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ntorattij of J^ittaburgt} 

arlington Memorial Library 



COLUMBIAN orator: 











Author erf the American Preceptor, Young Lady's Accidence, &c 

"Cato cultivated ELOQUETiCE, as a necessary mean for defending THE 
RIGHTS OF THE PEOPLE, and for enforcing good Counsels." 


Stereotype Edition. 


printed for CALEB BINGHAM AND CO. 

ABd Sold at their Book-Store, No. 43 Corohill. . 



BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the twentieth day of 
November, A. D. 1810, and in the thirty-fifth Year of the In- 
dependence of the United States of America, Caleb Bing- 
ham of the said District, has deposited in this Office the title 
of a Book, the right whereof he claims as Author, in the 
words following, to wit : " The Columbian Orator : con- 
taining a variety of original and selected pieces ; together 
with rules ; calculated to improve youth and others in the 
ornamental and useful art of eloquence. By Caleb Bing- 
ham, A. m. author of the American Preceptor, Young Lady's 
Accidence, &c. " Cato cultivated eloquence, as a necessary 
mean for defending the rights of the people, and for enforcing 
good counsels." RoUin. 

In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United 
States, entitled, " An Act for the encouragement of learning, 
by sectiring the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the 
Authors and Proprietors of such Copies, during the times 
therein mentioned ;" and also to an Act entitled, *' An Act 
supplementary to an Act, entitled, An Act for the encourage- 
ment of learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts and 
Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such copies during 
the times therein mentioned ; and extending the benefits 
thereof td the Arts of Designing, Engraving and Etching His- 
torical, and other prints." 

ixr o c ^ Clerk of the District 

William S. Shaw, ^ „j- Mismchusetts. 

Stereotyped by B. k. J. Collins, Tvew-York. 


NOTWITHSTAjYDIKG the multiplicity of School^ 
Books now in use, it has been often suggested, that a 
Selection, calculated particularly for Dialogue and 
Declamation, would be of extensive utility in our 

The art of Oratory needs no encomium. To cultivate 
its rudiments, and diffuse its spirit among the Youth of 
America, is the design of this Book. 

Of tha many pieces which this volume contains, 
three only are to be found in any publication of the 
kind. A large proportion is entirely original. To 

'Hhose, who have assisted him in this part, the author re- 

^turns his zcarmest acknowledgments. 

The COLUMBIAN ORATOR is designed for a 
Second Part to the AMERICAN PRECEPTOR : fo^ 
this reason, no pieces are inserted from that book. 

As no advantage could arise from a methodical ar- 
rangement, the Author has preferred variety to sys- 
yern. In his choice of materials, it has been his object 
Jo select such as should inspire the pupil zoith the ardour 
^.of eloquence, and the love of virtue. He has spared 
no pains to render the Work, in every respect, worthy 
Jfthe generous patronage, which a liberal public have 
'^estowed on his former publications 



/~^ ENERAL Instructions for Speaking - - 7 

^^ Oration on Eloquence - - Perkins 30 

Speech in Congress, 1789 - - Washington 34 
Speech of a Roman General - - P. Emilius 36 
Exhortation on Temperance in Pleasure - Blair 38 
Judah's Plea for Benjamin, before Joseph - Philo 41 
Plea in behalf of Thomas Muir - - Mum 43 

On the starry Heavens ... Hervey 44 

Paper, a Poem - - - . Franklin 46 

Speech before the Roman Senate - - Cato 48 
Dialogue between Duellist, Savage, and Mercury 

Littleton 50 
Speech of an Indian Chief - - - - 54 

On the Creation of the World ... Blair 55 
Lines spoken by a little Boy - - - Everett 57 
Speech in the British Parliament, 1766 - Pitt 58 

Scene from the Farce of Lethe - - Garrick 61 
Eulogy on Dr. Franklin - - . Fauchet 64 

Epilogue to Addison's Cato . - - - 69 

Self-Conceit, an Address by a small Boy - - 70 

Dialogue bet'.veen Howard and Lester - - 72 

Christ's Crucifixion - - - Cumberland 74 

The Wonders of Nature - - Hervey 77 

Dialogue on Physiognomy - - - 79 

Oration at the Festival of Gratitude - - Carnot 82 
Address to the President of the United States - Adet 85 
President's Answer - - Washington 87 

The oppressive Landlord, a Dialogue - - 88 

Speech in the British Parhament, 1770 - Mansfield 94 
On the Day of Judgment - - Davies 97 

Christ triumphant over the apostate Angels Milton 100 
Slaves in Barbary, a Drama in two Acts - Everett 102 
Speech in the British Parliament, 1770 - - Pitt 119 
Plea before a Roman Court - - Socrates 122 

Dialogue on Cowardice and Knavery - - 126 

Speech in the British ParUament - - Sheridan 130 
Extract from an Oration against Catiline - Cicero 131 
Description of the first American Congress Barlow 133 
Speech of a French General to his Army Buonaparte 135 
Reflections over the Grave of a young Man Hervey 136 
Scene from the Drama of " Moses in the Bulrushes" 

A 2 [H.Mobe 137 


Speech of a Roman General - - - 
Speech in tlie British Parliament, 1784 
Address to the People of the U. States 
Dialogue on the Choice of Business for 
Speech of a French General 
Speech in the British Parliament, 1777 


C.Cassius 142 




Di alogue between a Schoolmaster and School-Committee 1 58 
Speech in the British Pariiament, 1770 - - Pitt 165 
On the general Judgment Day - Dwight 

On the Works of Creation and Providence - Hervey 
Speech in the British Parliament, 1770 - - Fox 
The Conjurer, a Dialogue - - Everett 

Speech in the British Parliament, 1775 - Pitt 
Speech of the Caledonian General - Galgachus 
Modern Education, a Dialogue - - - 

On the Existence of God, a Sermon - - Maxcy 
The Dignity of Human Nature - Burges 

Infernal Conference - - - Cumberland 
Speech in the British Parhament, 1777 - Pitt 
On the Day of Judgment - - - Young 

The dissipated Oxford Student Altered from Burney 
Speech in Congress, on the British Treaty - Ames 
Oration on Independence, July 4, 1796 - - Blake 
General Description of America, a Poem Everett 

Dialogue between a Master and Slave - Aikin 

Speech in the Irish Parliament - - O'Connor 
Scene from the Tragedy of Tamerlane - Rowe 
Speech in the British Parliamelit - - Barre 
The Last Day - - - Everett 

Dialogue on Loquacity 
American Sages . . - 

Speech in the British Parliament, 1777 
Scene from the Tragedy of Cato 
Oration delivered at Boston, July 4, 1794 
Dialogue between a White Man and an Indian Everett 
Oration, pronounced at Boston, July 4, 1796 Lathrop 
Dialogue between Edward and Harry 
David and Goliath 

Oration on the Powers of Eloquence 
Dialogue on Civilization 
Oration on the Manumission of Slaves 
A Forensic Dispute 





H. More 


(^ration delivercc! at Boston, March Sth, 1780 Mas-on 




General Directions for Speaking ; 
from various authors. 



THE best judges among the ancients have repre- 
sented Pronunciation, which they likewise called 
Action, as the principal part of an orator's province ; 
from whence he is chiefly to expect success in the art 
of persuasion. When Cicero, in the person of Crassus, 
has largely and elegantly discoursed \ipon all the other 
parts of oratory, coming at last to speak of this, he says, 
" All the former have their effect as they are pronoun- 
ced. It is the action alone which governs in speaking ; 
without which the best orator is of no value ; and is 
often defeated by one, in other respects, much his in- 
ferior." And he lets us know, that Demosthenes was 
of the same opinion ; who, when he was asked what 
was the principal thing in oratory, replied, Action ; 
and being asked again a second and a third time, what 
was Hext considerable, he still made the same answer. 



And, indeed, if he had not judged this highly neces- 
sary for an orator, he would scarcely have taken so 
much pains in correcting those natural defects, under 
which he laboured at first, in order to acquire it. For 
he had both a weak voice, and likewise an impediment 
in his speech, so that lie could not pronounce distinctly 
some particular letters. The former of which defects 
he conquered, partly by speaking as loud as he could 
upon the shorej when the sea roared and was boister- 
ous ; and partly by pronouncing long periO'.is ris he 
walked up hill ; both of which methods contributed 
to strengthen his voice. And he found means to ren- 
der his pronunciation more clear and articulate, by the 
help of some little stones put under his tongue. Nor 
was he less careful in endeavouring to gain the habit 
of a becoming and decent gesture; for which purpose 
he used to pronounce his discourses alone before a large 
glass. And because he had an ill custom of drawing 
up his shoulders when he spoke, to amend that,, lie 
used to place them under a swoixl, which hung over 
him with the point downv/ard. 

Such pains did this prince of the Grecian orators take " 
to remove those diiliculties, which would have been 
sufficient to discourage an inferior, and less aspiring 
genius. And to how great a perfection he arrived in 
his action, under all these disadvantages, by his inde- 
fatigable diligence and application, is evident from the 
confession of his great adversary and rival in oratory, 
Eschines ; who, when he could not bear the disgrace of 
being worsted by Demosthenes in the cause of Ctesipii^n, 
retired to Rhodes. And being desired by the inhab- 
itants, he recited to them his own oration upon that 
occasion ; the next day they requested of him to let them 
hear that of Demosthenes ; which, having pronounced 
in a most graceful manner, to the admiration of all who 
were present, '* How much more (says he) would you 
bav.e v/ondered, if you had heard him speak it himself!" 

We might add to these authorities the judgment of 
Quintilian j who says, that " It is not of so much mo- 


inent what our compositions are, as how they are pro- 
nounced ; since it is the manner of the delivery, hy 
which the audience is moved." 

" The truth of this sentiment of the ancients, concera- 
ing the power and efficacy of pronunciation, might be 
proved from many instances ; but one or two may here 
suffice. Hortensius, a cotcmporary with Cicero, and 
while living, next to hijn in reputation as an orator, 
was highly applauded for his action. But his orations 
after his death, as Quintilian tells us, did not appear 
answerable to his character; from whence he justly 
concludes, there must have been something pleasing 
when he spoke, by which he gained.-feis character, 
which was lost in reading them. 

But perhaps there is scarcely a more considerable in- 
stance of this than in Cicero himself. After the death 
of Pompey, when Cesar had gotten the government 
into his own hands, many of his acquaintance interce- 
ded with him in behalf of their relations and friends, 
who had been of the contrary party in the late wars. 
Among others, Cicero solicited for his friend Ligarius ; 
which, Tubero understanding, who owed Ligarius a 
grudge, opposed ; and undertook to represent him lo 
Cesar as unworthy of his mercy. Cesar himself was 
prejudiced agahist Ligarius ; and therefore, when the 
cause was come before him, he said, " We may 
venture to hear Cicero display his eloquence ; for I 
know the person, he pleads for to be an ill man, and' 
my enemy." 

But, however, in the course 6f his oration, Cicero so 
wrought upon his passions, that by the frequent altera- 
tion in his countenance, the emotions of his mind were 
very conspicuous. And when he came to touch upon 
the battle of Pharsalia, which had given Cesar the em- 
pire of the world, he represented it in such a moving 
and lively manner, that Cesar could no longer contain 
him.self, but was thrown into such a fit of shivering, 
that he dropped the papers which he held in his hand. 
This was the more remarkable, because Cesar was him- 


self one of the greatest orators of that age ; knew all 
the arts of address, and avenues to the passions ; and con- 
sequently was better prepared to guard against them. 

But neither his skill, nor resolution of mind, was of 
sufficient force against tiie power of oratory ; but the 
conqueror of the world became a conquest to the charms 
of Cicero's eloquence ; so that, contrary to his inten- 
tion, he pardoned Ligarius. Now that oration is still 
extant, and appears exceedingly well calculated to 
touch the soft and tender passions and springs of the 
soul ; but v»'c believe it can scarcely be discernible to 
any, in reading it, how it should have had so surprising 
an effect ; which must therefore have been chiefly ow- 
ing to the wonderful address of the speaker. 

The more natural the pronunciation is, the more 
moving it will be ; since the perfection of art consists 
in its nearest resemblance to nature. And therefore 
it is not without good reason, that the ancients make 
it one qualification of an orator, that he he o. good man ; 
because a person of this character will make the cause 
he espouses his own ; and the more sensibly he is 
touched with it himself, the more natural will be his 
action ; and, of course, the more easily will he affect 
others. Cicero says, " It is certain that truth (by 
which he means nature) in every thing excels, imita- 
tion ; but if that \\ei:e sufficient of itself in action, we 
should have no occasion for art." 

In his opinion therefore (and who was ever a better 
judge ?) art, in this case, as well as in many others, if 
well managed, will assist and improve nature. But this 
is not all ; for sometimes we find the force of it so great 
and powerful, that, where it is wholly counterfeit, it 
will for the time work the same effect as if it were 
founded in truth. This is well known to those who 
have been conversant with the representations of the 
theatre. In tragedies, though w^e are sensible that 
every thing we see and hear is counterfeit ; yet such is 
the power of action, that we are oftentimes affected by 
it in the same manner as if it were all reality. 



Anger and resentment at the appearance of cruelty,.' 
concern and solicitude for distressed virtue, rise in our i 
breasts ; and tears are extorted from us for oppressed 
innocence : though at the same time, perhaps, we are 
ready to laugh at ourselves for being thus decoyed. If 
art then has so great an influence upon us, when sup- 
ported by fancy and imagination only, how powerful 
must be the effect of a just and lively representation of 
what we know to be true. 

How agreeable it is, both to nature and reason, that a 
warmth of expression and vehemency of motion should 
rise in {proportion to the importance of the subject, and 
concern of the speaker, will further appear by looking 
back a little into the more early and simple ages of the 
world. For the higher we go, the more we shall find 
of both. The Romans had a very great talent this 
way, and the Greeks a greater. The eastern nations 
excelled in it, and particularly the Hebrews. 

Nothing can equal the strength and vivacity of the 
figures they employed in their discourse, and the very 
actions they used, to express their sentiments ; such as 
putting ashes on their heads, tearing their garments, 
and covering themselves with sackcloth under any deep 
distress and sorrow of mTu^. And hence, no doubt, 
arose those surprising efiects of eloquence, which we 
never experience now. 

And what is said here, with respect to the action of 
the eastern nations, was in a good measure customary 
among the Greeks and Romans 4 if not entirely of the 
same kind, yet perhaps as vehement and expressive. 

They did not think language of itself sufficient to ex- 
press the height of their passions, unless enforced by 
uncommon motions and gestures. Thus, when Achil- 
les had driven the Trojans into their city with the 
greatest precipitation and terror, and only Hector ven- 
tured to tarry without the gates to engage him. Homer 
represents both king Priam and his queen under the 
highest consternation for the dangeY of their son. And 
therefore, in order to prevail with him to come into the 



city and not fight with Achilles, they not only entreat 
him from the walls in the most tender and moving lan- 
guage imaginable ; but they tear off their grey looks 
with their hands, and adjure him to comply with their 

The poet knew very well, that no words of them- 
selves could represent those agonies of mind he endeav- 
oured to convey, unless heightened by the idea of such 
actions as were expressive of the deepest sorrow, in 
one of Cicero's orations, he does not stick to argue in this 
manner with his adversary. " Would you talk thus 
(says he) if you were serious ? Would you, who are 
wont to display your eloquence so warmly in the danger 
of others, act so coldly in your own? Where is that 
concern, that ardour which used to extort pity even 
from children ? Here is no emotion either of mind or 
body; neither the forehead struck, nor the thigh; 
nor so much as a stamp of the foot. Therefore, you 
have been so far from inflaming our minds, that you 
have scarcely kept us awake.'' 

The ancients had persons, whose proper business it 
was to teach them how to regulate and manage their 
voice ; and others, who instructed them in the whole 
art of pronunciation, both ^^ to their voice and gestures. 
These latter were generally taken from the theatre, 
being some eminent experienced actors. But though 
they made use of actors to instruct their youth in form- 
ing their speech and gestures; yet the action ofao or- 
ator was very different from that 6f the theatre. 

Cicero very plainly represents this distinction, in the 
words of Crassus ; when speaking of orators, he says, 
" The motions of the body ought to be suited to the 
expressions, not in a theatrical way, mimicking the 
words by particular gesticulations ; but in a manner 
expressive of the general sense ; with a sedate and manly 
inflection of the sides ; not taken from the stage and 
actors, but from the exercise of arms and the palestra." 
And Quintilian says to the same purpose, " Every 
gesture and motion of the comedians is not to be imi- 


taled, nor to the same degree. They thought the 
action of th© theatre too light and extravagant for the 
imitation of an orator ; and therefore, though they 
employed actors to inform young persons in the first 
rudiments, yet they were afterwards sent to schools, de- . 
signed on purpose to teach them a decent and graceful 
management of their bodies. 

Being thus far prepared, they were afterwards sent 
to the schools of the rhetoricians. And here, as their 
business was to cultivate their style, and gain the whole 
art of eloquence, so particularly to acquire a just and 
accurate pronunciation by those exercises, in which for 
that end they were constantly employed. Nor, after 
all this pains and industry, did they yet think them- 
selves sufficiently qualified to take upon them the char- 
acter of orators. But it was their constant custom to 
get together some of their friends and acquaintance, 
who were proper judges of such performances, and 
declaim before them in private. 
^ The business of these persons was to make observa- 
tions both on their language and pronunciation. And 
they were allowed the greatest freedom to take notice 
of any thing thought to be amiss, either as to inaccuracy 
of method, impropriety of stvle, or indecency of their 
voice or actions. This gav-'f them an opportunity to 
correct any such defects at fct, lefore they became 
habitual. What effects might not justly be expected 
from such an institution ? Persons trained up in this 
manner, with all those advartages, joined to a good 
natural genius, C9uld not fail of making very complete 
orators. Though even after they came to appear in 
public, they did not lay aside the custom of declaiming. 

The influence of sounds, either to raise or allay our 
passions, is evident from music. And certainly the 
harmony of a fine discourse, well and gracefully pro- 
nounced, is as capable of moving us, if not in a way 
so violent and ecstatic, yet not less powerful, and more 
agreeable to our rational faculties. As persons are dif- 
ferently affected when they speak, so they naturally 
B aher 


alter the tone of their voice, though they do not attend 
to it. It rises, sinks, and has various inflections given 
it, according to the present state and disposition of the 
mind. When the mind is calm and sedate, the voice is 
moderate and even ; when the former is dejected with 
sorrow, the latter is languid ; and when that is inflamed 
by passion, this is elevated. 

It is the orator's business, therefore, to follow nature, 
and to endeavour that the tone of his voice appear natural 
and unaffected. An J for this end, he must take care to 
suit it to the nature of the subject ; but still so as to be 
always grave and decent. Some persons continue a 
discourse in such a low and drawling manner, that they 
can scarcely be heard by their audience. Others again 
hurry on in so loud and boisterous a manner, as if they 
imagined their hearers were deaf. But all the music 
and harmony of voice lies between these extremes. 

Perhaps nothing is of more importance to a speaker, 
than a proper attention to accent, emphasis, and ca- 
dence. Every word in our language, of more than one 
syllable, has, at least, one accented syllable. This sylla- 
ble ought to be rightly known, and the word should be 
pronounced by the speaker in the same manner as he 
would pronounce it in o^'dj^nary conversation. By em- 
phasis, we distinguish those words in a sentence which 
we esteem the most imp<'rtant, by laying a greater 
stress of voice upon then? than we do upon the others. 
And it is surprising to observe how the sense of a 
phrase may be altered b^ varying the emphasis. The 
following example will serve as an illustration. 

This short question, '* Will you ride to town to- 
day V' may be understood in four different ways, and, 
consequently, may receive four different answ^ers, ac- 
cording tQ, the placing of the emphasis. 

If it be pronounced thus ; Will you ride to town 
to-day ? the answer may properly be. No ; I shall send 
my son. If thus ; Will you ride to town to-day ? 
Answer, No; T intend to walk. Will you ride to 



town to-day ? No ; I shall ride into the counU-y. Will 
you ride to town to-day? No ; but 1 shall to-morrow. . 

This shows how necessary it is that a speaker should 
know how to place his emphasis. And the only rule 
for this is, that he study to attain a just conception of 
the force and spirit of the sentiments which he delivers. 
There is as great a difference between one who lays 
his emphasis properly, and one who pays no regard to 
it, or places it wrong, as there is between one who 
plays on an instrument with a masterly hand, and the 
most bungling performer. 

Cadence is the reverse of emphasis. It is a depres- 
sion or lowering of the voice ; and commonly falls up- 
on the last syllable in a sentence. It is varied, how- 
ever, according to the sense. When a question is 
asked, it seldom falls upon the last word ; and many 
sentences require no cadence at all. 

Every person who speaks in public, should endeavour, 
if he can, to fill the place where he speaks. But still 
he ought to be careful not to exceed the natui*a4 key 
of his voice. If he does, it will neither be soft nor 
agreeable ; but either harsh and rough, or too shrill and 
squeaking. Besides, he will not be able to give every 
syllable its full and distinct sound ; which vr'Il render 
what he says obscure, and difficult to be understood. 
He should therefore take care to keep his voice within 
reach, -so as to have it under management, that he may 
raise or sink it, or give it any inflection he thinks prop- 
er ; which it will not be in his power to do, if he put 
a force upon it, and strain it, beyond its natural tone.- 

The like caution is to be used against the contrary 
extreme, that the voice be not suffered to sink too low. 
This will give the speaker pain in raising it again to its 
proper pilch, and be no less offensive to the hearers. 
The medium between these two is a moderate and even 
voice. But this is not the same in all ; , that which 
is moderate in one would be high in another. Every 
erson therefore must regulate it by the natural key of 
is own veice. A calm and sedate voice is generally 

best ; 



best ; as a moderate sound is most pleasing to the ear, 
if it be clear and distinct. But this equality of the 
voice must also be accompanied with a variety : other- 
wise there can be no hannony ; since all harmony con- 
sists in variety. 

Nothing is less pleasing than a discourse pronounced 
thi'oughout in one continued tone of the voice, with- 
out any alteration.. The equality, therefore, we are 
here speaking of, admits a variety of inflections and 
changes within the same pitch. And when that is 
altered, the gradations, whedier higher or lower, should 
be so gentle and regular as to preserve a due pro- 
portion of the parts, and hannony of the whole ; which 
carfnot be done, when the voice is suddenly varied with 
;0 great a distinction. And therefore it should move 
ironi one key to another, so as rather to glide like a 
gentle stream, than pour down like a rapid torrent, as 
an ingenious "writer has well expressed it. 

But an affected variety, ill placed, is as disagreeable 
to a judicious audience, as the want of it, where the 
subject requires it. We may find some persons, in pro- 
nouncing a grave and })lain discourse, affect as many 
different tones, and variations of their voice, as if they 
were acting a comedy ; which is doubtless a very great 
impropriety. But the orator's province is not barely 
to apply to the mind, but likewise to the passions ; 
which require a great variety of the voice, high or 
low, vehement or languid, according to the nature of 
the passions he designs to affect. So that for an orator 
always to use the same tone or degree of his voice, and 
expect to answer all his views by it, would be much the 
same thing as if a physician should propose to cure all 
distempers by one medicine. And, as a perfect monoto- 
ny is always unpleasant, so it can never be necessary 
in any discourse. 

That some sentences ought to be pronounced faster 
than others is very manifest. Gay and sprighdy ideas 
should not only be expressed louder, but also quicker 
than such as are melancholy. A«ad when we press an 



opponent, the voice should be brisk. But to hurry or 
in a precipitate manner without pausing, till stopped foi 
want of breath, is certainly a very great fault. This 
destroys not only the necessary distinction between sen- 
tence and sentence, but likewise between the several 
words of, the same sentence ; by which mean, all the 
grace of speaking is lost, and in a great measure, the 
advantage of hearing. 

Young persons are very liable to this, especially at 
first setting out. And it often arises from diffidence. 
They are jealous of their performances, and the suc- 
cess they may have in speaking, which gives them a 
pain-till it is over; and this puts them into a hurry of 
mind, which incapacitates them from governing their 
voice, and keeping it under that due regulation which 
perhaps they proposed to themselves before they began 
to speak. 

And as a precipitant and hasty pronunciation is cul- 
pable, so likewise on the other hand, it is a fault to 
speak too slow\ This seems to argue a heaviness in 
the speaker. And as he appears cool himself, he can 
never expect to warm his hearers, and excite their af- 
fections. vYhen not only every wofd, but every sylla- 
ble is draw^n out to too great a length, the ideas do 
not come fast enough to keep up the attention without 
much uneasiness. Now, to avoid either of the two 
extremes last mentioned, the voice ought to be sedate 
and distinct. And in order to render it distinct, it is 
necessary, not only that each word and syllable should 
have its just and full sound, both as to time and accent, 
but likewise that every sentence, and part of a sentence, 
should be separated by its proper pause. 

This is more easy to be done in reading, from the 
assistance of the points ; but it is no less to be attended 
to in speaking, if w^e would pronounce in a distinct 
and graceful manner. For every one should speak in 
the same manner as he ought to read, if he could ar- 
rive at that exactness. Now the common rule given in 
pausing is, that we stop our voice at a comma till we 
B 2 can 


can tell one, at a semicolon two, at a colon three, aiid 
at a full period four. And as these points are either 
accommodated to the several parts of the same sen- 
tence, as the first three; or different sentences, as the 
last ; this occasions the different length of the pause, 
by which either the dependence of what precedes upon 
that which follows, or its distinction from it is repre- 

It is not in our power to give ourselves w^hat qual- 
ities of the voice we please ; but only to make the 
best use we can of what nature has bestowed upon us. 
However, several defects of the voice are capable of 
being helped by care and proper means ; as, on the 
other hand, the best voice may be greatly hurt by ill 
management and indiscretion. Temperance is a great 
preservative of the voice, and all excess is highly prej- 
udicial to it. The voice must necessarily suffer, if the 
organs of speech have not their proper tone. A strong 
voice is very serviceable to an orator, because, if he 
want some other advantages, he is, however, capable to 
make himself heard. Ajid if at any time he is forced 
to strain it, he is in less danger of its failing him before 
he has finished his discourse. 

But he, who has a weak voice, should be very care- 
ful not to strain it, especially at first. He ought to be- 
gin slow, and rise gradually to such a pitch as the key 
of his voice will well carry him, without being obliged 
to sink again afterwards. Frequent inflections of 
the voice will likewise be some assistance to him. But 
especially he should take care to speak deliberately, 
and ease his vaice, by allowing due time for respira- 
tion at all the proper pauses. It is an extreme much 
less inconvenient for such a person rather to speak too 
slow, than too fast. But this defeet of a weak voice is 
Sometimes capable of being helped by the use of pro- 
per methods ; as is evident from tlie instance of De- 
mosthenes, before mentioned. 

Some persons, cither from want of dwe care in their 
■education at first, or from inadvertency and negligence 



afterwards, mn into a very irrcgukir and confused man- 
ner of expressing their words; either by misplacing the 
accent, confounding the sound of the letters, or hud- 
dling the syllables one upon another, so as to render 
what they say often unintelligible. Indeed, sometimes 
this arises from a natural defect, as in the case of De- 
mosthenes ; who found a method to rectify that, as well 
as the weakness of his voice. But in faults of this 
kind, which proceed from habit, doubtless the mo3t 
likely way to mead them is tj speak deliberately. 


By" this is meant, a suitable conformity of the mo- 
tions of the countenance, and several parts of the body 
in speaking, to the subject matter of the discourse. It 
is not agreed among the learned, whether voice or ges- 
ture has the greater influence upon us. But as the 
latter affects us by the eye as the former does by the 
ear, gesture in the nature of it seems to have this ad- 
vantage, that it conveys the impression more speedily 
to the mind ; for the sight is the quickest of all our 
senses. Nor is its influence less upon our passions ; 
nay, in some instances, it appears to act more power- 
fully. A cast of the eye will express desine in as 
moving a manner as the softest language ; and adiffer- 
ent motion of it, resentment. 

To wring the hands, tear the hair, or strike the 
breast, are all strong indications of sorrow.. And he, 
who claps his hand to his sword, throws us into a 
greater panic than one who only threatens to kill us. 
Nor is it in some respects less various and extensive 
language. Cicero tells us, he often diverted him|^if 
by trying this with Roscius the comedian ; who could 
express a sentence as many ways by his gestures, as he 
himself covild by words. And some dramas, called pan- 
tomimes, have been carried on wholly by mutes, who 



have performed every part by gestures only, without 
words, in a way very intelligible. 

But with respect to oratory, gesture may very prop- 
erly be called the second part of pronunciation ; in 
which, as the voice should be suited to the impressions 
it receives from the mind, so the several motions of the 
body ought to be accommodated to the various tanes 
and inflections of the voice. When the voice is even 
and moderate, little gesture is required ; and nothing 
is more unnatural than violent motion, in discoursing 
upon ordinary and familiar subjects. The motions of 
the body should rise therefore in proportion to the ve- 
hemence and energy of the expression, as the natural 
and genuine effect of it. 

But as gesture is very different and various as to the 
manner of it, which depends upon the decent conduct 
of several parts of the body, it v/ill not be amiss to con- 
sider more particularly the proper management of each 
of those parts. Now all gesture is either natural, or 
from imitation. By natural gesture, we mean such 
actions and motions of the body, as naturally accom- 
pany our words, as these do the impressions of our 
mind. And these either respect the whole body, or 
some particular part of it; 

The speaker should not long continue standing in 
the same position, like a statue, but be constantly 
changing, though the motion be very moderate. There 
ought to be no appeai^ance of stiffness, but a certain 
case and pliableness, naturally suiting itself to every 
expression ; by which means, when a greater degree 
€>f motion is necessary, it will appear less sudden and 
vehement : for as the raising, sinking, and various in- 
flections of the voice must be gradual, so likewise 
should the aiotions of the body. It is only on some 
particular occasions that a hasty vehemence and impe- 
tuosity is proper in either case. 

As to the several parts of the body , the head is the most 
considerable. To lift it up too high has the air of aiTO- 
gance and pride ; to stretch it out too far, or throw it 



back, looks clownish and unmannerly; to hang it down- 
wards on the breast, shows an unmanly bashfulness and 
want of spirit : and to suffer it to loan on either shoul- 
der argues both sloth and indolence. Wherefore, in 
calm and sedate discourse, it ought to keep its natural 
state, and upright posture. However, it should not be 
long without motion, nor yet always movmg; but 
^enllv turn sometimes on one side, and sometimes on 
The other, as occasion requires, that the voice may be 
heard by all who are present; and then return again 
to its natural position. It should always accompany 
the othe^' actions of the body, and turn on the same 
side with them ; except when aversion to any thing is 
expressed ; which is done by stretching out the right- 
hand, and turning the head to the left. 

But it is the countenance, that chiefly insprescnts both 
the passions and dispositions "of the mind. By this we 
express love, hatred, joy, sorrow, modesty, and con- 
fidence : by this we supplicate, threaten, soothe, invite, 
forbid, consent, or refuse ; and all this without speaking. 
Nay, from hence we form a judgment not only of a per- 
son's present temper, but of his capacity and natural 
disposition. And therefore it is common to say, such 
a one has a " promising countenance,"^ or that " he 
promises little by his countenance." It is true, this is 
no certain rule of judging ; nor is it in the power of 
any one to alter the natural make of his countenance. . 
But the several parts of the face bear their part, and 
contribute to the proper and decent motion of the 
whole. In a calm and sedate discourse, all the features 
retain their natural state and situation. In sorrow 
the forehead and eyebrows lour, and the checks hang 
down. But in expressions of joy and cheerfulness, 
the foreheed and eyebrows are expanded, the checks 
contracted, and the corners of the mouth drawn up- 
wards. Anger and resentment contract the forehead, 
draw the brows together, and thrust out the lips. And 
terror elevates both the brows and forehead. As these 



are the natural signs of such passions, the orator should 
endeavour to conform to thenr.- 

But as the eyes are most active and significant, it is . 
the advice of Cicer® that the greatest care should be 
taken in their management. And he gives this reason 
for it. " Because other parts of the countenance have 
but few motions ; whereas all the passions of the soul 
are expressed in the eyes, by &o many different actions; . 
which cannot possibly be represented by any gestures 
of the body, if the eyes are kept in a fixed posture." 
Common experience does in a great measure confirm • 
the truth of. this observation. We readily guess at a 
person's intention, or how he is aifected to us by his 
eyes. And any sudden change or emotion of the mind 
is presently followed by an alteration in the look. 

In speaking, therefore, upon pleasant and delightful 
subjects, the eyes are brisk and cheerful; as, on the 
contrary, they sink and are languid in delivering any- 
thing melancholy and sorrowful. This is so agreeable 
to nature, that before a person speaks, we are prepared 
with the expectation of one or the other from his dif- 
ferent aspect. So likewise in anger, a certain vehe- 
mence and intenseness appears in the eyes, which, for 
want of proper words to express it by, we endeavour^ 
to represent by metaphors taken from fire, the most " 
violent and rapid element ; and say in such cases, the 
eyes sparkle, burn, or are inflamed. In expressions 
of hatred or detestation, it is natural to alter the looks, 
either by turning the eyes aside, or downwards. 

Indeed, the eyes are sometimes turned downwards 
upon other occasions, as to express modesty. And if at 
any time a particulai- object be addressed, whatever it . 
be, the eyes should be turned that way. And there- 
fore Pl.iilostratus very deservedly ridicules a certain 
rhetorician as guilty of solecism in gesture, who, upon 
saving, O Jupiter ! turned his eyes downwards ; and 
when he said, O Earth ! looked upward. A staring 
look lias the appearance of giddiness and want of 
thought : and to contract the eyes gives suspicion of 



craft and design. A fixed look may be occasioned 
from intenseness of thought ; but at the same time shows 
a disre^gard to the audience ; and a too quick and wan- 
dering motion of the eyes denotes levity and wanton- 
ness. A gentle and moderate motion of the eyes is, 
therefore, in common, most suitable ; always directed 
to some of the audience, and gradually turning from 
side to side with an air of respect and modesty, and 
looking them decently in the face, as in common dis- 
course. Such a behaviour will of course draw at- 

As to the other parts of the body distinct from the 
head, the shoulders ought not to be elevated; for this 
is not only in itself indecent ; but it likewise contracts 
the neck, and hinders the proper motion of the head. 
Nor, on the other hand, should they be drawn down 
and depressed ; because this occasions a stiiihess both 
to the neck and the whole body. Their natural pos- 
ture therefore is best, as being most easy and grace- 
ful. To shrug the shoulders has an abject and servile 
air ; and fi-equently to heave them upwards and down- 
wards is a very disagr(jeable sight. A continued mo- 
tion of the arms any way, is by all means to be avoid- 
ed. Their action should generally be very moderate, 
and follow that of the hands ; unless in very pathetic 
expressions, where it may be proper to give them .a 
more lively spring. 

Now, all bodily motion is either upward or down- 
ward, to the right or left, forward or backward, or 
else circular. I'he hands are employed by the orator 
in all these except the last. And as they ought to cor- 
respond with our expressions, so they ought to begin 
and end with them. In admiration, and addresses to 
Heaven, they must be elevated, but never raised above 
the eyes; and in speaking of things below us, they are 
directed downwaras. Side motion should generally be- 
gin from the left, aiid terminate gently on the right. 
In demonstrating, addressing, and on several other oc- 
casions, they are moved forward ; and in threatening., 



sometimes thrown back. But when the orator sp«alcs 
©f himself, his right hand should be gently laid on 
his breast. 

The left hand should seldom move alone, but ac- 
commodate itself to the motions of the right. In mo- 
tions to the left side, the right hand should not be car- 
ried beyond the left shoulder. In promises, and ex- 
pressions of compliment, the motion of the hands 
should be gentle and slow; but in exhortations and 
applause, more swift. The hands should generally 
be open ; but in expressions of compunction and an- 
ger, they may be closed. All finical and trilling ac- 
tions of the fingers ought to be avoided ; nor should 
they be stretched out and expanded in a stiff and rigid 
posture, but kept easy and pliable. 

The gestures we have hitherto discoursed of, are 
such as naturally accompany our expressions. And 
we believe those we have mentioned, if duly attended 
to, will be found sufficient to answer all the purposes 
of our modern pronunciation. The other sort of 
gestures above mentioned are such as arise from imita- 
tion ; as where the orator describes some action, or 
personates another speaking. But here great care is 
to be taken not to overact his part by running into 
any ludicrous or theatrical mimicry. It is sufficient 
for him to represent things of this nature, as may 
best convey the image of them in a lively manner to 
the minds of the hearers ; without any such changes 
either of his actions or voice as are not suitable to nis 
own character. 


WE shall begin with the parts of a discourse, and 
treat of them in their natural order. And here the 
view and design of the speaker in eaoh of them will 
easily help us to see the proper manner of pronuncia- 



aiioj. Let us suppose then a person presenting him- 
selt' before an assembly, in order to make a discourse 
to tliem. It cannot be decent immediately to begin to 
speak so soon as ever he makes his appearance. He 
will first settle himself, com.pose his countenance, and 
take a respectful view of his audience. This prepares 
them for silence and attention. 

Persons commonly form some opinion of a speaker 
from their first view of him, which prejudices them 
either in his favour or otherwise, as to what he says 
afterwards. A grave and sedate aspect inclines them 
to think him serious ; that he had considered his sub- 
ject, and may kave something to offer worth their at- 
tention. A haughty and forbidding air occasions dis- 
taste, as it looks lik€ disrespect. A wandering, giddy 
countenance argues levity. A dejected drooping ap- 
pearance is apt to raise contempt, unless where the 
subject is melancholy. And a cheerful aspect is a pro- 
per prelude to a pleasant and agreeable argument. 

To speak low at first has the appearance of modesty, 
and is best for the voice ; which, by rising gradually, 
will with more ease be carried to any pitch that may 
be afterwards necessary, without straining it. How- 
ever, some variation of the voice is always proper to 
give it harmony. Nay, and sometimes it is not im- 
proper for an orator to set out with a considerable 
deforce of warmth. We have some few instances of 
this in Cicero ; as in his oration for Roscius Amerinus> 
where the heinousness of the charge could not but ex- 
cite his indignation against the accusers. And so like- 
wise, in that against Piso^ and the two first against Ca- 
tiline, which begin in the same manner, from the resent- 
ment he had conceived against their persons and conduct. 

In the narration, the voice ought to be raised to some- 
what a higher pitch. Matters of fact should be related 
in a very plain and distinct manner, with a proper stress 
and emphasis laid upon each circumstance, accompanied 
with a suitable address and motions of the body to en- 
gage the attention of the hearers. For there is a certain 

C grace 


grace in telling a story, by which those who are masters 
of it seldom fail to recommend themselves in conver- 

The proposition, or subject of the discourse should 
be delivered with a very clear and audible voice. For 
if this be not plainly heard, all that follows in proof of 
it cannot be well'understood. And for the same reason, 
if it be divided into several parts or branches, they 
should each be expressed very deliberately and dis- 
tinctly. But as the design here is only information, 
there can be little room for gesture. 

The confirmation admits of great variety both of the 
voice and gesture. In reasoning, the voice is quick 
and pungent, and should be enforced with suitable ac- 
tions. And as descriptions likewise have often a place 
here, in painting out the images of things, the orator 
should so endeavour to adapt both his voice, and the 
motions of his body, particularly the turn of his eyes, 
and action of his hands, as may best help the imagina- 
tion of his hearers. Where he introduces another per- 
son speaking, or addresses an absent person, it should 
be with some degree of imitation. And in dialogue, 
the voice should alter with the parts. When he di- 
verts from his subject by any digression, his voice 
should be lively and cheerful 5 since that is rather de- 
signed for entertainment than instruction. 

In confutation, the arguments of the adverse party 
ought first to be repeated in a plain and distinct man- 
ner, that the speaker may not seem to conceal, or avoid 
the force of them. Unless they appear trifling and un- 
worthy of a serious answer ; and then a facetious man- 
ner, both of expression and gesture, may be the most 
proper way to confute them. For, to attempt to an- 
swer, in a grave and serious manner, what is in itself 
empty and ludicrous, is apt to create a suspicion of its 
having more in it than it really has. 

But caution should be used not to represent any ar- 
gument of weight in a ludicrous way, lest by so doing 
♦be speaker shouki more expose himself than his adver- 


saiy. In the conclusion, both the voice and gesture 
shouhl he brisk and sprightly ; which may seem to 
arise from a sense of the speaker's opinion of the good- 
ness of his cause, and that he has offered nothing but 
what is agreeable to reason and truth ; as likewise from 
his assurance that the audience agree with him in the 
same sentiment. If an enumeration of the principal 
arguments of the discourse be convenient, as it some- 
times is, where they are pretty numerous, or the dis- 
course is long, they ought to be expressed in the most 
clear and forcible manner. And if there be an address 
to the passions, both the voice and gesture must be 
suited to the nature of them. 

We proceed now to the consideration of particular 
expressions. And what we shall offer here, w-iil be in 
relation to the single words, sentences, and the pas- 
sions. Even in those sentences which are expressed 
in the most even and sedate manner, there is often one 
or more words which require an emphasis and distinc- 
tion of the voice. Pronouns are often of this kind : as^ 
this is the man. And such are many words that de- 
note the circumstances and qualities of things. Such 
as heighten or magnify the idea of the thing to w^hich 
they are joined, elevate the voice ; as, noble, admira- 
ble, majestic, greatly, and the like. On the contrary, 
those which lessen the idea, or debase it, depress the 
voice, or at least protract the tone : of which sort are 
the words, little, mean, poorly, contemptible, with many 

Some tropes, likewise, asT^aphors and verbal fig- 
ures, which censist in the repSition of a single word, 
^ould have a particular emphasis. As when Virgil 
says of the river Araxes, '* It disdained a bridge." And 
Nisus of himself, in the same poet, " I, /am the man ;" 
where the repeated word is loudest. This distinction 
of words, and giving them their proper emphasis, does 
not only render the expression more clear and intel- 
ligible, but very much contributes to the variation of 
the voice and the preventing of a monotony. 



In sentences, regard should be had to their lengtli, 
and the number of their parts, in order to distinguish 
thera by proper pauses. The frame and structure of 
the period ought likewise to be considered, that the 
voice may be so managed as to give it the most music- 
al accent. Unless there be some special reason for 
the contrarj', it should end louder than it begins. And 
this diifercnce of tone between the end of the former 
sentence and the beginning of the next, not only hclp^ 
to distinguish the sense, but adds to the harmony of 
tlie voice. 

In an antithesis, or a sentenc-e consisting of opposite 
parts, one contrary must be louder than the other. 
As, " He is gone, but by a gainful remove, from^^m- 
ful labour to qitict rest ; from unquiet desire to happy 
eonientment ; from sorrow to joy ; and from transitory 
time to immQHality,'^'^ In a, climax or gradation, the 
voice should generally rise with it. Thus, *' There is 
no enjoyment of property without government ; no gov- 
ernment without a magistrate ; no magistrate without 
obedience ; no obedience where every one acts as he 
pleases." And so in other gradations of a different 
form ; as, '' Since concord was lost, friendship was 
lost, fidelity was lost, liberty/ was lost, all was lost." 

That the passions have each of them both a differ- 
ent voice and action, is evident from hence, that we 
know in what manner a person is affected, by the tone 
of his voice, though we do not understand the sense of 
what he says, or many times so much as see him ; and 
we can often make the same judgment from his coun- 
tenance and gestm-es. Love and esteem are expressed 
in a smooth and cheerful tone ; but anger and resent- 
ment, with a rough, harsh, and interrupted voice r 
for when the spirits are ruffled, the organs are moved 
unequally. Joy raises and dilates the voice, as sor- 
row sinks and contracts it. Cicero takes notice of a 
passage in an oration of Gracchus, wherein he bewails 
the death of his brother, who was killed by Scipio, 
which in his time was thought very moving : " Unhap- 


py man (says he,) whither shall I betake myself?' 
Where shall I go ? Into the capitol ? that flows with 
my brother's blood. Shall I go home, and behold my 
mihappy mother all in tears and despair?" 

Though Gracchus had a very ill design in that 
speech, and his view was to excite the populace against 
their governors, yet (as Cicero tells us) when he came 
to this passage, he expressed himself in such moving 
accents and gestures, that he extorted tears even from 
his enemies. Fear occasions a tremor and hesitation 
o£ the voice, and assurance gives it strength and firm- 
ness. Admiration elevates the voice, and should be ex- 
pressed with pomp and magnificence. " O surprising 
clemency, worthy of the highest praise and greatest en- 
comiums, and fit to be perpetuated in lasting monuments!'* 
This is Cicero's compliment to Cesar, when he thought 
it for his purpose. And oftentimes this passion is ac- 
companied with an elevation both of the eyes and hands. 
On the contrary, contempt sinks and protracts the voice. 

All exclamations should be violent. When we ad- 
dress inanimate things, the voice should be higher than 
when animated beings ; and appeals to Heaven must 
be made in a loftier tone than those to men. These 
few hints for expressing the principal passions may, if 
duly attended to, suffice to direct our practice in others. 
Though, after all, it is impossible to gain a just and 
decent pronunciation of voice and gesture merely from 
rules, without practice and an imitation of the best 
examples : which shows the wisdom of the ancients, 
in training up their youth to it, by the assistance of 
masters, to form both their speech and actions. But 
here, as has been before observed, great caution should 
be used in directing our choice of an example. An 
affected imitation of others, in pronunciation or gesture, 
especially of stage-players, whose pretensions to litera- 
ture are seldom considerable, and who are generally 
too fond of singularity, ought to be carefully avoided. 
For nothing can appear more disgusting to persons of 
discernment than affectation* 




OUS DIALOGUES, POETRY, ^c. variouslv 


Extract from an Oration on Eloquence, 
pronounced at harvard university, on com- 
MENCEMENT Day, 1784. 

THE excellence, utility, and importance of Elo- 
quence ; its origin, progress, and present state; 
and its superior claim to the particular attention of 
Columbia's free born sons, will exercise for a. few mo- 
ments the patience of this learned, polite, and respected 

Speech and reason are the characteristics, the glory, 
and the happiness of man. These are the pillars which 
support the fair fabric of eloquence ; the foundation, 
upon which is erected the most magnificent edifice, that 
genius could design, or art construct. To cultivate elo- 
quence, then, is. to improve the noblest faculties of our 
natnre, the richest talents with which we are entrusted. 
A more convincing proof of the dignity and importance 
of our subject need not, cannot be advanced. 

The benevolent design and the beneficial effects of 
eloquence, evince its great superiority over every other 
■Avt, which ever exercised the ingenuity of man. To 
instruct, to persuade, to please; these are ite objects. 


To scatter the clouds of ignorance and eiTor from the 
atmosphere of reason ; to remove the film of prejudice 
from the mental eye ; and thus to irradiate the be- 
nighted mind with the cheering beams of truth, is at 
once the business and the glory of eloquence. 

To promote the innocent and rehned pleasures of the 
fancy and intellect ; to strip the monster vice of all his 
borrowed charms, and expose to view his native defor- 
mity ; to display the resisdess attractions of virtue ; 
and, in one word, to rouse to action all the latent ener- 
gies of man, in the proper and ardent pursuit of the 
great end of his existence, is the orator's pleasing, be- 
nevolent, sublime employment. 

Nor let it be objected, that eloquence sometimes im- 
pedes the course of justice, and screens the guilty fi'om- 
the punishment due to their crimes. Is there any 
thing which is not obnoxious to abuse? Even the 
benign religion of the Prince of Peace has been made 
the unwilling instmment of the greatest calamities ever 
experienced by man. The greater the benefits which 
naturally result from any thing, the more pernicious arc 
its effects, when diverted fi'om its proper course. This 
objection to eloquence is therefore its highest eulogium. 

The orator does not succeed, as some would insin- 
uate, by dazzling the eye of reason with the illusive 
glare of his rhetorical art, nor. by silencing her still 
small voice in the thunder of his declamr..iion : for to 
her impartial tribunal he refers the truth and propriety 
of whatever he asserts or proposes. After fairly con- 
vincing the understanding, he may, without the impu- 
tation of disingenuousness, proceed to address tiie fancy 
and the passions.. In this way he will more elTectually 
transfuse into his hearers his own sentiments, and make 
every spring in the human machine co-operate in the 
production of the desired effect. 

The astonishing powers of eloquence are well knovsrn, 
at least to those who are conversant in ancient history. 
Like a resistless torrent, it bears down every obstacle, 
and turns even the current of opposing ignorance and 


^2 THE Columbian orator. 

prejudice into the desired channel of active and zealous 
compliance. It is indisputably the most potent art with- 
in the compass of human acquirement. An Alexander 
and a Cesar could conquer a world ; but to overcome 
the passions, to subdue the wills, and to command at 
pleasure the inclinations of men, can be effected only 
by the all-powerful charm of enrapturing eloquence. 

Though it be more than probable, that oratory was 
known and cultivated in some degree in ihose eastern 
nations, where science first began to dawn upon the 
world ; yet it was not till Greece became civilized and 
formed into distinct governments, that it made its appear- 
ance in its native, peerless majesty. Here we may fix the 
era of eloquence ; here was its morn ; here its meridian 
too; for here it shone with splendor never since surpassed. 

It is a common and a just remark, that eloquence 
can flourish only in the soil of liberty. Athens was a 
republic, where the affairs of state were transacted in 
the assembly of the whole people. This afforded to 
eloquence a field too fertile to remain long uncultiva- 
ted by the ingenious Athenians. Orators soon made 
their appearance, who did honor to language, to 
Greece, to humanity. 

But though the names of many have been trans- 
mitted to us, whose genius and eloquence demand our 
veiteration and applause ; yet, like stars when the sun 
appears, they are lost in the superior blaze of the in- 
comparable Demosthenes. His story is well known ; 
and his example affords the greatest encouragement to 
students in eloquence ; as it proves, that, by art, almost 
in defiance of nature, a man may attain such excellence 
in oratory, as shall stamp his name with the seal of im- 
mortality. Demosthenes and the liberty of Greece to- 
gether expired ; and from this period we hear very 
little more of Grecian eloquence. 

Let us now direct our attention to that other gar- 
den of eloquence, the Roman commonwealth. Here, 
as in Greece, a free government opened the list to such 
as v/ished to dispute the palm in oratory. Numbers 



advance, and contend manfully for the prize. Btit 
their glor}' is soon to fade ; for Cicero appears ; Cicero, 
another name for eloquence itself. Jt is needless to 
enlarge on his character a« an orator. SutBce it to 
say, that if we ransack the histories of the world to 
find a rival for Demosthenes, Cicero alone can be 
found capable of suppoiHing a claim to that distin- 
guished honor. 

And when did Greece or Rome present a fairei\ 
field for eloquence than that which now invites the 
culture of the enlightened citizens of Columbia ? We 
live in a republic, the orator's natal soil ; we enjoy as 
much liberty, as is consistent widi the nature of man ; 
we possess as a nation ail the advantages which climate, 
soil, ai^d situation can bestow ; and nothi-ng but real 
merit is here required as a qualification for the most 
dignified offices of state. Never had eloquence more 
ample scope. 

And shall we rest satisfied with only admiring, or 
*at most with following at an awful distance, the most 
illustrious orators of Greece and Rome ? Shall every 
•ther useful and ornamental art speed swifdy towards 
perfection, while oratory, that most sublime of all arts ; 
that art, which could render one man more dreadful 
to a tyrant, than hostile fleets and armies, is almost 
forgotten? It must not, cannot be. That refinement 
of taste, that laudable ambition to excel in every thing 
which does honor to humanity, which distinguishes 
the Americans, and their free and popular government, 
are so many springs, which, though not instantaneous 
in their operation, cannot foil in time to raise Co- 
lumbian eloquence " above all Greek, above all 
Roman fame." 

With pleasure we descry the dawning of that 
bright day of eloquence, which we have anticipated. 
The grand council of our nation has already evinced, 
that in this respect, as in all others, our republic ac- 
knowledges no existing supeH<n'. And we tnist, that, 
as our sacred teachers make it their constant endeavour 




to imitate the great learning, the exemplary virtue, 
the exalted piety, and the extensive usefulness of the 
great apostle of the Gentiles, they will not fail to re- 
semble him in that commanding, that heavenly elo- 
quence, which made aa avaricious, an unbelieving Fe- 
lix, tremble. 

May Columbia always afford more than one De- 
mosthenes, to support the sacred cause of freedom, 
and to thunder terror in the ears of every transat- 
lantic Philip. May more than Ciceronean eloquence 
be ever ready to plead for injured innocence, and 
suifering virtue. Warned by the fate of her prede- 
cessors, may she escape those quicksands of vice, which 
have ever proved the bane of empires. May her glory 
and her felicity increase with each revolving year, 
till the last trump shall announce the catastrophe of 
nature, and time shall immerge in the ocean of eternity. 

Extract from President Washington's first 
Speech in Congress, 1789. 

Fellow-Citizens of the Senate, 

AND OF the House of Representatives, 

AMONG the vicissitudes incident to life, no event 
could have filled me with greater anxieties thaa 
that of which the notification was transmitted by your 
order, and received on the 14th day of the present 
month. On the one hand, I was summoned by my 
country, whose voice I can never hear but with vene- 
ration and love, from a retreat which I had chosen 
with the fondest predilection, and, in my flattering 
hopes, with an immutable decision, as the asylum of 
my declining years. A retreat which was rendered 
every day more necessary as well as more dear to me, 
by the addition of habit to inclination, and of frequent 
interruptions in my health to the gradual waste com- 
mitted on it by time* 



On the other hand, the magnitude and diflicuhy of 
the trust, to which the voice of my country called me, 
being sufficient to awaken in the wisest and most expe- 
rienced of her citizens, a distrustful scrutiny into his 
qualifications, could not but overwhelm with despon- 
dence one, who, inheriting inferior endowments from 
nature, and unpractised in the duties of civil adminis- 
tration, ought to be peculiarly conscious of his own 

In this conflict of emotions, all I dare aver is, that it 
has been my faithful study to collect my duty from a 
just appreciation of every circumstance by which it 
might be affected. All I dare hope is, that if, in exe- 
cuting this task, I have been too much swayed by a 
grateful remembrance of former instances, or by an af- 
fectionate sensibility to this transcendent proof of the 
confidence of my fellow-citizens, and have thence too 
little consulted my incapacity as well as disinclination 
for the weighty and untried cares before me, my error 
w^ill be palliated by the motives which misled me ; and 
its consequences be judged by my couniry, with some 
share of the partiality in which they orif^inated. 

Such being the impressions under which I have, in 
obedience to the public summon.'^^, repaired to the pres- 
ent station, it would be peculiarly improper to omit in 
this first official act, my fervent supplications to that 
Almighty Being, who rules over the universe, who 
presides in the councils of nations, and whose provi- 
dential aids can supply evciy human defect, that his 
benediction may consecrate to the liberties and happi- 
ness of the people of the United States, a government 
instituted by themselves for these essential purposes ; 
and may enable every instrument employed in its ad- 
ministration, to execute with success, the functions al- 
lotted to his charge. In tendering this homage to the 
great Author of every public and private good, 1 as- 
sure myself that it expresses your sentiments not less 
than my own ; nor those of my fellow-citizens at large, 
less than either.* 



No people can "be bound to ackiiowlcd2;e and adore 
the invisible hand, which conducts the aitairs of men, 
more than the people of the United States. Every 
step, by which they have advanced to the character of. 
an independent nation, seems to have been distinguish- 
ed by some token of providential agency. And in the 
important revolution just accomplished in the system 
ef their united government, the tranquil deliberations 
and voluntary consent of so many distinct communities, 
from which the event has resulted, cannot be com- 
pared with the means by which most governments 
have been established, without some return of pious 
gratitude, with a humble anticipation of the future 
blessings which the past seem to presage. These re- 
flections, arising out of the present crisis, have forced 
themselves too strongly on my mind to be suppressed. 
You will join with me, I trust, in thinking that there 
are none,* under the influence of which, the proceed- 
ings of a new and free government can more auspi- 
ciously commence. 

Speech of Paulus Emilius to the Roman People, 
as he was about taking the command ot 
THEIR Army. 

YOU seem to me, Romans, to have expressed more 
joy when Macedonia fell to my lot, than when 
I was elected consul, or entered upon that office. 
And to me your joy seemed to be occasioned by the 
hopes you conceived, that I should put an end, worthy 
of the grandeur and reputation of the Roman peo- 
ple, to a jr^ar, which, in your opinion, has already 
been of too long continuance. I have reason to beheve, 
that the same gods, who have occasioned Macedonia 
to fall to my lot, w^ill also assist me with their protec- 
'tion in conducting and terminating this war success- 
Y^lly. But of this, 1 may venture to assure you, that 

I shall 


1 shall do my utmost not to fall short of your expecta- 

The senate has wisely regulated every thing neces- 
sary in the expedition 1 am charged with ; and, as I 
am'^ordered to set out immediately, I shall make no 
delay ; and I know that my colleague Caius Licinius, 
out of his great zeal for the public service, will raise 
and march otf the troops appointed for me, with as 
much ardor and expedition, as if they were for him- 
self. I shall take care to trai.smit to you, as well as 
to the senate, an exact account of all that passes; and 
you may rely upon the certainty and truth of my let- 
ters. But I beg of you, as a great favour, that you will 
not give credit to, or lay any weight, out of credulity, 
upon the light reports, which are frequently spread 
abroad without any author. 

I perceive well, that in this war, more than in any 
other, whatever resolution people may form to obviate 
these rumours, they will not fail to make impression, 
and inspire I know^ not what discouragement. There 
are those, who in company, and even at table, com- 
mand armies, make dispositions, and prescribe all the 
operations of the campaign. They know better than 
we, where we should encamp, and what posts it is ne- 
cessary for us to sieze ; at what time, and by what de- 
file we ought to enter Macedonia ; where it is proper 
to have magazines ; from whence, either by sea or 
land, we are to bring provisions ; when we are tQ 
fight the enemy, and when lie still. 

They not only prescribe what is best to do ; but 
for deviating ever so little from their plans, they make 
it a crime in their consul, and cite him before their 
tribunal. But know, Romans, this is of very bad ef- 
fect with your generals. All have not the resolution 
and constancy of Fabius, to despise impertinent reports. 
He could choose rather to suffer the people, upon such 
unhappy rumours, to invade his authority, than to ruin 
affairs in order to preserve their opinion, and an empty 

D I am 


I am far from believing, that generals stand in no 
need of advice : I think, on the contrary, that who- 
ever would conduct every thing alone, upon his own 
opinion, and without counsel, shows more presumption 
than prudence. But some may ask, How then shall 
we act reasonably? I answer, ;by not sufiering any 
persons to obtrude their advice upon your generals, 
but such as are, in the first place, versed in the art of 
war, and have learned from experience what it is to 
command ; and in the second place, who are upon the 
spot ; who know the enemy ; are witnesses in person 
to all that passes ; and sharers with us in all dangers. 

If there be any one, who conceives himself capable 
of assisting me with his counsels in the war you have 
charged me with, let him not refuse to do the republic 
that service ; but let him go with me into Macedo- 
nia. Ships, horses, tents, provisions., shall all be pro- 
vided for him at my charge. But if he will not take 
so much trouble, and prefers the tranquillity of the 
city to the dangers and fatigues of the field, let him 
not take upon him to hold the helm, and continue idle 
in the port. The city of itself supplies sufficient mat- 
ter of discourse on other subjects ; but as for these, let 
it be silent upon them ; and know, that we shall pay no 
regard to any counsels, but such as shall be given us in 
the camp itself. 

Exhortation on Temperance in 

LET me particularly exhort youth to temperance 
in pleasure. Let me admonish them, to beware 
of that rock on which thousands, from race to race, 
continue to split. The love of pleasure, natural to 
man in every period of his life, glows at this age 
v/ith excGosive ardor. Novelty adds fresh charms, as 
yet, to every gratification. The v.orld appears to 



spread a continual feast ; and health, vigor, and high 
spirits, invite them to partake of it without restraint. 
In vain we warn them oi" latent dangers. Religion is 
accused of insufferable severity, in prohibiting enjoy- 
ment : and the old, when they offer their admonitions, 
are upbraided with having forgotten that they once 
were young. 

And yet, my friends, to what do the restraints of 
religion, and the counsels of age, with respect to 
pleasure, amount ? They may all be comprised in few 
words, not to hurt yourselves, and not to hurt others, 
by your pursuit of pleasure. Within these bounds, 
pleasure is lawful ; beyond them, it becomes criminaK 
because it is ruinous. Are these restraints any other, 
than what a wise man would choose to impose on 
himself? We call you not to renounce pleasure, but 
to enjoy it in safety. Instead of abridging it, we ex- 
hort you to pili'sue it on an extensive plan. We pro- 
pose measures for securing its possession, and for pro- 
longing its duration. 

Consult your whole nature. Consider yourselves 
not only as sensitive, but as rational beings ; not only 
as rational, but social ; not only as social, but imn\ortal. 
Whatever violates your nature, in any of these re- 
spects, cannot afford true pleasure; anymore than 
.that which undermines an essential part of the vital 
system can promote health. For the truth of this con- 
clusion, we appeal, not merely to th- authority of re- 
ligion, nor to the testimony of the aged, but to your- 
selves and your own experience. We ask, whether 
you have not found, that in a course of criminal excess, 
your pleasure was more than compensated by succeed- 
ing pain ? AYhether, if not from every particular in- 
stance, yet from every habit, at least, of unlawi'id 
gratification, there did not spring some thorn to wound 
you ; there did not arise some consequence to make 
you repent of it in the issue ? 

