Be ſeated,—I ſent for you to have a ſmall conference with you—and to let you know, your advice reſpecting certain points of law, I have found ſucceeded to admiration; even beyond my moſt ſanguine expectations.

I am heartily glad of it, although the advi • e I gave your Lordſhip, I cannot ſay, was law; yet, your Lordſhip can eaſily paſs it as ſuch by a royal proclamation: and ſhould it ever be diſputed, I have quirks and quibbles enough at your ſervice, with Mr. Brazen and Mr. Attorney General's aſſiſtance, to render it ſo doubtful, obſcure and ambiguous, as to puzzle Lord Juſtice, perplex Dunning, and confound Glynn.

Can you ſhow me an inſtance of a royal proclamation paſſing for a law? or advice me how to make it ſuch, if you can, I ſhall make it well worth your ſtudy.

My Lord, as you have now got a parliament exactly to your mind, ev'ry thing you propoſe will be granted: but in order that you may ſee precedents are not wanting—there is a ſtatute in the reign of Henry the 3th that expreſsly ſhows the then parliament paſſed a law that the king's proclamation ſhould be the law of the land—

Are you ſure of that?

I ſee it plain! this, this alone is worth a ton of gold—Now, by St. Andrew! I'll ſtrike a ſtroke that ſhall ſurpriſe all Europe, and make the boldeſt of the adverſe party turn pail and tremble—Scotch politics, Scotch intrigues, Scotch influence, and Scotch impudence (as they have termed it) they ſhall ſee ere long ſhine with unheard-of ſplendour, and the name of Lord Paramount the mighty, ſhall blaze in the annals of the world with far greater luſtre (as a conſumate politician) than the name of Alexander the Great, as an hero!

That day I much wiſh for—but, with your Lordſhip's permiſſion, I would juſt mention, that ſecrecy and diſſimulation are the ſoul of enterpriſe; your Lordſhip hath many enemies, who watch ev'ry movement of ſtate with a jealous and wary eye.

I know it, but the futile attempts of my timid adverſaries have hitherto proved abortive—ſo far I have borne down all oppoſition, and thoſe (even ſome of the greateſt of them) who not long ſince were my moſt open, as well as ſecret enemies. I now behold with the moſt princely pleaſure, the earlieſt to attend, to congratulate me on my birth-day, tho' uninvited, bow down, and make the moſt ſubmiſſive congees. Have you not ſeen this, Mocklaw? and how I keep them in expectation of ſomething, by now and then beſtowing part of a gracious ſmile amongſt a dozen of them?

I have, my Lord, and no doubt they interpret that as a favourable omen; however, policy, my Lord, would dictate that to you, if there were no other conſideration.

True, and yet they are curſedly miſtaken—and now, Mocklaw, as I have ever found you to be well diſpos'd towards me, and the cauſe I eſpouſe, and as I truſt you continue ſatisfy'd with my former bounty, and my promiſe now of granting you a penſion for life, with liberty to retire, I ſhall make you my confident, and diſcloſe to you a ſecret no man except myſelf yet knows, which I expect you have ſo much honor to let it remain a ſecret to all the world (I mean as to the main point I have in view).

Depend upon it, my Lord, I am ſincerely devoted to your Lordſhip, command me, I care not what it is, I'll ſcrew, twiſt and drain the law as tight as a drum-head, to ſerve you.

I ſhall at this time but juſt give you a hint of the plan I've drawn up in my own mind. You muſt have perceived in me a ſecret hankering for majeſty for ſome time paſt, notwithſtanding my age;—but as I have conſidered the great diſlike the nation in general have, as to my perſon. I'll wave my own pretenſions, and bend my power and aſſiduity to it in favour of one, the neareſt a kin to me, you know who I mean, and a particular friend of yours, provided I continue to be dictator, as at preſent; and further, I intend America ſhall ſubmit.—What think you of it ſo far?

A day I've long wiſh'd to ſee! but you ſtagger me, my Lord, not as to my honor, ſecrecy, or reſolution to ſerve you, but as to the accompliſhment of ſuch grand deſigns.

'Tis true, I have undertaken a mighty taſk, a taſk that would have perplexed the Council of Nice, and ſtagger'd even Julius Ceſar,—bu • —

You have need, my Lord, of all your wiſdom, fortitude and power, when you conſider with whom you have to contend—Let me ſee—Lord Wiſdom— Lord Religion—Lord Juſtice—Lord Patriot—the bold Iriſhman, &c. &c. &c. and the wiſdom of the United Colonies of America in Congreſs to cope with; as individuals they are trifling, but in league combined may become potent enemies.

Granted—But are you ſo little of a lawyer as not to know the virtue of a certain ſpecific I'm poſſeſs'd of, that will accompliſh any thing, even to performing miracles? Don't you know there's ſuch ſweet muſic in the ſhaking of the treaſury keys, that they will inſtantly lock the moſt babbling patriot's tongue? tranſform a Tory into a Whig, and a Whig into a Tory? make a ſuperannuated old miſer dance, and an old Cynic philoſopher ſmile. How many thouſand times has your tongue danc'd at Weſtminſter Hall to the ſound of ſuch muſic?

Enchanting ſounds, powerful magic, there's no withſtanding the charms of ſuch muſic, their potency and influence are irreſiſtable—that is a point of law I can by no means give up, of more force than all the acts of parliament ſince the days of king Alfred.

I'm glad you acknowledge that—Now then for a line of politics—I propoſe to begin firſt by taxing America, as a blind—that will create an eternal animoſity between us, and by ſending over continually ſhips and troops, this will of courſe produce a civil war, weaken Britain by leaving her coaſts defenceleſs, and impoveriſh America; ſo that we need not fear any thing from that quarter. Then the united fleets of France and Spain with troops to appear in the channel, and make a deſcent, while my kinſman with thirty thouſand men lands in Scotland, marches to London, and joins the others: What then can prevent the ſcheme from having the wiſh'd-for effect? This is the main point, which, keep to yourſelf.

If it has failed heretofore, 'tis impoſſible it ſhould fail now; nothing within the reach of human wiſdom was ever planned ſo judiciouſly; had Solomon been alive, and a politician, I would have ſworn your Lordſhip had conſulted him.—But I would beg leave to hint to your Lordſhip the oppoſition to be apprehended from the militia of England, and the German forces that may be ſent for according to treaty.

As to the militia, they are half of them my friends, witneſs Lancaſter, Mancheſter, Liverpool, &c. &c. &c. the other half ſcarce ever fired a gun in their lives, eſpecially thoſe of London; and I ſhall take care by ſhaking the keys a little to have ſuch officers appointed over them, who are well known to be in my intereſt. As to the German forces, I have nothing to apprehend from them; the parliament can ſoon paſs an act againſt the introduction of foreign troops, except the French or Spaniards, who can't be called foreign, they are our friends and neareſt neighbours.— Have you any thing further to object againſt the probability of this plan?

Nothing, my Lord, but the people of Ireland, who muſt be cajoled or humbugg'd.

As to that, let me alone, I ſhall grant the Roman Catholics, who are by far the moſt numerous, the free exerciſe of their religion, with the liberty of bearing arms, ſo long unjuſtly deprived of, and diſarm in due time all the Proteſtants in their turn.

That will be a noble ſtroke, the more I conſider it, the more I'm ſurpris'd at your Lordſhip's profound wiſdom and foreſight: I think ſucceſs is certain.

Then this is the favourable criſis to attempt it; 'tis not the thought of a day, a month, or a year. Have you any more objections?

I have one more, my Lord—

Well, pray let's hear it; theſe lawyers will be heard.

The Biſhop's and Clergy are a powerful, numerous body; it would be neceſſary, my Lord, to gain them over, or keep them ſilent—A religious war is the worſt of wars.

You are very right, I have 'em fast enough—Mammon will work powerfully on them—The keys—the keys—His Grace, my Lord of Suffolk, is managing this buſineſs for me, and feeding them with the hopes of being all created Arch-Biſhops here, and each to have a dioceſe, and Biſhops of their own appointment in America; not a city or town there but muſt be provided with a Biſhop: There let religion erect her holy altars, by which means their revenues will be augmented beyond that of a Cardinal. All this we muſt make 'em believe.

True, my Lord, what is a Biſhop without faith? This is the grandeſt ſtroke of religious circumvention that ever was ſtruck.—I've done, my Lord.

Very well, you'll not fail to meet the privy council here this evening; in the mean time you'll go and ſearch the ſtatutes for other precedents to ſtrengthen the cauſe; and remember I have enjoin'd you to ſecrecy.

Depend upon it, my Lord, I cannot prove ungreatful to your Lordſhip, nor ſuch an enemy to myſelf. Exit Mocklaw.

Write a number of cards, and ſee that the Lords of the privy council, and Mr. Judas, be ſummoned to give their attendance this evening at ſix o'clock, at my Pandemonium.

How do we ſhow our authority? how do we maintain the royal prorogative? keep in awe the knowing ones of the oppoſite party, and blind the eyes of the ignorant multitude in Britain? Why, by ſpirited meaſures, by an accumulation of power, of deception, and the ſhaking of the keys, we may hope to ſucceed, ſhould that fail, I'll enforce them with the pointed bayonet; the Americans from one end to the other ſhall ſubmit, in ſpight of all oppoſition; I'll liſten to no overtures of reconciliation from any petty ſelf-conſtituted congreſs, they ſhall ſubmit implicitly to ſuch terms as I of my royal indulgence pleaſe to grant. I'll ſhow them the impudence and weakneſs of their reſolves, and the ſtrength of mine; I will never ſoften; my inflexibility ſhall ſtand firm, and convince them the ſecond Pharoah is at leaſt equal to the firſt. I am unalterably determined at every hazard and at the riſque of every conſequence to compel the colonies to abſolute ſubmiſſion. I'll draw in treaſure from every quarter, and, Solomon-like, wallow in riches; and Scotland, my dear Scotland, ſhall be the paradiſe of the world. Rejoice in the name of Paramount, and the ſound of a bawbee ſhall be no more heard in the land of my nativity.—

It's very well, Charley.

