THE French Revolution is at laſt not only accompliſhed, but its accompliſhment univerſally acknowledged, beyond contradiction abroad, or the power of retraction at home. It has finiſhed its work, by organizing a government, on principles approved by reaſon; an object long contemplated by different writers, but never before exhibited, in this quarter of the globe. The experiment now in operation will ſolve a queſtion of the firſt magnitude in human affairs: Whether Theory and Practice, which always agree together in things of ſlighter moment, are really to remain eternal enemies in the higheſt concerns of men?

The change of government in France is, properly ſpeaking, a renovation of ſociety; an object peculiarly fitted to hurry the mind into a field of thought, which can ſcarcely be limited by the concerns of a nation, or the improvements of an age. As there is a tendency in human nature to imitation; and, as all the apparent cauſes exiſt in moſt of the governments of the world, to induce the people to wiſh for a ſimilar change, it becomes intereſting to the cauſe of humanity, to take a deliberate view of the real nature and extent of this change, and find what are the advantages and diſadvantages to be expected from it.

There is not that necromancy in politics, which prevents our foreſeeing, with tolerable certainty, what is to be the reſult of operations ſo univerſal, in which all the people concur. Many truths are as perceptible when firſt preſented to the mind, as an age or a world of experience could make them; others require only an indirect and collateral experience; ſome demand an experience direct and poſitive.

It is happy for human nature, that in morals we have much to do with this firſt claſs of truths, leſs with the ſecond, and very little with the third; while in phyſics we are perpetually driven to the ſlow proceſs of patient and poſitive experience.

The Revolution in France certainly comes recommended to us under one aſpect which renders it at firſt view extremely inviting: it is the work of argument and rational conviction, and not of the ſword. The ultima ratio regum had nothing to do with it. It was an operation deſigned for the benefit of the people; it originated in the people, and was conducted by the people. It had therefore a legitimate origin; and this circumſtance entitles it to our ſerious contemplation, on two accounts: becauſe there is ſomething venerable in the idea, and becauſe other nations, in ſimilar circumſtances, will certainly be diſpoſed to imitate it.

I ſhall therefore examine the nature and conſequences of a ſimilar revolution in government, as it will affect the following principal objects, which make up the affairs of nations in the preſent ſtate of Europe: I. The feudal Syſtem▪ II. The Church, III. The Military, IV. The Adminiſtration of Juſtice, V. Revenue and public Expenditure, VI. The Means of Subſiſtence, VII. Literature, Sciences and Arts, VIII. War and Peace.

The intereſts of kings and hereditary ſucceſſion will not be forgotten in this arrangement; they will be treated with the privileged orders under the ſeveral heads to which their different claims belong.

It muſt be of vaſt importance to all the claſſes of ſociety, as it now ſtands claſſed in Europe, to calculate before hand what they are to gain or to loſe by the approaching change; that, like prudent ſtock-jobbers, they may buy in or ſell out, according as this great event ſhall affect them.

Philoſophers and contemplative men, who may think themſelves diſintereſted ſpectators of ſo great a political drama, will do well to conſider how far the cataſtrophe is to be beneficial or detrimental to the human race; in order to determine whether in conſcience they ought to promote or diſcourage, accelerate or retard it, by the publication of their opinions. It is true, the work was ſet on foot by this fort of men; but they have not all been of the ſame opinion relative to the beſt organization of the governing power, nor how far the reform of abuſes ought to extend. Monteſquieu, Voltaire, and many other reſpectable authorities, have accreditted the principle, that republicaniſm is not convenient for a great ſtate. Roſſeau and others take no notice of the diſtinction between great and ſmall ſtates, in deciding, that this is the only government proper to enſure the happineſs, and ſupport the dignity of man. Of the former opinion was a great majority of the conſtituting national aſſembly of France. Probably not many years will paſs, before a third opinion will be univerſally adopted, never to be laid aſide: That the republican principle is not only proper and ſafe for the government of any people; but, that its propriety and ſafety are in proportion to the magnitude of the ſociety and the extent of the territory.

Among ſincere enquirers after truth, all general queſtions on this ſubject reduce themſelves to this: Whether men are to preform their duties by an eaſy choice or an expenſive cheat; or, whether our reaſon be given us to be improved or ſtifled, to render us greater or leſs than brutes, to increaſe our happineſs or aggravate our miſery.

Among thoſe whoſe anxieties ariſe only from intereſt, the enquiry is, how their privileges or their profeſſions are to be affected by the new order of things. Theſe form a claſs of men reſpectable both for their numbers and their ſenſibility; it is our duty to attend to their caſe. I ſincerely hope to adminiſter ſome conſolation to them in the courſe of this eſſay. And though I have a better opinion of their philanthropy, than political opponents generally entertain of each other, yet I do not altogether rely upon their preſumed ſympathy with their fellow-citizens, and their ſuppoſed willingneſs to ſacrifice to the public good; but I hope to convince them, that the eſtabliſhment of general liberty will be leſs injurious to thoſe who now live by abuſes, than is commonly imagined; that protected induſtry will produce effects far more aſtoniſhing than have ever been calculated; that the increaſe of enjoyments will be ſuch, as to ameliorate the condition of every human creature.

To perſuade this claſs of mankind that it is neither their duty nor their intereſt to endeavor to perpetuate the ancient forms of government, would be a high and holy office; it would be the greateſt act of charity to them, as it might teach them to avoid a danger that is otherwiſe unavoidable; it would preclude the occaſion of the people's indulging what is ſometimes called a ferocious diſpoſition, which is apt to grow upon the revenge of injuries, and render them leſs harmonious in their new ſtation of citizens; it would prevent the civil wars, which might attend the inſurrections of the people, where there ſhould be a great want of unanimity,—for we are not to expect in every country that mildneſs and dignity which have uniformly characterized the French, even in their moſt tumultuous movements

Whatever reaſon may be given for the fact, I believe all thoſe who have been witneſſes of what are called mobs in France (during the revolution) will join with me in opinion, that they were by no means to be compared with Engliſh mobs, in point of indiſcriminate ferocity and private plunder. A popular commotion in Paris was uniformly directed to a certain well explained object; from which it never was known to deviate. Whether this object were to hang a man, to arreſt the king, to intimidate the court, or to break the furniture of a hotel, all other perſons and all other property, that fell in the way of the mob, were perfectly ſafe.

The truth is, thoſe collections were compoſed of honeſt and induſtrious people, who had nothing in view but the public good. They believed that the cauſe of their country required an execution of juſtice more prompt than could be expected from any eſtabliſh tribunal. Beſides, they were in the criſis of a revolution, when they were ſenſible, that the crimes or their enemies would remain unpuniſhed, for want of a known rule by which they could be judged. Though a violation of right, is not always a violation of law; yet, in their opinion, occaſions might exiſt, when it would be dangerous to let it paſs with impunity.

It is indeed to be hoped, that, whenever mobs in other countries ſhall be animated by the ſame cauſe, they will conduct themſelves with the ſame dignity; and that this ſingular phenomenon will be found not altogether attributable to national character.

THE moſt prominent feature in the moral face of Europe, was imprinted upon it by conqueſt. It is the reſult of the ſubordination neceſſary among military ſavages, on their becoming cultivators of the ſoil which they had deſolated, and making an advantageous uſe of ſuch of the inhabitants as they did not chooſe to maſſacre, and could not ſell to foreigners for ſlaves.

The relation thus eſtabliſhed between the officers and the ſoldiers, between the victors and the vanquiſhed, and between them all and the lands which they were to cultivate, modified by the experience of unlettered ages, has obtained the name of the Feudal Syſtem, and may be conſidered as the foundation of all the political inſtitutions in this quarter of the world. The claims reſulting to particular claſſes of men, under this modification of ſociety, are called Feudal Rights; and to the individual poſſeſſors they are either nominal or real, conveying an empty title or a ſubſtantial profit.

My intention is not to enter on the details of this ſyſtem, as a lawyer, or to trace its progreſs with the accuracy of an hiſtorian, and ſhow its peculiar fitneſs to the rude ages of ſociety which gave it birth. But, viewing it as an ancient edifice, whoſe foundation, worn away by the current of events, can no longer ſupport its weight, I would ſketch a few drawings, to ſhow the ſtyle of its architecture, and compare it with the model of the new building to be erected in its place.

The philoſophy of the Feudal Syſtem, is all that remains of it worthy of our contemplation. This I will attempt to trace in ſome of its leading points, leaving the practical part to fall, with its ancient founders and its modern admirers, into the peaceful gulph of oblivion; to which I wiſh it a ſpeedy and an unobſtructed paſſage.

The original object of this inſtitution was undoubtedly, what it was alledged to be, the preſervation of turbulent ſocieties, in which men are held together but by feeble ties; and it effected its purpoſe by uniting the perſonal intereſt of the head of each family, with the perpetual ſafety of the ſtate. Thus far the purpoſe was laudable, and the means extremely well calculated for the end. But it was the fortune of this ſyſtem to attach itſelf to thoſe paſſions of human nature which vary not with the change of circumſtances. While national motives ceaſed by degrees to require its continuance, family motives forbade to lay it aſide. The ſame progreſſive improvements in ſociety, which rendered military tenures and military titles firſt unneceſſary and then injurious to the general intereſt, at the ſame time ſharpened the avarice, and piqued the honor of thoſe who poſſeſſed them, to preſerve the excluſive privileges which rendered them thus diſtinguiſhed. And theſe privileges, united with the operations of the church, have founded and ſupported the deſpotiſms of Europe in all their diviſions, combinations and refinements.

Feudal Rights are either territorial or perſonal. I ſhall divide them into theſe two claſſes, for the ſake of beſtowing a few obſervations upon each.

The pernicious effects of the ſyſtem on territorial tenures are inconceivably various and great. In a legal view, it has led to thoſe intricacies and vexations, which we find attached to every circumſtance of real property which have perplexed the ſcience of civil juriſprudence, which have perpetuated the ignorance of the people, relative to the adminiſtration of juſtice, rendered neceſſary the intervention of lawyers, and multiplied the means of oppreſſion. But, in a political view, its conſequences are ſtill more ſerious, and demand a particular conſideration.

The firſt quality of the feudal tenure is to confine the deſcendible property to the eldeſt male iſſue. To ſay that this is contrary to nature, is but a feeble expreſſion. So abominable is its operation, that it has ſeduced and perverted nature; her voice is ſtifled: intereſt itſelf is laid aſleep, and nothing but the eloquence of an incomprehenſible pride is heard on the occaſion. You will hear father and mother, younger brothers and ſiſters, rejoice in this proviſion of the law; the former conſigning their daughters to the gloomy priſon of a convent, and their younger ſons to the church or the army, to enſure their celibacy; that no remnant of the family may remain but the heir of the eſtate entire; the latter congratulating each other, that the elder brother will tranſmit unimpaired the title and the property, while they themſelves are content to periſh in the obſcurity of their ſeveral deſtinations. It is probable that, in another age, a tale of this kind will ſcarcely gain credit, and that the tear of ſenſibility may be ſpared by a diſbelief of the fact. It is however no creature of the imagination; it happened every day in France previous to the revolution; I have ſeen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears; it is now to be ſeen and heard in moſt other catholic countries.

But other points of view ſhow this diſpoſition of the law to be ſtill more reprehenſible in the eye of political philoſophy. It ſwells the inequality of wealth, which, even in the beſt regulated ſociety, is but too conſiderable; it habituates the people to believe in an unnatural inequality in the rights of men, and by this means prepares them for ſervility and oppreſſion; it prevents the improvement of lands, and impedes the progreſs of induſtry and cultivation, which are beſt promoted on ſmall eſtates, where proprietors cultivate for themſelves; it diſcourages population, by inducing to a life of celibacy.—But I ſhall ſpeak of celibacy when I ſpeak of the church.

Whether men are born to govern, or to obey, or to enjoy equal liberty, depends not on the original capacity of the mind, but on the inſtinct of analogy, or the habit of thinking. When children of the ſame family are taught to believe in the unconquerable diſtinctions of birth among themſelves, they are completely fitted for a feudal government; becauſe their minds are familiariſed with all the gradations and degradations that ſuch a government requires. The birth-right of domincering is not more readily claimed on the one hand, than it is acknowledged on the other; and the Jamaica planter is not more habitually convinced that an European is ſuperior to an African, than he is that a lord is better than himſelf.