" How long then, ye simple ones! will ye love sim- 
plicity ?" How long repeat the same round of perni- 


cious folly, and tamely expose yourselves to be caught 
in the same snare ? if you have any consideration, cr 
any firmness left,, avoid temptations, for which you 
have found yourselves unequal, with as much care as 
you would shun pestilential infection. Break off all 
connexions with the loose and profligate. " When 
sinners entice thee, consent thou not. Look not on 
the wine when it is red, when it giveth its colour in the 
cup ; for at the last, it biteth like a serpent, and sting- 
eth like an adder. Remove thy vv-ay from the strange 
vvoman, and come not near the door of her house. 
Let not thine heart decline to her ways ; for her house 
is the way to helL Thou goest after her as a bird has- 
i^?rieth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for 

By these unhappy excesses of irregular pleasure in 
youth, how many amiable dispositions are corrupted 
or destroyed ! How many rising capacities and powers 
are suppressed ! How many flattering hopes of parents 
and friends are totally extinguished ! Who but must 
drop a tear over human nature, when he beholds that 
morning which arose so bright, overcast with such 
untii?iely darkness ; that good humour which once capti- 
vated all hearts ; that vivacity which sparkled in every 
company ; those abilities which were fitted for adorn- 
ing the highest station, all sacrificed at the shrine of 
low sensuality; and one, who was formed for running 
the fair career of life in the midst of public esteem, cut 
off by his vices at the beginning of his course, or sunk, 
for the whole of it, into insignificancy and contempt ! 
These, O sinful pleasure ! are thy trophies. It is thus, 
that, co-operating with the foe of God and man, thou 
degradest human nature, and blastest the opening pros- 
]>ects of human felicity. 



Judah's Plea for his Brother Benjamin, before 
Joseph in Egypt. 

WHEN we appeared before you, Sir, the first 
time, we answered without reserve, and ac- 
cording to the strictest truth, all the questions which 
you were pleased to put to us concerning our family. 
We acquainted you, that we had a father, heavily la- 
den with years, but still more heavily with misfortunes ; 
a father, whose whole life had been one continued strug- 
gle with adversity. We added that we had a brother pe- 
culiarly dear to him, as the children born towards the 
end of their life generally are to old men, and who is 
the only one remaining of his mother ; his brother hav- 
ing con\e in early youth to a most tragical end. 

You commanded us, as the proof of our veracity and 
innocence, to bring that brother unto you \ and your 
command w^s delivered with such threatenings, that 
the terror of them accompanied us all the way back to 
our country, and imbittered the remainder of our jour- 
ney. We reported ^very thing minutely to our father, 
as you directed us. Resolutely and long, he refused 
to intrust us with the care of that child. Love suggested 
a thousand causes of apprehension upon his account. 
He loaded us with the bitterest reproaches for having 
declared that we had another brother. 

Subdued by the famine, he at length reluctantly con- 
sented ; and putting his beloved son, this unhappy 
youth, into our hands, conjured us by every dear, 
every avv'ful name, to guard with tenderness his pre- 
cious life ; and as we would not see him expire before 
our eyes in anguish and despair, to bring him back in 
safety. He parted with him as with a limb torn from 
his own body ; and in an agony of grief inexpressible, 
deplored the dreadful necessity which separated him 
from a son, on whom all the happiness of bis life de- 



How then can we appear before a father of sue 
delicate sensibility ? With what eyes shall we dan 
to look upon him, unless we carry back with us this 
son of his right hand, this staff of his old age, whom 
alas ! you have condemned to slavery ? I'he good ok 
man will expire in horrors dreadful to nature, as soor 
as he shall find that his son is not with us. Our enC' 
mies will insult over us under these misfortunes, an( 
treat us as the most infamous of parricides. 

I must appear to the world, and to myself, as th 
perpetrator of that most horrid of crimes, the murder 
of a father ; for it was I who most urgently pressed my 
father to yield, I engaged by the most solem.n pro-1 
mises, and the most sacred pledges, to bring the child 
back. Me he intrusted with the sacred deposit, and 
of my hand he will require it. Have pity, I beseech 
you, on the deplorable condition of an old man, strip- 
ped of his last comfort ; and whose misery will be ag- 
gravated by reflecting that he foresaw its approach, 
and yet wanted resolution to prevent it. 

If your just indignation must needs have a sacrifice, 
here 1 am ready, at the price of my liberty or of my 
life, to expiate this young man's guilt, and to purchase 
his release ! Grant this request, not so much for the 
sake of the youth himxself, as of his absent father, who 
never offended you, but who venerates your person 
and esteems your virtues. 

Suffer us not to plead in vain for a shelter under your 
right hand, to which we flee, as to an holy altar, con- 
secrated as a refuge to the miserable. Pity an old man, 
v/ho, during the whole course of a long life, has culti- 
vated arts becoming a man of wisdom and probity, ami 
who, on account of his amiable qualities, is almos' 
adored by the inhabitants of Syria and Canaan, though 
he j>fofesscs a religion, and follows a mode of living 

totally different from theirs. 



Extract from the Plea of Thomas Muir, Esq, 


Gentlemen of the Jurv, 

THIS is now perhaps the last time that I shall ad- 
dress my country. I have explored the tenor of 
my past life. Nothing shall tear from me thf record 
of my departed days. The enemies of reform have 
scrutinized, in a manner hitherto unexampled in Scot- 
land, every action I may have performed, every word 
I may have uttered. Of crimes, most foul and horri- 
ble, have I been accused : of attempting to rear the 
standard of civil war; to plunge this land in blood, and 
to cover it with desolation. At every step, as the evi- 
dence of the crown advanced, my innocency has bright- 
ened. So far from inflaming the minds of men to se- 
dition and outrage, all the witnesses have concurred, 
that my only anxiety was, to impress upon them the 
necessity of peace, of good order, and of good morals. 

What then has been my crime ? Not the lending to 
a relation a copy of Mr. Paine's Works 5 not the giving 
away to another a few numbers of an innocent and 
constitutional publication ; but for having dared to be, 
according to the measure of my feeble abilities, a stren- 
uous and active advocate for an equal representation of 
tor having daied to attempt to accomplish a measure, by 
legal means, which was to diminish the weight of their 
taxes, and to put an end to the e^Tusion of their blood. 

From my infancy to this moment, I have devoted 
myself to the cause of the PEOPLE. It is a good 
cause. It will ultimately prevail. It will finally tri- 
umph. Say then openly, in your verdict, if you do con- 
demn me, which I presume you will not, that it is for my 
attachment to this cause alone, and not for those vain and 
wretched pretexts stated in the indictment, intended on- 
ly to colour and disguise the real motives of my accusa- 


tioR. The time will come, when men must stand or fall 
by their actions ; when all human pageantry shall cease ; 
when the hearts of all shall be laid open to view. 

If you regard your most important interests ; if you 
wish that your consciences should whisper to you 
w^ords of consolation, rather than speak to you in the 
terrible language of remorse, weigh well the verdict 
you are to pronounce. 

As for me, I am careless and indifferent to my fate. 
I can look danger, and I can look death in the face ; 
for I am shielded by the consciousness of my own recti- 
tude. I may be condemned to languish in the recesses 
of a dungeon. I may be doomed to ascend the scaf- 
fold. Nothing can deprive me of the recollection of 
the past ; nothing can destroy my inward peace of 
mind, arising from the remembrance of having dis- 
charged my duty. 

On the starry Heavens. 

TO us who dwell on its surface, the earth is by 
far the most extensive orb that our eyes can any 
where behold. It is also clothed with verdure ; dis- 
tinguished by trees; and adorned v/ith a variety of 
beautiful decorations. Whereas, to a spectator placed 
on one of the planets, it wears a uniform aspect ; looks 
all luminous, and no<. larger than a spot. To beings 
who dwell at still greater distances, it entirely dis- 

That which we call, alternately, the morning and 
evening star ; as in one part of her orbit, she rides 
foremost in the procession of night ; in the other, ush- 
ers in, and anticipates the dawn, is a planetary world; 
which, v/ith the five others, that so v/onderfully vary 
their mystic dance, are in themselves dark bodies, and 
shine only by reflection ; have fields, and seas, and skies 
of their own ; are furnished with all accommodations 



for animal subsistence, and arc supposed to be abodes 
of iiitcllectual life. All which, together with this our 
earthly habitation, arc dependant on that grand dis- 
penser of divine munificence, the sun ; receive their 
light from the distribution of his ra} s : derive their 
comfort from his divine agency. 

The sun is the great axle of heaven, about which, 
the globe v.e inhabit, and other more spacious orbs, 
wheel their stated courses. The sun, though seem- 
ingly smaller than the dial it illuminates, is abundant- 
ly larger than this v.hole earth ; on which so manyjlofty 
mountains rise, and such vast oceans roll. A line, ex- 
tending through the centre of that resplendent orb^ 
would measure more than eight hundred thousand 
miles. A girdle, formed to suri'ound it, w^ould require 
a length of millions. Were its solid contents to be es- 
timated, the account would overpower our understand- 
ing, and be almost beyond the power of language to 

Are we startled at these reports of astronomy ? Arc 
we ready to cry out in a transport of surprise, How- 
mighty is the Being, who kindled such a prodigious 
fire, and who keeps alive, from age to age, such an 
enormous mass of flame ! Let us attend our philosophic 
guides, and we shall be brought acquainted with spec- 
ulations more enlarged, and more am.azing. 

This sun, with all attendant planets, is but a very 
little part of the grand machine of the universe. Every 
star, though in appearance no bigger than the dia- 
mond that glitters on a lady's ring, is really a mighty 
globe ; like the sun in size, and in glory; no less spa- 
cious ; no less luminous than the radiant source of our 
day. So that every star is not barely a world, but the 
centre of a magnificent system ; has a retinue of worlds, 
irradiated by its beams, and revolving round its attrac- 
tive induence. All which are lost to our sight in un- 
measurable wilds of ether. 

That the stars appear like so many diminutive, and 
scarcely distinguishable points, is owing to their im- 


mense and inconceivable distance. Such a distance, 
that a cannon ball, could it continue its impetuous flight, 
with unaboting rapidity, would not reach the nearest 
of those twinkling luminaries for more than five hun- 
dred thousand years ! 

Can any thing be more wonderful than these obser- 
vations ? Yes ; there are truths far more stupendous ; 
there are scenes far more extensive. As there is no 
end of the Almighty Maker's greatness, so no imagina- 
tion can set limits to his creating hand. Could you 
soar beyond the moon, and pass through all the planeta- 
ry choir; could you wing your way to the highest appar- 
ent star, and take your stand on one of those lofty pin- 
nacles of heaven, you would there see other skies ex- 
panded; another sun, distributing his inexhaustible 
beams by day ; other stars which gild the horrors of 
the alternate night ; and other, perhaps, nobler systems, 
established in unknown profusion, through the bound- 
less dimensions of space. Nor do the dominions of the 
universal Sovereign terminate there. Even at the end 
of this vast tour, you would find yourself advanced no 
further than the suburbs of creation ; arrived only att 
the frontiers of the great JEHOVAH's kingdom. 

Paper, a Poem. 

SOME wit of old ; such wits of old there were, 
Whose hints show'd meaning, whose allusions, care, 
By one brave stroke, to mark all human kind, 
CalPd clear blank paper every infant mind ; 
When still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, 
Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot. 

The thought was happy, pertinent, and true, 
Me thinks a genius might the plan pursue. 
I, (can you pardon my presumption ?) I, 
No wit, no genius, yet for once will try. 




Various the papers, various wants produce, 
The wants of fashion, elegance, and use. 
Men are as various : and, if right I scan, 
Each sort oi paper represents some man. 

Pray note the fop ; half powder and half lace ; 
Nice, as a band-box were his dwelling-piace ; 
lie's the gilt paper, which apart you store, 
And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoire. 

Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth, 
Are copy paper of inferior worth ; 
Less priz'd, more useful, for your desk decreed. 
Free to all pens, and prompt at ev'ry need. 

The wretch, whom av'rice bids to pinch and spare, 
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir, 
Is coarse brown paper, such as pedlars choose 
To wrap up wares, which better men will use. 

Take next the miser's contrast, who destroys 
Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys. ^ 

Will any paper match him ? Yes, throughout. 
He's a true sinking paper, past all doubt. 

The retail politician's anxious thought 
Deems this side always right, and that stark naught; 
He foams with censure ; with applause he raves, 
A dupe to rumours, and a tool of knaves : 
He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim, 
While such a thing diS fools-cap has a name. 

The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high, 
Who picks a quarrel if you step awry. 
Who can't a jest, or hint, or look endure : 
What's he ? What ? Touch-paper to be sure. 

What are our poets, take them as they fall, 
Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all? 
Them and thf ir works in the same class you'll find ; 
They are the mere waste-paper of mankind. 

JjL Observe 


Observe the maiden, innocently sweet, 
She's fair white paper, an unsullied sheet ; 
On which the happy man, whom fate ordains, 
May write his name, and take, her for his pains. 

's "> 

One instance more, and only one Pll brinj 
'Tis the great man who scorns a little thing ; 
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are his own. 
Form'd on the feelings of his heart alone : 
True genuine royal paper is his breast ; 
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best. 

Extract from Cato's Speech before the Ro- 
man Senate, after the Conspiracy of Cati- 

J' HAVE often spoken before you. Fathers, with 
* some extent, to qomplain of luxury and the greedi- 
ness for money, the twin vices of our corrupt citizens ; 
and have thereby drawn upon myself abundance 
of enemies. As I never spared any fault in myself, 
I was not easily inclined to favour the criminal ex- 
cesses of others. 

But though you paid little regard to my remon- 
strances, the Commonwealth has still subsisted by its 
own strength ; has borne itself up, notwithstanding 
5'our neglect. It is not now the same. Our manners, 
good or bad, are not the question, nor to preserve the 
greatness and lustre of the Roman empire : but to 
resolve whether all we possess and govern, well or ill, 
shall continue our's, or be transferred with ourselves 
to enemies. 

At such a time, in such a state, some talk to us of 
lenity and compassion. It is long that we have lost 
the right names of things. The Common w^en 1th is in 
this deplorable situation, only because we call bestow- 



ing other people's estates, liberality, and audaciousness 
in perpetrating crimes, courage. 

Let such men, since they will have it so, and it is 
become the established mode, value themselves upon 
their liberality at the expense of the allies of the em- 
pire, and of their lenity to the robbci-s of the public 
treasury : but let them not make a largess of our blood ; 
and, to spare a small number of vile wrctclies, expose all 
good men to destruction. 

Do not imagine, Fathers, that it was by arms our 
ancestors rendered this Commonwealth so great, from 
so small a beginning. If it had been so, we should 
now see it much more flourishing, as we have more al- 
lies and citizens, more horse and foot, than they had. 
But they had other things, that made them great, of 
which no traces remain amongst us : at home, labor 
and industry ; abroad, just and equitable government ; 
a constancy of soul, and an innocence of manners, 
that kept them perfectly free in their councils ; unre- 
-strained either by tke remembrance of past crimes, or 
by craving appetites to satisfy. 

For these virtues, we have luxury and avarice ; or 
madness to squander, joined with no less, to gain ; 
the State is poor, and private men are rich. We ad- 
mire nothing but riches ; we give ourselves up to sloth 
and effeminacy ; we make no distinction between the 
good and the bad ; whilst ambition engrosses all the re- 
wards of virtue. Do you wonder, then, that danger- 
ous conspiracies should be formed ? Whilst you regard 
nothing but your private interest ; whilst voluptuous- 
ness solely employs you at home, and avidity or favor 
governs you here, the Commonwealth, without defence, 
is exposed to the devices of any one who thinks fit to 
attack it. 





Dialogue between the Ghosts of an English 
Duellist, a North-American Savage, and Mer- 

r> 7/- . TV /TERCURY, Charon's boat is on the 

Duellist. JYI ^^j^^^, gjj^ ^^ ^j^^ ^^^^^^,^ ^jl^^^ 

me, before it returns, to have some conversation 
with the North- American Savage, whom you brought 
hither with me. I never before saw one of that spe- 
cies. He looks very grim. Pray, Sir, w'hat is your 
name ? I understand you speak English. 

Savage, Yes, I learned it in my childhood, having 
been bred for some years among the English of New- 
Y^ork. But, before I was a man, I returned to my val- 
iant countrymen, the Mohawks ; and having been vil- 
ianously cheated by one of your's in the sale of some 
rum, 1 never cared to have any thing to do with them 
afterwards. Yet I took up the hatchet for them with 
the rest of my tribe in the late war against France, and 
was killed v/hile I was out upon a scalping party. But 
I died very well satisfied : for my brethren were vic- 
torious ; and, before I was shot, 1 had gloriously scalp- 
ed seven men, and five women and children. In a 
former war, I had performed still greater exploits. My 
name is the Bloody Bear : it was given me to express 
my fierceness and valour. 

DueL Bloody Bear, I respect you, and am much 
your humble servant. My name is Tom Pushwell, 
very well known at Arthtu-'s. 1 am a gentleman by my 
birth, and by profession a gamester and a man of hon- 
or, i have killed men in fair fighting, in honorable 
single combat ; but don't understand cutting the 
throats of women and children. ^ 

Sav. Sir, that is our way of making war. Every na- 
tion has its customs. But by the grimness of your coun- 
tenance,, and that hole in your breast, I presume you 




were killed as I was, in some scalping party. How hap- 
pened it that your enemy did not take off your scalp ? 

Duel. Sir, I was killed in a duel. A friend of mine 
had lent me a sum of money ; and after two or three 
years, being in great want himself, he asked me to 
pay him. I thought his demand, which was somewhat 
peremptory, an aflront to my honor, and sent him a 
challenge. We met in Hyde Park. The fellow could 
not fence : but i was absolutely the adroitest swords- 
man in England. So I gave him three or four wo]^nds ; 
but at last he ran upon me with such impetuosity, that 
he put me out of my play, and J could not prevent him 
from vvhipping me through the lungs. I died the next 
day, as a man of honor should ; vv'ithout any snivelling 
signs of contrition or repentance : and he\viil follow 
me soon ; for his surgeon has declared his wounds to 
be mortal. It is said that his wife is dead of grief, and 
that his family of seven children will be undone by his 
deaths So I am well revenged, and that is a comfort. 
For my part, I had no wife. I always hated marriage : 
my mistress will take good care of herself, and my chil- 
dren are provided for at the foundling hospital. 

Sav. Mercury, I won't go in the boat with that 
fellow. He has murdered his countryman ; he has 
murdered his friend : I say positively, I won't go in 
the boat with that fellow. I will swim over the river : 
I can swim like a duck. 

; Mer, Swim over the Styx! it must not be done : 
It is against the laws of Pluto's empire. You must go 
m the boat and be quiet. 

Sav, Don't tell mc of lav/s : I am a savage : I value 
no laws. 7'alk of laws to the Englishman: there 
are laws in his country ; and yet you see he did not 
regard them. For they could never allow him to kill 
his fellow-subject, in time of peace, because he ask- 
ed him to pay an honest debt. I know, indeed, that 
the English are a barbarous nation : but they can't 
possibly be so brutal as to make such things laAvful. 



Mer, You reason well agamst him. But how cemcs 
it that you are so offended with murder; you, who 
have frequently massacred wouien in their sleep, and 
thildren in the eradk ? 

Sav. 1 killfed none but my enemies : I never kiHed 
my own countrymen : I never killed my friend. 
Here, take my blanket, and let it come over in the 
boat ; but see that the murderer does not sit upon it, 
or touch it. If he does, 1 will burn it instantly in the 
fire I see yonder. Farewell. I am determined to Swim 
over the water. 

JUer, By this touch of my wand, I deprive thee of 
ail thy strength. Swim now if thou canst. 

Sav. This is a potent enchanter. Restore me my 
strength, and I promise to obey thee. 

Mer. I restore ^t ; but be orderly, and do. as 1 bid 
vou ; otherv/ise worse will befal you. 
'• DueL Mercury, leave him to me. I'll tutor him 
for you. Sirrah Savage, dost thou pTCtend to be asha- 
med of my company ? Dost thou not know that I have 
kept the best company in England ? 

Sav, I know thou art a scoundrel. Not pay thy 
debts ! kill thy friend who lent thee money for asking 
thee for it ! Get out of my sight. I will drive thee 
into the Styx. . 

Mer. Stop. I command thee. No violence, lalk^ 

to him calmly. ^ , 

Sav. I must obey thee. Well, Sir, let me know 
what merit you had to introduce you into good com- 
pany ? What could you do ? 

' Duel. Sir, I gamed, as t told you. Besides, 1 kept 
a good table. I eat as well as any man either in En- 
, dand or France. r -r. u 

Sav. Eat ! did vou ever eat the liver of a French- 
man, qr his leg, or his shoulder? There is fine eatmg 
for you! I have eat twenty. My table was always 
well served. My wife was esteemed the best cook for 
the dressing of man's flesh in all North- America. You 
will not pretend to compare your eating with mine ? 

H DueL 


DiieL I danced very finely. 

Sav. I'll dance with thee tor thy cars^. I can dance 
all* day long. I can dance the war dance with more- 
spirit than any man of my nation. Let us see thee 
begin it. How thou stande^t like a post ! Has Mercury 
struck thee with his enfeebling rod ? Or art thou asha- 
med to let us see how awkward thou art ? If he 
would permit me, I would teach thee to dance in a 
way that thou hast never yet learned. But what else 
canst thou do, thou bragging rascal ? 

DueL O misery! must I'bcar all this! What can 
I do with this fellow ? I have neither sword nor pis- 
tol ; and his shade seems to be twice as strong as mine. 

Mer, You must answer his questions. It was your 
own desire to have a conversation with him. He is 
not well bred ; but he will tell you some truths which 
you must necessarily hear, when you come before Rha- 
damanthus. He asked you v/hat you could do beside 
eating and dancing. 

Duel, I sung very agreeably. 

Sav, Let me hear you sing your death song; or the 
war \vhoop. I challenge you to sing. Come, begin. 
The fellow is mute. Mercury, this is a liar. He 
has told us nothing- but lies. Let me pull out his 

Dud, The lie given me ! and alas ! I dare not re- 
sent" it ! What an indelible disgrace to the family of the 
Pushwells ! This is indeed tormenting. 

Mer, Here, Charon, take these two savages to your 
care. How far the barbarism of the Mohawk will ex- 
cuse his horrid acts, I leave Minos to judge. But what 
can be said for the Englishman ? Can we plead the 
custom cf Duelling ? A bad excuse at the best ! but 
h^re it cannot avail. The spirit that urged him to draw 
his sword against his friend is not that of honor ; it is 
the spirit of the furies ; and to them he must go. 

Sav, If he is to be punished for his wickedness, turn 
hjm over to me. I perfectly understand the art of tor- 
menting. Sirrah, I begin my wwk with this box on 
E 2 youp ' 


your ears, and will soon teach you better manners than 
you have yet learned. 

Duel, Oh my honor, my honor, to what infamy art 
thou fallen \ 

Speech of an Indian Chief, of the Stockbridge 
Tribe, to the Massachusetts Congress, in the 
Year 1775. 

Brothers \ 

YOU remember, when you first came over the 
great waters, I was great and you were little ; 
very small. I then took you in for a friend, and kept 
you under my arms, so that no one might injure you. 
Since that time we have ever been true friends : there 
has never been any quarrel between us. But now our 
conditions are changed. You are become great and 
tall. You reach to the clouds. You are seen all 
round the world. I am become small ; very little. 
I am not so high as your knee. Now you take care of 
me ; and I look to you for protection. 

Brothers ! I am sorry to hear of this great quar- 
rel between you and Old England. It appears that 
blood must soon be shed to end this quarrel. We never 
till this day understood the foundation of this quarrel 
between you and the country you came from. Brot}i- 
ers! Whenever I see your blood running, you will 
soon find me about you to revenge my brothers' blood. 
Although I am low and very small, I will gripe hold of 
your enemy's heel, that he cannot run so fast, and so 
light, as if he had nothing at his heels. 

Brothers ! You know I am not so wise as you are, 
therefore I ask your advice in what I am now going to 
say. I have been thinking, before you come to action, 
to take a run to the westward, and feel the mind of 
my Indian brethren, the Six Nations, and know how. 
'hey stand; whether they are on your side, or foj' 

- • YOU 




your enemies. If I find they are against vou, I will 
try to turn their minds. I think they will listen to 
me -, for they have always looked this way for advice, 
concerning all important news that comes from the 
rising sun. If they hearken to me, you will not be 
afraid of any danger from behind you. However their 
minds are affected, you shall soon know by me. Now 
I think I can do you more service in this way than by 
marching off imm'ediately to Boston, and staying there. 
It may be a great while before blood runs. Now, as 
I said, you are wiser than I, I leave this for your con- 
sideration, whether I come down immediately, or wait 
till I hear some blood is spilkd. 

Brothers ! I would not have you think by this, that 
we are falling back from our engagements. We are 
* ready to do any thing for your relief, and shall be gui- 
ded by your counsel. 

Brothers! one diing I ask of you, if you send for 
ine to fight, that you will let me fight in my own Indian 
way. I am not used to fight English fashion ; there- 
fore you must not expect 1 can train like your men. 
Only point out to me where your enemies keep, and 
that is all 1 shall want to know. 

On the Creation of the Wori^d. 

^¥10 the ancient philosophers, creation from nothing- 
X appeared an unintelligible idea. They niain- 
tained the eternal existence of matter, which they 
supposed to be modelled by the sovereign mind of the 
universe, into the form which the earth now exhibits. 
But there is nothing in this opinion which gives it any 
title to be opposed to the authority of revelation. The 
doctrine of two self-existent, independent principles, 
God and matter, the one active, the other passive, is a 
hypothesis which presents ditficulties to human reason, 
at least as great as the creation of matter from nothing. 
. Adhering thea to the testimony of scripture, we believe, 



that " in the beginning, God created," or from non-ex- 
istence brought into being, " the heavens and the earth/'' 

But though there was, a period when this globe, 
with all that we see upon it, did not exist, we have no 
reason to think, that the wisdom and power of the 
Almighty were then without exercise or employment. 
Boundless is the extent of bis dominion. Other globes 
and worlds, enlightened by other suns, may then have 
occupied, they still appear to occupy, the immense 
regions Numberless orders of beings, to us 
unknown, pebple the wide extent of the universe, and 
afford an endless variety of objects to the ruling care 
of[ the i^reat Father of all. At length, in the cqjirse 
and progress of his government, there arrived a period, 
when this earth was to be ca"ed into existence. When 
the signal moment predestinated from all eternity, was 
come, the Dciry arose in his might, and with a word 
created the world. 

What an illustrious moment was that, when, from 
non-existence, there sprang at once into being this 
mighty globe, on which so many millions of creatures 
now dwell ! No preparatory measures were required. 
No long circuit of means was employed. *' He spake ; 
and it was done : He commanded, and it stood iast." 
The earth was, at first, " wiihout form, and void ; and 
darkness Vv^as upon the face of the deep." The Almighty ' 
surveyed the dark abyss ; and fixed bounds to the sev- 
eral divisions of nature. He said, " Let there be light, 
and there was light." 

Tlitn appeared the sea, and the dry land. The 
mountains rose ; and the rivers flowed. The sun and 
rnoon began their course in the, skies. Herbs and plants 
clothed the ground. The air, the earth, and the wa- 
ters were stored v/ith their respective inhabitants. At 
last, man was made after the image of God. He ap- 
peared, walking with countenance erect; and received 
his Creator's benediction, as the lord of this new 
world. The Almighty beheld his work when it was 
firushed, and pronounced it good. Superior beings saw 



with wondtT this new accession to existence. *' The 
morning stars sang together ; and all the sons of God 
sliouted for joy.'* 

But, on thii, great work of creation, let us not mere- 
ly gaze with astonishment. Let us consider how it 
should affect our conduct, by presenting the divine per- 
fections in a light which is at once edifying and com- 
forting to man. It displays the Creator as supreme in 
power, in wisdom, and in goodness. Let us look around, 
and survey thU stupendous edifice: which we have been 
admitted to inhabit. L^t us think of the extent of the 
different climates and regions of the earth ; of the mag- 
nitude of the mount?. ins, and ©f the expanse cf the 
ocean. Let us conceive that immense globe which con- 
tains them, launched at once from the hand of the Al- 
mighty ; made to revolve incessantly on its axis, that it 
might produce the vicissitudes of day and night; thrown 
forth, at the same time, to run its annual course in per- 
petual circuit through the heavens. 

After such a meditation, where is the greatness, 
where is the pride of man ? Into what total annihila- 
tion do we sink, before an omnipotent Being f Rever- 
ence, and humble adoration ought spontaneously to 
arise. He, who feels no propensity to worship and 
adore, is dead to all sense of grandeur and majesty ; 
has extinguished one of the most natural feelings of the 
human heart. 

Lines spoken at a School-Exhibition, by a lit- 
tle Boy SEVEN Years old. 

YOU'D scarce expect one of my age, 
To speak in public, on the stage ; 
And if I chance to fall below 
Demosthenes or Cicero, 
Don't view me with a critic's eye, 
B*v*t pass my imperfectioius by. 



Large streams from little fountains flow ; 

Tall oaks from little acorns grow : 

And though I now am small and young, 

Of judgment weak, and feeble tongue ; 

Yet all great learned men, like me, 

Once learn'd to read their A, B, C. 

But why may not Columbia's soil 

Rear men as great as Britain's isle ; 

Exceed what Greece and Rome have done, 

Or any land beneath the sun ? 

Mayn't Massachusetts boast as great 

As any other sister state ? - 

Or, Where's the town, go far and near, 

That does not iind a rival here ? 

Or Where's the boy, but three feet high. 

Who's made improvements more than I ? 

These thoughts inspire my youthful mind 

To be the greatest of mankind ; 

Great, not like Cesar, stain'd with blood j ^ 

But only great, as I am good. 

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech m the British 

Parliament, in the Year 1766, on the Subject 
OF THE Stamp-Act. 

IT is a long time, Mr. Speaker, since I^have attended 
in Parliament. When the resolution was taken in 
the House to tax America, I was ill in bed. If I 
could have endured to have been carried in my bed, 
so great was the agitation of my mind for the conse- 
quences, that I would have solicited some kind hand to 
have laid me down on this floor, to have borne my tes- 
timony against it. It is now an act that has passed. 
I would speak with decency of every act of this House ; 
but I must beg the indulgence of the House to speak of 
it with freedom. 

I hope a day may be soon appointed to consider the 
state of the nation with respect to America. ' I hope 



gentlemen will come to this debate with all the temper 
and impartiality that his Majesty recommends, and the 
importance of the subject requires. A subject of great- 
er important than ever engaged the attention of this 
House ! That subject only excepted, when, nearly a 
century ago, it was the question Avhether you yourselves 
were to be bond or free. In the mean time, as I caur 
not depend upon health for any future day, such is the 
nature of my infirmities, I will beg to say a few words 
at present, leaving the justice, the equity, the policy, 
the expediency of the act to another time. 

1 will only speak to one point, which seems not to 
have been generally understood. Some gentlemen 
seem to have considered it as a point of honor. If gen- 
tlemen consider it in that light, they leave all measures 
of right and wrong, to follow a delusion that may lead 
to destruction. It is my opinion that this kingdom has 
no right to lay a tax upon the Colonies. When in this 
House we give and grant, we give and grant what is 
our own. But in an American" tax, what do we do ? 
We, your Majesty's Commons of Great-Britain, give 
and grant to your Majesty, what? our own property? 
No. We give and grant to your Majesty, the property 
of your Majesty's Commons of America. It is an ab- 
surdity in terms. 

There is aii idea in some, that the Colonies are vir- 
tually represented in this House. I would fain know 
by whom an American is represented here ? Is he rep~, 
resented by any knight of the shire, in any county in 
this kingdom ? Or v/ill yoa tell him that he is repre- 
sented by any representative of a borough ; a borough, 
v/hich perhaps no man ever saw ? This is what is called 
the rotten part of the Constitution. It cannot con- 
tinue a century. If it does not drop, it must be ampu- 
tated. The idea of a virtual representation of America, 
in this House, is the most ^contemptible idea that ever 
entered into the head of a man. It does not deserve a 
serious refutation. 



The Commons of America, represented in their sev- 
eral assemblies, have ever been in possession of the 
exercise of this, their constitutional right of giving and 
granting their ^own money. They would have been 
slaves if they had not enjoyed it. 

A great deal has been said without doors, of the 
power, of the strength of America. It is a topic which 
ought to be cautiously meddled with. In a good cause, 
on a so^nd bottom, the force of this country can crush 
America to atoms. I know the valour of your troops.. 
I know the skill of your officers. There is not a com- 
pany of foot that has served in America, out of which 
you may not pick a man of sufficient knowledge and 
experience, to make a governor of a colony there. Buv 
©n this ground, on the Stamp-Act, when so many here 
will think it a crying injustice, I am one who will lift 
up my hands against it. 

In such a cause, your success would be hazardous. 
America, if she fell, would fall like the strong man. 
She would embrace the pillars of the State, and pull 
down the constitution along with her. Is this your 
boasted peace ? Not to sheath the sword in its scab- 
bard, but to sheath it in the bowels of your country- 
men ? Will you quarrel with yourselves, now the whole 
house of Bourbon is united against you ? 

The Americans have been wronged. They have 
been driven to madness by injustice. Will you punish 
them for the madness ypu have occasioned ? Rather 
let prudence and temper come first from this side. I 
will undertake for America, that she will follow the 

Upon the whole, I will beg leave to tell the House 
what is really my opinion. It is, that the Stamp-Acl, 
fee repealed absolutely, totally, and inamediately. 



Scene from the Farce of Lethe. 

Enter Mr, and Mrs, Tatoo, and JEsOT, 

Mrs. Tat, ■\;\7HY don't you come along, Mr. 
V V Tatoo ? what the deuce are you 
afraid of? 

,^s. Don't be angry, young lady ; the gentlemanis 
your husband, I suppose. 

Mrs, Tat, How do you know that, Su' ? What, 
you an't all conjurers in this world, are you ? 

^s. Your behaviour to hini is sufficient proof of 
his condition, without the gift of conjuration. 

Mrs, Tat. Why, I was as free with him before mar- 
riage as I am now ; I never was coy or prudish in my 

,^8. I believe you, madam; pray, how long have 
you been married? you seem to be very young, 

Mrs. Tat. I am old enough for a husband, and 
have been married long enough to be tired of one. 

,^8, How long, pray ? 

Mrs, Tat. Why, above three months: I married 
Mr. Tatoo without my guardian's consent. 

.^s. If you married nim with your own consent, I 
think you might continue your affection a little longer. 

Mrs. Tat. What signifies what you think, if I don't 
think so ? We are quite tired of one another, and ai'e 
come to drink some of yoiu* le — lethaly — le-lethily, 1 
think they call it, to forget one another, and be unmar- 
ried again. 

jEs. The waters can't divorce you, madam; and 
you may easily forget him without the assistance of 

Mr. Tat. Aye ! how so ? 

,^3. By remembering continually he is your huSi 
band : there are several ladies have no other receipt* 
But what does the gentleman say to Uiis ? 

F 4H^* 


Mrs, Tat. What signifies what he says ? I an't so 
young and so foolish as that comes to, to be directed 
by my husband, or to care what either he-says, or you 

Mr. Tat. Sir, I was a drummer in a marching regi- 
ment, when I ran away with that young lady. I im- 
mediately bought out of the corps, and thought myself 
made forever ; little imagining that a poor vain fellow 
was purchasing fortune at the expense of his happiness. 

./E5. 'Tis even so, friend ; fortune and felicity are as 
often at variance as man and wife. 

Mr. Tat. I found it so. Sir. This high life (as I 
thought it) did not agree with me ; I have not laugh'd, 
and scarcely slept, since my advancement ; and unless 
your worship can alter her notions, I must e'en quit the 
blessings of a fine lady and her portion, and, for con- 
tent, have recourse to eight pence a-day and my drum 

.>^s. Pray, who has advised you to a separation ? 

Mrs. Tat. Several young ladies of my acquaintance ; 
who tell me, they are not angry at me for marrying 
him ; but for being fond of him since I have married 
him ; and they say I should be as complete a fine lady 
as any of them, if I would but prov:ure a separate di- 

^s. Pray, madam, will you let me know what you 
call a fine lady ? 

Mrs. Tat. Why, a fine lady, and a fine gentleman, 
are tw^o of the finest things upon earth. 

^s. I have just now had the honour of knowing what 
a fine gentleman is ; so, pray confine yourself to the 

Mrs. Tat. A fine lady, before marriage, lives with 

her papa and mamma, who breed her up till she learns 

to despise them, and resolves to, do nothing they bid 

her ; this makes her such a prodigious favorite, that 

she wants for nothing. And when once she is her own 

mistress, then comes the pleasure ! 

M.^. Pray let us hear. 

•^ Mrs; 



Mrs, Tat. She lies in bed all ihc morning, rattles 
about all day, and sits up- all night; she goes every 
where, and sees every thing ; knows every body, and 
loves no body ; ridicules her friends, coquets with her 
lovers, sets them together by the qars, tells fibs, makes 
mischief, buys china, cheats at cards, keeps a lap-dog, 
and hates the parson ; she laughs much, talks loud. 
never blushes, says vrhat she will, does what she will, 
goes where she will, marries whom she pleases, hates 
her husband in a month, breaks his heart in four, be- 
comes a widow, slips from her gallants, and begins the 
world again. There's a life for you; what do you 
think of a fine lady now ? ^ 

^s. As I expected. You are very young, madam, 
and, if you are not very careful, your natural propensity 
to noise and affectation will run you headlong into 
folly, extravagance, and repentance. 

Mrs. Tat. What would you have me do ? 

Ms. Drink a large quantity of lethe to the loss of 
your acquaintance ; and do you, Sir, drink another, 
to forget this false step of your wife ; for whilst you 
remember her folly, you can never thoroughly regard 
her; and whilst you keep good company, madam, as 
you call it, and follow their example, you can never 
have a just regard for your husband ; so bpth drink 
and be happy. 

Mrs. Tat. Well, give it me whilst I am in humour, or 
I shall certainly change my mind again. 


Ms^ Be patient till the rest of the company drink, 
d divert yourself in the mean time with w^alkino; h\. 


Mrs. Tat. Weil, come along, husband, and keep 
me in humour, or I >hall beat you such an alarum as 
you never h(^.i in all vnv.v life. 



Extract trom the Eulogy on Dr. Franklin, 


A SECOND creation has taken place; the ele* 
mcnts o^ society begin to ^ combine together ; 
the moral universe is now seen issuing from chaos ; 
the genius of liberty is awakened, and springs up ; 
she shedg her divine light and creative powers upon the 
two hemispheres. A great nation, astonished at seeing 
herself free, stretches her arms from one extremity of 
the earth to the other, and embraces the first nation 
that became so : the foundations of a new city are cre- 
ated in the two worlds ; brother nations hasten to in- 
habit it. It is the city of mankind ! 

One of the first founders of this universal city was the 
immortal FRANKLIN, the deliverer of America. 
The second founders, who accelerated this great work, 
made it worthy of Europe. The legislators of France 
have rendered the most solemn homage to his memory. 
They have said, " A friend of humanity is dead : 
mankind ought to be overwhelmed with sorrow !^ Na- 
tions have hitherto only worn mourning for Kings^; 
let us assume it for a Man, and let the tears of French- 
men mingle with those of Americans, in order to do 
honor to the memory of one of the Fathers of Lib- 

erty y^ 

The city of Paris, which once contained tlws philos- 
opher within its walls, which was intoxicated with the 
olcasurc jof hearing, admiring, and loving him ; of 
Vathering from his lips the maxims of a moral legisla- 
for, and' of imbibing from the effusions of his heart a 
passion for the public welfare, rivals Boston and Phila- 
delphia, his two native cities (for in one he was born asj 
;t were a man, and in the other a legislator) in its pro- 
:Diind attachment to his merit end his glory. 


ft has commanded this funeral solemnity, in order to 
perpetuate the gratitude anti the grief of this third 
country, which, by the courage and activity with which 
it has profited of his lessons, has shown itself worthy of 
having him at once for an instructor and a model. 

In selecting me for the interpreter of its wishes, it 
has declared, that it is less to the talents of an orator, 
than to th$ patriotism of a citizen, the zeal of a preacher 
of liberty, and the sensibility of a friend of men, that 
it hath confided this solemn function. In this point of 
view, I may speak with firm confidence ; for I have the 
public opinion, and the testimony of my own con- 
science, to second my wishes. Since nothing else is 
wanting than freedom, and sensibility, for that species 
of eloquence which this eulogiunr requires, I am satis- 
fied ; for I already possess them. 

My voice shall extend to France, to America, to 
posterity. I am now to do justice to a great man, the 
founder of transatlantic freedom ; I am -to praise him 
in the name of the mother city of French liberty. I 
myself also am a man ; I am a freeman ; I possess the ' 
suffrages of my fellow-citizens : this is enough ; my 
discourse shall be immortal. , 

The academies, the philosophical societies, the learn- 
ed associations which have done themselves honor by in- 
scribing the name of Franklin in their records, can best 
appreciate the debt due to his genius, for haying ex- 
tended the power of man over nature, and presented 
new and sublime ideas, in a style simple as truth, and 
pure as light. 

It is not the naturalist and the philosopher that the 
orator of the Commons of Paris ought to- describe ; it 
is the man who hath accelerated the progress of social 
order ; it is the legislator, who hath prepared the liberty 
of nations ! 

Franklin, in his periodical works, which had prodi- 
gious circulation on the continent of America, laid die 
sacred foundations of social morality. He was no less 
inimitable in the developements of the same morality, 
F 2 when 


when applied to the cluties of friendship, general chaii- 
(y, the employment of one's time, the happiness at- 
tendant upon good works, the necessary combination 
of private with public. welfare, the propriety and ne- 
cessity of industry ^., and to that happy state which puts 
us at ease with society and with ourselves. The prov- 
erbs of " Old Henry," and ^' Poor Richai^d," are in 
the hands both of the learned and the ignorant ; they 
contain the most sublime morality, reduced to popular 
language and common comprehension ; and form the 
catechism of happiness for all mankind. 

Franklin was too great a moralist, and too well 
-acquainted with human affairs, not to perceive that 
women were the arbiters of manners. He strove to 
perfect their empire ; and accordingly engaged them 
to adorn the sceptre of virtue with their graces. It is 
in their power to excite courage ; to overthrow vice, 
by means of their disdain ; to kindle civism, and to light 
.;p ill every heart the holy love of our country. 

His daughter, who was opulent and honored with 
the public esteem, dielpcd to manufacture and to make 
up the clothing for the^ army with her own hands ; 
and spread abroad a noble emulation among the female 
citizens, who became eager to assist those by means of 
the needle and the spindle, who were serving the state 
-^yith their swords and their guns. 

With the charm ever attendant upon true wisdom 
and the grace ever flowing from tme sentiment, this 
grave philosopher knew how to converse with the other 
>ex ; to inspire them with a taste for domestic occupa- 
tions ; to hold out to them the prize attendant upon 
honor unaccompanied by reproach, and instil the duty 
of cultivating the first precepts of education, in order 
',0 teach them to their children ; and thus to acquit 
the debt due to nature, and fulfil the hope of socie- 
ty. It must be acknowledged, that, in his own coun- 
• ry, he addressed himself to minds capable of compre- 
■lending him. 



Immortal females of America ! 1 will tell it to the 
daughters of France, and they only are fit to applaud 
you ! You have attained the utmost of what your sex 
is capable ; you possess the beauty, the simplicity, the 
manners, at once natural and pure ; the primitive 
graces of the golden age. It was among you that liber- 
ty was first to have its origin. But the empire of free- 
dom, wliich is extended to France, is about to carry 
your manners along w^ith it, and produce a revolution 
in morals as well as in politics. 

Already our female citizens, (for they have lately 
become such) are not any longer occupied with those 
fi:ivolous ornaments, and vain pleasures, which were 
nothing more than the amusements of slavery ; they 
have awakened the love of liberty in the bosoms of 
fathers, of brothers, and of husbands; they have en- 
couraged them to make the most generous sacrifices ; 
their delicate hands have removed the earth, dragged 
it along, and helped to elevate the immense amphithe- 
atre of the grand confederation. It is no longer the 
love of voluptuous softness that attracts their regard ; 
it is the sacred fire of patriotism. 

The laws which are to reform education, and with 
it the national manners,, are already prepared;" they 
will advance, they will fortify the cause of liberty by 
means of their happy influence, and become the second 
saviours of their country ! 

Franklin did not omit any of the means of being use- 
ful to-meuy or serviceable to society. He spoke to all 
conditioits, to both sexes, to evefy age. This amiable 
moralist descended, in his writings, to the most artless 
details ; tq the most ingenuous familiarities ; to the first 
ideas of a rural, a commercial, and a civil life ; to the 
dialogues of old men and children ; full at once of all 
the verdure and all the maturity of wisdom. In short, 
the prudent lessons arising from the exposition of those 
obscure, happy, easy virtues, which form so many links 
in the chain of a good man's life, derived immense 
weight from that reputation for genius which he had 



acquired, by being one of the first naturalists and 
greatest philosophers in the universe. 

At one and the same time, he governed nature in the 
heavens and in the hearts of men. Amidst the tem- 
pests of the atmosphere, he directed the thunder; 
amidst the storms of society, he-.-directed the passions. 
Think, gendemen, v/ith what attentive docility, with 
what religious respect, one must hear the voice of a 
simple man, who preached up human happiness, when 
it was recollected that it was the powerful voice of the 
same man who regulated the lightning. 

He electrified the consciences, in order to extract the 
destructive fire of vice, exactly in the same manner as 
he electrified the heavens, in order peaceably to invite 
from them the terrible fire of the elements. 

Venerable old man ! august philosopher ! legislator 
of the felicity of thy country, prophet of the fraternity 
of the human race, what ecstatic happiness embellish- 
ed the end of thy career! From thy fortunate asylum, 
and in the midst of thy brothers who enjoyed in tran- 
quillity the fruit of thy virtues, and the success of thy 
genius, thou hast sung songs of deliverance. The last 
looks, which thou didst cast around thee, beheld Ame- 
rica happy ♦, France, on the other side of the ocean, 
free, and a sure indication of the approaching freedom 
and happiness of the world. 

The United States, looking upon themselves as thy 
children, have bewailed the death of the father of their 
republic. France, thy family by adoption, has hon- 
ored thee as the founder of her laws ; and the human 
race has revered thee as the universal patriarch who 
has formed the alliance of nature with society. Thy 
remembrance belongs to all ages ; thy metoory to all 
nations 5 thy glory to eternity ! . 



Epilogue to Abdison's Cato. 

YOU see mankind the same in every age \ 
Heroic fortitude, tyrannic rage, 

Boundless ambition, patriotic truth, 

And hoary treason, and untainted youth, 

Have deeply markM all periods and all climes, 

The noblest virtues, and the blackest crimes. ■ 

Did Cesar, drunk with power, and madly brave-, . 

Insatiate burn, his country to enslave ? 

Did he for this, lead forth a servile host 

To spill the choicest blood that Rome could boast ? 

The British Cesar too hath done the same, 

And doom'd this age to everlasting fame. 

Columbia's crimson'd fields still smoke with gore ;' 

Her bravest heroes cover all the shore : 
*The flower of Britain, in full martial bloom, 

In this sad war, sent headlong to the tomb. 

Did Rome's brave senate nobly dare t' oppose 

The mighty torrent, stand confess'd their foes, 

And boldly arm the virtuous fev;'^ and dare 

The desp'rate hoiTors of unequal war ? 

Our senate too the same bold deed have done, 
, And for a Cato, arm'd a Washington ; 

A chief, in all the -ways of battle skilPd, 

Great in the council, mighty in the field. 

His martial ann, and steady soul alone, ^ 

Have made thy legions shake, thy navy groan, > . 

And thy proud empire totter to the throne. ) . 

O, what thou art, mayst thou forever be, 

And death the lot of any chief but thee ! 

We've had our Decius too ; and Howe could say, 

Health, pardon, peace, George sends America ; 

Yet brought destruction for the olive wreath ; 

For health, contagion, and for pardon, death. 

Rise ! then, my countr}Tnen, for fight prepare ; 

Gird on your swords, and fearless rush to war : 



'Tis your bold task the gen'rous strife to try ; 
For your griev'd country nobly dare to die ! 
No pent up Utica contracts your powers ; 
For the whole beundless continent is our's f 

An Address, spoken ey a very- small Boy. 

WHEN boys are exhibiting in public, the polite- 
ness or curiosity of the hearers frequently in- 
duces them to inquire the names of the performers. 
To save the trouble of answers, so far as relates to my- 
self, my name is Charles Chatterbox. I was born in 
this town ; and have grown to my present enormous 
stature, without any artificial help. It is true, I eat, 
drink, and sleep, and take as much care of my noble 
self, as any young man about ; but I am a monstrous 
great student. - There is no telling the half of what I 
have read. 

Why, what do you think of the Arabian Tales ? 
Truth I every word truth ! There's the story of the 
lamp, and of Rcok's eggs as big as a meeting-house. 
And there is the history of Sindbad the Sailor. I have 
read every word of them. And I have read Tom 
Thumb's folio through. Winter Evening Tales, and 
Seven Champions, andParismus, and Parismenus, and 
Valentine and Orson, and Mother Bunch, and Seven 
Wise Masters, and a curious book, entitled, Think well 

Then there is another wonderful book, containing 
fifty reasons why ar. old bachelor was not mamed. 
The first was, that nobody would have him ; and the 
second was, he declared to- every body, that he would 
not marry ; and so it went on stronger and stronger. 
Then, at the close of the book, it gives an account of 
his marvellous death and burial. And in the appen- 
dix, it tells about his being ground over, and coming 



out as young, and as fresh, and as fair as ever. Then, 
every few pages, is a picture of him to the life. 

I have also read Robinson Crusoe, and Reynard the 
fox, and Moll Flanders ; and I have read twelve de- 
lightful novels, and Irish Rogues, and Life of Saint 
Patrick, and Philip Quarle, and Conjuror Crop, and 
^sop's Fables, and Laugh and be fat, and Toby Lump- 
kin's Elegy on the Birth of a Child, and a Comedy on 
the Death of his Brother, and an Acrostic, occasioned 
by a mortal sickness of his dear wife, of which she re- 
covered. This famous author wrote a treatise on the 
Rise and Progress of Vegetation ; and a whole Body of 
Divinity he comprised in four lines. 

I have read all the works of Pero Gilpin, whose 
memory was so extraordinary, that he never forgot 
tiie hours of eating and sleeping. This Pero was a 
rare lad. Why, he could stand on his head, as if it 
were a real pedestal ; his feet he used for drumsticks. 
He was trumpeter to the foot guards in Queen Betty's 
time ; and if he had not blown his breatk away, might 
have lived to this day. 

Then, I have read the history of a man who married 
for money, and of a woman that would wear her hus- 
imnd's small-clothes in spite of him ; and I have read 
four books of riddles and rebusses ; and all that is not 
half a quarter. 

Now, what signifies reading so much if one can't tell 
of it? In thinking over these things, I ana sometimes 
so lost in company, that I don't hear any thing that is 
said, till some one pops out that witty saying, " A 
penny for your thoughts." Then 1 say, to be sure, 
I was thinking of a book I had been reading. Once, 
in this mood, I came very near swallowing my cup and 
saucer; and another time, was upon the very point of 
taking down a punch-bowl, that held a gallon. Now', if 
I could fairly have gotten them down, they would not 
have hurt me a jot; for my mind is capacious enough 
for a china shop. There is no choaking a man of my 
reading. Why, if my mind can contain Genii and 



Giants, sixty feet high, and enchanted castles, wky 
not a punch-bowl, and a whole tea-board ? 

It was always conjectured that I should be a mon- 
*strous great man ; and I believe, as much as I do the 
Spanish war, that i shall be a perfect Brobdingnag in 

• Well now, do you see, when I have read a book, I go 
right off into the company of the ladies ; for they are 
fhe judges whether a man knows any thing or not. 
Then I bring on a subject which will show my parts to 
the best advantage; and I always mind and sov a 
j^mart thing just before I quit. 

You must know, moreover, that I have learned a 
gi'eat deal of wit. I was the first man who invented 
all that peo})le say about cold tongues, and warm 
tongues, and may-bees. I invented the wit of kissiug 
the candlestick when a lady holds it ; as also ib^ plays 
of criminal and cross question ; and above all, I invent- 
ed the wit of paying toll at bridges. In short, ladies 
and gentlemen, take me all in all; I am a downright 
curious fellow. 

Howard and Lester. 
A Dialogue on Learning and Usefulness, 

TT 7 X IFE is much like a fiddle: every man 
J_ii plays such a tune as suits him. 

Lester, The more like a fiddle, the better I like it. 
Any thing that makes a merry noise suits me ; and the 
man that does not set his hours to music, has a dull 
rime on't. 

How* But, Lester, are there no serious duties in 
life ? Ought we not to improve our minds, and to pre- 
pare for usefulness ? 

Lest, Why, in the present da^, a man^s preparing 
himself for usefulness, is like carrying coals to New- 
castle. Our C€untry is full of useful men ;, ten, at 


l/eaist, to where one is wanted, and all of them ten 
jtimes as ready to serve the public, as the public is to 
'be served. If every man should go to Congress that's 
!lit f®r it, the federal city would hardly hold them. 
! Hcw. You mean, ii all who think themselves fit 
'for it. 

'Lest, No ; I meant as I said. 
j How. Then what do you think fits a man for Con- 
gress ? 

Lest, Why he must be f.^ppant and bold. 

How, Wiiat g0od will that do him, if he is without 
[knowledge ? 

Lest. O ! he must have knowledge to be sure. 

How. Well, must he not be a man in whom the 
people can trust ? Must he not understand politics ? 
and must he not be able and willing to serve his coun- 

Lest, I agree to all that. 

How, Then you suppose that the federal city could 
hardly hold all our men who unite eloquence with 
confidence, knowledge with integrity, and policy with 
patriotism. I fear that a countmg-house would give 
them full accommodation. 

Lest. I don't go so deep into these matters : but 
this is certain, that when the election comes, more than 
enough are willing to go* 

How. That, my friend, only proves that more thai) 
enough are ignorant of themselves : but are tliere no 
other ways of serving the public ? 

Lest. Yes ; one may preach, if he will do it for little 
or nothing. He may practise law, if he can get any 
body to employ him ; or he may be a Doctor or an 
Instructor ; but I tell you the country is crowded with 
learned men begging business. 

How. Then you intend to prepare yourself for the 
ignorant herd, so that you may not be crowded. 

Lest, I have serious thoughts of it. You may take 
your own way, but I'll never wear out a fine pair of 
eyes in preparing myself for usefulness, till this same 

G publx« 


public will give me a bond to employ me when I am 
ready to serve them. Till such a bond is signed, scal- 
ed, and delivered, I shall set my hours to the tune ot 
** Jack's alive." To-day's the ship I sail in, and that 
will carry the flag, in spite of the combined powers of 
yesterdays and to-morrows.' 

How, Well, Lester, you can take your choice. I 
shall set my hours to a more serious tune. I ask no 
bond of the public. If my mind is well furnished with 
knowledge, and that same generous public, which has 
so uniformly called to her service the discerning, should 
refusemy services, still I shall possess a treasure, which, 
after a few years of dissipation, you would give the 
world to purchase, THE RECOLLECTION OF 

Christ's Crucifixion. 

IVrOW darkness fell 

■^^ On all the region round ; the shrouded sun ! 
From the impen' tent earth withdrew his light : 
I thirst, the Saviour cry'd ; and lifting up 
His eyes in agony, My God, my God !• 
Ah ! why hast thou forsaken me ? exclaim'd. 

Yet deem him not forsaken of his God ! 
Beware that error. 'Twas the mortal part 
Of his compounded nature, breathing forth 
Its last sad agony, that so complain'd : 
Doubt not that vail of sorrow was withdrawn, 
And heav'nly comfort to his soul vouchsaPd, 
Ere thus'he cry'd. Father ! into thy hands 
My spirit I commend. Then bow'd his head 
And died. Now Gabriel and his heavenly choir 
Of minist'ring angels hov'ring o'er the cross 
Receiv'd his spirit, at length from mortal pangs 
yVnd fleshly pris'n set free, and bore it thence 
Upon their wings rejoicing. Then bekold 

A prodi^ 


A prodigy, that to tlic world announc'd 
A new religion and dissolv'd the old : 
The temple's sacred vail was rent in twain 
From top to bottom, 'midst th' attestini^ shocks 
Of earthquake and the rending up of graves. 
Now those mysterious symbols, heretofore 
Gurtain'd from vulgar eyes, and holiest decm'u 
Of holies, were display'd to public vievv' ; 
The mercy-seat, with its cherubic wings 
O'ershadoAved, and the golden ark beneath 
Cov'ring the testimony, now through the rent 
Of that dissever'd vail first saw the light ; 
A world redeem'd had now no farther need 
Of types and emblems, dimly shadowing forth 
An angry Deity withdrawn from sight 
And canopied in clouds. Him, face to face, 
Now in full light reveal'd, the dying breath 
Of his dear Son appeas'd, and purchas'd peace 
And reconcilement for offending man. 

Thus the partition wall, by Moses built, 
By Christ was levell'd, and the Gentile world 
Enter'd the breach, by their great Captain led 
Up to the throne of grace, opening himself 
Through his own flesh a new and living way. 
Then were the oracles of God made known 
To all the nations, sprinkled by the blood 
Of Jesus, and baptiz'd into his death ; 
So was the birthright of th^ elder born, 
Heirs of the promise, forfeited ; whilst they, 
Whom sin had erst in bondage held, made free 
iProm sin, and servants of the living God, 
Now gain'd the gift of God, eternal life. 

Soon as those sips and prodigies were seen 
Of those who watch'd the cross, conviction smote 
rheir fear-struck hearts. The sun, at noon-day dark : 
Ihe earth convulsive underneath their feet, 
\nd the firm rocks, in shiver'd fragments rent, 
tous'd them at once to tremble and believe. 
Then was our Lord by heathen lips confess'd, 





When the centurion cry'd, In very truth 

This righteous Person was the Son of God ; 

The rest, in heart assenting, stood abash'd, .| 

Watching in silence the tremendous scene. 

The recollection of his gracious acts. 
His dying pray'rs and their own impious taunts 
Now rose in sad review ; too late iLey wish'd 
The deed undone, and sighing smote their breasts. 
Straight from God's presence went that angel forth, 
Whose trumpet shall call up the sleeping dead * 

At the last day, and bade the saints arise | 

And come on earth to hail this promis'd hour, 
The day-spring of salvation. Forth they came 
From their dark tenements, their shadowy forms 
Made visible as in their fleshly state, 
And through the holy city here and there 
Frequent they gleam'd, by night, by day, with- fear 
And wonder seen of many : holy seers, 
Prophets and martyrs from the grave set free, 
And the first fruits of the redeemed dead. 

They, who with Christ transhgur'd on the mount 
Were seen of his disciples in a cloud 
Of dazzling glory, now, in form distinct, 
Mingling amidst the public haunts of men, 
Struck terror to all hearts : Ezekiel there, 
The captive seer, to whom on Chebar's bankb 
The heaven's were open'd and the fatal roil 
Held forth, with dire denunciations fiU'd, 
Of lamentation, mourning and of woe, 
Now falling fast on Israel's wretched race : 
He too was there, Hilkiah's holy son, 
With loins close girt, and glowing lips of fire 
By God's own finger touch'd : there might be seeii 
The youthful prophet, Belteshazzar nam'd 
Of the Chaldees, interpreter of dreams, 
Knowledge of God bestow'd, in visions skill'd, 
And fair, and iearn'd, and wise : the Baptist here, 
Girt in his hairy mantle, frowning stalk'd. 
And pointing to his ghastly wound, exclaiin'd,. 



Yc vipers ! whom my warning could not move 

Timely to flee from the impending wrath 

Now fallen on your head ; whom I indeed 

With water, Christ hath now with fire baptiz'd : ' 

Barren ye were of fruits, which I prescrib'd 

Meet for repentance, and behold ! the axe 

Is laid to the unprofitable root 

Of every sapless tree, hewn down, condemn'd 

And cast into the fire. Lo ! these are they, 

These shadowy forms now floating in your sight, 

These are the harbingers of ancient days, 

Who witnessed the Messias, and announc'd 

His coming upon earth. Mark with what scorn 

Silent they pass you by : them had ye heard, 

Them had ye noted with a patient mind, 

Ye had not crucified the Lord of Life : 

He of these stones to Abraham shall raise up 

Children, than you more worthy of his stock ; 

And now his winnowing fan is in his hand. 

With which he-ll purge his floor, and having stor'd 

The precious grain in garners, will consume 

With fire unquenchable the refuse chaflf.. 

The Woxders of Nature. 

HOW mighty ! how majestic ! and how mysteri- 
ous are nature's works ! When the air is calm, 
where sleep the stormy winds ? In vs^hat chambers are 
they reposed, or in what dungeons confined ? But 
when He, " who holds them in his fist," is pleased 
to awaken their rage, and throw open their prison 
doors, then, with irresistible impetuosity, they, rush 
forth, scattering dread, and menacing destruction. 

The atmosphere is liurled into the most tumultuous 
confusion. The aerial torrent bursts its way over moun- 
tains, seas, and continents. All things fcol the dread- 
ful shock. All things tremble before the. furious blast. 
The forest, vexed and torn, groans undcrlhe scourge. 
G 2 Hex. 


Her sturdy sons are strained to the very root, and af- 
most sweep the soil they were wont to shade. The 
stubborn oak, that disdains to bend, is dashed head- 
long to the ground ; and, with shattered arms, with 
prostrate trunk, blocks up the road. While the flexile 
reed, that springs up in the marsh, yielding to the gust, 
(as the nieek and pliant temper, to injuries, or the re- 
signed and patient spirit, to misfortunes) eludes the 
force of the storm, and survives amidst the wide-spread 

For a moment, the turbulent and outrageous sky 
seems to be assuaged ; but it intermits its warmth, only 
to increase its strength. Soon the sounding squadrons 
of the air return to the attack, and renew their ravages 
with redoubled fury. The stately dome rocks amidsl 
the wheeling clouds. The impregnable tower totteiJ' 
on its basis, and threatens to overvrhelm v/hom it wgs 
intended to protect. The ragged rocks are rent ii. 
pieces ; and even the hills, the perpetual hills, on their 
deep foundations are scarcely secure. Where now is 
the place of safety ? when the city reels,, and houses 
become heaps ! Sleep affrighted flies. Diversion is 
turned into horror. Ail is uproar in the elements ; all 
is consternation among mortals ; and nothing but one 
wide scene of rueful devastation through the land. 

The ocean swells, with tremendous commotions. The 
ponderous weaves are heaved frdtn their capacious bed, 
and almost lay bare the unfathomable deep. Flung in^ 
to the most rapid agitation, they sweep over the rocks ; 
they lash the lofty cliffs, and toss themselves into the 
clouds. Navies are rent from their anchors ; and, with 
all their enormous load, are whirled swift as the arrow, 
wild as the winds, along the vast abyss. Now they 
climb the rolling mountain ; they plough the frightful 
ridge ; and seem to skim the skies. Anon they plunge 
into the opening gulf; they lose the sight of day ; and 
'ire lost themselves to every eye. 