My Lord, be pleaſed to turn your eyes, and look out of the window, and ſee the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Common Council and Liverymen going to St. James's with the addreſs.

Where? Sure enough—Curſe their impudence; how that ſquinting ſcoundrel ſwells with importance—Mind, Charley, how fond, he is of bowing to the gaping multitude, and ev'ry upſtart he ſees at a window—I hope he'll not turn his blear eyes t'wards me—I want none of his bows, not • —Stand before me, Charley—

I will, my Lord, and if he looks this way, I'll give him ſuch a deviliſh grin as beſt ſuits ſuch fellows as him, and make him remember it as long as he lives.

Do ſo, Charley; I hate the dog mortally, I religiouſly hate him, and hope ere long to have ſatiſfaction for his inſolence and the freedoms he has taken with me and my connexions; I ſhall never forget the many ſcandalous verſes, lampoons and paſquinades he made upon us.

Indeed he has uſed your Lordſhip too ill ever to be forgotten or forgiven.

Damn him, I never intend to do either —See again how he bows—there again—how the mob throw up their hats, ſplit their throats; how they huzza too; they make a mere god of the fellow; how they idolize him—Ignorant brutes!

A ſcoundrel; he has climb'd up the ſtilts of preferment ſtrangely, my Lord.

Strangely, indeed; but it's our own faults.

He has had better luck than honeſter folks; I'm ſurpris'd to think he has ever, roſe to the honour of preſenting a remonſtrance, or rather, that he could ever have the impudence to think of remonſtrating.

Aye, Charley, you ſee how unaccountably things turn out; his audacity is unparalelled—a Newgate dog.

My Lord, I believe the fellow was never known to bluſh; and indeed it's an obſervation I made ſome time ago, and I believe a juſt one, without an exception, that thoſe who ſquint never bluſh.

You muſt be miſtaken, Charley.

No, my Lord, it's a fact, I had an uncle ſquinted exactly like him, who was guilty of many ſcandalous things, and yet all the pariſh, with the parſon at their head, could not make him bluſh, ſo that at laſt he became a bye-word—Here comes old ſham-the-devil; this dog is the very ſpawn of him.

Hoot, mon, ye give your uncle a ſhocking character.

I only mention it, my Lord, for the ſimilarity's ſake.

For the ſpawn of him, and the ſimilarity's ſake, I'm apt to think you've been abuſing your own couſin all this while.

God forbid, my Lord, I ſhould be any how allied to him.

I fancy, Charley, if the truth was known, your uncle did not mention you in his will, and forgot to leave you the manſion-houſe and farm at Gallows-hill. Am I right, Charley?

You're right, my Lord, upon my honour—but—

I thought ſo—Well, never mind—Ha, ha, ha, who are thoſe two fat fellows there, that go in ſuch ſtate?

I ſuppoſe them to be a couple of Livery Tallow-chandlers, my Lord, by their big bellies.

Ha, ha,—what work the guards would make amongſt them—but they muſt not be called yet.— And who are thoſe other two behind 'em?

This is Mr. Hone and the other Mr. Strap, a couple of the Corporation Barbers, forſooth.

Ha, ha, ha, I thought they had been a couple of Dukes;—and that one—who is he with the monſtrous wig?

That is Mr. Alderman Pipeſhank, in Newgate-ſtreet.

A parcel of Newgate dogs altogether— Well it is a good deal of ſatisfaction to me to think how this fellow will be received at St. James's; he'll not return back ſo pleas'd as he ſeems to be now, I warrant you— I have taken care he ſhall meet with a d—d cold reception there; he will have to make his appearance before Lord Froſtyface, Lord Scarecrow, Lord Sneerwell▪ Lord Firebrand, Lord Mawmouth, Lord Waggonjaws, Lord Gripe, Lord Braſs, Lord Surly and Lord Tribulation, as hard-fac'd fellows as himſelf; and the beauty of it is, not one of them loves him a whit more than I do.

That will be rare diverſion for them that are preſent; he'll look then, my Lord, like Sampſon making ſport for the Philiſtines.

Aye, but I wiſh he was as blind too, as Sampſon was.—Well, Charley, we have been diſpos'd to be a little merry with this ridiculous parade, this high life below ſtairs I wiſh you had begun your deſcription a little ſooner, before they were all gone; the looks of theſe wiſeacres affords us ſome mirth, tho' we deſpiſe them and their politics, and it's not unlikely it may end in blood—Be it ſo, I'm prepar'd for the worſt.

Rather ſo, my Lord, than ſubmit to ſuch raſcals.

I'll give up my life firſt for a ſacrifice.

My Lords and Gentlemen, it ſeems oppoſition to our meaſures are making haſty ſtrides; the diſcontented faction, the ſupporters and encouragers of rebellion, and whoſe hearts are tainted therewith, ſeem bent, if poſſible, on the deſtruction of Britain, and their own aggrandiſement. Are not the daily papers filled with treaſonable reſolves of American congreſſes and committees, extracts of letters, and other infamous pieces and ſcurrilous pamphlets, circulating with unuſual induſtry throughout the kingdom, by the enemies of Britain, thereby poiſoning the minds of our liege ſubjects with their deteſtable tenets?—And did you not this day ſee the proceſſion, and that vile miſcreant Lord Patriot at their head, going to St. James's with their remonſtrance, in ſuch ſtate and parade as manifeſtly tended to provoke, challenge and defy majeſty itſelf, and the powers of government? and yet nothing done to ſtop their pernicious effects.—Surely, my Lords and Gentlemen, you muſt agree with me, that it is now become highly expedient, that an immediate ſtop ſhould be put to ſuch unwarrantable and dangerous proceedings, by the moſt vigorous and coercive meaſures.

I entirely agree with your Lordſhip, and was ever firmly of opinion, that licentiouſneſs of every kind, (particularly that of the Preſs) is dangerous to the ſtate; the rabble ſhould be kept in awe by examples of ſeverity, and a proper reſpect ſhould be enforced to ſuperiors. I have ſufficiently ſhewn my diſlike to the freedom of the Preſs, by the examples I have frequently made (tho' too favourable) of ſeveral Printers, and others, who had greatly treſpaſſed, and if they ſtill perſiſt, other meaſures ſhould be taken with them, which the laws will point out; and as to Lord Patriot, he's a fellow that has been outlaw'd, ſcandal-proof, little to be got by medling with him; I would adviſe to let him alone for the preſent, and humble America firſt.

I am very clear in it, pleaſ your Lordſhip; there are numbers of men in this country who are ever ſtudying how to perplex and entangle the ſtate, constantly thwarting government, in ev'ry laudable undertaking: this clamarous faction muſt be curbed, muſt be ſubdued and cruſh'd—our thunder muſt go forth, America muſt be conquered. I am for blood and fire to cruſh the riſing glories of America—They boaſt of her ſtrength; ſhe muſt be conquered, if half of Germany is called to our aſſiſtance.

I entirely agree with you, Mr. Brazen; my advice is, that Lord Boſton and Admiral Tombſton be immediately diſpatch'd to Boſton, with two or three regiments (tho' one would be more than ſufficient) and a few ſhips to ſhut up their ports, disannul their charters, ſtop their trade, and the puſillanimous beggars, thoſe ſcoundrel raſcals, whoſe predominant paſſion is fear, would immediately give up, on the firſt landing of the regulars, and fly before 'em like a hare before the hounds; that this would be the caſe, I pawn my honour to your Lordſhips▪ nay I'll ſacrifice my life: My Lords, I have moreover the teſtimony of General Amherſt and Colonel Grant to back my aſſertion; beſides, here's Mr. Judas, let him ſpeak.

If this is the ſame Colonel Grant that was at Fort Duqueſne, the ſame that ran away from the French and Indians, the ſame that was reſcued by Colonel Waſhington, I have no idea of his honour or teſtimony.

He's a Gentleman, my Lord Hypocrite, of undoubted veracity.

You might as well have ſaid courage too, I have exceptions againſt both; and as to General Amherſt's aſſertion that he could drive all America with five thouſand men, he muſt have been joking, as he is quite of a diff'rent opinion now.

What is your opinion of your countrymen, Mr. Judas, with reſpect to their courage?

The ſame that I ever told you, my Lord; as to true courage they have none, I know 'em well— they have a plenty of a kind of enthuſiaſtic zeal, which they ſubſtitute in the room of it; I am very certain they would never face the regulars, tho' with the advantage of ten to one.

All this, and a great deal more, would never convince me of the general cowardice of the Americans—but of the cowardice of Grant I've been long convinced, by numbers of letters formerly from America—I'm for doing the buſineſs effectually; don't let us be too ſanguine, truſt to ſtories told by every ſycophant, and hurry heels over head to be laugh'd at; the Americans are bold, ſtubborn and ſour; it will require foreign aſſiſtance to ſubdue 'em.

Theſe four Americans, ignorant brutes, unbroke and wild, muſt be tamed; they'll ſoon be humble if puniſh'd; but if diſregarded, grow fierce. Barbarous nations muſt be held by fear, rein'd and ſpurr'd hard, chain'd to the oar, and bow'd to due controul, 'till they look grim with blood; let's firſt humble America, and bring them under our feet; the olive-branch has been held out, and they have rejected it; it now becomes us to uſe the iron rod to break their diſobedience; and ſhould we lack it, foreign aſſiſtance is at hand.

All this I grant, but I'm for ſending a force ſufficient to cruſh 'em at once, and not with too much precipitation; I am firſt for giving it a colour of impartiality, forbearance and religion. —Lay it before parliament; we have then law on our ſide, and endeavour to gain over ſome or all of the Methodiſt Teachers, and in particular my very good friend Mr. Weſley, their Biſhop, and the worthy Mr. Clapum, which taſk I would undertake; it will then have the ſanction of religion, make it leſs ſuſpected, and give it a better grace.