This ſubject deſerves to be placed in a light, in which no writer as far as I know, has yet conſidered it. When a perſon was repeating to Fontenelle the common adage l'habitude eſt la ſeconde nature, the philoſopher replied, Et ſaites moi la grace de me dire, quelle eſt la premiere. When we aſſert that nature has eſtabliſhed inequalities among men, and has thus given to ſome the right of governing others, or when we maintain the contrary of this poſition, we ſhould be careful to define what ſort of nature we mean, whether the firſt or ſecond nature; or whether we mean that there is but one. A mere ſavage, Colocolo See the Araucana of Ercilla. for inſtance, would decide the queſtion of equality by a trial of bodily ſtrength, deſignating the man that could lift the heavieſt beam to be the legiſlator; and unleſs all men could lift the ſame beam, they could not be equal in their rights. Ariſtotle would give the preference to him that excelled in mental capacity. Ulyſſes would make the deciſion upon a compound ratio of both. But there appears to me another ſtep in this ladder, and that the habit of thinking is the only ſafe and univerſal criterion to which, in practice, the queſtion can be referred. Indeed, when intereſt is laid aſide, it is the only one to which, in civilized ages, it ever is referred. We never ſubmit to a king, becauſe he is ſtronger than we in bodily force, nor becauſe he is ſuperior in underſtandig or in information; but becauſe we believe him born to govern, or at leaſt, becauſe a majority of the ſociety believes it.

The habit of thinking has ſo much of nature in it, it is ſo undiſtinguiſhable from the indelible marks of the man, that it is a perfectly ſafe foundation for any ſyſtem that we may chooſe to build upon it; indeed it is the only foundation, for it is the only point of contact by which men communicate as moral aſſociates. As a practical poſition therefore, and as relating to almoſt all places and almoſt all times, in which the experiment has yet been made. Ariſtotle was as right in teaching, That ſome are born to command, and others to be commanded, as the national aſſembly was in declaring, That men are born and always continue free and equal in reſpect to their rights. The latter is as apparently falſe in the diet of Ratiſbon, as the former is in the hall of the Jacobins.

Abſtractedly conſidered, there can be no doubt of the unchangeable truth of the aſſembly's declaration; and they have taken the right method to make it a practical truth, by publiſhing it to the world for diſcuſſion. A general belief that it is a truth, makes it at once practical, confirms it in one nation, and extends it to others.

A due attention to the aſtoniſhing effects that are wrought in the world by the habit of thinking, will ſerve many valuable purpoſes. I cannot therefore diſmiſs the ſubject ſo ſoon as I intended; but will mention one or two inſtances of theſe effects, and leave the reflection of the reader to make the application to a thouſand others.

Firſt, It is evident that all the arbitrary ſyſtems in the world are founded and ſupported on this ſecond nature of man, in counteraction of the firſt. Syſtems which diſtort and cruſh and ſubjugate every thing that we can ſuppoſe original and characteriſtic in man, as an undiſtorted being. It ſuſtains the moſt abſurd and abominable theories of religion, and honors them with as many martyrs as it does thoſe that are the moſt peaceful and beneficent.

But ſecondly, we find for our conſolation, that it will likewiſe ſupport ſyſtems of equal liberty and national happineſs. In the United States of America, the ſcience of liberty is univerſally underſtood, felt and practiſed, as much by the ſimple as the wiſe, the weak as the ſtrong. Their deep-rooted and inveterate habit of thinking is, that all men are equal in their rights, that it is impoſſible to make them otherwiſe; and this being their undiſturbed belief, they have no conception how any man in his ſenſes can entertain any other. This point once ſettled, every thing is ſettled. Many operations, which in Europe have been conſidered as incredible tales or dangerous experiments, are but the infalible conſequences of this great principle. The firſt of theſe operations is the buſineſs of election, which with that people is carried on with as much gravity as their daily labor. There is no jealouſy on the occaſion, nothing lucrative in office; any man in ſocieiy may attain to any place in the government, and may exerciſe its functions. They believe that there is nothing more difficult in the management of the affairs of a nation, than the affairs of a family; that it only requires more hands. They believe that it is the juggle of keeping up impoſitions to blind the eyes of the vulgar, that conſtitutes the intricacy of ſtate. Baniſh the myſticiſm of inequality, and you baniſh almoſt all the evils attendant on human nature.

The people being habituated to the election of all kinds of officers, the magnitude of the office makes no difficulty in the caſe. The Preſident of the United States, who has more power while in office than ſome of the kings of Europe, is choſen with as little commotion as a churchwarden. There is a public ſervice to be performed, and the people ſay who ſhall do it. The ſervant feels honored with the confidence repoſed in him, and generally expreſſes his gratitude by a faithful performance.

Another of theſe operations is making every citizen a ſoldier, and every ſoldier a citizen; not only permitting every man to arm, but obliging him to arm. This fact told in Europe previous to the French revolution, woule have gained little credit; or at leaſt it would have been regarded as a mark of an uncivilized people, extremely dangerous to a well ordered ſociety. Men who build ſyſtems on an inverſion of nature, are obliged to invert every thing that is to make part of that ſyſtem. It is becauſe the people are civilized, that they are with ſafety armed. It is an effect of their conſcious dignity, as citizens enjoying equal rights, that they wiſh not to invade the rights of others. The danger (where there is any) from armed citizens, is only to the government, not to the ſociety; and as long as they have nothing to revenge in the government (which they cannot have while it is in their own hands) there are many advantages in their being accuſtomed to the uſe of arms, and no poſſible diſadvantage.

Power, habitually in the hands of a whole community, loſes all the ordinary aſſociated ideas of power. The exerciſe of power is a relative term; it ſuppoſes an oppoſition,— ſomething to operate upon. We perceive no exertion of power in the motion of the planetary ſyſtem, but a very ſtrong one in the movement of a whirlwind; it is becauſe we ſee obſtructions to the latter, but none to the former. Where the government is not in the hands of the people, there you find oppoſition, you perceive two contending intereſts, and get an idea of the exerciſe of power; and whether this power be in the hands of the government or of the people, or whether it change from ſide to ſide, it is always to be dreaded. But the word people in America, has a different meaning from what it has in Europe. It there means the whole community, and comprehends every human creature; here it means ſomething elſe more difficult to define.

Another conſequence of the habitual idea of equality, is the facility of changing the ſtructure of their government whenever and as often as the ſociety ſhall think there is any thing in it to amend. As Mr. Burke has written no "reflections on the revolution" in America, the people there have never yet been told that they had no right "to frame a government for themſelves;" they have therefore done much of this buſineſs, without ever affixing to it the idea of "ſacrilege" or "uſurpation," or any other term of rant to be found in that gentleman's vocabulary.

Within a few years the fifteen ſtates have not only framed each its own ſtate-conſtitution, and two ſucceſſive Federal conſtitutions; but ſince the ſettlement of the preſent general government in the year 1789, three of the ſtates, Pennſylvania, South-Carolina and Georgia, have totally new modeled their own. And all this is done without the leaſt confuſion; the operation being ſcarcely known beyond the limits of the ſtate where it is performed. Thus they are in the habit of "chooſing their own governors," of "caſhiering them for miſconduct," of "framing a government for themſelves," and all thoſe abominable things, the mere naming of which, in Mr. Burke's opinion, has polluted the pulpit in the Old Jury.

But it is ſaid, Theſe things will do very well for America, where the people are leſs numerous, leſs indigent, and better inſtructed; but they will not apply to Europe. This objection deſerves a reply, not becauſe it is ſolid, but becauſe it is faſhionable. It may be anſwered, that ſome parts of Spain, much of Poland, and almoſt the whole of Ruſſia, are leſs peopled than the ſettled country in the United States; that poverty and ignorance are effects of ſlavery rather than its cauſes; but the beſt anſwer to be given, is the example of France. To the event of that revolution I will truſt the argument. Let the people have time to become thoroughly and ſoberly grounded in the doctrine of equality, and there is no danger of oppreſſion either from government or from anarchy. Very little inſtruction is neceſſary to teach a man his rights; and there is no perſon of common intellects in the moſt ignorant corner of Europe, but receives leſſons enough, if they were of the proper kind. For writing and reading are not indiſpenſible to the object; it is thinking right which makes them act right. Every child is taught to repeat about fifty Latin prayers, which ſet up the Pope, the Biſhop, and the King, as the trinity of his adoration; he is taught that the powers that be are ordained of God, and therefore the ſoldier quartered in the pariſh has a right to cut his throat. Half this inſtruction, upon oppoſite principles, would go a great way; in that caſe nature would be aſſiſted, while here ſhe is counteracted. Engrave it on the heart of a man, that all men are equal in rights, and that the government is their own, and then perſuade him to ſell his crucifix and buy a muſquet,—and you have made him a good citizen.

Another conſequence of a ſettled belief in the equality of rights, is, that under this belief there is no danger from Anarchy. This word has likewiſe acquired a different meaning in America from what we read of it in books. In Europe it means confuſion, attended with mobs and carnage, where the innocent periſh with the guilty. But it is very different where a country is uſed to a repreſentative government, though it ſhould have an interval of no government at all. Where the people at large feel and know that they can do every thing by themſelves perſonally, they really do nothing by themſelves perſonally. In the heat of the American revolution, when the people in ſome ſtates were for a long time without the leaſt ſhadow of law or government, they always acted by committees and repreſentation. This they muſt call anarchy for they know no other.

Theſe are materials for the formation of governments, which need not be dreaded, though disjointed and laid aſunder to make ſome repairs. They are deep-rooted habits of thinking, which almoſt change the moral nature of man; they are principles as much unknown to the ancient republics as to the modern monarchies of Europe.

We muſt not therefore rely upon ſyſtems drawn from the experimental reaſonings of Ariſtotle, when we find them contradicted by what we feel to be the eternal truth of nature, and ſee brought to the teſt of our own experience. Ariſtotle was certainly a great politician; and Claudius Ptolemy was a great geographer; but the latter has ſaid not a word of America, the largeſt quarter of the globe; nor the former of repreſentative republics, the reſource of afflicted humanity.

Since I have brought theſe two great luminaries of ſcience ſo near together, I will keep them in company a moment longer, to ſhow the ſtrange partiality that we may retain for one ſuperſtition after having laid aſide another, though they are built on ſimilar foundations. Ptolemy wrote a ſyſtem of aſtronomy; in which he taught, among other things, that the earth was the centre of the univerſe, and that the heavenly bodies moved round it. This ſyſtem is now taught (to the excluſion by anathama of all others) in Turkey, Arabia, Perſia, Paleſtine, Egypt, and wherever the doctrines of Mahomet are taught; while at the ſame time, and with the ſame reverence, the politics of Ariſtotle are taught at the univerſity of Oxford. The ground which ſupports the one is, that the ſun ſtopt its courſe at the command of Joſhua, which it could not have done, had it not been in motion; and the other, that the powers that be are ordained of God. Mention to a Muſſulman the Copernican ſyſtem, and you might as well ſpeak to Mr. Burke about the rights of man; they both call you an atheiſt.—But I will proceed with the feudal ſyſtem.

The next quality of a feudal tenure is what is commonly called on the continent the right of ſubſtitution, in the Engliſh law, known by the name of entail. Of all the methods that have yet been diſcovered to prevent men from enjoying the advantages that nature has laid before them, this is the moſt extraordinary, and in many reſpects the moſt effectual. There have been ſuperſtitions entertained by many nations relative to property in lands; rendering them more difficult of alienation than other poſſeſſions, and conſequently, leſs productive. Such was the jus retractus of the Romans, the family-right of redemption, and the abſolute reſtoration once in fifty years among the Jews, ſimilar regulations among the ancient Egyptians, and laws to the ſame purpoſe under the government of the Incas in Peru.

Theſe were all calculated to perpetuate family diſtinctions, and to temper the minds of men to an ariſtocratical ſubordination. But none of them were attended with the barbarous excluſion of younger brothers; nor had they the preſumption to put it into the power of a dying man, who could not regulate the diſpoſition of his ſandals for one hour, to ſay to all mankind thenceforward to the end of time, "Touch not my inheritance! I will that this tract of country, on which I have taken my pleaſure, ſhall remain to the wild beaſts and to the fowls of heaven; that one man only of each generation ſhall exiſt upon it; that all the reſt, even of my own poſterity, ſhall be driven out hence as ſoon as born; and that the inheritor himſelf, ſhall not increaſe his enjoyments by alienating a part to ameliorate the reſt."

There might have been individual madmen in all ages, capable of expreſſing a deſire of this kind; but for whole nations, for many centuries together, to agree to reverence and execute ſuch hoſtile teſtaments as theſe, comported not with the wiſdom of the ancients; it is a ſuicide of ſociety, reſerved for the days of chivalry—to ſupport the governments of modern Europe.