How vahi is the pilot's art; how impotent the mart- 
vcr^s strength ! ** They nrcl tq and fro, and staggei 



like a drunken man.'* Despair is in every face, and 
death sits threatening on every surge. But when Om- 
nipotence pleases to command, the storm is hushed to 
silence ; the lightnings lay aside their fiery bolts, and 
tke billows cease to roiU 


Dialogue on Physiognomy. 

Enter Frank ayid Henry. 
Fra k T^ appears strange to me that people can be 
'^ ' -I so imposed upon. There is no difficulty in 
piidging folks by their looks. I profess to know as 
jmuch of a man, at the first view, as by half a dozen 
years acquaintance. 

Henry, Pray hov/ is that done ? I should wish io 
learn such an art. 

Ft. Did you never read Lavater on Physiognomy ? 

Hen, No. What do you mean by such a hard word ? 

jPr. Pliysiognomy means a knowledge of men's 
hearts, thoughts, and characters, by their looks. For 
instance, if you see a man, with a forehead jutting over 
his eyes like a piazza, with a pair of eyebrows, heavy 
like the cornice of a house ; with full' eyes, and a Ro- 
man nose, depend on it he is a great scholar, and an 
honest man. 

Htn, It seems to me I should rather go below his 
nose to discover his scholarship. 

Fr, By no means : if you look for beauty, you may 
descend to the mouth and chin ; otherwise never go 
below the region of the brain. 

; Enter Georgs. 

Geor. Well, I have been to see the man hanged. 
And he is gone to the other world, with just such a 
great forehead and Roman nose, as you have always 
een praising. 

Fr, Remember, George, ail. signs fail in dry 

€r«wr. Now, be hone^, Frank, and own that there 



is nothing in all this trumpery of yours. The only way^ 
to know men is by their actions. If a man commit 
burglary, think you a Roman nose ought to save him 
from punishment ? 

Fr. I don't carry my notions so far as that; but! 
it is certain that all faces in the world are different ;j 
and equally true, that each has some marks about it,^ 
by which one can discover the temper and character 
of the person.. 

Enter Peter. J 

Peter, [to Frank,'] Sir, I have heard of your fame^ 
from Dan to Beersheba ; that you can know a man by 
his face, and can tell his thoughts by his looks. Hear- 
ing this, I have visited you without the ceremony of an 

Fr, Why, indeed, I do profess something in that 

Pet, By that foreheadj nose, and those eyes oi 
yours, one might be sure of an acute, penetrating 

Fr, I see thdit you are not ignorant of physiog 

Pet, I am not ; but still I am so far from being an 
adept in the art, that, unless the features are very re- 
markable, I cannot determine with certainty.^ But 
yours is the most striking face I ever saw. There is a 
certain firmness in the lines, which lead from the outei 
verge to the centre of the apple of your eye, which 
denotes great forecast, deep thought, bright invention, 
and a genius for great purposes. 

Fru You are a perfect master of the art. And to' 
show you that I ksow something of it, permit me to 
observe, that the form of your face denotes frankhess, 
truth, and honesty. Your heart is a stranger to guiley 
your lips, to deceit, and your hands, to fraud. 

Pet, I must confess that you have hit upon my true 
character; though a different one, from what 1 have 
sustained in the view of the world. 



Fr, [/o Henry and George^ Now see two strong 
examples of the tmdi of physiognomy. \^lVhih. he is 
speaking tMi,Peicr takes out his pocket-hook^ and makes 
off zvith himself, ] Now, can } ou conceive, that with- 
out this knowledge, I could fathom the character of a 
total stranger ? 

Heri, Pray tell us by what jnarks you discovered 
that in his heart and lips was no guile, and in his 
hands, no fraud ? 

Fr, Aye, leave that to me; we arc not to reveal 
eur secrets. But I will show you a flice and character, 
which exactly suits him. IFcelsfor his pocket-book in 
hoik 'pockets, looks zoildly and concerned.^ 

Geor^ [Tauntingly,} -^Y^^ *' i" ^'^^ heart is no 

fuile, in his lips no deceit, and in his hands no fraud ! 
fow we see a strong example of the power of physi- 
ognomy !" 

Fr, He is a wretch ! a traitor against every good 
sign! I'll pursue him to the ends of the earth. [Of- 
fers to go,] 

Hen, Stop a moment. His fine honest face is far 
enough before this time. You have not yet discover- 
ed the worst injury he has done you. 

Fr, What's that ? I had no watch or money for 
him to steal. 

Hen, By his deceitful lips, he has robbed you of 
any just conception of yourself; he has betrayed you 
into a foolish belief that you are possessed of most ex- 
traordinary genius and talent??. Whereas^ separate 
from the idle whim about physiognomy, you have had 
no more pretence to genius or learning than a common 
school-boy. Learn iienceforth to estimate men's hands 
by their deeds, their lips, by their words, and their 
hearts, by their lives. 

Or A Tin'.; 


Oration delivered at Paris by CiJizen Car- 

NOT, President of the Executive Directory, 

i AT the Festival of Gratitude and Victory, 

' celebrated *at the Champ-de-Maks, May 29, 


IT is at the moment when nature is renovated, when 
the earth, adorned with flowers and dressed in green, 
promises new harvests ; when all beini^s proclaim in 
their own language, the beneficent Intelligence which 
renovates the universe, that the French people assem- 
ble, on this great festival, to render a distinguished hom- 
age to those talents and virtues of the friends of the 
country and humanity. What day can better unite 
all hearts ! iVhat citizen, what man can be a stranger 
to the influence of gratitude ! We exist only through an 
uninterrupted course of beneficence, and our life is but 
a continual exchange of services. 

As soon as born, our eyes, fixed on the heavens, 
appear already to acknowledge a primary Benefactor; 
Weak, without support, the love of our parents watches 
over our infancy, and provides for wyants continually 
renewed. They direct our first steps ; their patient / 
solicitude assists in developing our organs ; we receive » 
from them our first ideas of what we are ourselves, and I 
of surrounding objects. Additional care models our ' 
hearts to aflection, our minds to knowledge, and our', 
bodies to useful labor. It is for our happiness, that; 
the wise have reflected on the duties of man ; that the i'! 
learned have diven into the secrets of nature ; that the ^ 
magistrate watches, and that the legislator prepares in ^ 
deliberation protecting laws. ^ 

Soon we are enabled to be useful. Good children, ' 
we strew flowers over the age of our parents, and their •.. 
trembling voice blesses us in their last moments. Be- f. 
come parents in our turn, we prepare, in the education i 
©f our children, the felicity of our declining years ; 4 

and I 



and wc thus continue in a new generation the chain of 
benevolence and gratitude. Sensibility is not restricted 
within the family circle ; the indigent is searched for 
under the thatch ; succours and consolation are lavish- 
ed ; and the donor, at first paid for the good action by 
the pleasure of having performed it, is doubly rewarded 
by the gmtitude of the object. Benevolence! how 
happy are thy votaries, and how much to be pitied, the 
soul that knows thee not ! 

He who is a good son and a good father is also a 
good citizen. He loves his country ; renders with 
alacrity the tribute of services ; he delights in return- 
ing to his brothers the protection he has received from 
them. Either magistrate or warrior, manufacturer or 
farmer ; in the temple of the arts ; in the Senate ; in the 
fields of glory, or the workshops of industry, he shows 
himself ambitious of c ontributing towards the prosper- 
ity of his country, and to deserve one day its grati- 
tude. For there is a national gratitude for individuals. 
At this moment a people are all assembled to express 
their gratitude to the virtuous citizens who have de- 
served it. How agreeable is the task! How we delight 
m paying you that homage ; you to whom the country 
owes its safety, its glory, and the foundation of its 
prosperity ! 

You, to whom France owes its political regeneration ; 
courageous philosophers, whose writings have planted 
the seeds of the revolution, corroded the fetters of sla- 
very, and blunted by degrees the ravings of fanaticism. 
You, citizens, whose dauntless courage effected this 
happy revolution; founded the republic, and contend- 
ed these seven years against crime and ambition, royal- 
ism and anarchy. You all, in a word, who labor to 
render France happy and flourishing ; who render it 
illustrious by your talents, and enrich it by your dis- 
coveries ; receive the solemn testimony of national 

Receive that testimony particularly, republican ar- 
tnies ; you, whose glory and successes are fresh in the 



rccoIiecLion of all. It is you who have defended !is 
against ton combined kings ; who have driven them 
from our territory ; have transferred to their dominions 
the scourge of war. You have not only conquered 
men ; you have overcome the obstacle thrown m your 
way by nature. You have triumphed over fatigue, 
hunger, and winter. What a spectacle for the people ! 
what a dreadful lesson to the enemies of liberty ! 

A new-born republic arms its children to defend its 
independence ; nothing can restrain their impetuosity ; 
traversing rivers, carrying entrenchments, chmbing 
rocks, ilere, after a series of victories, they pushed 
back our limits to those k^rriors that nature intended 
for us, and pursuing over ice the remains of thi-ee ar- 
mies, transformed an oppressed and hostile nation into 
a free and allied people. There they fly to exterminate J 
the hordes of traitors and villain.^, subsidized by En-- 
o-land; punish their thieves, and restore to the repub- 
fic brothers too long misled. Here, surmounting the 
Pyrenees, and precipitating themselves from their sum- 
mit ; overthrowing whatever opposes their progress, 
and checked only by an honorable peace ; there as- 
cending the Alps and Appenines, they fly across the 
Po and Adige. . . 

The ardor of the soldier is seconded by the geinus| 
and boldness of the chiefs. They phin with science,^ 
and execute with energy ; now displaying their forces 
with calmness ; then courting danger at the head of 
their brothers in arms. Oh that I could here display 
die immense and glorious picture of their victories I 
that I could name our most intrepid defenders ! W hat 
a crowd of sublime images and beloved names press 
upon my recollection ! "immortal wamors, posterity 
will not believe the multitude of your triumphs ; but to 
u=^ history loses all its improbabilities. 

But do we not see, even on this spot, a portion ot 
tbose brave deienders ? Victors over the exterior ene- 
mies of the state, they have come to repress our inter- 
nal enemies; and preserve at home the republic 



v^hich they have caused to be respected abroad. Do 
we not also see those venerable warriors who have 
grown grey in the service; those whom honorable 
wounds have obliged to seek premature repose, and 
whose asylum is in sight? With what pleasure our 
eyes feed on this interesting reunion! With w'hat 
agreeable emotions we contemplate those victorious 
I brows! 

I Heroes who have perished for liberty, why does there 
I remain to us nothing but a recollection of your services ? 
I You will, however, live forever in our hearts; your 
children will be dear to us ; the republic will repay to 
I them the debt they owe to you ; and we discharge 
here the first, by proclaiming your glory and our grat- 
iitude. Republican armies, represented here, by war- 
;riors from your ranks; invincible phalanxes, whose 
trophies I observe on all sides, whose fresh successes 
I foresee, come forward and receive the triumphal 
crowns which the French people command me to at- 
tach to your colours. 

Address of Mr. Adet, French Ambassador, on 


United States, 1796. 

Mr. President, 

I COME to acquit myself of a duty very dear to my 
heart. I come to deposit in your hands, and in the 
midst of a people justly renowned for their courage, 
and their love of liberty, the symbol of the triumph and 
the enfranchisement of my nation. 
. When she broke her chain ; when she proclaimed 
1 the imprescriptible rights of man ; when, in a terrible 
war, she sealed with her blood the covenant made with 
liberty, her own happiness was not alone the object of 
her glorious efforts ; her views extended also to all 
free people ; she saw their ittt^srests blended with her 
H own, 


own, and doubly rejoiced in her victories, which, la 
assuring to her the enjoyments of her rights, became to 
them new guarantees of their independence. 

These sentiments, which animated the French na- 
tion, from the dawn of their revolution, have acquired 
new strength since the foundation of the republic. 
France, at that time, by the form of its government, as- 
similated to, or rather identified with free people, saw 
in them only friends and brothers. Long accustomed 
to regard the American people as their most faithful 
allies, she has sought to draw closer the ties already 
formed in the fields of America, under the auspices of 
victory over the ruins of tyranny. 

The National Convention, the organs of the will of 
the French Nation, have more than once expressed 
their sentiments to the American people ; but above all, 
these burst forth on that august day, when the Minister 
of the United States presented to the National Repre- 
sentation, the colours of his country, desiring never to 
lose recollections as dear to Frenchmen as they must 
be to Americans. The Convention ordered that these 
colours should be placed in the hall of their sittrngs. 
They had experienced sensations too agreeable not to 
cause them to be partaken of by their allies, and de- 
creed that to them the national colours should be pre- 

Mr, President, I do not doubt their expectations will 
be fulfilled ; and I am convinced, that every citizen will 
receive, with a pleasing emotion, this flag, elsewhere 
tjie terror of the enemies of liberty ; here the certain 
pledge of faithful friendship ; especially when they 
r^coUect that it guides to combat, men who have 
shared their toils, and who were prepared for liberty, 
by aiding th^m to s^cquire thqiv own. 



President WASIII^'GTON's Answer. 

BORN, Sir, in a land of liberty ; having early 
learned its value ; having engaged in a perilous 
conflict to defend it ; having, in a word, devoted the 
best years of my life to secure it a permanent establisJi- 
ment in my own country ; my anxious recollections, 
my sympathetic feelings, and my best wishes are irre- 
sistibly excited, whensoever, in any country, I see an 
oppressed nation unfurl the banners of freedom. But 
above all, the events of the French revolution have pro- 
duced the deepest solicitude, as well as the highest 
admiration. To call your nation }>rave, were to }>ro- 
nounce but common praise. WONDERFUL PEO- 
PLE ! ages to come will read with astonishment the 
history of your brilliant exploits. 

I rejoice that the period of your toils and of your 
immense sacrifices is appro&ohing. I ivj^ice tiiai iivff 
interesting revolutionary movements of so many years 
have issued in the formation of a constitution designed 
to give permanency to the great object for which you 
have contended. I rejoice that liberty, which you 
have so long embraced with enthusiasm; liberty, of 
which you have been the invincible defenders, now 
finds an asylum in 'the bo;^om of a regularly organized 
government : a government, which, being formed to 
secure the happiness of the French people, corresponds 
with the ardent wishes of my heart, while it gratifies 
the pride of every citizen of the United States, by its 
resemblance of their own. On these glorious events, 
accept. Sir, my sincere congratulations. 

In delivering to you these sentiments, I express not 
my own feelings only, but those of my fellow-citizens, 
in relation to the commencement, the progress, and the 
issue^ of the French revolution ; and they will cordi- 
ally join with me in purest wishes to the Supreme Be- 
i ing, that the ciiizens of our sister republic, our mag- 


nanimous allies, may soon enjoy, in peace, that libertjr,! 
which they have purchased at so great a price, and all 
ihe happiness which liberty can bestow. 

I receive, Sir, with lively sensibility, the symbol o£j 
the triumphs and of the enfranchisements of your na- 
tion, the colours of France, which you have now pre- 
sented to the United States. The transaction will be 
announced to Congress ; and the colours will be depos- 
ited with those archives of the United States, which^ 
are at once the evidences and the caemorials of their 
freedom and independence. May these be perpetual ; 
and may the friendship of the two republics be com- 
mensurate with their existence. 


The Oppressive Landlord. 

Enter Don Philip and Wife. 
r» nL-7- 17t7ELTi, my dear, I have warned all 

non Philip, y y ^^^ ^^^^^j.^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^ ^ ^^^^^ 

of buildings, and ordered them to pay double the rent 
they have done, for every day they remain. From 
every new tenant I am determined to have three times 
the sum. The present rent will never do in these times. 
Our children will become beggars at this rate ; and you 
and I shall have to betake ourselves to hand labour, 
like the common herd, to earn our daily bread. 

Wife, Bat I fear that some of our tenants are too 
poor to endure a rent, double to what they now pay ; 
and I am certain it will be impossible for them all to 
remove, on account of the scarcity of houses to be ob- 

Don P. That is not my look out. It is enough for 
me to attend to my own interest, not theirs. 

Wife, But you will exercise a litde lenity towards 
them, at this distressing time. 1 am persuaded, my 
dear, that you will not turn them into the street. Be- 
sides, it is thought by some, that they already pay '' 
reasonable rent. 

Don P. 


"Don P, I have nothing to do with lenity. Woman, 
would you not have your husband be looking out ai^ainst 
a rainy day ? What would become of you, and your 
children, if I were to spend my time in studying /e/nVy, 
instead of my interest-table ? I tell you, that now is the 
harvest time, and I am determined to thrust in the sic- 
kle, and reap my proportion of the crop, before the sea- 
son's over. The town is crowded with foreigners who 
are exiled from their homes, and necessity obliges them 
to pay whatever price is demanded, for a shelter tQ 
cover their heads. 

Wife, Would you then profit by the necessities and 
misfortunes of your fellow creatures ? These exiles are 
entitled to our compassion, instead of experiencing our 

Don P, You talk like a poor weak woman. Did 1 
not tell you that I had nothing to do with other peo- 
ple's good or ill fortune ? It is more than I can do to 
take care of my own dependants. We should make 
fine way ahead, if you were at helm. I believe in my 
conscience, that, if you possessed the keys of the strong 
box, you would squander away to the full amount of 
a pistareen a week upon these poor starving runaways'. 
I have not yet forgotten how you lavished a whole gali 
Ion of cider upon those three miserable wTCtches that 
cleared out our well, the day before thanksgiving. 
Does this look like taking a prudent care of your fam- 
ily ? Pray how do you read your Bible ? Has not 
Nebuchadnezzar said, that '' He, who provides not for 
his own household, has denied the faith, and is worse 
than an infidel ?" 

Wife, If you had studied your Bible as faithfully 
as you have your interest-table, you would not have 
put St. Paul's words into the mouth of the king of 
Babylon. Does not the same scripture say, that " He 
who op})resseth the poor, and " 

Don P. Hush, I say ; one of my tenants approaches. 
Banish your womanish feelings ; and kt not' your un*" 
nily tongue betray your weakness* 

H 2 Enter 


Enter Tenant. 
Ten, Sir, I come to inform you, that I have at last 
been fortunate enough to procure a shelter for my fam- 
ily, though an indifferent one ; and have brought you 
the rent of your tenement, which I quitted with re- 
luctance yesterday. 

Don P, It is well you are out ; for you would have 
met with trouble, if you had remained three days longer. 
I had ordered my attorney to give directions to an officer 
to tumble all your goods into the street, and you and 
your children after them. 

Ten, Then a good Providence has preserved us. 

Don P, Providence has smiled upon me, I confess, 
in granting me such a riddance. 

Ten. I contead not with an adversary who is man- 
tled in gold. Will you please- to count your money, 
and give me a discharge ?. 

Don P, l^Cowits the money, '\ Why, man, the sum is 
deficient ; I cannot receipt it. 

Ten, It is the same. Sir, as I paid the last term. 

Don P, That is very true ; but did I not double the 
rent three days ago ? 

Ten, You did, indeed; but my reply was, that I 
was utterly unable to pay a higher price ; and as the 
time was so short,. I thought you would not stand for 

Don P, Trifles! If you were to receive it, I believe 
you would not call- it a trifle ; neither do I. I demand 
the utmost farthing* 

Ten, For the sake of peace, though I think your de- 
mand unjust, I will take your receipt for this, and 
bring the remainder to-morrow. 

Don P, Not a cent will I receive without the whok, 
lest by some quibble of the law I lose the rest. 

Ten, Your avaricious disposition leads you to act 
contrary to your own interest. 

Don P. I shall not apply to you for lessons of in-j 
struction. I shall conduct my own aflairs according t( 
my sovereign will and pleasure. Let me teil you, Sir, 


this impudence does not well become a man of yoili' 

Ten, " Sir, your honored father never used me 
thus." Alas! he little thought in what oppressi\7e 
hands he leftvhis large estate. Could he be permit- 
ted to revisit the earth, his ghost would haunt your guilty 
soul ; and, if you have any conscience left, harrow up 
remorse, and awaken you to repentance. 
. Don P, I did not admit a tenant into my house to 
hear a moral lecture from him. 

Ten, If you will take your money, I will quit your 
house with pleasure. Bui before we part, give me leave 
to tell you, that, though your great wealth has exalted 
you above yourself, and, in your own opinon, placed 
you beyond the reach of poverty, the time 7nai/ come 
when you will feel what oppression is. 

Iflfe, I entreat you to receive the money , and be 

Don P, A woman, who can't be silent in her hus- 
band's presence, especially when he is negociating im- 
portant business, may take a modest hint to leave the 
room. [Exit Wife. 

Ten. If you are resolved not to receive your money, 
I must carry it home again. And I hope the time is 
not far distant, when I shall be out of tlie reach of your 
oppressive hands. [Exit, 

Don P. [Solus,'] Every man I deal with is trying 
to cheat me. Mankind are by nature all knaves. I 
am afraid to trust even my best friends. What an af- 
fliction it is to have property ! The poor always think 
that the rich are bound to maintain them, and are 
never satisfied with what is done for them. My ten- 
ants would be glad to live in my houses rent keQ if 
they could. This, I am persuaded, they learned of 
my father ; but I'll soon teach them to expect different 
things. Rather than matters should go on at such 
loose ends, I'll sell every one of my buildings, and put 
the money in bank. My mind is constantly on the 
stretch to contrive ways and means to preserve what 



little I possess. It is well my father left his property 
to me. Had he left it to one of only common under- 
standing, these plotting tenants would have run away 
with the whole of it. 

Enter second Tenant. 

2 J. Tenant, Sir, I appear before you to crave your^ 
compassion. I am the most unfortunate of all your 
tenants. My misfr.rtune is, to be obliged to remain 
in your house, after it is your pleasure that I should | 
leave it. V 

Don P. To-morrow I will cure you of your misfor- - 
tune ; for if you cannot get out yourself, I will help ^% 
you out. 1^ 

2d. Ten, Why may I not remain ? It may be for a 
your interest as well as miner I have ever made you I 
punctual payment ; and stand ready now to give as 1 
much as any other man, or as much as your conscience 
will suffer you to demand. 

Don P. My will and pleasure is, that you depart 
immediately. My reasons for my conduct 1 give to no 
man. i 

^d. Ten. But, Sir, I have a claim upon your mercy- I 
You are not insensible of the pains, I've taken to accom- 1 
plish what you wish. Necessity is the only reason why \ 
I ask this favour. One special reason why you ought to 
grant it is, that I am now in your service with the same 
salary as in y^ars past ; when your good father was 
satisfied with one fourth the sum his craving son de* 
mands. I have been, you must allow, a faithful slave 
to your children. They have long received, and still 
receive my best instruction, without an augmentation, 
of reward. If you v»'ill not hear the plea of mercy, 
grant me justice. If you increase your price of rent, 
increase my pay. 

Don P. I meddle not with your affairs. Look out 
for your pay among your employers. I am but one* 
among many, and promise you that I shall not be fore- 
most to enhance the price of instruction, while childrervj 
are so numerous. My houses are my own*. I boughtj 



: them with my own money ; and shall dispose of them 
at my own pleasure. 

2f/. Ten. You speak as though you were lord of the 
creation, and had the world at ycur command. 

Don P. I am lord of my own possessions ; and shall 
not ask my tenants how I am to dispose of them. 

2d, Ten. Did you ever read, that " Riches take to 
tjhemselves wings, and ily away ?" 
' Don P. I am not apprehensive that any wrings ar^ 
attached to my property. 

2cL 2\n. Your mountain may not stand so strong as 
you think it does. The cries of the fatherless and the 
widow, who have groaned under your oppression, have 
reached the heavens, and you have reason to fear they 
will be answered with vengeance on your head. Did 
you but believe in a future day of retribution, as you 
have impiously professed, you would seriously engage in 
the work of repentance and reformation : which, let 
me tell you, it is presumption to neglect. 

. Re-enter first Tenant laith a Law'YER. 

\st. Ten. I pray you to accept your money, and 
give me a discharge. 

Don P. I told you, not a cent, till the whole amount 
y was paid. 

' Laiu. That is sufficient. The low allows no force 
in paying debts. Every creditor has an undoubted 
right to refuse his money, when offered by his debtor.. 
This he has done before witness. I now declare it 
forfeit. Keep it as your own. 

Don P. Rogues will always combine against honest 
men. The whole world are endeavouring to cheat 
me out of my lawful earnings. My best friends have 
become my worst enemies. 

Law. Y'ou have no friends ; nor will you ever have,. 

I long as you make an idol of your own dear self. 

Don, P. My property is my best friend, and one 
which I trust will never forsake me. 

[Cry of fire without,. 


Enter Servant in haste, 

Ser. Sir, your long row of buildings is all in flames ! 

Don P. Impossible ! — They were all to be insured 

Ser, It is seriously true ! and the roofs are now 
tumbling to the ground ! 

Don P, Then immediately call all hands, and put 
fire to this, and every other building I possess ; that 
they may all go to destruction together. 

2d. Ten, That looks something like giving wings to 
your riches. 

Don P, If I had had one thimble full of brains, I 
should have got them insured before. O horrible ca- 
tastrophe ! Not only wicked men and devils, but even 
the elements themselves have turned against me. 

Law. Compose yourself, dear Sir. Your best friend 
won't be so cruel as to forsake you, at this critical mo 

Don P, Is my money safe ? If that is burnt, I'll 
burn myself. Oh that I had permitted my tenants ta 
remain, that they and their property might all have 
perished in the flames together ! 

Lord Mansfield's Speech, in SuppoRt or a Bill 


OF Privilege op Parliament, 1770. 

■■ - ■ ■ ■ ' ... II I I III H MM . 1 111 * III 

My Lords, 

I HAVE waited with patience to hear what argu- 
ments might be urged against the bill ; but I have 
waited in vain ; the truth is, there is no argument that 
can weigh against it. The justice and expediency of 
the bill are such as render it self-evident. It is a propo- 
sition of that nature, that can neither be weakened by 
argument, nor entangled with sophistry. 

We all knovr, that the very soul and essence of trade 
are regular payments ; and sad experience teaches us 



that there are men, who will not make their regular 
payments without the compulsive power of the laws. 
The law then ought to be equally open to all. Any 
exemption to particular men, or particular ranks of 
men, is, in a free and commercial country, a solecism 
of the grossest nature. 

. I will not trouble your lordships with arguments for 
diat which is sufficiently evident without any. I shall 
only say a few words to some noble lords, who fore- 
see much inconveniency from the persons of their ser- 
vants being liable to be arrested. One noble lord ob- 
serves, that the coachman of a peer may be arrested 
while he is driving his master to the House ; and, con- 
sequently, he will not be able to attend his duty in 
Parliament. If this were actually to happen, there are 
so many ways by which the member might still get to 
the House, that I can hardly think the noble lord is se- 
rious in his objection. Another noble peer said, that 
by this bill we might lose our most valuable and honest 
servants. This 1 hold to be a contradiction in terms : 
for he can neither be a valuable servant, nor an honest 
man, who gets into debt which he is neither able nor 
willing to pay, till compelled by law. 

If my servant, by unforeseen accidents, has run into 
debt, and I still wish to retain him, I certainly would 
pay the debt. But upon no principle of liberal legis- 
lation whatever, can my servant have a title to set his 
creditors at defiance, while for forty shillings only, the 
honest tradesman maybe torn from his family, and 
locked up in a jail. It is monstrous injustice ! I flat- 
ter myself, however, the determination of this day will 
entirely put an end to all such partial proceedincrs for 
the future, by passing into a law the bill now under 
your lordships' consideration. 

I come now to speak, upon what, indeed, I would 
have gladly avoided, had I not been particularly point- 
ed at for the part I have taken in this bill. It has 
been said by a noble lord on my left hand, that I like- 
wise am running the race of popularity. If the noble 



lord means by popularity, that applause bestowed by 
after-ages on good and virtuous actions, I have long 
been struggling in that race. But if he mean that 
mushroom popularity, which is raised without merit and 
lost without a crime, he much mistakes in his opinion. 

I defy the noble lord to point out a single action of 
my life, where the popularity of the times ever had 
the smallest influence on my determinations. I have a 
more permanent and steady rule for my conduct, the 
dictates of my own breast. Those who have forgone 
that pleasing adviser, and given up their mind to be the 
slave of every popular impulse, I sincerely pity. ^ I 
pity them still more, if their vanity leads diem to mis- 
take the shouts of a mob for die trumpet of fame. Ex- 
perience might inform them, that many who have been 
saluted with the huzzas of a crowd, one day, have 
received their execrations the next ; and many, who, 
by the popularity of their times, have been held up as 
spodess patriots,' have, nevertheless, appeared upon the 
historian's page, when truth has triumphed over deluf 
sion, the assassins of liberty. 

Why then the noble lord can think I am ambitious 
of present popularity, that echo of folly, and shadow of 
renown, I am at a loss to determine. Besides, I do 
not knov/ that the bill now before your lordships will , 
be popular. It depends much upon the caprice of the 
day. It may not be popular to compel people to pay 
their debts ; and, in that case^ the present must be a 
very unpopular bill. It may not be popular neither 
to take away any of the privileges of parliament : for 
I very well remember, and many of your lordships 
may remember, that not long ago the popular cry was 
for the extension of privilege ; and so far did they 
carry it at that time, that it was said that the privilege- 
protected members even in criminal actions. Nay, such 
was the power of popular prejudices over weak minds, 
that the very decisions of some of tb^ courts were tinc- 
tured with that doctrine. 




It was undoubtedly an abominable doctrine. I 
tliought so then, and think so still : but novertheless, 
it was a popular doctrine, and came immeaialoly irom 
those who were .called the friends of liberty ; how de- 
servedly, time will show. True liberty, in rny opi i- 
ion, can only exist when justice is equally administcreJ 
to ail ; to the king, and lo the beggar. Where is the 
justice, then, or where is the law, that ^.roiccts a mem- 
ber of parliament more than any other man, from the 
punishment due to his crimes ? The laws of t]}i3 coun- 
try allow of no place, nor any employment, to be a 
sanctuary for crimes ; and where I have the honor to 
sit as judge, neither royal favour, nor popular applause 
shall ever protect the guilty. 

Extract from a Sermon on the Day of Judgment* 

LET us endeavour to realize the majesty and terror 
of the universal alarm on the final Judgment Day. 
When the dead are sleeping in the silent grave ; when \ 
the living are thoughdess and unapprehensive of the * 
grand event, or intent on other pursuits ; some of them 
asleep in the dead of night ; some 6f them dissolved in 
sensual pleasures, eating and drinking, marrying and 
giving in marriage ; some of them planning or execu- 
ting schemes for riches or honors ; some in the very | 
act of sin ; the generality stupid and careless about J 
the concerns of eternity, and the dreadful day just at 1 
hand ; and a few here and there conversing with their 
God, and looking for the glorious appearance of their 
Lord and Saviour; when the course of nature runs. on 
uniform and regular as usual, and infidel scoffers.are' 
taking umbrage from thence to ask, *' Where is. th^' 
promise of his coming ?" In short, when there are no 
more visible appearances of this approaching day, than 
of the destruction of Sodom, on that clear morning in 
which Lot fled away ; or of the deluge, when Noah en- 

I ter^d 



tered into die ark : ihcn, in that liour of unapprehensive 
security, then suddenly shall the heavens open over the 
astonished world; then shall the alarming clangor break. 
over their heads like a clap of thunder in a clear sky. 
Immediately the living turn their ga-zing eyes upon 
the amazing phenomenon: some hear the Iong.»A- 
pected sound with rapture, and lift up their heads with^ 
joy, assured that the day of their redemption is conie ; 
w^hile the thoughdcss world arc struck with the wild- | 
est horror and consternation. In the same instant the 
sound reaches all the mansions of the dead ; and in^a ; 
moment, in the twinkling of an eye, they are raised, 
and the living are changed. This call will be as ani- 
mating to all the sons bf men, as that call to a single 
person, *' Lazarus, come forth." O what a surprise 
will this be to the thoughtless world ! Should this alarm 
burst over our heads this moment, into what a terror 
would it strike many in this assenibly ? Such will be 
the terror, such the consternation, when it actually 
comes to pass. Sinners will bedae same timorous, seU- 
condemned creatures then as diey are now. And then 
they will not be able to stop their ears, >who are deaf to 
all the gentler calls of t]i3 gospel now. 

Then the trump of God will constrain them to hear 
and fear, to whom the ministers of Christ now preach 
in vain. Then they must all hear ; for, " all that 
are in their graves," all without exception, " shall 
hear his voice." Now the voice of mercy calls, reason 
pleads, conscience war-ns ; but multitudes will not hear. 
But this is a voice which shall, which must reach every 
one of the millions of mankind, and not one of them will 
be able to stop his ears, infants and giants, kings and 
subjects, all ranks, all a^es of mankind shall hear the 
call. The living shall start and be changed, and the 
dead rise at the sound. The dust that was once Slivc 
and formed a human body, whether it Qies in the an-, 
floats in the ocean, or vegetates on earth, shall hear 
the new-creating fiat. Wherever the fragments oi 
the human frame are scattered, this all penetrating ca 



shall reacii and ^pcak thorn into life. We iiiay con- 
sider this voice as a summons not only to dead bodies 
to rise, but to the souls that once animated them, to ap- 
pear and be re-united to them. 

This summons shall spread through every corner of 
the universe; and Heaven, Earth, and Hell, and al! 
their inhabitants, shall hear and obev. Now mcthinks 
I see, I hear the earth heaving, charnel houses rattling, 
tombs bursting, graves opening. Now the nations' un- 
der ground begm to stir. There is a noise and a sha- 
king among the dry bones. The dust is all aHve, and 
m motion, and the globe breaks and trembles, as wiili 
an earthquake, while this vast army is working its way 
through, and bursting into life. The ruins of human 
bodies are scattered far and wide, and have passed 
through many, and surprising transformations. A limb 
in one country, and another in another ; here the head, 
and there the trunk ; and the ocean rolling between. 

And now, at the sound of the trumpet, they shall all 
be collected, wherever they were scattered ; all prop- 
erly sorted and united, however' they were confused ; 
atom to Its fellow atom, bone to its fellow bone. Now 
methinks you may seethe air darkened with fragments 
of bouics, fl3Mng from country to countrv, to meet and 
join their proper parts : 

" Scatter'd limbs and all 

The various boiK?s obsequious to the call, 
Self-mov'd, advance ; the neck perhaps to meet 
The distant head, the distant legs, the kct. 
Dreadful to view, see throuirh the dusky sky 
Fragments of bodies in confusion fly, 
To distant regions journeying, there to claim 
JJeserted members, and complete the frame 
The severd head and trunk shall join once more, 
Ihough realms now rise between, and oceans roan 
1 he trumpet's sound each vagrant mote shall hear, 
Ur hxW in earth, or if afloat in air. 
Obey the signal, wafted in the wind, 
A'k] not one sleeping e-tom lag behind." 



Christ TRiujiPHANT over the apostate Angels. 

SO spake the Son, and into teiTor chang'd 
His count'nance, too severe to be beheld ; 
And full of wrath bent on his enemies. 
At once the Foiii' spread out their starry wings 
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs 
Of his fierce chariot rolPd, as with the sound 
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. 
Mc on his impious foes right onv/ard drove, 
tUioomy as night ; under his burning wheels 
The stedfast empyrean shook throughout, 
All but the throne itself of God. Full «ooni 
Ariiong them he arriv'd, in his right hand 
C rasping ten thousand thunders, which he seiii 
Before him, such as in their souls infix'd 
Plagues; they, astonish'd, all resistance lost, 
All courage; down their idle weapons dropt ; 
O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads, he rode, 
Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate, 
That wish'd the mountains now might be again 
Thrown on them as a shelter from his ire. 
Nor less on either side tempestuous fell 
His arrows, from the fourfold-visag'd Four 
Distinct with eyes, and from the living wheels 
Distinct alike -with multitude of eyes; 
One spirit in them rul'd, and ev'ry eye 
Giar'd lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire 
Among the accurs'd, that withered all their strengtli, 
And of their v/onted vigour left them drain'd, 
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, falPn. 
\'et half his strength he put not forth, but check'd 
His thunder in mid volley ; for he meant 
Not to destroy, but root them out of Heav'n. 
The overthrown he rais'd, and as a herd 
Of goats or tim'rous fiock together throng'd, 
Drove them before him thunderstj:uck, pursued 


With terrors and with furies to the bounds 
And crystal wall of Hcav'n, which, opening wide, 
RolPd inward, and a Spacious gap discios'd 
Into the wasteful deep ; the monstrous sight 
Struck them with horror backward, but far worse 
UrgM them behind ; headlong themselves they threw 
Down from the verge of Heav'n ^ eternal wrath 
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. 

Hell heard th' unsufferable noise ; Hell saw 
Heav'n ruining from Heav'n, and would have fled 
Affrighted ! but strict fate had cast too deep 
Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. 
Nine days they fell ; confounded Chaos roar'd 
And felt tenfold confusion in their fall : 
Through his wild anarchy, so huge a rout 
Inciunber'd him with ruin. Hell at last 
Yawning receiv'd them whole, and on them clos'd } 
Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire 
Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain. 

Disburden'd Heav'n rejoic'd, and soon repair'd 
Her mural breach, returning whence it roll'd. 
Sole victor from the expulsion of his foes, 
Messiah his triumphal chariot turn'd : 
To meet him all his saints, who silent stood 
Eye-v/itnesses of his almighty acts, 
With jubilee advanc'd ; and as they went, 
Shaded with branching palm, each order bright, 
Sung triumph, and him sung victorious King, 
Son, Heir, and Lord, to him dominion given 
Worthiest to reign. He, celebrated, rode 
Triumphant through mid Heav'n, into the courts 
And temple of his mighty Father, thron'd 
On high; who into glory him receiv'd, 
Where now he sits at the right hand of bliS5* 


/ io 


Slaves in Barbary. 
A Drama in two Acts. 


Persons of the Drama. 
Hamet, Bashaw of Tunis, .1 

. '' ' > Brothers, and Slaves r: Tunis, \ I 

AmANDAR, 5 . : 

Francisco, Brother to Ozro and Amandar^ sent to re* 
Kidnap, An,.Jhnericmi Captive. {^decm them^ 

Gran, A Purchaser of Slaves, 

GoaTOK, I Sea Captains. 

Teague, An Irish Captive, 

Sharp, An African, and Kidnap'S Slave, ; * 

Officer, Auclioneer, Guards, Attendants, Purchasers ci 

Slaves, ii'c, * 

ACT L— Scene I. 
A Garden, 
Amandar solus, conjxiud zuith a chain, 
N vain the flowens spread their eaudy coFours, and 
fill the air with fragrance. The sun has not a 
cheering beam for mfe. AW nature's smiles are frowns 
•o him, who wears the chain of bondage. Fifteen 
long months have Vvitnessed my misfortune : what 
lackiess winds delay Francisco's passage ? 
Enter Gran with a cant, 
Oran, Moping fugitive ! quick to your task. [Beat 
ing him.'] I have not placed you here to mutter t 
thc herbs and flowers : they need the labour of youi 
hands. Let them have it.; or hQavier blows shall pun« 
ish your neglect. 

Aman, Then do your worst ! I ask tlie fatal blo' 
o put a period to my miseries. 

07'an, Your life is in my hands ; but it shall be prO) 
ibnged; and with your life, PR lengthei) out. youJ 
jn!se]-ic«.. Armri^, 


- Aman. Unfeeling tyrant ! from you 1 only ask the 
murderer's office. Speech was designed for friendly 
intercourse ; it ill becomes the tiger. In brutal silence, 
you may tear my flesh : add not the sting of words. 

Enter OzRO. 

Oran, Ilah ! Ozro. A slave enlarged is no grate- 
ful sight to his old master. \_Jiiide. 
i Ozro. I com.e, my brother, to end your sufferings. 
gt^. Aman, Welcome ! You know them to be more than 
man can bear. 

Oran» Vile intruder! are you 30 soon intoxicated 
with your liberty ? Quick, flee this place ; or stronger 
chains, than bound you here before, shall sober you 

Ozro. Talk not of chains ! but rather learn to 
clread the hand, on which they have been bound. I 
come to execute the orders of your lord and master ; 
not to be frightened with your threats. . Amandar's 
injuries have reached the. ears of the Bashav* ; and I 
am sent 

Oran. Talc-bearing renegade ! Well, I shall leara 
to husband my own property, and give up no more 
•slaves for Hamet's counsellors ► Attend your duty ! 

[To Amanddi- , striking him. 

Ozro. Repeat that blow, and it shall cost you dear. 

Oran. Caitiff! begone, from hence; or even the. 
Bashav/ shall not defend you from my indignation.. 
Quick, leave my sight ! 

Ozro. Not while you have it in your power to ex- 
ercise your tyramiy over my brother. But yesterday, 
you promised to sell Amandar for this sum : here it is, 
ready counted to your Lands. I demand him of you. 

Oran, One half this sum would have bought him 
yesterday. Ix is my present choice to sacrifice my 
property for my revenge. I v/ill double his task and 
shorten his allowance, till his pride is reduced, and h6 
becomes more profitable, by additional severity. This 
is my promise to-day ; take it for your solace. 


Gzro, Monster ! would you forever feast your soul 
on the miseries of the unfortunate ? Your word is 
passed ; recal it at the peril of your life. There is your 
money. [FHnging it at his ■fid.'] Aniandar is 

Gran. VVlien foreign ruiiians, who ought to wear 
the chains of bondage, are armed with swords, all 
right is lost: our property is given to the winds. 
Were it not for what weak heads, and sickly hearts 
call justice, I'd feast my dogs upon your flesh. 

Oz/'o, Go rent your railings to the savage beasts, 
that prey on one another. If you love the law that 
sanctions cruelty, they are your lit associates. Aman- 
dar, you ai-e once more restored to liberty and life. 
iCuiting off his bands with his sworcL] 

lExeunt Amandar and Ozro, 

Oran, [JhkingMsmoneyJ] These high-bred fel- 
lows make but poor slaves. 'Tis well to shift them olf 
at any rate. I will take care hbw^ i lay out my money 
for the future. [Exit, 

Scene II. 

The Highway, 

Ozro and Amandar. 

Aman, Am I deluded by a dream? or is this real ? 
What angel eye of pity has glanced upon us ? 

Ozro, 1 would not interrupt thy bliss, nor stir the, 
dregs, which the fair su"cface of this draught conceals, 
Bui fortune seems to make our happiness her sport. 

Aman, Has not the Bashaw purchased our freedom ? 
what are the conditions ? 

Ozro. That is for time or wild conjecture to deter- 
mine. We must deliberate what course to tal^e. • 

Aman. What dost thou say ? let me hear the worst. 

Ozro. You know the circumstances of my liberation. 
All had the appearance of affability and pity in the Ba- 
shaw. He questioned particularly concerning our sit- 
uation, and seemed moved with the account I gave. 
I informed him, our brother was daily expected with 
the gleanings of an unfortunate father's interest to re- 

- deem 


deem as from our chains, and restm'c us to a disconso- 
late family. He turned aside, as though some sudden 
emotion had seized his mind; then exclaimed, 
" They shall be mine !*' The money was paid for your 
ransom, and committed to mc. We ai-e considered as 
his property. 

Aman. What then creates suspicion J This iavour 
^as soiue claim upon our gratitude. If we must err, 
let it be on the side of honor. 

Ozro, So thought I, Amandar. These were the 
impressions of the moment. But avarice often assumes 
the appearance of generosity : and malice, to make_its 
prey more sure, puis on the guise q( pity. If ihe Ba- 
^aw's motive were our happiness, all, but my freedom, 
I would pledge to pay the debt of gratitude. But I 
would sooner seek the lion*s den, or trust the mercy of 
a tiger, than commit myself to a mercenary Turk. A 
father's fortune well may tempt the hypocritic show 
®f kindness to his sons. 

Aman, This thought gives weight to your suspicion. 
Are our misfortunes then the object of base specula- 
tion ? This well becomes the dignity of rulers ; the 
konor of the prime magistrate of Tunis ! To seek us 
Qut, like brutes, to buy and sell, and fill his coffers on 
the ruins of our family. But sta}-. Is there no room 
;for charity? Tunis, of all the states of Barbary, is 
'famed for its refinement. Every Turk is not an Oran. 
'I think I have heard the Bashaw noted for his humanity. 

Ozro, That ruler has but an ill title to humanity, 
who suffers his subjects to tratlic in the dearest rights 
of man, and shares himself the execrated commerce. 

Aman. True, my brother. But let us remember 
our native Venice. W^ have seen the Turk sold there 
in open market, and exposed to all the indignities 
.which we have borne with Oran. Nay more; we 
jnay come nearer home, and spread tlie blush on our 
own faces. We both have heard the story of the 
grateful Turk, who, by the intercession of Francisco, 
was twice released fiom servitude. lie l^ad a noble 



soial, a feeling heart. Though his virtues were discov- 
ered, and fmaily rewarded by onr father, we may blush 
that they were so long unheeded by our countrymen, 
and he suffered to languish in ignominious bondage. 

Ozro, Your words have weight. For the sake of 
this noble captive, I will take part of my censure from 
the Turks, and spare it for my countrymen. Thouiih 
this was done before my memory, the story paints His 
virtues to my mind ; and had I no other claim, I would 
Ciall Francisco brother for this deed. 

Aman, [After a pame,} Can it he ! no j 'tis too 
much to think of. 

Ozro. What, Amandar ? 

Aman, A thought has struck my mkd. Help to 
confirm, or to coiifute it. 

Enter Guards ahruplly* 

^ Ozro, [Drawing,'] Who is here ! Stand oif! 

[Guards draztr, 

1st, Guard, But look, i»y lads ! you see you are 
oiitmanned. We are more than two to one. 

Ozro. Then keep your distance, and let us know 
your bu *ness: else, were you ten to one, Pd make 
your number less. 

\st. Guard, As io our business, we are obliged to ' 
let you know it : or I believe your swords v/ould not4 
fi'ightcn us to it. It is to carry you to the Bashaw, f 

Ozrg, On what' conditions must we go ? 

\st. Guard, As to that, we shall not be nice. We 
have no cavalry, you see ; so you must be content to 
mnrch on foot. You may take the ivo^^i, or centre, 
as sujts you best. But we shallnot trust you in the 
rear, if you show a disposition to desert us ; and, if 
you are inclined 'to be hostile, we must secure that 
sword. ?^ -'• 

Ozro, I ask the terms on which we are to go; as 
slaves or freemen ? ' 

\st. Guard. We don't wish to take the trouble to 
bind you. U you are not free to go, we must quicken 



your march with the point of our swords. Our orders 
are to return immediately. 

Ozro, Keep us no longer in suspense. We now are 
free ; and 

Ist, Guard, As to that, I believe you are a little 
mistaken. The Bashaw has bought you both, and paid 
for you ; and we shall look better to his interest than 
to lose you for nothing ^ d'ye sec ? Come ; march ! 

. Ozro, What is the paltry price, compared with 
years of misery ? Perhaps you know our destiny. If 
we're for sale again, tell him, we give the terms. This 
place shall be the fair, and life the price. 

1st, Guard, I tell you again, we are not easily 
frighted. But I see you are afraid of getting into 
Oran's hands again, If you choose to be obstinate, we 
could easily slice you in pieces, and carry you on the 
points of our swords. But we don't wish to spoil you 
in such a manner. Besides, our master keeps no cut- 
throats. Our orders were to carry you safe to the 
Bashaw, and neither hurt you ourselves, nor L?t any 
body else. You may wonder at this extraordinary 
honor, and so do we. But he takes a liking to Chris- 
tians, and is very often doing them a good turn. I 
fancy something uncommon is going forward to-day 
by this manoeuvre. Perhaps he is inclined to sin a 
little in your own way, by drinking a few bottles of 
Tvine with you. 

Ozro, [To Amandar,'] Their honest frankness quite 
unarms me. I hope my- suspicions have been ground- 

Aman, Let us trust ourselves to their care. I am 
anxious to know the sequej. 

Scene III. 

Harrietts House, 

Hamet, [Solus, ^ The grateful day returns, that 
brings to mind my generous benefactors. The birth- 


day of my happiness, my fortune, and my honor. Le^;( 

it be sacred to gratitude, and devoted to the sons of i 

sorrow. | 

Enter Officer. ^ V 

^ Officer, Noble Sir, the sale of prisoners begks in| 

half an hour. Is it your pleasure to attend the auc-^ 

tion ? ^ '^ 

H(wiet, His, Have tncm upon the spot, and see 

that they are treated with humanity. [Exit Officer, 

Ill-fated men ! their lot is. miserable indeed; 'Twere 

almost just to rise above the laws, and give them all 

their freedom. [^^"^'^ Hamet. 

Scene IV. 

The street in Tunis. 
Enter Cri-eu, ringing his hell. 
At half an hour from this time ! will be sold at 
public auction ! to the highest bidder ! prisoners of 
all colours ! sorts and sizes ! lately captured ! on the 
Mediterranean ! and brought fresh into port ! warrant 
ed free from sickness, and wounds ! also, a considera. 
ble number! a litde damaged! by musket shot! 
and cannon balls ! and careless handling, with lon| 
knives and broad swords ! and for want of wholesome 
Tilr ! on easy terms for the purchaser. [Exit One 




Scene I. 
Oran walking to the Fair, 
Oran, [Solus,] Yes, he who frees a slave, arms an 
assassin. The Bashaw may learn this to his sorrow. Lf 
him look to that. He has given a high price for stocl 
that I should have been glad to turn upon his hand? 
The money will purchase tv/o for one. Gorton's an< 
Zanga's freight of prisoners will almost glut the mai' 



ket. The Bashaw may be as ostentatious as he pleases 
of his boyish pity: thank fortune, I am not so tender- 
hearted. No : dominion is the right of man. The 
love of power is planted in his nature. But all men 
can't be kings. If there are lords, there must be slaves. 
And what must be is right. Let moralizers murmur 
at the doctrine : their arguments are slender threads ; 
feeble as those, who spin them out from lovers' dreams, 
and children's notions. What is justice without power ? 
The slave's ideal friend; whom he would wish to 
break his chains ; on whose credit, he would establish 
universal government; then dissolve connexion, and 
shut his partner up in prison. [Exit Oran* 


77ie fair, a large square. 
Enter Officer, zoith a drawn sword; Zanga and 
Gorton, with swords, followed by prisoners pin" 
ioned; Sailors in the rear; Auctioneer, ^c, 
Sharp, a negro, standing by Gorton, 

Officer bringing forward sick and loounded, 
.Auctioneer, Here, gentlemen, is a lot we shall not 
differ about. For the sake of dispatch, we will put up 
all the fragments together. Here are a number v.ith 
broken-legs, arms, <&z;c. and a number more with mortal 
wounds, that may get well, or may not. That is your 
risk ; I shall not warrant them. Upwards of a dozen : 
count for yourselves. Who bids ? 
Enter Hamet, afid attendants ; silence observed, and all 
pay him obeisance. 
Sharp, Dat a man, a planter, masser Gorton. 

[To Gorton, 
Auct, Examine for yourselves : who bids ? ^ 
Oran, Four hundred sequins for the whole, 
Auct, That is scarce the price of one good able- 
bodied slave. 

Oran, They will not do me half ihe service at pres- 
ent. The greater part of them areMK)t able to cook 
K . their 


their own food ; much less to earn it. Yet they must ' 
be fed; or they will die on my hands, you know. 
And a sick or dead slave is the very worst of dead 
stock. I'll give no more. ^ 

Harriet, These unfortunate men are the objects of 
compassion, not of unfeeling sarcasm. Raise their 
price to five hundred, and charge them'to my account. 
Servants, see them removed to the hospital. Let a 
surgeon be employed to heal their wounds, and restore 
them to health. [Prisoners bowing respectfully,'] i 

[Exewit servants and prisoners^ 

Sharp, Dat a goo(^lanter, masser Gorton. He goo(|| 
to white man ; an be ne good to poor negur man too ? i 

Officer bringing forward a number, M 

Auct, Here are a parcel of lads of the first quality |' ■ 
superfine ; the sons of noblemen. Their relations will 
give their weight in gold to redeem them. 

\st. Purchaser, And their country, twice their 
weight, rather than have them return. 

Auct, Now is the time to make your fortunes* 
Who bids ? 

Zanga, [To G0rton,'\ These, I suppose, arc your 
champions, that took shelter in the hold, with their sea^ 
faring brethren, the rats, when you fought them ? 

Gorton, The same. 

Auct, One ! two ! three ! Just going for — nothings 

1st, Purchaser, Precisely what they are valued at, 
at home. Yyou know, captains, these men of the femi- 
nine gender, don't pass very curre/it v/ith us. You' 
would do well to exchange them for ballast, or fresb 
water* I Will giye you one hundred sequins a piece 
for them. j 

Gordon, Strike ihem off! It is cheaper buying men 
than raiding them al this rate. One, two, three, four, 
five^of them.' ^^^fT ^^^^ hatchway ! 

[I^ceutxt 1st, Purchaser and prisoners^ 
0-FjiL?IMLfcn^?no- forward three others. 

Auct, Jlcr^t/tj^vce stout, able-bodied fellows fo 
■•'ou ; well made ™ labour. Who bids ? Sharpi 


Sharp, Dat a man my masser. [Pointing to Kidnap, 

2d, Purchaser, Mere bladders filled with wine. 
Our labour and climate will blast them like mushrooms. 

3d, Purchaser. Let me look at their hatids ; they 
are the index of the slave. A good hard hand is worth, 
more than a dozen bloated cheeks and barrel bodies. 
Let me see how they are put together. 

[Shaking them by the shoulders. 

Kidnap, Stand off! base ruffian, 

[Officer strikes him. 

Sharp, Dat larn you sti^ike poor negur. Me wish 
he killa you ! [Aside 

Kidnap, Black imp ! be silent^ 

Officer, This fellow is a rare piec^, I'll assure you. 
Rather mettlesome at present. Discipline him freely 
with a whip for several weeks, and he will be as 
patient as a Dutch horse. 

^Kidnap, Severe reverse ! Now, Africans, I learn to 
pity you, [Asidcp 

. 3d, Purchaser, What does he say ? 

Officer, I fancy he wishes to be excused from 
reading the new leaf we are turning over for him* 
His dreams have been very much inclined to tattle, 
.since he has been in prison. If I may judge from 
them, he has been a wholesale dealer in slaves himself ; 
and is just beginning the hard lesson of repentance. 

Gorton, Is this the man, who entertained you so 
agreeably in his sleep ? I should suppose he might afford 
a deal of amusement when awake. 

Officer, He was in a very companionable mood last 
night. He must have thought himself at home : poor 
man, I am almost sorry for his delusion. In his so- 
cial glee, he ordered six dozen of port, gave Liberty 
and Independence for a toast, sung an ode to F'reedom ; 
and after fancying he had kicked over the tables, broken 
all the glasses, and lay helpless on the floor, gave or- 
ders, attended by a volley of oaths, to have fifty of 
his slaves whipped thirty stripes each, for singing a 
lilierty-safic^ in ^rho to hi^ own • and six more to be 



hung up by the heels for petitioning him for a draught 
of milk and water, while he was revelling Avith his 
drunken companions. Then waked up, and exclaimed, 
O happy America ! farewell forever ! Justice I thou 
hast overtaken me at last. 

^uct. His dreams will be a cash article. Who bids ? 

3^. Purchaser, Two hundred se<-|uins a piece, for 
the three. 

Hamet, Officer, forward that man ; I wish to speak 
with him. [GJpxer leads Kidnap to Hamet, 

From whence are you ? [7b Kidnap, 

Kidnap. From North America. 

Hamet, The boasted land of liberty ? ' | 

Kidnap, None more so. 

Hamet. Then does she realize those sceues your 
iiincy paints, and which your tongue describes, when 
cff its guard ? 

Kidnap, Take second-handed dreams for evidenc 
a-nd judge as you please of me, or my country. 

Hamet, Your arrogance is evidence against you, 
Stand there in silence. Bring here that African. [7*^ 
the Officer, [Officer leads forward Shar^ 

Was that man your master ? 

Sharp, Yes a masser. 

Hamet, Is he a kind master ? do you wish to liv4 
with him ? 

Sharp, No, masser planter ! he get drunk ! I: 
v/hip me ! he knock a me down ! he stamp on a me 
he 'will kill a me dead ! No ! no ! let a poor neg 
live wid a you, masser planter ; live wid a masser o 
cer ; wid a dat a man ; or any udder man, fore I go bad 
America again; fore 1 live wid a masser Kidnap again; 

Hamet, Fear not, honest fellow: nobody shall hurtyou. 

Sharp, Tank a you, masser! bless a you, good 
masser planter. [Boicing, 

Hamet, [To Officer.'] Deliver this man to the highest 
bidder. Let misery teach him, what he could never 
learn in affluence, the lesson of humanity. 

[od. Purchaser takes off Kidnap and the other two, 
and returns again.^ Coinmon 


Common sailors brovght forward, 

Auct. Here are robust fellows for you ; reduced to 
discipline ; hardened by toil ; proof against heat and 
cold, wind and weather. Now is your last opportu- 
n-ity. Who bids ? 

4/A. Purchaser, Two hundred a piece for the whole. 

5th, Purchaser, Two hundred and fifty. 

Auct, Two hundred and fifty, and going. Their 
bare boiies would be worth half that for skeletons*' 
But they are well strung with nerves, and covered 
with hardy flesh : none of your mushrooms, grown up 
in the shade. Look for yourselves : they are almost 
bullet proof. 

Zanga, Quite, you might have said, or we should 
have made riddling sieves of them. 

Oran, Three hundred a piece. 

Auct. Three hundred, and going. One! two! 
three ! [Strikes* 

Zanga. [To Oran,'} I am sorry we were obliged to 
cut so many of them in pieces, before we could per- 
suade them to strike. The whole crew would furnish 
a fine plantation ; and you might live in the style of 
I West India planter.. 

Officer, Follow your master. [Oran going ; slaves 
following, Oran''s servants follow the slaves with whips, 

Teague, [Refusing to follow.} Ship-mates, you 
may do as you please, I should be glad of your dear 
company ; but, by my shoul, I will enter no man's 
ship by sea, or by land, till I know the conditions, and 
receive a little advance pay. 

Oran, Come on, my lad; or my servants shall see 
to your advance pay. [Servaiit strikes him with a whip, 

Teague, [Bursting his pinions, and seizing Oran^s 
servant.} If this is your prompt pay, by saint Pa- 
trick ! you shall have change in your own coin, my 
honey ! D'ye see ! I could tear your rigging before 
and aft like a hurricane. [Shaking him. Officer at- 
tempts to strike him with his sword ^ other servants^ 
toith their whips, 

K 9 Hamet, 


Harriet, Forbear ! his honest indignation is the 
effusion of hv.n^ianity. Let him speak for himself. 
There is something in this ingenuous tar, that moves 
me to do him a kindness. * [Aside» 

Teague, I think, an't please your honor, a poor 
sailor has a hard time enough on't to encounter wind 
and weather, hunger and thirst, and all the other 
dangers of the main sea ; and when rain and storms 
have frowned on him for several months, he ought to 
find a little sunshine in every man's face ; and not be 
bought and sold like dumb beasts in the market. I 
believe in my shoul, if one were to get rich in a Chris- 
tian country by such a vile trade, the judgments of 
Heaven would keep him poor as long as he lived. Ah, 
and if men were made to be slaves and masters, why 
was not one man born with a whip in his hand and 
gold spoon in his mouth ; and another, with a chain 
on his arm, or a fetter to his heel; aye, and without 
a tongue, or a pair of jaws, so long as one must not 
be allowed to use them ? And if I had known I were 
to live a dog's life in this hard-hearted country, as I 
am a Christian, I would have fought yc till I died. 
But look ye ! all hands upon deck ; this muckle arm 
of mine is free ; and by the blood of my heart, it shall 
be torn from my body, before I will be bound once 
more, it shall. 

Ora72* I must leave that unmanageable creature 
ivith you, Zanga ; I have had too much to do with 
Such fellows already. 

Ha.nef, Trust him with me. His are the inborn 
virtues I admire : virtues, that ought to make the ty- 
rant blush before him, and find him friends, wherever, 
there are men. 

Teague, On my honest word, I am your honor's 
good friend and servant, so long as I live, let the 
w^inds blow as they will. Yes, I will be any man's 
good friend and faithful servant, that Yfill secure mM 
liberty in the mean tim^, I wiU. ■ 



Auct. Here is this honest negro lad, who has been 
under the benevolent instruction of a task-master, and 
converted to Christianity by lectures applied to the na- 
ked back with a rope's end, or nine-tail whip. lie is 
bred to his business ; you will find him an excellent 
purchase j and he can lose riothing by exchange of 
masters. Who bids ? 

bth. Purchaser, Three hundred sequins. 
■ Sd, Purchaser,' Four hundred. 

Officer, Follow that man ; he is your master. 

[To Sharp, 

Sharp, Yes a masscr. [Boivijig to his new master, 

5th, Purchaser, You give too much. You will raise 
the price of slaves above their profit. 

Sd, Purchaser, I have my reasons. He is trained 
to his business : I intend to put his old master under 
his instruction, that he may occasionally have the ad- 
vantage of a whip-lecture from his fonner slave, whom 
he has treated so kindly. 

5th, Purchaser, Perfectly right, Sir. Every dog 
must have his day. [Exeunt 3d. PurcJuiser and Sharp, 

Zanga, [Leading forward Francisco,^ This man has 
eost me dear ; he must command a price accordingly, 

Juct, Here is the last purchase : who bids ? 

5th, Purchaser, "What extraordinary things can this 
fellow do ? 

Zanga, He can clip off men's heads and arms with 
an micommon slight of hand. Had it not been for his 
dexterity at this art, and his loud acclamations to his 
crew, I should not have been repulsed three times from 
their deck, with the loss of half my men. 

5th, Purchaser, This is your misfortune ; not ouTSt. 
Men in your way must run the risk of losing an arm 
and even a head once in a while. Courage is a very 
good,irecommendation for a sailor, or soldier ; but for 
a slave, I would give as much for one of your faint- 
hearted cowards, that you find hid in the hold in time 
of fiction, as for half a dozen, who will meet you with 
5 pistol at your hea^. 