I ſhould chooſe it to be done by conſent of parliament; we ſtand then on firmer ground; there's no doubt they'll grant ev'ry thing your Lordſhip propoſes upon my motion: but to tell the truth, I'd rather be in Purgatory ſo long, than to run the gantlet of the Bold Iriſhman's tongue.

Aye, aye, don't part with the law while it's in our favour, or we can have it by aſking for—and as to the Bold Iriſhman, don't be brow-beaten, you muſt ſummon all your braſs, and put on a rugged highway-man's face like his; I expect ſome work of that kind too, but the devil himſelf ſhan't brow-beat me.

I am glad to find, my Lords and Genmen, you all ſee the neceſſity of ſending over troops and ſhips; I intend my Lord Catſpaw ſhall lay it before parliament, and am very certain they'll paſs any acts I can deſire. I thank you, Lord Hypocrite, for your kind offer, and accept of it; my Lord of Suffolk is negociating the ſame buſineſs with the reſt of my Lords the Biſhops, and will ſucceed; ſo that it will carry the appearance of law, of religion, and will be ſufficiently grac'd; I'll warrant you no one ſhall have cauſe to complain of its wanting grace. And now, my Lords and Gentlemen, as it's ſo late, and we have gone thro' all the buſineſs at this time propoſed, you are at your liberty to withdraw. Exeunt.

The fate of England and America is now fixed, irrevocably fixed; the ſtorm is ready to burſt; the low' • ing clouds portend their fate my glory, their fall my triumph. But I muſt haſte to be gone, the ceremonies await my preſence; deeds of darkneſs muſt be done by night, and, like the ſilent mole's work, under ground:

I Much lament, my Lords, the preſent unhappy ſituation of my country; where e're I turn mine eyes, to Europe, Aſia, Africa, or America, the proſpect appears the ſame—Look up to the throne, and behold your king, if I may now call him by that ſoft title—Where is the wiſdom, the juſtice, the religion, that once adorn'd that throne, and ſhed the benign influence of their bright rays through the four quarters of the globe? Alas! they're flown!

Mark his forlorn looks—his countenance dejected, a ſullen greatneſs fixed on his brow, as if it veil'd in blood ſome awful purpoſe, his eyes flaming and ſanguinary; how I bewail you, for your predeceſſor's ſake! Long, long have I been an old, and I truſt a faithful ſervant in the family—Can I then reſtrain one tear? No, 'tis impoſſible! View that arch-dragon, that old fiend, Paramount, that rebel in grain, wiſpering in his ear. View his wretched miniſters h • vering round him, to accompliſh their accurſed purpoſe, and accelerate his deſtruction. View the whole herd of adminiſtration (I know 'em well) and tell me if the world can furniſh a viler ſet of miſcreants? View both houſes of parliament, and count the number of Tyrants, Jacobites, Tories, Placemen, Penſioners, Sycophants and Panders. View the conſtitution, is ſhe not diſrob'd and diſmantled? is ſhe not become like a virgin deflower • d? View our fleets and armies commanded by bloody murdering butchers! View Britain herſelf as a ſheep without a ſhepherd! And laſtly view America, for her virtue bleeding and for her liberty weltering in her blood!

Such hath, and ever will be the fate of kings, who only liſten to the voice of pleaſure, thrown in their way by the ſirens of adminiſtration, which never fail to ſwallow them up like quickſand— like a ſerpent, who charms and faſcinates▪ bewitches and enchants with his eye the unwary bird; witneſs the fatal cataſtrophe of Rehoboam, who rejected the counſel of the wiſe and experienced, and gave up all to the advice and guidance of young, unſkilful and wicked counſellors. Had he liſten'd to you, my Lord, had he followed your advice, all, all would have gone well—Under your auſpicious adminiſtration Britain flouriſhed, but ever ſince has been on the decline, and patriotiſm, like religion, ſcarcely now more than a ſounding braſs or a tinkling cymbal.

My counſel has been rejected—my conciliatory plan thrown under the table, and treated with contempt; the experience of gray hairs called the ſuperannuated notions of old age—my bodily infirmties—my tottering frame— • y crazy carcaſe, worn out in the ſervice of my country, and even my very crutches, have been made the ſubject of their ridicule.

Gratitude, like religion and patriotiſm, are about taking their flight, and the law of the land ſtands on tiptoe; the conſtitution, that admirable fabric, that work of ages, the envy of the world, is deflower'd indeed, and made to commit a rape upon her own body, by the avaricious frowns of her own father, who is bound to protect her, not to deſtroy— Her pillars are thrown down, her capitals broke, her pedeſtals demoliſh'd, and her foundation nearly deſtroy'd —Lord Paramount and his wretched adviſer Mocklaw baffles all our efforts.—The ſtatutes of the land ſuperſeded by royal proclamations and diſpenſing powers, &c. &c. the bloody knife to be held to the throats of the Americans, and force them to ſubmit to ſlav'ry.—Adminiſtration have commenced bloody tyrants, and thoſe that ſhould protect the ſubject, are become their executioners; yet will I diſpute with them inch by inch, while there's a ſtatute book left in the land. Come forth, thou grand deceiver! I challenge thee to come forth!

Our friends muſt beſtir themſelves once more, perhaps we may yet turn the ſcale.—If the voice of religion, wiſdom and juſtice ſhould fail, let us ſound the trumpet of liberty and patriotiſm, that will conquer them in America, I know; let us try to ſtorm them here with the united whole, and if by a baſe majority they ſtill carry their point, we can nevertheleſs waſh our hands and be clean.

From the pulpit, in the houſe of God, have I ſpoken aloud, I have lifted up my voice like a trumpet, Oh! Britain, how art thou fallen! Hear now, O houſe of Britain, is it a ſmall thing for you to weary man, but will you weary your God alſo? In the houſe of Lords have I borne my teſtimony: Hear now, O ye Princes, and I will yet declare in Britain, and ſhew forth in America, I will not ceaſe 'till I bring about (if poſſible) unity, peace and concord.

Much to be wiſhed for; but alas! I fear it's now too late; I foreſee the tendency and conſequence of thoſe diabolical meaſures that have been purſued with unrelenting fury. Britain will ruin her trade, waſte her wealth, her ſtrength, her credit and her importance in the ſcale of Europe. When a Britiſh king proves ungrateful and haughty, and ſtrives to be independent of his people, (who are his ſole ſupport) the people will in their turn likewiſe ſtrive to be independent of him and his my • midons, and will be free; they will erect the anfractuous ſtandard of independency, and thouſands and tens of thouſands will flock to it, and ſolace themſelves under its ſhade.—They have often been told of this, but affected to deſpiſe it; they know not America's ſtrenth, they are ignorant of it; fed by the flatt'ry of every ſycophant tale, imagine themſelves almighty, and able to ſubdue the whole world. America will be loſt to Britain forever, and will prove her downfall. America is wiſe, and will ſhake off the galling yoke before it be rivetted on them; they will be drove to it, and who can blame them? Who can blame a galley-ſlave for making his eſcape?—Britain will miſcarry in her vile projects, her knight errand, her Don Qui • otte ſchemes in America: America will reſiſt; they are not eaſily to be ſubdued; (nay 'tis impoſſible) Britain will find it a harder taſk than to conquer France and Spain united, and will coſt 'em more blood and treaſure than a twice ſeven years war with thoſe European powers; they will ſtand out 'till Britons are tired. Britain will invite her with kind promiſes and open arms; America will reject them; America will triumph, rejoice and flouriſh, and become the glory of the earth; Britain will languidly hold down her head, and become firſt a prey to a vile Pretender, and then be ſubject to the ravagers of Europe. I love the Americans, becauſe they love liberty. Liberty flouriſhes in the wilds of America. I honour the plant, I revere the tree, and would cheriſh its branches. Let us, my friends, join hands with them, follow their example, and endeavour to ſupport expiring liberty in Britain; whilſt I have a tongue to ſpeak, I will ſupport her wherever found; while I have crutches to crawl with, I will try to find her out, and with the voice of an arch-angel will demand for a ſacrifice to the nation thoſe miſcreants who have wickedly and wantonly been the ruin of their country. Oh, Liberty! Oh, my Country!

Oh, Religion! Oh, Virtue! whither art thou fleeing? Oh, thou Defender of the Faith! Oh, ye mighty Lords and Commons! Oh, ye deluded Biſhops, ye learned props of our unerring church, who preach up vengeance, force and fire, inſtead of peace! be wiſe in time, leſt the Americans be driven to work out their own ſalvation without fear or trembling. Exeunt.

That Brazen Lawyer See Wedderburne's ſpeech. , that Lord Chancellor, that wou'd be, held forth ſurpriſingly laſt night, he beat the drum in your ears, brother ſoldier.

I think he did; he beat a Tatoo for us all.

No politicians but lawyer politicians, it ſeems, will go down; if we believe him, we muſt all turn lawyers now, and prate away the liberties of the nation.

Aye, firſt we muſt learn to rail at the clamorous faction, diſappointed politicians—ever reſtleſs —ever plotting—conſtantly thwarting government, in laudable and blameable purpoſes.—Inconſiderable party—inconſiſtent in their own politics—hoſtile to all government, ſoured by disappointment, and urged by want —proceeding to unjuſtifiable lengths—and then ſound the magnanimity of a Britiſh ſenate, animated by the ſacred fire caught from a high-ſpirited people—

And the devil knows what beſide— Magnanimity and ſacred fire, indeed!—Very magnanimous ſounds, but pompous nothings! Why did he not tell us where was the magnanimity of the Britiſh ſenate at the time of the diſpute about Falkland's Iſland? What ſort of fire animated them then?—Where was the high ſpirit of the people?—Strange ſort of fire, and ſtrange ſort of ſpirit, to give up to our inveterate enemies, the Spaniards, our property unaſked for, and cut our beſt friends and brethren, the Americans, throats, for defending theirs againſt lawleſs tyranny; their ſacred fire became then all fume, and the ſtrength of their boaſted ſpirits evaporated into inviſible effluvium; the giant then ſunk ſure enough ſpontaneouſly into a dwarf; and now, it ſeems, the dwarf having been feeding upon ſmoaky fire and evaporated ſpirits, is endeavouring to ſwell himſelf into a giant again, like the frog in the fable, 'till he burſts himſelf in ſilent thunder—But let the mighty Philiſtine, the Goliath Paramount, and his oracle Mocklaw, with their thunder bellowed from the brazen mortar-piece of a turn-coat lawyer, have a care of the little American David!