Sir Edward Coke ſhould have ſpared his panegyric on the parliament of Edward the firſt as the fathers of the law of entailments. He quots with ſingular pleaſure the words of Sir William Herle, who informs us that King Edward I. was the wiſeſt king that ever was, and they were ſage men that made this ſtatute. Whatever wiſdom there is in the ſtatute, is of an elder growth. It is a plant of genuine feudal extraction brought into England by the Normans or Saxons, or ſome other conquerors; and though ſettled as common law, it began to be diſregarded and diſpiſed by the judicial tribunals, as a ſenſe of good policy prevailed. But the progreſs of liberality was arreſted by that parliament, and the law of entailments paſſed into the ſtatute of Weſtminſter the ſecond.

This was conſidered as law in America, previous to the revolution. But that epoch of light and liberty has freed one quarter of the world from this miſerable appendage of Gothiciſm; and France has now begun to break the ſhackles from another quarter, where they were more ſtrongly riveted. The ſimple deſtruction of theſe two laws, of entailment and primogeniture, if you add to it the freedom of the preſs, will enſure the continuance of liberty in any country where it is once eſtabliſhed.

Other territorial rights, peculiar to the feudal tenure, are leſs general in their operation, though almoſt infinite in their number and variety. Not a current of water, nor a mill-ſeat, nor a fiſh-pond, nor a foreſt, nor the dividing line of a village or a farm, but gives name to and ſupports ſome ſeigneurial impoſition; beſides the numberleſs claims predicated upon all the poſſible actions and ceremonies that paſs, or are ſuppoſed to paſs, between the great lord and the little lord, and between the little lord and the leſs lord, and between him and the Lord knows whom. The national aſſembly in one decree ſuppreſſed about one hundred and fifty of theſe taxes by name, beſides a general ſweeping clauſe in the act, which perhaps deſtroyed as many more, the names of which no man could report.

One general character will apply to all theſe impoſitions: they are a diſcouragement to agriculture, an embaraſſment to commerce —they humiliate one part of the community, ſwell the pride of the other, and are a real pecuniary diſadvantage to both.

But it is time to pay our reſpects to thoſe feudal claims that we call perſonal. The firſt of theſe is allegiance—in its genuine Gothic ſenſe, called perpetual allegiance. It is difficult to expreſs a ſuitable contempt for this idea, without deſcending to language below the dignity of philoſophy. On the firſt inveſtiture of a fief, the ſuperior lord (ſuppoſing he had any right to it himſelf) has doubtleſs the power of granting it on whatever terms the vaſſal will agree to. It is an even bargain between the parties; and an unchangeable allegiance during the lives of theſe parties may be a condition of it. But for a man to be born to ſuch an allegiance to another man, is to have an evil ſtar indeed; it is to be born to unchangeable ſlavery.

A nobleman of Tuſcany, at this moment, canot ſtep his foot over the limits of the duchy without leave from the Grand Duke, on pain of forfeiting his eſtate. Similar laws prevail in all feudal countries, where revolutions have not yet prevailed. They ſlee before the ſearching eye of liberty, and will ſoon flee from Europe.

Hitherto we have treated of claims, whether perſonal or territorial, that are confined to the eldeſt ſons of families; but there is one genuine feudal claim, which "ſpreads undivided" to all the children, runs in all collateral directions, and extends to every drop of noble blood, wherever found, however mixed or adultrated—it is the claim of idleneſs. In general it is ſuppoſed that all indigent noble children are to be provided for by the government. But alas! the ſwarm is too great to be eaſily hived. Though the army, the navy, and the church, with all their poſſible multiplication of places, are occupied only by them, yet, as celibacy deprives them not of the means of propagation, the number continues ſo conſiderable, that many remain out of employment and deſtitute of the means of ſupport.

In contemplating the peculiar deſtiny of this deſcription of men, we cannot but feel a mixture of emotions, in which compaſſion gets the better of contempt. in addition to the misfortunes incident to other claſſes of ſociety, their noble birth has entailed upon them a ſingular curſe; it has interdicted them every kind of buſineſs or occupation, even for procuring the neceſſaries of life. Other men may be found who have been deprived of their juſt inheritance by the barbarous laws of deſcent, who may have been neglected in youth and not educated to buſineſs, or who by averſion to induſtry are rendered incapable of any uſeful employment; but none but the offspring of a noble family can experience the ſuperadded fatality of being told, that to put his hand to the plough, or his foot into a counting-houſe, would diſgrace an illuſtrious line of anceſtors, and wither a tree of genealogy, which takes its root in a groom of ſome fortunate robber, who perhaps was an archer of Charlemagne.

Every capital in Europe, if you except London, throngs with this claſs of nobleſſe, who are really and literally tormented between their pride and their poverty. Indeed, ſuch is the prepoſterous tyranny of cuſtom, that thoſe who are rich, and take the lead in ſociety, have the cruelty to make idleneſs a criterion of nobleſſe. A proof of inoccupation is a ticket of admiſſion into their houſes and an indiſpenſible badge of welcome to their parties.

But in France their hands are at laſt untied; the charm is broken, and the feudal ſyſtem, with all its infamous idolatries, has fallen to the ground. Honor is reſtored to the heart of man, inſtead of being ſuſpended from his button-hole; and uſeful induſtry gives a title to reſpect. The men that were formerly dukes and marqiuſſes are now exalted to farmers, manufacturers and merchants; the riſing generation among all claſſes of people are forming their maxims on a juſt eſtimate of things; and ſociety is extracting the poiſoned dagger which conqueſt had planted in her vitals.

BUT it would have been impoſſible for the feudal ſyſtem, with all its powers of inverſion, to have held human nature ſo long debaſed, without the aid of an agent more powerful than an arm of fleſh, and without aſſailing the mind with other weapons than thoſe which are furniſhed from its temporal concerns. Mankind are by nature religious; the governors of nations, or thoſe perſons who contrive to live upon the labors of their fellow-creatures, muſt neceſſarily be few, in compariſon to thoſe who bear the burthens of the whole; their object therefore is to dupe the community at large, to conceal the ſtrength of the many, and magnify that of the few. An open arrangement of forces, whether phyſical or moral, muſt be artfully avoided; for men, however ignorant, are as naturally diſpoſed to calculation, as they are to religion; they perceive as readily that an hundred ſoldiers can deſtroy the captain they have made, as that thunder and lightning can deſtroy a man. Recourſe muſt therefore be had to myſteries and inviſibilities; an engine muſt be forged out of the religion of human nature, and erected on its credulity, to play upon and extinguiſh the light of reaſon, which was placed in the mind as a caution to the one and a kind companion to the other.

This engine, in all ages of the world, has been the Church

From that aſſociation of ideas, which uſually connects the church with religion, I may run the riſque of being miſunderſtood by ſome readers, unleſs I advertiſe them, that I conſider no connection as exiſting between theſe two ſubjects; and that where I ſpeak of church indefinitely, I mean the government of a ſtate, aſſuming the name of God, to govern by divine authority; or, in other words, darkening the conſciences of men, in order to oppreſs them.

In the United States of America, there is, ſtrictly ſpeaking, no ſuch thing as a Church; and yet in no country are the people more religious. All ſorts of religious opinions are entertained there, and yet no hereſy among them all; all modes of worſhip are practiſed, and yet there is no ſchiſm; men frequently change their creed and their worſhip, and yet there is no apoſtaſy; they have miniſters of religion, but no prieſts. In ſhort, religion is there a perſonal and not a corporate concern.

THE church, in all modern Europe, may be conſidered as a kind of ſtanding army; as the members of that community have been in every nation, the ſureſt ſupporters of arbitrary power, both for internal oppreſſion and for external violence. But this not being ſufficient of itſelf, an additional inſtrument, to be known by the name of the military ſyſtem, became neceſſary; and it ſeems to have been expedient to call up another element of human nature, out of which this new inſtrument might be created and maintained. The church was in poſſeſſion of the ſtrongeſt ground that could be taken in the human mind, the principle of religion; a principle dealing with things inviſible; and conſequently the moſt capable of being itſelf perverted, and then of perverting the whole mind, and ſubjecting it to any unreaſonable purſuit.

Next to that of religion, and ſimilar to it in moſt of its characteriſtics, is the principle of honor. Honor, like religion, is an original, indelible ſentiment of the mind, an indiſpenſable ingredient in our nature. But its object is incapable of preciſe definition; and conſequently, though given us in aid of the more definable feelings of morality, it is capable of total perverſion, of loſing ſight of its own original nature, and ſtill retaining its name; of purſuing the deſtruction of moral ſentiments, inſtead of being their ornament; of debaſing, inſtead of ſupporting, the dignity of man.

This camelion principle was therefore a proper element of impoſition, and was deſtined to make an immenſe figure in the world, as the foundation and ſupport of the military ſyſtem of all unequal governments. We muſt look pretty far into human nature, before we ſhall diſcover the cauſe, why killing men in battle ſhould be deemed, in itſelf, an honorable employment. A hangman is univerſally deſpiſed; he exerciſes an office which not only the feelings but the policy of all nations have agreed to regard as infamous. What is it that ſhould make the difference of theſe two occupations in favor of the former? Surely it is not becauſe the victims in the former caſe are innocent, and in the latter guilty. To aſſert this, would be a greater libel upon human ſociety than I can bring myſelf to utter; it would make the tyranny of opinion the moſt deteſtable, as well as the moſt ſovereign of all poſſible tyrannies. But what can it be? It is not, what is ſometimes alledged, that courage is the foundation of the buſineſs; that fighting is honorable becauſe is is dangerous; there is often as much courage diſplayed in highway-robbery, as in the warmeſt conflict of armies; and yet it does no honor to the party; a Robin Hood is as diſhonorable a character as a Jack Ketch. It is not becauſe there is any idea of juſtice or honeſty in the caſe; for to ſay the beſt that can be ſaid of war, it is impoſſible that more than one ſide can be juſt or honeſt; and yet both ſides of every conteſt are equally the road to ſame; where a diſtinguiſhed killer of men is ſure to gain immortal honor. It is not patriotiſm, even in that ſenſe of the word which deviates the moſt from general philanthropy; for a total ſtranger to both parties in a war, may enter into it on either ſide as a volunteer, perform more than a vulgar ſhare of the ſlaughter, and be for ever applauded, even by his enemies. Finally, it is not from any pecuniary advantages that are ordinarily attached to the profeſſion of arms; for ſoldiers are generally poor, though part of their buſineſs be to plunder.

Indeed, I can ſee but one reaſon in nature, why the principle of honor ſhould be ſelected from all human incentives, and relied on for the ſupport of the military ſyſtem: it is becauſe it was convenient for the governing power; that power being in the hands of a ſmall part of the community whoſe buſineſs was to ſupport it by impoſition. No principle of a permanent nature, whoſe object is unequivocal, and whoſe ſlighteſt deviations are perceptible, would have anſwered the purpoſe. Juſtice, for inſtance, is a principle of common uſe, of which every man can diſcern the application. Should the prince ſay it was juſt, to commence an unprovoked war with his weak neighbors and plunder their country, the falſhood would be too glaring; all men would judge for themſelves, and give him the lie; and no man would follow his ſtandard, unleſs bribed by his avarice. But honor is of another nature; it is what we all can feel, but no one can define; it is therefore whatever the prince may chooſe to name it; and ſo powerful is its operation, that all the uſeful ſentiments of life loſe their effect; morality is not only baniſhed from political cabinets, but generally and profeſſionally from the boſoms of men who purſue honor in the profeſſion of arms.

It is common for a king, who wiſhes to make a thing faſhionable, to practiſe it himſelf; and in this he is ſure of general imitation and ſucceſs. As this divice is extremely natural, and as the exiſtence of wars is abſolutely neceſſary to the exiſtence of kings; to give a faſhion to the trade muſt have been a conſiderable motive to the ancient kings, for expoſing themſelves ſo much as they uſually did in battle. They ſaid, let human ſlaughter be honorable, and honorable it was.

Hence it is, that warriors have been termed heroes; and the eulogy of heroes has been the conſtant buſineſs of hiſtorians and poets, from the days of Nimrod down to the preſent century. Homer, for his aſtoniſhing variety, animation, and ſublimity, has not a warmer admirer than myſelf; he has been for three thouſand years, like a reigning ſovereign, applauded as a matter of courſe, whether from love or fear; for no man with ſafety to his own character can refuſe to join the chorus of his praiſe. I never can expreſs (and his other admirers have not done it for me) the pleaſure I receive from his poems; but in a view of philanthropy, I conſider his exiſtence as having been a ſerious misfortune to the human race. He has given to military life a charm which few men can reſiſt, a ſplendor which envelopes the ſcenes of carnage in a cloud of glory, which dazzles the eyes of every beholder, ſteals from us our natural ſenſibilities in exchange for the artificial, debaſes men to brutes under the pretext of exalting them to gods, and obliterates with the ſame irreſiſtable ſtroke the moral duties of life and the true policy of nations. Alexander It is not unworthy of remark, that Ariſtotle was the tutor of Alexander, and the moſt ſplendid editor and commentator of Homer. As we muſt judge an author by his works, it is but fair to take into view the whole of his works. Conſidered therefore as a political ſchool-maſter to the world, the forming of his pupil and the illuſtrating of his poet are the greateſt fruits of the induſtry of that philoſopher, and have had much more influence on the affairs of nation than his treaitiſe that bears the name of politics. is not the only human monſter that has been formed after the model of Achilles; nor Perſia and Egypt the only countries depopulated for no other reaſon than the deſire of rivalling predeceſſors in military fame.