Auct, What, does nobody bid ? 

Zanga, These are the marks of gratitude and honor 
shown to us, who expose our lives to procure the 
means of ease and hixury for our countrymen. My 
men, whose wounds are witnesses against him, would 
give a generous price to satisfy their vengeance. 

Francisco, Detested ruffian ! blast not the names of 
gratitude and honor with your breath. Has not my 
life already been enough exposed? Then let those 
men, who wear the marks my courage gave, return 
me v.'ound for wound. 'Tis not enough that you pos- 
sess my father's fortune ; the effects of an industrious , 
life, designed to purchase from your barbarous land, i 
two darling sons ; more than his life to him ; and 1 
dearer than my own to me. Their misery is not suf- | 
fici-ent. Myself, the only stay of his declining years, 
must be forever exiled from his sight. But I can bear 
the worst that malice can invent, or tyranny inflict. 
If you have pity, spare it for my father ; for my broth- 
ers : they have slain none of your friends ; none of 
your nation. I can endure my own misfortunes : 
theirs arc insupportable. 

Hamet, Magnanimous, and dutiful son ! your 
virtues shall be rewarded ; and your father's sorrow 
shall be turned to joy. You say you have two broth- , 
ers, whosi you came to ransom. What are their- 
names ? Perhaps they now are free. 

Francisco. Ozro and Amandar. _ 

Harriet, Your business is accomplished. They have ^ 
their liberty. Each minute I expect them here. 
. Francisco, O kind reverse ! Francisco, thou shalt 
be happy. 

Hamet, Francisco! did he say? Good Heavens! 
Can it be he ! [Aside.] Art thou Francisco ? 

Francisco, That is my father's name. I am Fran- 
cisco the younger. 

Hamet, Thou art ! O my delivering angel ! Do&t 
thou know thy Hamet 2 




Francisco* h cannot be t Sure Pm entranced. 

[Looking earnestly at Hamet. 
Hamet, Come to my arms ! lam thy friend, thy 
Hamct. [Hamet rises, Frwncisco metis him pirdoned. 
Francisco, Thou art the same ! the best of men. 

Enter OzRO and Amandar at a distance, attended by 
guards. They advance slowly, looking at each other 
and at Hamet, in suspense, 

Hamet, [Unloosing Francisco'' s pinions,'] Off, shame- 
iul bands ! These ill become thee ! Thy hands are 
worthy of a sceptre. Twice thou hast freed me from 
the chains of bondage. Thus I, in part, discharge 
the debt. [Ozro and Amandar discover Francisco, and 
run to embrace him.] 
Ozro, O Francisco ! 

Amandar, My brother ! [They embrace each other, 
Francisco, Welcome to my arms again! Bounte- 
ous Heaven! thy smiles have pierced the cloud, and 
changed the night to day. Next to Heaven, Hamet 
deserves our thanks. 

Ozro and Amandar, As first on earth he has them. 
Hamet, I am the debtor. Heaven has given me a 
grateful heart ; but it is to you, Francisco, I owe my 
fortune and my honor, and have it in my power to 
show my gratitude. Had it not been for yop, I might 
till now have been a slave in Venice. 

Teague, ' On my life, I would live and die here all 
my days, if ^^^ the neople were like this same good 
liamet/ [Aside, 

Zanga, Th'^y sail o pleasantly, I must fall m with 
tliem after all. (Aside,) [Takes a chest, containing the 
money and jeive-s of Francisco, and carries it to him.J 
Good Sir, I huv.? been brought up to the trade of fight- 
ins^ ; this, you know, Sir, is not an employment to soften 
one's heart. I have generally been obliged to resist 
the current of compassion ; but it sets so strong upon 
me now, ! will even follow its motion, as you have been 
pleased to lead the way. Here is this man's money : I 



give up my share both in that and him too ; and wish, 
him and his good friends a pleasant gale upon whatever 
course they may steer through life. 

Harriet, This deed becomes thee, Zanga, and shall 
hereafter be rewarded. 

Francisco, Zanga, thou hast my thanks. Let me 
anticipate the joyous hour when our aged father shall 
h«ar the transactions of this day ; and express in his 
name th? effusions of his grateful heart, when he shall 
receive his sons from you as the author of their second 
existence ; their delivery from the heavy chains of 
bondage. [To Hamet, 

Hamet, By untoward fortune, my father and my- 
self were slaves in Venice. By your intercession I was 
emancipated. I cheerfully procured the freedom of 
a declining parent at the expense of my own. The 
thought of relieving him from a burden, which his 
tottering age was unable to support, sweetened my 
toil, and made that servitude a pleasure, which other- 
wise had been intolerable. But the generosity of your 
family exceeded what I dared to hope. You gratui- 
tously restored me to liberty a second time. This was 
the morning of my prosperity, the birth-day of my 
happiness. It is by your means, I have it in my power 
thus to acknowledge and discharge a sacred debt, the 
debt of gratitude.- 

Ozro, This day more than compensates for our past 

Amandar, Henceforth we will celebrate its anni- 
versary in grateful remembrance of our benefactor. 

Hamet, Generous brothers, enjoy your fortune, and 
let your father participate your happiness. A ship shall, 
be prepared to convey you to your native land, and 
restore you to your friends. Let it be remembered, 
there is no luxury so exquisite as the exercise of hu- 
manity, and no post 50 honorable as his, who defends 
THE RIGHTS OF MAN. [Exeunt omnes. 



Conclusion of a celebrated Speech of Mr. Pitt, 
IN 1770, IN Support of a Motion made in Par- 
liament, TO request the King to lay before 
THAT Body all the Papers, relative to cer^ 
tain Depredations of the Spaniards, and 
likewise, to a Treaty which he was then ne* 
gociating with spain. 

My Lords, 

I HAVE taken a wide circuit, and trespassed, I feafj 
too long upon your patience. Yet I cannot con- 
clude without endeavouring to bring home your 
thoughts to an object more immediately interesting to 
us, than any I have yet considered : I mean the in- 
ternal condition of this country. We may look abroad 
for wealth, or triumphs, oi* luxury ; but England, 
my lords, is the main stay, the last resort of the 
whole empire. To this point, every scheme of policy, 
whether foreign or domestic, should ultimately refer. 

Have any measures been taken to satisfy, or to 
unite the people ? Are the grievances they have so 
long complained of removed ? or do they stand not 
only unredressed, but aggravated ? Is the right of free 
election restored to the elective body f My lords, I 
myself am one of the people. I esteem that security 
and independence, which is the original birthright of 
an Englishman, far beyond the privileges, however 
splendid, which are annexed to the peerage. I my- 
self am by birth an English elector, and join with 
the freeholders of England as in a common cause. 
i3elieve me, my lords, we mistake our real interest as 
much as our duty, when we separate ourselves from 
the mass of the people, 

, Csm it be expected that Englishmen will unite heart- 
ily in defence of a government, by which they feel them- 
selves insulted and oppressed ? Restore them to their 

. rights ; 


rights ; that is the true way to make them unanimous. 
It is not a ceremonious recommenclatioii from the thi:one, 
that can bringback peace and harmony to a discontent- 
ed people. That insipid annual opiate has been ad- 
ministered so long, that it has lost its effect. Some- 
thing substantial, something effectual must be done. 

The public- credit of the nation stands next in degree 
to the rights of the constitution; it calls loudly for the^ 
interposition of Parliament. There is a set of nien,l 
my lords, in the cit^ of London, who are known to 
live in riot and luxury, upon the plunder of the igno- 
rant, the innocent, the helpless ; upon that part of the 
community, which stands most in need of, and best de- 
serves the care and protection of the legislature. To 
me, my lords, whether they be miserable jobbers 
of Exchange Alley, or the lofty Asiatic plunderers of 
Leadenhall-street, they are all equally detestable. I 
care but little whether a man walks on foot. Or is 
drawn by eight or six horses. If his luxury be sup- 
ported by the plunder of his country, I despise and 
detest him. 

My lords, while I had the honor Of serving his Maj- 
esty, I never ventured to look at the treasury but at | 
a distance ; it is a business I am unfit for, and to which* 
I never could have submitted. The little I know of 
it has not served to raise my opinion of what is vul-l 
garly called the monied interest ; I mean that blood^* 
sucker, that muckworm, which calls itself the frienctt 
of government : that pretends to serve this or that ad-> 
ministration, and may be purchased, on the same terms, 
by any administration ; that advances money to gov- 
ernment, and takes special care of its own emolunients* 
I hope, my lords, that nothing I have said will be 
understood to extend to the honest, industrious trades- 
man, who holds the middle rank, and has given re- 
peated proofs, that he prefers law and liberty to gold. 
I love that class of men. Much less would I be thought 
to reflect upon the fair merchant, whose liberal com- 


luerce is the prime source of national wealth. I esteem 
his occupation, and respect his character. 

My lords, if the general representation, which I 
have had the honor to lay before you, of the situation 
of public affairs, has in any measure engaged your at- 
tention, your lordships, I am sure, will agree with me, 
that the season calls for more than common prudence 
and vigour in the direction of your councils. The dif- 
ficulty of the crisis demands a wise, a firm, and a pop- 
ular administration. The dishonorable traffic of pieces 
has engaged us too long. Upon this subject, my lords, 
I speak without interest or enmity. I have no personal 
objection to any of the king's servants. I shall never 
be minister; certainly, not without full power to cut 
away all the rotten branches of government. Yet, un- 
concerned as I truly am for myself, I cannot avoid see- 
ing some capital errors in the distribution of the royal 

I know I shall be accused of attempting to revive 
distinctions. My lords, if it were possible, T would 
abolish all distinctions. I would not wish the favours 
of the crown to ilow invariably in one channel. But 
there are some distinctions which are inherent in the 
j}ature of things. There is a distinction between right 
and wrcrng ; between whig and tory. 

When I speak of an administration, such as the ne- 
cessity of the season calls for, my views are large and 
comprehensive, ft must be popular, that it may begin 
with reputation. It must be strong within itself, that it 
may proceed with vigour and decision. An adminis- 
tration, formed upon an exclusive system of family con- 
nexions, or private friendships, cannot, I am convinced, 
be long supported in this country. 

I shall trouble your lordships with but a few words 
more. His Majesty tells us in his speech, that he will 
c^Uupon us for our advice, if it should be necessary in 
the farther progress of this affair. It is not easy to say 
whether or not the ministry are serious in this decla- 
ration ; nor what is meant by the progress of an affair, 
L which 



which rests upon one fixed point. Hitherto we have| 
not been called upon. But though wc are not consulted^ |' 
it is our right and duty, as the king's great hereditary " 
council, to offer him our advice. The papers, men- 
tioned in the noble Duke's motion, will enable us to 
form a just and accurate opinion of the conduct of his 
Majesty's servants, though not of the actual state of 
their honorable negociations. 

The ministry, too, seem to .want advice upon some 
points, in which their own safety is immediately con- 
cerned. They are now balancing between a war, 
which they ought to have foreseen, but for which 
they have made no provision, and an ignominious com- 
promise. Let me warn them of their danger. If they 
are forced into a war, they stand it at the hazard of 
their heads. If, by an ignominious compromise, they 
should stain the honor of the crown, or sacrifice the 
rights of the people, let them look to their consciences, 
and consider whether th.ey will be able to ^valk the 
streets in safety. 

Socrates' Defence before his Accusers and 

I AM accused, of corrupting the youth, and of instill- 
ing dangerous principles into them,, as well in re- 
gard to the worship of the gods, as the rulers of gov- 
ernment. Yau know, Athenians, I never made it my 
profession to teach ; nor can envy, however violent 
against me, reproach tne with having ever sold my in- 
structions. I have an \mdeniable evidence for me in 
this respect, which is my poverty. Always equally 
ready to communicate my thoughts either to the rich 
or poor, and. to give them entire leisure to question or 
ar^swer me, I lend myself to every one who is desirous 
of becoming virtupua; and if amongst those who hear 
me, there are any who prove either good or bad, nei- 
ther the virtues of the one, nor the vices of the other, 



to whicli I have not contributed, are to be ascribed 
to me. 

My whole employment is to persuade tlie young 
and old against too much love for the body, for riches, 
and all other precarious things of whatsoever nature 
they be, and against too little regard for the soul, which 
ought to be the object of their affection. For I inces-» 
santly urge to you, that virtue does not proceed frofn 
riches, but on the contrary, riches from virtue ; and that 
all the other goods of human life, os well })ublic as 
private, have their source in the same principle. 

If to speak in this manner be to corrupt youth,. I 
confess, Athenians, that I am guilty, ar.d deserve to be 
punished, if what I say be not true, it is most easy 
to convict me of my falsehood. I see here a great 
number of my disciples : they Irave only to appear. 
But }7erhaps the reserve and considei-ation for a rnaster, 
who has instructed theln, will prevent them from de- 
claring against me : at least their fathers, brothers, and 
uncles cannot, as goiod relations And good citizens, dis- 
pense with their not staiJJing forth to demand ven- 
geance sgainst the corrupter of their sons, brothers, 
and nephews. But these are the j>ersons who take 
upon them my defence, and interest themselves iu the 
success of my cause. 

Pass on me what sentence you please, Athetiians ; 
but I can neither repent nor change my conduct. I 
must not abandon or suspend a function, which God 
himself has imposed On me, since he has charged me 
with the care of instructing my fellow-citizens. If, 
after having faithfully kept all the ports, wherein I 
was placed by our generals, the fear of death should 
at this time make me abandon that in which the Divine 
Providence has placed me, by commanding me to pass 
my life in the study of philosophy, for the instruction 
of myself and others ; this would be a most criminal 
desertion indeed, arid make me highly worth; of being 
cited before this tribunal, as an impious man who docs 
not believe the gods. 



Should you resolve to acquit me for the future, i 
should not hesitate to make answer, Athenians, I honor 
and love you ; bat I shall choose rather to obey God 
tlian you ; and to my latest breath shall never renounce 
my philosophy, nor cease to exhort and reprove you 
according to my custom. 1 am reproached with abject 
fear and meanness of spirit, for being so busy in im*, 
parting my advice to every one in private, and fo^ 
having always avoided to be present in your assemblie^f 
to give my counsels to my country. I think I have 
J r;fficicntly proved my courage and foi'titude, both in 
^he iield, where I have borne amis with you, and in the< 
Senate, when I alone, upon more than one occasion, 
opposed the violent and cruel orders of the thirty ty- 
rants. What is it then that has prevented me from ap- 
pearing in your assemblies ? It is that demon, that 
voice divine, which you have so often heard me men- 
tion, and Melitus has taken so much pains to ridicule. 

That spirit has attached itself to me from my infancy ; 
it is a voice, which I never hear, but when it would 
prevent me from persisting in something I have resolved ; 
for it never exhorts me to undertake any thing. It is 
the same being that has always opposed me, when 1, 
would have intermeddled in the afiairs of the republic A 
and that with the greatest reasoo ; for I should havd^ 
been amongst the dead long ago, had I been concerned 
in the measures of the state, without effecting any thing 
to the advantage of myself, or our country. 

Do not take it ill, I beseech you, if I speak myl 
thoughts without disguise, and with truth and freedom.^ 
Every man who would generously oppose a whole peo- | 
pie, either amongst us or elsewhere, and who inflexibly ' 
applies himself to prevent the violation of the laws, and 
the practice of iniquity in a government, will never do 
so long with impunity. It is absolutely necessary for 
him, who would contend for justice, if he has any 
thoughts "^living, to remain in a private s'tation, and 
never to have any share in public affairs. 



P'or the rest, Athenians, if, in the extreme danger I 
now am, I do not imitate the l-iehaviour of those, who, 
upon less emcr2;encies, have implored and supplicated 
their judges with tears, and have brought forth their 
children, relations, and friends, it is not through pride 
or obstinacy, or any contempt for you ; but solely for 
your honor, and for that of the whole city. At my 
age, and with the reputation, true or false, which I 
have, would it be consistent for me, after all the les- 
sons I have given upon the contempt of death, to be 
afraid of it myself, and to belie in my last action all the 
principles and sentiments of my past life ? 

But without speaking of my fame, which I should 
extremely injure by such a conduct, I do not think it 
allowable to entreat a judge, nor to be absolved by sup- 
plications : he ought to be persuaded and convinced. 
The judge does not sit upon the bench to show favour 
by violating the laws ; but to do justice in conforming 
to them. Ife does not swear to discharge with impu- 
nity whom he pleases ; but to do justice where it is 
due. We ought not therefore to accustom you to 
perjury, nor you to suffer yourselves to be accustomed 
to it; for in so doing,: both the one and the other of 
us equally injure justice and religion, and both are 

Do not therefore expect. from me, Athenians, that 
t should have recourse to means which I believe nei- 
ther honest nor lawful ; especially upon this occasion, 
wherein I am accused of impiety by Melitus. For, 
if! should influence you by my prayers, and thereby 
induce you to violate your oaths, it would be unde- 
niably evident, that I teach you not to believe in the 
gods ; and even in defending and justifying myself, 
should furnish my adversaries with arms against m6, 
and prove that I believe no divinity. But 1 am very 
far from such wicked thoughts. I am more convinced 
of the existence of God than my accusers; and so con- 
vinced, that r abandon myself to God and you, that 
you may judge of me as you shallf think it best. 

L 2 Dialogue 


Dialogue on Cowardice and Knavery. 

Hector, An Officer cashiered for Cowardice* 
Hamburgh, A fraudulent Bankrupt* 
Simon, A Pawn-Broker, 

Trustv, In Disguise, acquainted with all* 
(Sitting together ; some with scgars.) 

SCENE, A Tavern* 

Enter Landlord. 
LaW/o.</.nENTLEMEN you all come different 
V^ ways ; and I s'pose are strangers ; but 
may be, you^d like to cut and come again upon a roast 
turkey with good trimmings. 

Trusty, With all my heart. I'd play knife and 
fork even with a cut-throat over such a supper : and I 
dare say, you will find none of us cowards or bankrupts 
in that business. 

Up start Hector, Hamburgh, and Simon* 

All three* [To Trusty,'] Do you call me names. Sir t 

Trusty* Gentlemen, I meant no personalities. 

Hector, [Puts his hand to his sword,] But you call* 
ed me a coward, you rascal. 

Ilamb. [Takes off his coat,] You called me a bank- 
rupt, you knave. 

Si7no7i* [Doubles his f St.] You called me cut-throat, 
you villain. 

Trusty, I told you all, I meant no personalities j 
but [To Hector] pray what are you ? ^ ^ 

Hector* A soldier, to your sorrow. Fear and tremble. 

Trusty* [To Hamburgh,] Pray what are you ? 

Hamb* A merchant. 

Trusty* [To Simon,] And what a-i'e you ? 

Simon, A banker* 

,. ^. TriL^i/^ 


Trusty. Then if you are such as soldiers, merchants, 
and bankers ought to he, I could not mean you ; oth- 
erwise you may take the words, cut-throat, bankrupt, 
and coward, and divide 'em among you. And as to 
knave, rascal, and villain, I return them to the right 

Heeior, Gentlemen, stand by. I'll fight for you all. 
[DrazDS and turns to Trusty, 1 I challenge you to fight 

Land, Poh ! challenge him to eat with you ; the 
supper's waiting. 

Hector. [To Lattdlord.] Don't interfere, Sir: here's 
serious work ; blood will be spilt. 

Trusty. Well, spill your own then : I have no no- 
tion of having my veins pricked. 

Hector. Choose your mode of fighting instantly, or 
fall beneath this sword, which has drank the blood of 

Trusty. Well, if I must fight, my mode will be to 
use that sword five minutes upon your body : then you 
shall use it upon me as long, and so we will take turns. 

Hector. You inflame my choler. 

Trusty. Then unpin your collar. 

Hector. I shall burst with rage. 

Trusty. Then we jshall have one less at table. 

Hector. [Brandishes his sword.'] Are you prepared 
for your exit ? 

Trusty. I am. [Exit. 

Hector. Now he is gone to arm himself with pano- 
ply, to meet this valorous sword. Guard me, ye pow- 
ers! who, in the day of batde, mid 'clashing swords 
and all the thunder of my father Mars, have been my 
shield and buckler. Now I am ready for him : why 
does he not return ? 

Land. lie's gone to supper. This is an eating 
house, not a fighting house. Sheath your sword. 

Hector. [Sheaths.] There, sword, smother thy rage 
till some dauntless adversary shall call thee out : then 
seek his heart and make report of victory. 

[Exeunt cmnes* 


Interval fve minutes. 
Enter Trusty and La>n^dlord. 

Land, 1 take that oiRccr-looking man to be Colon 
Home, one of the bravest men in the army. 

Trusty, Colonel Home and he ai-c very diifere 
characters. That wretch was but an ensign, and vi 
cashiered for cowardice. 

Laiid. Is that possible ? Why, he told me himself 
that he had alone surprised a whole regiment and cut 
them in pieces ; and that all the army stood in awe of 

Trnsty, Well, you may depend on what I tell vou : 
and the one that sits next to him is a bankrupt/who 
has been guilty of every shameful practice to defraud 
his creditors ; and the other is a base pawn-broker, 
vvho has got all the property of this bankrupt in hi| 
hands for concealment. 

Land, You surprise me! Why, that bankrupt, as 
you call him, was just now telling the other, how he 
was afraid the late storms at sea might aflect his ship- 
ping ; and the other was offering to insure them. 
Enter Hector, Hamburgh, and Simon. 

Hector, [To Triisty.'] Since my wrath is a little 
abated, I am persuaded you meant no offence; but 
look ye, Sir, if any man was seriously tD dispute my 
courage, you see my sword ! 

Trusty, I see ii. 

Hector, And don't you fear it ? 

Trusty, No ; nor its owner. [Hector offers to draw,] 
Forbear, or '' I will tell a talc, will make it blush." 

[Hector sneaks off, 

Hamh, [To Trusty.'] 1 am not disposed, Sir, to be- 
lieve that you meant me by any expression you made, 
as to coward and eut-throat : they certainly don't 
belonff to me. And as to bankrupt, the four winds 
can give the lie to such- a charge. 

Trusty, They €cml(l ^\y2 but windy testimony in 
your favour. *^ Hamh, 


- Ilamb, Then I appeal to this worthy gentleman, 
fSpeaking of Simon, '\ and an honcster lives not on 
earth, if I liave not thousands in his hands. 

Simon, [Aside to Hamb.'j You had better leave it 
to the four winds. 

Hamh, [Loud and hastily,'] Have 1 not monies of 
a great amount in your hands ? 

. . Simon, Did you not take an oath, a few days sincc^ 
tliat you had not, directly nor indirectly, five pounds on 
earth ? 

Hamb. Yes. I had not on earth ; but it was then 
in your coffers, and you know it. 

Simon, U your oath that you had no property canH 
be relied on, why should your word be taken, that yoii 
have ? 

Hamb, But I ask you, have you not my property 
in your hands ? 

Simon, Not a farthing. You are a bankrupt for 
thousands, and the four winds may tell of that. 

Hamb* O knavery ! 

Simon. O perjury ! 

Trust!/, You are perfectly welcome to use the words 
I just now tossed out to you ; and it appears to me, 
ihey are a very proper currency between you. 

Hamb. O that I had the money out of tliat wretch's 
hands, to give to my honest creditors ! 

Simon. O that 1 had the character, which I have 
lost by my connexion with you ! 

Trusty. I am sorry for the depravity of you both. 
ft has led you to deceive honest men, and to betray 
each other. You have now learned the value of repu- 
tation and peace of mind, by the loss of them. 'Let 
your future days be days of atonement. Let them be 
devoted to honesty and fair dealing ; and ever remem- 
ber that integrity is the only road to desirable wealth, 
and that the path of virtue is alone the path of peace. 



Mr. Sheridan's Speech against Mr. Taylor. 

TT7E have this day been honored with the coun- 
* V seis of a complete gradation of lawyers. We 
have received the opinion of a Judge, of an Attorney- 
General, of an Ex-Attorney-General, and of a prac- 
tising Barrister. I agree with the learned gentleman 
in his admiration of the abilities of my honorable 
friend, Mr. Fox. What he has said of his quickness 
and of his profoundness, of his boldness and his candor,. 
is literally just and true, which the mental accomplish- 
ment of my honorable friend is, on every occasion, cal- 
culated to extort even from his adversaries. 

The learned gentleman has, however, in this insidi- 
ous eulogium, connected such qualities of mind with' 
those he has praised and venerated, as to convert hig 
encomiums into reproach, and his tributes of praise in- 
to censure and invective. The boldness lie has de- 
scribed is only craft, and his candor, hypocrisy. Upon - 
what grounds does the learned gentleman connect those 
assemblages of great qualities and of cardinal defects ? 
Uponwhat principles,either of justice or of equity, does 
he exult Avith one hand, whilst he insidiously reprobates 
and destroys with the other ? 

If the wolf is to be feared, the learned gentiemait 
may rest assured, it will be the wolf in sheep's clothing^? 
the masked pretender to patriotism. It is not from the 
fang of the lion, but from the tooth of the serpent, 
that reptile which insidiously steals upon the vitals of the 
constitution, and gnaws it to the heart, ere the mis- 
chief is suspected, that destruction is to be feared. 

With regard to the acquisition of a learned gentle- 
man, Mr. Taylor, who has declared that he means to 
vote with us this day, I am son'y to acknowledge, that 
from the declaration he has made at the beginning of 
his speech, I see no great reason to boast of such an 
auxiliary. The learned gentleman^ who has with pe- 


•culiar modesty styled himself a chicken lawyer.hdis de- 
clared, that, thinking us in the right with respect to 
the subject of this day's discussion, he shall vote with 
us ; but he has at the same time thought it necessary 
to assert, that he has never before voted differently 
from the minister and his friends, and perhaps he never 
shall again vote with those whom he means to support 
this day. 

It is rather singular to vote witl^us, professedly be- 
cause he finds us to be in the right, and, in the very 
moment that he assigns so good a reason for changing his 
side, to declare, that in all probability he never shall 
vote with us again. I am sorry to find the chicken is 
a bird of ill omen, and that its augury is so unpropi- 
tious to our future interests. Perhaps it would have 
been as welj, under these circumstances, that the chick- 
en had not left the barn-door of the treasury ; but 
continued side by side with the old cock, to pick those 
crumbs of comfort which would doubtless be dealt out 
m time, with a liberality proportionate to the fidelity 
of the feathered tribe. 

Part of Cicero's Oration against Catiline. 

TT is now a long time, conscript fathers, that we 
JL have trod amidst the dangers and machinations of 
this conspiracy : but I know not how it comes to pass, 
the full maturity of all those crimes, and of this long- 
ripenmg.rage and insolence, has now broken out du- 
ring the period of my consulship. Should Catiline 
alone be removed from this powerful band of traitors. 
It may abate, perhaps, our fears and .anxieties for a 
Tvhile ; but the danger will still remain, and continue 
lurkmg in the veins and vitals of the republic. 

For as men, oppressed with a severe fit of illness, 
and labouring under the raging heat of a fever, are 
often at first seemingly relieved by a draught of cold 

watf r ; 


water ; but afterwards find the disease return upon them 

with redoubled fury ; in like manner, this distemper, 
which has seized the commonwealth, eased a little by 
the punishment of this traitor, will, from his surviving 
associates, soon assume new force. Wherefore, con- 
script fathers, let the wicked retire ; let them sepa- 
rate themselves from the honest ; let them rendezvous 
in one place. In fine, as I have often said, let a v/all 
be between them anii us ; let them cease to lay snares 
for the consul in his own house ; to beset the tribunal 
of the city prastor ; to invest the senate-house with 
armed rutnans,and to prepare fire-balls and torches for 
burning the city : in short, let every man's sentiments 
with regard to the public be inscribed on his forehead. 

This I engage for, and promise, conscript fathers, 
that by the diligence of the consuls, the weight of } our 
authority, the courage and firmness of the Roman 
knigjits, and the unanimity of all the honest, Catiline 
being driven from the city, you shall behold all his 
1 reasons detected, exposed, crushed, and punished. 

With these omens, Catiline, of all prosperity to the 
republic, but of destruction to thyself, and all those 
W'ho have joined themselves with thee in all kinds of 
parricide, go thy way then to this impious and abom- 
inable war: whilst thou, Jupiter, whose religion was' 
established with the foundation of this city, whom we 
n-uly call Stator, the stay and prop of this empire, wilt 
drive this man and his accomplices irom thy altars and 
temples, from the houses and walls of the city, from 
the lives and fortunes of us all ; and wilt destroy with 
eternal punishments, both living and dead, all the 
h.aters of good men, the enemies of their country, the 
plunderers of Italy, now confederated in this detesta- 
ble league and partnership of viLlany. 



Description of the first American Congress > 
FROM THE Vision of Columbus. 

COLUMBUS look'd ; and still around them spread, 
From south to north, th' immeasurable shade ; 
At last, the central shadows burst away, 
And rising regions open'd on the day. 
He saw, once more, bright DcPware's silver stream. 
And Penn's throng'd city cast a chcft-ful gleam ; 
The dome of state, that met his eager eye^ 
Now heav'd its arches in a loftier sky. 
The bursting gates unfold : and lo, within, 
A solemn train, in conscious glory, shine. 
The well-knov.-n forms his eye had trac'd before, 
In dift^'rent realms along tli' extended shore ; 
Here, grac'd with nobler fame, and rob'd in statCj 
They look'd and mov'd magnificently great. 
High on the foremost seat, in living light, 
Majestic Randolph caught the hero's sight : , 

Fair on his head, the civic crown was plac'd, 
And the first dignity his sceptre grac'd. 
He opes the cause, and points in prospect far,. 
' Through all the toils that wait th' impending war, 
But, hapless sage, thy reign must soon be o'er, 
To lend thy lustre, and to shine no more. 
So the bright morning star, from shades of ev'n, 
Leads up the dawn, and lights the front of heav'n, 
Points to the waking world the sun's broad way, 
Then v^ils his own, and shines above the day. 
Arid see great Washington behind thee rise, 
Thy following sun, to gild our morning skies ; 
O'er shadov/y climes to pour th' enlivening flame, 
The charms of freedom and the fire of fame. 
Th' ascending chief adorn'd his splendid seat, 
Like Randolph, ensign'd with a crown of state, 
Where the green patriot bay beheld, with pride, 
The hero's laurel springing by its side ; 
His sword hung useless, on his graceful thigh, 

M On 


On Britain still he cast a filial eye ; 
But sovereign fortitude his visage bore, 
To meet their legions on th' invaded shore. 

Sage Franklin next arose, in awful mien, 
And smil'd, unruffled, o'er th' approaching scene ; 
High, on his locks of age, a wreath was brac'd. 
Palm of all arts, that e'er a mortal grac'd ; 
Beneath him lies the sceptre kings have borne, 
And crowns and laurels from thcii' temples torn. 
Nash, Rutledge, Je^erson, in council great, 
And Jay and Laurens op'd the rolls of fate. 
The Livingstons, fair freedom's gen'rous band, 
The Lees, the Houstons, fathers of the land, 
O'er climes and kingdoms turn'd their ardent eyes, 
Bade all th' oppress'd to speedy vengeance rise ; 
All powers of state, in their extended plan. 
Rise from consent to shield the rights of man. 
Bold Wolcott urg'd the all-important cause ; 
With steady hand the solemn scene he draws ; 
Undaunted firmness -with his v/isdom join'd. 
Nor kings nor worlds could warp his stedfast mind 

Now, graceful rising from his purple throne. 
In radiant robes, immortal Hosmer shone ; 
Myrtles and bays his learned temples bound, 
The statesman's wreath, the poet's garland crownM : 
Morals and laws expand his liberal soul, 
Beam from his eyes, and in his accents roU. 
But lo ! an unseen hand the curtain drew. 
And snatch'd the patriot from the hero's view ; 
Wrapp'd in the shroud of death, he sees descend ■. 
The guide of nations and the muse's friend. I 

Columbus dropp'd a tear. The angel's eye 
Trac'd the freed spirit mounting through the sky< 

Adams, enrag'd, a broken charter bore, 
And lawless acts of ministerial power; 
Some injur'd right in each loose leaf appear^, 
A king in terrors and a land in tears ; 
From all the guileful plots the veil he drew. 
With eye retortive look'd cv^-^^hii thro'iojb ; 



Ojvd the wide ran^c of nature's boundless plan, 
Ti-ac'd all the steps of liberty and man 5 
Crowds rose to vengeance while his accents rung, 
And Independence thunder'd from his tongue. 

Speech of Buonaparte, Commander in Chief of 
THE French Army in Italy, to his Brethren 
IN Arms. 

/ Soldiers, 

"\7'0U arc precipitated like a torrent from the 
X heights of the Appenines ; you have overthrown 
and dispersed all that dared to oj^pose your march. 
Piedmont, rescued from Austrian tyranny, is left to its 
natural sentiments of regard and friendship to the 
French. Milan is yours ; and the republican standard 
is displayed throughout all Lombardy. The dukes of 
Parma and Modena are indebted for their political ex- 
istence only to your generosity. 

The army, which so proudly menaced you, has had 
no other barrier than its dissolution to oppose your in- 
vincible courage. The Po, the Tessen, the Adda, could 
not retard you a .single day. The vaunted bulwarks 
cf Italy were insufficient. You swept them with the 
same rapidity that you did the Appenines. Those suc- 
cesses have carried joy into the bosom of your country. 
Your representatives decreed a festival dedicated to your 
victories^ and to be celebrated throughout all the com- 
munes of the republic. Now your fathers, your moth- 
ers, your wives, and your sisters, will rejoice in your 
success, and take pride in their relation to you. 
; Yes, soldiers, you have done much ; but more still 
remains for you to do. Shall it be said of us, that we 
! know how to conquer, but not to profit by our victo- 
ries ? Shall posterity reproach us with having found a 
I Capua in Lombardy'/ But already I sec you fly to 
I arms. You are fatigued with an inactive repose. Voii 
I lament the days that are lost to your glory! Well, 
I then^ 




then, let us proceed; we have other forced marches to 
make, other enemies to subdue •, more laurels to ac- 
quire, and more injuries to avenge. 

Let those who have unsheathed the da^ggers of civil| 
war in France ; who have basely assassinated our miri-? 
isters 5 who have btirnt our ships at Toulon ; let them 
tremble ! the knell of vengeance has already tolled ! 

But to quiet the apprehensions of the people, we 
declare ourselves the friends of all, and particularly of 
those Vv'ho are the descendants of Brutus, of Scipio, 
and those other great men whom wo have taken foj 
our models. 

To re-establish the capital ; to replace the statues 
of those heroes who have rendered it immortal ; t9 
rouse the Roman people entranced in 'so many ages o{ 
slavery ; this shall be the fruit of your victories. U 
will be an epoch for the admiration of posterity ; yoti 
will enjoy the immortal glory of changing the aspect 
of affairs in the finest part of Europe. The free peo- 
ple of France, not regardless of moderation, shall accord 
to Europe a glorious peace ; but it will indemnify 
itself for the sacrifices of every kind which it has been 
making for six years past. You will again be restored 
to your fire-sides and homes ; and your fellow-citizen^ 
pointing you out, shall say, '* There goes one who 
belonged to the army of Italy !" 

Reflections over the Grave of a Young Man. 

HERE lies the grief of a fond mother, and the blast- 
ed expectation of an indulgent father. The^ 
youth grew up, like a well-watered plant; he shot 
deep, rose high, and bade fair for manhood. But just 
as the cedar began to tower, and promised ere long, to 
be the pride of the wood, and prince among the neigi^ 
bouring trees, behold! the axe is laid unto the root 




the fatal blow struck; and all its branching honors 
tumbled to the dust. And did he fall alone ? No : 
the hopes of his father that begat him, and the pleasing 
prospects of her that bare him, fell, and were crushed 
together with him. 

. Doubtless it would have pierced one's heart, to have 
beheld the tender parents following the breathless 
youth to his long home. Perhaps, drowned in tears, 
and all overwhelmed with sorrows, they stood, like 
weeping statues, on this very spot. Methinks I see 
the deeply-distressed mourners attending the sad solem- 
nity. How they wring their hands, and pour forth 
floods from their eyes ! Is it fancy ? or do I really 
hear the passionate mother, in an agony of affliction, 
taking her final leave of the darling of her soul? 
Dumb she remained, while the awful obsequies were 
performing ; dumb with grief, and leaning upon the 
partner of her woes. But now the inward anguish 
struggles for vent ; it grows too big to be repressed. 
She advances to the brink of the grave. All her soul 
is in her eyes. She fastens one more look upon the 
dear doleful object,: before the pit shuts its mouth upon 
him. And as she looks, she cries ; in broken accents, 
interrupted by many a rising sob, she cries, Farewell, 
my son ! my son ! my only beloved ! would to God I 
had died for thee ! Farewell, my child ! and farewell all 
earthly happiness ! I shall never more see good in the 
land of the living. Attempt not to comfort me. I 
will go mourning all my days, till my grey hairs come 
down with sorrow to the grave. . 


, Scene from the Drama of " Moses in the 

JocHEBED, Miriam. 

Jochebed.'Wl^^, '?' "^y P^y^^ accepted? why 
T T did lieaven 

lA anger hear me, when 1 ask'd a son ? 

M2 Ye 


Ye dames of Egypt ! happy ! happy mothers ! 
No tyrant robs you of yom* fondest hopes ; 
You are not doom'd to see the babes you bore. 
The babes you nurture, bleed before your eyes J 
You taste the transports of maternal love, 
And never know its anguish ! Happy mothers ! 
How different is the lot of thy sad daughters, 
O wTetched Israel ! Was it then for this ? 
Was it for this the righteous arm of God 
Rcscu'd his chosen people from the jaws 
Of cruel want, by pious Joseph's care ? 
Joseph, th' elected instrum.ent.of Heav'n, 
Decreed to save illustrious Abram's race, 
What time the famine rag'd in Canaan's land. 
Israel, who then was spar'd, must perish now! 
O thou mysterious Pow'r ! who hast involved 
Thy wise decrees in darkness, to perplex 
The pride of human wisdom, to confound 
The daring scrutiny, and prove the fftith 
Of thy presuming creatures ! clear this doubt j 
Teach me to trace this maze of Providence ; 
Why save the fathers, if the sons must perish ? 

Miriam. Ah me, my mother! v/hene^ these flc 
of grief ? 

Joch* My son ! ray son ! I cannot speak the res^ 
Yg who have sons can only know my fondness ! 
¥e who have lost them, or who fear to lose, 
Can only know my pangs ! None else can guess them* 
A mother's sorrows cannot be conceiv'd, 
But by a mother. Wherefore am I one '? 

Mir, With many prayers thou didst request this son, 
And Heav'n has granted him. . 

Jack, O sad estate 

Of human wretchedness i so weak is man. 
So ignorant and blind, that did not God 
Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask, 
We showld be ruin'd at our own request. 
Too well thou know'st, my child, the stern decree 
Of Fgypt's cr\iol ki/ig, hard-hearted Pharaoh ; 


" That ev'ry male, of Hebrew mother born, 

♦' Must die." O ! do 1 live to tell it thee ? ; 

Must die a bloody death ! My child ! my son, 

My youngest born, my darling must be slain ! 

Mir, The helpless itmocent ! and must he die ? 

Joch, No : if a mother's tears, a mother's prayers, 
A mother's fond precautions can prevail, 
He shall not die. I have a thought, my Miriam! . 
And sure the God of mercies, who inspired, 
Will bless the secret purpose of my soul, 
To save his precious life. 

Mir, Hop'st thjDU that Pharaoh — 

Joch. I have no hope in Pharaoh; much in God, 
Much in the Rock of Ages. 

Mir, Think, O think, 

What perils thou already hast incurrd ; 
And shun the greater, which may yet remain, [serv'd 
Three months, three dang'rous months thou hast pre- 
Thy infant's life, and in thy house conceaPd him! 
Should Pharaoh knoAv ! 

Joch, O ! let the tyrant know, 
And feel what he inflicts ! Yes, hear me, Kcav'n !» 

Send the right aiming thunderbolts But hush, 

My impious murmurs ! Is it not thy will, 

Thou infinite in mercy ? Thou perm.itt'st 

This seeming evil for some latent good. 

Yes, I will laud thy grace, and bless thy goodness 

For what I have, and not arraign thy v/isdom " 

For what I fear to lose. O, I will bless thee. 

That Aaron will be spar d ! that my first-born 

Lives safe and undisturb'd ! that he was given me 

Before this impious persecution rag'd ! 

Mir, And yet who knov/s, but the fell tyrant's rage 
May reach his precious life ? 

Joch, I fear for him. 

For thee, for all. A doting parent lives 
In many lives ; through many a nerve she feels : 
From child to child the qpick affections spread, 
Forever wand'rmg, yet iorever fiii'd. . 



Nor does division weaken, nor the force ' 

Of constant operation e'er exhaust 

Parental love. All other passions change, 

With changing circumstances : rise or fall, ; 

Dependant on their object ; claim returns ; 

Live on reciprocation, and expire 

Unfed by hope. A mother's fondness reigns 

Without a rival, and without an end. 

Mi}\ But say what Heav'n inspires, to save thy son 

Jock. Since the dear fatal morn which gave him birth 
I have revolv'd in my distracted mind 
Each mean to save his life : and many a thought, 
Which fondness prompted, prudence has oppos'd 
As perilous and rash. With these poor hands 
I've fram'd a little ark of slender reeds ! 
With pitch and slime I have secur'd the sides. 
In this frail cradle I intend to lay 
My little helpless infant, and expose him 
Upon the banks of Nile. 

Mir, 'Tis full of danger. 

Joch, 'Tis danger to expose, and death to keep him.- 

Mir, Yet, O Tcflcct ! Should the fierce crocodile, 
The native and the tyrant of the Nile, , 
Seize the defenceless infant ! 

Joch, O, forbear! 

Spare my fond heart. Yet net the crocodile^ 
Nor all the deadly monsters of the deep, 
To me are half so terrible as Pharaoh, 
That heathen king, that royal murderer ! 

Mir, Should he escape, which yet I uare not hop* 
Each sea-born mon&ter; yet the winds and waves 
He cannot 'scape. 

Joch. Know, God is every where ; 
Not to one narrow, partial spot confin'd ; 
No, not to chosen Israel. He extends ^ 

Through all the vast infinitude of space. . 
At his command the furious tempests rise, 
The blasting of the breath of his. displeasure i '1 
He tells the world of waters when to roar j 



And at his bidding, winds and seas are calm. 
In Him, not in an arm of flesh I trust ; 
In Him, whose promise never yet has fail'd, 
I place my confidence. 

Mir. What must I do ? 

Command thy daughter, for thy words have wak'd 
An holy boldnesi inmv youthful breast. 

Joch. Go then, my Miriam ; go, and take the infant ; 
Buried in harmless slumbers, there he lies ; 
* Let me not see him. Spare my heart that pang. 
Yet sure, one little look m^y be indulged ; 
One kiss ; perhaps the last. No more, my soul ! 
That fondness would be fatal. I should keep him* 
I could not doom to death the babe I clasp'd : 
Did ever mother kill her sleeping boy ? 
I dare not hazard it. The task be thine. 

! do not wake my chiM ; remove him softly ; 
And gently lay him on the river's brink. 

Mir, Did those magician.^;, whom the sons of Egypt 

Consult, and think all potent, join their skill, 

And was it great as Egypt's sons believe ; 

Yet all their secret wizard arts combin'd. 

To save this little ark of bulrushes, 
. Thus fearfully expos'd, could not effect it. 

Their spells, their incantations, and dire charms 

Could not preserve it. 

Jock, Know, this ark is charm'd 

With spells, which impious flgypL never knew. 
' VViih invocations to the living God, ^ 

1 twisted every slender reed together. 
And with a prayer did cv'ry osier weave. 

Mir, I go. 

Joch, Yet ere thou go'st, observe me well. 
When thou hast laid him in his wat'ry bed, 

leave him not ; but at a distance wait, 

And mark what Heav'n's high will determines fur him. 
Lay him among the flags on yonder beach, 
Just where the royal gardens -meet the Nile. 

1 dare not follow him. Suspicion's eye 



Would note my wild demeanor ; Miriam, yes, 
The mother's fondness would betray the child. 
Farewell ! God of my fathers, O protect him ! 


Forces, after the Death of Cesar. 

Soldiers and Fellow-Citizens, 

THE unjust reproaches of our enemies we could 
easily disprove, if we were not, by our numbers, 
and by the swords which we hold in our hands, in con- 
dition to despise them. While Cesar led the armies of 
the republic against the enemies of Rome, we took 
part in the same service with him ; we obeyed him ; 
we were happy to serve under his command. But 
when he declared war against the commonwealth, we 
became his enemies ; and when he became an usurper 
and a tyrant, we resented, as an injury, even the fa- 
vours which he presumed to bestow upon ourselves. 

Had he been to fall a sacrifice to private resentment, 
we should not have been the proper actors in the exe- 
cution of the sentence against him. He was willing to 
have indulged us with preferments and honours ; but, ^ 
we were not willing to accept, as the gift of a master, ' 
what we were entitled to claim as free citizens. We 
conceived, that, in presuming to confer the honors of 
the Roman Republic,he encroached on the prerogatives 
of the Roman people, and insulted the authority of 
the Roman senate. Cesar cancelled the laws, and over- 
tunied the constitution of his country ; he usurped all 
the powers of the commonwealth, set up a m.onarchy, 
and liimself aflected to be a king. This our ancestors, 
at the expulsion of Tarquin, bound themselves and 
their posterity, by the most solemn oaths, and by the 
most direful imprecations, never to endure. The same 
obligation has been entailed upon us as a debt by ou 
fatlitrs ; and we, having faithfully paid and dischargei 



it, have performed the t)ath, and averted the conse- 
quences of failure from ourselves, and from our pos- 

In the station of soldiers, we might have committed 
ourselves, without reflection, to the command of an 
officer, whose abilities and whose valour we admired ; 
but, in the character of Roman citizens, we have a far 
different part to sustain. I must suppose, that I now 
speak to the Roman people, and to citizens of a free 
republic ; to men who have never learned to depend 
upon others for gratifications and favours ; who are not 
accustomed to own a superior, but who are themselves 
the masters, the dispensers of fortune and of honor, 
and the givers of all those dignities and powers by 
which Cesar himself was exalted, and of which he as- 
sumed the entire disposal. 

Recollect from whom the Scipios, the Pompeys, and 
even Cesar himself derived his honors ; from your an- 
cestors, whom you now represent, and from yourselves, 
to whom, according to the laws of the republic, we, 
who are now your leaders in the field, address ourselves 
as your fellow-citizens in the commonwealth, and as 
persons depending on your pleasure for the just reward 
and retribution of our services. Happy in being able 
to restore to you what Cesar had the presumption to 
appropriate to himself, the power and the dignity of 
your fathers, with the supreme disposal of all the of- 
fices of trust that were established for your safety, and 
for the preservation of your freedom ; happy in being 
able to restore to the tribunes of the Roman people the 
power of protecting you, and of procuring to every 
Roman citizen that justice, v,hich, under the late usur- 
pation of Cesar, was withheld, even from the sacred 
persons of those magistrates themselves. 

An usurper is the common enemy of all good citizens ; 
but tlie task of removing him could be the business only 
of a fevr. The senate and the Roman people, as soon 
as it was proper for them to declare their judgment, 
pronounced their approbation of those who were con- 


cerned in the death of Cesar, t)y the rewards and the 
honors which they bestowed upon them ; and they are 
now become a prey to assassins and murderers; they 
bleed in the streets, in the temples, in the most secret 
retreats, and in the arms of their families ; or they are 
dispersed, and fly wherever they hope to escape the 
fury of their enemies. 

Many are now present before you, happy m your 
protection, happy in witnessing the zeal which you en- 
tertain for the commonwealth, for the rights of your 
fellow-citizens, and for your own. These respectable 
citizens, we trust, will soon, by your means, be restor- 
ed to a condition in which they can enjoy, together 
with you, ail the honors of a free people ; concur with 
you, in bestowing, and partake with you in receivmg, 
the rewards which are due to such eminent services as 
you are now engaged to perform. 


Part of Mr. Erskine's Speech against Mr. 
Pitt, 1784. 


Mr. Speaker, 

T becomes us to Ifearn, not from the minister, but^ 
_ from the throne itself, whether this country is to 
be governed by men, in whom the House of Commons 
can confide, or whether we, the people of England's^ 
Representatives, are to be the sport and foot-ball of anyj 
junto that may hope to rule over us, by an unseen and: 
unexplorable principle of government, utterly unknown 
to the Constitution. This is the great question, t- 
which every public-spirited citizen of this countr 
should direct his view. A question which goes ver^ 
wide of the policy to be adopted concerning India ^ 
about which very wise and very honest men, not only 
might, but have, and did materially differ. 

The total removal of all the executive servants o 
the crown, while they are in the full enjoyment of th 



confidence of that House, and, indeed, withont any 
other visible or avowed'cause of removal, than because 
they do enjoy that confidence ; and the appointment 
of others in their room, without any other apparent 
ground of selection than because they enjoy it not, is, 
in my mind, a most alaraiing and portentous attack on 
the public freedom ; because, though no outward form 
of the government is relaxed or violated by it, so as 
instantly to supply the constitutional remedy of oppo- 
sition, the whole spirit and energy of the .government 
is annihilated by it. 

If the Right Honorable Gentleij^ian retain his own opin- 
ions, and if the house likewise retain its own, is it not 
evident that he came into office without the most dis- 
tant prospect of serving the public ? Is it not evident 
that he has brought on a struggle between executive 
and legislative authority, at a time when they are 
pointing with equal vigour, unity, and effect, to the 
common interests of the nation ? 

The Right Honorable Gentleman may imagine that 
I take pleasure in making these observations. If so, 1 
can assure him, upon my honor, that it is far from be- 
ing the case. So very far the contrary, that the incon- 
veniences which the country suffers at this moment, 
from the want of a settled government, arc greatly 
heightened to my feelings, from the reflection that they 
are i) creased by his unguided ambition. 

Our fathers were fi'iends ; and I was taught, from 
my infancy, to reverence the name of Pitt ; an original 
partiality, which, instead of being diminished, w^as 
strongly confirmed by an acquaintance with the RighV 
Honorable Gentleman himself, which I was cultivating 
with pleasure, when he was taken from his profession, 
into a different scene. Let him not think that I am 
the less his friend, or the mean envier of his talents, 
because they have been too much the topic of pane- 
gyric here already, and both I and ilie public are now 
reaping the bitter fruits of the^e intemperate praises. 

N '^rt 



*' It is good,'' said Jeremiah, *' for a man to be 
the yoke in his youth ;" and if the Right Honorable 
Gentleman had attended to this maxim, he woiild not^ 
at so early a period, have declared against a subordi- 
iiate situation ; but would have lent the aid of his fac 
ulties to carry on the afiairs of this country, vvhi£ 
wanted nothing but stability to render them glorious", 
instead of setting up at once for himself to be the first 

How very different has been the progress of ra- 
honorable friend, who sits near me •, who was n 
hatched at once into a minister, by the Iieat of his ow 
ambition ; but who, as it was good for him to do, i^ 
the words of the prophet, " bore the yoke in his } outh -^t 
passed through the subordinate ofiices,and matured his 
talents, in long and laborious oppositions ; arriving, by 
the natural progress of his powerful mind, to a su}:)c- 
riority of political wisdom and comprehension, which 
this House had long, with delight and satisfaction, ac- 

To pluck such a man from the councils of his coun- 
try in the hour of her distresses, while he enjoyed the 
full confidence of the House, to give effect to vigorous 
plans for her interest; and to throw every thing into 
confusion, by the introduction of other men, introdu- 
ced, as it should seem, for no other purpose than to 
beget that confusion, is an evil, which, if we canjiot 
rectify, we may at least have leave to lament. 

These evils are, however, imputed, by the Rii;ht 
Honorable Gentleman and his colleagues, to anoUinr 
source ; to the bill for the regulation of the East-In- 
dies ; from, the mischiefs of which they had stepped 
forth to save the country ; a language most indecent 
in this House of Commons, which thought it their duty 
to the public to pass it by a majority of above one hun- 
dred ; but which was, however, to be taken to be de- 
structive and dangerous, notwithstanding that author- 
ity : because it had been disapproved by a majority ol 
eighteen votes in the House of Lords. Some of whose 
opinions I reverence as conscientious and independent ; 



]^>ut the majority of that small majority voted upon 
principles which the forms of the House will not per- 
nit me to allude to, farther than to say, that individual 
Noblemen are not always Gentlemen, 

Extract fro^ President Washixoton's Address 
TO THE People of the Umted States, Sep- 
tember 17, 1796. 

Friends and Fellow-Citizens, 
[ri^HE period for a new election of a citizen to ad- 
X minister the executive govcrnnirnt of the United 
States, being not far distant ; and the time actually 
arrived, wlien your thoughts must be emplo3'ed in de- 
signating the person, who is to be cluihed with that 
important trust, it appears to me proper, especially as 
it may conduce to a more distinct expression of the 
public voice, that I should now apprise you of the res- 
olution I have formed, 'to declijie being considered 
among the number of those, out of whom a choice is 
to be made. 

.1 beg you, at the same time, to do me the justice to 
,^e assured, that this resolution has not been taken, 
without a strict regard to all the considerations apper- 
taining to the relation, which binds a dutiful citizen to 
his country ; and that, in withdrawing the tender of 
service which silence in my situation might imply, I 
am influenced by no diminution of zeal for your future 
interest ; no deficiency of grateful respect for your past 
kihdness ; but am supported by a full conviction that 
^e step is compatible with both. 

The acceptance of, and continuance hidierto in the 
office to which your suffrages have twice called me, 
have been a uniform sacrifice of inclination to the opin- 
ion of duty, and to a deference for what appeared to 
be your desire. I consta>itly hoped, that it would have 
been much earlier in my pewcr, consistently wiih mo- 


kives, which I was not at liberty to disregard, to retui-ji 
to that retirement from which I had been reluctantlj^ 
^awn. The strength of my inclination to do thi^* 
previous to the last election, had even led to the prepw 
sration of an address to declare it to you ; but matu^;e 
reflection on the then perplexed and critical posture of 
®ur a/fairs with foreign nations, and the unanimous ad- 
vice of persons entitled to my confidence, impelled mt 
to abandon the idea. 

I rejoice, that the state of your corrcerns, external as 
well as internal, no longer renders the pursuit of incU-1| 
aation incompatible with the sentiment of duty, or pro-^ 
priety ; and am persuaded, whatever partiality may be 
retaiiied for my services, that in the present circum-. 
stances of our country, you will not disapprove my* 
determination to retire. 

The impressions, with which I first undertook the 
arduous trust, were explained on the proper occasion. 
In the discharge of this trust, I will only say, that I 
have with good intentions contributed towards the or-^< 
ganization and administration" of the government, thej 
best exertions of which a very fallible judgment wai 
capable. Not unconscious, in the outset, of the infe- 
riority of my qualifications, experience in my own eyes, 
perhaps still more in the eyes of others, has strength- 
ened the motives to diffidence of myself: and every 
day the increasing weight of years admonishes me more 
and more, that the shade of retirement is as necessary 
to me as it will be welcome. Satisfied that if any cir- 
cumstances have given peculiar value to my services, 
they were temporary, I have the consolation to believe, 
that while choice and prudence invite me to quit the 
political scene, patriotism does not forbid it. 

In looking forward to the moment which is intend- J 
ed to terminate the career of my public life, m.y feel-^ 
ings do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowl-' 
edgment of that debt of gratitude which I owe to my 
beloved country, for the many honors it has conferred^ 
upon me ; still more for the stedfast confidence withj 



which it has supported me ; and for tiie opportunities I 
have thence enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable at- 
tachment, by services faithful and persevering, though 
in usefulness unequal to my zeal. If benefits have re- 
sulted to our country from these services, let it always 
be remembered to your praise, as an instructive exam- 
ple in our annals, that under circumstaoces in which 
the passions, agitated in every direction, were liable to 
mislead ; amidst appearances sometimes dubious ; vicis- 
situdes of fortune often discouraging ; in situations in 
which, not unfrcquently, want of success has counte- 
I ^anced the spirit of criticism ; the constancy of your 
support was the essential prop of the efforts, and a 
'guarantee of the plans by which they were effected. 
' Profoundly penetrated with this idea, I shall carry it 
I with me to my grave, as a strong incitement to unceas- 
I in^ vows that Heaven may continue to you the choicest 
!4okens of its benciiccnce ; that your union and broth- 
icrly affection may be perpetual ; that the free consti- 
Itution, which is the work of your hands, may be sa- 
lly maintained ; that its administration in every de- 
ancnt may be stomped with wisdom and virtue ; 
., in fine, the happiness of the people of these States, 
:erthe auspices of liberty, may be made complete, 
so careful a preservation and so prudent a use of this 
,unjssing, as will acquire to them the glory of recom- 
imendrngit to the applause, the affection, and adoption 
^very nation which is yet a stranger to it. 
though in reviewing the incidents of my adminis- 
itration, I am unconseious of intentional error; I am 
nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it 
bable that I may have committed many errors. 
itever they may be, I fervently beseech the Al- 
illy to avert or mitigate the evils to which they 
itend. I shall also carry with mc the hope that my 
jcountry will never cease to view them with indulgence ; 
iand after forty-five years of my life dedicated to its ser- 
vice, with an upright zeal-, the faults of incompetent 
, ' .• N2: ' '. abrlit'ies 


abilities v/ill be consigned to oblivion, as myself must 
soon be to the mansions of rest. 

Relying on its kindness in this as in othdr things^ 
and actuated by that fervent love towards it, which i|| 
so natural to a man who" views in it the native soil ot 
himself and his progenitors for several generafions, T 
anticipate with pleasing 'expectation that retreat, in 
which I promise myself to realize, without alloy, the 
sweet enjoyment of partaking, in the midst of my fel- 
low-citizens, the benign influence of good laws under 
a free government ; the ever favorite object of my 
heart, and the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual 
cares, labors, and dangers.. 

Dialogue on the CnoiCE of Business for Life. 

^ % 

Enter Edward, Charley, and Thomas. 
FfJ , XT appears to me high time for us to choose 

^^^ ' X our business for life. Our academical 
studies will soon be completed ; and I wish to look 
little forward.. What say you ? am I right ? 

Charley, It may be well for you : poor men's soi 
must look out for themselves. My father is able to s\M, 
port me at my ease ; and my maimrta says she woul 
rather see me laid in a coffin than shut up in a study, 
spoiling my eyes and racking my brains, plodding over 
your noj^sensical minister, doctor, and lawyer books ; 
a?nd I am sure she would never have me confined behind 
a counter, or a merchant's desk. She intends I shall be 
brought up a gentleman* My mother is of noble blood, 
and she don't intend that I shall disgrace it. 

Edw, Pray, master Charley, who was the father o; 
your noble-blooded mother ? 

Char. A gentleman, I'd have you to know. 

Edw, Yes, a gentleman cobler, to my knowledge. 

Char, Aye, he followed that business, to be surf, 
sometimes, to stop the damour of the vulgar. Then 



poor people could net bear to see a rich man living at 
his ease, or give a nobleman his title. But times are 
altering for the better, my mamma says : the rich be- 
gin to govern now. We shall so®n live in style, and 
wear titles here as well as in England. She intends to- 
send over and get my coat of arms, and she hopes to 
add a title to them. 

ir Edw, High style! titles! and coats of arms! fine 
things in America, to be sure! Well, after all, I can't 
really disapprove of your mamma's plan. A lapstone, 
an awl, and shoe-hammer will make a fine picture, and 
may appear as well in your mother's parlour, as in her 
father'* shop : and the title of coblcr, or shoe-maker 
^would well become her darling Charley. 
, '. Char* I will not be insulted on account of my grand- 
father's employment, I'll have you to know! I. have, 
heard my mother say, her father was grandson of an 
aiint of 'squire Thorn, who once had a horse that run 
a race with the famous horse of a cousin of the Duke 
of Bedford, of . 

Edw, Quite enough ! I am fully convinced of the 
justice of your claim ta the title of Duke, or whatever 
you please. About as much merit in it, T perceive, as 
in your father's tide to his estate. Ten thousand dol- 
lars drawn in a lottery ! already two thirds spent. A 
title to nobility derived from the grandson of aa aunt 
of 'squire Thorn, from 'squire Thorn's horse, or per- 
haps from some monkey, that has been a favorite play- 
mate with the prince of Wales. These are to be the 
support of your ease and honor through life. Well, I 
believe there is no need of yoor troubling yourself about 
your future employment: that is already determined. 
Depend upon it, you will repent of your folly, or scratch 
a- poor man's head as long as you live. I advise yoa 
to set about the former, in order to avoid the latter. 

Char. I did not come to you for advice. I'll not bear 
your insults, or disgrace myself with your company any 
longer. My parents shall teach you better manners. 

[Exit Charlcitf, 


Thomas, I pity the vanity and weakness of this poor 4 
lad. But reflection and experience will teach him the \ 
fallacy of his hopes. 

Edw, Poor child; he does not know that his lot- 
tery money is almost gone ; that his father's house is 
mortgaged for more than it is worth ; and that the only 
care of his parents is to keep up the appearance of I 
present grandeur, at the expense of future shame, 
llappy for us, that we are not deluded with such de- 
ceitful hopes. 

Tho, My parents were poor ; not proud. They ex- . 
pericnced the want of learning ; but were resolved their jj 
children should share the benefit of a good education. ■• 
I am the fourth son, who owe the debt of filial gratitude.. 
All but myself are well settled in business, and doing 
honor (o themselves and their parents. If I fall short 
i^i theij" example, I shall be most ungrateful. 

EaIio, I have neither father nor mother to excite my 
gratitude, or stimulate my exertions. But I wish to- 
behave in such a manner, that if my parents could look 
down and observe my actions, they might approve my 
conduct. Of my family, neither root nor branch re- 
mains : all have paid the debt of nature. They left a 
name for honesty ;. and I esteem that higher than a pre-t 
tended title to greatness. They have left me a small 
farm, which, though not enough for my support, wilf, 
w^ith my own industry, be sufficient. For emj^loyment, 
to pass av»'ay the winter season, 1 have determined upon 
keejjing a school for my neighbours' children. 