Aye, indeed; America will prove a ſecond Sampſon to 'em; they may put out his eyes for a while, but he'll pull their houſe down about their ears for all that. Mr. Brazen ſeem'd ſurprized at the thought of relinquiſhing America, and bawl'd out with the voiciferation of an old miſer that had been robb'd—Relinquiſh America! relinquish America! forbid it heavens! But let him and his maſters take great care, or America will ſave 'em the trouble, and relinquiſh Britain.

Or I'm much miſtaken, Brazen ſays, eſtabliſh firſt your ſuperiority, and then talk of negociating.

That doctrine ſuits 'em beſt; juſt like a cowardly pickpocket, or a bloody highwayman, knock a man down firſt, and then tell him to ſtand and deliver.

A juſt compariſon, and excellent ſimile, by my ſoul! But I'm ſurpris'd he did not include the Clergy among the number of profeſſions unfit (as he ſaid) to be politicians.

Did you ever know a lawyer to be concerned with religion, unleſs he got a fee by it? he'll take care and ſteer clear of that; if it don't come in his way, he'll never break his neck over a church bible, I warrant you—Mammon is his god—Judge Jefferys is his prieſt—Star-chamber doctrine is his creed—fire, flames and faggot, blood, murder, halters and thund'ring cannon are the ceremonies of his church—and lies, miſrepreſentations, deceit, hypocriſy and diſſimulation are the articles of his religion.

You make him a monſter, indeed.

And thus they'll drive liberty from out the land: but when a brave people, like the Americans, from their infancy us'd to liberty (not as a gift, but who inherit it as a birth-right, but not as a meſs of pottage, to be bought by, or ſold to, ev'ry hungry glutton of a miniſter) find attempts made to reduce them to ſlavery, they generally take ſome deſperate ſucceſsful meaſure for their deliverance. I ſhould not be at all ſurpris'd to hear of independency proclaim'd throughout their land, of Britain's armies beat, their fleets burnt, ſunk, or otherwiſe deſtroy'd. The ſame principle which Mr. Brazen ſpeaks of, that inſpires Britiſh ſoldiers to fight, namely the ferment of youthful blood, the high ſpirit of the people, a love of glory, and a ſenſe of national honour, will inſpire the Americans to withſtand them; to which I may add, liberty and property.—But what is national honour? Why, national pride.—What is national glory? Why, national nonſenſe, when put in competition with liberty and property.

Of Britain I fear liberty has taken its farewell, the aſpiring wings of tyranny hath long hovered over, and the over-ſhadowing influence of bribery hath eclips'd its rays and dark'ned its luſtre; the huge Paramount, that temporal deity, that golden calf, finds ſervile wretches enough ſo baſe as to bow down, worſhip and adore his gilded horns▪—let 'em e'en if they will—But as for me, tho' I ſhould ſtand alone, I would ſpurn the brute, were he forty-five Alluding to North-Briton, Number Forty-five. times greater than he is; I'll adminiſter, ere long, ſuch an emetic to him, as ſhall make the monſter diſgorge the forty millions yet unaccounted for, and never ſhall it be ſaid, that Patriot ever feared or truckled to him, or kept a ſilent tongue when it ſhould ſpeak.

There I'll ſhake hands with you, and my tongue ſhall echo in their ears, make their arched coining ſpeak, the treaſury bench crack, and the great chair of their great ſpeaker tremble, and never will I ceaſe laſhing them, while laſhing is good, or hope remains; and when the voice of poor liberty can no longer be heard in Britain or Hibernia, let's give Caledonia a kick with our heels, and away with the goddeſs to the American ſhore, crown her, and defy the grim king of tyranny, at his peril, to ſit his foot there.—Here let him ſtay, and wallow in ſackcloth and aſhes, like a beaſt as he is, and, Nebucadnezzar-like, eat graſs and thiſtles. Exeunt.

AT length, it ſeems, the blood flag is hung out, the miniſtry and parliament, ever ſtudious in miſchief, and bent on our deſtruction, have ordered troops and ſhips of war to ſhut our ports, and ſtarve us into ſubmiſſion.

And compel us to be ſlaves; I have heard ſo. It is a faſhionable way to requite us for our loyalty, for the preſent we made them of Louiſburg, for our protection at Duqueſne, for the aſſiſtance we gave them at Quebec, Martinico, Guadaloupe and the Havannah. Blaſt their councils, ſpurn their ingratitude! Soul of Pepperel! whither art thou fled?

They ſeem to be guided by ſome ſecret demon; this ſtopping our ports and depriving us of all trade is cruel, calculated to ſtarve and beggar thouſands of families, more ſpiteful than politic, more to their own diſadvantage than ours: But we can reſolve to do without trade; it will be the means of baniſhing luxury, which has ting'd the ſimplicity and ſpotleſs innocence of our once happy aſylum.

We thank heaven, we have the neceſſaries of life in abundance, even to an exuberant plenty; and how oft have our hoſpitable tables fed numbers of thoſe ungrateful monſters, who would now, if they could, famiſh us?

No doubt, as we abound in thoſe temporal bleſſings, it has tempted them to pick our pockets by violence, in hopes of treaſures more to their minds.

In that theſe thirſters after gold and human blood will be diſappointed. No Perus or Mexicos here they'll find; but the demon you ſpeak of, tho' he acts in ſecret is notoriouſly known. Lord Paramount is that demon, that bird of prey, that miniſterial cormorant, that waits to devour, and who firſt thought to diſturb the repoſe of America; a wretch, no friend to mankind, who acts thro' envy and avarice, like ſatan, who 'ſcap'd from hell to diſturb the regions of paradiſe; after ranſacking Britain and Hibernia for gold, the growth of hell, to feed his luxury, now waits to rifle the bowels of America.

May he prove more unſucceſsful than ſatan; blind politics, rank infatuation, madneſs deteſtable, the concomitants of arbitrary power! They can never think to ſucceed; but ſhould they conquer, they'll find that he who overcometh by force and blood, hath overcome but half his foe. Capt. Preſton's maſſacre is too recent in our memories; and if a few troops dar'd to commit ſuch helliſh unprovok'd barbarities, what may we not expect from legions armed with vengeance, whoſe leaders harbour principles repugnant to freedom, and poſſeſs'd with more than diabolical notions? Surely our friends will oppoſe them with all the power heaven has given them.

Nothing more certain; each citizen and each individual inhabitant of America are bound by the ties of nature; the laws of God and man juſtify ſuch a procedure; paſſive obedience for paſſive ſlaves, and non-reſiſtance for ſervile wretches who know not, neither deſerve, the ſweets of liberty. As for me and my houſe, thank God, ſuch deteſtable doctrine, never did, nor ever ſhall, enter over my threſhold.

Would all America were ſo zealous as you. —The appointment of a general Continental Congreſs was a judicious meaſure, and will prove the ſalvation of this new world, where counſel mature, wiſdom and ſtrength united; it will prove a barrier, a bulwark, againſt the encroachments of arbitrary power.

I much approve of the choice of a congreſs; America is young, ſhe will be to it like a tender nurſing mother, ſhe will give it the paps of virtue to ſuck, cheriſh it with the milk of liberty, and fatten it on the cream of patriotiſm; ſhe will train it up in its youth, and teach it to ſhun the poiſon of Britiſh voluptuouſneſs, and inſtruct it to keep better company. Let us, my friend, ſupport her all in our power, and ſet on foot an immediate aſſociation; they will form an intrenchment, too ſtrong for miniſterial tyranny to o'erleap.

I am determined ſo to do, it may prevent the farther effuſion of blood.

Wou'd to God it may prove falſe, and that it may vaniſh like the dew of the morning.

Beyond a doubt, Sir, it's too true.

Perhaps, my friends, you have not heard all.

We have heard too much, of the troops and ſhips coming over, we ſuppoſe you mean; we have not heard more, if more there be.

Then worſe I have to tell, tidings which will raiſe the blood of the patriot, and put your virtue to the proof, will kindle ſuch an ardent love of liberty in your breaſts, as time will not be able to exterminate—

Pray let us hear it, I'm all on fire.

I'm impatient to know it, welcome or unwelcome.

Such as it is, take it; your charter is annihilated; you are all, all declared rebels; your eſtates are to be confiſcated; your patrimony to be given to thoſe who never labour'd for it; popery to be eſtabliſhed in the room of the true catholic faith; the Old Sou • h, and other houſes of our God, converted perhaps into nunneries, inquisitions, barracks and common jails, where you will periſh with want and famine, or ſuffer an ignominious death; your wives, children, deareſt relations and friends forever ſeparated from you in this world, without the proſpect of receiving any comfort or conſolation from them or the leaſt hope of affording any to them.

Periſh the thought.

I've heard enough!—To arms! my dear friends, to arms! and death or freedom be our motto!

A noble reſolution! poſterity will crown the urn of the patriot who conſecrates his talents to virtue and freedom; his name ſhall not be forgot; his reputation ſhall bloom with unfading verdu • e, while the name of the tyrant, like his vile body, ſhall moulder in the duſt. Put your truſt in the Lord of hoſes, he is your ſtrong tower, he is your helper and def • nce, he will guide and ſtrengthen the arm of fleſh, and ſcatter your enemies like chaſſ.

Not a ſingle moment;—'tis like to prove a mortal ſtrife, a never ending conteſt.