Another device of princes, to render honorable the profeſſion of arms, was to make it enviable, by depriving the loweſt orders of ſociety of the power of becoming ſoldiers. Excluding the helots of all nations from any part in the glory of butchering their fellow-creatures, has had the ſame effect as in Sparta—it has ennobled the trade; and this is the true feudal eſtimation, in which this trade has deſcended to us from our Gothic anceſtors.

At the ſame time that the feudal ſyſtem was furniſhing Europe with a numerous body of nobleſſe, it became neceſſary, for various purpoſes of deſpotiſm, that they ſhould be prevented from mingling with the common maſs of ſociety, that they ſhould be held together by what they call l'eſprit de corps, or the corporation ſpirit, and be furniſhed with occupations which ſhould leave them nothing in common with their fellow men. Theſe occupations were offered by the church and the army; and as the former was permanent, it was thought expedient to give permanency to the latter. Thus the military ſyſtem has created the nobleſſe, and the nobleſſe the military ſyſtem. They are mutually neceſſary to each other's exiſtence—concurrent and reciprocal cauſes and effects, generating and generated, perpetuating each other by interchangeable wants, and both indiſpenſable to the governing power.

Thoſe perſons therefore who undertake to defend the nobleſſe as a neceſſary order in the great community of men, ought to be appriſed of the extent of their undertaking. They muſt, in the firſt place, defend ſtanding armies, and that too upon principles, not of national prudence, as relative to the circumſtances of neighbors, but of internal neceſſity, as relative only to the organization of ſociety. They muſt at the ſame time extend their arguments to the increaſe of thoſe armies; for they infallibly muſt increaſe to a degree beyond our ordinary calculation, or they will not anſwer the purpoſe; both becauſe the number of the nobleſſe, or "the men of the ſword" (as they are properly ſtyled by their friend Burke) is conſtantly augmenting, and becauſe the influence of the church is on the decline. As the light of philoſophy illuminates the world, it ſhines in upon the ſecrets of government; and it is neceſſary to make the blind as broad as the window, or the paſſengers will ſee what is doing in the cabinet. The means of impoſition muſt be increaſed in the army, in proportion a they are loſt in the church.

Secondly, they muſt vindicate war, not merely as an occurrence of fatality, and juſtifiable on the defenſive; but as a thing of choice, as being the moſt nutritious aliment of that kind of government which requires privileged orders and an army: for it is no great figure of ſpeech, to ſay that the nobility of Europe are always fed upon human gore. They originated in war, they live by war, and without war it would be impoſſible to keep them from ſtarving. Or, to drop the figure entirely, if mankind were left to the peaceable purſuit of induſtry, the titled orders would loſe their diſtinctions, mingle with ſociety, and become reaſonable creatures.

Thirdly, they muſt defend the honor of the occupation which is allotted to the nobleſſe. For the age is becoming extremely ſceptical on this ſubject; there are heretics in the world (Mr. Burke calls them atheiſts) who affect to diſbelieve that men were made expreſly for the purpoſe of cutting each other's throats; and who ſay that it is not the higheſt honor that a man can arrive at, to ſell himſelf to another man for life at a certain daily price, and to hold himſelf in readineſs, night and day, to kill individuals or nations, at home or abroad, without ever enquiring the cauſe. Theſe men ſay, that it is no compliment to the judgment or humanity of a man, to lead ſuch a life; and they do not ſee why a nobleman ſhould not poſſeſs theſe qualities as well as other people.

Fourthly, they muſt prove that all occupations which tend to life, and not to death, are diſhonorable and infamous. Agriculture, commerce, every method of augmenting the means of ſubſiſtence, and raiſing men from the ſavage ſtate, muſt be held ignoble; or elſe men of honor will forget themſelves ſo far as to engage in them; and then farewell to diſtinctions. The national aſſembly may then create orders as faſt as it has ever uncreated them; it is impoſſible for Nobility to exiſt, in France, or in any other country, unleſs the above articles are firmly defended by arguments, and fixed in the minds of mankind:

It ſeems difficult for a man of reflection to write one page on the ſubject of government, without meeting with ſome old eſtabliſhed maxims, which are not only falſe, but which are preciſely the reverſe of truth. Of this ſort is the opinion, That inevitable wars in modern times have given occaſion to the preſent military ſyſtem, and that ſtanding armies are the beſt means of preventing wars. This is what the people of Europe are commanded to believe. With all due deference, however, to their commanders, I would propoſe a contrary belief, which I will venture to lay down as the true ſtate of the fact: That the preſent military ſyſtem has been the cauſe of the wars of modern times, and that ſtanding armies are the beſt, if not the only means of PROMOTING wars. This poſition has at leaſt one advantage over thoſe that are commonly eſtabliſhed by governments, that it is believed by him who propoſes it to the aſſent of others. Men who cannot command the power of the ſtate, ought to enforce their doctrines by the power of Reaſon, and to riſk on the ſea of opinion nothing more than what ſhe will take under her convoy.

To apply this maxim to the caſe now before us; let us aſk, What is war? and on what propenſity in human nature does it reſt? for it is to MAN that we are to trace theſe queſtions, and not to princes; we muſt drive them up to principle, and not ſtop ſhort at precedent; and endeavor to uſe our ſenſe, inſtead of parading our learning. Among individual men, or ſavages acting in a deſultory manner, antecedent to the formation of great ſocieties, there may be many cauſes of quarrels and aſſaſſinations; ſuch as love, jealouſy, rapine, or the revenge of private injuries. But theſe do not amount to the idea of war. War ſuppoſes a vaſt aſſociation of men engaged in one cauſe, actuated by one ſpirit, and carrying on a bloody conteſt with another aſſociation in a ſimilar predicament. Few of the motives which actuate private men can apply at once to ſuch a multitude, the greateſt part of which muſt be perſonal ſtrangers to each other. Indeed, where the motives are clearly explained and well underſtood by the community at large, ſo as to be really felt by the people, there is but one of the ordinary cauſes above mentioned which can actuate ſuch a body; it is rapine, or the hope of enriching themſelves by plunder. There can be then but two circumſtances under which a nation will commence an offenſive war: either the people at large muſt be thoroughly convinced that they ſhall be perſonally rewarded not only with conqueſt, but with a vaſt ſhare of wealth from the conquered nation, or elſe they muſt be duped into the war by thoſe who hold the reigns of government. All motives for national offences are reduced to theſe two, and there can be no more. The ſubject, like moſt others, becomes extremely ſimple, the moment it is conſidered.

And how many of the wars of mankind originate in the firſt of theſe motives? Among civilized nations, none. A people conſiderably numerous, approaching towards ideas of ſober policy, and beginning to taſte the fruits of induſtry, require but little experience to convince themſelves of the following truths—that no benefit can be derived to the great body of individuals from conqueſt though it were certain—that this event is always doubtful, and the deciſion to be dreaded —that nine tenths of the loſſes in all wars are a clear loſs to both parties, being ſunk in expences—that the remaining tenth neceſſarily comes into the hands of the principal managers, and produces a real misfortune even to the victorious party, by giving them maſters at home, inſtead of riches from abroad.

The pitiful idea of feaſting ourſelves on a compariſon of ſuffering, and balancing our own loſſes by thoſe of the enemy, is a ſtratagem of government, a calculation of cabinet arithmetic. Individuals reaſon not in this manner. A diſtreſſed mother in England, reduced from a full to a ſcanty diet, and bewailing the loſs of her ſon, receives no conſolation from being told of a woman in France, whoſe ſon ſell in the ſame battle, and that the taxes are equally increaſed in both countries by the ſame war. But kings, and miniſters, and generals, and hiſtorians proclaim, as a glorious conteſt, every war which appears to have been as fatal to the enemy as to their own party, though one half of each nation are ſlaughtered in the field, and the other half reduced to ſlavery. This is one of the bare-faced impoſitions with which mankind are perpetually inſulted, and which call upon us, in the name of humanity, to purſue this enquiry into the cauſes of war.

The hiſtory of ancient Rome, from beginning to end, under all its kings, conſuls and emperors, furniſhes not a ſingle inſtance, after the conqueſt of the Sabians, of what may properly be called a popular offenſive war; I mean a war that would have been undertaken by the people, had they enjoyed a free government, ſo organized as to have enabled them to deliberate before they acted, and to ſuffer nothing to be carried into execution but the national will.

The ſame may be ſaid of modern Europe, after a correſponding period in the progreſs of nations; which period ſhould be placed at the very commencement of civilization. Perhaps after the ſettlement of the Saracens in Spain, the Lombards in Italy, the Franks in Gaul, and the Saxons in England, we ſhould have heard no more of offenſive operations, had they depended on the uninfluenced wiſhes of the people. For we are not to regard as offenſive the ſtruggles of a nation for the recovery of liberty.

What an inconceivable maſs of ſlaughter are we then to place to the other account; to dark unequal government! to the magical powers poſſeſſed by a few men of blinding the eyes of the community, and leading the people to deſtruction by thoſe who are called their fathers and their friends! Theſe operations could not be carried on, for a long time together, in ages tolerably enlightened, without a permanent reſource. As long as the military conditions of feudal tenures remained in full vigor, they were ſure to furniſh the means of deſtruction to follow the will of the ſovereign; but as the aſperities of this ſyſtem ſoftened away by degrees, it ſeems that governments were threatened with the neceſſity of applying to the people at large for voluntary enliſtments, and contributions in money; on which application the purpoſe muſt be declared. This would be too direct an appeal to the conſciences of men on a queſtion of offenſive war, and was, if poſſible, to be avoided. For even the power of the church, where there was no queſtion of hereſy, could not be always relied on, to ſtimulate to a quarrel with their neighbors of the ſame faith; and ſtill leſs was it ſure of inducing them to part with their money. The expedient therefore of ſtanding armies became neceſſary; and perhaps rather on account of the money than the men. Thus money is required to levy armies, and armies to levy money; and foreign wars are introduced as the pretended occaſion for both.

One general character will apply to much the greater part of the wars of modern times, —they are political and not vindictive. This alone is ſufficient to account for their real origin, they are wars of agreementWhenever the real ſecret hiſtory of the Engliſh and Spaniſh armaments of 1790 ſhall be publiſhed to the world, though it may not furniſh new arguments to men of reflection for diſtruſting political cabinets, it may at leaſt increaſe the number of ſuch men. But this cannot be done with ſafety during the lives of ſome of the principal actors in that aſtoniſhing piece of audacity. I am convinced that the perſon who at this moment ſhould do it, would not ſurvive the publication ſo long as pope Ganganelli did the ſuppreſſion of the Jeſuits., rather than of diſſention; and the conqueſt is taxes, and not territory. To carry on this buſineſs, it is neceſſary not only to keep up the military ſpirit of the nobleſſe by titles and penſions, and to keep in pay a vaſt number of troops, who know no other God but their king; who loſe all ideas of themſelves, in contemplating their officers; and who forget the duties of a man, to practiſe thoſe of a ſoldier—this is but half the operation: an eſſential part of the military ſyſtem is to diſarm the people, to hold all the functions of war, as well the arm that executes, as the will that declares it, equally above their reach. This part of the ſyſtem has a double effect, it palſies the hand and brutalizes the mind; an habitual diſuſe of phyſical forces totally deſtroys the moral; and men loſe at once the power of protecting themſelves, and of diſcerning the cauſe of their oppreſſion.

It is almoſt uſeleſs to mention the concluſions which every rational mind muſt draw from theſe conſiderations. But though they are too obvious to be miſtaken, they are ſtill too important to be paſſed over in ſilence; for we ſeem to be arrived at that epoch in human affairs, when "all uſeful ideas, and truths the moſt neceſſary to the happineſs of mankind, are no longer excluſively deſtined to adorn the pages of a book L'Aſſemblee nationale. ." Nations, wearied out with impoſture, begin to provide for the ſafety of man, inſtead of purſuing his deſtruction.

I will mention as one concluſion, which bids fair to be a practical one, that the way to prevent wars is not merely to change the military ſyſtem; for that, like the church, is a neceſſary part of the governments as they now ſtand, and of ſociety as now organized: but the principle of government muſt be completely changed; and the conſequence of this will be ſuch a total renovation of ſociety, as to baniſh ſtanding armies, overturn the military ſyſtem, and exclude the poſſibility of war.