Tko. 1 heartily approve of your determination.^ 
Our mother Earth rewards, with . peace and plenty, w- 
those, who cultivate her face ; but loada, with anxious I 
cares, those, who dig her bowels for treasure. The 
life you contemplate is favorable to the enjoyment of 
social happiness, improvement of the m-ind, and securi- 
ty of virtue ; and the task of training the tender mind is 
an employment, that ought to meet the encourage- 
ment, the gratitude of every parent, and the respect of 
every child. Edit:* 


^ j^ow, I am pleased that you approve my choice. 
vV ill you frankly tell me yotir own ? 

Tho, I will : my intention is to follow the inclina- 

lon of my kind parents. It is their desire that I should 

be a preacher. Their other sons have taken to other 

^^ <^lljngs ; and they wish to see one of their children in 

the desiC. If their prayers are answered, I shall be 

. -fitted for the important task. To my vouth, it appears 

formidable ; but others, with less advantages, have suc- 

-teedca, and been blessings to society, aiid an honor to 

• tneir profession. 

I Ed'v. You have chosen the better part. Whatever 
f the licentious may say to the contrary, the happiness 
ot society must rest on the principles of virtue and re- 
ligion ; and the pulpit must be the nm-serv, where 
they are cultivated. 

TTio. The pulpit; 

And I name it, fill'd with solemn awe, 
Must stand acknowledgM, while the world shall stanel, 
Ifte most important and effectual guard, 
J^upport and ornament of - ; tue's cause. 
There stands the messenger of truth. There stands 
1 he le,gate of the skies : his theme divine, 
His office sacred, hig credentials clear. 
; ay him the violated law speaks out 
Its thunders, and by him, in strains as sweet 
\?"^^^^ "s^' the gospel whispers peace." 
My heart glows with the subject ; and if my abilit-'es 
jTOuld equal my zeal, I could at lea«t hope to realize 
Ahe sublime character so beautil^.illy dro.wn by Cowper. 
-^ JLdw. It is a laudable ambition to aim at eminence 
*^ religion, and excellence in, virtue. 



Speech of Buonaparte, Commander in Chief or 
THE French Army in Italy, before his At- 
tack ON Milan, April 26, 17%. 



YOU have in a fortnight gained six victories; 
taken twcntv-onc stands of colours ; seventy-one 
])ieccs of cannon"'; several strong places ; conquered 
the richest part of Piedmont ; you have made fifteen ^ 
thousand prisoners, and killed or wounded more than ^i 
ten thousand men. You had hitherto fought only for ; 
sterile rocks, rendered illustrious by your courage, but 
u.^eless to the country ; you have equalled by your ser- i 
vices the victorious army of Holland and the Khine« 
Deprived of every thin,2;, you have supplied every 
thins. You have won battles without cannon ; made 
forced marches without shoes ; watched without brandy, 
and often without bread. The republican phalanxes, 
the soldiers of liberty were lone capable of suflering 
what you have suffered. 

Tiianks be to you, -soldiers. The grateful country 
AviU, in part, be indebted to you for her prosperity; 
and if, vvhen victorious ?.i Toulon, you predicted the 
immortal campaign of 1794, your present victories wili 
be the presages of moi-e brilliant victories. 1 he tvso 
armies which attacked you with audacity, fly di--.heart- 
ened before vou. Men, who smiled at your inisei-y, -, 
and rejoiccd'in thought at the idea of the triumphs ot 
vour enemies, are confounded and appalled. But it, 
must not, soldiers, be concealed from you, that youi| 
have done vothlns: since .something remains yet to be^ 
done. Neither 1'urin nor MiU^n are in your poweiv 
The ashes of the conquerors of the Tarqunis are stiM 
disgraced by the assassins of Basseville. At the com- 
mencement of the campaign you were destitute ot ev- 
ery thing ; now you are amply provided ; the m^j^^ 


zines taken from your enemies arc numerous ; the ar- 
tillery for the field and for besieging is arrived. 

Soldiers, the country has a right to expect great 
things from you ; justify her expectations. The great- 
est obstacles are undoubtedly overcome ; but you have 
still battles to fight, cities to take, rivers to pass. Is 
there one among you whose courage is diminished ? Is 
there one who would prefer returning to the summits 
of the Alps and the Appenines ? No : all burn with 
J the desire of extending the glory of the French; to 
' humble the proud kings who dare to meditate putting 
f us again in chains ; to dictate a peace that shall be glo- 
rious, and that shall indemnify the country for the 
immense sacrifices which she has made. All of you 
burn with a desire to say on your return to your home, 
I belonged to the victorious army of Italy. 

Friends, I promise this conquest to you ; but there 

is one condition which you must swear to fulfil ; it is 

to respect the people whom you deliver ; to repress 

the horrible pillage which some wTetches, instigated by 

our enemies, had practised. Unless you do this, you 

will no longer be the friends, but the scourges of the 

human race ; you will no longer form the honor of 

the French people. They will disavow you. Your 

» victories, your successes, the blood of your brethren 

■ who died in battle ; all, even honor and glory will 

be lost. With respect to myself ; to the generals who 

possess your confidence, we shall blush to command an 

^-rarmy without dicipline, and who admit no other law 

' than that of force. 

People of Italy, the French army comes to break 
your chains ; the French peo})le are the friends of all 
V people ; come with confidence to them ; your prop- 
erty, religion, and customs shall be respected. We 
make war as generous enemies ; and wish only to make 
war against the tyrants who oppress you. 



==^===================^ I 

Mr. Pitt's Speech, Nov. 13, 1777, in Opposition 
TO Lord- Suffolk, who proposed to Parlia- 

Debate, that " they had a Right to use all 
THE Means, that God and Nature had put 
INTO THEIR Hands, to conquer America.'' 

My Lohds, 

I AM astonished to hear such principles confessed! 
I am shocked to hear them avowed in this House, 
or in this country ! Princi j)les, equally unconstitutional, 
iirimman, and unchristian! 

My lords, I did not intend to have encroached 
-ain on your attention ; but I cannot repress my in- 
durnation. I feel myself impelled by every duty. My 
lords, we are csilled" upon as members of this House, 
-s men as Christian men, to protest against such notions 
standing near the throne, polluting the ear of Majesty. 
'' That God and nature put into our hands !" 1 Know 
not what ideas that lord may entertain of God and 
nature ; but I know, that such abominable principles 
are equally abhorrent to religion and humanity. 

What ! to attribute the sacred sanction of God anci 
nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping-knifc : 
to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, roasting, 
a.^d eatin-; 'literally, my lords, eating the mangled 
y-r-tims of his barbarous battles! Such horrible notions 
•^hock every precept of religion, divine or natura , and 
every crencrous feeling of humanity. And, my ords, 
they shock every sentiment of honor; they shock me 
as a lover of honorable war, and a dctester of murder- 
ous barbarity. -u • o 
These abominable principles, and this more abomina- 
ble avowal of them, demand the most decisive indigna- 
tion. I call upon that Right Reverend Bench, those holy 
' ministers 


ministers of the gospel, and pious pastors of our C:iurch : 
I conjure them to join in the holy v/ork, and vindicate 
the religion of their God. I appeal to the wisdom and 
the law of this learned bench, to defend and support 
the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops 
to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their laicn ; upon 
the learned judges, to interpose the purit} of their 
ennine, to save us from this pollution. I call upon 
the honor of your lordships, to reverence the dignity 
of your ancestors, and to maintain your own. I call 
upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindi- 
cate the national character, I invoke the genius of the 

From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the im- 
mortal ancestor of this noble lord frowns with indigna- 
tion at the disgrace of his country. In vain he led 
your victorious fleets against the boasted armada of 
Spain ; in vain he defended and established the honor, 
the liberties, the religion, the protestant religion of this 
country, against the arbitrary cruelties of popery and 
the inquisition, if these more than popish cruelties and 
inquisitorial practices are let loose among us ; to tuTn 
forth into our settlements, among our ancient connex- 
ions, friends, and relations, the merciless cannibal, 
thirsting for tlic blood of man, woman and child ! to 
send forth the infidel savage — against whom ^ against 
your protestant brethren ; to lay waste their country \ 
to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their race 
and name, with these horrible bell-hounds of savage war! 

Spain armed herself with blood-hounds, to extirpate 
the wretched natives of America ; and wc improve on 
the inhuman example even of Spanish cruelty. We 
turn loose these savage hell-hounds against our brethren 
and countrymen in America, of the same language, 
laws, liberties, and religion ; endeared to us by every 
tie that should sanctify humanity. 

My lords, this awful subject, so important to our 

hons/, our constitution, and our religion, demands the 

most solemn and effectual inquiry. And I again call 

O upon 


upon your lordships, and the united powers of the ^ 
State, to examine it thoroughly, and decisively, and toi^ 
5tamp upon it an indelible stigma of the public abhor- 
rence. And I again implore those holy prelates oi our 
relidon, to do away these initiuitics kom among u?. 
Let them perform a lustration; let them purity 
House, and this country from this sin. 

My lords, 1 am old and weak, and at present una- 
ble to say more ; but my feelings and indignation were 
too strong to have said less. I could not have slept this 
night in my bed, nor reposed my head on my pillow, 
without giving this vent to my eternal abhorrence ot 
such preposterous and enormous principles. 


Dialogue between a School-Master, and School- 


fN. B. The Author is happy in believing, that the fol- 
lowing Dialogue is applicable to but few towns and lew 
teachers in this country ; but, so long as there are any 
remaining to zohom it may apply, he thinks a svjficicnt 
apology exists for its publication.'] 

SCENE, a Public House, in the Town of 

Enter School-Master, with a pack on his back, 

HOW fare you, landlord ? what have 
you got that's good to drink ? 

Landlord. I have gin, West-In5ia, genuine Ncw- 
Eno-land, whiskey, and cider brandy. 

Schoolm. Make us a stiff mug of sling. Put in a 
gill and a half of your New-England; and sweeten 
ft well with lasses. • . 

Land. It shall be done, Si.', to your liking. 

Schoolm. Do you know of any vacancy in a school 
in your part of the country, landlord ? ^ 

Land. There is a vacancy in our district ; and l^ ex- 
port tho pardon, with our three schcol-comrrattce men. 


will be at my house directly, to consult upon matters 
relative to the school. 

Schoohu Well, here's the lad that will serve them 
as cheap as any man in America ; and I believe I na^ 
venture to say as tvcII too ; for I proiess no small share 
of ^kiU in that business. 1 have kept school eleven Vvin- 
tors and have often had matter of fifty scholars at a 
time'. I have teach'd a child its letters in a day, and 
to read in the Fsaher in a fortnight : and I always feei^ 
verv much ashamed, if I use more than one quire oi 
paper in larnin a boy to write as well as his master. 
As for aovernnient, I'll turn my back to no man. i 
never floe mv scholars ; foi' that monstrous doctrine o 
whippin children, which has beeii 'o long preached 
and practised by our rigid and super.siiuous forefathers 
I have long since exploded. I have a rare knack oi 
flattering them into their duty. And this, according 
to a celebrated Doctor at Philadelphia, whose works 1 
have heard of, though I never read them, is the grand 
criterion of school government. It is, landlord, it is 
the very philosopher's stone. I am told, likewise, 
that this same great Doctor does not believe that bolo- 
mon and others really meant licken in the proper 
sense of the word, when they talked so much about 
usincr the rod, &c. He supposes that they meant con- 
fining them in dungeons ; starving them for three or 
four days at a time ; and then giving them a potion ol 
tatromattucks, and such kinds of mild punishment. 
And, zounds, landlord, 1 believe he's above half right. 

Land {living the cup to the Master.] Master-— 
What may I call your name, Sir, if 1 may be so bold : 
Schoohyi. Ignoramus, at your service. Sir. 
Land. Master Ignoramus, I am glad to see you-. 
Vou are the very man we wish for. Our committee 
won't hesitate a moment to employ you, when they 
become acquainted with your talents. Your senti- 
ments on government I know will suit our people to a 
nicety. Our last master was a tyrant of a fellow, and 
very extravagant in his price. He- grew so important, 
•^ the 


the latter part of his lime, that he had the frontery to 
demand te7i doltars a month and his board. And he 
iriight truly be said to rule with a rod of iron ; for he 
kept an ironwood cudgel in his school, four feet long ; 
cind it was enough to chill one's blood to hear the 
!nhrieks of the little innocents, which were caused by 
his barbarity. I have heard my wife sav, that Sue 
Gossip told her, that she has seen the marks of his lashes 
©n the back of her neighbour Rymple's son Darling, 
for twelve hours after the drubbing. At least, the 
f)oy told her with his own mouth, that they might be 
^oen, if they would only take the trouble to strip his 
-i.irt off. And, besides, master Ignoramus, he was the 
iiost niggardly of all the human race. I don't suppose 
rhat my bar-room was one dollar the richer for him, 
in the course of the whole time which he tamed with 
!is. While the young people of the towa were recreatino- 
themselves, and taking a sociable glass, of an evening, al 
my house, the stupid blockhead was etarnally in his 
•:hamber, poring over his musty books. But finally he 
did tho job for himself, and I am rejoiced. The wretch 
had the dacity to box little Sammy. Puny's cars at 
such an intolerable rate, that his parents fear the poor 
child will be an idiot all the days of his life. And all 
this, for nothing more, than, partly by design, and partly 
Through m.ere accident, he happened to spit in his mas- 
ter's face. The child being nephew to the 'squire^ 
you may well suppose, that the whole neighbourhood 
was soon in an uproar. The indignation of the mother, 
father, aunts, uncles, cousins, and indeed the whole cir- 
•le of acquaintance, was roused ; and the poor fellow 
"^s hooted out of town in less than twenty-four hom*s. 
Schuolm, [Drinkiiig off his liquor,'] This is a rare 
:ose. Believe me, landlord, I have not tasted a drop 
before, since six o'clock this morning. [En^er Parson 
>md' Committee Men.'] Your humble sarvant, gen- 
;lemen. I understand you are in want of a school- 
iTiaster, ' Parson. 


'yp. s 



Parson. Yes, Sir ; ihiit is the occasion of our pres- 
ent meeting. We have been so unfortunate as to lose 
one good man; and we should be very glad to fmd 

^^^UL'^Committ^e Man. Pray donU say unfortunate. 
Parson.* I think we may consider ourselves as very 
fortunate, in having rid the town of an extravagant 
coxcomb, who was draining us of all the money we 
could earn, to fill his purse, and rig himself out witH 

line clothes. , , , i r „ « 

2d. Com. Ten dollars a^ month, and board, tor a 
man whose task is so easy, is no small sum. 

3d. Com. 1 am bold to affirm, that we can procure 
a better man for half the money. 

Schoobn. That 1 believe, friend ; for, though 1 es- 
teem myself as good as the best ; that is to say m the 
common way; yet 1 never ax'd but five dollars a 

month in all my life. .i « ?^ 

Par. For my own part, whatever these gentlemen s 
opinion may be, 1 must tell you, that I am much les^ 
concerned 4bout the wages we are to give, than 1 am 
abont the character and abilities of the man with whom 
we intrust the education of our children. I had much 
rather you had said you had received forty dollars a 
month,* than five. -^ 

1 St. Com. Dear Sir, you are beside yourselt. Y ou 
will encourage the man to rise in his price ; whereas 1 
was in hopes he would have/a//e/i, afleast one dollar. 
Par. Before we talk any further about the price, it 
is necessary that we examine the gentleman according 
to law, in order to satisfy ourselves of his capability to 
serve us. Friend, will you be so obliging as to inform 
us where you received your education, and what your 
pretensions are, with respect to youi profession / 
Schoolm. Law, Sir ! 1 never went to college m my 

^ %ar. I did not ask you whether you had been to 
coUe'-rp or not. We wish to know what education you 
have'had ; and ^^ether your abiliues are such, as that 

2 y^^, 


c:z ts^tlir ^" '-'^'-^ "-^ ^"^-^e or a 

ofttm F,.r '""'"• ' "'" S'- y"-- » ^hort history 

flewspaperwi.homltl' ' "]'^ T"'^' ''^^'^ 'he 

By this time frpK P '? '"?''^ "■^" '^^"■"'e words. 
I enltteral:o , ' fn't ,e a™'"'1, •h%--"'.o„ level. 
years ; and made nch nlfi^' "'''^''^' ^°"'«"ed six 

:~s s„%r' 5~iiV''"' *'"-™' 

• JJ .»-> lorni how man, tori., core, i, ,oaW i.kc 


'"sZl.. 1.M 1 kav., Sin .nJ it 1 k.<i <-'■ ' 
"fj'"S ;SS.""K ,»r. of .ho .-orld y.. 

"'£ZL. . ™ .o. ion, i» *. --iSjixrii; 



are in the English language ? 

"SL^;— IraTl t::v the. all before 1 
"^ol' t *' 'S'you tell when the moon changes, ^j 
'^ sSr No - but I'll warrant you, I could soon tell 
'^/Z'^S^'How many varses are there in the 119th 

^'SoLm. Ah ! excuse me there, if you please, Sir ; 
I nter mecWlewith P-toody. or metapl^^.c. 

Pnr Will vou te 1 me, my friend, what is inc uii 
feilc" bllwee'n tl,. circumference and the diameter 

°^ 'thit"" ■ There vou arc too hard for me again. 1 


Z:Z^^';lT ^=''~''"-'- l-'-n- and there! 

one, tl,a, it woulj hat:"' ',;' £ T^^ur " T.'^'f ^"' 
answered it. Gentlemen th^ll,'"' '"'"'''"^ '° ''^^e 
few minutes, for o^'T,rtirtaT.rr "'""'^^"^ ^ 

ch erfully agre: t^LplX ' ^""^ ^ "'^ ' ^'^^" 

a c4^""- ,te';°''a":cl C'n' ' r°"'' *'"'^ ^^'^ ^l^^'" ^nd 
Pof. G::l^r^::^Z^^^t'^Sh^t once. 

own interest ? I can savVw if ^?" ""^ ""''"^ '° >'oi>r, 
satisfied-thattheman i{ K ^ "; "'?' ' ^^ P^'-f^"'y ' 

«i>at he calls wS by ''i':':"'r"°"'""p'"''^^"^ 

;;. ly mcapablo of instru'cli g :'.r hfld;:"""^/']:^ '°- 
not who he is, or wlnt 1,» ;? "''-""•J'en. You know 

offers himseff ot H't„ ''"^ •''™'' «" "^ch he 

against him J^t slnsTbrtlf.r ' '"'^'^''^f "^bj^^''"" 
- avail, since y^^ aU t'el^t - "- be of, 
years sir vine to nroni.-*. , „ ^ f i ■J.^'^ "cen for 
suitable for tlte Svlom ^^ '^'"''' ""^ '"°'-='''- 
«ai"ed ; but, alas / we wpi '^ '"f ^ ""' ' l^^d ob- 
aspersed hi eharact^^r-nvent^dT''^, •°^''''"• ^' 

"nu-orthiness, has left us w"ef et'' °"" '^°"''' ^"^ »"' 

-eit^'Ai oter;'rnrt"o''r^^^^'-^"'-y 

which they never earnedt bm it w^nt do'^-f h"°"^^ 
master, I dare en^qo-p Jii 7 ,, ^* The new 

he old one SlWl 1)1 ^ -'f ' ^' better than 
Par lLr.f ? ' ^^^^ ^^^ ^'^ ^01* his answer 

•^ iorever Irom the committee. But 1 must 



t^il you, yonr children will reap the bitter consequences 
of such injudicious measures. It has always been 
surprising lo me, that people in general arc more will- 
in^ to pay their money lor any thing else, than tor 
« the one thing needi^ar," that is, for the education of 
their children. Their taylqr must be a workman, their 
carpenter, a workman, their hair-dresser, a workman, 
their hosder, a workman ; but the instructor of their 

children must work cheap ! ^ [Exit Pardon. 

Re-enter Sciiool-?vIaster. 

1 St, Com. We have agreed to employ you^ Sir ; and 
have only to recommend to you, not to follow the 
steps of your predecessor. This is an " age of reason ;" 
and we do not imagine our children so stupid, as to 
need the rod to quicken their ideas, or so vicious, as to 
require a moral lesson from the ferule. Be gentle and 
accommodating, and you have nothing to fear. 

Land. V\\ answer for him. He's as generous and 
merry a lad as I've had in my house this many a day. 

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech, in AxVswer to 
Lord Mansfield, on the Affair of Mr. 
Wilkes, 1770. 

My Lords, 

THERE is one plain maxim, to which 1 have in- 
variably adhered through life ; that in every 
question in which my liberty or my property wore 
concerned, I should consult and be determined by tae 
dictates of common sense. I confess, my lords, that I 
am apt to distrust the refinements of learning, because 
I have seen the ablest and most learned men equaUy 
liable to deceive themselves, and to mislead others. 

The condition of human nature would be lamenta* 
ble indeed, if nothing less than the greatest learning 
and talents, which fall to the share of so small a num- 
ber of m«n, were sufficient to direct our judgment and 



our conduct. But Providence has taken better care of 
our happiness, and given us, in the simplicity of com- 
mon sense, a rule for our direction, by which we shall 
never be misled. 

I confess, my lords, I had no other guide in drawing 
up the amendment, which I submitted to your consid- 
eration. And before I heard the opinien'of the noble 
lord who spoke last, I did not conceive, that it w^as 
even within the limits of possibility for the greatest hu- 
man genius, the most subtle understanding, or the 
acutcst wit, so strangely to misrepresent my meaning ; 
and to give it an interpretation so entirely foreign from 
w^hat I intended to express, and from that sense, which 
the very terms of the amendment plainly and distinctly 
carry with them. 

If there be the smallest foundation for the censure 
thrown upon me by that noble lord ; if, either express- 
ly or by the most distant implication, I have said or in- 
sinuated any part of what the noble lord has charged 
me with, discard my opinions forever; discard the 
motion with contempt. 

My lords, I must beg the indulgence of the House. 
Neither will my health permit me, nor do I pretend 
to be qualified, to follow that learned lord minutely 
through the whole of his argument. No man is better 
acquainted with his abilities and learning, nor has a 
greater respect ior them, than I have. I have had the 
pleasure of sitting w^ith him in the other House, and 
always listened to him with attention. I have not now 
lost a word of what he said, nor did I ever. Upon the 
present question, I meet him without fear. 

The evidence, which truth carries with it, is supe- 
rior to all argun)cnts ; it neither wants the support, 
noi- dreads the opposition of the greatest abilities. If 
there be a single v.ord in the amendment to justify the 
interpretation, which the noble lord has been pleased 
to give it, I am ready to renounce the whole. Let it 
be read, my lords ; let it speak for itself. In what 
instance does it interfere with the privileges of the 



House of Commons ? In what respect does it question 
their jurisdiction, or suppose an authority io this House 
lo arraign the justice of their sentence ? 

I am sure that every lord who hears me, will bear 
me witness that I said not one word touching the mer- 
its of the Middlesex election. Far from conveying 
any opinion upon that matter in the amendment, I 
did not, even in discourse, deliver my own sentiments 
upon it. I did not say that the House of Commons 
had done either right or wrong ; but when his Majesty 
was pleased to recommend it to us to cultivate unanim- 
ity amongst ourselves, I thought it the duty of this 
House, as the great hereditary council of the crown, 
to state to his Majesty the distracted condition of his 
dominions, together with tho events which had destroy- 
ed unanimity among his subjects. 

But, my lords, I stated those events merely as facts, 
without the smallest addition either of censure or of 
opinion. They are facts, my lords, which I am not 
only convinced are ti-ue, but w hich I know are indis- 
putably true. 

Do they not tell us, in so many words, that Mr. 
Wilkes, having been expelled, was thereby rendered 
incapable of serving in that Parliament ? and is it not 
their resolution alone, which refuses to the subject his 
common right ? The amendment says farther, that 
the electors of Middlesex are deprived of their free 
choice of a representative. Is this a fact, my lords ? 
or have I given an unfair representation of it ? Will 
any man presume to affirm that Colonel Luttiell is the 
free choice of the electors of Middlesex ? We all 
know the contrary. 

/ We all know that Mr. W'ilkes (who;n I mention 
without either praise or censure) was me favourite of 
the county, ana chosen, by a xcry great and acknowl- 
edged majority, to represent them ii Parliament. If 
the noble lord dislikes the manner ii which these facts 
are stated, I shall think myself hai^:)y in being advised 
hy him how to alter it. I am ver; little anxious about 



terms, provided the substances be preserved ; and thes« 
are facts, my lords, which I am sure will always retain 
their weight and importance, in whatever form of Ian- 
gi?age they are described. 

The constitution of this country has been openly in- 
vaded in fact ; and J have heard, with horror and aston- 
ishment, that very invasion defended upon principle. 
What is this mysterious power, undefmed by law, un- 
known to the subject; which we must not approach 
without awe, nor speak of without reverence ; which 
no man may question, and to which all men must sub- 
mit ? My lords, I thought the slavish doctrine of pas- 
sive obedience had long since been exploded: and, 
when our kings were obliged to confess that their title 
to the crov/n, and the rule of their government, had 
no other foundation than the known laws of the land, 
I never expected to hear a divine right, or a divine in- 
fallibility, attributed to any other branch of the legis- 

My lords, I beg to be understood. No man respects 
the House of Commons more than I do, or would con- 
tend more strenuously than I would, to preserve to 
them their just and legal authority. ^ Within tiie 
bounds prescribed by the constitution, that authority 
is necessary to the well-being of the people : beyond 
that line, every exertion of poxver is arbitrary, is ille- 
gal ; it threatens tyranny to the people, and destruc- 
tion to the state. Power without right is the most 
odious and detestable object that can be offered to the 
human imagination : it is not only pernicious to those 
who are subject to it, but tends to its own destruction. 



On the general Judgment-Day ; from Dwight^s 
Conquest of Canaan. 

MID these dire scenes, more awful scenes shall rise ; 
Sad nations quake, and trembling seize the skies. 
From the dark tomb shall fearful lights ascend, 
And sullen sounds the sleeping mansion rend ; 
Pale ghosts with terror break the dreamer's charm, 
And death-like cries the listening world alarm. 
Then midnight pangs shall toss the cleaving plains ; 
Fell famine w^anton o'er unburied trains ; 
From crumbling mountains baleful flames aspire ; 
Realms sink in floods, and towns dissolve in fire ; 
In every blast, the spotted plague be driven, 
And angry meteors blaze athwart the heaven. 
Clouds of dark blood shall blot the sun's broad light, 
Spread round th' immense,and shroud the Avorld in night ; 
With pale and dreadful ray, the cold moon gleam ; 
The dim, lone stars diffuse an anguish'd beam ; 
Storms rock the skies ; afflicted oceans roar. 
And sanguine billows dye the shuddering shore ; 
And round earth thunder, from th' Almighty throne, 
The voice irrevocable, IT IS DONE. 

Rous'd on the fearful morn, shall nature hear 
The trump's deep terrors rend the troubled, air ; 
From realm to realm the sound tremendous roll ; 
Cleave the broad main, and shake th' astonish'd pole ; 
The slumbering bones th' archangels call inspire ; 
Rocks sink in dust, and earth be wrapt in fire ; 
From realms far distant, orbs unnumber'd come, 
Sail through immensity, and learn their doom : 
And all yon changeless stars, that, thron'd on high, 
Reign in immortal lustre round the sky, 
In solemn silence shroud their livirtg light. 
And leave the world to undistinguished night. 

Hark, what dread sounds descending from the pole, 
Wave following wave, in swelling thunders roll ! 

P How 



How the tombs cleave ! What awful forms arise ! 
What crowding nations pain the failing eyes ! 
From land to land behold the mountains rend ; 
From shore to shore the fmal flames ascend ; 
Round the dark poles with boundless terror reign, 
With bend immeasurable sweep the main ; 
From morn's far kingdoms stretch to realms of even 
And climb and climb with solemn roar to heaven. 
What smoky ruins wrap the lessening ground ! 
What fiery sheets sail through the vaulted round ! 
Pour'd in one mass, the lands and seas decay ; 
Involv'd, the heavens, dissolving, fleet away; 
The moon departs ; the sun's last beams expire, 
And nature's buried in the boundless fire. 

Lo, from the radiance of the blest abode 
Messiah comes, in all the pomp of God ! 
Borne on swift winds, a storm before him flies ;^ 
Stars crown his head, and rainbows round him rise ; 
Beneath his feet a sun's broad terrors burn, 
And cleaving darkness opes a dreadful morn : 
Through boundless space careering flames are driven ; 
Truth's sacred hosts descend, and all the thrones of 

See crowding millions, call'd from earth's far ends, 
See hell's da'i'k world, with fearful gloom, ascends, 
In throngs incomprehensible ! Around, 
Worlds after worlds, from nature's farthest bound* 
Call'd by th' archangel's voice from either pole, 
Self-mov'd, with all created nations, roll. 
From this great ti-ain, his eyes the just divide, 
Price of his life, and being's fairest pride; 
Rob'd by his mighty hand, the starry throngs 
From harps of transport call ecstatic songs. 
Hail, heirs of endless peace ! ordain'd to rove 
Round the pure climes of everlasting iove. 
For you the sun first led the lucid morn ; 
The world was iashion'd and Messiah t)orn ; 
For you high heavcu v/ith fond impatience waits, 
Paurs her tair streams, and opes her golden gates ; 

' Eac 


Ji^ach hour, with purer glory, gaiiy shines, 
Her courts enlarges, and her air refines. 

But O unhappy race ! to woes consignM, 
Lur'd by fond pleasure, and to wisdom blind, 
What new Messiah shall the spirit save, 
Stay the pent flames, and shut th' eternal grave? 
Where sleeps the music of his voice divine ? 
Where hides the face, that could so sweetly shine ? 
Now hear that slighted voice to thunder turn ! 
See that mild face with flames of vengeance burn ! 
High o'er your heads the storm of ruin roars, 
And, round th*' immense, no friend your fate deplores. 

Lo, there to endless woe in throngs are driven, 
What once were angels, and briglu stars of heaven ! 
The world's gay pride ! the king with splendor crown'd f 
The chief resistless, and the sage renown'd ! 
Down, down, the millions sink ; where yon broad main 
Heaves her dark waves, and spreads the seats of pain ; 
Where long, black clouds, emblaz'd with awful fire, 
Pour sullen round their heads, and in dread gloom retire. 

On the works of Creation and Providence. 

T/^HEN I contemplate those ample and magnifi- 
cent structures, erected over all the ethereal 
plains : when I look upon them as so many reposito- 
ries of light, or fruitful abodes of life : when I remem- 
ber that there may be other orbs, vastly more remote 
than those which appear to our unaided sight ; orbs, 
whose cftulgence, though travelling ever since the cre- 
ation, is not yet arrived upon our coasts: when I stretch 
,tny thoughts to the innumerable orders of being, which 
inhabit all those spacious systems ; fi'om the loftiest ser- 
aph, to the lowest reptile ; from the armies of angels 
v-hich surround the Almighty's throne, to the puni/ na- 
tions, which tinge with purple the surface of the plum. 
or mantle the standing pool with green ; how varioMS 



appear the links of this immeasurable chain ! how vast 
the gradations ia this universal scale of existence ! Yet 
all these, thouj;-h ever so vast and vai'ious, arc the work 
of the Creator's hand, and are full of his presence. 

He rounded in his palm those stupendous globes, 
Avhich are pendulous in the vault of heaven. lie kin- 
dled those astonishingly bright fires, which till the firma- 
ment with a flood of giory. By Him they are suspend- 
ed in fluid ether, and cannot be sha]<en : by Him they 
dispense a perpetual tide of beams, and are never ex- 
hausted. He formed, with inexpressible nicety, that 
<lelicately line ccllectioi3 of tubes ; that unknown mul- 
tiplicity of subtle springs, which organize and actuate 
the frame of the minutest insect. 

He bids the crimson current roll ; the vital move- 
ments play ; and associates a world of wonders^ even in 
an animated point. In all these is a signal exhibition 
of creating power : to all these are extended the special 
regards of preserving goodness. From hence let me 
learn to rely on the providence, and to revere the pres- 
ence, of Supreme Majesty. Amidst that inconceivable 
number and variety of beings, which swarm through 
the regions of creation, not one is overlooked, not one 
is neglected, by the great Omnipotent Cause of all. 

Speech of Mr. Fox, in, the British Parliament, 
ON American Affairs, 1778. 

YOU have now two wars before you, of which you 
must choose one, for both you cannot support. 
The war against America has hitherto been carried on 
against her alone, unassisted by any ally whatever. 
Notwithstanding she stood alone, you have been obliged 
uniformly to increase your exertions, and to push your 
efforts to the extent of your power, without being able 
to bring it to an issue. You have exerted all your force 
hitherto without effect, and you cannot now divide a 
f©rce, found alrssady inadequate to it-s ©bject. 


My opinion is for withdi-awing your forces from 
America entirely ; for a defensive war you can never 
think of there. A defensive war would ruin this nation 
at any time ; and in any circumstances, offensive war 
is pointed out as proper for this country ; our situation 
points it out ; and the spirit of the nation impels us to 
attack rather than defend. Attack France, then, for 
she is your object. The nature of the wars is quite dif- 
ferent : the war against Amei'ica is against your own 
countrymen ; you have stopped me from saying against 
your fellow subjects ; that against France is against 
your inveterate enemy and rival. Every blow you sti-^kc 
in America is against yourselves ; it is against all idea 
of reconciliation, and against your own interest, though 
you should be able, as you never will be, to force them 
to Every stroke against France is of advantage 
to you : America must be conquered in France ; Fra.nce 
never can be conquered in America. 

The war of the Americans is a war of passion ; it is of 
such a nature as to be supported by the most powerful 
virlucs, love of liberty and of their country ; and, at the 
same time, by those passions in the human heart which 
give courage, strength, and perseverance to man ; the 
spirit of revenge for the injuries you have done them ; 
of retaliation for the hardships you have inflicted on 
them ; and of opposition to the unjust powers you have 
exercised over them. Every thing combines to animate 
them to this war, and such a war is without end ; for 
whatever obstinacy, enthusiasm ever inspired man with, 
you will now find in America. No matter what gives 
birth to that enthusiasm ; whether the name of religion 
or of liberty, the effects are the same ; it inspires a spirit 
which is unconquerable, and solicitous to undergo dif- 
ficulty, danger, and hardship : and as long as there is 
a man in America, a being formed such as we are, you 
will have him present himself against you in the field. 

The war of France is a war of another sort ; the war 
©f France is a war of interest : i^ was her interest which 
first induced her to engage in it, and it is by that inter- 
¥2 est. 


est that she will measure its continuance. Turn your 
face at once against her ; attack her wherever she is 
exposed ; crush her commerce v^^herever you can ; make 
her feel heavy and immediate distress throughout the 
nation : the people will soon cry out to their govern- 
ment. Whilst the advantages she promises herself are 
remote and uncertain, inflict present evils and distresses 
upon her subjects : the people will become discontented 
and clamorous ; she will find it a bad bargain, having 
entered into this business ; and you will force her to 
desert any ally that brings so much trouble and distress 
upon her. 

What is become of the ancient spirit of this nation? 
Where is the national spirit that ever did honor to this 
country? Have the present ministry spent that too, 
with almost the last shilling of your money ? Are they 
not ashamed of the temporizing conduct they have used 
towards France ? Her correspondence with America 
has been clandestine. Compare that with their conduct 
towards Holland, some time ago ; but it is the charac- 
teristic of little minds to be exact in little things, whilst 
they shrink from their rights in great ones. 

The conduct of France is called clandestine : look 
back but a year ago to a letter from one of your Sec* 
retaries of State of Holland ; '* it is with surprise and 
indignation" your conduct is seen, in something done 
by a petty governor of an island, while they affect to 
call the measures of France clandestine. This is the 
way that ministers support the character of the nation, 
^nd the national honor and glory. But look again how 
that same Holland is spoken of to-day. Even in yotir 
correspondence with her your littleness appears. 

From this you may judge of your situation ; fro] 
Hiis you may know what a state you are reduced to: 
ilow will the French party in Holland exuU over you, 
and grow strong ! She will never continue your ally, 
when you meanly crouch to France, and do not dare 
to stir in your defence ! But it is nothing extraordinary 
that she should not, while vou keep the ministers you 

hav ' 


have. No power in Europe is blind ; there is none 
blind enough to ally itself with weakness, and be- 
«ome partner in bankruptcy; there is no one blind 
enough to ally themselves to obstinacy, absurdity, and 

The Conjurer, a Dialogue. 

Richard and Jack. 

T '^h '\l^^^ ^ strange man this is, Richard! Did: 
flc . y y ^.^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^ conjurer before ? 

Richard. 'There was one travelled this way before 
your remembrance ; but he missed his figure very much. 
I was to have been an otiicer before this time, accord- 
ing to his predictions; and you, Jack, were to have 
had a fine rich young lady for your sister-in-law. But 
he was only an apprentice in the art ; no more than 
A, B, C, to this man. 

Jhck. Aye, he is master of his trade, I warrant 
you. I dare say, when father comes home, he can tell, 
him which way the thief is gone with our old Trot. 
Uncle Bluster is coming over here this evening to find 
out who has got his watch. The conjurer is just 
gone out to look at the stars. I suppose, after he has 
viewed them a while, he will cast a ligure in his great 
black-art book in the other room, aad tell in a trice 
what things are stolen, and where they are, to a hair's 

. Rich. He must have a hawk's eye to see the stan 
this evening. Why don't you know. Jack, it is cloudy 
out a'doors ? 

' Jack, That's nothing with him. He could look 
through the clouds with h;s glass, if it was as dark as 
Egypt, as easy as you can look into the other room ; or,^ 
if he had a mind, he could brush away the clouds in a 
trice, with that long wand he carries in his hand. 

Rich, No doubt he is a great almanac maker. ^ V\\ 
be bouftd he could foretel the weathjer to a tittle for a 



thousand years to come. I wish I knew the tenth part 
as much about the planets as he docs. 

Jack, So do I. Don't you think our neighbours 
could hire him to keep our school, instead of 'Master 
Thinkwell ? I believe he has fifty times as much learn- 
ing. Aunt Betty told me this afternoon, that he knew. 
every star in the sky as well as I do the cattle ia our 
stable ;and that he was as well acquainted with every 
crook and turn in the milky- way, as I am with the 
road to mill. They say he rode round to all the plan-- 
ets one night, in a chaise made of moon-light, drawn 
by flying horses. 1 

Conjurer. \^W{tho}it, in a grum hollovt voice,^ Hoc ' 
noxe conventio planetorum tenetur est in domus 

Rich, Hark! he is going by the window :. don't 
you hear him talking to himself? 

Jack, What a strange language he uses I He is 
talking to the man in the moon, 1 dare say. He will- 
go into the back room and cast a figure now : I will look., 
through the key-hole and see him. [Exit Jack, t 

Rich, \_Solus.'] What a prodigious learned man this ^ 
conjurer must be ! I should suppose he had read ail the 
books in the world, and •onversed with spirits a hun- 
dred years, to know as much as he does. 
Enter Thinkwell. 

lam glad to see you. Master Thinkwell. Have you- 
heard the rare news of the conjurer that is come to 
town ? 

Thinkwell, Yes ; and I am informed he has taken 
up lodgings at your house to-night. You are greatly 
honored to be sure. 

Rich, He is a very extrao^inary man, I'll assure you. 

Think, So far I agree with you, Richard. I believe^ 
he is an extraordinary man, and an extraordinary im- 
postor too. 

Rich, You are always on the side of contraries, Mas- 
ter Thinkwell ; but every body is not of so stubborn 
Ibiith as you. Why, there is as great a st^ m. town as 



'there wos when Prince Edward v/ent through it. All 
the ladies are as miich in the fidgets to see the con- 
jurer, as they were to sec him. 

Think. It is much easier to account for those things 
than to justify them. We shall always act beneath our- 
selves, while we look up to worthless wTCtchcs as our 
superiors. Prince Edward was certainly no more than a 
man. This conjurer, in my opinion, is much less : I 
consider him beneath co» tempt. I am as great a 
friend to mirth as yourself; but it is really mortifying 
•that my friends should be so anxious to make them- 
selves the objects of ridicule. 

Rich, This is your old strain, Master Think well. 
I know you are apt to get round me in your arguments ; 
but I believe the conjurer knows much more than both 
of us. I might go to you to learn grammar, arithmetic, 
and the common bra^iches that arc taught at school ; 
but I shall go to him to have my fortune told. 

Think, Have patience ; and time, the only true 
fortune-teller, will disclose the future, v/ithout any paj^ 
fast enough for your happiness or profit. Let me ad- 
vise you to lay out your money for more valuable com- 
modities than such gross imposition. Believe me, Rich- 
ard, this man was never admitted into the cabinet of 
futurity any more than you or I, and knows no more 
of the events of to-morrow, next day, or next year, 
than the orang outang. 

Rich. Allour neighbours think very difierendy. He 
has told Mrs. Primblc where she may find her silver 
spoon ; and Sam Hodkins, the very day he is to be 
married ; and the very first moment he cast his eyes on 
Bill Blunders face, he saw the scar on his foot, and 
ytold him he had been wounded with an axe. 
' Tliink. Depend on it, Richard, it is all gross impo- 
sition. What carel(*ss lad is there, who uses an 'axe, 
that has not a scar on his feet ? 

Rich, If a man of common learning can foretel what 
is pa?t, I don't see, for my pcu't, wliy a conjurer may 



liot foretel what is to come. [K'no eking at the door,], ^ 
Ah ! Aunt Betty Wrinkle, I know by her rap. 
Enter Betty Wrinkle. 
Bdty, Hov/ do you do, Richard? a word with 
you, if you please, *cousin. [To Pkhard, They go 
'to the other side of the room,] h the fortune-teller at 
your house, Richard? 

Rich. He is casting a figure in the back rooDi. 
Betty, Can I sec- him ? 1 wish to ask him a few ques- 
tions in private. _ |' 
Enter Mrs. Credulous anc? Jack, in haste, ^ 
Mrs, Credulous. Law, sister Betty ! I am glad to see 
you ! I am half frighted out of my senses ! 
Betty, What is the matter, sister ? 
Mrs, Cred, I have been looking through the key- 
hole to see the conjurer. I believe there is a spell of 
enchantment upon him ! The room will be full of 
spirits in five minutes ! 

Betty, O, don't be frighted, sister ; if he can conjure 
them up, he can conjure them down again. He won't 
let them hurt you. I shouldn't be afraid to go right 
into the room among them, not L 

Rich, If they were to come in the shape of widow- 
ers or old bachelors, perhaps you. would not. 

Betty, Law, how you joke, cousin. [Cuffing his ears, 

Mrs, Cred. This is no jesting matter, 1 assure you. 

I co\ild .%ce plainly the candle burnt blue ; there was a 

circle of fire round his head, and it began to smoke 

©ut of his mouth and nose. 

Bet, Poh ! nothing more than his breath, Idare say. 
Jack, And 1 thought I saw the shadow of a spirit. 
The cat sav/ it too ; for she looked as wild as though 
she would fly out of the window. 

Betty, Weil, you won't frighten me^ I am determin- 
ed to see him, if he breathes nothing but fire and smoke. 
Conj, [Speaking loud in the other room,] Horum 
qworum spiritorum, veniunto ! 

Mrs. Cred, Law me ! the very ghosts are come 

novf ! he ia talking to them, 



Think, They will never understand him, unless he 
uses better Latin. 

Mrs, Cred, O, good master Think well ! you can 
talk Latin; do go and pray them, for mercy's sake! 
beseech them to leave the house. Do, quick ! 

Think, Do compose yourself, Mrs. Credulous : there 
are no worse spirits here than ignorance and folly ; and 
they, of all others, are the most incorrigible. If you 
please, I will go and turn this scape-gallows out of 
your house, and put an end to your fears. {Going, 

Mrs, Cred, O, stop! don't think of such a thing 
for the world. If you should aftront him, he would 
raise a tempest and carry the house away in a minute. 
Mercy on me ! he knows what you have said now ! 
how dark it grows ! O, the wind begins to rise ! I 
will leave the house ! we shall all be flying in the air 
in an instant! 

Rich, Don't be so terrified, ma'am. I don't hear 
any wind. 

Jack, I do ; and see it too. [Looking out at the win- 
dow.] Dear me ! how black it is ! 

Betti/, You are very much frighted, sister. For 
my part, I am not afraid of the conjurer or any other 

Rich, You were never quite so shy 6f them as they 
are of you. 

Betty, Shy of me ! 

Mrs, Cred, Well, you must all take care of your- 
selves. I will run over to Mr. Rector's the minister* 
He may save the house ; he is a good man. What 
would I give, if I had never seen this wicked conjurer ! 
[Going out of the door,] Mercy ! the ground rises up 
under my feet; I can almost hear it thunder! Dear 
me, I shall meet a spirit ! Master Thinkwell, you are 
not apt to be frighted ; do go with me to the minister's. 

Think, At your request I will. Tor your credit's 
sake, compose yourselves, and let not this shameful af- 
fair be related abroad. [Exit ThinkwclL 



Betty, Vm sure I don't see any cause for all this 
flu Iteration. 

Jack, I believe I was more scared than hurt. The 
cat, I see, has got over her fright : she is playing in 
the entry as sprightly as you, aunt Betty. 

Betty, Well said, Jack. [Patting his cheeks,'] Do 
you think I could speak with the conjurer now, Rich- 
ard ? 

Rich, I see nothing of any spirits yet. We will 
venture to go and see what he is about. 

[They go out of the room, 

SCENE changes, and discovers the Conjurer sitting at 
a table and making characters in a large book. He 
rises, takes his zvand, and moves it slowly round a 
large circle, drawn on thejioor, and filled with char' 

Betty, [Advancing slowly,] Law me, my heart is in 
my mouth ! I dare riot speak to him. [She staiids and 
looks at him, and on Richard and Jack at the other side 
of the room alternately.] 

Conj, Horum charactarius in hoc circulum omnes 
planetorum atque eorum inhabitantibilsque recto repre- 
sentur ; et atque genii spiritonimque. 

Betty. Bless me ! what a world of learning he has ! 
I can't understand a word he says. 

Jack, [To Richard.] That circle u full of spirits, 1 
suppose^ He has made them put on their coats of air, 
that we might not see thcnii 

Conj. I perceive, lady, by the mystic characters of 
this circle, you approach this way to inquire into the 
occult mysteries of fate, and to know of me your future 

Betty, He knows my very thoughts. [Aside,] Learn- 
ed Sir, be so good as to take this, and answer me a 
few questions I shall ask you. 

[Offering him a piece of money i 

Conj, You must first answer me a few questions. 
Your name, Madam ? 



Betty, Elizabeth Wrinkle, at your service, Sir. 

Conj, [Writing her name in his book,'] Do you rec- 
ollect whether the day that Burgoyne was captured 
was clear or cloudy ? 

Betti/. That was quite before my remembrance, Sir. 
[Looki?ig in a glass,] I am sure nobody could take me 
for more than tweiity-five. [Aside, 

Co,j. I am not to be deceived, madam. 

[Looking out at the zuindozu through his glass. 

Jack, [To Richard,] Hark ! we shall know her 
age now. He looks clear through time, with that glass, 
as easy as you can look through a key-hole. 
, Betti/, Good Sir, don't expose me ! pray speak low. 

Conj, Young men, withdraw, and shut that door. 

[Richard and Jack leave the room, 

I told you I was not to be deceived. You were born, 
Anno Domini, one thousand, seven hundred and — 

Betty, Law me ! how should he know I was born in 
fifty-five ? The treacherous stars miist have betrayed 
me ; not my looks, 1 am sure. [Aside, 

Conj. I tell you furthermore, the very man, w^hom 
the fates had singled out for your husband, by the fatal 
destiny of the stars, was slain at the taking of Burgoyne. 

Betty, Dear me! O cruel stars, and more cruel 
Britons ! how many husbands and wives have ye sep- 
arated ! Were it not for you, I should have been mar- 
ried twenty years ago. But since the fates have been 
so very cruel, don't you think they will be so kind as 

to provide me you know, what 1 mean, Mr. Con- 


Conj. Another husband. I will inquire. 

[Moving his zcand round the circle* 
Enter Mr, Credulous and Bluster. 

Betty, Law, brother, you have come in the very, 
nick of time. I was just going to ask the Conjurer 
about your horse. 

Conj, By the mysterious numbers of this circle, and 
the hidden virtue of this wand, I perceive you have 
lost a horse. Cred. 


Cred, You have cast your figure right. My poor 
Trot has been gone ever since the twentieth day of 

Conj. [Moving his wand over the circle^ and touching 
particular characters. Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Can- 
cer ; that is it precisely. You are under a little mis- 
take, Sir ; it was on the twentieth night of June. 

Bluster, You are right, you arc right, Mister Con- 
jurer. The same night I had my watch stolen. 

Conj, Aries, March ; Taurus, April ; Gemini, May; 
Cancer, June. On the night of June tv;entieth, pre- 
cisely at twenty-three minutes past twelve, the horse 
was stolen from your pasture, by a thief. 

Blust, There, brother Credulous, you have it as 
exact as the multiplication table. 

Cred, Strange what learning will do ! [Giving 
a piece of money to the. Conjurer,'^ Now, Sir, be so 
good as to tcA^ me vhere the horse is, and how I shall 
find the very mief. Rascal ! I shall have you now. 

[To himself i 

Conj, [Making characters in his book,] The stars 
are inauspicious at present. Mercury, the patron of 
thieves, bears rule to-night. I shall be able to detect 
him to-morrow\ Hah ! that is a lucky figure. Quod 
erat demonstrandum. I have got a clue to the watch 
in .spite of Mercury. 

Blust. Put me in a way of finding it, and you shall be 
Wdii paid. We must secure our houses, brother Cred- 
ulous, or this rogue of a Mercury Vv-ill h^ve our very 
beds from under us, before morning. 

Conj, It shall be forth coming immediately. [Figure 

ing in his look,'] One hundrcdand twenty-seven rods 

northeasterly from this table, in Chinese measure, lies a 

hollow tree ; in that tree lies your watch. 

Enter LoNGSTAFF, 071 Officer, two WiTif esses, and 


Betty, Bless me ! half the town will be here : it is 

time for me to 2^. [Exit. 

* Blust. 


Blust. Mr. Longstaff, be so good as not to interrupt 
the Conjurer. He has just told me where my watch is, 
and will detect the thief with a few figures more. 

Longstaff, My duty obliges me to interrupt him. 
We have your watch, and are come to secure ihe thief. 
[To the Conjurer,] You have run at large, and de- 
frauded the honest and ignorant long enough. By 
virtue of this warrant, you are the state's prisoner, 

Conj. What trick shall I try now ! I am detected at 
last. [Aside. 

Cred, You must be misinformed, Mr. Longstaff. 
This man is so far from being a thief, that he is a 
greater torment to them than their own consciences. 

Long, Hear the evidence of these gentlemen, and 
you may alter your mind. 

1st, Witness, I suppose this watch to be yours, Mr. 

Blust, It is the very same ; the chain only is changed. 

1st, Wit, I happened to overhear him talking with 
one of his gang last evening. This watch, with a num- 
ber of other articles, was t'o be hidden in a hollow tree. 
This impostor, to maintain the credit of a conjurer, was 
to inform the owners, on inquiry, where they were, 
upon their paying him for the imposition. I have been 
so fortunate as to secure one of the partners in this 
trade. And as I heard this gentleman, for whom you 
have so much regard, had taken up lodgings at your 
house, 1 did not choose to interrupt you till there was 
full proof of his guilt. The stolen goods, which he 
described, at^d we have found, are suificient evidence 
against him. 

Cred, Villain ! a halter is too good for your neck. 
May I be taught common sense by a monkey, if ever 
tam duped again in such a manner. 

2J. Wit, My evidence tends rather to impeach the 
character of my townsmen than this worthless fellow's. 
All I can say, is, that several months ago, he travelled 
this road in character of a tinker ; and now all our 
young girls, old maids, and ignorant fellows, are run- 


ning after this wise Conjurer to buy the history of their 
lives, which, a little while since, they were Weak- 
enough to give him for nothing. 

Thmk, \ hope the impostor will be brought to jus- 
tice, and we to our senses ; and that after paying this 
infatuated devotion to vice and ignorance, virtue and 
true knowledge may have our more serious veneration. 

Long, Gentlemen, assistme to conduct him to prison. 

[Exeurd omnes. 

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech in the British 
Parliament, Jan. 20, 1775. 

f\/^HEN your lordships look at the papers trans^ 
^ ^ mitted to us fi'om America ; when you con- 
sider their decency, firmness, and wisdom, you cannot 
but respect their cause, and wish to make it your own. 
For myself, I must declare and avow, that in all my 
reading and observation, (and it has been my favourite 
study : I have read Thucidydes, and have studied and 
admired the master-states of the v/orld :) I say I must 
declare, that, for solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity, 
and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complication 
of difficult circumstances, no nation, or body of mea 
can stand in preference to the General Congress at 
Philadelphia. I trust it is obvious to your lordships, 
that all attempts to impose servitude upon such men, to 
establish despotism over such a mighty continental na- 
tion, must be vain, must be fatal. 

We shall be forced, ultimately, to retract; let us 
retract while we can, not when we must, I say we 
must necessarily undo these violent oppressive acti 
They MUST be repealed. You WILL repeal them 
I pledge myself for it, that you will in the end repeal 
them. I stake my reputation on it. I will consent to 
be taken for an ideot, if they are not finally repealed. 

Avoid, then, this humiliating, disgraceful necessity. 
With a dignity becoming your exalted situation, make 



the first advances to concord, to peace and happiness : 
for it is your true dignity, to act with prudence and 
justice. Thatyow should first concede, is obvious from 
sound and rational policy. Concession comes with bet- 
ter grace, and more salutary eflects from superior pow- 
er ; it reconciles superiority of power wdth the feelings 
of men ; and establishes solid confidence on the founda- 
tions of atfection and gratitude. 

Every motive, therefore, of justice and of policy, of 
dignity and of prudence, urges you to allay the fer- 
ment in America, by a removal of your troops from 
BovSton ; by a repeal of your acts of Parliament; and 
by demonstration of amicable dispositions towards your 
colonics. On the other hand, every danger and every 
hazard impend, to deter you from perseverance in your 
present ruinous measures. Foreign war hanging over 
your heads by a slight and brittle thread : France and 
Spain watching your conduct, and waiting for the ma- 
turity of your errors ; with a vigilant eye to America, 
and the temper of your colonies, more than to their 
own concerns, be they what they may. 

To conclude, my lords ; if the ministers thus perse- 
vere in misadvising and misleading the king, I will not 
say, that they can alienate the affections of his subjects 
from his crown ; but I will affirm, that they will make 
the crown not worth his wearing : I will not say that 
the king is betrayed ; but I will pronounce, that the. 
kingdom is undone. 

Speech of Galgachus to the Caledonian Army, 

Countrymen, and Fellow-Soldiers, 

WHEN I consider the cause, for which we have 
drawn our swords, and the necessity of striking 
an eflfectual blow, before we sheathe them again, I feel 
joyful hopes arising in my mind, that this day an open- 
ing will be made for the restoration of British liberty, 
Q 2 and 


and for shaking off the infamous yoke of Roman slavery. 
Caledonia is yet free. The all-grasping power of Rome 
has not yet been able to seize our liberty. But it is to 
be preserved only by valour. 

You are not to expect to escape the ravage of the 
general plunderers of mankind, by any sentiment of 
justice in them. When xhe countries which are more 
accessible have been subdued, they will then force their 
way into those which are harder to be overcome. 
And if they should conquer the dry land, over the 
whole world, they will then think of carrying their 
arms beyond the ocean, to see whether there be not 
certain unknown regions, which they may attack, and 
reduce under subjection to the Roman empire, ' 

For we see that if a country is thought to be powei# 
ful in arms, the Romans attack it because the conquest 
will be glorious ; if inconsiderable in the military art, 
because the victory will be easy ; if rich, they are 
drawn thither by the hope of plunder ; if poor, by the 
desire of fame. 

The east, and the west, the south, and the north, the 
face of the whole earth is the scene of their military 
achievements. The world is too little for their ambi- 
tion, and their avarice. Their supreme joy seems to 
be ravaging, fighting, and shedding of blood ; and when 
they have unpeopled a region, so that there are none 
left alive to bear arms, they say they have given peace 
to that country. 

Our distance from the seat of government, and our 
natural defence by the surrounding ocean, render us 
obnoxious to their suspicions : for they know tliat 
Britons are born with an instinctive love of liberty : 
and they conclude that we must naturally be led to 
think of taking the advantage of our detached situation! 
to disengage ourselves, one time or another, from theK 

Thu^, my countrymen and fellow-soldiers, suspect/ed 
aacl tiat^d as >ye ever rpust b^ by the Roin^ns, tlxere i« 
n9 Pffip^ef j^ yi^i- 8PJ?y¥Jg eyep a tol^yable ?tate q^ 
._ " ' ■" ' ' ' bondag;! 


bondage under them. Let us, then, in the name of 
all that is sacred, and in defence of all that is dear to 
us, resolve to exert ourselves, if not for glory, at least 
for safety ; if not in vindication of British honor, at 
least in defence of our lives. 

But, after all, who are these mighty Romans ? Are 
they gods ; or mortal men, like ourselves ? Do we 
not see that they fall into the same errors and weak- 
nesses, as others ? Does not peace efteminate them ? 
Does not abundance debauch them ? Does not wan- 
tonness enervate them ? Do they not even go to ex- 
cess in the most unmanly vices ? And can you imagine 
that they who are remarkable for their vices arc like- 
wise remarkable for their valour ? What then do we 
dread ? Shall I tell you the truth, my fellow-soldiers ? 
It is by means of our intestine divisions, that the Ro- 
jnans have gained such great advantage over us. They 
turn the misconduct of their enemies to their own 
praise. They boast of what they have done, and say 
nothing of what we might have done, had we been so 
wise, as to unite against them. 

What is this formidable Roman army? Is it not 
composed of a mixture of people from ditferent coun- 
tries j some more, some less capable of bearing fatigue 
and hardship? They keep together while they are 
successful. Attack them v/ith vigour : distress them : 
you will see them more disunited than we are now. 
Can any one imagine, that Gauls, Gei-mans, and with 
shame I must add, Britons, who basely lend their limbs 
and lives, to build up a foreign tyranny ; can one im- 
agine that these will be longer enemies than slaves ? 
or that such an army is held together by sentiments of 
fidelity or affection ? No : the only bond of union 
among them is fear. And whenever terror ceases to 
work upon the minds of that mixed multitude, they 
who now fear, will then hate their tyrannical masters. 
On our side there is every possible incitement to valour. 
The Roman courage is not, as ours, inflamed by the 
thoughts of wives and children in danger of falling in- 



to the hands of the enemy. The Romans have not * 
parents, as we have, to reproach them if they should 
desert their infirm old age. They have no country 
here to fight for. They are a motley collection of 
foreigners, in a land wholly unknown to them' ; cut 
off from their native country, hemmed in by the sur- 
rounding ocean; and given, I hope, a prey into our 
hands, without any possibility of escape. Let not the 
sound of the Roman name atiVight your cans, nor let 
the glare of gold or silver, upon their armour, dazzle 
your eyes. It is not by gold or silver, that men are 
cither w^ounded or defended ; though they are ren- . 
dered a richer prey to the conquerors. Let us boldly '| 
attack this disunited rabble. We shall find among them- 1 
selves a reinforcement to our army. 

And what will there be then to fear ? A few half 
garrisoned forts : a few municipal towns, inhabited by 
worn-out old men ; discord universally prevailing, oc- 
casioned by tyranny in those who command, and ob- 
stinacy in those Avho should obey. On our side, anv 
army united in the cause of their country, their wives, 
their children, their aged parents, their lives. At the 
head of this army, I hope I do not oiiend against modesty 
rn saying, there is a General ready to exert all his abil- 
ities, such as they are, and to hazard his life in leading 
30U to victor}^ and to freedom. 

I conclude, my countrymen and fellow-soldiers, 
with putting you in mind, that on your behaviour this 
day depends your future enjoyment of peace and lib- 
erty, or your subjection to a tyrannical enemy, with 
all its grievous consecjuenccs. When, therefore, you 
come to engage, think of your ancestors, and think of 
your posterity. 



Modern Educatiox. 

Dialogue between* a Preceptor of an Academy, 

AND Parent of an offered Pupil. 

Preceptor, T AM heartily sick of this modern mode 
[Solus,] X of education. Nothing but trat^h will 
suit the taste of people at this day. I am perplexed be- 
yond all endurance with these frequent solicitations of 
parents, to give their children graceful airs, polite ac- 
complishments, and a smattering of what they call the 
fine arts ; while nothing is said about teaching them the 
substantial branches of literature^ If they can but dance 
a little, fiddle a little, flute a litde, and make a hand- 
some bow and courtesy, that is sufficient to make themf 
famous, in this enlightened age. Three-fourths of the 
teachers of those arts, which once were esteemed most 
valuable, will soon be out of employment, at tliis rate. 
For my part, I am convinced, that, if I had been a 
dancing master, music master, stage player, or mounte- 
bank, 1 should have been much more respected, and 
much better supported, than I am at present. 
Enter Parent. 

Parent. Your humble servant, Sir; are you the 
principal of this Academy ? 

Precep, I am, at your service, Sir. 

Par. I have heard much of the fame of your insti- 
tution, and am desirous of putting a son, of about 
twelve years of age, under your tuition. I suppose 
you have masters who teach the various branches of 
the polite arts. 

Precep. We are not inattentive to those arts. Sir; 
but the fame of our Academy does not rest upon them. 
Useful learning is our grand object. What studies do 
you wish to put your son upon ? 

Par, I wish him to be perfected in music, dancing, 
drawing, Sic, and as he possesses a promising genius for 
poetry, I would by all means have that cultivated. 



Precep, These are not all the branches, I trust, ia 
which he is to be instructed. You mention nothing of 
reading, writing, arithmetic, language, &c. Are these 
to be wholly neglected ? 

Par. Why, as to these every-day branches, I can- 
not say I feel very anxious about them. The boy reads 
well now; writes a decent hand; is acquainted with 
the ground rules of arithmetic, and pronounces the 
English language genteelly. He has been a long time 
under the care of Mr. Ilonestus, our town schoolmas- 
ter, who has taught him all these things sutTiciently. 
So that I think any more time devoted to them would 
be wasted. 

Precep, If he is such an adept that there is no room 
for his progressing in those arts ; yet I think, at least, 
there is need of practice, lest, at his age, he should 
forget what he has learned. 