Delays may be dangerous.—Go and awake your brethren that ſleep;—rouſe them up from their lethargy and ſupineneſs, and join with confidence temporal with ſpiritual weapons.—Perhaps they be now landing, and this moment, this very moment, may be the laſt of your liberty.—Prepare yourſelves—be ready —ſtand faſt—ve know not the day nor the hour.—May the ruler of all ſend us liberty and life.—Adieu! my friends. Exeunt.

I have ſaid and done all that man could ſay or do.—'Tis wrong, I inſiſt upon it, and time will ſhow it, to ſuffer them to take poſſeſſion of Caſtle William and fortify Boſton N • ck.

I cannot ſe • , good Sir of what advantage it will be to them — • hey've only a mind, I ſuppoſe, to keep their ſoldiers from being inactive, which may prejudice their health.

I wiſh it may prove ſo, I would v • ry gladly confeſs your ſuperior knowledge in military manoeuvres; but till then, ſuffer me to tell you, it's a ſtroke the moſt fatal to us,—no leſs, Sir, but to cut off the communication between the town and country making priſoners of us all by degrees, and give 'em an opportunity of making excurſions, and in a ſhort time ſubdue us without reſiſtance.

I think your fears are groundleſs.

Sir, my reaſon is not to be trifled with. Do you not ſ •• or hear ev • ry day of inſults and provocations to the peaceable inhabitants? This is only a prelude. Can men of ſpirit bear forever with ſuch uſage? I know not what buſineſs they have here at all.

I ſuppoſe they're come to protect us.

Damn ſuch protectors, ſuch cut throat villains; protect us? From what? From whom?—

Nay, Sir, I know not their buſineſs,—let us yet bear with them 'till we know the ſucceſs of the petition from the Congreſs;—if unfavourable, then it will be our time.

Then, I fear, it will be to late; all that time we loſe, and they gain ground; I have no notion of truſting to the ſucceſs of petitions, waiting twelve months for no anſwer at all. Our aſſemblies have petitioned often, and as often in vain; 'twould be a miracle in theſe days to hear of an American petition being granted; their omnipotencies, their demi-godſhips (as they think themſelves) no doubt think it too great a favour done us to throw our petitions under their table, much leſs vouchſafe • o read them.

You go too far;—the power of King, Lords and Commons is uncontroulable.

With reſpect to tyranniſing they would make it ſo, if they could, I know, but there's a good deal to be ſaid and done firſt; we have more than half the bargin to make.

Sure you would not go to diſpute by arms with Great-Britain.

Sure I would not ſuffer you to pick my pocket, Sir.

If I did, the law is open for you—

I have but a poor opinion of law, when the devil fits judge.

What would you do then, Sir, if I was to pick your pocket?

Break your head, Sir—

Sure you don't mean as you ſay, Sir—

I ſurely do—try me, Sir—

Excuſe me, Sir, I am not of your mind, I would avoid every thing that has the appearance of raſhneſs.—Great-Britain's power, Sir—

Great-Britain's power, Sir, is too much magnified, 'twill ſoon grow weak, by endeavouring to make ſlaves of American freemen; we are not Africans yet, neither bond ſlaves.—You would avoid and diſcourage every thing that has the appearance of patriotiſm, you mean.—

Who? me, Sir?

Yes, you, Sir;—you go ſlily pimping, ſpying and ſneaking about, cajoling the ignorant, and insinuating bugbear notions of Great-Britain's mighty power into weak people's ears, that we may tamely give all up, and you be rewarded, perhaps, with the office of judge of the admiralty, or continental hangman, for ought I know.

Who? me, Sir?

Aye, you, Sir;—and let me tell you, Sir, you've been long ſuſpected—

Of what, Sir?

For a rank Tory, Sir.

What mean you, Sir?

I repeat it again—ſuſpected to be an enemy to your country.

By whom, Sir? Can you ſhow me an inſtance?

From your preſent diſcourſe I ſuſpect you— and from your connections and artful behaviour all ſuſpect you.

Can you give me a proof?

Not a point blank proof, as to my own knowledge; you're ſo much of a Jeſuit, you have put it out of my power;—but ſtrong circumſtance • by information, ſuch as amount to a proof in the preſent caſe, Sir, I can furniſh you with.

Sir, you may be miſtaken.

'Tis not poſſible, my informant knows you too well.

Who is your informant, Sir?

A gentleman, Sir; and if you'll give •••• ſe'ſ the trouble to walk with me, I • ll ſoon 〈◊〉 him.

Another time; I cannot ſtay now;— 〈◊〉 dinner time.

That's the time to find him.

I cannot stay now.

We'll call at your houſe then.

Be gone, you ſcoundrel! I'll watch your waters; 'tis time to clear the land of ſuch infernal vermin. Exeunt both different ways.

If Colonel Smith ſucceeds in his embaſſy, and I think there's no doubt of it, I ſhall have the pleaſure this ev'ning, I expect, of having my friends Hancock and Adams's good company; I'll make each of them a preſent of a pair of handſome iron ruffles, and Major Provoſt ſhall provide a ſuitable entertainment for them in his appartment.

Sure they'll not be ſo unpolite as to refuſe your Excellency's kind invitation.

Shou'd they, Colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn have my orders to make uſe of all their rhetoric and the perſuaſive eloquence of Britiſh thunder.

I bring your Excellency unwelcome tidings—

For heaven's ſake! from what quarter?

From Lexington plains.

'Tis impoſſible!

Too true, Sir.

Say—what is it? Speak what you know.

Colonel Smith is defeated, and faſt retreating.

Good God!—What does he ſay! Mercy on me!

They're flying before the enemy.

Britons turn their backs before the Rebels!—The Rebels put Britons to flight? Said you not ſo?

They are routed, Sir;—they are flying this inſtant;—the Provincials are numerous, and hourly gaining ſtrength;—they have nearly ſurrounded our troops. A reinforcement, Sir—a timely ſuccour may ſave the ſhattered remnant. Speedily! ſpeedily, Sir! or they're irretrievably • oſt!

Good God! What does he ſay? Can it be poſſible?

Loſe no time, Sir.

What can I do?—O dear?

Draw off a detachment—form a brigade; prepare part of the train; ſend for Lord Percy; let the drums beat to arms.

Aye do, Captain; you know how, better than I. (Exit Officer) Did the Rebels dare to fire on the king's troops? Had they the courage? Guards, keep round me.

They're like lions; they have killed many of our braveſt officers and men; and if not checked inſtantly, will totally ſurround them, and make the whole priſoners. This is no time to parley, Sir.

No, indeed; what will become of me?

Your orders, Sir,

Haſte, my good Percy, immediately take command of the brigade of reinforcement, and fly to the aſſiſtance of poor Smith!—Loſe no time, leſt they be all cut off, and the Rebels improve their advantage, and be upon us; and God knows what quarter they'll give.—Haſte, my noble Earl!—Speedily! —Speedily!—Where's my guard?

I'm gone, Sir.

What means this flutt • ring round my heart? this unuſual chilneſs? Is it fear? No, it cannot be, it muſt proceed from my great anxiety, my perturbation of mind for the fate of my countrymen. A drowſineſs hangs o'er my eyelids;—fain would I repoſe myſelf a ſhort time;—but I muſt not—;—I muſt wait;—I'll to the t • p of you eminence,—there I ſhall be ſafer. Here I cannot ſtay; there I may behold ſomething ſavourable to calm this tumult in my breaſt.—But, alas! I fear—Guards, attend me.

Clouds of duſt and ſmoak intercept my ſight; I cannot ſee; I hear the noiſe of cannon— Percy's cannon—Grant him ſucceſs!

Methinks, Sir, I ſee Britiſh colours waving.

Some ray of hope.—Have they got ſo near?—Captain, keep a good look out; tell me every thing you ſee. My eyes are wondrous dim.

The two brigades have join'd—Now Admiral Tombſtone bellows his lower tier on the Provincials. How does your Excellency?

Right;—more hope ſtill —I'm bravely to what I was. Which way do our fo • c • s tend?

I can diſtinguiſh nothing for a certainty now; ſuch ſmo • k and d • ſt!

God gr • nt Perc • courage!

His anceſtors were brave, Sir.

Aye, tha 's no rule—no rule, Captain; ſo were mine — A heavy fi • ing now — Th • Rebels muſt be very numerous—

They're like caterpil • ars; as numerous as the locuſts of Egypt.

Look out, Captain, God help you, look out.

I do, Sir.

What do you ſee now? Hark! what dreadful noiſe!

(aſide) How d • mn'd afraid he is.

(aſide) He • s one of your chimney corner Generals—an old gr •• ny.

If I miſtake not, our troops are faſt retreating; their fire ſ •• ckens; the noiſe increaſes.

Oh, Captain, don't ſay ſo!

Upon your honour?—ſay—

Upon my honour, Sir, they're flying t'wards Charleſtown. Percy's beat;—I'm afraid he's loſt his artillery.

Then 'tis all over—the day is loſt— what more can we do?

We may, with the few troops left in Boſton, yet afford them ſome ſuccour, and cover their retreat acroſs the water; 'tis impoſſible to do more.

Go inſtantly; I'll wait your return. Try your utmoſt to prevent the Rebels from croſſing. Succeſs attend you, my dear Captain, God proſper you! [Exit Officer] Alas! alas! my glory's gone; my honour's ſtain'd. My dear guards, don't leave me, and you ſhall have plenty of porter and ſour-crout.

Whilſt early looking, Dick, ere the ſun was ſeen to tinge the brow of the mou •• ai • , for my flock of ſheep, nor dreaming of approaching evil, ſuddenly mine eyes beheld from yon hill a cloud of duſt ariſe at a ſmall diſtance; the intermediate ſpace were thick ſet with laurels, willows, ever-greens, and buſhes of various kinds, the growth of wild nature, and which hid the danger from my eyes, thinking perchance my flock had thither ſtrayed; I deſcended, and ſtraight onward went; but, Dick, judge you my thoughts at ſuch a diſappointment: Inſtead of my innocent flock of ſheep, I found myſelf almoſt encircled by a herd of ravenous Britiſh wolves.