Only admit the original, unalterable truth, that all men are equal in their rights, and the foundation of every thing is laid; to build the ſuperſtructure requires no effort but that of natural deduction. The firſt neceſſary deduction will be, that the people will form an equal repreſentative government; in which it will be impoſſible for orders or privileges to exiſt for a moment; and conſequently the firſt materials for ſtanding armies will be converted into peaceable members of the ſtate. Another deduction follows, That the people will be univerſally armed: they will aſſume thoſe weapons for ſecurity, which the art of war has invented for deſtruction. You will then have removed the neceſſity of a ſtanding army by the organization of the legiſlature, and the poſſiblity of it by the arrangement of the militia; for it is as impoſſible for an armed ſoldiery to exiſt in an armed nation, as for a nobility to exiſt under an equal government.

It is curious to remark how ill we reaſon on human nature, from being accuſtomed to view it under the diſguiſe which the unequal governments of the world have always impoſed upon it. During the American war, and eſpecially towards its cloſe, General Waſhington might be ſaid to poſſeſs the hearts of all the Americans. His recommendation was law, and he was able to command the whole power of that people for any purpoſe of defence. The philoſophers of Europe conſidered this as a dangerous criſis to the cauſe of freedom. They knew, from the example of Caeſar and Sylla and Marius and Alcibiades and Pericles and Cromwell, that Waſhington would never lay down his arms till he had given his country a maſter. But after he did lay them down, then came the miracle—his virtue was cried up to be more than human; and it is by this miracle of virtue in him, that the Americans are ſuppoſed to enjoy their liberty at this day.

I believe the virtue of that great man to be equal to the higheſt human virtue that has ever yet been known; but to an American eye no extraordinary portion of it could appear in that tranſaction. It would have been impoſſible for the general or the army to have continued in the field after the enemy left it; for the ſoldiers were all citizens; and if it had been otherwiſe, their numbers were not the hundredth part of the citizens at large who were all ſoldiers. To ſay that he was wiſe in diſcerning the impoſſibility of ſucceſs in an attempt to imitate the great heroes above-mentioned, is to give him only the ſame merit for ſagacity which is common to every other perſon who knows that country, or who has well conſidered the effects of equal liberty.

Though infinite praiſe is due to the conſtituting aſſembly of France for the temperate reſolution and manly firmneſs which mark their operations in general; yet it muſt be confeſſed that ſome of their reforms bear the marks of too timorous a hand. Preſerving an hereditary king with a tremendous accumulation of powers, and providing an unneceſſary number of prieſts, to be paid from the national purſe, and furniſhed with the means of rebuilding the half-deſtroyed ruins of the hierarchy, are circumſtances to be pardoned for reaſons which I have already hinted. But the enormous military force, which they have decreed ſhall remain as a permanent eſtabliſhment, appears to me not only unneceſſary, and even dangerous to liberty, but totally and directly ſubverſive of the end they had in view. Their objects were the ſecurity of the frontiers and the tranquility of the ſtate; the reverſe of this will be the effect—not perhaps that this army will be turned againſt the people, or involve the ſtate in offenſive wars. On the contrary, ſuppoſe that it ſimply and faithfully defends the frontiers and protects the people; this defence and this protection are the evils of which I complain. They tend to weaken the nation, by deadening the ſpirit of the people, and teaching them to look up to others for protection, inſtead of depending on their own invincible arm. A people that legiſlate for themſelves ought to be in the habit of protecting themſelves; or they will loſe the ſpirit of both. A knowledge of their own ſtrength preſerves a temperance in their own wiſdom, and the performance of their duties gives a value to their rights.

This is likewiſe the way to increaſe the ſolid domeſtic force of a nation, to a degree far beyond any ideas we form of a ſtanding army; and at the ſame time to annihilate its capacity as well as inclination for foreign aggreſſive hoſtilities. The true guarantee of perpetual tranquility at home and abroad, in ſuch a caſe, would ariſe from this truth, which would paſs into an incontrovertible maxim, that offenſive operations would be impoſſible, and defenſive ones infallible.

This is undoubtedly the true and only ſecret of exterminating wars from the face of the earth: and it muſt afford no ſmall degree of conſolation to every friend of humanity, to find this unſpeakable bleſſing reſulting from that equal mode of government, which alone ſecures every other enjoyment for which mankind unite their intereſts in ſociety. Politicians, and even ſometimes honeſt men, are accuſtomed to ſpeak of war as an uncontrolable event, falling on the human race like a concuſſion of the elements—a ſcourge which admits no remedy; but for which we muſt wait with trembling preparation, as for an epidemical diſeaſe, whoſe force we may hope to lighten, but can never avoid. They ſay that mankind are wicked and rapacious, and "it muſt be that offences will come." This reaſoning applies to individuals, and to countries when governed by individuals; but not to nations deliberately ſpeaking a national voice. I hope I ſhall not be underſtood to mean, that the nature of man is totally changed by living in a free republic. I allow that it is ſtill intereſted men and paſſionate men, that direct the affairs of the world. But in national aſſemblies, paſſion is loſt in deliberation, and intereſt balances intereſt; till the good of the whole community combines the general will. Here then is a great moral entity, acting ſtill from intereſted motives; but whoſe intereſt it never can be, in any poſſible combination of circumſtances, to commence an offenſive war.

There is another conſideration, from which we may argue the total extinction of wars, as a neceſſary conſequence of eſtabliſhing governments on the repreſentative wiſdom of the people. We are all ſenſible that ſuperſtition is a blemiſh of human nature, by no means confined to ſubjects connected with religion. Political ſuperſtition is almoſt as ſtrong as religious; and it is quite as univerſally uſed as an inſtrument of tyranny. To enumerate the variety of ways in which this inſtrument operates on the mind, would be more difficult, than to form a general idea of the reſult of its operations. In monarchies, it induces men to ſpill their blood for a particular family, or for a particular branch of that family, who happens to have been born firſt, or laſt, or to have been taught to repeat a certain creed, in preference to other creeds. But the effect which I am going chiefly to notice, is that which reſpects the territorial boundaries of a government. For a man in Portugal or Spain to prefer belonging to one of thoſe nations rather than the other, is as much a ſuperſtition, as to prefer the houſe of Braganza to that of Bourbon, or Mary the ſecond of England, to her brother. All theſe ſubjects of preference ſtand upon the ſame footing as the turban and the hat, the croſs and the creſcent, or the lilly and the roſe.

The boundaries of nations have been fixed for the accommodation of the government, without the leaſt regard to the convenience of the people. Kings and miniſters, who make a profitable trade of governing, are intereſted in extending the limits of their dominion as far as poſſible. They have a property in the people, and in the territory that they cover. The country and its inhabitants are to them a farm ſtocked with ſheep. When they call up theſe ſheep to be ſheared, they teach them to know their names, to follow their maſter, and avoid a ſtranger. By this unaccountable impoſition it is, that men are led from one extravagant folly to another—to adore their king, to boaſt of their nation, and to wiſh for conqueſt—circumſtances equally ridiculous in themſelves, and equally incompatible with that rational eſtimation of things which ariſes from the ſcience of liberty.

In America it is not ſo. Among the ſeveral ſtates, the governments are all equal in their force, and the people are all equal in their rights. Were it poſſible for one ſtate to conquer another ſtate, without any expence of money, or of time, or of blood—neither of the ſtates, nor a ſingle individual in either of them, would be richer or poorer for the event. The people would all be upon their own lands, and engaged in their own occupations, as before; and whether the territory on which they live were called New-York or Maſſachuſetts, is a matter of total indifference, about which they have no ſuperſtition. For the people belong not to the government, but the government belongs to the people.

Since the independence of thoſe ſtates, many territorial diſputes have been ſettled, which had riſen from the interference of their ancient charters. The interference of charters is a kind of policy which, I ſuppoſe, every mother country obſerves towards her colonies, in order to give them a ſubject of contention; that ſhe may have the opportunity of keeping all parties quiet by the parental bleſſing of a ſtanding army. But on the baniſhment of foreign controul, and all ideas of European policy, the enjoyment of equal liberty has taught the Americans the ſecret of ſettling theſe diſputes, with as much calmneſs as they have formed their conſtitutions. It is found, that queſtions about the boundaries between free ſtates are not matters of intereſt, but merely of form and convenience. And though theſe queſtions may involve a tract of country equal to an European kingdom, it alters not the caſe; they are ſettled as merchants ſettle the courſe of exchange between two commercial cities. Several inſtances have occurred, ſince the revolution, of deciding in a few days, by amicable arbitration, territorial diſputes, which determine the juriſdiction of larger and richer tracts of country, than have formed the objects of all the wars of the two laſt centuries between France and Germany.

It is needleſs to ſpend any time in applying this idea to the circumſtances of all countries, where the government ſhould be freely and habitually in the hands of the people. It would apply to all Europe; and will apply to it, as ſoon as a revolution ſhall take place in the principle of government. For ſuch a revolution cannot ſtop ſhort of fixing the power of the ſtate on the baſis allotted by nature, the unalienable rights of man; which are the ſame in all countries. It will eradicate the ſuperſtitions about territorial juriſdiction; and this conſideration muſt promiſe an additional ſecurity againſt the poſſiblity of war.

IT would be a curious ſpeculation, and perhaps as uſeful as curious, to conſider how far the moral nature of man is effected by the organization of ſociety; and to what degree his predominant qualities depend on the nature of the government under which he lives. The adage, That men are every where the ſame, though not wholly falſe, would doubtleſs be found to be true only in a limited ſenſe. I love to indulge the belief, that it is true ſo far as to enſure permanency to inſtitutions that are good; but not ſo far as to diſcourage us from attempting to reform thoſe that are bad. To conſider it as true in an unlimited ſenſe, would be to ſerve the purpoſes of deſpotiſm; for which this, like a thouſand other maxims, has been invented and employed. It would teach us to ſit down with a gloomy ſatisfaction on the ſtate of human affairs, to pronounce the race of man emphatically "fated to be curſt," a community of ſelf-tormentors and mutual aſſaſſins, bound down by the irreſiſtible deſtiny of their nature to be robbed of their reaſon by prieſts, and plundered of their property by kings. It would teach us to join with Soame Jenyns, and furniſh new weapons to the oppreſſors, by our manner of pitying the misfortunes of the oppreſſed.

In confirmation of this adage, and as an apology for the exiſting deſpotiſms, it is ſaid, That all men are by nature tyrants, and will exerciſe their tyrannies, whenever they find opportunity. Allowing this aſſertion to be true, it is ſurely cited by the wrong party. It is an apology for equal, and not for unequal governments; and the weapon belongs to thoſe who contend for the republican principle. If government be founded on the vices of mankind, its buſineſs is to reſtrain thoſe vices in all, rather than to foſter them in a few. The diſpoſition to tyrannize is effectually reſtrained under the exerciſe of the equality of rights; while it is not only rewarded in the few, but invigorated in the many, under all other forms of the ſocial connexion. But it is almoſt impoſſible to decide, among moral propenſities, which of them belong to nature, and which are the offspring of habit; how many of our vices are chargeable on the permanent qualities of man, and how many reſult from the mutable energies of ſtate.

If it be in the power of a bad government to render men worſe than nature has made them, why ſhould we ſay it is not in the power of a good one to render them better? and if the latter be capable of producing this effect in any perceivable degree, where ſhall we limit the progreſs of human wiſdom and the force of its inſtitutions, in ameliorating not only the ſocial condition, but the controlling principles of man?

Among the component parts of government, that, whoſe operation is direct on the moral habits of life, is the Adminiſtration of Juſtice. In this every perſon has a peculiar inſolated intereſt, which is almoſt detached from the common ſympathies of ſociety. It is this which operates with a ſingular concentrated energy, collecting the whole force of the ſtate from the community at large, and bringing it to act upon a ſingle individual, affecting his life, reputation or property; ſo that the governing power may ſay with peculiar propriety to the miniſter of juſtice, divide et impera; for, in caſe of oppreſſion, the victim's cries will be too feeble to excite oppoſition; his cauſe having nothing in common with that of the citizens at large. If therefore we would obtain an idea of the condition of men on any given portion of the earth, we muſt pay a particular attention to their judiciary ſyſtem, not in its form and theory, but in its ſpirit and practiſe. It may be ſaid in general of this part of the civil polity of a nation, that as it is a ſtream flowing from the common fountain of the government, and muſt be tinged with whatever impurities are found in the ſource from whence it deſcends, the only hope of cleanſing the ſtream is by purifing the fountain.