Par. That I shall leave to your discretion. But 
there is one branch, of great importance, which I have 
not yet mentioned, and to which I would have particu- 
lar attention paid ; I mean the art of speaking. You 
will find him not deficient in that respect ; though per- 
haps it requires as much practice to make one perfect in 
that, as in any art whatever. He has already learned 
by heart a great number of pieces, and has acted a part 
in several comedies and tragedies with much applause. 
It has been the custom of our master to have an exhi- 
bition at least once a quarter ; and my son has always 
been considered as one of his best performers. He 
lately took the part of Jemmy Jumps, in the farce called 
The Farmer, and acted it to universal acceptation. 

Precep. I must confess, Sir, that your account of 
your son does not appear to me to be very flattering. 

Par. Why so, pray ? have you not an ear for elo- 
quence ? 

Precep. Indeed I have, Sir. No man is more 
charmed than I am with its enrapturing sounds. No 
music rests sweeter on my ear than the melodious notes, 
proceeding from the mouth of a judicious, \. ell-instruct- 


ed, and powerful orator. But I must tell you plainly, 
that I am by no means pleased to see parents take so 
much pains to transform their children into monkeys 
instead of men. What signs of oratory do you imagine 
you can discern in a boy, rigged out in a fantastical 
dress, skipping about the stage like a baboon, in the 
•character of Jemmy Jumps, Betty Jumps, or any other 
jumper ? 

Par, Do you not approve of exhibitions then ? 

Precep, Not much, I confess, in the way they are 
^generally conducted. A master, who has four in a, 
year, must necessarily rob his pupils of one quarter of 
that time, which, in my opinion, might be much belter 
employed in attending to what would be useful for 
■them in life. 

Par, What can be more useful for a child, under 
such a government as ours, than to be able to speak 
before an audience with a graceful ease, and a manful 
dignity ? My son, for aught I know, may be a member 
of Congress before he dies. 

Precep, For that very reason I would educate hini 
differently. I would lay the foundation of his future 
fame on the firm basis of the solid sciences ; that he 
might be able in time to do something more than a mere 
parrot^ or an ape, who arc capable only of speaking 
the words, and mimicking the actions of others. He 
should first be taught to read. He should likewise be 
taught to compose for himself; and I v.ould not be 
Wanting in my endeavours to make him a speaker. 

Par, Surely, Mr. Preceptor, you must be very 
wrong in your notions; 1 have ever pursued a difier- 
'ent plan with my children; and there are none in the 
country, though I say it myself, who are more univer- 
sally caressed. I have a daughter that ha^ seen but 
fourteen years, who is capable of gracing the politest 
circles; It is allowed that she can enter, and leave a 
room, with as much ease and dignity as any lady of 
quality whatever. . And this is evidently owing alto- 
gether to her polite education. I boarded her a year 



in the capital, where she enjoyed every possible advan- 
tage. She attended the most accomplished masters in 
the ornamental branches of science ; visited the gen- 
teelest families, and frequented all the scenes of amuse- 
ment. It is true, her letters are not always written 
quite so accurately as could be wished ; yet she dances 
well, plays well on the piano-forte, and sings like a 

Precep, Does she know the art of makmg a good 
pudding ? Can she darn a stocking well ? or is she ca- 
pable of patching the elbows of her husband's coat, 
should she ever be so lucky as to get one ? If she is to 
remain ignorant of all such domestic employments, as 
much as I value her other accomplishments, and as 
much as I might be in want of a wife, I would not 
marry her with twice her weight in gold. 

Tar, Her accomplishments will command her a hus- 
band as soon as she wishes. But so long as a single 
cent of my property remains, her delicate hands shall 
never be so unworthily employed. 

Precep. But suppose a reverse of fortune should 
overtake you, what is to become of the child ; as you 
say she understands nothing of domestic affairs ? Will 
it be more honorable, do you imagine, for her to be 
maintained by the charity of the people, than by her 
own industry ? 

Par, There are many ways for her to be supported. 
I would not have you think she is wholly ignorant of 
the use of the needle, though she never employed it in 
-so disgraceful a manner as that of darning stockings ! 
or botching tattered garments ! But we will wave that 
subject, and attend to the other. Will you receive the 
boy for the purposes before mentioned ? 

Precep, Why, indeed, Sir, 1 cannot. Though I 
am far from condemning altogether your favourite 
branches, yet I consider them all as subordinate, and 
some of them, at least, totally useless. We devote but 
a small portion of our time to the attainment of such 
superficial accomplishments. I would therefore recom- 


mend it to you, to commit him to the care of those 
persons, who have been so successful in the instruction 
of his sister. 

. Par, I confess I am so far convinced of the propri- 
ety of your method, that, if you will admit him into 
your Academy, I will renounce all right of dictating to 
you his lessons of instruction, except in one single in- 
stance ; and in that I am persuaded we shall not disa- 
gree ; I mean the art of speaking. 

Preap, I shall agree to that only under certain 
limitations. That is an art which undoubtedly demands 
our solicitous attention ; but it ought never to be pur- 
sued to the injury of other studies. I am sensible that 
it is no less useful to a pupil than entertaining to an 
audience, to exerci:e him occasionally on the stage in 
declaiming judicious and well-writtes compositions, and 
pronouncing such selected dialogues, as will tend to 
give gracefulness to his attitude, and familiarity to his 
tones and gestures. But, admitting that time could be 
spared from more important pursuits, 1 see but little 
good resulting from the exhibition of whole comedies 
and tragedies in our academies and schools ; while 
much evil is to be feared, both from the inimorality of 
the plays, and the dissipation it introduces into society. 
Besides, all boys are not calculated for orators ; and 
though Demosthenes surmounted almost insuperable 
difficulties in the acquirement of his art, it is folly to 
suppose that his example is capable of universal imita- 
tion. I cannot believe it a very pleasing entertainment 
to a discerning audience, to see a boy without talents, 
mounted upon the rostrum, spouting forth sentences 
which he does not understand, and which, perhaps, 
•are chosen with as little judgment as they are deliv- 
ered with propriety. But what can be more disgusting 
than to see innocent, and timid females, whose excel- 
lence, in part, consists in their modesty, and silence be- 
fore superiours, encouraged to reverse the order of na- 
ture, by playing the orator on a public stage! And 
what often enhances our disgust, and sickens all our 
R feelings. 


feelings, is, that their lips are taught to pronounce 
sentiments, extracted from the very dregs of the Euro- 
pean drama. 

Par, Then it seems you do not ajlprove of females 
speaking at all ? 

Precep, Not on a public stage, unless I wished to 
see them divested of half their charius. Such mascu- 
line employments as ill become them, as the labours of 
the field, or the habits of the stronger sex. I would 
have them taught to read and pronounce well at school ; 
but nature never designed them for public orators ; 
much less, that they should be degraded to th€ vile 
purpose of entertaining the votaries of theatrical amuse- 

Par. Why, you differ widely from many, whose 
pride is to be considered as the standards of modern 
taste. It does not now offend against the rules of del- 
icacy, for the different sexes to make exchange of gar- 
ments now and then, provided the grand object of 
amusement be promoted by it. I was in Boston last 
week, and there I saw a beautiful young lady, rigged 
out from top to toe in men's apparel, astride a gay 
horse, parading through the streets, for the entertain- 
ment of fhe ladies and gentlemen of that polite metrop- 
olis. And none appeared to be offended, except a few 
who had not attained a relish for refined pleasures. 

Precep. Yes, and I am told, that, at their theatres, 
it is no uncommon thing for a woman to make her appear- 
ance, in that apparel, with a sword by her side, strut- 
ting across the stage, and swearing, oaths big enough 
to choke an Algerine pirate ; and yet il is so agreeable 
to the modern )o7i, that even ladies of distinguished re- 
finement are ashamed to blush at her ! 

Par, You have made me so far a convert to your 
sentiments on this subject, and given me such proofs of 
your SLiperiour judgment in the education of youth, that 
I am determined to^commit my son, without any reserve, 
to your care and instruction. Till you hear from me 
again, I am, Sir, your obedient servant. 



The ExiSTE.vcE of God, demonstrated from the 
Works or Creation ; eeing a Sermon preached 
AT Providence, by Jonathan Maxcy, a. m. 
President of Rhode-Island College, 1795; 
from Romans i. 20. 

[N. B. lilien found expedient , the following Sermon maj/ 
conienientlybe divided into three orfour parts ^suitable for 
declamations* The author of this work did not intend at 
first to insert the whole ^ but, in attempting to make a selec- 
tion, he could find no part which he zoas willing to leave.] 

IV'OTHING will more effecluaDy guard us against 
■^^ vice, than a firm belief m the existence of God. 
For surely if we realize that there Ls such a Being, we 
shall naturally infer from his perfections, from the na- 
ture of his moral government, and from our situation 
as rational creatures, that we are amenable at his awful 
tribunal. Superior power, wisdom, and goodness, 
always lay us under restraint, and command our vene- 
ration. These, even in a mortal, overaw^e us. They 
restrain not only the actions, butjhe words and thoughts 
of the most vicious and abandonee. Our happiness de- 
pends on our virtue. Our virtue depends on the con- 
formity of our hearts and conduct to the laws prescri- 
bed us by our beneficent Creator. 

Of what vast importance then is it to our present as 
well as future felicity, to possess in our hearts a feeling 
sense, and in our understanding a clear conviction, of 
the existence of that Being whose power and goodness 
are unbounded, whose presence fills immensity, and 
whose wisdom, like a torrent of lightning, emanates 
^ through all the dark recesses of eternal duration ! How 
/ great must be the effect of a sense of the presence of 
the great Creator and Governor of all things, to whom 
belong the attributes, eternity, independency, perfect 
holiness, inflexiblejustice, and inviolable veracity; com- 
plete happiness and glorious majesty ; suprcme right 
and luibounded dominion ? 

A sense 


A sense of accountability to God will retard the 
eager pursuit of vice ; it will humble the heart of the 
proud, it will bridle the tongue of the profane, and 
snatch the knife from the hand of the assassin. A belief 
of the existence of God is the true original source of all 
virtue, and the only foundation of all religion, natural 
or revealed. Set aside this great luminous truth, erase 
the conviction of it from the heart, you then place vir- 
tue and vice on the same level ; j^ou drive afflicted in-- 
uocence into despair ; you add nevr effrontery to the 
marred visage of guilt ; you plant thorns in the path, 
and shed an impenetrable gloom over the prospects of 
the righteous. 

Sin has alienated the affections, and diverted the at- 
tention of men from the great Jehovah. "Darkness 
lias covered the earth, and gross darkness the people." 
iUen have worshipped the works of their own hands, 
and neglected the true God, though his existence and 
perfections were stamped in glaring characters on all 
creation. From the regularity, order, beauty, and con- 
servation of this great system of things, of which man 
makes a part ; from the uniform tendency of all its di- 
visions to their proper ends, the existence of God shines 
as clearly as the sun in the heavens. " From the 
things that are made," says the text, " are seen his 
eternal power and Godhead." 

1. Man himself is a proof of God's existence. Let 
us place him before us in his full stature. We are at 
once impressed with the beautiful organization of his 
body, with the orderly and harmonious arrangement of 
his members. Such is the disposition of these, that their 
motion is the most easy, graceful, and useful, that can 
be conceived. We are astonished to see the same sim- 
ple matter diversified into so many different substances, 
of different qualities, size, and figure. If we pursue 
our researches through the internal economy, we shall- 
fmd,that all the different opposite parts correspond tofl 
each other with the utmost exactness and order; that . 
they all answer the oiost beneficent purposes. 



This wonderful machine, the human body, is ani- 
mated, cherished, and preserved, by a spirit within, 
which pervades every particle, feels in every organ, 
warns us of injury, and administers to our pleasures. 
Erect in stature, man differs from all other animals. 
Though his foot is confined to the earth, yet his eye 
measures the whole circuit of heaven, and in an instam 
takes in thousands of worlds. His countenance is turn- 
ed upward, to teach us that he is not, like other animals, 
limited to the earth, but looks forward to brighter 
scenes of existence in'^he skies. 

Whence came this erect, orderly, beautiful constitu- 
tion of the human body ? Did it spring up from the 
earth, self-formed ? Surely not. Earth itself is in- 
active matter. That which has no motion can never 
produce any. Man surely could not, as has been 
vainly and idly supposed, have been formed by the for- 
tuitous concurrence of atoms. We behoW the most ex- 
act order in the constitution of the human body. Or- 
der always involves design. Design always involves 
intelligence. That intelligence, which directed the 
orderly formation of the human body, must have resi- 
ded in a being whese power was adequate to the pro- 
duction of such an effect. 

Creation surely is the prerogative of a self-existent, 
uncaused Being. Finite creatures may arrange and 
dispose, but they cannot create ; they cannot give life. 
It is a universal law through all nature, that like pro- 
duces like. The same laws most probably obtain through 
the whole system in which we are connected. We 
have therefore no reason to suppose that angels created 
man. Neither can we, without the greatest absurdity, 
admit that he was formed by himself, or by mere ac- 
cident. If in the latter way, why do we never see 
men formed so in the present day ? Why do we never 
see the clods of earth brightening into human flesh, 
and the dust under our feet crawling into animated 
forms, and starting up into life and intelligence ? 

R2 K 


If wc even admit that either of the foremcntioned 
causes might have produced man, yet neither of theij^ 
could have preserved him in existence one momenfl 
There must therefore be a God uncaused, independent, 
and complete. The nobler part of man clearly evinces 
this great truth. When we consider the boundless de- 
sires and the inconceivable activity of the soul of man, 
we can refer his origin to nothing but God. How as- 
tonishing are the reasoning faculties of man ! How sur- 
prising the power of comparing, arranging, and coi^ 
necting his ideas ! How wonderful is the power of iim 
agination ! On its wings, in a moment, we can transl 
port ourselves to the most distant part of the universe.^ 
We can fly back, and live the lives of all antiquity, or 
surmount the limits of time, and sail along the vast 
range of eternity. Whence these astonishing powers, 
if not from a God of infinite wisdom, goodness, and 
power ? 

2. " The invisible things of him from the creation 
of the world," says the text, " are clearly seen.'* 
Let us for a moment behold our earth. With what a 
delightful scene are we hei-e presented ! the diversifi- 
cation of its surface into land and water, islands and 
lakes, springs and rivers, hills and vallics, mountains 
and plains, renders it to man doubly enchanting. ^Ve 
are entcrtajficjEljf^ath an agreeable variety, without be- 
ing disguste(^ 'by a tedious uniformity. Every thing 
appears admirably formed for our profit and delight. 
There the vallies are clothed in smiling green, and the 
plains are bending with corn. Here is the gentle hill 
to delight the eye, and beyond, slow rising from the 
earth, swells the huge mountain, &nd, with all its load 
of waterB, rocks, and woods, heaves itself up into the 
skies. Why this pleasing, vast deformity of nature,? 
Undoubtedly for the benefit of man. From the mou 
tains descend streams to fertilize the plains below, a 
< over them with wealth and beauty. 

The earth not only produces every thing necessa: 
to support our bodies, but to rem«dy our diseases, a 



gratify our senses. Who covered the. earth with such 
a pleasing variety of fruits and flowers ? Who gave . 
them their delightful fragrance, and painted them with i 
such exquisite colours ? Who causes the same water to 
whiten in the lily, that blushes in the rose ? Do not 
these things indicate a Cause infinitely superiour to any 
finite being ? Do they not directly lead us to believe 
the existence of God, to admire his goodness, to revere 
his power, to adore his wisdom, in so happily accom- 
modating our external circumstances to our situation 
and internal constitution ? 

3. But how are we astonished to behold the vast 
ocean, rolling its immense burden of waters ! Who 
gave it such a configuration of particles as to render it 
moveable by the least pressure, and at the same time so 
strong as to support the heaviest weights ? Who spread- 
out this vast highway of all the nations under 
heaven ? Who gave it its regular motion ? Who 
confined it within its bounds ? A little more mo- 
tion would disorder the whole world ! A small in- 
citement on the tide would drown whole kingdoms. 
Wlio restrains the proud waves, when the tempest lifts 
them to the clouds '/ Who measured the great watersgi 
and subjected them to invariable laws ? That great Be- 
ing, *' who placed the sand lor the bound thereof, by 
a perpetual decree that it cannot pass ; and though 
the waves thereof toss themselves, yet can they not 
prevail ; though they roar, yet can they not pass over." 
With reason may we believe, that from the things that 
are made are clearly seen eternal power and wisdom. 

4. Passing by the numerous productions and appen- 
dages of the earth, let us rise from it, and consider the 
body of air with wdiich we are suiToundcd. What a, 
convincing proof do we here find of the existence of: 
God ! Such is the subtilty and transparency of the 
air, that it receives the rays of the sun and stars, con- 
veying them with inconceivable velocity to objects on 
the earth, rendering them visible, and decorating the 



whole surface of the globe with aa agreeable inter- 
mixture of light, shade, and colours. But still this air 
has a sufficient consistencyand strength to support clouds, 
and all the winged inhabitants. Had it been less sub- 
tile, it would have intercepted the light. Had it beea 
more rarified, it would not have supported its inhab-jjj 
itants, nor have aftbrded sufficient moisture for the pur- i 
poses of respiration. What then but infinite wisdom 
could have tempered the air so nicely, as to give it suf- 
ficient strength to support clouds for rain, to aflbrd 
wind for health, and at the same time to possess the 
power of conveying sound and light ? How wonderful 
is this element! How clearly does it discover infinite 
wisdom, power, and goodness ! 

5. But when we cast our eyes up to the firmament 
of heaven, we clearly see that it declares God's handy 
work. Here the immense theatre of God's works opens 
upon us, and discloses ten thousand magnificent, splen- 
did objects. We dwindle to nothing in comparison 
with this august scene of beauty, majesty, and glory. 
Who reared this vast arch over our heads? Who 
adorned it with so many shining objects, placed at such 
immense distances from each other, regular in their 
motions, invariably observing the laws to which they 
were originally subjected? Who placed the sun at 
such a convenient distance as not to annoy, but refresh 
us ? Who, for so many ages, has caused him to rise and 
set at fixed times ? Whose hand directs, and whose 
power restrains him in his course, causing him to pro- 
duce the agreeable changes of day and night, as well 
as the variety of seasons ? 

The order, harmony, and regularity in the revolutions 
of the heavenly bodies, are such incontestible proofs of 
the existence of God, that an eminent poet well said, 
*' An undevout astronomer is mad." In the time of 
Cicero, when the knowledge of astronomy was very im- 
perfect, he did not hesitate to declare, that in his opin- 
ion the man who asserted the heavenly bodies were not 
framed and moved by a divine understanding, was him- 


self void of all understanding. Well indeed is it said, 
I that the heavens declare the glory of God. 

This great Being is every where present. He ex- 
j ists all around us. He is not, as we are apt to imagine, 
; at a great distance. Wherever we turn, his image 
meets our view. We see him in the earth, in the 
ocean, in the air, in the sun, moon, and stars. We 
feel him in ourselves. He is always working round us ; 
, he performs the greatest operations, produces the no- 
I blest effects, discovers himself in a thousand different 
I ways, and yet the real GOD remains unseen. All 
parts of creation are equally under his inspection. 
I Though he warms the breast of the highest angel ia 
i heaven, yet he breathes life into the meanest insect on 
earth. He lives through all his works, supporting all 
j by the word of his power. He shines in the verdure 
I that clothes the plains, in the lily that delights the vale, 
land in the forest that waves on the mountain. He 
supports the slender reed that trembles in the breeze, 
and the sturdy oak that defies the tempest. His pres- 
ence cheers the inanimate creation. 

Far in the w^ilderncss, where human eye never saw, 
where the savage foot never trod, there he bids the 
blooming forest smile, and the blushing rose opens its 
leaves to the morning sun. There he causes the feath- 
ered inhabitants to whistle their wild notes to the listt^ 
ening trees and echoing mountains. There nature 
lives in all her wanton wildness. There the ravished 
eye, hurrying from scene to scene, is lost in one vast 
blush of beauty. From the dark stream that rolls 
through the forest, the silver-scaled fish leap up, and 
dumbly mean the praise of God. Though man remain 
silent, yet God will have praise. He regards, observes; 
upholds, connects, and equals all. 

Thebelief of his existence is not a point of mere spec- 
ulation and amusement. It is of inconceivable import- 
ance to our present, as well as future felicity. But 
while we believe there is a God, we should be extreme- 
ly careful to ascertain, with as much accuracy as possi- 
ble » 


ble, what is his real nature. The most prominent fea- 
tures of this are exhibited in that nicomprehensible dis- 
play of wisdom, power, and goodness, made m the 
works of creation. A virtuous man stands in a rela- 
tion to God which is peculiarly delightful. The divine 
perfections are all engaged in his defence. He fees 
powerful in God's power, wise in his wisdom, good in 
his goodness. , i • i 

The vicious man, on the contrary, stands in a rela- 
tion to God, which is of all things the most dreadful. 
He is unwilling to know that God has sufficient wisdom 
to search out all his wickedness, sufficient goodness 
to the universe to determine to punish that wickedness, 
and sufficient power to execute that determination. / 
firm belief in the existence of God will heighten a 
the enjoyments of life, and, by conforming our heart 
to his will, will secure the approbation of a good con 
science, and inspire us with the hopes of a blessed im 
mortality. ^ . .^ 

Never be tempted to disbelieve the existence ol G 
when every thing around you proclaims it m a languag 
too plain not to be understood. Never cast your eye 
on creation without having your souls expanded wit, 
this sentiment, " There is a God." When you sur 
vev this globe of earth, with all its appendages ; whei 
you behold it inhabited by numberless ranks of crea- 
tures, all moving in their proper spheres, all verging 
to their proper ends, all animated by the same greai 
source of life, all supported at the same great bounte- 
ous table •, when you behold not only the earth but 
the ocean and the air, ^warminj:; with living creatures, 
all happy in their situation ; when you behold yonder 
sun daning an elTuk^ent blaze of gloi-y over the heav- 
ens, p-arnishing mighty worlds, and waking ten thousan- 
songs of praise ; when you behold unnumbered sy 
terns diffused through vast immensity, clothed in splei 
dour, and rolfing in majesty ; when you behold tlie^ 
things, your affections will rise above all the vanities 
of time • your full souls will struggle with ecstacy- ^nd 

, ar^ 


your reason, passions, and feelings, all united, will rush 
up to the skies, with a devout acknowledgment of the 
existence, power, wisdom, and goodness of God. 

Let us behold him, let us wonder, let us praise and 
adore. These things will make us happy. They will 
wean us from vice, and attach us to virtue. As a be- 
lief of the existence of God is a fundamental point of 
salvation, he who denies it runs the greatest conceivable 
hazard. He resigns the satisfaction of a good conscience, 
quits the hopes of a happy immortality, and exposes 
himself to destruction. All this for what ? for the 
short-lived pleasures of a riotous, dissolute life. How 
wretched, when he finds his atheistical confidence to- 
tally disappointed ! Instead of his beloved sleep and in- 
sensibility, with which he so fondly flattered himself, 
he will find himself still existing after death, removed 
to a strange place ; he will then find that there is a 
God, who will not sufier his rational creatures to fall 
into annihilation as a refiige from the just punishment 
®f their crimes 5 he will find himself doomed to drag on 
a WTctched train of existence in unavailing woe and 
lamentation. Alas ! how astonished will he be to find 
himself plunged in the abyss of ruin and desperation i 
God forbid that any of us should act so unwisely as to 
disbelieve, when every thing around us proclaims his 
existence ! 

The Dignity of Human Nature. 
Extract of an Oration delivered at Rhode- 
Island College, 1796. 

GUIDED by reason, man has travelled through 
the abstruse regions of the philosophic world 
1 He has originated rules by which he can direct the ship 
i through the pathless ocean, and measure th^ comet'i 
flight over the fields of unlimited space. He has estab 
lished society and government. He can aggregate the 
profusions of every climate, and every season. He can 
meliorate the severity, and remedy the imperfections, 




of nature herself. All these things he can perform fey ^ 
the assistance of reason. 

By imagination, man seems to verge towards crea 
tive power. Aided by this, he can perform all the 
wonders of sculpture and painting. He can almost 
make the marble speak* He can almost make the brook 
murmur down the painted landscape. Often, on the 
pinions of imagination, he soars aloft where the eye 
has never travelled ; where other stars glitter on the 
mantle of night, and a more effulgent sun lights up the 
blushes of morning. Flying from world to world, he 
gazes on all the glories of creation ; or, lighting oh 
the distant margin of the universe, darts the eye of 
fancy over the mighty void, where power creative never 
yet has energized ; where existence still sleeps in the 
wide abyss of possibility. 

By imagination he can travel back to the source of 
time ; converse with the successive generations of men, 
and kindle into emulation while he surveys the monu- 
mental trophies of ancient art and glory. He can sail 
down the stream of time until he loses " sight of stars 
and sun, by wandering into those retired parts of eter- 
nity, when^the heavens and the earth shall be no more.' 
To these unequivocal characteristics of greatness m 
•man, let us adduce the testimony of nature herself* 
Surrounding creation subserves the wants and proclaims 
the dignity of man. For him day and night visit the 
world. For him the seasons walktheir splendid round. 
For him the earth teems with riches, and the heavens 
smile with benificence. 

All creation is accurately adjusted to his capacity tot 
bliss. He tastes the dainties of festivity, breathes the 
Derfumes of morning, revels on the charms of melody, 
and regales his eye with all the painted beauties of 
vision. Whatever can please, whatever can charm, 
Avhatever can expand the soul with ecstacy of bhss, 
allures and solicits his attention. All things beautiful, 
all things grand, all things sublime , appear in native love- 
liness, and proffer man the richest pleasures of fruition. 



Infernal Conference. 

e- . TT^RIENDS and confederates, welcome ! 

Satan. !^ for this proof 

Of your affiance, thanks. On every call, 

Whether we need yo\ir counsel or your arms. 

Joyful I see your ready zeal displays 

Virtues, which hell itself cannot corrupt. 

I mean not to declaim : the occasion told 

Speaks its own import, and the time's dispatch 

All waste of words forbids. God's Son on earth, 

Christ, the reveal'd Messias, how t' oppose 

Is now the question ; by what force, or power ; 

(Temptations have been tried, I name not them;) 

Or dark conspiracy, we may pull down 

This Sun of Righteousness from his bright sphere, 

Declare, who can. I pause for a reply. 

Baal, Why thus on me, as I were worthy ; me, 
Lost being like yourselves ; as I alone 
Could compass this high argument ; on me, 
Least in your sapient conclave ; why you point 
These scrutinizing looks, I muse ; and, aw'd 
By this yoi!r expectation, fain would shrink 
From the grest task to silence, had you not 
O'er these poor faculties such full control^ 
As to put by all pleas, and call them forth 
In heaven or earth, or hell's profound abyss, 
Yours in all uses, present at all hours. 
Our kingly chief hath told us we are met 
To combat Christ on earth. Be't so ! We yet 
May try our fortune in another field ; 
Worse fortune than in heav'n befel our arms ; 
Worse downfall than to hell, we cannot prove. 
But with the scene our action too must change: 
How ? to what warfare ? Circumvention, fraud, 
Seduction ; these arc earthly weapons ; these 
As man to man opposes, so must we 
To Christ incarnate. There be some, who cry, 

S Henjf 


Ileucc ^\ ith snc^li dastard arts ! War, open war! 

I honor such bold counsellors, and yield 

All that I can, my praise.: till one be found, 

One that may rival God's own Son in power, 

And miracle to miracle oppose, 

More than my praise I cannot ; my assent 

I will not give ; 'twere madness. And how war ^ 

With God ? what arms may we employ 'gainst him, 

Whose very prophets can call down heaven's fires 

Upon our priests and altars ? For myself, 

What powers I had I shall not soon forget ; 

What I have left I knovr, and for your use 

Shall husband as I may, not vainly risk 

Where they must surely fail. The Jews pretend 

That Christ colludes with Beelzebub ; the Jews 

As far mistake my nature as my name. 

The fallacy, O peers, confutes itself, 

Forg'd to disparage Christ, not honor me. 

Oh ! that I had his v/onder- working powers •, 

I'm not that fool to turn them on myself: 

No, my brave friends, I've yet too much to lose. 

Therefore no more of Beelzebub and Christ ; 

No league, no compact can we hold together. 

What then ensues? Despair? Perish the thought T 

The brave renounce it, and the wise prevent ; 

You are both wise and brave, Our leader sayg 

Temptations have been tried, and tried in vam, 

Himself the tempter. Who will tread that ground, 

Where he was foil'd ? For Adam a mere toy, 

An apple serv'd ; Christ is not brib'd by worlds : 

So much ttfc second Man exceeds the first 

In strength and glory. But though Christ hmiselt 

Will not be tempted, those who hear him may : 

Jews may be urg'd to envy, to revenge, 

To murder : , a reballious,racc of old ! 

Wist ye not what a train this preacher hath, 

What followers, what disciples? These are men. 

Mere men, frail sons of Adam, born in sin. 

Jlsra is our hope. I leave it to your thoughts. - 


Muluch, My thoiiglits it seems are known before I 
speak ; 
War, o})cn war is all my note. I rise 
To thank the prophet, who thus reads my heart, 
Where honesty should wear it, in my face ; 
That face from danger I did never hide \ 
How then from him ? Nor am I by his praise 
More honor'd than by his dissenting voice : 
For whilst he counsels circumvention, fraud, 
Seduction, (if my memory wrong his words 
I yield ft to correction) we stand off, 
Wide as the poles apart. Much 1 had hop'd. 
When the great tempter fail'd, and in your ears 
Sung his own honor's dirge, we had heard the last 
Of plots and mean temptations ; mean I call them, 
For great names cannot sanctify mean deeds'. 
Satan himself knows I oppos'd th' attempt, 
AppcaPd, protested ; my thrice honor'd chief - 
Knows it full well, and blushes for th' event. 
And are we now caballing how t' outwit 
A few poor harmless fishermen ; for such 
Are Christ's disciples ; how to gull and cheat 
Their simple hearts of honesty / Oh peers, 
For shame, if not for pity, leave them that, 
That beggar's virtue. And is this the theme, 
The mighty theme, which now employs the thoughts 
Of your immortal synod ? Shame, O shame ! 
Princes, dominions, arch-angclic thrones, 

Imperial lords ! These were your titles once ; 
By these names ye were known above the stars : 
Shame not your ancient dignities, nor sink 
Beneath the vilest of the sons of men. 
Whisperers, iriformers, spies. If Christ be God, 

i Fight, as bccometh you to fight, with God : 

I If man, and sure his birth bespeaks no more. 

I Why all this preparation, this consult, 

I These mighty machinations tind'ca)>als ? 

I Off with your foe at on^c : dismiss liim hence 

! Where all his brmhcr ?)ronh«-:^: ?'s»\ c Ivc n. seat ; 



Where his precursor John is gone before ; 

Whose voice still echoes (hroiigh this wilderness, 

" Repent ye, for God's Idngdom is at hand ! 

Prepare ye the Lord's way !" It is prepar'd ; 

It leads to death ; it marshals him the road 

To that oblivious bourac, whence none return. 

Herod yet lives ; another royai feast, 

Another wanton dance, and he, for whom 

So many innocents were slain, shall fall. 

Once vanquish'd, are we therefore to despair ? 

In heav'n, unequal battle we provok'd ; 

Though vast our host, the million was with God, 

On earth, inquire of all the nations round 

Whom they will serve ; with one voice they reply, 

We are their gods ; they feed us with their blood, 

Their sons and daughters they make pass through fire 

To do us grace : if their own flesh they give, 

Shall they withhold to sacrifice a foe ? 

Twelve tribes were all Jehovah had on earth, 

And ten are lost ; of this small remnant, few 

And v/retched are the friends that league with Heav'n. 

And where is now Christ's promis'd reign on earth ? f- 

When God's ow^n servants rise against his Son, 

And those, to whom the promises were giy'n, 

Revolt from their Messias, can v/e wish 

Greater revenge ? What need have we to tempt 

Those, who have hearts rebellious as our own, 

As prompt to malice, no less prone to vex 

God's righteous Spirit ? And let come what may, 

It comes not to our loss, rather our gain. 

Let God arise to vengeance ; let him pour ^ 

Destruction on his temple, wliose proud height 

Our chief can witness, measur'd by his fall : 

Let him not leave one stone upon another, 

As his rash Son hath menac'd ; let his wrath , 

Through all th' inhospitable earth disperse 

His scatter'd tribes ; such ever be the fate 

Of all his w^orshippers ! May scorn, contempt, 

©erisien be their lot, and mav thcrr God 



Never recal his curse ! Are wc, O peers, 
To mourn for his Jerusalem ? Our joy 
Springs from confusion : enmity 'twixt God 
And man is our best triumph. For myself, 
War is my harvest : then my altars blaze 
Brightest, when human victims feed the flame. 

Belial, After so many peaceful ages past 
Since first emerging from hell's dark abyss, 
Rous'd by our arch-angelic cliief, wc sprung 
Up to this middle region, and here seiz'd 
On this terrestrial globe, created first 
For man, our vassal now, where, at full ease. 
Lords of the elements and gods ador'd. 
We reign and revel undisturb'd of Heav'n. 
If God whose jealousy be sure ill brooks 
That this fair world should be so long possessed 
By us his exil'd angels, and his name, 
Pent up in Palestine, should now arouse 
His slumbering wrath, and his best strength pr.t forth 
To \\Testle for lost empire, and our earth. 
As we in evil hour his heaven, assail, 
Who of this mighty synod blit must own 
The provocation waiTants the retort ? 
If then the Maker of mankind hath cause 
To meditate their rescue, we no less 
Have cause t' oppose th' attempt, and hold them fast 
To their allegiance in desj-jite of Heav'n. 
Much then we owe to our great leader's care, 
Who, ever watchful o'er the public weal, 
Calls us to this full council, here to meet 
In grave consult how best we may repair 
Past disappointments, and repel the spite 
Of this new Champion, levelPd at our shrines. 
Great is the trouble of my thoughts, O peers, 
And much perplex'd am I with douks, what name. 
Nature, and office to ascribe to Christ ; 
In form the lowliest of the sons of men, 
In miracles omnipotent as God ; 
Whose voice controli^the stoutest of our host, . 

»^ 5 ' Bid) 


Bids the graves open and their dead come forth ; 
Whose very touch is heakh ; who with a glance 
Pervades each heart, absolves it or condemns ; 
Whose virgin birth credulity scarce owns, 
And nature disavows. Prais'd to all time, 
Immortal as himself be the renown 
Of that wise spirit, who shall devise the means 
By force or fraud to overthrow the power 
Of this mysterious foe : what shall I say? 
Priest, Prophet, King, Messius, Son of God? 
Yet how God's unity, which well we know- 
Endures no second, should adopt a Son, 
And essence indivisible divide. 
Baffles my weak conjecture. Let that pass. 
To such hard doctrines I subscribe no faith : 
I'll call him man inspir'd, and wait till death 
Gives sentence of mortality upon him. 
Meanwhile let circumspection on our part 
Fill all the anxious interim ; alarm 
Rome's jealousy ; stjr up the captious spleen 
Of the proud Pharisee ; beset him round 
With snares to catch him j urge the envious priests. 
For envy still beneath the altar lurks ; 
And note the man he trusts. Mammon could tell, 
Though Mammon boasts not of his own success, 
How few of human mould have yet withstood 
His glittering, golden lures. The sword can kill 
Man's body 5 gold destroys his very soul. 
Yet mark me well, I counsel not to tempt 
The M?tStf^r ; poverty can do no more 
Than his own mortifying penance does, 
Hunger and thirst and obs^.inatcly starve, 
VYlicn his mere wish could make the rock a spring. 
And its hard fr^igments, bread. Yet sure I am 
Ail are not Christ's in heart, who with their lips 
€orifess him ; these are men, and therefore frail, 
Frail and corruptible. And let none say, 
Fear prompts this counsel;. 1 disclaim all fear 
But for th« §e»eral cause* *»%Mpry ibeai* 



Nature hath built my altar ; every sect, 
Nation and language with one voice confess 
Pleasure the sovereign good. The Stoie churl, 
The dogged cynic snarling in his tub, 
And all the ragged moralizing crew, 
Are hypocrites ; philosophy itself 
Is but my votary bene-ath a cloak. 
It harms not me, though every idol god 
Were tumbled from his base ; alike I scorn 
Samson's strong nerve and Daniel's flaming zeaL 
And let Christ preach his mortifying rules ; 
Let him go forth through all the Gentile world, 
And on the ruin of our fanes erect 
His church triumphant o'er the gates of hell, 
Still, still man's heart will draw the secret sigh 
For pleasures unenjoyed ; the gloomy cell 
And melancholy fast, the midnight prayer, 
And pale contrition weeping o'er her lamp, 
Are penances, from which the sense revolts, 
Fines, that compounding superstition pays 
For pleasures past, or bribes for more to come. 

Satan. Enough of this vain boast, 
More than enough of these voluptuous strains. 
Which, though they lull the ear, disarm the soul 
Ofits best attribute. Not gaudy flowers 
Are cull'd for medicine, but the humble weed. 
True wisdom, ever frugal of her speech, 
Gives sasre advice in plain and homely words. 
The sum of all our reasoning ends m this, 
That nothing but the death of Christ can solve 
The myst'ry of his nature : till he falls, 
Scarce can I say we stand. All voices then, 
Though varying in the means, conspire his death; 
Some cautiously as Baal ; some with zeal 
Precipitate as Moloch, whose swift thought 
Vaults over all impediments to seize 
The goal of his ambition. But, O peers, 
Ours is no trivial care ; direct your sight 
Along the ranks of that redeemed host, 



On us hangs ali thefr safety. Night and day 
My anxious thoughts are lab'ring in llieir cause ; 
And whilst Christ vvalks the earth, I take no rest; 
A watchful: spy forever at his side, 
Noting each word and deed, sometimes I mix 
With the selected Twelve that page his steps ; 
Of these, though some have vravercd, none is false 
Save one alone, Iscariot he by name ; •'' 

The taint of avarice hath touch'd his heart; 
I've mark'd him for my oAvn. Hear, princes, hear 1 
This night the priests and elders will convene 
Their secret conclave : I am in their hearts. 
Burning with envy, malice, and revenge^ 
Their only t}>(5ught is how to tangle Christ, 
In whom of force I own no guile is found, 
But gentleness instead, and perfect truth ; 
A iamb in nature without spot and pure ; 
Fit victim therefore for their Paschal rites, 
Which now rsre near at hand : apt is the hour, 
Apt are the instrumCxits. What now remains 
But to send forth a tempter to persuade 
Iscariot to betray his Master's life, 
And damn himself for gold ? Speak, is there one, 
One in this patriot circle, whom all eyes 
Point out for this emprise ? Most sure there is ; 
Belial hath well predicted of our choice : 
Mammon, stand forth ! on thee th' election lights. 
Mammon. Prince of this world 1 to whom these 
armies owe, 
(Lost but for thee iti everlasting night) 
The glorious prospect of yon rising sun, 
'Tis not t' evade the labour, but prevent 
The failure of your hopes, that 1 beseech 
Your wisdom to correct its choice, and lodge 
This arduous embassy in abler hands : 
Nathless, if such your will, and my compeers 
Adjudge me to this service, I submit. 
In me fs no repugnance, no delay ; 
For ever what these toiline: hands could do 



Or patient thoughts devise, that I have done ; 

Whether in heaven ordain'd to undermine 

God's adamantine throne, ©r doom'd to dig. 

The solid sulphur of hell's burning soil, 

Fearless I wrought, and, were there no tongues else 

To vouch my services, these scars would speak. 

How many daintier spirits do I sec 

Fair as in heav'n, and in fresh bloom of youth, 

Whilst I, with shriveird sinews, cramp'd and scorch'd, 

'Midst pestilential damps and fiery blasts, 

Drag as you see a miserable load, 

Age-struck without the last resource of death : 

This for myself : no more. You're not to learn 

The snares which I employ nre golden snares ; 

These are my arts ; and like the crafty slave, 

W^ho in Rome's circus hurls the fatal net 

Over his fierce pursuer, so oft times 

Have I entangled the proud hearts of men, 

And made their courage stoop to shameful bribes, 

Paid for dishonest deeds, perjuries and plots, 

That draw them off from God, who else had fill'd 

His courts ere now with guests, and peopled heav'n. 

These weapons and these hands you still command : 

So dear I hold the general cause at heart, 

So disciplin'd am I in duty's school, 

That reckless of all hazard T present 

Myself your servant, or, if so fate wills, 

Your sacrifice : for though from mortal man 

Discomfiture I dread not ; yet if Christ, 

W^hom the great tempter foil'd not, shall stand forth 

The cham[)ion of his followers, witness for me. 

You, my brave peers, and this angelic liost, 

I sought not this bold height, whence if I fall, 

1 do but fall where Satan could not stand. 

Satan, Go then ; 
Go, brave adventurer, go where glory calls : 
Auspicious- thoughts engender in niy breast. 
And now prophetic visions burst upon me : 
T see the trailer Jiulas with a band 



Of niidnight ruffians seize his peaceful Lord : 
They drag him to the bar, accuse, condemn ; 
He bleeds, he dies ! Darkness involves the rest. 
Ascend the air, brave spirit and midst the shout 
Of grateful myriads wing thy course to fame. 

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech in the British 
Parliament, May 13, 1777. 

Mv Lords, 

THIS is a ilying moment ; perhaps but six weeks 
left to arrest the dangers that surround us. It is 
liifficult for. government, after all that has passed, to 
shake hands with defiers of the king, defiers of the par- 
liament, defiers of the people. I am a defier of nobody ; 
but if an end is not put to this war, there is an end to t 
this kingdom. I do not trust my judgment in my pres- j 
ent state of health ; this is the judgment of my better 
days ; the result of forty years attention to America. 
They are rebels ! but what are they rebels for ? Surely 
not for defending their unquestionable rights ! What 
have these r.-bels done heretofore ? I remember when 
they raised four regiments on their own bottom, and 
took Louisbourg from the veteran troops of France. 

But their excesses have been great ! I do not mean 
their panegyric ; but must observe, in extenuation, the 
erroneous and infatuated counsels, which have pre- 
yailed. The door to mercy and justice has been shut 
against them. But they may still be taken up upon the 
o-rounds of their former submission. 1 state to you the 
importance of America ; it is a double market^ a market 
of consumption, and a market of supply. 1 his double 
market for millions with naval stores, you arc giving 
to your hereditary rival. 

America has carried you through four wars, and will 
now carry you to your death, if you do not take things 
in time. In the sportsman's phrase, when you have 



jiound yourselves at fault, you must try back. You have 
ransacked every corner of lower Saxony ; but forty 
thousand German boors never can conquer ten times 
the number of British freemen. They may ravage j 
they cannot conquer. But you would conquer, you 
say ! Why, what would you conquer? the map of Ame- 
rica ? I am ready to meet any general officer on the 

What will you do out of the protection of your 
fleet ? In the w^inter, if together, they are starved ; 
and if dispersed, they are taken off in detail. I am exr 
perienced in spring hopes and vernal promises. I 

I know what ministers throw out ; but at last will come 
your equinoctial disappointment. They tell you 

- what ? That your army will be as strong as it was 
last year, when it was not strong enough. You hare 

•? gained nothing in America but stations. You have been 
uiree years teaching them the art of war. They are 
apt scholars ; and 1 will venture to tell your lordships, 
that the American gentry will make officers enough, fit 
to command the troops of all the European powers. 
What you have sent there are too many to make peace, 
too few to make v/ar. 

If you conquer them, what then ? You cannot make 
them respect you ; you cannot make them wear your 
cloth. You will plant an invincible hatred in their 
breasts against you. Coming from the stock they do, 
they can never respect you. If ministers are founded 
in saying there is no sort of treaty with France, there 
is still a moment left ; the point of honor is still safe. 
France must be as self destroying as England, to make 
a treaty while you arc giving her America, at the ex- 
pense of twelve millions a year. The intercourse has 
produced eyery tiling to France ; and England, poor 
old England must pay for all. 

I have at difTerent times made different propositions, 
adapted to the circumstances in which they were offer- 
ed. The plan contained in the former bill is now im- 
practicable ; the preseiit motion will tell you where 



you are, and what you have now to depend upon. It 
may produce a respectable division in America, and una- 
nimity at home. It will give America an o])tion : she 
has yet made no option. You have said, Lay down 
your arms, and she has given you the Spartan auswer, 
" Come and take them." 

I will get out of my bed, on Monday, to move for 
an immediate redress of all their grievances, and for 
continuing to them the right of disposing of their own 
property. This will be fhe herald of peace ; this will 
open the way for treaty ; this will show that parliament 
is sincerely disposed. Yet still much must be left to 
treaty. Should you conquer this people, you conquer, 
undei- the cannon of France ; under a masked battery 
then ready to open. The moment a treaty with France 
appears, you must declare war, though you had only 
five ships of the line in England : but France will defer 
a treaty as long as possible. 

You are now at the mercy of every little German 
chancery ; and the pretensions of France will increase 
daily, so as to become an avowed party in either peace 
or war. We have tried for unconditional submission j 
let us try what can be gained by unconditional re- 
dress. Less dignity will' be lost in the repeal, than in 
submitting to the demands of German chanceries. We 
are the aggressors. We have invaded them. We 
have invaded them as much as the Spanish armada in- 
vaded LMgland. Mercy cannot do harm \ it will seat 
the king where he ought to be, throned on the hearts 
of his people ; and millions at home and abroad, now 
employed in obloquy or revolt, would then pray for 



On the Day of Judgment. 

AT midnight, when mankind are wrap'd in peace, 
And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams ; 
To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour ; 
At midnight, 'tis presum'd, this pomp will burst 
From tenfold darkness ; sudden as the spark 
yrom smitten steel ; from nitrous grain the blaze. 
Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more ! 
The day is broke which never more shall close! 
Above, around, beneath, amazement all! 
^Terror and glory join'd in their extremes ! 
Ovu' God in grandeur, and our world on fire ! 
All nature struggling in the pangs of death ! 
Dost thou not hear her ? Dost thou not deplore 
Her strong convulsions, and her final groan ? 
Where are wenow ? Ah me 1 the ground is gone, 
On which we stood, LORENZO ! while thou mayst, 
Provide more firm support, or sink forever ! 
Where ? how ? from whence ? vmn hope ! It is too late ! 
Where, where, for shelter, shall the guilti/ fly, 
When consternation turns the good man pale ? 

Great day ! for which all other days were made ; 
For which earth rose from chaos, man from earth ; 
And an eternity, the date of gods. 
Descended on poor earth^created man ! 
Great day of dread, decision, and despair ! 
At thought of thee, each -sublunary wish 
Lets go its eager grasp, and drops the world ; 
And catches at each reed of hope in heav'n. 
At thought of thee ! And art tiiou absent then, 
LORENZO ! no ; 'tis here ; it is begun ; 
Already is begun the grand assize, 
In thee, in all. Deputed conscience scales 
The dread tribunal, and forestals our doom : 
Forestals ; and, by forestalling, proves it sure. 
Why on himself should man i»««Vi judgment pais ? 

T If 


Is idle nature laughing at her sons ? 

Who conscience sent, her sentence will support, 

And God above assert M«/ God in man. ' 

Thrice happy they, who enter now the court 
Heav'n opens in their bosoms : but, how rare ! 
Ah me ! that magnanimity how rare ! 
What hero, like the man who stands himself; 
Who dares to meet his naked heart alone ; 
Who hears, intrepid, the full charge it brings, 
Resolv'd to silence future murmurs there ? 
The coward flies ; and flying is undone. 
(Art thou a coward ? No.) The coward flies ; 
Thinks, but thinks slightly ; asks, but fears to know ; 
Asks " What is truth ?" with Pilate ; and retires ; 
Dissolves the court, and mingles with the throng ; 
Asylum sad ! from reason, hope, and heaven ! 

Shall all, but man, look out with ardent eye. 
For that great day, w^hich was ordain'd for man ? 
"O day of consummation ! Mark supreme 
(If men are wise) of human thought ! nor least, 
Or in the sight of angels, or their King ! 
Angels, whose radiant circles, height o'er height, 
Order o'er order rising, blaze o'er blaze, 
As in a theatre, surround this scene. 
Intent on man, and anxious for his fate : 
Angels look out for thee ; for thee, their Lord, 
To vindicate his glory ; and for thee. 
Creation universal calls aloud. 
To disjnvolve the moral world, and give 
To Nattire's renovation lu'ighter charms. 




The dissipated Oxford Student, a Dialogue 


Lionel, Lavinia, and Camilla. 

Lionel, pr^^ ^° y^" ^o» g^^^s ? how do you do ? 

XX I am glad to see you, upon my soul 1 am. 

[Shaking them hard hy the hand, 

Lavinia, I thought, brother, you had been at Dr. 
Marchmont's ! 
> Lion, All in good tunc, my dear; I shall certainly 
•'visit the old gendeman before long. 

Lav, G ra cicrus , Lionel ! — I f my motlicr r 

Lion, My dear little Lavinia, \Chucking her under 
the chin'] I have a mighty notion of making visits at my 
'*6wn time and appointment, instead of my mamma- s. 

Lav, O Lionel ! and can you just now 

Lion, Come, come, don't let us waste our precious 
moments in this fulsome moralizing. If I had not luck- 
ily been hard by, I should not have known the coast 
was clear. Pray where are the old folks gone tanti- 
vying ? 

Camilla, To Clcves. 

Lion, To Clevcs ! What a happy escape ! I was 
upon the point of going thither myself. Camilla, what 
is the matter with thee, my little duck ? 

Cayn, Nothing — I am only thinking — Pray when 
do you go to Oxford ? 

Lion, Poh, poh, v/hat do you talk of Oxford for ? 
you are grown quite stupid, girl. I believe you ha\ t 
lived too long v/ith that old maid of a Margland. Pray 
how does that dear creature do ? I am ali-aid she will 
grow melancholy from not seeing me so long. Is she 
^as pretty as she used to be ? 1 have some notion oi 
sending her a suitor. 

Lav, O brother, is it possible you can have such 


Lion. O hang it ; if one is not merry when one 
«an, what is the world good for ? Besides, I do assure 
ym, I fretted so consumedly hard at first, that for the 
life of me I can fret no longer. 

Crtw. But why are you not at Dr. Marchmont's ? 

Lion. Because, my dear soul , you can't conceive ho^r 
much pleasure those old doctors take hi lecturing a 
youngster who is in any disgrace. 

4'a/?2. Disgrace ! 

Lav. At all events, I beseech you to be a little care- 
;ul ; I would not have my poor mother find you here 
for the world. 

Lien. O, as to that, I defy her to desire the meeting 
Jess than I do. But come, let's talk of something else, 
liow go on the classics ? Is my old friend. Dr. Ork- 
borne, as chatty and amusing as ever? 

Cam. My dear Lionel, I am filled with apprehen- 
sion and perplexity. Why should my mother wish not 
to see you ? And why — and how is it possible you 
can wish not to see her ? 
. Lion. What, don't you know it all ? 

Cam. I only know that something is wrong ; but 
how, what, or which way, I have not heard. 

Lion, Has not Lavinia told you, then ? 

Lav. No ; I could be in no haste to give her s# 
much pain. 

Lio?i. You are a good girl enough. But how came 
you" here, Camilla ? and what is the reason you have 
rjot seen my mother yourself? 

Cam. Not seen her ! 1 have been with her this half 

Lion. What ! and in all that time did she not tell 

Cam. She did not name you. 

Lion. Is it possible ! Well, she's a noble creature, I 
must confess, I wonder how she could ever have such 
a son. And I am still less like my father than I am 
like her. I believe in my conscience I was changed in 
the cradle. Will you own me, young, ladies, if some 



villanous attorney or exciseman should claim me by 
and by?' 

Cam.^' Dear Lionel, do explain to me what has hap- 
pened. ' You talk so wildly, that you make me think 
it important and trifling twenty times in a minute. 

Lion, O, a hon-id business ! Lavinia must tell you. 
V\\ withdraw till she has done. Don't despise me, 
Camilla. 1 am confounded sorry, I assure you. [Go- 
ing ; and then immediately returningS\ Come, upon 
the whole I had better tell it you myself: for she'll 
make such a dismal ditty of il, that it won't be over 
this half year. The sooner we have done with it the 
better. It will only put you out of spirits. You 
must know I w^as in rather a bad scrape at Oxford last 


Cam, Last year ! and you never told us of it before ! 

Lion, O, 'twas about something you would not un- 
derstand ; so I shall not mention particulars now. It 
is enough for you to know, that two or three of us 

wanted a litde cash ! Well, so in short, I sent a 

letter — somewhat of a threatening sort — to old uncle 
Relvil ; and — 

Cam, O Lionel ! 

Lion, O, I did not sign it* It was only begging a 
little money, w^hich he can afford to spare very well ; 
and just telling him, if he did not send it to a certain 
place wdiich I mentioned, he would have his brains 
blown out.' 

Cam. How horrible ! 

Lion, Poh, poh; he had only to send the money, 
you know, and then his brains might keep their place. 
Besides, you can't suppose there was gunpowder in the 
words ; though, to be sure, the letter was charged with 
a few vollies of oaths^ . But, would you believe it ! 
the poor old gull was fool enough actually to send the 
money where he was directed. 

Lav, Hold, hold, Lionel! I cannot endure to hear 

you speak in such disgraceful terms of that worthy 

man. How could you treat that excellent uncle in 

T 2 such 


such a cruel manner ! How could you find a hearC ta- 
swear at so meek, so benevolent, so indulgent 

Lion, My dear little chicken, don't be so precise 
and old maidish. Don't you know it's a relief to a 
man's mind to swear a few cutting oaths now and then, 
when he's in a passion ? when all the time he would 
no more do harm to the people he swears at, than you 
would, who mince out all your words as if you werej 
talking treason, and thought every man a spy that heard 
you. It is a very innocent refreshment to a man's 
mind, my dear. But the ditficulty is, you know notlii 
ing of the world. 

Cam, Fie, brother ! You know how sickly our un- 
cle has always been, and how easily he might be alarmed. 

Lion, Why, yes, Camilla ; I really think it was a 
very wicked trick ; and I would give half my little fin- 
ger that I had not done it. But it's over now, you 
know; so what signifies making the worst of it? 

Cam, And did he not discover you ? 

Lion, No ; J gave him })articular orders, in my 
letter, not to attempt any thing of that sort ; assuring 
him there were spies about him to watch his proceedings. 
The good old simple toH took it all for gospel. So there 
the matter ended. However, as ill luck would have it, 
about three months ago, we wanted another sum 

Lav. And could you again 

* Lion,. Why, my dear, it was only taking a little of 
my own fortune beforehand, for I am his heir; so we 
all agreed it was merely robbing myself ; for we had 
sevei'al consultations about it ; and one of us is to be a 

Cam, But you give me some pleasure here ; for I 
had never heard that my uncle had made you- his heir. 

Lion, Neither had I, my deary; but 1 take it for 
fi;ranted. Besides, our little lawyer put it into my head. 
Well, wi wrote again, and told the poor old soul, for 
which I assure you I am heartily penitent, that, if he did 
not send ms double the sum, in the same manner, without 
delay, his hou»e was to be set on fe, while he ^nd all 


his family were in bed and asleep. Now don't make 
faces nor shruggings ; for 1 promise you, I think al- 
ready I deserve to be hung for giving him the fright ;' 
though I would not really have hurt the hair of his 
head for half his fortune. But who could have guess- 
ed that the old codger would have biHeyi so readily t 
The money, however, came ; and we thought the 
business all secure, and agreed to get the same sum an- 

Cam, Annually ! O horrible ! 

Lion, i'es, my darling. You have no conception 
how conv^enient it would have been for our extra ex- 
penses. But unluckily, uncle grew worse, and went 
abroad ; and then consulted with some crab of a friend, 
and that friend, Avith some demagogue of a magistrate, 
and so all is now blown. However, v/c had managed 
it so cleverly, that it cost them nearly three months to 
find it out ; owing, I must confess, to poor uncle's cow- 
"ardice, in not making, his inquiries before the money 
was carried off, and he himself be} ond tlie sea. The 
other particulars La vinia must give you;: for T have 
talked of it now till 1 have made myself quite rick. 
Do tell me some diverting story to drive it a little out 
of my head. But, by the way, pray what has carried 
the old folks to Cleves ? Have they gone to tell this sad 
tale to uncle Hugh, so that 1 might lose him too? 

Lav. No; your afihcted jrarents are determined 
ROt to name it. They are striving, that nobody else 
shall know any thing of the matter, except Dr. March- 

Lio7i. Well, they are good souls, it must be acknowl- 
edged. I wish I deserved them better. I wish too it 
was not such plaguy dull busmess to be good. 1 con- 
fess, girls, it wounds my conscience to think how I 
have afflicted. my parents, especially my poor mother, 
who is not so well able to bear it. But when one is 
at Oxford, or in London— your merry blades there, I 
can't deny it, my dear sisters, your merry blades there 
are but sad fellows. Yet there is. such fun, such spirit, 



such genuine sport among them, I cannot, for my life, 
keep out of the way. Besides, you have no concep- 
tion, young ladies, what a bye- word you soon become 
among them, if they find you jlmching. But this i^ 
litde- to the purpose ; for you know nothing of life yet, 
poor things. 

Lav, I would not for the world say any thing to 
pain you, my dear brother; but if this is what you 
call life, I wish we never might know any thing of it. 
I wish more, that you had been so happy as never to 
have known it. You pity our ignorance, we pity your 
folly. How strangely infatuate'd you are ! But yet I 
will hope, that, in future, your first study will be to re- 
sist such dangerous examples, and to shun such unwor- 
thy friends. Pray reflect one moment on the distressing 
situation of your dear parents, who cannot endure 
your presence, through the poignancy of grief! What 
labours and hardships has your poor father encountered, 
to gain wherewithal to support you at the University ! 
And what is your return ! Such, my dear brother, as will 
soon bring down his grey hairs with son-ow to the grave. 
As for your poor mother, it is quite uncertain whether 
any of us ever see her again, as your much injured 
uncle has sent for her over sea to attend him in his'sick- 
ness ; and to-morrow she sets out. She has left it in 
solemn charge with me, to deliver you a message from^ 
her, which, if you have any sensibility remaining, will 
cut you to the heart. 

Lion, I know she can have said nothing worse than I 
expect, or than I merit. Probe me, then, Lavinia, with- 
out delay. Keep me not in a moment's suspense. I 
ieel a load of guilt upon mc, and begin sincerely to re- 
pent. She is acting towards me like an angel ; and if 
she were to command me to turn hermit, I know I 
ought to obey her. 

Lav. Well, then, my mother says, my dear Lionel, 
that the. fraud you have practised 

Lion, ■ The fraud ! what a horrid word ! Whv it 
was a mere trick! a joke! a frolic! iust to make* an 



M hunks open his purse-strings to his natural heir. I 
am astonished at my mother! I really don't care whether 
1 hear another syllable. 

Lav, Well, then, my dear Lionel, I will wait till 
you are calmer: my mother, I am sure, did not mean 
to irritate, but to convince. 

Lion, IStriding about the room.] My mother m^kcs 
no allowances. She has no faults herself, and for that 
reason she thinks nobody else should have any. }3e- 
sides, how should she know what it is to be a young 
man ? and to want a little cash, and not to know how 
to get it ? 

Lav, But I am sure, if you wanted it for any prop- 
er purpose, my father would have denied himself every 
thing, in order to supply you. 

Lion. Yes, yes ; but suppose I want it for a pur-pose 
that is not proper, how am I to get it then ? 

Cam, Why, then, my dear Lionel, surely you must 
be sensible you ought to go without it. 

Lion. Aye, that's as you girls say, who know noth- 
ing of the matter. If a young man, when he goes 
into the world, were'to make such a speech as that, he 
would be pointed at. Besides, whom must he live 
with? You don't suppose he is to shut himself up, 
with a few musty books, sleeping over the fire, under 
pretence of study, all day long, do you ? like young 
Melmond, who knows no more of the world than either 
of you ? 

Cam. Indeed, he seems to me an amiable and modest 
young man, though very romantic. 

Lion. O, I dare say he does ! I could have laid any 
wager of that. He's just a girl's man, just the very 
thing, all sentiment, and poetry, and heroics. But we, 
my little dear, we lads of spirit, hold all that amazingly, 
cheap. I assure you, I would as soon be seen trying 
on a lady's cap at a glass, as poring over a crazy old 
author. I warrant you thinlc, because one is at the 
University, one must be a book- worm ! 



L€Li\ Why, what else do you go there for but to'^ 
study ? 

Lio7u Every thing else in the world, my dear. 

Cam, But are there not sometimes young men who 
are scholars, without being book- worms ? Is not Ed- 
gar Mandlefeert such an one ? 

Lion, O yes, yes ; an odd thing of that sort happens 
now and then. Mandlebert has spirit enough to carry 
it off pretty well, without being ridiculous; though he 
is as deeps for kis tuae, as e-c? an eld fellow of a col- 
lege. But then this is no rule for others. You must 
not expect an Edgar Mandlebert at every turn, my 
dear innocent creatures. 

Lav, But Edgar has had an extraordinary educa* 
tion, as well as possessing extraordinary talents and 
goodness ; you too, my dear Lionel, to fulfil what may 
be expected from you, should look back to your father, 
who was brought up at the same University, and is 
now considered as one of the first men it has produced. 
While he was respected by the learned for his ap- 
plication, he was loved even by the indolent for his 
candour and kindness of heart. And though his in- 
come, as you know, was very small, he never ran in 
debt ; and by an exact but open economy, escaped all 
imputation of meanness. 

Lion, Yes ; but all this is nothing to the purpose. 
My father is no more like other men than if he had 
been born in another planet ; and my attempting to 
resemble him would be as great a joke, as if you were 
to dress up in Indiana's flowers and feathers^ and ex- 
pect people to call you a beauty. I was born a bit of 
a buck ; and have no manner of natural taste for study, 
and poring, and exj^ounding, and black-letter work. I 
am a light, airy spark, at your service, ladies ; not 
quite so wise as I am merry. I am one of your ec- 
centric geniuses ; but let that pass. My father, you 
know, is firm as a rock. He minds neither wind nor 
weather, nor fleerer nor sneerer, nor joker nor jeerer ; 
but his firmness he has kept all to himself; not a whit 



•fitdol inherit. Every wind that blows veers me 
about, and gives me a new direction. But with all my 
fether's firmness and knowledge, I very much doubt 
whether he knows any thing of real life. That is the 
main thing, my dear hearts. But, come, Lavinia, fin- 
ish your message. 