Dangerous muſt have been your ſituation, • oger, whatever were your thoughts.

I ſoon diſcovered my miſtake; finding a hoſtile appearance, I inſtantly turn'd myſelf about, and fled to alarm the ſhepherds.

Did they purſue you?

A lucky eſcape, indeed, Roger; and what rout did they take after that?

Onwards, t'wards Lexington, devouring geeſe, cattle and ſwine, with fury and rage, which no doubt, was increaſed by their diſappointment; and what may appear ſtrange to you, Dick, (tho' no more ſtrange than true) is, they ſeem'd to be poſſeſſed of a kind of brutiſh muſic, growling ſomething like our favourite tune Yankee Doodle, (perhaps in ridicule) 'till it were almoſt thread bare, ſeeming vaſtly pleaſed (monkey-like) with their mimickry, as tho' it provoked us much.

Nature, Roger, has furniſhed ſome brute animals with voices, or, more properly ſpeaking, with orga • • f ſound that nearly reſemble the human. I have heard of crocodiles weeping like a child, to decoy the unwary traveller, who is no ſooner within their reach, but they ſeize and devour inſtantly.

Very true, Dick, I have read of the ſame; and theſe wolves, being of the canine breed, and hav • ng the properties of blood-hounds, no doubt are poſſeſs'd of a more acute ſenſe of ſmelling, more reaſon, inſtinct, ſagacity, or what ſhall I call it? than all other bru • es. It might have been a piece of cunning of theirs, peculiar to them, to make themſelves paſs for • hephe • ds, and decoy our flocks; for, as you know, Dick, all our ſhepherds both play and ſing Yankee Doodle, our ſheep and lambs are as well acquainted with that 〈◊〉 as ourſelves, and always make up to us whene'er they hear the ſound.

Yes, Roger; and now you put me in mind of it, I'll tell you of ſomething ſurpriſing in my turn: I have an old ram and an old ewe, that, whenever they ſing Yankee Doodle together, a ſkilful muſician can ſcarcely diſtinguiſh it from the baſs and tenor of an organ.

Delightful, indeed! I'll attempt it with what little ſkill I have in muſic; we may then defy theſe wolves to imitate it, and thereby ſave our flocks: I am well convinced, Roger, theſe wolves intended it rather as a decoy than by way of ridicule, becauſe they live by cunning and deception; beſides, they could never 〈…〉 to ridicule a piece of muſic, a tune, of which ſuch brutes cannot be ſuppoſed to be judges, and, which is allowed by the beſt maſters of muſic to be a compoſition of the moſt ſubli •• kind, and would have done honour to a Handel or a C • rrellius. Well, go on, Roger, I long to hear the whole.

When they came to Lexington, where a flock of our innocent ſheep and young lambs, as uſual, were feeding and ſporting on the plain, theſe dogs of violence and rapine with haughty ſtride advanc'd, and berated them in a new and unhear'd-of language to us.

I ſuppoſe learn'd at their own fam'd univerſities—

No doubt; they had teachers among them. Two old wolves their leaders, not unlike in features to Smith and • itcairn, as ſtrivinq to outvie each other in the very d • egs of brutal eloquence, and more than Billingſgate jargon, howl'd in their ears ſuch a peal of new-fangled execrations, and hell-invented oratory, 'till that day unheard in New-England, as ſtruck the whole flock with horror, and made them for a while ſtand aghaſt, as tho' all the wolves in the foreſt had broke looſe upon them.

Oh ſhocking!—Roger, go on.

Not content with this, their murdering leaders, with premeditated malice, keen appetite, and without provocation, gave the howl for the onſet, when inſtantly the whole herd, as if the devil had entered into them, ran violently down the hill, and fixed their talons and jaws upon them, and as quick as lightening eight innocent young lambs fell a ſacrifice to their fury, and victims to their rapacity; the very houſes of our God were no longer a ſanctuary; many they tore to pieces, and ſome at the very foot of the altar; others were dragged out as in a wanton gameſome mood.

Barbarity inexpreſſible! more than ſavage cruelty! I hope you'll make their maſter pay for 'em; there is a law of this province, Roger, which obliges the owner of ſuch dogs to pay for the miſchief they do.

I know it, Dick; he ſhall pay, never fear, and that handſomely too; he has paid part of it already.

Who is their maſter, Roger?

One Lord Paramount; they call him a free-booter; a fellow who pretends to be proprietor of all America, and ſays he has a deed for it, and chief ranger of all the flocks, and pretends to have a patent for it; has been a long time in the practice of killing and ſtealing ſheep in England and Ireland, and had like to have been hang'd for it there, bur was reprieved by the means of his friend GEORGE—I forgot his other name—not Grenville—not George the Second—but another George—

It's no matter, he'll be hang'd yet; he has ſent his dogs to a wrong place, and lugg'd the wrong • ow by the ear; he ſhould have ſent them to Newfoundland▪ or Kamptſchatka, there's no ſheep there—but never mind, go on, Roger.

Nor was their voracious appetites ſatiated there; they ruſh'd into the town of Concord, and proceeded to devour every thing that lay in their way; and thoſe brute devils, like Sampſon's foxes (and as tho' they were men) thice attempted with firebrands to deſtroy our corn, our town-houſe and habitations.

Heavens! Could not all this provoke you?

It did; rage prompted us at length, and found us arms 'gainſt ſuch helliſh miſchief to oppoſe.

Oh, would I had been there!

Our numbers increaſing, and arm'd with revenge, we in our turn play'd the man; they, unus'd to wounds, with hideous yelling ſoon betook themſelves to a precipitate and confuſed flight, nor did we give o'er the chaſe, 'till Phoebus grew drowſy, bad us deſiſt, and wiſhed us a good night▪

Of ſome part of their haſty retreat I was a joyful ſpectator, I ſaw their tongues lolling out of their mouths, and heard them pant like hunted wolves indeed.

Did you not hear how their mirth was turn'd into mourning? their fury into aſtoniſhment? how ſoon they qitted their howling Yankee Doodle, and chang'd their notes to bellowing? how nimbly (yet againſt their will) they betook themſelves to dancing? And he was then the braveſt dog that beat time the ſwifteſt, and footed Yankee Doodle the nimbleſt.

Well pleaſed, Roger, was I with the chace, and glorious ſport it was: I oft perceiv'd them tumbling o'er each other heels over head; nor did one dare ſtay to help his brother—but, with bloody breech, made the beſt of his way—nor ever ſtopped 'till they were got ſafe within their lurking holes—

From whence they have not the courage to peep out, unleſs four to one, except (like a ſkunk) forc'd by famine.

May this be the fate of all thoſe prowling ſheep-ſtealers; it behoves the ſhepherds to double the watch, to take uncommon precaution and care of their tender flocks, more eſpecially as this is like to be an uncommon ſevere winter, by the appearance of wolves to early in the ſeaſon—but, hark!—Roger, methinks I hear the ſound of melody warbling thro' the grove— Let's ſit a while, and partake of it unſeen.

What a ſeraphic voice! how it enlivens my ſoul! Come away, away, Roger, the moments are precious. Exeunt Dick and Roger.

How lovely is this new-born day!—The ſun riſes with uncommon radiance after the moſt gloomy night my wearied eyes ever knew.—The voice of ſlumber was not heard—the angel of ſleep was fled— and the awful whiſpers of ſolemnity and ſilence prevented my eye-lids from cloſing.—No wonder—the terrors and ideas of yeſterday—ſuch a ſcene of war— of tumult—hurry and hubbub—of horror and deſtruction—the direful noiſe of conflict—the diſmal hiſſing of iron ſhot in vollies flying—ſuch bellowing of mortars—ſuch thund'ring of cannon—ſuch roaring of muſquetry—and ſuch claſhing of ſwords and bayonets— ſuch cries of the wounded—and ſuch ſtreams of blood, ſuch a noiſe and cruſh of houſes, ſte • ples, and whole ſtreets of deſolate Charleſtown falling—pillars of fire, and the convulſed vortex of fiery flakes, rolling in flaming wreaths in the air, in dreadful combuſtion, ſeemed as tho' the elements and whole earth were envelop'd in one general, eternal conflagration and total ruin, and intermingled with black ſmoke, aſcending, on the wings of mourning, up to heaven, ſeemed piteouſly to implore the almighty interpoſition to put a ſtop to ſuch devaſtation, leſt the whole earth ſhould be unpeopled in the unatural conflict—Too, too much for female heroiſm to dwell upon—But what are all thoſe to the terrors that filled my affrighted imagination the laſt night?—Dreams—fances—evil bodings— ſhadows, phantoms and ghaſtly viſions continually hovering around my pillow, goading and harrowing my ſoul with the moſt terrific appearances, not imaginary, but real—Am I awake—Where are the Britiſh murderers?—where's my huſband?—my ſon?—my brother?— Something more than human tells me all is not well: If they are among the ſlain, 'tis impoſſible.—I—Oh! (She cries.)

Madam, grieve not ſo much.

Am I wont to grieve without a cauſe▪ Wou'd to God I did;—mock me not—What voice is that? methinks I know it—ſome angel ſent to comfort me?—welcome then. (She turns about) O, my neighbour, is it you? My friend, I have need of comfort. Haſt thou any for me?—ſay—will you not ſpeak? Where's my huſband?—my ſon? —my brother. Haſt thou ſeen them ſince the battle? Oh! bring me not unwelcome tidings. (Cries.)

(Aſide. What ſhall I ſay?) Madam, I beheld them yeſterday from an eminence.

Upon that very eminence was I. What then?

I ſaw the brave man Warren, your ſon and Brother.

In the midſt of the tempeſt of war—

Where are they now?—That I ſaw too— What is all this?

Madam, hear me—

Then ſay on—yet—O, his looks!—I fear!