If I were able to give an energetic ſketch of the office and dignity of a rational ſyſtem of juriſprudence, deſcribe the full extent of its effects on the happineſs of men, and then exhibit the perverſions and corruptions attendant on this buſineſs in moſt of the governments of Europe, it would furniſh one of the moſt powerful arguments in favor of a general revolution, and afford no ſmall conſolation to thoſe perſons who look forward with certainty to ſuch an event. But my plan embraces too many ſubjects, to be particular in any; all that I can promiſe myſelf is to ſeize the rough features of ſyſtems, and mark the moral attitudes of man as placed in the neceſſary poſture to ſupport them.

It is generally underſtood that the object of government, in this part of its adminiſtration, is merely to reſtrain the vices of men. But there is another object prior to this; an office more ſacred, and equally indiſpenſable, is to prevent their vices—to correct them in their origin, or eradicate them totally from the adoleſcent mind. The latter is performed by inſtruction, the former by coercion; the one is the tender duty of a father, the other, the unrelenting drudgery of a maſter; but both are the buſineſs of government, and ought to be made concurrent branches of the ſyſtem of juriſprudence.

The abſurd and abominable doctrine, that private vices are public benefits, it is hoped, will be blotted from the memory of man, expunged from the catalogue of human follies, with the ſyſtems of governments which gave it birth. The ground of this inſulting doctrine is, that advantage may be taken of the extravagant foibles of individuals to increaſe the revenues of the ſtate; as if the chief end of ſociety were, to ſteal money for the government's purſe! to be ſquandered by the governors, to render them more inſolent in their oppreſſions! It is humiliating, to anſwer ſuch arguments as theſe; where we muſt lay open the moſt degrading retreats of proſtituted logic, to diſcover the poſitions on which they are founded. But Orders and Privileges will lead to any thing: once teach a man, that ſome are born to command and others to be commanded; and after that, there is no camel too big for him to ſwallow.

This idea of the objects to be kept in view by the ſyſtem of juſtice, involving in it the buſineſs of prevention as well as of reſtriction, leads us to ſome obſervations on the particular ſubject of criminal juriſprudence. Every ſociety, conſidered in itſelf as a moral and phyſical entity, has the undoubted faculty of ſelf-preſervation. It is an independent being; and, towards other beings in like circumſtances of independence, it has a right to uſe this faculty of defending itſelf, without previous notice to the party; or without the obſervance of any duty, but that of abſtaining from offenſive operations. But when it acts towards the members of its own family, towards thoſe dependent and defenceleſs beings that make part of itſelf, the right of coercion is preceded by the duty of inſtruction. It may be ſafely pronounced, that a ſtate has no right to puniſh a man, to whom it has given no previous inſtruction; and conſequently, any perſon has a right to do any action, unleſs he has been informed that it has an evil tendency. It is true, that as relative to particular caſes, the having given this information is a thing that the ſociety muſt ſometimes preſume, and is not always obliged to prove. But theſe caſes are rare, and ought never to form a general rule. This preſumption has however paſſed into a general rule, and is adopted as univerſal practiſe. With what juſtice or propriety it is ſo adopted, a very little reflection will enable us to decide.

The great out-lines of morality are extremely ſimple and eaſy to be underſtood; they may be ſaid to be written on the heart of a man antecedent to his aſſociating with his fellow-creatures. As a ſelf-dependent being he is ſelf-inſtructed; and as long as he ſhould remain a ſimple child of nature, he would receive from nature all the leſſons neceſſary to his condition. He would be a complete moral agent; and ſhould he violate the rights of another independent man like himſelf, he would ſin againſt ſufficient light, to merit any puniſhment that the offended party might inflict upon him. But ſociety opens upon us a new field of contemplation; it furniſhes man with an other claſs of rights, and impoſes upon him an additional ſyſtem of duties; it enlarges the ſphere of his moral agency, and makes him a kind of artificial being, propelling and propelled by new dependencies, in which nature can no longer ſerve him as a guide. Being removed from her rudimental ſchool, and entered in the college of ſociety, he is called to encounter problems which the elementary tables of his heart will not always enable him to ſolve. Society then ought to be conſiſtent with herſelf in her own inſtitutions; if ſhe ſketches the lines of his duty with a variable pencil, too ſlight for his natural perception, ſhe ſhould lend him her optical glaſſes to diſcern them; if ſhe takes the ferule in one hand, ſhe is bound to uſe the feſcue with the other.

We muſt obſerve farther—that though ſociety itſelf be a ſtate of nature, as relative to the nation at large—though it be a ſtate to which mankind naturally recur to ſatisfy their wants and increaſe the ſum of their happineſs —though all its laws and regulations may be perfectly reaſonable, and calculated to promote the good of the whole—yet, with regard to an individual member, his having conſented to theſe laws, or even choſen to live in the ſociety, is but a fiction; and a rigid diſcipline founded on a fiction, is ſurely hard upon its object. In general it may be ſaid, that a man comes into ſociety by birth; he neither conſents nor diſſents reſpecting his relative condition; he firſt opens his eyes on that ſtate of human affairs in which the intereſts of his moral aſſociates are infinitely complicated; with theſe his duties are ſo blended and intermingled, that nature can give him but little aſſiſtance in finding them out. His morality itſelf muſt be arbitrary; it muſt be varied at every moment, to comprehend ſome local and poſitive regulation; his ſcience is to begin where that of preceding ages has ended; his alpha is their omega; and he is called upon to act by inſtinct what they have but learnt to do from the experience of all mankind. Natural reaſon may teach me not to ſtrike my neighbor without a cauſe; but it will never forbid my ſending a ſack of wool from England, or printing the French conſtitution in Spain. Theſe are poſitive prohibitions, which nature has not written in her book; ſhe has therefore never taught them to her children. The ſame may be ſaid of all regulations that ariſe from the ſocial compact.

It is a truth, I believe, not to be called in queſtion, that every man is born with an impreſcriptible claim to a portion of the elements; which portion is termed his birth-right. Society may vary this right, as to its form, but never can deſtroy it in ſubſtance. She has no controul over the man, till he is born; and the right being born with him, and being neceſſary to his exiſtence, ſhe can no more annihilate the one than the other, though ſhe has the power of new-modeling both. But on coming into the world, he finds that the ground which nature had promiſed him is taken up, and in the occupancy of others; ſociety has changed the form of his birth-right; the general ſtock of elements, from which the lives of men are to be ſupported, has undergone a new modification; and his portion among the reſt. He is told that he cannot claim it in its preſent form▪ as an independant inheritance: that he muſt draw on the ſtock of ſociety, inſtead of the ſtock of nature; that he is baniſhed from the mother; and muſt cleave to the nurſe. In this unexpected occurrence he is unprepared to act; but knowledge is a part of the ſtock of ſociety; and an indiſpenſable part to be alloted in the portion of the claimant, is inſtruction relative to the new arrangement of natural right. To withold this inſtruction therefore would be, not merely the omiſſion of a duty, but the commiſſion of a crime; and ſociety in this caſe would ſin againſt the man, before the man could ſin againſt ſociety.

I ſhould hope to meet the aſſent of all unprejudiced readers, in carrying this idea ſtill farther. In caſes where a perſon is born of poor parents, or finds himſelf brought into the community of men without the means of ſubſiſtence, ſociety is bound in duty to furniſh him the means. She ought not only to inſtruct him in the artificial laws by which property is ſecured, but in the artificial induſtry by which it is obtained. She is bound, in juſtice as well as policy, to give him ſome art or trade. For the reaſon of his incapacity is, that ſhe has uſurped his birth-right; and this is reſtoring it to him in another form, more convenient for both parties. The failure of ſociety in this branch of her duty, is the occaſion of much the greater part of the evils that call for criminal juriſprudence. The individual feels that he is robbed of his natural right; he cannot bring his proceſs to reclaim it from the great community, by which he is overpowered; he therfore feels authorized in repriſal; in taking another's goods to replace his own. And it muſt be confeſſed, that in numberleſs inſtances the conduct of ſociety juſtifies him in this proceeding; ſhe has ſeized upon his property, and commenced the war againſt him.

Some, who perceive theſe truths, ſay that it is unſafe for ſociety to publiſh them; but I ſay it is unſafe not to publiſh them. For the party from which the miſchief is expected to ariſe, has the knowledge of them already, and has acted upon them in all ages. It is the wiſe who are ignorant of theſe things, and not the fooliſh. They are truths of nature; and in them the teachers of mankind are the only party that remains to be taught. It is a ſubject on which the logic of indigence is much clearer than that of opulence. The latter reaſons from contrivance, the former from feeling; and God has not endowed us with falſe feelings, in things that ſo weightily concern our happineſs.

None can deny that the obligation is much ſtronger on me, to ſupport my life, than to ſupport the claim that my neighbour has to his property. Nature commands the firſt, ſociety the ſecond:—in one I obey the laws of God, which are univerſal and eternal; in the other, the laws of man, which are local and temporary.

It has been the folly of all old governments, to begin every thing at the wrong end, and to erect their inſtitutions on an inverſion of principle. This is more ſadly the caſe in their ſyſtems of juriſprudence, than is commonly imagined. Compelling juſtice is always miſtaken for rendering juſtice. But this important branch of adminiſtration conſiſts not merely in compelling men to be juſt to each other, and individuals to ſociety—this is not the whole, nor is the principal part, nor even the beginning, of the operation. The ſource of power is ſaid to be the ſource of juſtice; but it does not anſwer this deſcription, as long as it contents itſelf with compulſion. Juſtice muſt begin by flowing from its ſource; and the firſt as well as the moſt important object is, to open its channels from ſociety to all the individual members. This part of the adminiſtration being well deviſed and diligently executed, the other parts would leſſen away by degrees to matters of inferior conſideration.

It is an undoubted truth, that our duty is inſeparably connected with our happineſs. And why ſhould we deſpair of convincing every member of ſociety of a truth ſo important for him to know? Should any perſon object, by ſaying, that nothing like this has ever yet been done. I anſwer that nothing like this has ever yet been tried. Society has hitherto been curſt with governments, whoſe exiſtence depended on the extinction of proof. Every moral light has been ſmothered under the buſhel of perpetual impoſition; from whence it emits but faint and glimmering rays, always inſufficient to form any luminous ſyſtem on any of the civil concerns of men. But theſe covers are crumbling to the duſt, with the governments which they ſupport; and the probability becomes more apparent, the more it is conſidered, that ſociety is capable of curing all the evils to which it has given birth.

It ſeems that men, to diminiſh the phyſical evils that ſurround them, connect themſelves in ſociety; and from this connexion their moral evils ariſe. But the immediate occaſion of the moral evils is nothing more than the remainder of the phyſical that ſtill exiſt even under the regulations that ſociety makes to baniſh them. The direct object therefore of the government ought to be, to deſtroy as far as poſſible the remaining quantity of phyſical evils; and the moral would ſo far follow their deſtruction. But the miſtake that is always made on this ſubject is, that governments, inſtead of laying the ax at the root of the tree, aim their ſtrokes at the branches; they attack the moral evils directly by vindictive juſtice, inſtead of removing the phyſical by diſtributive juſtice.

There are two diſtinct kinds of phyſical evils; one ariſes from want, or the apprehenſion of want; the other from bodily diſeaſe. The former ſeems capable of being removed by ſociety; the latter is inevitable. But the latter gives no occaſion to moral diſorders; it being the common lot of all, we all bear our part in ſilence, without complaining of each other, or revenging ourſelves on the community. As it is out of the power of our neighbour's goods to relieve us, we do not covet them for this purpoſe. The former is the only kind from which moral evils ariſe; and to this the energies of government ought to be chiefly directed; eſpecially that part which is called the adminiſtration of juſtice.

No nation is yet ſo numerous, nor any country ſo populous, as it is capable of becoming. Europe, taken together, would ſupport at leaſt five times its preſent number, even on its preſent ſyſtem of cultivation; and how many times this increaſed population may be multiplied by new diſcoveries in the infinite ſcience of ſubſiſtence, no man will pretend to calculate. This of itſelf is ſufficient to prove, that ſociety at preſent has the means of rendering all its members happy in every reſpect, except the removal of bodily diſeaſe. The common ſtock of the community appears abundantly ſufficient for this purpoſe. By common ſtock, I would not be underſtood to mean the goods excluſively appropriated to individuals. Excluſive property is not only conſiſtent with good order among men, but it ſeems, and perhaps really is, neceſſary to the exiſtence of ſociety. But the common ſtock of which I ſpeak, conſiſts, firſt, in knowledge, or the improvements which men have made in the means of acquiring a ſupport; and ſecondly, in the contributions which it is neceſſary ſhould be collected from individuals, and applied to the maintenance of tranquility in the ſtate. The property excluſively belonging to individuals, can only be the ſurpluſſage remaining in their hands, after deducting what is neceſſary to the real wants of ſociety. Society is the firſt proprietor; as ſhe is the original cauſe of the appropriation of wealth, and its indiſpenſable guardian in the hands of the individual.