Lav* My mother says, the fraud you have practised, 
.whether from wanton folly to give pain, or from ra- ^ 
' pacious discontent to get money, she will leave with- 
out comment ; satisfied that if you have any feeling at 
all, its effects must bring remorse ; since it has danger- 
ously increased the infirmities of your uncle, driven 
him to a foreign land, and forced your mother to for- 
sake her home and family in his pursuit, unless she were 
willing to see you punished by the entire disinheritance 
with which you are threatened. But 

Lion* O, no more ! no more ! I am yeady to shoot 
myself already! My dear, excellent mother, v/hat 
do I not owe you! I had never seen, never thought 
of the business in this solemn way before. I meant 
nothing at first but a silly joke ; and all this mischief 
has followed unaccountably. I assure you, I had no 
notion at the beginning he would have minded the let- 
ter 5 and afterwards. Jack Whiston persuaded me, that 
the money was as good a-s my own, and that it was 
nothing but a little cribbing from myself. I will never 
trust him again ! I see the whole now in its true and 
atrocious colours. I will devote all the means in my 
power to make amends to my dear incomparable mother. 
But proceed, Lavinia. 

Lav. But since you are permitted, said my mother, 
to return home, by the forgiving temper of your father, 
who is_ himself, during the vacation, to be your tutor, 
after he is sufficiently composed to admit you into hi^ 
presence, you can repay his goodness only by the m.ost 
intense application to those studies which you have 
hitherto neglected, and of which your neglect has been 
the cause of your errors. She cliarges you also to ask 
yourself, upon what pret-ext you can justify the wast- 


ing of his valuable time, however little you may re- 
gard your own. Finally 

Lion, I never wasted his time ! 1 never desired to 
have any instruction in the vacations. 'Tis the most 
deuced thing in life to be studying so incessantly. The 
waste of time is all his own atfair, his own choice, not 
mine. Go on, however, and open the whole of the 

Lav, Finally, she adjures you to consider, that i{ 
you still persevere to consume your time in wilful neg- 
ligence, to bury all thought in idle gaiety, and to act 
without either reflection or principle, the career of 
faults which begins but in unthinking folly, will termi- 
nate in shame, in guilt and in ruin ! and though such 
a declension of all good must involve your family in 
your affliction, your disgrace will ultimately fall but 
where it ought; since your own want of personal sensi- 
bility will neither harden nor blind any human being 
beside yourself. This is all. 

Lion, And enough too. I am a very wretch ! I be- 
lieve that, though 1 am sure I can't tell how I came 
so ; for I never intend any harm, never think, never 
dream of hurting any mortal ! But as to study, I must 
own to you, I hate it most deucedly. Any thing else ; 
if my mother had but exacted any thing else, with what 
joy I would have shown my obedience ! If she had 
ordered me to be horse-ponded, I do protest to you, I 
would not have demurred. 

Cam, How you always run into the ridiculous ! 
Lion, I v/as never so serious in my life ; not that 
I should like to be horse-ponded in the least, though 
I would submit to it by way of punishment, and out of 
duty: but then, when it was done, it would be over. 
Now the deuce of study is, there is no end to it ! And 
it doer, so little for one ! one can go through life so 
well without it ! there is but here and there an old 
codger who asks one a question that can bring it into 
vany play. And then, a turn upon one's heel, or lod?- 
bdng at one's watch, &r woii<2leri»g at erne's sfeort mem- 


x)fy, or happening to forget just that one single passage, 
carries oft' the whole in two minutes, as completely as 
if one had been working one's whole life to get ready 
for the assault. And pray now tell me, how can it be 
worth one's best days, one's gayest hours, the very 
flower of one's life, all to be sacrificed to plodding over 
musty grammars and lexicons, merely to cut a figure 
just for about two minutes, once or twice in a year ? 

Cam. Indeed, Lionel, you appear to me a striking 
example of what a hard thing it is to learn to do well, 
after one has been accustomed to do evil. How volatile ! 
how totally void of all stability ! One miniite you ex- 
hibit appearances of repentance and reforniation, and 
the next minute, all fair prospects vanish. How I la- 
ment that you were so early exposed to a vicious world, 
before you had gained sufficient strength of mind to 
withstand bad examples ! 

Lion, Forbear, Camilla. You hurt me too much. 
You excite those severe twinges of remorse, which, ! 
am obliged to own, I have never been wholly free from, 
since I joined my merry companions, and began to learn 
the world. Notwithstanding my gaiety, and my appar- 
ent contentment, I confess there is something tvithin, 
"which constantly admonishes me of my errors, and makes 
iie feel unhappy : so that, if it were not for fashion''s 
sake, I can truly say, I could wish I were in your re* 
cluse situation; here to remain, in my once pleasant 
abode, and never more mingle with the world. 

Lav, Dear brother, I cannot leave you, without 
once more calling your attention to your parents, your 
family, and your friends. Think of their present situ- 
ation; If you have no regard for your own character, 
your present, or future happiness, I entreat you to have 
some pity for them. Let not the tyrant fashion bring 
you into abject slavery. Pardon me when I tell you, 
your pretended friends are your worst enemies. Thejr 
have led you into a path which will carry you directly 
to inevitable ruin, unless you immediately forsake it. 
That knowledge of the world, of which you so vainly 
U boast, 


boast, is infinitely worse than the ignorance which you 
so much despise. Believe rae, my dear brother, it is a 
knowledge, which, by your own confession, never has 
produced you any happiness, nor will it ever ; but will 
guide you to wretchedness and misery. 

.Lion. My dear sisters,! am convinced. Your words 
have pierced my very soul. I am now wretched, and 
I deserve to be so. I am determined from this moment 
to begin my reformation, and, with the assistance of 
Heaven, to complete it. Never more will I see my 
vile companions, who have enticed me to go such 
lengths in wickedness. What do I not owe to my 
amiable sisters for their friendly and seasonable advice ! 
I will go directly to my father, and, like the prodigal, 
son, fall on my knees before him, beg his forgiveness,, 
and put myself entirely under his direction and instruc- 
tion ; and, so long as I live, I never will offend him again. 
Lav, May Heaven assist jou in keeping your reso- 
lutions ! 

Extract from a Speech in Congress, April, 
1796, ON THE Subject of the Treaty with 

IF any, against all these proofs which have been 
offered, should maintain that the peace with the 
Indians will be stable without the Western Posts, to 
them I will urge another reply. From arguments cal- 
culated to produce conviction, I will appeal directly to 
the hearts of those who hear me, and ask whether it i*. 
not already planted there ? I resort especially to thf 
convictions of the Western gentlemen, whether, sup^ 
posing no Posts and no Treaty, the settlers will remaiij 
in security ? Can they take it upon them to say, tha) 
an Indian peace, under these circumstances, will provj 
firm ? No, Sir, it will not be peace, but a sword; i 
will be no better <han a Iwre to draw victims within th^ 
reach of the tomahawk. 


On this theme, my emotions are unutterable. If I 
?€ould find words for them, if my powers bore any pro- 
portion to my zeal, I would swell my voice to such a 
note of remonstrance, it should reach every log-house 
beyond the mountains. I would say to the inhabitants, 
Wake from your false security. Your cruel dangers, 
your more cruel apprehensions' are soon to be renewed. 
The wounds, yet unhealed, are to be torn open again. 
In the day time, your patli through the woods will be 
ambuslicd. The darkness of micluight will glitter with 
the blaze of your dwellings. You are a father ; the 
blood of your sons shall iatlen your cornfield. You 
^re a mother ; the v/ar-whoop shall wake the sleep of 
the cradle. 

On this subject you need not suspect any deception 
on your feelings. It is a spectacle of horror which 
cannot be overdrawn. If you have nature in your 
hearts, they will speak a language, compared with 
which, all 1 have said or can say, will be poor and 
frigid. Will it be whispered that the treaty has made 
me a new champion for the protection of the frontiers ? 
it is known that my voice as well as vote have been 
uniformly given in conformity with the ideas I have 
expressed. Protection is the right of the frontiers ; it 
IS our duty to give it. 

Who will accuse me of wandering out of the subject ? 
Who v.ill say that I exaggerate the tendencies of our 
iheasures ? Will any one answer by a sneer, that all this 
is idle preaching ? Will any one deny that we are 
bound, and I would hope to good purpose, by the most 
solemn sanctions of duty for the vote we give ? Are 
despots alone to be reproached for unfeeling indiirerence 
to the tears and blood of their subjects ? Are republi- 
cans unresponsible ? Have the principles on which you 
ground the reproach upon cabinets and kings no prac- 
tical influence, no binding force ? Are they merely 
themes of idle declamation, introduced to decorate the 
morality of a newspaper essay, or to furnish pretty top- 
ips of harangue from the windows of that State-house ? 

1 trust 


I trust it is neither too presumptuous nor tod late to^ 

ask, Can you put the dearest interest of society at risk, 
without guilt, and without remorse ? 

By rejecting the posts, we light the savage fires; 
we bind the victims. This day we undertake to ren- 
der account to the widows and orphans whom our de- 
cision will make, to the wretches that wdll be roasted 
at the stake, to our country, and 1 do not deem it too 
serious to say, to conscience, and to God. We are an- 
swerable ; and if duty be any thing more than a word 
of imposture; if conscience be not a bugbear, we are 
preparing to make ourselves as wretched as our country. 

There is no mistake in this case ; there can be none. 
Experience has already been the prophet of events, 
and the cries of our future victims have already reached 
us. The Western inhabitants are not a silent and un- 
complaining sacrifice. The voice of hunjanity issues 
from the shade of the wilderness. It exclaims, that 
while one hand is held up to reject this treaty, the 
other grasps a tomahawk. It summons our imagma- 
tion to the scenes that will open. It is no great effort 
of the imagination to conceive that events so near are 
already begun. I can fancy that I listen to the yells 
of savage vengeance and the shrieks of torture. Al- 
ready they seem to sigh in the western wind ; already 
they mingle with every echo from the mountains. ) 

Let me cheer the mind, weary, no doubt, and ready 
to despond on this prospect, by presenting another, 
which is yet in our power to realize. Is it possible for 
a real American to look at the prosperity of this coun- 
try without some desire for its continuance, without 
some respect for the measures, which, many ^^'>^^A^y» 
produced, and all will confess, have preserved it ? WiU 
he not feel some dread that a change of system will tq^ 
verse the scene ? The well-grounded frars of our citi 
zens, in 1794, were removed by the treaty, but are no 
forgotten. Then they deemed ^var nearly inevitable 
and would not this adjustment have been considered a 
t-hat day as a happy escape from the calamity? 


/ The great interest and the general desire of our peo- 
ple was to enjoy the advantages of neutrality. This 
instrument, however misrepresented, afTords America 
that inestimable security. The causes of our disputes 
are either cut up by the roots, or referred to a new 
negociation, after the end of the European war. This 
was gaining every thing, because it confirmed our neu- 
trality, by which our citizens are gaining every thing. 
This alone would justify the engagements of the gov- 
ernment. For, when the fiery vapours of the war low- 
ered in the skirts of our horizon, all our wishes were 
concentered in this one, that we might escape the des- 
olation of the storm. This treaty, like a rainbow on, 
the edge of the cloud, marked to our eyes the space 
where it was raging, and afforded at the same time the 
sure prognostic of fair weather. If we reject it, the 
vivid colours will grow pale ; it will be a baleful meteor 
portending tempest and war. 

Let us not hesitate then to agree to the appropriation 
to carry it into faithful execution. Thus we shall save 
the faith of our nation, secure its peace, and diffuse ftie 
spirit of confidence and enterprise that will augment 
its prosperity. The progress of wealth and improve- 
ment is wonderful, and, some will think, too rapid. 
The field for exertion is fruitful and vast ; and if peace 
and good government should be preserved, the acquisi- 
tions of our citizens are not so pleasing as the proofs 
of their industry, -;s the instruments of their future suc- 
cess. The rewards of exertion go to augment its power. 
Profit is every hour becoming capital. The vast crop 
of our neutrality is all seed wheat, and is sown again, 
to swell, almost beyond calculation, the future harvest^ 
of prosperity. And in this progress, what seems to be 
fiction is found to fall short of experience. 

U 2 Extract 


Extract from an Oration, pronounced at Wor- 
cester, (Mass.) July 4, 1796; by Francis 
Blake, Esq. 

IN viewing the causes which led to the event of this 
joyous anniversary ; in tracing the effects which 
have resulted to America ; in searching for the princi- 
ples which impelled to the contest ; in recalling the 
feelings which supported us in the struggle, it cannot 
fail to occur to us that the causes have not been con- 
fined to the limits of our continent ; that the effects 
have extended far beyond the boundaries of our nation ; 
that the glorious example, with electrical rapidity, has 
flashed across the Atlantic ; that, guided by the same 
principles, conducted by the same feelings, the people, 
who so gallantly fought and bled for the security of 
our. lives and our liberties, are now fighting and bleed- 
ing in defence of their own. 

On this day, therefore, religiously devoted to the 
consecration of our independence, it becomes us, as 
the votaries of freedom, as friends to the rights of man, 
and bound to support them whenever invaded, to turn' 
our attention, with a grateful enthusiasm, to the scenes 
of their sufferings, their revolt, and their victories. 
While exulting in the fuJI enjoyment of peace and tran- 
fuillity, shall not a tear for the unexampled distresses 
of this magnanimous nation, check, for a moment, the 
emotions of our joy ? 
" They have sworn that they will live FREE or DIE ! 
They have solemnly sworn, that the sword, which has 
been drawn in defence of their country, shall never be 
returned to its scabbard, till it has secured to them vic- 
tory and freedom. Let us then breathe forth a fervent 
ejaculation to Heaven, that their vows may be remem- 
bered ; that the cause of our former allies may not be 



deserted, till they have scourged their invaders, till 
tliey have driven them back in confusion to the regions 
of terror, from whence they emerged. 

While we remember with horror the continued effu- 
sion of blood, which darkened the morning of their 
revolution, let us not forget that their vengeance was 
roused by the champions of despotism, whose lives have 
since justly atoned for the crimes tliey committed^ 
While we lament the sanguinary scenes, which clouded 
its progress, let it not be forgotten that they aros<? from 
the bloody manifesto of a band of tyrants, combined 
for the hellish purpose of again rivetting the chains 
they had broken. 

The league of Pilnitz, like the league of Satan and 
his angels, revolting against the Majesty of heaven, 
was professedly fabricated, to arrest forever the pro- 
gress of freedom; to usurp the dominion of France, 
and divide the spoil among this band of royal plunder- 
ers. Have we not heard, that the noble, the generous, 
the grateful monarch of the forest, that fawned at the 
feet of Androcles, when remembering his former friend- 
ship, will ever turn with fury on his pursuers ; and 
when robbed of his whelps, rests not till his fangs are 
crimsoned in the blood of the aggressor ? 

Shall then the fervour of our friendship be abated, by 
remembering the transitory frenzy of a people distract- 
ed wit^ the enthusiasm of freedom, and irritated to 
madness by the dreadful prospect of losing what Uiey 
had enjoyed but for a moment ? Let it nevc^r be said 
of us, as of Rome and of Athens, that ingratitude is the 
common vice of republics. Was it to the crowned 
monarch, nam^ Louis the Sixteenth, or to the people 
of France, that we were indebted, for the blood and 
treasure that were so profusely lavished in our cause ? 
Shall then their services be forgotten, in the remem- 
brance of their momentary excesses ? or shall, we re- 
fuse our most cordial concurrence in the feelings v/hich 
impel them to the present contest v/ith the rulHan po-. 
rentates of Europe ? 



Can we doubt, for a moment, which is the cause we " 
are bound to support with our sanction, when we behold 
the winds and the seas, those dreadful ministers of Hea- 
ven's vengeance, commissioned to advance their pro- 
gress, and deluge their enemies ? When we behold 
Ariel, with his attendant spirits, gently hovering over 
their navies, and wafting them to victory on the bosom 
of the ocean ; while Neptune and Boreas have com- 
bined against the league of their oppressors, to over- 
whelm in the deep these deluded followers of Pharaoh ! 
Have we not seen them fed, as with manna from hea- 
ven; the waters divided, and the walls of Jericho fall- 
ing before them, while the fair prospect of liberty has 
led them in triumph through the wilderness, as a cloud 
by day, and a pillar of fire by night ? 

AMERICANS ! Let us join in a fervent supplica- 
tion, that the sacred charters of humanity, which we 
have once sealed with our blood, may be forever pre- 
served from the deadly grasp of tyrants. 

FRENCHMEN! Be firm; be undaunted in the 
struggle you have thus miraculously supported. Evince 
to the world, now gazing with admiration at your ex- 
ploits in the field of battle, that you have virtue equal 
to your courage ; that you are friends to the friends of 
humanity; that your arms are nerved only against the 
enemies of man. Let not the sacred name of LIBER- 
TY be polluted by the frenzy of licentious pi 'prions; 
but may your present glorious constitution, while it 
protects your freedom from the unhallowed ravages of 
tyranny, remain an unshakea bulwark against the de- 
structive fury of faction. 

TYRANTS ! Turn from the impious t\^ork of blood 
in which your hands are imbrued, and tremble at the 
desperation of your revoking subjects ! repent in sack- 
cloth and ashes. For behold, ye, who have been ex- 
ahed up to heaven, shall, ere long, be cast down to hell! 
The final period of your crimes is rapidly approaching. 
The grand POLITICAL MILLENNIUM is at hand ; 



when tyranny shall be buried in ruins ; when all na- 
tions sliall be united in ONE MIGHTY REPUBLIC ! 
when the four angels, that stand on the four corners 
of the globe, shall, with one accord, lift up their voices 
to heaven ; proclaiming PEACE ON EARTPI, AND 

General DescriptjOiV of America. 

Extract from a Poem spoken at Dartmouth 

College, on Commencement Day, 1795. 

FROM Patagonia's snow-invested wilds. 
To Darien, w^here constant verdure smiles, 
The Andes meet the morning's earliest ray, ' 
O'erlook the clouds and check the flood of Day* 
In copious torrents from their eastern side, 
Fk)w the vast streams of Amazonia's tide, ' 

Roll on majestic through her boundless plain,. 
And swell the surface of the neighbouring main* 
Nor Plata less a broad, deep channel fills ; 
Danube and Wolga by his side were rills. 
But leave, my muse, this wide-exten Jed clime, 
By nature stamp'd with all^slie owns sublime. ' 

Here she has wrought upon her largest plan. 
But mourns in solitude the wrongs of man. 
Here Gautemozin writh'd in flames of fire. 
And slaughter'd millions round their prince expire. 
Rise, sleeping vengeance ! vindicate their cause ; 
And thou, stern justice, execute thy law\s : 
Ye Afldes, strike Hesperian fraud with dread, 
Burst thy volcanoes on tlie guilty head ! 

Where Cancer's sun pours down his ardent blaz^>. 
Drawls the Monsoons, and Icngliiens out his days. 
The spacious gulf of Mcxic' rolFs his tide, 
And thronging fleets of various nations ride. 
The fertile isles their rich luxuriance pour, 
Aad western dainties crown the eastern shore. 



But weep, humanity, the black disgrace, 
And spread thy blushes o'er oppression's face! 
Ye sons of mirth, your bowls, your richest food., 
IS mingled with fraternal tears and blood. 
Still groans the slave beneath his master's rod, 
But nature, wrong'd, appeals to nature's GOD. 
The sun frowns angry at th' inhuman, sight ; 
The stars, offended, redden in the night : 
fn western skies, drear horror gathers round, 
And waking vengeance murmurs under ground ; 
O'er all the gulph the dark'nirig vapours rise, 
And the black clouds sail av/ful round the skies. 
From heaven to earth swift thunderbolts ar^ huri'd, 
And storm's dread demon shakes th' astonish'd World. 
The rich plantation lies a barren waste^ 
And all the works of slavery are defac'd. 
Ye tyrants, own the devastation just ; 
'Tis for your wrongs the fertile earth is curs'd. 
Columbia's States unfold their milder scenes, 
And freedom's realms afford more pleasing themes. 
From Georgia's plains, to Hudson's highest source.^ 
The northern Andes range their varied course : 
Rank above rank, they swell their growing size> 
Rear their blue arches, and invade the skies. 
Here spreads a forest ; there a city shines : 
Here swell ftie hills, and there a vale declines. 
Here, through the meads, meand'ring rivers run j 
There placid lakes reflect the full orb'd sun. 
From mountain sides perennial fountains flow, 
And streams majestic bead their course below. 
Here rise the groves; there opes the hHUe lawn, 
Fresh fragrance breathes, and Ceres wn/es her corn- 
Along the east, where the prouJ billows roar. 
Capacious harbours grace the winding shore : 
The nation's splendour and ihr merchant's pride 
VVafts with each gale, and floats with ev'ry tide. 
From Iroquois to vast Superiour's strand, 
Spread the wide lakes and insulate the land. 




■ I 

Here growing commerce shall unfold her sail, 
Load the rich bark, and woo the inland gale. 
Far to the west, where savage hordes reside. 
Smooth Mississippi rolls his copious tidC; 
And fair Ohio weds his silver side. 

Hail, happy States ! thine is the blissful seat, 
Where nature's gifts and art's improvements meet* 
Thy temp'rate air breathes health ; thy fertile soil 
In copious plenty pays the labourer's toil. 
Ask net for mountains of Peruvian ore, 
Nor court the dust that shines on Afric's shore. 
The plough explores for thee the richest mine ; 
Than autumn's fruit, no goodlier ore can shine. 
O'er the wide plain and through the opening glade. 
Flows the canal obsequious to the spade. 
Commerce to wealth and knowledge turns the key, 
Floats o'er the land and sails to every sea. 
Thrice happy art ! be thy white sail unfuri'd, 
Not to corrupt, but socialize the world. 

The muse prophetic views the coming day, 
When federal laws beyond the line shall sway. 
Where Spanish indolence inactive lies. 
And ev'ry art and ev'ry virtue dies ; 
Where pride and avarice their empire holdj 
Ignobly great, and poor amid their gold, 
Columbia's genius shall the mind inspire. 
And fill each breast with~patriotic fire. 
Nor east nor western oceans shall confine 
The generous flame that dignifies the mind ; 
O'er all the earth shall freedom's banner wave, 
The tyrant blast, and liberate the slave. 
Plenty and peace shall spread from pole to pole, 
Till earth's grand family possess one soul. 



Dialogue between a Master and Slave. 

■ ' • • • » 

M 1\rOWj villain ! what have you to say for 

Master, n ^,^.^ second attempt to run a\vay ? Is 
there any punishment that you do not deserve ? 

Slave, I well know that nothing I can say will 
avail. I submit to my fate. 

Mast. But are you not a base fellow, a hardened 
and ungrateful rascal ? 

Slave. I am a slave. That is answer* enough. 

Mast. I am not content with that answer. 1 
thought I discerned in you some tokens of a mind su- 
periour to your condition. I treated you accordingly. 
You have been comfortably fed and lodged, not over- 
worked, and attended with the most humane care when 
you were sick. And is this the return ? 

Slave. Since you condescend to talk with me, as 
Bian to man, I will reply. What have you done, what 
can you do for me, that will compensate for the liberty 
which you have taken away ? 

Mast. I did not take it away* You were a slave 
when I fairly purchased you» 

Slave. Did I give my consent to the purchase ? 

Mast. You had no cotisent to give. You had al- 
ready lost the right of disposing of yourself. 

S^ave. I had lost the power, but how the right ? I 
was treacherously kidnapped in my own country, when 
following an honest occupation. I was put in chains, 
sold to one of your countrymen, carried by force on 
board his ship, brought hither, and exposed to sale like 
a beast in the market, where you bought me. What 
step in all this progress of violence and injustice can 
give a right F Was it in the villain who stole me, in 
the slave-merchant who tempted him to do so, or in 
you who encouraged the slave-merchant to bring his 
cargo of human cattle to cultivate your lands ? 



Mast. It is in the order of Providence that one man 
should become subservient to another. It ever has 
bee.: so, and ever v.^ill be. 1 found the custom, and 
did iK)t ir.ake it. 

Slavt. You cannot but be FCiksible, that the robber 
who puts a pistol to your breast may make just, the same 
plea. Providence c;ives Inm a power over your life and 
propertv; it gave my enemies a power over my liberty. 
But it has alf;o given me legs to escape with ; and what 
should prevent me from using them ? Nay, what should 
restrain me from retaliating the wrongs I have sulTered, 
if a favourable occasion should offer ? 

Mast, Gratitude ! I repeat, gratitude ! Kave T not 
endeavoured ever since I possessed you to alleviate your 
misfortunes by kind treatment ; and does that confer 
no obligation ? Consider how much worse your condi- 
tion might have been under another m.astcr. 

Slave. You have done nothing for me more than 
for your working cattle. Are they not well fed and 
tended ? do you w^ork them harder than your slaves ? 
is not the rule of treating both designed only for your 
own advantage ? You treat both your men and beast 
slaves better than some of your neighbours, because you 
are more prudent and wealthy than they. 

Mast, You might add, more humane too. 

Slave, Humane! Does it desen^e that appellation 
to keep your fellow-men in forced i,ubjection, deprived 
of all exercise of their free will, liable to all the inju- 
ries that your own caprice, or the brutality of your 
overseers, may heap on them, and devoted, soul and 
body, only to your pleasure and emolument? Can 
gratitude take place between creatures in such a state, 
and the tyrant wh© holds them in it ? Look at these 
limbs ; are they not those of a man ? Think that 1 
have the spirit of a man too. 

Mast, But it was my intention not only to make 
your life tolerably comfortable at present, but to pro- 
vide for you in your old age. 

W Slave. 


Slave, Alas! is a life like mine, torn from counay, 
friends, and all I held dear, and compelled to toil un- 
der the bm'ning sun for a master, worth thinking about 
for old age ? No ; the sooner it ends, the sooner 1 shall 
obtain that relief for which my soul pants. 

Mast, Is it impossible, then, to hold you by aay ties 
but those of constraint and severity ? 

Slave, It is impossible to make one, who has felt the 
value of freedom, acquiesce in being a slave. 

Mast, Suppose I were to restore you to your liberty, 
would you reckon that a favour ? 

Slave, The greatest ; for although it would only 
be undoing a wrong, I know too well how few among 
mankind are capable of sacrificing interest to justice 
not to prize the exertion when it is made. 
J Mast, I do it, then ; be free. 

Slave, Now I am indeed your servant, though not 
your slave. And as the first return I can make for 
your kindness, I will tell you freely the condition in 
which you live. You ai*e surrounded with implacable 
foes, who long for a safe opportunity to revenge upon 
you and the other planters all the miseries they have 
endured. The more generous their natures, the more 
indignant they feel against that cruel injustice which 
has dragged them hither, and doomed them to perpet- 
ual servitude. You can rely on no kindness on your 
part, to soften the obduracy of their resentment. Your 
have reduced them to the state of brute beasts ; and if 
they have not the stupidity of beasts of burden , they 
must have the ferocity of beasts of prey. Superior force 
alone can give you security. As soon as that fails, 
you are at the mercy of the merciless. Such is the 
social bond between master and slave ! 



Part of Mr. O'Connor's Speech in the Irish 
Ilousri OF Commons, in Favour of the Bill for 


IF I were to judiije from the dead silence with whicK 
my speech has been received, I should suspect that 
what J have said was not very palatable to some men 
in this House. But I have not risked connexions, en- 
deared to me by every tie of blood and friendship, to 
support one set of men in preference to another. 1 
have hazarded too much, by the part I have taken, to 
allow the breath of calumny to taint the obji-'cts I have 
had in view. Immutable principles, on which the 
happiness and liberty of my countrymen depend, con- 
vey to^my mind the only substantial boon for which 
great sacrifices should be made. 

And I here avow myself the zealous and earnest 
advocate for the most unqualified emancipation of my 
catholic countrymen ; in the hope and conviction, that 
the monopoly of the rights and liberties of my countr}', 
which has hitherto efiectually withstood the eftbrts of 
a part of the people, must yield to the unanimous will, 
to the decided interest, and to the general effort of a 
whole united people. It is from this conviction, and 
it is for that transcendently important object, that, 
while the noble Lord and the Right Honorable Secre- 
tary, are ofiering to risk their lives and fortunes in sup- 
port of a system that militates against the liberty of my 
countrymen, I will risk every thing dear to me on earth. 

It is for this great object I have, 1 fear, more than 
risked connexions dearer to m^ than life itself. But 
he must be a spiritless man, and this a spiritless nation, 
not to resent the baseness ofaBritish Minister, who has 
raised our hopes in order to seduce a rival to share with 
him the disgrace of this accursed political crusade, a,nd 
^'' ist them afterwards, that he may degrade a competitor 



to the station of a dependent. And, that Ke may de- 
stroy friendship which his Hature never knew, he has 
sported with the feelings of a whole nation. Raising 
the cup with one hand to the parched lip of expectancy, 
he has dashed it to the earth with the other, in all the 
wantonness of insult, and with all the aggravation of 

Does he imagine, that the people of this country,^ 
after he has tantalized them with the cheering hope of 
present alleviation, and of futnre prosperity, will tamely 
bear to be forced to a rc-endurance of their former 
sufferings, and to a re-appointment of their former 
spoilers? Does he, from confidence of long success ia 
debauching the human mind, exact from you, calling 
yourselves the representatives of the people of Ireland, 
to reject a bill, which has received the unanimous con- 
sent of your constituents ? or does he mean to puzzle 
the versatile disposition of this House, on which he has 
made so many successful experiments already, by dis^ 
tracting you between obedience to his impci-ious man- 
dates, and obedience to the will of the people you 
should represent ? 

Or does he flatter himself, that he shall now succeed, 
because he has succeeded in betraying his own country, 
into exchanging that peace, by which she might have 
retrieved her shattered finances, for a war, in which he 
has squandered twenty times a greater treasure, in the 
course of two years, than with all his famed economy, 
he had been able to save, in the course often? for a 
war in which the prime youth of the world have beeaa 
offered up, victims to his ambition and his schemes, asf 
boundless and presumptuous, as ill-concerted and ill- 
combined ; for a war in which the plains of every nation 
in Europe have been crimsoned with oceans of blood ; 
for a war in which his country has reaped nolhing but 
disgi-ace, and which must ultimately prove her ruin ? 

Does he flatter himself, that he shall be enabled, 
Satan like, to end his political career by involving th( 
whole empire in a civil-war, from which nothing car 



accrue, but a doleful and barren conquest to the victor ? 
I trust the people of England are too wise and too just 
to attempt to force measures upon us wliich they woul4 
themselves i eject with disdain. 1 trust they have not 
themselves so soon forgotten the lesson they so recently 
learned from America, which should serve as a lasting 
examplelo nations, against employing force to subdue 
the spirit of a people, determined to be free ! 

But if they should be so weak, or so wicked, as to 
suffer themselves to be seduced by a man, to whos6 
soul, duplicity and finesse arc as congenial, as ingenuous- 
ness and fair dealing is a stranger', to become the instru- 
ments of supporting a few odious public characters in 
power and rapacity, against the interest and against the 
sense of a whole people; if we are to be dragooned 
into measures against our will, by a nation that would 
lose her last life, and expend her last guinea, in resent- 
ing a similar insult, if oifered to herself, I trust she will 
find in the people of this country a spirit in no wise in- 
ferior to her own. 

You are at this moment at the most awful period of 
your lives. The Minister of England has committed 
you with your country ; and on this night your adop- 
tion or rejection of this bill, must determine, in the 
eyes of the Irish nation, wliich you represent, the Min- 
ister of England, or the people of Ireland! And, al- 
though you are convinced, you do not represent the 
people of Ireland ; although you are convinced, every 
man of you, that you are self-created, it docs not alter 
the natuj-^ of the contest ; it is still a contest between 
the Minister of England and the people of Ireland ; 
and the weakness of your title should only make you 
the more circumspect in the exercise of your power. 

Fortunately, the views of the British Minister have 
been detected ; fortunately, the people of this country 
see him in his true colours. Like the desperate gamester, 
who has lost his a'l, in the wildest schemes of aggran- 
dizement, he looks round for some dupe to supply him 
with the further means of future projects ; and in the 
W 2 - • . crafty 


crafty subtleness of his soul, ho fondly imagines, he has 
found that easy dupe in the credulity of the Irish nation. 
After he has exhausted his own coimtry in a crusade 
against that phantom, political o{)inion, he flatters him- 
self he shall be enabled to resuscitate her at the ex- 
pense of yours. 

As you value the peace and happiness of your coun- f 
try ; as you value the rights and liberties of the soil; 
that has given you birth ; and if you are not lost to 
every sense of feelin* for your own consequence and 
importance as men, I call on you this night to make 
your stand. I call on you to rally round the independ-* 
cnce of your country, w4iose existence has been so 
artfully assailed. Believe me, the British Minister will 
leave you in the lurch, when he sees that the people 
of this nation are too much in earnest to be tricked out 
of their rights, or the independence of their country. 

What a display of legislation have we had on this 
night ? Artificers who neither know the foundation on 
which they work, the instinimcnts they ought to use, 
nor the materials required ! Is it on the narrov,' basis 
of monopoly and exclusion you would erect a temple 
to the growing liberty of your country ? If you ^vill 
legislate ; know, that on the broad basis of immutable 
justice only, you can rane a lasting, beauteous temple to 
the liberty of your island ; whose ample base shall lodge, 
and whose roof shall shelter her united family from the 
rankling inclemency of rejection and exclusion. Know, 
that reason is that silken thread by which the lawgiver 
leads his people; and above all, know, ♦it in the 
knowledge of the temper of the public mind, consists 
the skill and the wisdom of the legislator. 

Do not imagine that the minds of your countrymen 
have been stationary, while that of all Europe has been 
rapidly progressive ; for you must be blind not to per- 
ceive, that the whole European mind has undergone a 
revolution, neither confined to this nor to that country ; 
but as general as the great causes which have given it 
"kirth, and still continue to feed its growth. In vain do 


these men, who subsist but on the abuses of the govern- 
ment under which they live, flatter themselves, that 
what we have seen these last six years is but the fever 
of the moment, which will pass away as soon as the pa- 
tient has been let blood enough. 

As well may they attempt to alter the course of na- 
ture, without altering her laws. If they v/ould effect 
a counter revolutioa in the European mind, they must 
destroy commerce and its effects ; they must abolish ev- 
ery trace of the mariner's compass ; they must consign 
every book to the flames ; they must obliterate every 
vestige of the invention of the press ; they must destroy 
the conduit of intelligence, by destroying* the institu- 
tion of the post office. Then, and not till then, they 
and their abuses may live on, in all the security 
which ignorance, superstition, and want of concert in 
the peoj:tle can bestow. 

But while 1 would overwhelm with despair those 
men who have been nursed in the lap of venality and 
prostitution ; who have been educated in contempt and 
ridicule of :. love for their country; and who have 
grown grey in scoffing at every thing like public spirit, 
let me congratulate every true friend to mankind, that 
that commerce, which has begotten so much independ- 
ence, will continue to beget more j and let me congratu- 
late every friend to the liuman species, that the press, 
which has sent such a mass of information into the 
world, will continue, with accelerated rapidity, to 
pour forth its treasures so beneficial to mankind.- 

Itis to th^se great causes we are indebted, that the 
combination of priests and despots, which so long ty- 
rannized over the civil and political liberty of Europe, 
has been dissolved. )tis to these great causes we are 
indebted, that no priest, be his religion what it may, 
dares preach the doctrine which inculcates the necessity 
of sacrificing every right and every blessing this world 
can afford, as the only mean of obtaining eternal hap- 
piness in the life to come. 



This "vvas the doctrine by. "wliich the despotism of 
Europe was so long supported; this was the doctrine 
by which the political popery of Europe was supported;, 
but the doctrine and the despotism may now sleep in 
the same grave, until the trumpet of ignorance, super- 
stition, and bigotry, shall sound their resurrection. 

Scene from the Tragedy of Tamerlaxe. 

Enter Omar and Tamerlane. 

Omar, TTONOR and fame 
[Dozvmg.] aTjl Forever wait the Emperor ; may our 

Give him ten thousand thousand days of life, 
And every day like (his. The captive sultan, 
Fierce in his bonds, and at his fate repining, 
Attends your sacred wilL 

Tamerlane, Let him approacli. 
[Enter Bajazet and other Turkish Prisoners in chains 

Tinth a. guard,] 
When 1 survey the ruins of this iicid, 
The wild destruction, which thy fierce ambition 
Has dealt. among mankind ; (so many widows 
And helpless orphans has thy battle made, 
That half our eastern world this day are mourners ;) 
Well may I, in behalf of heaven and earth, 
Demand from thee atonement for this wrong. 

BaJ, Make thy demand of those that own thy: 
power ; 
Know 1 am still beyond it ; and though fortune 
Has stript me of the train and j)orap of greatness. 
That outside of a king ; yet still my soul, 
Fix'd high, and of itself alone dependent, 
Is ever free and royal; and even now, 
As at the head of battle, does defy thee. 
I know what power the chance of war has given, 
And dare thee to the use on't. This vile speeching, 
This after-game of words, is what most irks me ; 



Spare thot, and for the rest 'tis equal all, 
Be it as it may. 

Tarn, Well was it for the world, 
When, on their borders, neighbouring princes met. 
Frequent in friendly parle, by cool debates 
Preventing wasteful war : sueh should our meeting 
Have been, hadst thou but held in just regard 
The sanctity of leagues so often sworn to. 
Canst thou believe thy Prophet, or, what's more, 
That Power supreme, which made thee and thy Prophet, 
Will, with impunity, let pass that breach 
Of sacred faith given to the royal Greek ? 

Baj, Thou pedant talker ! ha ! art thou a king 
Possess'd of sacred power, Heaven's darling attribute. 
And dost thou prate of leagues, and oaths, and prophets ! 
f hate the Greek, (perdition on his name !) 
As I do thee, and would have met you both. 
As death does human nature, for destruction. 

7am. Causeless to hate, is not of human kind: 
The savage brute that haunts in woods remote 
And desert wilds, tears not the fearful traveller. 
If hunger, or some injury, provoke not. 

Baj, Can a king want a cause, when empire bids 
Go on ? What is he born for, but ambition ? 
It is his hunger, 'tis his call of natui'e. 
The noble appetite which will be satisfy'd, '■* 

And, like the food of £^ods, makes him immortal. 

Tarn. Henceforth 1 will not wonder we were foes, 
Since souls that differ so by nature, hate, 
And strong antipathy forbids their union. 

Baj, The noble fire that warms me, does indeed 
Transcend thy coldness. I am. pleas'd we differ,. 
Nor think alike. 

Tarn. No: for I think like man. 
Thou like a rponster, from whose baleful presence 
Nature starts back ; and though she fix'd her stamp 
On thy rough mass, and mark'd thee for a man. 
Now, conscious of her error, she disclaims thee,. 
.As form'd for her destruction. 



'Tis true, I am a king, as thou hast been ; 
Honor and glory too have been my aim ; 
But though I dare face death, and all the dangers 
Which furious war wears in its bloody front. 
Yet would I choose to fix my name by peace, 
By justice, and by mercy ; and to raise 
My trophies on the blessings of mankind : 
Nor would 1 buy the empire of the world 
With ruin of the people whom I sway, 
On forfeit of my honor. 

Baj, Prophet, I thank thee.. 
Confusion ! couldst thou rob me of my glory 
To dress up this tame king, this preaching dervise ! 
Unfit for war, thou shouldst have liv'd secure 
In lazy peace, and with debating senates 
Shar'd a precarious sceptre ; sat tamely still, 
And let bold factions canton out thy power 
And wrangle for the spoils they robb'd thee of; 
Vv^hilst I, (O blast the power that stops my ardour) 
Would, like a tempest, rush amidst the nations, 
Be greatly terrible, and deal, like Alha, 
My angry thunder on the frighted world. 

Tarn. The world ! 'twould be too little for thy pride i' 
Thou wouldst scale heav'n. 

Baj. 1 would. Away ! my soul 
Disdains thy conference. 

Tarn. Thou vjf^n, rash thing. 
That, with gigantic insolence, has dar'd 
To lift thy wretched self above the stars, 
And mate with power almighty, thou art fall'n ! 

£nj, 'Tis false ! I am not fall'n from aught I have 
been ! 
At least my soul resolves to keep her state, 
And scorns to make acquaintance with ill fortune. 

Tarn, Almost beneath my pity art thou fall'n ; 
Since, while the avenging hand of Heav'n is on thee. 
And presses to the dust thy swelling soul, 
Fool-hardy, with the stronger thou contendest. 
To what vast heights had thy tumultuous temper 



Been hurry M, if success had crownM ihy wishes ! 
Say, what had I to expect, if thou hadst conquer'd? 

Baj, Oh, glorious thought ! Ye powers, I will enjoy it, 
Though but in fancy ; imagination shall 
Make room to entertain the vast idea. 
Oh ! had I been the master but of yesterday, 
The WQild, the world had felt mc ; and for thee, 
\ had us'd thee, as thou art to nie, a dog, 
The object of my scorn and mortal hatred. 
I would have cagVl thee for the scorn of slaves. 
I would have taught thy neck to know my weight, 
And mounted from that footstool to the saddle : 
Till thou hadst bcgg'd to die ; and e'en that mercy 
I had deny'd thee. New thou kiiow'st my mind, 
And question me no larther. 

Tarn. Well dost thou teach me 
What justice should exact from thee. Mankind, 
With one consent, cry out for vengeance on tiiee ; 
Loudly they call to cut off this league-breaker, 
This wild destroyer, from the face of earth. 

Baj. Do it, and rid thy shaking soul at once 
Of its worst f«ar^ 

Tarn, Why slept the thunder 
That should have arm'd the idol deity, 
And given thee power, ere yester sun was set, 
To shake the soul of Tamerlane. Hadst thou an arm 
To make thee fear'd,thou shouldst have prov'd it on me, 
Amidst the sweat and blood of yonder field. 
When, through the tumult of the war 1 sought thee, 
Fenc'd in with nations. 

Baj: Oh, blast the stars 
That fated us to dirferent scenes of slaughter ! 
Oh ! could my sword have met thee ! 

Tarn, Thou hadst then, 
As now, been in- my power, and held thy life 
Dependent on niy gift. Yes, Bajazet, 
I bid thee live. So much my soul disdains 
That thou shouldst think I can fear aught but Heaven. 
Nay more; couldst thou forget thy brutal fierceness, 



jSnd form thyself to manhxoocl, I would bid thee 
Live and be still a king, that thou mayst learn 

What man should be to man 

This royal tent, with such of thy doincstics 

As can be found, shall wait uyion tiiy service 4 

Nor will J use my fortune to demand 

Hard terms of peace ; but such as thou mayst offer 

With honor, I with honor may receive. 

Colonel Barre's Speech in the British Parlia- 
ment, 1765, on the Stamp-Act Bill. 


N the first reading of the bill, Mr. Townsend 
spoke in its favour ; and concluded with the fol- 
lowing w(5rds : " And will these Americans, children 
planted by our care ; nourished up by our indulgence, 
until they are grown to a degree of strength and opu- 
lence ; and protected by our arms ; will they grudge 
to contribute their mite, to relieve us from the heavy 
weight of that burthen which we lie under ?" 

On this Colonel Barre rose, and answered Mr. Towns- 
end in the following masterly manner. 

" They planted by YOUR care !" No ; your op- 
pressions planted them in America. They fled from 
your tyranny, to a then uncultivated and unhospitable 
country, where they exposed themselves to almost all 
the hardships to which human nature is liable ; and 
among others, to the cruelties of a savage foe, the most 
subtle, and I will take upon me to say, the most for- 
midable of any people upon the face of the earth; and 
yet, actuated by principles of true English liberty, they 
met all hardships with pleasure, compared with those 
they suffered in their own country, from the hands of 
those who should have been their friends. 

*' They nourished up by your indulgence !" They 
grew by your neglect of them. As soon as you fcegan 
to care about them, that care was exercised in sending 



persons to rule them, in one department and another, 
who were, perhaps, the deputies of deputies to some 
members of this House, sent to spy out their liberties, 
to misrepresent their actions, and to prey upon them ; 
men, wliose behaviour, on many occasions, has caused 
the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within them p 
men promoted to the highest scat, of justice; sbmej 
who, to my knowledge, were glad, by going to a for- 
eign country, to escape being brought to the bar of a 
court of justice in their own. 

" They protected by YOUR arms!*' They have 
nobly taken up arms in your defence ; have exerted a 
valour, amidst their constant and laborious industry, for 
the defence of a country, whose frontier was drenched 
in blood, while its interior parts yielded all its litde 
savings to your emoluments. 

And, believe me ; remember I this day told you so, 
that the same spirit of freedom, which actuated that 
people at first, will accompany them still. But pru- 
dence forbids me to cx])lain myself further. Heaven 
knows, I do not at this time speak from motives of 
party heat ; what I deliver are the genuine sentiments 
of my heart. 

However superiour to me in general knowledge and 
experience the respectable body of this House may be, 
yet 1 claim to know more of America than most of 
you, having seen and been conversant in that country, 
'J'he people, I believe, are as truly loyal as any subjects 
ihe king has ; but a people jealous of their liberties, 
and who will vindicate them, if ever they should be 
violated. But the subject is too delicate, I will say no 

X The 


The Last Day. 
Extract from a manuscript Poem. 

THE day of Doom, the all-important day, 
I sing ; that link extreme of time, which joins 
The measur'd chain of days, and months, and years, 
To one eternal, one effulgent day: 
Day to the children of the day ; but night, 
Eternal night, to all the sons of darkness. 
The time affix'd by God's decree arrives. 
Th' Almighty spake : heav'n open'd wide her gates. 
The herald, Gabriel, far advanc'd in front, 
Rais'd on seraphic wings, first issued forth. 
Next the Creation's Sire, vciPd in a cloud 
Of awful gloom, from which red lightnings flash'd. 
And rending thunders roar'd, pass'd through the gates. 
At his right hand sat his eternal Son, 
High rais'd upon a golden throne emboss'd 
With gems, that sparkled through the cloud. Angels 
And saints, the countless host of those, who hold 
The realms of bliss, next in procession'mov'd ; 
Nor could the wide-extended space from Aries 
To the scales, that poise the hemispheres, 
Contain the arrny of the skies. 

The earth had never seen a larger host, 
Than when the foe of Greece spread o'er the land 
And sea from Heb^-us to Thermopylae ; 
But this was small, c-onjpar'd with what the heavens 
Now saw, as earth is small compar'd with heaven. 
The numerous stars, that hold their course along 
The milky-way, and in the iicighb'ring skies, 
No sooner saw their Maker cloth'd in storms. 
And felt his thunder shake their solid spheres, 
1'han trembling they retire ; as when some king 
Enrag'd frowns on his slaves, who flee his face. 
Till he commands them stand and hear his wilL 
So had the fridited stars fied off and left 



The mundane space all void, had not the trump 
Of Gabriel interpos'd, and with a voice 
More loud, than ever yet creation heard, 
Impress'd the mandates of all nature's God 
Upon all nature's works. Ye stars ! (said he) 
Return, and hold yonr station in your ©rbs ; 
There stand and see what fie on eartli transacts 
Tliis day, and witness how He deals with man. 
Thou sun ! who from the birth of time hast roll'd 
Thy chariot round the v/orld, and shed thy beam* 
Alike on all mankind, look on and see 
The equal justice of thy God to man 
Outshine thy equal rays. Th' affrighted earth 
Took the alarm of heav'n : the atmosphere 
Assay'd to flee upon the wings of storm. 
Fierce tempests beat the lofty mountains' side-:;, 
Sweep forests down, and spread destruction o'er 
The works of man. The troubled ocean heaves : 
His surging billows mingle with the clouds : 
His deepest caverns lie expos'd to view. 
The earth, convuls'd from her deep centre, heaves. 
Order forsook the world : discord spread w^ide. 
The confus'd elements again had join'd 
The listless empire of primeval chaos. 
Had not harmonic sounds assuag'd their tumult. 

Spirit divine ! thou soul of harmony 
In heaven and earth, breathe through my lines and speak 
The power of music's charms, when heavenly love 
VVarm'd every breast of angels, seraphim, 
And doubly glowM in the Almighty's Son ; 
Who, like a bridegroom clad in smiling youth 
And robes of peace, prcpar'd to meet his bride. 
The lightnings ceas'd ; the thunders died, when he 
Complacent smil'd. Gabriel, and all the choir 
Of heaven, said he, hush the commoved world, 
And wake the sleeping saints with sounds of peace. 
His words like melting music flow'd: his face, 
More radiant than the vernal morn, that smiles 
The earth to joy. The trump of Gabriel led 



The choral song : unnumber'd harps of gold, 

And voices sweet join'd the melodious sounds 

Discord, that late had mov'd the elements 

To war, and 'gan t' invade the spheres. 

Was hush'd to sleep. Quick chang'd the scene, 

From raging discord, universal storm,' 

To soothing sounds, and universal calm. 

The sun, from blackest clouds, unveiPd his fece, 

And shone with double radiance on the earth. 

The iixed stars had ceas'd to shed their beams, 

And trembling, hid in sable darkness, stood ; 

But now, enraptur'd with symphonious sounds, 

They dart their genial rays, and fill their orbs 

lYith pleasing light, and soul-reviving warmth. 

But thou, O Earth, most felt the pleasing change, 

Fierce storms were mute. 

Old ocean heard, and smoothed his tempest face ; 
And spring-like beauty smiPd on all the earth. 

Poets have sung of Orpheus' potent lyre ; 
Eurydice, forc'd from the bands of death, 
Of bending trees and moving rocks obsequious 
To the sound. But now whole worlds obey. 
Death could not hold his victims in the tomb. 
*' Thou monarch of the grave, resign the just ! 
Awake ! ye saints, from your long night of sleep, 
Adorn'd with ever-blooming youth and robes 
Of heavenly innocence. Salute the morn 
Of everlasting day." Thus sung the choir. 
Death's dreary mansions heard with sad dismay. 
In the mid regions of eternal night. 
There sits the ghastly monarch on his throne. 
Substantial darkness fills the broad domain : 
Heart-chilling vapours rise from noxious lakes. 
His servants, War, Intemp'rance, Plague, Revenge, 
Consumption, wrinkled Age, groan discord round 
His throne, and offer up their loathsome fumes 
Of putrid corps, contagion, dead'ning blasts ; 
Sweet incense to their king; or run before 
His grisly steed, when he rides o'er the earth. 

A nd 


And crops with chilling hand the bloom of life. 

Here reigns the awful monarch of the dead; 

When the full sound spread thro' his darksome realms, 

His heart a])paIPd, he trembles on his throne : 

His iron nerves relax : his sceptre falls. 

The saints releas-d, their dreary mansions leave : 

But O how chang'd ! 

No cumb'rous load of grosser elements. 

But pure aerial forms their soul possess ; 

Forms, like the glorious body of their Lord, 

Glowing with beauty and immortal bloom. 

A Dialogue on Loquacity. 

Enter Stefhex. 
^ J T ADIES and gendemen, you have prob- 
ep len, | ^ ^^^^y i-jg^^rd of Foote, the comedian : if 
not, ii is out pi' my power to tell you any thing about 
him, except this; he had but one leg, and his name 
was Samuel. Or, to speak more poetically, one leg 
he had, and Samuel v/as his name. This Foote wrote 
a farce, called the Alderman ; in which he attempted 
to ridicule a well-fed magistrate of the city of London. 
This last, hearing of the intended affroiit, called upon 
the player, and threatened him severely for his pre- 
sumption. Sir, says Foote, it is my business to take off 
people. You shall see hov/ w^ell I can take myself off. 
So out of the room he went, as though to prepare. 
The Alderman sat waiting, and waiting, and waiting, 

and 1 have forgotten the rest of the story; 

but it ended very comically. So I must request of you, 
to muster up your wit, and each one end the story to 
his own liking. You are all wondering what this 
story leads to. Why, I'll tell you ; Footc's farce was 
called the, ours is called the Medley ;. his 
was written according to rule, ours is composed at loose 
ends. Yet loose as it is, you will find it made up, like 
X2 ali 


all otlier pieces, of nouns, pronouns, verbs, participlesr, 
adverbs, conjunctions, articles, adjectives, prepositions, 
and interjections. Now, words are very harmless 
things ; though 1 confess that much dej^ends upon the 
manner of putting them together. The only thing to 
be settled is, that, if you should dislike the arrange- 
ment, you will please to alter it, till it suits you. 
Enter Trueman. 

Trueman, What are you prating about at such a rate ? 

Steph* I am speaking of Sam Foote, and prepositions, 
and adverbs, and many other great characters. 

Tru, Now, don't you know, that your unruly 
tongue will be the ruin of you ? Did you ever see a man 
who was foaming and frothing at the mouth as you are, 
that ever said any thing to the purpose ? You ought 
always to think before you speak, and to consider well 
to whom you speak, and the place and time of speaking. 

SUph. Pi'ay who taught you all this worldly wisdom ? 

Tru, My own experience, Sir ; whicii is said to be 
the beat school-master in the world, and ought to teach 
it to every man of common sense. 

Stepk. Then, do not imagine that you possess any 
great secret. " Keep your tongue between your teeth" 
is an old proverb, rusted and crusted over, till nobody 
can" tell what it was first made of. Prudence, indeed, 
teaches the same. So prudence may teach a merchant 
to keep his vessels in port for fear of a storm at sea. 
But, " nothing venture, nothing have" is my proverb. 
Nov\^ suppose all the world should adopt this prudence, 
what a multitude of mutes we should have ! There 
would be an end o^news, lawsuits, politics, and soci- 
ety. I tell you, Sir, that busy tongues are like main 
springs ; they set every thing in motion. 

7ru, But whcrc's a man's dignity, all this time, while 
his tongue i.s running at random, without a single 
nought to guide it ? 

Steph, His dignity ! that indeed ! Out upon parole, 

here it ought to be. A man's dignity ! as though 
■, -' ran'c imo tlie.'^'orld to support dignity, and by an 



affected distance, to make our friends feel their inferi- 
ority. I consider men like coins, which, because 
stamped with men's heads, pass for more than thcv 
are worth. And v/hen the world is willing to treat 
a man better than he deserves, there is a meanness in 
endeavouring to extoj-t more ffom them. 

Tru» But shall a man speak without thinking '/ Did 
you ever read the old proverb, ** Think tv/ice, before 
you speak once ?'' 

Supk, Ves, and a vile one it is. If a man speak 
from the impulse of the moment, he'll speak the mean- 
ing of his heart ; ar.d will probably speak the truth. 
But if he mind your musty proverb, there will be 
more pros and cons in his head, more hems and haws 
in his delivery, than there arc letters in his sentences. 
To your sly, subtle, thinking fellows, w^e owe all- the 
lies, cheating, hypocrisy, and double dealing there 
is m the world. 

Tru, But you know that every subject has its sides ; 
and we ought to examine, reilect, analyze, sift, consider, 
nnd determine, before we have a i*ight to speak 5 for 
the world are entitled to the best of our thoughts. 
What would you think of a tradesman, who should send 
home your coat, boots, or hat, half iiuished? You 
might think him a 'very honest-hearted fellow ; but 
you'd never employ him again. 

Steph, Now, was there any need of bringing in tai- 
lors, cobblers, and hatters, to help you out / They have 
.nothing to do with this subject. 

Tru» You don't understand me. I sfiy, if you 
would never employ such workmen, a second time, why 
should you justify a man for turning out liis thoughts 
half iinished ? The mind labours as actually in thinking 
upon, and maturing a subject, as the body does in the 
field, or on the shop-board. And, if the farmer knows 
when his grain is ready for the sickle, and the mechanic, 
when his work is ready for his customer, the man, who 

'ised to thinking, knows when he is master of his 



subject, and the proper time to communicate his 
thoughts with ease to himself and advantage to others. 

Steph, All this is escaping the subject. None of 
your figures, when the very original is before you. 
You talk about a man's mind, just as if it were a 
piece of gi-ound, capable of bearing flax and hemp. 
You have fiiirly brought forward a shop-board, and 
mounted your tailor upon it.. Now I have no notion 
of any cross-legged work in my inner man. In fact, 
I don't understand all this process of thiniling. My 
knowledge upon all subjects is very near the root of my 
tongue, and I feel great j*elief, when it gets near the tip. 

Trii, Depend on it that thousands have lost fame 
and even life by too great freedom of speech*. Trea- 
sons, murders, and robberies, have been generally dis- 
covered by the imprudent boasting of the perpetrators. 

Stcph, Depend on it, that our world has suffered 
far more by silent, than by prattling knaves. Suppose 
every man were to speak all his thoughts, relate all his 
actions, declare all his purposes, would the world be in 
danger of crimes ? No ; be assured, that magistrates, 
bailiffs, thief-takers, prisons, halters, and gallows, all 
owe their dignity to the contrivance of your sly, plod- 
dins; mutes. 

Tn^, You have let off from the tip of your tongue 
a picked company of dignified substantives ; but take 
liOtice that my doctrine does not extend to the midnight 
silence of robbers ; but to a due caution and reserve in 
conveying our thoughts to the world. And this I hope 
ever to observe. And if you determine on a different 
course, rest assured, that the consequences will not be 
very ])leasant. [Exit. 

Steph, Consequences ! that's counting chickens be- 
fore they are hatched. Dignity of human nature ! 
Pretty v/ords ! just fit to h<?. ranked widi the honour of 
thieves, and the courag'i of mo<leni duellists. 



American Sages. 

SEE on yon dark'ning height bold Franklin tread, 
Heav'n's awful thundors rolling o'er his head j 
Convolving clouds the billowy skies deform, 
And forky liames embk/.e the blackening storm. 
See the descending streams around him hurn, on }ji= rod, and with his guidance turn; 
He bids convicting heav'ns their blast expire, 
Curbs the fierce blaze, and holds th'^imprisonM fire. 
No more, when folding storm.s the vault o'erspread, 
The livid glare shall strike thy face with dread ; 
Nor tow'rs nor temples, shudd'ring with the sound, 
Sink in the flames, and spread derUruction round. 
His daring toils, the threatening blasts that wait. 
Shall teach mankind to ward the bolts of fate ; 
Tlie pointed steel o'ei'top th' ascending spire, 
And lead o'er trembling walls the harmless lire ; 
In his glad fame while distant worlds rejoice. 
Far as the lightnings shine, or thunders raise their voice. 

See the sageRittcnhouse, v/ith ardent eye. 
Lift the long tube, and pierce the starry sky : 
Clear in his viev/ the circling systems roll, 
And broader splendours gild the central pole. 
He marks what lavv^s th' eccentric wand'rers bind, 
Copies creation in his forming mind. 
And bids, beneath his hand, in semblance rise. 
With mimic orbs, the labours of the skies. 
There wond'ring crowds, with raptur'd eye, behold 
The spangled heav'ns their mystic maze unfold ; 
While each glad sage his splendid hall shall grace, 
With all the spheres that cleave th' ethereal space. 

To guide the sailor in his wand'ring way, 
-ee Godfrey's toils reverse the beams of day. 
His lifted quadrant to the eye displays 
From adverse skies the counteractiuir rays : 
y And marks, as devious sails bewildcr'd roll, 
"Each nice gradation from the stedfast pole. 



Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech, Nov. 13, 1777, 
ON American Affairs. 

1RISE, my lords, to declare my sentiments on thi» 
most solemn and serious suoject. It has imposed 
a load upon my mind, which, I fear, nothing can re- 
move ; but which impels me to endeavour its alleviation, 
hy a free and unreserved communication of my senti- 
ments. In the lirst part of the address, I have the' 
honor of heartily concurring with the noble Earl who 
moved it. No man feels sincerer joy than I do ; none 
can offer more genuine congratulation on every acces- 
sion of strength to the protestant succession : I there- 
fore join in every congratulation on the birth of another 
princess, and the happy recovery of her Majesty. 

But I must stop here ; my courtly complaisance will 
carry me no farther. I will not join in congratulation 
on misfortune and disgrace. I cannot concur in a 
blind and servile address, which approves, and endeav- 
ours to sanctify,. the monstrous measures that have heap- 
ed disgrace and misfortune upon us ; that have brought 
ruin to our doors. This, my lords, is a perilous and 
tremendous moment! It is not a time for adulation. 
The smoothness of flattery cannot now avail ; cannot 
save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now ne- 
cessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. 
We must dispel the delusion and the darkness which 
envelop it -, and display, in its full danger and true 
colours, the ruin that it has brought to our doors. 

Am] who is the minister ; where is the minister, who 
has dared to suggest to the throne the contrary, un- 
constitutional language, this day delivered from it ? 
The accustomed language from the throne has been 
application to Parliament for advice, and a reliance on 
its constitutional advice and assistance. As it is the 
right of Parliament to give, so it is the duty of the 
crown to ask it. But on this day, and in (his extreme 



iDoraentous exigency, no reliance is reposed on our 
constitutional counsels ! no advice is asked from the 
sober and enlightened care of Parliament ! But the 
crown, from itself, and by itself, declares an unaltera- 
ble determination to pursue measures. And v.Lat 
measures, my lords ? The measures diat have pro- 
duced imminent perils that threaten us ; the measures 
that have brought ruin to our doors. 

Can the Minister of the day now presume to expect 
a continuance of support, in this ruinous infatuation ? 
Can Parliament be so dead to its dignity and its duty, 
as to be thus deluded into the loss of the one, and the 
violation of the other? To give an unlimited credit 
and support for the perseverance in measures, vvhich 
have reduced this late flourishing empire to ruin and 
contempt! "But yesterday, and England might have 
stood against the world : now none so poor to do her 
reverence." I use the words of a poet; but though 
it is poetry, it is no fiction. It is a shameful truth, 
that not only the power and strength of this country 
are wasting away and expiring ; but her well-earned 
glories, her true honors, and substantial dignity, are 

France, my lords, has insulted you ; she has iencour- 
•aged and sustained America ; and whether America be 
wrong or right, the dignity of this country ought to 
spurn at the officious insult of French interference. 
The ministers and ambassadors of those who arc called 
rebels and enemies, are in Paris ; in Paris they trans*' 
act the reciprocal interests of America and France.* 
Can there be a more mortifying insult ? Can even our 
ministers sustain a more humiliating disgrace ? Do they 
dare to resent it ? Do they presume even to hint a 
vindication of their honor, and the dignity of the State, 
by requiring the dismissal of the plenipotentiaries of 
America ? Such is the degradation to which they have 
reduced the glories of England ! 