When General Putnam bid the vanguard open their front to the—

Oh, trifle not with me—dear Neighbour!— where ſhall I find them?—ſay—

(Aſide. Heavens! muſt I tell her!) Madam, be patient—right and left, that all may ſee who hate us, we are prepared for them—

What then?—Can you find 'em?—

I ſaw Warren and the other two heroes firm as Roxbury ſtand the ſhock of the enemy's fierceſt attacks, and twice put to flight their boaſted phalanx.

All that I ſaw, and more; ſay—wou'd they not come to me, were they well.

Madam, hear me—

O! he will not ſpeak.

The enemy return'd to the charge, and ſtumbling o'er the dead and wounded bodies of their friends, Warren received them with indiſſoluble firmneſs, and notwithſtanding their battalious aſpect, in the midſt of the battle, tho' ſurrounded with foes on ev'ry ſide—

O, my neighbour!—

Madam his nervous arm, like a giant refreſh'd with wine, hurl'd deſtruction where'er he came; breathing heroic ardour to advent'rous deeds, and long time in even ſcale the battle hung, 'till at laſt death turn'd pale and affrighted at the carnage—they ran—

Who ran?

The enemy, Madam, gave way—

Warren never ran—yet—oh! I wou'd he had, I fear— (Cries.)

I ſay not ſo, Madam.

What ſay ye then? he was no coward, neighbour.

What ſaid you? O Heavens! brave to the laſt! thoſe words—why do you keep me thus—cruel.

(Aſide. She will know it) I ſay, Madam, by ſome miſtaken orders on our ſide, the enemy rallied and return'd to the charge with freſh numbers, and your huſband, ſon and brother—Madam—

Stop!—O ye powers!—What?—ſay no more—yet let me hear—keep me not thus—tell me, I charge thee—

(Aſide. I can hold no longer, ſhe muſt know it) Forgive me, Madam—I ſaw them fall—and Michael the arch-angel, who vanquiſh'd ſatan, is not more immortal than they.—) Aſide, Who can relate ſuch woes without a tear?)

Oh! I've heard enough—too—too much (Cries) yet—if thou haſt worſe to tell—ſay on—nought worſe can be—O ye gods!—cruel—cruel, thrice cruel— cou'd ye not leave me one— (She faints, and is caught by her friend, and placed in the chair, he rings the bell, the family come in, and endeavour to bring her too)

With ſurpriſing fortitude ſhe heard the melancholy relation, until I came to the laſt cloſe— ſhe then gave me a mournful look, lifted up her eyes, and immediately ſunk motionleſs into my arms.

Poor ſoul!—no wonder—how I ſympathize with her in her diſtreſs—my tender boſom can ſcarcely bear the ſight! A dreadful loſs! a moſt ſhocking ſcene it was, that brothers ſhould with brothers war, and in inteſtine fierce oppoſition meet, to ſeek the blood of each other, like dogs for a bare bone, who ſo oft in generous friendſhip and commerce join'd, in feſtivals of love and joy unanimous as the ſons of one kind and indulgent father, and ſeperately would freely in a good cauſe ſpend their blood and ſacrifice their lives for him.

A terrible black day it was, and ever will be remembered by New-England, when tha • vile Briton, (unworthy the name of a Briton) Lord Boſton, (curſe the name!) whoſe horrid murders ſtain American ſoil with blood; periſh his name! a fratricide! 'twas he who fir'd Charleſtown, and ſpread deſolation, fire, flames and ſmoke in ev • ry corner—he was the wretch, that waſter of the world, that licens'd robber, that blood ſtain'd inſulter of a free people, who bears the name of Lord Boſton, but from henceforth ſhall be called Cain, that pillag'd the ruins, and dragg'd and murder'd the infant, the aged and infirm. (But look ſhe recovers.)

O ye angels! ye cherubims and ſeraphims! waft their ſouls to bliſs, bathe their wounds with angelic balſam, and crown them with immortality. A faithful, loving and beloved huſband, a promiſing and filial ſon, a tender and affectionate brother: Alas! what a loſs—Whom have I now to comfort me?—What have I left, but the voice of lamentation: (She weeps) Ill fated bullets—theſe tears ſhall ſuſtain me—yes, ye dear friends! how gladly wou'd I follow you—but alas! I muſt ſtill endure tribulation and inquietudes, from which you are now exempt; I cannot ceaſe to weep, ye brave men, I will mourn your fall—weep on, flow mine eyes, and waſh away their blood, till the fountain of ſorrow is dried up—but, oh! it never— never will—my ſympathetic ſoul ſhall dwell on your boſoms, and floods of tears ſhall water your grave • ; and ſince all other comfort is deny'd me, deprive me not of the only conſolation left me of meditating on your virtues and dear memories, who fell in defence of liberty and your country—ye brave men—ye more than friends—ye martyrs to liberty!—This, this is all I aſk, 'till ſorrow overwhelm • me—I breathe my laſt; and ye yourſelves, your own bri • ht ſpirit, come and waft me to your peaceful abode, where the voice of lamentation is not heard, neither ſhall we know any more what it is to ſeperate.

SO it ſeems indeed, one misfortune ſeldom comes alone—The rebels, after the taking of Ticonderoga and Chamdlee, as I juſt now learn by a Savage, marched immediately to beſiege St▪ John's, and are now before that place, cloſely inveſting it, and no doubt intend paying us a viſit ſoon.

Say you ſo? then 'tis time to look about us.

They'll find us prepar'd, I'll warrant 'em, to give 'em ſuch a reception as they little dream of—a parcel of Yankee dogs.

Their ſucceſs, no doubt, has elated them, and given 'em hopes of conquering all Canada ſoon, if that's their intent.

No doubt it is—but I'll check their career a little.—

Sir, I make bold to preſent you with a few priſoners—they are a ſcouting detachment from the army beſieging St. John's.

Priſoners? Rebels, I ſuppoſe, and ſcarcely worth hanging.

Pray who are you, Sir?

A Man, Sir, who had the honour, 'till now, to command th • ſe brave men, whom you call rebels.

What is your name? if I may be ſo bold?

Allen.

Allen?

Yes, Allen.

Are you that Allen, that Colonel Allen (as they call him) that dar'd to take Ticonderoga?

The ſame—the very man.

Then rebels you are, and as ſuch I ſhall treat you, for daring to oppoſe Lord Paramount's troops, and the laws of the land.

Priſoners we are, 'tis true—but we deſpiſe the name of a rebel—With more propriety that name is applicable to your maſter—'tis he who attempts to deſtroy the laws of the land, not us—we mean to ſupport them, and defend our property againſt Paramount's and parliamentary tyranny.

To anſwer you, were a poorneſs of ſpirit I deſpiſe; when Rebels dare accuſe, power that replies, forgets to puniſh; I am not to argue that point with you: And let me tell you, Sir, whoever you are, it now ill becomes you thus to talk—You'r my priſoner—your life is in my hands, and you ſhall ſuffer immediately—Guards! take them away.

Cruel inſult!—pardon theſe brave men! what they have done has been by my orders—I am the only guilty perſon (if guilt there be) let me alone ſuffer for them all [opening his Brea • ] Here! take your revenge—Why do you heſitate?—Will you not ſtrike a breaſt that ne'er will flinch from your pointed bayone • s?

Provoke me not—Remember you are my priſoners?

Guards! away with them—I'll reſerve you for a more ignominious death—your fate is fix'd— away with them.

(Going off) Be glutted, ye thirſters after human blood—Come, ſee me ſuffer—mark my eye, and ſcorn me, if my expiring ſoul confeſſes fear—Come ſee and be taught virtue, and to die as a patriot for the wrongs of my country. Exeunt priſoners and guards.

What! ye infernal monſters! murder us in the dark?—What place is this?—Who reigns king of theſe gloomy manſions?—You might favour us at leaſt with one ſpark of light—Ye cannot ſee to do your buſineſs here.

'Tis our orders.

Ye dear, ye brave, wretched friends;— now wou'd I die for ye all—ye ſhare a death I would gladly excuſe you from—'Tis not death I fear—this is only bodily death—but to die noteleſs in the ſilent dark, is to die ſcorn'd, and ſhame our ſuff'ring country—we fall undignify'd by villains hands—a ſacrifice to Britain's outcaſt blood-hounds—This, this ſhakes the ſoul!— Come then, ye murderers, ſince it muſt be ſo—do your buſineſs ſpeedily—Farewell, my friends! to die with you is now my nobleſt claim, ſince to die for you was a choice deny'd—What are ye about?—Stand off, ye wretches!

I am order'd to lay you in irons (they ſeize him) you muſt ſubmit.

What do you mean to torture us to death with chains, • acks and gibbets? rather diſp • tch us immediately—Ye executioners, ye inquiſitors, does this cruelty proceed from the lexity • ſhewed to the priſoners I took? D • d it offend you that I • reated them with friendſhip, generoſity, honour and humanity?—If it did, our ſuffrings will redound more to our honour, and our fall be the more glorious—But remember, this fall will prove your own one day—Wretches! I fear you not, do your worſt; and while I lay ſuff'ring and chain'd on my back to the damp floor, • 'll yet pray for your converſion.

Excuſe us, we have only obey'd our orders.

Then I forgive you; but pray execute them.

Our accounts from the Northward, ſo far, are very favourable; Ticond •• oga, Chamblee, St. John • s and Montreal our troops are already in poſſeſſ • on of—and Colonel Arnold, having penetrated Canada, after ſuff'ring much thro' cold, fatigue, and want of proviſions, is now before Quebec, and General Montgommery, I underſtand, is in full march to join him, ſee theſe letters [they read]

The brave, the intrepid Arnold, with his handful of fearleſs troops, have dar'd beyond the ſtrength of mortals—Their courage ſmil'd at doubts, and reſolutely march'd on, Clamb'ring (to all but themſelves) inſurmountable precipices, whoſe tops, covered with ice and ſnow, lay hid in the clouds, and dragging baggage, proviſions, ammunition and artillery along with them, by main ſtrength, in the dead of winter, over ſuch ſtupendous and amazing heights, ſeems almoſt incredible, unparallelled in history!—'Tis true, Hannibal's march over the Alps comes the neareſt to it—it was ſurpriſing undertaking, but when compar'd to this, appears but as a party of pleaſure, an agreeable walk, a ſabbath day's journey.