Society then is bound, in the firſt place, to diſtribute knowledge to every perſon according to his wants, to enable him to be uſeful and happy; ſo far as to diſpoſe him to take an active intereſt in the welfare of the ſtate. Secondly, where the faculties of the individual are naturally defective, ſo that he remains unable to provide for himſelf, ſhe is bound ſtill to ſupport and render him happy. It is her duty in all caſes to induce every human creature, by rational motives, to place his happineſs in the tranquility of the public, and in the ſecurity of individual peace and property. But thirdly, in caſes where theſe precautions ſhall fail of their effect, ſhe is driven indeed to the laſt extremity,—ſhe is to uſe the rod of correction. Theſe inſtances would doubtleſs be rare; and, if we could ſuppoſe a long continuance of wiſe adminiſtration, ſuch as a well organized government would enſure to every nation in the world, we may alſo perſuade ourſelves to believe, that the neceſſity for puniſhment would be reduced to nothing.

Proceeding however on the ſuppoſition of the exiſtence of crimes, it muſt ſtill remain an object of legiſlative wiſdom. to diſcriminate between their different claſſes, and apply to each its proper remedy, in the quantity and mode of puniſhment. It is no part of my ſubject to enter into this enquiry, any farther than ſimply to obſerve, that it is the characteriſtic of arbitrary governments to be jealous of their power. And, as jealouſy is, of all human paſſions, the moſt vindictive and the leaſt rational, theſe governments ſeek the revenge of injuries in the moſt abſurd and tremendous puniſhments that their fury can invent. As far as any rule can be diſcovered in their gradation of puniſhments, it appears to be this, That the ſeverity of the penalty is in proportion to the injuſtice of the law. The reaſon of this is ſimple,—the laws which counteract nature the moſt, are the moſt likely to be violated.

The publication, within the laſt half century of a great number of excellent treatiſes on the ſubject of penal laws, without producing the leaſt effect, in any part of Europe, is a proof that no reform is to be expected in the general ſyſtem of criminal juriſprudence, but from a radical change in the principle of governmentThe compaſſionate little treatiſe of Beccaria dei delitti e dell • pene, is getting to be a manual in all languages. It has already ſerved as an introduction to many luminous eſſays on the policy and right of puniſhment, in which the ſpirit of enquiry is purſued much farther than the benevolent philoſopher, ſurrounded as he is by the united ſabres of feudal and eccleſiaſtical tyranny, has dared to purſue it..

A method of communicating inſtruction to every member of ſociety, is not difficult to diſcover, and would not be expenſive in practice. The government generally eſtabliſhes miniſters of juſtice in every part of the dominion. The firſt object of theſe miniſters ought to be, to ſee that every perſon is well inſtructed in his duties and in his rights; that he is rendered perfectly acquainted with every law, in its true ſpirit and tendency, in order that he may know the reaſon of his obedience, and the manner of obtaining redreſs, in caſe he ſhould deem it unjuſt; that he is taught to feel the cares and intereſts of an active citizen, to conſider himſelf as a real member of the ſtate, know that the government is his own, that the ſociety is his friend, and that the officers of the ſtate are the ſervants of the people. A perſon poſſeſſing theſe ideas will never violate the law, unleſs it be from neceſſity; and ſuch neceſſity is to be prevented by means which are equally obvious.

For the purpoſes of compulſive juſtice, it is not enough that the laws be rendered familiar to the people; but the tribunals ought to be near at hand, eaſy of acceſs, and equally open to the poor as to the rich; the means of coming at juſtice ſhould be cheap, expeditious and certain; the mode of proceſs ſhould be ſimple and perfectly intelligible to the meaneſt capacity, unclouded with myſteries and unperplexed with forms. In ſhort; juſtice ſhould familiariſe itſelf as the well-known friend of every man; and the conſequence ſeems natural, that every man would be a friend to juſtice.

After conſidering what is the duty of ſociety, and what would be the practice of a well-organized government, relative to the ſubject of this chapter, it is almoſt uſeleſs to enquire, what is the practice of all the old governments of Europe. We may be ſure beforehand, that it is directly the contrary,—that, like all other parts of the ſyſtem, it is the inverſion of every thing that is right and reaſonable. The pyramid is every where ſet on the little end, and all ſorts of extraneous rubbiſh are conſtantly brought to prop it up.

Unequal governments are neceſſarily founded in ignorance, and they muſt be ſupported by ignorance; to deviate from their principle, would be voluntary ſuicide. The firſt great object of their policy is to perpetuate that undiſturbed ignorance of the people which is the companion of poverty, the parent of crimes, and the pillar of the ſtate.

In England the people at large are as perfectly ignorant of the acts of parliament after they are made, as they poſſibly can be before. They are printed by one man only, who is called the king's printer—in the old German character, which few men can read —and ſold at a price that few can afford to pay. But leſt ſome ſcraps of comments upon them ſhould come to the people through the medium of the public newſpapers, every ſuch paper is ſtamped with a heavy duty; and an act of parliament is made, to prevent men from lending their papers to each other As this work may chance to fall into the hands of ſome people who never ſee the acts of parliament (the ſame precautions not being taken to prevent its circulation) it is out of compaſſion to that claſs of readers, that I give this information. It is a duty of humanity, to ſave our fellow-creatures from falling into ſnares, even thoſe that are ſpread for them by the government. Therefore: Notice is hereby given to all perſons, to whom theſe preſents ſhall come, that the penalty for letting a newſpaper, within the kingdom of Great-Britain, is fifty pounds.; ſo that, not one perſon in a hundred ſees a newſpaper once in a year. If a man at the bottom of Yorkſhire diſcovers by inſtinct that a law is made, which is intereſting for him to know, he has only to make a journey to London, find out the king's printer, pay a penny a page for the law, and learn the German alphabet. He is then prepared to ſpell out his duty.

As to the general ſyſtem of the laws of the land, on which all property depends, no man in the kingdom knows them, and no man pretends to know them. They are a fathomleſs abyſs, that exceeds all human faculties to ſound. They are ſtudied, not to be underſtood, but to be diſputed; not to give information, but to breed confuſion. The man whoſe property is depending on a ſuit at law, dares not look into the gulph that ſeparates him from the wiſhed-for deciſion; he has no confidence in himſelf, nor in reaſon, nor in juſtice; he mounts on the back of a lawyer, like one of Mr. Burke's heroes of chivalry between the wings of griffin, and truſt the pilotage of a man, who is ſuperior to himſelf, only in the confidence which reſults from having nothing at ſtake.

To penetrate into what are called the courts of juſtice, on the continent, and expoſe the general ſyſtem of their adminiſtration in thoſe points which are common to moſt countries in Europe, would be to lay open an inconceivable ſcene of iniquity; it would be, "To pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes, Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful e'en to gods." What are we to do with our ſenſibility, with our honeſt inſtinct of propriety—how refrain from exclamations of horror, while we contemplate a ſet of men aſſuming the ſacred garb of juſtice, for the uniform and well-known purpoſe of ſelling their deciſions to the higheſt bidder! For a judge to receive a bribe, we ſhould think an indelible ſtain upon his character as a man; but what ſhall we ſay of the ſtate of human nature, where it is no diſgrace to him as a judge? Where it is not only expected as a matter of courſe, and practiſed without diſguiſe, but is made almoſt a neceſſary part of the judiciary ſyſtem?

Whether the practice of receiving bribes was the original idea on which is founded the venality of offices in modern governments, it is not to our purpoſe to enquire. But certain it is, they are concomitant ideas, and coextenſive practices; and it is deſigned that they ſhould be ſo. In France, before the revolution, the office of judge was not indeed hereditary, like that of king; but it was worſe; it was held up for ſale by the king, and put at auction by the miniſter. As a part of the king's revenue aroſe from the ſale of juſtice, the government ſold all the offices in that department at fixed prices; but the miniſter made the bargains with thoſe who would give him moſt. Thus the ſeats of the judges became objects of ſpeculation, open to all the world; and the man whoſe conſcience was the beſt fitted to make a profitable trade of deciding cauſes, could afford to give the higheſt price, and was conſequently ſure to be judge.

Juſtice then was a commodity which neceſſarily gave a profit to three ſets of men, before it could be purchaſed by the ſuitor; even ſuppoſing it might have flowed to him in a direct channel. But this was a thing impoſſible: there were other deſcriptions of men, more numerous, if not more greedy, than thoſe of whom we have ſpoken, through whoſe hands it muſt paſs and repaſs, before it could arrive at the client, who had paid his money to the judge. Theſe men who infeſted the tribunals in all ſtages of the buſineſs, were divided in France into about ſix claſſes. for want of the preciſe names in Engliſh to deſignate all their official deſtinctions, we ſhall rank the whole under the great appellation of LawyersTo avoid any ſuſpicion of exaggeration, I will mention by their original names ſuch of theſe claſſes as occur to me. There were the counſeiller, avocat, procureur, ſecretaire, du judge, greſſier, huiſſier-priſeur, buiſſier-audiencier, with all their clerks, who muſt like wiſe all be paid, or the cauſe would ſtop in any ſtage of its progreſs▪ . But though we here confound them together, as we often do objects at a diſtance; yet they were not to be ſo treated by the client. He muſt addreſs them all diſtinctly and reſpectfully, with the ſame argumentum ad patronum, with which he had adreſſed the judge: as one or more of each claſs had a neceſſary part in bringing forward and putting backward every cauſe that came into court.

Lawyers in France ſerved two important purpoſes, which it is ſuppoſed they do not ſerve in England: they added conſiderably to the revenues of the crown by the purchaſe of their places; and they covered the iniquity of the judges under the impenetrable veil of their own. In a cauſe of ordinary conſequence, there was more writing to be done in France than there is even in England, perhaps by a hundred and fifty pages. The reaſon of this was, that it was more neceſſary to involve the queſtion in myſteries and perplexities that ſhould be abſolutely inſcrutable. For it muſt never be known, either at the time of trial or ever after, on what point or principle the cauſe was decided. To anſwer this end, the multiplying of the different orders of the managers, as well as encreaſing the quantity of writing, had an admirable effect; it removed the poſſibility of fixing a charge of fraud or miſmanagement on any one of the great fraternity, or of diſcovering, among the formidable piles of papers and parchments that enveloped the myſteries of the trial, in what ſtage the iniquity was introduced.

To call this whole ſyſtem of operations a ſolemn farce, is to give no utterance to our feelings; to ſay it is a ſplendid mockery of juſtice by which individuals are robbed of their property, is almoſt to ſpeak its praiſe.— The reflecting mind cannot reſt upon it a moment, without glancing over ſociety, and bewailing the terrible inroads made upon morals public and private, the devaſtation of principle, the outrage upon nature, the degradation of the laſt particle of dignity by which we recognize our own reſemblance in man.

Its obvious tendency is, by its enormous expence, to bar the door of juſtice againſt the poor, who in ſuch countries are ſure to form the great body of mankind,—to render them enemies to ſociety, by teaching that ſociety is an enemy to them,—to ſtimulate them to crimes both from their own neceſſities, and from the example of their maſters,—and to ſpread over the people at large an incruſtation of ignorance, which excluding all ideas of their duties and their rights, compels them to forget their relation to the human race.

Are theſe to be ranked among the circumſtances, which call for a change in the governments of Europe? Or are we to join with Mr. Burke, and lament as an evil of the French revolution, That the ancient ſyſtem "of juriſprudence will no more be ſtudied?" The whining of that good gentleman on this idea, is about as rational, as it would be to lament that the noble ſcience of Heraldry was in danger of being forgotten; or that men had loſt the myſtical meaning of Abracadabra. This word, ſerving as a charm, anſwered the ſame purpoſe in Medecine, as heraldry does in honor; or the old juriſprudence, in juſtice: it rendered men ſuperſtitious; and conſequently, immoral and unhappy.

It is ſo faſhionable in Europe, eſpecially among Engliſhmen, to ſpeak in praiſe of the Engliſh juriſprudence, and to conſider it as a model of perfection, that it may ſeem neceſſary for a perſon to begin with an apology for offering his ideas on that ſubject, if he means to deviate from the opinion ſo generally eſtabliſhed. But inſtead of doing this, I will begin by apologizing for thoſe who at this day ſupport the eſtabliſhed opinion: Your faireſt apology, Gentlemen, is, that you underſtand nothing of the matter. To aſſign any other, would be leſs favourable to your characters as honeſt men.

