them their danger, but it will not do to sacrifice a world to either their folly or their baseness. The period is now arrived, in which either they or we must change our sentiments, or one or both must fall. And what is a Tory? Good GOD! what is he? I should not be afraid to go with a hundred Whigs against a thousand Tories, were they to attempt to get into arms. Every Tory is a coward, for à servile, slavish, self-interested fear is the foundation of Toryism; and a man under such influence, though he may be cruel, never can be brave. But before the line of irrecoverable separation be drawn between us, let us reason the matter together: Your conduct is an invitation to the enemy, yet not one in a thousand of you has heart enough to join him. Howe is as much deceived by you as the American cause is injured by you. He expects you will all take up arms, and flock to his standard with muskets on your shoulders. Your opinions are of no use to him, unless you support him personally; for 'tis soldiers, and not Tories, that he wants. that I once felt all that kind of anger, which a man ought to feel, against the mean principles that are held by the Tories: A noted one, who kept a tavern at Amboy, was standing at his door, with as pretty a child in his hand, about eight or nine years old, as most I ever saw, and after speaking his mind as freely as he thought was prudent, finished with this unfatherly expression, Well! give me peace in my day." Not a man lives on the Continent but fully believes that a separation must some time or other finally take place, and a generous parent would have said, "If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, my child may have peace;" and this single reflection, well applied, is sufficient to awaken every man to duty. Not a place upon earth might be so happy as America. Her situation is remote from all the wrangling world, and she has nothing to do but to trade with them. A man may easily distinguish in himself between temper and principle, and I am as confident, as I am that God governs the world, that America will never be happy till she gets clear of foreign dominion, Wars, without ceasing, will break out till that period arrives, and the Continent must in the end be conqueror; for, though the flame of liberty may sometimes cease to shine, the coal never can expire. America did not, nor does not, want force; out she wanted a proper application of that force. Wisdom is not the purchase of a day, and it is no wonder that we should err at first setting off. From an excess of tenderness, we were unwilling to raise an army, and trusted our cause to the temporary defence of a well meaning militia. A summer's experience has now taught us better; yet with those troops, while they were collected, we were able to set bounds to the progress of the enemy, and thank God! they are again assembling. I always considered a militia as the best troops in the world for a sudden exertion, but they will not do for a long campaign. Howe, it is probable, will make an attempt on this city; should he fail on this side the Delaware, he is ruined; if he succeeds, our cause is not ruined. He stukes all on his side against a part on ours; admitting he succeeds, the consequence will be, that armies from both ends of the Continent will march to assist their suflering friends in the middle States: for he cannot go every where, it is impossible. I consider Howe as the greatest enemy the Tories have; he is bringing a war into their country, which, had it not been for him and partly for themselves, they had been clear of Should he now be expelled, I wish, with all the devotion of a Christian, that the names of Whig and Tory may never more be mentioned; but should the Tories give him encouragement to come, or assistance if he come, I us sincerely wish that our next year's arms may expel them from the Continent, and the Congress appropriate their possessions to the relief of those who have suffered in well doing. A single successful batthe next year will settle the whole. America could carry on a two years' war by the confiscation of the property of disaffected persons, and be made happy by their expulsion. Say not that this is revenge, call it rather the soft resentment of a suffering people, who, having no object in view but the GooD of ALL, have staked their owN ALL upon a seemingly doubtful event. Yet it is folly to argue against determined hardness; eloquence may strike the ear, and the language of sorrow draw forth the tear of compas sion, but nothing can reach the heart that is steeled with prejudice. Quitting this class of men, I turn with the warm ardour of a friend to those who have nobly stood, and are yet determined to stand the matter out I call not upon a few, but upon all, not on tuus State Or THAT State, but on EVERY State, up and help us; lay your shoulders to the wheel, better have too much force than too little, when so great an object is at stake. Let it be told to the future world, that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive, that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet and to repulse it. Say not, that thousands are gone, turn out your tens of thousands; throw not the burthen of the day upon Providence, but, "show your faith by your works," that God may bless you. It matters not where you live, or what rank of life you hold, the evil or the blessing will reach you all, The far and the near, the home counties and the back, the rich and the poor, shall suffer or rejoice alike. The heart that feels not now, is dead: The blood of his children shall curse his cowardice, who shrinks back at a time when a little might have saved the whole, and made them happy. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death. My own line of reasoning is to myself as strait and clear as a ray of light. Not all the treasures of the world, so far as I believe, could have induced me to support an offensive war, for I think it murder; but if a thief break into my house, burn and destroy my property, and kill or threaten to kill me, or those that are in it, and to “bind me in all cases whatsoever," to his absolute will, am I to suffer it? What signifies it to me, whether he who does it, is a king or a common man; my countryman or not my countryman whether it is done by an individual vllain, or an army of them? If we reason to the root of things we shall find no difference; neither en any just cause be assigned why we should punish in the one case, and pardon in the other. let them call me rebel and welcome, I feel ro con ce:n from it; but I should suffer the misery of devils, were I to make a whore of my soul by swearing allegiance to one, whose character is that of a sottish, stupid, stubborn, worthless, brutish man. I conceive likewise a horrid idea in receiving mercy from a being, who at the last day shall be shrieking to the rocks and mountains to cover him, |