Let Briton's do the like—no—they dare not attempt it—let them call forth the Hanoverian, the Heſſian, the hardy Ruſſian, or, if they will, the wild Coſſacks and Kalmucks of Tartary, and they would tremble at the thought! And who but Americans dare undertake it? The wond'ring moon and ſtars ſtood aloof, and turn'd pale at the ſight!

I rejoice to hear the Canadians received them kindly, after their fatigue furniſhed them with the neceſſaries of life, and otherwiſe treated them very humanely—And the ſavages, whoſe hair ſtood an end, and look'd and liſten'd with horror and aſtoniſhment at the relation of the fatigues and perils they underwent, commiſerated them, and afforded all the ſuccour in ther power.

The friendſhip of the Canadians and ſavages, or even their neutrality alone, are favourable circumſtances that cannot fail to hearten our men▪ and the junction of General Montgomery will inſpire 'em with freſh ardour.

Heavens proſper them!

Sir, here's an expreſs.

I have letters to your Excellency.

From whence?

From Canada, Sir.

From the Army?

I hope matters go well there.— Had General Montgomery join'd Colonel Arnold when you lef • it?

He had, Sir—theſe letters are from both thoſe gentlemen. [gives him the letters]

Very well. You may now withdraw and refreſh yourſelf, unleſs you • ve further to ſay— I'll diſpatch you ſhortly.

Nothing further, Sir.

[Opens and reads the letters in General Lee and Putnam] I am well pleaſed with their contents— all but the behaviour of the haughty Carleton—to fire upon a flag of truce, hitherto unprecedented, even amongſt Savages or Algerines—his cruelty to the priſoners is cowardly, and perſonal ill treatment of General Montgomery is unbecoming a General—a Soldier—and beneath a Gentleman—and leaves an indelible mark of brutality—I hope General Montgomery, however, will not follow his example.

I hope ſo too, Sir—if it can be avoided; it's a diſgrace to the ſoldier, and a ſcandal to the Gentleman—ſo long as I have been a ſoldier, my experience has not furniſh'd me with a like inſtance.

I ſee no reaſon why he ſhou'dn't be paid in his own coin—If a man bruiſes my heel, I'll break his head —I cannot ſee the reaſon or propriety of bearing with their inſults—does he not know it's in our power to retaliate fourfo • d?

Let's be good natur'd, General—let us ſee a little more of it firſt—

I think we have ſeen enough of it already for this twelve-months paſt. Methinks the behaviour of Lord Boſton, the ill treatment of poor Allen, to be thrown into a loathſome dungeon like a murderer, be loaded with irons, and tranſported like a convict would ſufficiently rouſe us to a juſt retaliation—that imperious red coat, Carleton, ſhould be taught good manners—I hope to ſee him ere long in our College at Cambridge—

I doubt; he'll be too cunning, and play truant—he has no notion of learning American manners; ev'ry dog muſt have his day (as the ſaying is); it may be our time by and by—the event of war is uncertain—

Very true, Sir, but don't let us be laugh'd at forever.

Sir, A Meſſenger this moment from Quebec, waits to be admitted.

Let him enter. Exit Officer.

What news bring you?

I am ſorry, Sir, to be the bearer of an unpleaſing tale—

Bad news have you?— have you letters?

None, Sir, I came off at a moment's warning—my meſſage is verbal.

Then relate what you know.

After the arrival and junction of General Montgomery's troops with Colonel Arnold's, Carlton was ſummoned to ſurrender; he diſdaining any anſwer, fir'd on the flag of truce—

That we have heard—go on.

The General finding no breach could be effected in any reaſonable time, their walls being vaſtly ſtrong, and his cannon rathet light, determined to attempt it by ſtorm—The enemy were apprized of it— however he paſſed the firſt barrier, and was attempting the ſecond, where he was unfortunately killed, with ſeveral other brave Officers—

Is General Montgomery killed?

He is certainly, Sir.

I am ſorry for it—a brave man—I could wiſh him a better fate!—

I lament the loſs of him—a reſolute ſoldier—

Pity ſuch bravery ſhould prove unſucceſsful, ſuch merit unrewarded;—but the irreverſible decree of Providence!—who can gainſay?—we may lament the loſs of a friend, but 'tis irreligious to murmur at pre-ordination. What happened afterwards?

The Officer next in command, finding their attacks at that time unſucceſsful, retired in good order.

What became of Colonel Arnold?

Col. Arnold, at the head of about three hundred and fifty brave troops, and Captain Lamb's company of artillery, having in the mean time paſſed through St. Rocques, attacked a battery, and carried it, tho' well defended, with the loſs of ſome men—

I hope they proved more ſucceſsful.

Aye, let us hear.

The Colonel about this time received a wound in his l • g, and was obliged to crawl as well as he coud to the hoſpital, thro' the fire of the enemy, and wthin fifty yards of the walls, but, thro' Providence eſcap'd any further damage.—

Aye, providential indeed!

Is he dangerouſly wounded?

I am told not, Si • .

I am glad of it.—What follow'd?

His brave troops puſhed on to the ſecond barrier, and took poſſ • ſſion of it.

Very good—proceed.

A party of the enemy then fallying out from the palace-ga • e, attacked them in the • ear, whom they fought with incredible bravery for three hours, and deeds of eternal fame were done; but being ſurrounded on all ſides, and overpowered by numbers, were at laſt obliged to ſubmit themſelves as priſoners of war.

Heav'ns! could any thing prove more unlucky? ſuch brave fellows deſerve better treatment than they'll get (I'm afraid) from the inhuman Carleton.

Such is the fortune of war, and the viciſſitudes attending a military life; to-day conquerors, to-morrow priſoners.

He dares not treat them ill—only as priſoners. Did you learn how thoſe brave fellows were treated?

It was currently reported in the camp they were treated very humanely.

A change for the better.

Produc'd by fear no doubt from General Montgomery's letter—but no matter from what cauſe.

How far did the remainder of the army retire?

About two miles from the city, where they are poſted very advantageouſly, continuing the blockade, and waiting for reinforcements.

Did the enemy ſhew any peculiar marks of diſtinction to the corpſe of General Montgomery?

He was interred in Quebec, with every poſſible mark of diſtinction.

What day did the affair happen on?

On the laſt day of the year.

A remarkable day! When was the General interred?

The ſecond of January.

What number of men in the whole attack was killed? did you learn?

About ſixty killed and wounded.

Have you any thing further to communicate?

That be our buſineſs—with all diſpatch. You may for the preſent withdraw. Serjeant!

I wait your orders, Sir.

See that the Meſſenger and his horſe want nothing.

I ſhall, Sir. Exeunt Serjeant and Meſſenger.

I'll deſpatch an expreſs to the Congreſs. This repulſe, if I miſtake not, (or victory, as Carleton may call i • ) will ſtand them but in little ſt • ad—'twill be only a temporary reprieve— well reinforce our friends let the conſequence be what it may— Quebec muſt fall, and the lofty ſtrong walls and brazen gates (the ſhield of cowards) muſt tumble by an artificial earthquake; ſhould they continue in their obſtinacy, we'll arm our f • iends with miſſive thunders in their hands, and ſtream death on them ſwifter than the winds.

I lament the loſs of the valiant Montgomery and his brave officers and ſoldiers (a • this time more eſpecially) 'tis the fortune of war, 'tis unavoidable; yet, I doubt not, out of their aſhes will ariſe new heroes.

Who can die a more glorious, a more honorable death than in their country's cauſe?—let it redouble ou • a • dour, and kindle a noble emulation in our breaſts—let each American be determined to conquer or die in a righteous cauſe.

I have drawn my ſword, and never will I ſh • ath it, 'till America is free, or I'm no more

Peace is deſpaired of, and who can think of ſubmiſſion? The laſt petition from the Congreſs,like the former, has been diſregarded; they prayed but for liberty, peace and ſafety, and their omnipotent authoritative ſupremeſhips will grant them neither: War, then, war open and underſtood, muſt be reſolved on; this, this will humble their pride, will bring their tyrant noſes to the ground, teach 'em humility, and force them to hearken to reaſon when 'tis too late. My noble General, I join you [drawing his ſword] I'll away with the ſcabbard, and ſheath my ſword in the boſom of tyranny.

Have you not read the ſpeech, where frowning revenge and ſounds of awful dread for diſgrace at Lexington and loſs at Bunker's-hill echo forth? Not ſmiling peace, or pity, tame his ſullen ſoul; but, Pharaoh-like, on the wings of tyranny he rides and forfeits happineſs to feaſts revenge, 'till the waters of the red ſea of blood deluge the tyrant, with his mixed hoſt of vile cut-throats, murderers, and bloody butchers.

Yet, finding they cannot conquer us, gladly would they make it up by a voluntary free will offering of a million of money in bribes, rather than be obliged to reliſh the thoughts of ſacrificing their curſed pride and falſe honour, they ſending over to amuſe us (to put us off our guard) a ſcore or two of commiſſioners with ſham negotiations in great ſtate, to endeavour to effect, by bribery, deception and chicanery, what they cannot accompliſh by force. Periſh ſuch wretches!—deteſted be their ſchemes!—Periſh ſuch monſters!—a reproach to human underſtanding—their vaunted boaſts and threats will vaniſh like ſmoke, and be no more than like ſnow falling on the moiſt ground, melt in ſilence, and waſte away—Blaſted, forever blaſted be the hand of the villainous traitor that receives their gold upon ſuch terms—may he become leprous, like Naaman, the Syrian, yea, rather like Gehazi, the ſervant of Eliſha, that it may ſtick to him for ever.