The people, Avhom they affect to call contemptible 
rebels, but whose growin-g power has at last obtained 



the name of enemies; the people with whom they 
have engaged this country in war, and against whom 
they now command our implicit support in every meas- 
ure of desperate hostility : this people, despised as reb- 
els, are acknowledged as enemies, are .abetted against 
you ; supplied with every military store ; their interests 
consulted, and their ambassadors entertained, by your 
inveterate enemy ! and our ministers dare not inter- 
pose with dignity or effect. Is this the honor of a 
great kingdom ? Is this the indignant spirit of England, 
who, but yesterday, gave law to the house of Bour- 
bon ? My lords, the dignity of nations demands a deci- 
sive conduct in a situation like this. 

This ruinous and ignominious situation, where we 
cannot act with success, nor suffer with honor, calls 
upon us to remonstrate in the strongest and loudest lan- 
guage of truth, to rescue the ear of Majesty from the 
delusions which surround it. The desperate state of our 
arms abroad is in part known. No man thinks more 
highly of them than I do. I love and honor the En- 
glish troops. 1 know they can achieve any thing except 
impossibilities : and 1 know that the conquest of English 
America is an impossibility. You cannot, I venture 
to say it, you CANNOT conquer America. 

Your armies, last year, effected every thing that 
could be effected ; and what was it ? It cost a numerous 
army, under the command of a most able general, now 
a noble lord in this House, a long and laborious cam- 
paign, to expel live thousand Frenchmen from French 
America. My lords, you CANNOT conquer Amer- 
ica. What is your present situation there ? We do 
not know the worst ; but we know, that in three 
campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. 
We shall soon know, and in any event, have reason to 
lament, what may have happened since. 

As to conquest, therefore, my lords, I repeat, it is 
impossible. You may swell every expense, and every 
effort, still more extravagantly ; pile and accumulate 
every assistance you can buy or borrow; traffic and 



barter with every little pitiful German prince, who 
sells his subjects to the shambles of a foreign power ;^' 
your efforts are forever vain and impotent ; doubly so 
5:om this mercenary aid on which you rely. For it 
irritates, to an incm-able resentment, the minds of your 
enemies, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of 
rapine and plunder; devoting them and their posses-^ 
sions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty ! If I were an' 
American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign ti'oop 
remained in my country, I NEVER would lay down 
my arms ; NEVER, NEVER, NEVER. 

Scene from the Tragedy of Cato. 

Cato, Lucius, and Sempronius. 
C t TT^ATHERS, we once again are met in council : 

^ ' 1. Cesar's approach has summoned us together, 
And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. 
How shall we treat this bold, aspiring man ? 
Success still follows him, and backs his crimes : 
Pharsalia gave him Rome^ Egypt has since 
Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cesar's. 
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, 
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands 
Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree 
What course to take. Our foe advances on us, 
And envies us even Lybia's sultry deserts. 
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts ; are they still fix'd 
To hold it out, and fight it to the last ? 
Or are your hearts subdued at length, and WTOUght 
By time and ill success to a submission ? 
Sempronius, speak. 

Sempronius., My voice is still for war. 
Heav'ns ! can a Roman senate long debate 
Which of the two to choose, slav'ry or death ! 
No ; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, 
And at the head of our remaining troops, 

Y Attack 


Attack the foe, break through the thick array 

Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him. 

Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, 

May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. 

Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help ; 

Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, 

Or share their fate ! The corpse of half her senate 

Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we 

Sit here deliberating in cold debates.. 

If we shall sacrifice our lives to honor, 

Or wear them out in servitude and chains. 

Rouse up, for shame ! our brothers of Pharsaiia 

Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, to battle ! 

Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow, 

And Scipio's ghost walk's unrevengM among us. 

Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal 
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason. 
True fortitude is seen in great exploits 
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides. 
All else is tow'ring frenzy and distraction. 
Are not the lives of those who draw the sword 
In Rome's defence intrusted to our care ? 
Should we thus lead them to the field of slaughter, 
Might not th' impartial world with reason say. 
We lavish'd at our death the blood of thousands, 
To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious ? 
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion ? 

Luc, My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'don peace. 
Already have our quarrels fill'd the world 
With widows, and with orphans. Scythia mourns 
Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions 
Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome. 
'Tis thne to sheathe the sword, and sparp .mankind. 
U is not Cesar, but the gods, my fathers J 
The gods declare against us ; repel 
Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle, 
Prompted by blind revenge, and wild despair, 
Were to refuse th^ awards of Providence, 
And not to rest in Heav'n''s determination. 



Already have we shown our love to Rome; 

Now let us show submission to the gods. 

We took up arras, not to revenge ourselves, 

But free the commonwealth ; when this end fails, 

Arms have no further use : our country's cause, 

That drew our sv.ords, now wrests them from our hands, 

And bids us not delight in Roman blood, 

Unprofitably shed, ^Vhat men could do, . 

Is done already. Heav'n and earth will witness. 

If Rome must fall, that we are innocent. 

Caio. Let us appear nor rash nor diffident ; 
Imniod'rate valour swells into a fault ; 
And fear, admitted into public councils, 
Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both. 
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs 
Are grown thus desp'rate : we have bulwarks round us' : 
Within our walls are troops inur'd to toil 
In Afric's heats, and season'd to the sun : 
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us, 
Ready to rise at its young prince's call. 
While there is hope, do not distrust the gods ; 
But wait at least till Cesar's near approach 
Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late 
To sue for chains, and own a conqueror. 
Why should Rome fall a- moment ere her time ? 
No, let us draw our term of freedom out 
In its full length, and spin it to the last ; 
So shall we gain still one day's liberty : 
And let me perish ; but in Cato's judgment, 
A day, an hour of virtuous liberty, 
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. 



Extract from an Oration, delivered at Boston, 
July 4, 1794, in Commemoration of American 


A MERICANS ! you have a country vast in extent, 
Jr\. and embracing all the varieties of the most sa- 
lubrious clirnes : held not by charters wrested from un- 
willing kings, but the bountiful gift of the Author of 
nature. The exuberance of your population is daily 
divesting the gloomy wilderness of its rude attire, and 
sploiiui?,! cities rise to cheer the dreary desert. You 
have a government deservedly celebrated as " giving 
the sanctions of law to the precepts of reason ;" pre- 
senting, instead of the rank luxuriance of natural licen- 
tiousness, the corrected sweets of civil liberty. You 
have fought the battles of freedom, and enkindled that 
sacred flame which now glows with vivid fervour 
through the greatest empire in Europe. 

We indulge the sanguine hope, that her equal laws 
and virtuous conduct will hereafter aiTord examples of 
imitation to all surrounding nations. That the-blissful 
period will soon arrive when man shall be elevated to 
his primitive character; when illuminated reason and 
regulated liberty shall once more exhibit him in the 
image of his Maker; when all the inhabitants of the 
globe shall be freemen and fellow-citizens, and patriot- 
ism itself be lost in universal philanthropy. Then shall 
volumes of incense incessantly roll from altars inscribed 
to liberty. Then shall the innumerable varieties of the 
human race unitedly " worship in her sacred tem])le, 
whose pillars shall rest on the remotest corners of the 
earth, and v/hose arch will be the vault of heaven." 



Dialogue tetween a white Inhabitant of the 
T^xiTED States and a\ Indian. 

1VJ f nr "\7"0UR friends, the inhabitants of the 
frnue Man, J^ ^,^^j^^^ g^^^^^^ ^^..^j^ ^^ ^^^^^^, ^^^^ ^^^^ 

ahawk, anJ live in peace with the Indian tribes. 

Indian. Justice is the parent of peace. The Indians 
love war only as they love justice. Let us enjoy our 
rights, and be content with yours, and we will hang 
the tomahawk and scalping-knife upon the tree of 
peace, and sit down together under its branches. 

IV, Man. This is what we desire, and what is your 
interest as wcii as ours to promote. We have often 
made leagues with you; they have been as often broken. 
If justice were your guide, and peace your desire, they 
would be better regarded. 

Ind. The White Men are robbers. We do not 
choose to be at peace with robbers ; it is more to our 
honor to be at war with them. 

IF. Man. It is in our power to punish the aggres- 
sors ; we have more warriors than the Indians ; but we 
choose to employ arguments rather than force. 

Ind. I have heard the arguments of White Men : 
they are a fair bait ; but their intentions are a bearded 
hook. You call us brothers, but you treat us like beasts ; 
you wish to trade with us, that you may cheat us ; you 
would give us peace, but you would take our lands, and 
leave us nothing worth fighting for. 

W. Man. The White Men want your lands ; but 
they are willing to pay for them. The great Parent 
has given the earth to all men in common to improve 
for their sustenance. He delights in the numbers of 
his children. If any have a superior claim, it must be 
those, who, by their arts and industry, can support the 
greatest number on the smallest territory. 

Ind. This is the way you talk ; you act differently. 

You have good on your tongue, but bad in your heart. 

Y 2 I have 


1 have been among White Men. I know as much about 
them as you do about Red Men. What would your 
people say, if poor men should go to a rich man, and tell 
hira, the great Parent has given the earth to all men in 
common ; we have not land enough ; you have more 
than you need ; he delights in the number of his chil- 
dren ; your great farm supports but few ; by our supe- 
rior arts and industry, it would support many; you 
may move to one corner of your land ; that is sufficient 
for you ; we will take the rest. We will live together 
as brothers, if you will be at peace with us ; if not, w^e^ 
have more warriors than you ; it is in our power to pun- 
ish the aggressors. Should you call this just ? No ! no ! 
W, Man, Surely not. 

Lid. Then justice among White Men and Red 
Men is different: will you show me the difference? 
I thought justice was our friend as well as yours. 

IV, Man, We are governed by laws that protect 
eur property, and punish the disturbers of peace. 

Ind, Then by what law do you encroach upon our 
property, and disturb oui- peace ? If you consider us as 
your brothers, your lav/s ought to protect us as well as 

W, Man, Our ways of living are different from 
yours. We have many employments and much prop- 
erty : your manners are simple, your possessions small ; 
our laws, of course, will not ypply to your circumstances. 
hid, I know you have many laws on pnper, and some 
lhat ought to make the paper blush. We have but few ; 
they are founded in justice, and written on the heart. 
They teach us to treat a stranger as our friend ; to open 
eur doors and spread our tables to the needy. If a 
White Man come among us, our heart is in our hand ; 
all we have is his ; yet you call us savages ! But that 
must mean something better than civilized, if you are 

W, Man, We do not impeach your hospitality, nor 
Crcnsure your humanity in many instances ; but how- 
can you justify your promiscuous slaughter of the in 




nocent and guilty, your cniel massacres of helpless 
wives and children wlio never injured you ? 

Ind, If a man provoke me to tight with him, I will 
break his head if I can : if he is stronger than I, then I 
must be content to break his arm or his finger. When 
the war-whoop is sounded, and v/e take up the toma- 
hawk, our hearts are one ; our cause is common ; the 
wives and children of our enemies are our enemies also ; 
they have the same blood, and we have the same thirst 
for it. If you wish your Vvives and children should es- 
cape our vengeance, be honest and friendly in your 
dealings with us ; if they have ruffians for their pro- 
tectors, they must not expect safety. 

W. Man. We have both the same claim from each 
other ; friendship and justice are all we require. Our 
ideas on these subjects are ditTerent ; perhaps they will 
never agree. On one side, ferocity will not be dictated 
by humanitv, nor stubbornness by reason ; on the other, 
knowledg;. is not disposed to be advised by ignorance, 
nor power lo stoop to weakness. 

Ind, I believe we shall not make peace by our 
talks. If the contention is, who has the most humanity, 
let him who made us judge. Wo have no pretensions 
to sujicrior knowledge ; we ask, Who knows best how 
to use what they have ? If we contend for power, our 
arms must decide : the leaves must wither on the tree 
.of peace ; we shall cut it down v/ith the battle 4 ';e, 
:;and stain the green grass that grov/s under it with your 

W, Man. You know the blessings of peace, and the 
calamities of war. If you wish to live secure in your 
wigwams, and to rove the forest unmolested, cultivate 
our friendship. Break not into our houses in the de- 
fenceless hours of sleep. Let no more of our inno- 
cent friends be dragged from their protectors, and driven 
into the intiospitablc wilderness ; or what is still more 
inhuman, full victims to your unrelenting barbarity ! 
i f you prefer war, we shall drive its horrors into your 



own settlements. The sword shall destroy your friends, 
and the nre consume your dwellings. 

Ind. We love peace ; we love our friends ; we love 
ail men, as much as you. When your fathers came 
over the big water, we treated them as brothers : they 
had nothing: peace and plenty were among us. All 
the land was ours, from the cast to the west water; 
from the mountains of snow in the north, to the burn- 
ing path of the sun in the south. They were made 
welcome to our land and to all we possessed. To talk 
like ^Vhite Men, they were beggars, and we their ben- 
efactors : they were tenants at will, and we their land- 
lords. But we nourished a viper in our bosoms. You 
have poisoned us by your luxury ; spread contention 
among us by your subtlety, and death by your treach- 
ery. The Indians have but two predominant passions, 
friendship and revenge. Deal with us as friends, and 
you may fish in our rivers or hunt in our forests. Treat 
us not like servants ; v/e shall never own you as mas- 
ters. If you provoke us, our vengeance shall pursue 
you. We shall drink your blood ; you may spill ours. 
We had rather die in honorable war, than live in dis- 
honorable peace. 

Extract from an Oration, pronounced at Bos- 
ton, July 4, 1796. 

rjpriAT the best v/ay for a great empire to tax her 
X colonics is to confer benefits upon them, and, 
that no rulei's have a right to levy contributions upon 
the propei'ty, or exact the services of their subjects, 
without their own, or the consent of their immediate 
representatives, were principles never recognized by 
the mhiistry and parliament of Great-Britain. Fatally 
enamoured of their selfish systems of policy, and obsti- 
nately determined to eflfect the execution of their ne- 
farious purposes, they were deaf to the suggestions of 
reason and the demands of justice. The frantic, though 



transient energy of intoxicated roj^e was exhibited in 
their very act, and blackened and distorted ihe features 
of their national character. 

On the contrary, Americans had but one object in 
view, for in Independence are concentrated and con- 
densed every blessing that makes life desirable, every 
right and every privilege which can tend to the hap- 
piness or secure the native dignity of man. In the at- 
taifiment of Independence, were all their passions, their 
desires, and their powers engaged. The intrepidity 
and mngnanimity of their armies; the wisdom and in- 
flexible firmness of their Congress ; the ardency of their 
}-)atriotism : their unrepining })atience, when assailed 
by dangers and perplexed with aggravated misfortunes, 
have long and deservedly employed the pen of pane- 
gyric and the tongue of eulogy. 

Through the whole revolutionary conflict, a consist- 
ency and systematic regularity were preserved, equally 
honorable as extraordinary. The unity of dej^ign and 
classical correct arrangement of the series of incidents, 
which completed the Epic story of American Independ- 
ence, were so wonderful, so well wrought, that political 
Hypercriticism was abashed at the mighty production, 
and forced to join her sister Envy, in applauding the 
glorious composition. 

It is my pleasing duty, my fellow-citizens, to felici- 
tate you on the establishment of our national sovereign- 
ty ; and among the various subjects for congratulation 
and rejoicing, this is not the most unimportant, that 
Heaven ha^spared so many vetei*ans in the art of war ; 
so many sages, who ^re versed in the best politics of 
peace ; men, who were able to instruct find to govern, and 
whose faithful services, whose unremitted exertions to 
promote the public prosperity, entitle them to our firm- 
est confidence and warmest gratitude. Uuiling in the 
celebration of this anniversary, I am happy to behold 
many of the illustrious remnant of that band of patriots, 
who, despising danger and death, determined to be free, 
or gloriously perish in the cause. Their countenances 



beam inexpressible delight ? our joys are increaseid by 
their presence ; our raptures are heightened by their 
participation. The feelings, which inspired them in; 
the " times vvhich fried men's souls," are communicated 
to our bosoms. We catch the divine spirit which im- 
pelled them to bid defiance to the congregated host of 
despots. We swear to preserve the blessings they toiled 
to gain, which they obtained by the incessant labours of 
eight distressful years ; to transmit to our posterity, 
our rights undiminished, our honor untarnished, and 
our freedom unimpaired. 

On the last page of Fate's eventful volume, with the 
raptured ken of prophecy , 1 behold Columbia's name re- 
cprded 5 her future honors and happiness inscribed. In 
the same important book the approaching end of Ty- 
ranny and the triumph of Right and Justice are written 
in indelible characters. Thestruggle will soon be over; 
the tottering thrones of despots will quickly fall, and- 
feury their proud incumbents in their massy ruins ! 

Then peace on earth shall hold her easy sway, 
And man forget his brother man to slay. 
To martial arts, shall milder arts succeed ; 
Who blesses most, shall gain th' immortal meed. 
The eye of pity shall be pain'd no more. 
With Vict'ry's crimson banners stain'd with gore. 
Thou glorious era, come I Hail, blessed time ! 
When full-orb'd Freedom shall unclouded shine ; 
When the chaste Muses, cherish'd by her rays, 
In olive groves shall tune their sweetest laj;s ; 
When bounteous Ceres shall direct her car, 
O'er fields now blasted with the^fires of war; 
And angels view, with joy and wonder join'd, 
The golden ago return'd to bless mankind ! 



Dialogue between Edward and Ha'riiy. 

[Edward alone, reading.] 

Enter Harry, rvith an important air* 

rr IIIOW ai^ you, Ned? 

/irt?;-^. J--| Edward. What, is it you, brother 
Harry ? Were it not for the small part of your face, 
that appears between your fore-top and your cravat, I 
should never know you. 

Har, My appearance is a little altered, to be sure; 
but I hope you will allow it is for the better. 

Edic. I wish I could, i perceive, that, some how 
or other, you arc completely metamorphosed from a 
plain country lad, to a Boston buck, beau, or fop : 
which is the current word in your varyiiig town dia- 
lect, to express such a thing as yourself? 

Har, Ah, either of them will do. The young la- 
dies sometimes call me Tippy Harry ^ that suits my 
car the best. 

Edu\ That, I suppose, means a liuh^ fop, or, as I 
should express it, afoppee, who is obligcdto stand tip- 
toe to reach a lady herf::^n. ' 

Har. One of your clownish blunders, l<in}. It 
means an airy young gentleman, dressed out in com- 
plete bon ton from head to foot, like myself. 

Ediu. "An airy young gendcman, dressed out in 
complete bon ton, k'c. &c." This definition may be of 
service to me ; I will try to remoraber it. You ahvay.^ 
possessed one quality df a gentleman, a large share of 
goodliumour : i hope you will not be angry, brother^ 
if I am a little inquisitive. 

Har, Do, Ned, leave off using that old-il^shioned 
word : I had rather you would do any thing to nic than 
brother me at this rate. If you should come to 
Boston, dressed as you are now, with your clumsy 
shoes, coarse stockings, great small-clothes, homc-spu a 


coat, and=y<ror old rusty go-to-mill hat, and shake 
hands with 'me, in your awkward way ; and then, to 
complete the whole, should call me brother, I should be 
thunderstruck ! For my credit's sake, I should swear 
it was some crazy straggler, I had seen in the country, 
and given a few coppers to keep him from starving. I 
would hide behind the counter, or lie rolled up in a 
piece of broadcloth a week, rather than be caught in 
such a scrape. 

Edii}, An airy young gentleman, indeed! would 
swear to half a dozen lies, hide behind the counter, 
and roll yourself up in a piece of broadcloth like a silk- 
worm, to save your credit ! You have improved much 
beyond my expectations, Tippy Harry! This sounds 
better in your refined ear than brother Harry, I sup- 

Har. Yes it does, Ned, I'll assure you : that's your 
sort! You begin to come on a little. Now I'll tell you 
how it is, Ned ; if you* would take your old musty li- 
brary here, and lay it all on the fire together, and burn 
all your old-fashioned clothes with it, and then go to 
Boston-^- — 

Edw. What, without any clothes, Harry? 

Har. Why, I think I should about as lief be seen 
with ys<:u stark naked, as with your coarst?, narrow- 
backed, short-waisted coat. But as I was saying be- 
fore, then put yourself under the care of a tailor, bar- 
ber, shoe-maker, and a dancing master ; keep a store of 
English goods about three months, go to the Theatre a 
dozen nights, chat with our Boston Tippies, have a 
few high goes, and freeze and thaw two or three 
times, for you are monstrously stiff; I say, after ofl this, 
I believe, Ned, you would make a very clevei* fellow., 

Edw, The freezing and thawing is a kind of 
discipline I should not so readily com])ly with. I have 
heard of several of your clever fellows, and ladies of 
your so7't, who were found frozen in old barns, and 
behind board fences; but I never, kn.ew they were so 
fortunate as to thaw again. Now, Harry, I will be 



serious with you. Your airy young gentleman, in my 
opinion, is a very insipid character : far ^Dcneath my am- 
bition. A few materials from behind the counter, the 
tailor's needle and shears, the barber's puff and poma- 
tuni, a little sheep-skin modified by the shoe-maker, 
and what is the most insignificant of all, a little supple, 
puny machine, that in plain English, 1 should call a 
naked fool ; to strut about the streets with all this finery 5 
carry it to the theatre, or dancing school ; and teach 
it to say a few pretty things by rote ; these make 
the gentlemen of your sort. Mine is composed of quite 
different materials. 

Har, Pray let me know what they arc : home- 
spun, I dare say. I am superfine, you see, from, head 
to foot. 

Edzu, Yes, Harry, you have blundered into one 
just observation. In the first place, I would lay up a 
good store of knowledge, home-spun from my own re- 
Hections, reading and observation ; not the second- 
handed smattering of the most ignorant of all beings 
who use a tongue. The tailor's, barber's, and dancing- 
master's bill should not show an inventory of ail I pos- 
sessed. They may make my clothes, dress my hair, 
and teach me how to bow ; but there must be some- 
thing more to command the bow of respect from people 
of sense, the judges of real merit. In short, I would be 
a gentleman tarmer ; too well informed to be influenced 
by your railing newspaper politics ; too much delighted 
with the bleating and playing of the flocks in my own 
pasture, to read the head of Theatricals^ or be amused 
with any drove of sta^e-players, that have infested our 
country from Charleston to Portsmouth. And I 
should be much more proud of raising one likely calf, 
than as many of the most insipid of all animals, called 
Tippies, as could stand in every shop in Cornhill. 

Z Davit) 


David and Goliath. 

r /■ fh '\^7"^^''^^^ is the mighty man of war, who 
la , yy dares 

Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief? 

What victor king, what gen'ral drench'd in blood, 

Claims this high privilege ? What are his rights ? 

What proud credentials does the boaster bring, 

To prove his claim '? What cities laid in ashes, 

What ruin'd provinces, what slaughter'd realms. 

What heads of hei^oes, and what hearts of kings. 

In battle kilPd, or at his altars slain, 

Has he to boast ? Is his bright armoury 

Thick set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail, 

Of vanqnishM nations, by his single arm 

Subdu'd ? W^here is the mortal man so bold, 

So much a wretch, so out of love wdth life, 

To dare the weight of this uplifted spear, 

Whiqh never fell innoxious ? Yet I swear, 

I grudge the glory to his parting soul 

To fall by this right hand. 'Twill sweeten -death, 

To know he had the honor to contend 

With the dread son of Anak. Latest time 

From blank oblivion shall retrieve his name, 

Who dar'd to perish in unequal fight 

W'ith Gath's triumphant champion. Come, advance ! 

Philistia's gods to IsraePs. Sound, my herald, 

Sound for the battle straight ! 

Dav, Behold thy foe ! 

GoL I see him not. 

Dav, Behold him here ! 

GoL Say, where ! 
Direct my sight. I do not war with boys. 

Dav. 1 stand prepar'd ; thy single arm to mine^ 

GvL WHiy, this is mockery, minion! it may chance 
To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee : 
But tell me who, of all this num'rous host. 



ExpecL,-5 his death from me? Which is the man, 
Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance ? 

Dav, Th' election of my sov'reii^n falls on me. ^ 

GuL On thee! on thee ! by Dagon, 'tis too much I 
Thou curled minion ! thou a nation's champion ! 
'Twould move my mirth af any other time ; 
But trilling's out of tune. Begone, light boy ! 
And temj)tmc not too f^ir. 

Dav, I do defy thee, 
Thou foul idolater! Hast thou not scorn'd 
The armies of the living God I serve ? 
By me he will avenge upon thy head 
Thy nation's sins and thine. Arm'd with his name, 
Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe 
That ever bath'd his hostile spear in blood. 

Gol, Indeed ! 'tis wondrous well ! Now, by my gods. 
The stripling plays the orator ! Vain boy ! 
Keep close to that same bloodless v/ar of words. 
And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior ! 
Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung, 
Of idle field-flowers ? Where thy wanton harp, 
'Thou dainty-fing'cr'd hero ? Better strike 
Its note lascivious, or the lulling lute 
Touch softly, than provoke the trumpet's rage. 
I will not stain the honor of my spear 
With thy inglorious blood. Shall that fair check 
Be scan-'d with wounds unseemly ? Rather go, 
And hold fond dalliance with the Syrian maids ; 
To wanton measures dance ; and let them braid 
The bright luxuriance of thy golden hair ; 
They, for their lost Adonis, may mistake 
Thy dainty form. 

Darv, I'cacp, thou unhallow'd railer ! 
O tell it not in Gath, nor let the sound 
Reach Askelon, how once your slaughter'd lords, 
By mighty Samson found one common grave : 
When his broad shoulder the firm pillars heav'd. 
And to its base the tott'rinsr fabric shook. 

" ■ Cot. 


GoL Insulting boy ; perhaps thou hast not heard 
The infamy of that inglorious day, 
When your weak hosts at Eben-ezcr pitch'd 
Their quick-abandon'd tents. Then, when your ark, 
Your talisman, your charm, your boasted pledge 
Of safety and success, was tamely lost ! 
And yet not tamely, since by me 'twas won. 
When with this good right arm, I thinn'd your ranks-, 
And bravely crush'd, beneath a single blow, 
The chosen guardians of this vaunted shrine, 
Hophni and Phineas. The fam'd ari* itself, 
I bore to Ashdod. 

Dav, I remember too, 
Since thou provok'st th' unwelcome truth, how all 
Your blushing priests beheld their idol's shame ; 
When prostrate Dagon fell before the ark. 
And your frail god was shiver'd* Then Philistia, 
Idolatrous Philistia flew for succour 
To Israel's help, and all her smitten nobles 
Confess'd the Lord was God, and the blest ark, 
Gladly, with reverential awe restor'd ! 

Gol. By Ashdod's fane thou ly'st. Now will I meet 
Thou insect warrior ! since thou dar'st me thus ! 
Already I behold thy mangled limbs, 
Dissever'd each from each, ere long to feed 
The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well! 
Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks. 
And toss in air thy head all gash'd with wounds ;, 
Thy lips, yet quiv'ring with the dire convulsion 
Of recent death ! Art tliou not terrified ? 

Dav, No. 
True courage is not mov'd by breath of words j 
But the rash bravery of boiling blood, 
fmpetuous, knows no settled principle. 
\ feverish tide, it has its ebbs and flows. 
As spirits rise or fall, as wine inflames, 
Or circumstances change. But inborn courage, 
The rc/i'rous cliild of fortitude and Faith, 



Holds its firm empire in the coHslant soul ; 
And, like the stedtast pole-star, never once 
From the same fixM and faithful point declines. 

GoL The cursCs of Philistia's gods be en thee ! 
This fine-drawn speech is meant to lengthen out 
That little life thy words pretend to scorn. 

Dav, Ha! says' t thou so? Come on then! Mark 
us well. 
Thou com'st to me with sword, and spear, and shield ! 
In the dread name of Israel's God, I come ; 
The living Lorcf of Hosts, whom thou defys't! 
Yet though no shield I bring ; no arms, except 
These live smooth stones I gathered from the brook, 
With such a simple soling as shepherds use ; 
Yet all expos'd, defenceless as I am, 
The God 1 serve shall give thee up a prey 
To my victorious ami. This day I mean 
To make th' un circumcised tribes confess 
There is a God in Israel. I will give thee. 
Spite of thy vaunted strength and giant bulk, 
To glut the carrion kites. Nor thee alone ; 
The mangled carcases of your thick hosts 
Shall spread the plains of Elah; till Thilistia, 
Through her trembling tents and flying bands, 
Shall own that Judah's God is God indeed ! 
1 dare thee to the trial ! 

GoL Follow me. 
In this good spear I trust. 

Dav. I trust in Heaven ! 
The God of battles stimulates my arm. 
And fires my soul with ardour, not its own. 

An Oration on the Powers of Eloquence, writ- 
ten FOR an Exhibition of a School in Boston*, 

A MIDST the profusion of interesting and brilliant 

XjLobjects in this assembly, should the speaker be able 

Z 2 to 


to engage the aiieiition of a few eyes, and a few ears, Ke 
will esteem his reception flattering. To another is al- 
lotted the pleasing task of closing the evening, with re- 
marks on Female Edueationr'* It i.; mine to recommend 
the POWERS OF ELOQUENCE, and to show the 
influence which it justly challenges, over the senses, 
passions, and understandings of mankind. 

Eloquence consists in a capacity of expressing, by the 
Toice, attitude, gesture, and countenance, the emotions 
of the heart. To this art, Demosthenes and Cicero 
owe their immortality; by this, the tate earl of Chat- 
ham gained his celebrity ; and to this, are the great pol- 
iticians, now in Europe, indebted for their distinction. 
Eloquent men begin to be hear(^with attention in our 
Congress; pulpit orators gain crowds, and eloquent 
lawyers gain causes. 

When the enlightened Statesman is discussing the 
interests of a country, on which are grafted his for- 
tune, fame and life, he must be eloquent. Wheri the 
general harangues a brave soldiery, at the eve of a bat- 
tle, on v^/hich depend their liberties and lives, he must 
be eloquent. When the compassionate lawyer, with- 
out hope of reward, advocates the cause of the suffer^ 
ing widow, or injured orphan, he must be eloquent. 

But when true Eloquence is introduced into the sa- 
cred desk, how elevated is the subject of the passion on 
the cross ! With what animating 7,eal can the preacher 
call on his hearers, to " open a highway for their God V^ 
With what rapture can he burst from the gloom of types 
and figures, into the brightnessofthat everlasting Gospel 
which brought " life and immortality to light !*' With 
what heaven-taught joy can he hail the star m the East ! 
and with what semblance of reality may he lead the 
imaginations of his audience to a sight of th6 babe in 
the manger! l( he feel such subjects, he must be elo- 
quent and irresistible. 

May we now look back and trac6 the progress and 
nfluence of Eloquence on diiicrent subjects, and at 


' %><; American PiTcep'or, p. 47. 


various pei'iods ? How do we feel its power, when we 
hear David expressing the appearing of the Highest ! 
" He bowed the heavens also, and came down, and 
darkness was under his feet ; he rode upon a cherub, 
and did fly, and he was seen upon the wings of the 

Who can hear, without emotion, the sublime elo- 
quence of the prophet Isaiah, when he announces the 
future glory of the church ? "' Violence shall no more- 
be heard in thy land ; wasting nor destruction within 
(hy borders : but thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, 
and thy gates. Praise. ''^ 

But in what language has the prophet Habakkuk 
described the majesty of the Creator? "Before him 
went the pestilence, and burning coals went foilh at 
his feet : he stood, and measured the earth : he beheld, 
and drove asunder the nations : the everlasting moun- 
tains were scattered : the perpetual hills did bow : his 
ways are everlasting." Let us pass in respectful silence 
the eloquence ofHim,who "spake, as neverman spake." 
But our attention is immediately arrested by the de- 
fence of Paul before Agrippa ; in which he describes a 
light from heaven, above the brightness of the mid-day 
sun ; when he declares his conversion, and commission 
to be a minister, and a witness of those things, which 
he had seen, and of those things, in which the Saviour 
would appear unto him. " Whereupon," says he, 
" O king Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heav- 
enly vision." 

Nor can we fail to mention that eloquence, which 
made Felix tremble on his throne. Nor can we read, 
unmoved, Paul's solemn account of the resurrection ; 
when, " In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, 
the dep^l shall be raised, and we shall be changed." 
But when we come to the vision on the isle of Patmos, 
where the glory of heaven was unveiled to a man of 
God, we are lost in the majesty and sublimity of the 
description of things, which must be hereafter ; and 
must close the sacred scriptures, convinced of the irre- 



sistible Powers of Eloquence, when employed u/- jn di 
vine subjects. 

Among themes less interesting, is there one, on 
w^hich these powers have been unsuccessfully employed / 
We read how the eloquence of one man governed all 
hearts in Greece, and how astonishing was its effect 
from the immortal Orator at Rome. All civilized na- 
tions can furnish facts and arguments on this subject. 
Wherever arts and sciences have found a residence, 
oratory has been a sure attendant. 

I am obliged to pass, with regret, the characters 
of D'Espremenil, Mirabeau, Burke, Fox, Flood, and 
Grattan, who, wdthin our own days, have made the 
Senates of three diifcrent kingdoms ring with their 
eloquence. With greater reluctance must I pass the 
memorable time, Vvhen all the senses, passions^and al- 
most breath of five thousand people were suspended 
at the admirable eloquence of Sheridan, while he de- 
scribed the cruelties of Hastings on the banks of the Gan- 
ges ; when with unfeeling madness that despot redden- 
ed the waters with the blood of mothers and their in- 
fants, and made even the river blush for the honor of 
the British name. 

With pleasure I bring my subject to the scenes of my 
native country ; and here could, with the enthusiasm 
of Columbus in his vision, present before you the lofty 
Andes, the majestic Mississippi, the beautiful Ohio, the 
falls of Niagara, and the lakes of the north. I might 
take a view of this country, extending through the 
five zones, comprehending all the climates, and pro- 
ducing all the varieties^of the earth. 

Our ears have heard what wonders have been 
wrought in l)nited America. Our eyes see its pres- 
ent happy situation. After many toils and con /».ilsions, 
we at length find ourselves safe on the top of Nebo, 
and our Moses yet alive at the head of our rulers. 
Hence we look forward to the flattering prospects of 
futurity. Our orators and poets have announced bless- 
ed things in the latter days. Our prophets have 



taught us to expect the reality of golden dreams. The 
leaves of our future history arc gilded, and the pages 
are left to be filled up, with the actions of a long list 
•f unamhitioxis Cesars^ 

We are tokl^ that on this our native spot of earth, 
slavish government and slavish hierarchies shall cease ; 
that here, the old prophecies^ shall be veriiicd ; that 
here shall be the last, universal empire on earth, the 
empire of reason and virtue ; under which the gospel 
-ef peace shall have free course and be glorified; that 
here '' the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leop- 
ard wiih the kid, and that nation shall no more lift up 
sword against nation." 

When the philosopher of the East foresaw the beauty 
and excellence of this Western Continent, its immense 
rivers, lakes, and mountains ; cities rising from the 
midst of desolation ; '= men like trees walking," where 
•nee were the haunts of savage beasts : arts and man- 
ners improving ; the rose budding in the desert, and 
the flowers of the garden in the solitary place, rich in- 
deed was the prospect. But his visions have become 
9ur realities. We live to enjoy blessings, more numer- 
ous than Columbus could count. 

We see schools, academies, and colleges, opening 
their treasures to every family ; and are taught, that 
religion, liberty, and science, are constellations in the 
heavens, w^hich, amidst the revolution of empires, visit 
in succession, all the kingdoms and pro]>le of the earth. 
We see one half of the world involved in darkness, 
and oblivious sleep ; while the other is enjoying the 
blessings of day, and of visiilant industry. 

The day of American glory has at length dawned. 
No more shall meteors of the air, and insects w ith gild- 
ed wings, lead astray the benighted traveller, nor the 
bleaking buzzords of the night triumph over the bird of 
Jove. Prejudice, ignorance, and tyranny, arc flying 
on the wings of the wind. While this day is ours, let 
us be up and doing. 



May I now introduce my subject within these walls ? 
And hei^e, how extensive is the theme for my feeble 
powers of Eloquence ! yet may I employ them, in sug- 
gesting the motives which your sons and daughters have 
to cultivate their minds. Gratitude to their parents ; 
your patrona2;e ; their own ambition ; their prospects 
of future" profit, usefulness, and honest fame, are among 
the first. 

But highly important is rendered this morning of 
life and privilege to us, from a consideration, that we 
are born in the best of countries, at the best of times. 
While some of the human race arc suffering the ex- 
treme heats of burning zones, and others are freezing 
beyond the influence of benignant rays, we live in a 
climate, temperate, salubrious, and healthful. While 
some, inherit from their parents poverty and slavery, 
we are the heirs of private, public, and social benefits. 

Our eyes have been opened in a country, where the 
Fatherof mercies has been pleased to condense his bless- 
ings. On us beam,s the sun of Science : ours is the 
hemisphere of Freedom : here are enjoyed THE 
RIGHTS OF MAN ; and upon us shine, with ceaseless 
splendour, the rays of the STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 

Blest in the dispensations of nature, providence, and 
grace, on us depends a faithful improvement of our nu- 
merous talents. Early taught the shortness and value 
of life, and the importance of improving each hour of 
youth, while we have leisure, and the assistance of in- 
structors, we early learn to be diligent. Observing, 
that with our parents, the shadows of the evening be- 
gin to lengthen, and that soon the wheel will cease to 
turn round at the cistern ; that soon they must leave us, 
and that we must fill their places, we learn to be am- 
bitious and emulous to excel. But beyond these, we 
have, with all other children of the universe, an argu- 
ment still higher to improve these precious^days. We 
live not only for ourselves, for our parents, friends, and 
country ; but for the Giver of life : we live for immor- 
tality. Young as wc are, and just entered the bark of 

being ; 


beino; ; yet like you, we are on a boundless ocean, and 
an eternal voyage. 

As ELOQUENCE is my theme, perhaps I may be 
indulged in dwelling for the few remaining moments, 
on this last most interesting subject. While enjoying 
the blessings of health, and the festivities of youth, we 
stand on this bridge of life, careless of the rapid cur- 
rents of yesterdays and to-morrows; yet rellection 
teaches that the hour is rapidly hastening, when " the 
cloud-capt towers ; the gorgeous palaces ; the solemn 
temples ; yea, the great globe itself, with all which it 
inherits, shall dissolve, and like the baseless fabric of a 
vision, leave not a reck behind." We shall survive. 

Though the loss of parents and friends ; though the 
frequent infirmities and vicissitudes of life, teach us 
gloomily to reflect, that *' An angel's arm can't snatch 
us from the grave ;" yet a sure prospect of a resurrec- 
tion to ceaseless life, bids us say with triumph, "Legions 
of angels can't confine us there." We look back on 
the ages which have passed, and see the millions of men, 
who, since the days of Adam, have been laid in the 
dust. W^e see nine hundred and fifty millions of ra- 
tional beings, now in full life, who must, in a few years, 
be cold and in death ; and in every day of our lives, 
no less than eighty-six thousand of the human race, 
are laid in the grave. What oceans of tears have been 
shed by surviving friendg I 

How have mourning, lamentation, and woe been 
heard not only in Rama, but throughout every quar- 
ter of the inhabited earth ! We contemplate the time, 
when these bodies of ours, now full of life and motion, 
shall be cold. We elevate eur thoughts to that scene, 
when the elements shall melt with fervent heat ; when 
the sun shall be darkened, and the moon no more give 
light : when the stars of heaven shall fall from their 
places, and all nature be tumbling into iiiins. 

Then the trump of God shall sound ; then shall he, 
who once said, " Lazarus, come forth," descend 
from heaven, with a mighty shout. Then, shall the 



dead hear the voice of the Son of God ; then shall they 
"burst the bands of death, and rise, never to sleep again. 
Then shall this mortal put on immortality, and death 
be swallowed up of life. 

We shall be present at this august resurrection] Soon 
shall we cease to see the blue canopy of the day, and 
the starred curtain of the night ; to hear the rolling of 
the thunder, or see the lightning of the heavens; 
scenes, which now impress us with awe and delight. 
We look round creation, and see all living nature, be- 
low our rank, dissolving to dust ; never to revive. We 
see -the flowers of spring die, and the leaves of autumn 
fade ; never to resume their beauty and verdure. But 
contemplating the soul of' man, we are led to the lan- 
guage of the poet, 

'• See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending, 
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom, 

On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, 
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." 

This subject, itself so full of Eloquence, is also full of 
instruction and argument. Whatever elevates the dig- 
nity of our natures, and extends our views, teaches us 
to live ; daily to improve our minds ; daily to better our 
hearts. May ELOQUENCE ever be improved in the 
cause of learning and virtue ; ever employed in ad- 
dressing important truths to the mind, inja most forcible 
2nd expressive manner. 

May the daughters of America wear their charms, 
as attendants on their virtue, the satellites of their in- 
nocence, and the ornament of their sex. May her 
sons early learn the principles of honor, honesty, dili- 
gence, and patriotism ; and when called to leave these 
happy seats, where care is a stranger, and where learn- 
ing is a free gift, be prepared for the burden and heat 
of the day, and ever prove as a munition of rocks to 
their country. 

A Dialogue 




Tox, AND A Country Farmer. 

n *i TTALLOO! there, Master! What 

J- A have you got m your wallet r 

Farmer, Fowls, Sir, at your service. 

Gent, And what do you ask a pair ? • 

Farm, Fifty cents a pair for ducks, and seventy-five 
cents apiece for geese and turkeys. 

Gent, What is the fellow talking about ? I inquired 
the price of fowls ; not of geese and turkeys. 

Farm, And pray, Mister, what is the difference 
between a fowl and a goose ? My bible teaches me, 
that all the feathered tribe are ranged under the gen- 
eral name of fowl. 

Gent, Why, you numskull! don't quote scripture 
to me, to prove such palpable absurdities. I can teach 
you, that a goose, or turkey, is no more like a fowl, 
than a human being is like one of the animal creation ! 

Farm, I crave your pardon, Mister. I begin to 
see that I never was larn'd the right use of language ; 
for, since I come among these fine gentlefolks, 1 don't 
understand one half that's said to me. 

Gent, So it seems. However, you have now en- 
tered a good scliool to learn civilization. What I 
wanted, Wc^s, a pair of those creatchures that lay eggs, 
wulgarly cd lied hens. 

Farm, Vvhy, begging your pardon, Sir, Jind ho- 
ping no oflence, I should suppose, that, at least, one of 
the sorts ] ha\^e in ni)^ wallet lays eggs, from the mul- 
titude of croslins T see about your streets. 

Gent, Why, you fool ; where were you bred ? I 
should imagine }^ou come fifty miles off, where they 
tell me the people are almost savages ; and that you 
were never in market before. 

Farm, It is true, 1 live more than fifty miles off, 

and never was in this' great city before ; and in fact, I 

A a begin 


begin to think I never shall desire to be again ; for I 
have hitherto met with pretty rough handling, 1 assure 

Gent, No wonder that such ignorance should ex- 
pose you to insults. A man like you, who has been 
brung up among savages, and not able to speak inteU 
ligibly, must expect to receive severe discipline, when 
he first visits a land of civilizatiois. 

Farm. I begin to see vrhat a sad thing it is, espe- 
cially in such a place as this, to be so destitute as I am 
of the right kind of laming. I confess, that, so far 
from civilization, T have never received but little more 
than christianization. But I should think, even that 
ought to entitle an honest, well-meaning man to bet- 
ter treatment than I have met with this morning. 

Gent, You have no right to complain. Such a 
blundering blockhead as you are ought to think him* 
self fortchunate, if he is suffered to pass the streets with- 
out having his head broke. 

Farm, Indeed, I have hardly escaped that. I have 
been accosted a hundred and fifty times since I entered 
the big town, by all sorts and sizes of folks, boch male 
and female. Which, at first, indeed, appeared civil 
enough ; for not a child in the street but what ma^- 
ter'^d me, as mannerly as though I had teach'd school 
all my days. But whenever I approached them, it 
was old daddy, old man, old fellow, and so on ; rising 
by degrees to such genteel language as your "Worship 
seems to be master of. 1 hope no offence. Sir. The 
first time 1 had the honor to be noticed, a fine gentle- 
woman called to me from her window. So I civilly 
entered her door ; when she squalled out, " You filthy 
brute ! Have you die impudence to come in at my 
front door ?" Did you not call me, madam ? replied I. 
Yes, truly, says she ; but I thought you had more civ- 
ilization, than to set your ugly, square toed shoes upon 
my carpet. I craved her ladyship's pardon ; told her 
I hope4 I should learn ^iYdizaiion from such good ex- 
ample J ar;cl got off as wel! as I could. 



Gent, It is evident you know nothing of the world. 
Fann, How sliould I, since I live n hundred miles 
oiT, and never read scarcely any thing but my bible and 
psalm book ? 

Gent. Aye, sure enough. You arc much to be pit- 
ied. Why, according to the rules of civilization, you 
ollcnded the lady insufferably. 

Farm, So I perceive ; though, at first, I could not 
conceive, for the life of me, what harm there could be 
in entering the front door, since there was no other 
in the house ; nor how my shoes could give offence, in- 
asmuch as they were perfectly clean. 

Gent. Why, did you not just acknowledge they 
were unfashionable ? 

Farm, Aye, right. And mayhap she discovered 
the nails m the heels ; though I could have assured 
her they would not scratch ; for they were well drove, 
and the heads smooth. Well, as I was saying, soon 
after I escaped from her ladyship's civilities, I was stop- 
ped by a 'Squire-Jooking gentleman, whose palate was 
set for the same dainty that yours was, fowls. I told 
hira I had as fine ones as ever were hatched. So I 
shewed him the whole contents of my wallet ; when, 
after examining it critically, he exclaimed, *' You 
insulting puppy ! 1 have a mind in my conscience to 
cane you. What, sirrah ! tell me you have fowls to 
sell, when you have nothing but a parcel of poultry !" 
So, giving me a kick or two, he tells me to go and 
leaiTi civilization, 

I Gent. And served you right enough too. 
I Farm, So as I proceeded peaceably through the 
street, I met a stripling, in his soldier's coat, making 
the same use of his sword as I did of my staff. Having 
a heavy load, and tripping my fool a little, I unfortu- 
nately jostled this beardless hero. "What do you 
mean, you dirty scoundrel!" he instantly exclaimed ; 
Jifting up his sword at the same lime. *' Have you no 
more civilization than to treat an oflicer of the navy in 
such a rude manner ?" I beg j)ardon, says I. It was 



purely an accident. If you were not beneath my no- 
tice, says he, swearing a big oath, which I dare not re- 
peat ; if you were not beneath the notice of a gentle- 
man, I say, I would soon lay you upon your beam ends, 
you fresh water lobster! You are as destitute of civiliza- 
tion, as if you had never been out of sight of land in all 
your life. 

Gent, You will learn in time to keep at a respect- 
till distance from gentlemen of the sword. It is fort- 
chunate for you, that the officer did not make daylight 
shine through you. 

Farm. I believe it dangerous, I confess, to ven- 
ture very near gentlemen^ if these may be called such. 
Well, the next person I met, I took, from his brogue, 
to be a ** wild Irishman." At any rate, he was a fun- 
ny fellow, and discovered some marks of civilization, 
Maister, says he, have you any wery good weal in 
your vallet? I do not understand Irish, Mister, replied 
i. Irish! Irish! old mutton-head, said he; nor I 
neither. It is enough for me that I am able to speak 
good English. I axM you what you had to sell. I 
am fitting out a wessel for Wenice ; loading her with 
warious keinds of prowisions, and wittualling her for a 
long woyage ; and. I want several undred weight of 
weal, wenison, &c. with a plenty of inyons and win- 
egar, for the preserwation of ealth. I assured him I 
did not comprehend his meaning. It is wery nat- 
chural, replied he, to suppose it, as you are but a poor 
countryman and want civilization. So he peaceably 
withdrew. And> now, good Mister, ^Squire, per- 
haps I ought to say ; for, before you stopped me, I 
heard you administering oaths ;) I say good 'Squire, 
as you have condescended to give me some useful in- 
struction, pray be so kind as to tell me, to what spe- 
cies of animals a creature v/ould belong, which should 
be, in every respect, exactly like yourself, excepting 
the addition of a pair of long ears ? 

Gent. I will not disgrace my.self by keeping your 
company any long^jr. [Exit,] 



Farm, [aloneJ] What a strange run of luck I have 
had to-day •' If this is civilization, I desire to return 
to my savage haunt again. However, I don't despair 
yet of meeting with people of real civilization ; for I 
have always been told that this place is not without 
its share. Yet I fear they have greatly degenerated 
from the simple manners of their forefathers. Their 
placing mere civility above Christianity is a plain proof 
of it. The ancestors of this people were anxious 
mainly to teach their posterity Christianity, not doubt- 
ing but civility would naturally attend it. What vexes 
me most is, that I can't understand their language. 
For my part, I think they have but little reason to 
'laugh at my pronunciation. This is the first time I 
ever haird that turkeys, geese, and ducks were not 
fowls. They might as well tell me, that oxen, bulls, 
and cows are not cattle. 1 take this last chap to be of 
the race of coxcombs ; and I think it is sometimes best, 
to indulge them in their own exalted opinion of them- 
selves, till experience teaches them their folly. I 
know I am but a plain man ; and no one feels the 
want of larning more than I do. But I am certain I 
cannot appear more contemptible in this coxcomb's 
eyes, than he does in mine. 

Extract from a Discourse delivered before the 
New- York Society for promoting the Manu- 
mission OF Slaves, April 12, 1797. By Rev. 
Samuel Miller. 

I HAVE hitherto confined myself to the considera- 
tion of slavery as it exists among ourselves, and of 
that unjust domination which is exercised over the Af- 
ricans and their descendants, who are already in our 
country. It is with a regret and indignation which I 
am unable to express, that 1 call your attention to the 
conduct of some among us, who, instead of diminishing, 
strive to increase the evil in question. 

A a 2 While 


While the friends of humanity, in Europe and 
America, are weeping over their injured fellow-crea- 
tures, and directing their ingenuity and their labors to 
the removal of so disgraceful a monument of cruelty 
and avarice, there are not wanting men, who claim the 
title, and enjoy the privileges of American citizens, 
who still employ themselves in the odious traffic of hu^ 
man flesh. 

Yes, in direct opposition to public sentiment, and a 
law of the land, there are ships fitted out, every year, 
in the ports of the United States, to transport the in- 
habitants of Africa, from their native shores, and con- 
sign them to all the torments of West-India oppression. 

Fellow citizens ! is Justice asleep ? Is Humanity dis- 
couraged and silent, on account of the many injuries 
she has sustained ? Were not this the case, methinks 
the pursuit of the beasts of the forest would be forgot- 
ten, and such monsters of wickedness would, in their 
stead, be hunted from the abodes of men. 

Oh Africa ! unhappy, ill-fated region ! how long 
shall thy savage inhabitants have reason to utter com- 
plaints, and to imprecate the vengeance of Heaven 
against civilization and Christianity ? Is it not enough 
that nature's God has consigned thee to arid plains, to 
noxious vapours, to devouring beasts of prey, and to 
all the scorching influences of the torrid zone ? Must 
rapine and violence, captivity and slavery, be superad- 
ded to thy torments ; and be inflicted too by men, who 
wear the garb of justice and humanity ; who boast the 
jirinciples of a sublime morality ; and who hypocrit- 
ically adopt the accents of the benevolent religion of 
Jesus ? 

Oh Africa ! thou loud proclaimer of the rapacity, 
the treachery, and cruelty of civilized man ! Thou 
everlasting monument of European and American dis- 
grace ! " Remember not against us our offences, nor 
the offences of our forefathers ; be tender in the great 
day of inquiry ; and show a Christian world, that thou 
canst suffer and forgive !" 



A Forensic Dispute, on the Question, Are the 
Anglo-A^iericans endowed with CapacitV anp 
Genius equal to Europeans ? 

J, 1\ /TY opinion is decidedly on the affirmative oi 

' i.VA this question. In this opinion I am con- 
firmed by sound argument and undeniable facts. 

If nature has lavished her favours on some countries, 
and dealt them out with a sparing hand in others, the 
Western world is far from being the scene of her par- 
simony. From a geographical survey of our country, 
directly the reverse will appear. 

This continent, extending through all the different 
climates of the earth, exhibiting on its immense sur- 
face the largest rivers and lakes, and the loftiest moun- 
tains ii\ the known world, shews us that nature has 
wrought on her largest scale on this side the Atlantic. 

The soil is neither so luxuriant as to indulge in 
sloth, nor so barren, as not to afford sufficient leisure 
from its own culture, to attend to that of the mind. 
These are facts, which existed before the migration of 
our ancestors from Europe. The argument I shall 
deduce from them, to me appears conclusive. 

The soil and climate of every country is in some 
measure characteristic of the genius of its inhabitants. 
I^ature is uniform in her works. Where she has stint- 
ed the productions of the earth, she also cramps her ani- 
mal productions ; and even the mind of man. Where 
she has clothed the earth with plenty, there is no de- 
ficiency in the animate creation ; and man arrives to 
his full vigour. 

In the application of these physical causes to our na- 
ture, there is an effect produced on the mind, as well 
as tjie body. The mind receives its tincture from the 
objects which it contemplates. This we tind confirm- 
ed by the opposite sensations we feel, when viewing a 
beautiful and variegated landscape, and plodding our 



course over a craggy way, or uniform, barren plain.; 
In these contrasted situations, it may almost be said, 
that we possess two different souls, and are not the 
same beings. 

Those objects, which constantly surround us, must 
have a more permanent eifect. Where man is doomed 
constantly to view the imperfect sketches and carica- 
ture paintings of nature, he forms a con'esponding part 
of the group ; when placed amidst her most beautiful 
rmd magnificent works, we find him elevated in thought 
and complete in corporal stature^ 

These arguments may seem far-fetched ; but when 
it is admitted that Ghimborazo is higher than Tenc- 
riffe ; the Amazon and La Plata superiour to the largest 
rivers in the old world ; and that America abounds 
with all the productions of nature in as great plenty as 
any country in Europe, premises will then be estab- 
lished, from which, by my reasoning, we shall draw 
the conclusion, that if the Aborigines of this country 
are infcriour to the savages of other parts of the world, 
fiature must have conti'adicted her ov/n first principles. 

But the contrary must appear to every unprejudiced 
:nind, both from reason and observation. It being 
[granted that the savages on this continent possess ge- 
lius and capacity, equal to those on the other, my ar- 
gument is ended ; the affirmative of the question is 
established •, unless those who differ from m.e should be 
ible to show, that, by some process, or rather paradox 
ji nature, the mental powers of our forefathers were 
legenerated by being transplanted to a soil, at least, as 
:ongenial and fertile, as that which gave them birth. 

Should it be any longer contended against me, 1 
jliould still appeal to facts, and rely on the philosophi- 
:al discoveries and miscellaneous writings of a Franklin, 
he heroic valour and sagacious prudence of a Wash- 
ngton, the political researches of an Adams, the nu- 
nerous productions in polite literature, inventions and 
mprovements in the useful arts; and especially that 
ipirit of enterprise, which distinguishes our nation. 



On these I should rely to vindicate the honor of my 
country, and to combat that prejudice, which would 
degrade the capacity and genius of Americans. 

B. I have heard your argument with patience, and 
shall answer it with candour. It is readily granted, that 
there are as large rivers, extensive lakes, and jolty 
mountains, in America, as in any other part of the 
world ; but I ata totally unacquainted with the art of 
measuring the capaaty and genius of men, by the height 
of the mountains they gaze upon, or the breadth of the 
river, whose margin they chance to inhabit. 

Whether the savages of our deserts possess mental' 
powers equal to those of other countries, is as foreign 
to my purpose, as the Chimborazo, Amazon, or La 
Plata. I shall admit your premises, and look tor the 
materials of my argument on a ground you have slight- 
ly passed over, to confute the conclusion you have 
drawn from them. . 

The question is, whether the capacity and genius ot 
Americans is equal to that of Europeans ? 

Let us adopt an unexceptionable rule ; *' Judge the 
tree by its fruit." If the literary productions and 
works of genius of our countrymen are found superiour 
to those of Europeans, the affirmative of the question 
must be true ; if inferiour, the negative, without argu- 
ment, is supported by fact. 

Here the balance evidently turns in my favour. 
Europe can boast its masters in each of the sciences, 
and its models of perfection in the polite arts. Few 
Americans pursue the path of science ; none have pro- 
gressed, even so far as those bold and persevering 
geniuses of other countries, who have removed the ob- 
stacles and smoothed the way before them. 

If there chance to spring up among us one whose in- 
clination attaches him to the fine arts, the beggar's pit- 
tance, instead of fame and profit, becomes his portion. 
He is an exotic plant, thatmust be removed to some more 
congenial soil, or perish at home for want of culture. 
It is far from mv intentions to say any thing m 



derogation of those respectable characters, on whotn 
you rely to vindicate the literary honor of our country* 
But what will be the result of a comparison between £i 
few correct authors, the miscellaneous productions, 
and casual discoveries, which we boast of as our own, 
within a century past ; and the long and brilliant cata- 
logue of profound scholars^ celebrated writers, and 
those exquisite specimens of taste and genius in the 
fine arts, w^hich have adorned almost every country of 
Europe, within the same period ? 

This comparison would be disgraceful indeed to 
America. It is granted, that her sons are industrious^ 
brave, and enterprising ; but, if prudent, they will cer- 
tainly decline the contest with most European nations, 
when the palm of genius is the object of dispute. 

C. Different climates undoubtedly have a different 
effect on the bodies and minds of those who inhabit 
them ^ and local causes, in the same climate, may be 
favourable, or adverse to the intellectual powers. 

A pure, temperate atmosphere, and romantic scene- 
ry, are productive of clear intellects and brilliant imagi- 
nation. America is far from being deficient in these 
advantages. The oratory, councils, and sagacity of 
its natives, prove that their conceptions are by no 
means ^cramped by physical causes. 

This being granted, which cannot be denied, it will 
be extremely difficult to show a reason, why the men- 
tal powers of our ancestors, or their descendants, should 
suffer a decay in this country, so favourable by nature 
to sound judgment and brilliancy of thought. 

Instead of forcing ourselves into such an absurd con- 
clusion, we shall make an obvious distinction, which 
will lead to a conclusion, not derogatory to the Amer- 
ican character; a distinction between natural genius, 
and its improvement by art. One depends on natural 
causes ; the other, on the state of society. 

With a well supported claim to the former, it is no 
dishonor to acknowledge ourselves inferiour to the elder 
nations of Europe in the latter. Considering the in- 


lant state of our country, and the nature of our gov- 
ernment, we have more reason to boast, than be asham- 
ed of our progress in the fine arts. 

If not equal m this respect, to our mother country, 
we have made more rapid improvement than any other 
nation in the world. Our government and habits are 
republican ; they cherish equal rights, and tend to an 
equal distribution of property. Our mode of education' 
has the same tendency to promote an equal distribution 
of knowledge, and to make us emphatically a " repub- 
lic of letters :" I would not be understood adepts in the 
fine arts, but participants of useful knowledge. " 

In the monarchical and aristocratic governments of 
Europe, the case is far different. A few privileged or- 
ders monopolize not only the wealth and honors, but 
the knowledge of their country. They produce a few 
profound scholars, who make study the business of their 
lives ; we acquire a portion of science, as a necessary 
instrument of livelihood, and deem it absurd to devote 
our wliole lives to the acquisition of implements, with- 
out having it in our power to make them useful to 
ourselves or others. 

They have their thousands who are totally ignorant 
of letters ; we have but very few, who are not instruct- 
ed in the rudiments of science. They may boast a 
small number of masters in the fine arts ; we are all 
scholars in the useful ; and employed in improving the 
works of nature, rather than imitating them. 

So strong is our propensity to useful employments, 
and so sure the reward of those who pursue them, that 
necessity, " the mother of invention," has reared but 
few professional poets, painters, or musicians among 
us. Those, who have occasionally pursued the imitative 
arts, from natural inclination, have given sufficient 
proof, that even in them, our capacity and genius are 
Jiot inferiour to those of Europeans ; but the encourage- 
ment they have met shows that the s]:)irit of our habits 
and government tends rather to general improvement in 
the useful, than partial perfection in the amusing arts. 

. ExiRACf 


' ' ' ■ " .■II... I < I - 

Extract from an Oratiojv, delivered at Bos- 
ton, March 5th, 1730; by Jonathan Mason^ 
JuN. Esq. 

^"^HE rising glory of this western hemisphere is al- 
X ready announced ; and she is summoned to iier 
seat among the nations of the earth. We have pub- 
licly declared ourselves convinced of the destructive 
tendency of standing armies. We have acknowledged 
the necessity of public spirit and the love of virtue, to 
the happiness of any people ; and v/e profess to be sen- 
sible of the great blessings that flow from them. Let 
us not then act unworthily of the reputable character 
we now sustain. Let integrity of heart, the^spirit of 
freedom, and rigid virtue be seen to actuate every 
member of the commonwealth. 

The trial of our patriotism is yet before us ; and we 
have reason to thank iieaven, that its principles are 
so well known and diflused. Exercise towards each 
other the benevolent feelings of friendship ; and let 
that unity of sentiment, which has shone in the field, 
be equally animating in our councils. Remember that 
prosperity is dangerous ; that though successful, we 
are not infallible. 

Let this sacred maxim receive the deepest impression 
upon our minds, that if avarice, if extortion, if luxury, 
and political corruption, are suffered to become popu- 
lar among us, civil discord, and the ruin of our coun- 
try will be the speedy consequence of such fatal vices. 
But while patriotism is the leading principle, and our 
laws are contrived with wisdom, and executed with 
vigour; while industry, frugality and temperance, 
are held in estimation, and we depend upon public 
spirit and the love of virtue for our social happiness, 
peace and affluence will throw their smiles upon the 
bro.w of individuals ; our cominoHwealth will flourish ; 
our land will become a land of liberty, and AMERICA 
an asylum for the oppressed. ^ 




<t:^ A' 

[U If