Excluſive of the rules by which the merits of a cauſe are to be decided (and which, if they could be aſcertained, would be the law) the mere form of bringing a queſtion before a court is of itſelf a ſcience, an art, leſs underſtood, and more difficult to learn, than the conſtruction and uſe of the moſt complicated machine, or even the motions of the heavenly bodies. It is not enough, that the adminiſtration of juſtice (which ought to be as ſimple as poſſible) is ſo involved in perplexity, that none but men of profeſſional ſkill can pretend to underſtand it, but the profeſſors are divided, as in France, into ſeveral diſtinct claſſes; each of which is abſolutely neceſſary to lend a helping hand in every ſtep of the progreſs of a cauſe. This dark multiplicity of form has not only removed the knowledge of law from the generality of men, but has created ſuch an expence in obtaining juſtice, that very few ever make the attempt. The courts are effectually ſhut againſt the great body of the people, and juſtice as much out of their reach, as if no laws exiſtedThe proviſion made in the Engliſh law, enabling a perſon to bring his ſuit in forma pauperis, is rather an inſult than a real advantage. Certainly, not one perſon in a hundred, who is deprived of juſtice in the ordinay courſe, would ever ſeek it in this; as in order to be entitled to it, he muſt go into court and ſwear that he has not property enough to proſecute his claim. A young tradeſman, and in general every perſon who wiſhes to carry on buſineſs, or has ſpirit enough to ſeek for juſtice, has a higher intereſt in eſtabliſhing a credit among his connexions in buſineſs, than in proſecuting any ordinary ſuit at law. He knows, that to expoſe his own poverty, eſpecially in a commercial country, would be irretrievable ruin; it would be a poſitive injury; while ſetting down with the loſs of his right, without bringing his ſuit, is only a negative injury..

Thoſe who have attemped to purchaſe juſtice through the neceſſary forms, have never been known to pronounce eulogies on the courts. But their number has always been ſo ſmall, that had they uttered the anathemas that the ſyſtem deſerves, their feeble voice could ſcarcely have been heard. No man, whoſe eyes are not blinded by fees or by prejudice, can look upon the enormous maſs of writings which accumulate in a cauſe, without reflecting with indignation on the expence; one hundredth part of which would have been more than ſufficient for every purpoſe of obtaining juſtice between the parties. A writer who ſhould give the names and deſcriptions of the various parts of a proceſs, with the expences annexed to each part, would ſcarcely gain credit, except with profeſſional men. Several hundred pounds are expended only in writing Bills, Subpoenas, Pleas, Demurrers, Anſwers, Petitions, Orders, Motions, Amendments, Notices, Reports, &c. in a ſingle cauſe where no witneſs is called.

Let us trace a few of the windings, and ſee where ſome of the paths lead, which are laid down as neceſſary to obtaining a deciſion in Chancery; we ſhall there find how hundreds, and ſometimes thouſands of pounds are expended in a cauſe, before any defence is ſet up, and where no defence is ever intended to be ſet up. The ſuitor begins his incomprehenſible operation, by ſtating his claim, in what is called a Bill, which he leaves at a certain office belonging to the court, and obtains an order, called a ſubpoena, for ſummoning the defendant. This being done, the court requires the defendant to ſend an Attorney to write his name at another office of the court. This writing the name, is called an appearance; it anſwers no poſſible purpoſe, but that of encreaſing expences and fees of office, for which it is a powerful engine. For if the defendant does not comply, an expence of thouſands of pounds may be made, to compel him. A capias, a proceſs for outlawry, a commiſſion of rebellion, and an order and commiſſion for ſequeſtration, are purſued in their proper rotine, till he conſents to write his name.

If the plaintiff has property to go through this proceſs, he may be ſaid to be able juſt to keep his ground; and his cauſe is in every reſpect preciſely where it was at firſt. If he has not ſufficient property, the cauſe is loſt for want of fees; and he is no better than if he had never been able to have begun the ſuit.

We will however ſuppoſe that the defendant very good-naturedly writes his name; he is then entitled to a certain delay, during which, the court informs him, he muſt plead demur, or anſwer to the bill. When this time expires, he is entitled to a farther delay of four weeks. But though he is entitled to this farther delay, and neither the plaintiff nor the court can refuſe it; ſtill he muſt employ a ſollicitor to make a brief for counſel; and this ſollicitor muſt attend the counſel, and give him and his clerk their fees, for moving the court for this delay, which cannot be refuſed. The counſel muſt attend the court and make the motion; the ſollicitor muſt attend the court, and pay for the order, entry and copy; and then muſt cauſe it to be ſerved.

At the end of this term of four weeks, the defendant is entitled to a farther delay of three weeks; which again cannot be refuſed. But he muſt pay his ſolicitor for drawing and engroſſing a petition for that purpoſe, and the petition muſt be preſented, and anſwered; for which he muſt pay; he muſt alſo pay for order, entry, copy, and ſervice. At the end of theſe three weeks he is in the ſame manner entitled to a farther delay of two weeks; but the ſame farce muſt be acted over again, to obtain it. And a very ſolemn farce is it to the parties, a very pleaſant farce to the officers of the court, and a very ridiculous farce to every body elſe.

If, during all this time, the defendant had ſtopt paying, or the ſollicitor had ſtopt writing, the ſame proceſs, which was uſed to compel his appearance, muſt have been repeated: to wit, capias, outlawry, commiſſion of rebellion, and ſequeſtration. But we have arrived at the time when the defendant is in duty bound to anſwer to the bill; and here if he does not anſwer, then, capias, outlaway, rebellion and ſequeſtration again.

Theſe terms muſt be explained to the reader; and this is the beſt opportunity to do it. For the cauſe ſtill remaining preciſely where it was at firſt, we may ſuppoſe it ſufficiently at reſt, not to move during the explanation. A capias is an order, to take the man, and hold him in goal till he obeys the order of the court; whether it be to write his name, or any thing elſe. The word outlawry explains, of itſelf, this horrid engine of the court. A commiſſion of rebellion is an order iſſued, after the officer with the capias has ſearched and cannot find the man, and after an outlawry has taken place. It is directed to other perſons, requiring them to take up the man who was guilty of rebellion in refuſing to write his name. But as the officer with the capias, before outlawry, could not find the man, the iſſuing the commiſſion of rebellion now, has no other meaning but ſees. A ſequeſtration is taking the whole property of the defendant into the hands of the court. And when this is done the cauſe is ſoon done alſo; for no eſtate could laſt long there. When the money is gone, the proceedings ceaſe.

But let us ſuppoſe that the defendant has complied with all orders thus far, and has put in a good and ſufficient anſwer. Let us leave out of our account all motions, petitions, decrees, orders, &c. for amending the bill, for referring to Maſters the inſufficiency of anſwers, reports upon thoſe anſwers, and farther anſwers, and exceptions to Maſters' reports, and orders and deciſions relative to them; and, inſtead of enquiring into the expence of theſe, let us go back and aſk what is the uſe of all, or of any part of this proceſs? Thirty thouſand Lawyers (this is ſaid to be the number in the kingdom) are now living on juſt ſuch ſtuff as the proceſs here deſcribed; and I call on them all, to point out the purpoſe that any of it ever ſerved, or even can ſerve, to their clients.

It muſt be remembered, that all the proceedings thus far, were to end in three pretended objects—to compel an appearance; to obtain the uſual and legal time for the defendant to prepare his anſwer, and to compel him to give his anſwer. For the appearance, which is the ſolemn appellation given to the action of writing a name, it would be an inſult to the underſtanding of a child, to tell him that this could be of any ſervice towards forwarding juſtice. Next comes the ſucceſſion of applications and orders, for time to anſwer the bill. The practice of the court, which is the law in this caſe, allows the defendant, firſt a ſhort term, and then the delay of four weeks, three weeks, and two weeks; which in all reckonings, unleſs it be in law, make nine weeks. And if that be a reaſonable time, when divided into three parts, why is it not ſo before it is divided? And if neither the party, nor the court nor any body elſe, has a right to refuſe that term of time, why might not the defendant take it, without the expence of aſking three times? The remainder of the proceſs goes to compel the defendant to give in an anſwer to the bill. And what is the importance of an anſwer? To ſolve this queſtion, let us conſider the object of the bill, to which the anſwer is required.

The bill expreſſes the claim of the plaintiff, and points out the nature of the decree, which he prays may be made in his favor againſt the defendant. Notice is given to the defendant, that ſuch a ſuit is pending, and that he may appear and ſhow cauſe why the decree ſhould not be made. Having given this notice, it is not only cruel, but abſurd, to think of forcing him to defend himſelf, whether he will or no. One would ſuppoſe it little to the purpoſe, to make the attempt. Why may not the ſubpoena, which gives notice to the defendant, point out the day, beyond which he cannot give an anſwer? then if he chooſes to defend, hear him candidly; but if he refuſes to come, and does not chooſe to defend,—proceed in the cauſe; he is willing that the decree ſhould paſs. Can it be reaſonable,—can it be any thing ſhort of flat contradiction and nonſenſe, to compel him to appear, to compel him to aſk for a delay, and to compel him to defend? Can his defence be neceſſary in doing juſtice to the plaintiff? And if he will not defend himſelf can you make him? Can any one of the whole hoſt of all the profeſſions of the law, ſhow the leaſt ſhadow of uſe in all this ſlouriſh of proceſs thus far but fees on the one hand, and oppreſſion on the other?

To proceed through all the forms, to the end of a ſuit in Chancery, would be to write a commentary on many volumes of practice, and would be calling the patience of the reader to a trial from which it would certainly ſhrink. But there are parts as much worſe than what we have deſcribed, as this is worſe than common ſenſe. Strip from the adminiſtration of juſtice the forms that are perfectly uſeleſs and oppreſſive, and counſellors will have much leſs to do; while the whole order of attornies and ſollicitors will fail to the ground. If the myſteries of nonſenſe were out of the way, a counſellor who was called upon to hazard his reputation on the manner of conducting his client's cauſe, would no more have it prepared and brought forward by an attorney, than a man of buſineſs would hazard his fortune by doing that buſineſs through an ignorant agent which he could more eaſily do himſelf. The quantity, of writing, really neceſſary, in a ſimple and dignified ſyſtem of practice, is ſo ſmall, as to be perhaps incredible to thoſe who are acquainted only with the Engliſh proceſs.

I have ſeen the mode of conducting this buſineſs in a country, where the common law of England is the general rule of deciſion, and where the adjudications of Weſtminſter-hall are authorities, as much as they are in Great Britain. But the laws of that country have ſtripped legal proceſs of its principal follies; and the conſequence is, that the whole profeſſion of attornies and ſollicitors has vaniſhed. The counſellor does the whole buſineſs of his client; and ſo ſimple is the operation, that a man may with eaſe commence, and carry through every ſtage, to final judgment and execution, five hundred cauſes in a year.

And the whole proceedings in all theſe ſhall not afford writing enough to employ a ſingle clerk one hour in twenty-four. The proceedings and judgements in five hundred cauſes, in this country, would fill a warehouſe. And yet in that country, every allegation is neceſſary in their declaration and pleadings, which is neceſſary in Weſtminſter-hall. As they are not paid by the line, their declarations have but one Count, and in that Count there is no tautology. And ſo little is the expence of ſuits, where no more is done than is neceſſary for juſtice; that judgement, in a cauſe where there is no defence, may be obtained for leſs than ten ſhillings; and every perſon employed be fully paid for his ſerviceAs this may awaken the curioſity of ſome of my readers, I will give the details. Suppoſe a ſuit to recover money due on Note or Bond; The writ and declaration are incorporated in one inſtrument; that is, the declaration is contained in the writ. The ſheriff is ordered to read this to the defendant, or leave a copy at his dwelling, at leaſt twelve days previous to the ſitting of the court. This writ is uſually filled up in a well known form, in a printed blank; of which a man may with eaſe fill a hundred in a day. For this the court taxes one ſhilling and ſix-pence▪ the ſheriff if he has no travel to the defendant, is paid ſix-pence for reading the writ to him, and delivering it to the clerk of the court. It is then the duty of the plaintiff, or of his lawyer, (who is both counſellor and ſolicitor) to attend the court on the firſt day of the ſitting; and then the parties in all cauſes are called by the cryer. For this attendance the court will tax three ſhillings and four-pence halfpenny; and if the defendant intends to make no defence he will not anſwer when called; and the clerk thereupon, on the third day after calling, if no motion is made by the defendant, enters judgment for the plaintiff; for which he has about two ſhillings; one ſhilling more is paid for a writ of execution, which is in form and effect a fieri facias a capias ad ſatisfaciendum, and an elegit: that is, it goes againſt the goods and chattels of the debtor; and if the ſheriff cannot find thoſe, he is to take the body, or the land. Added to theſe coſts, there is a duty of 1s. 6d to government. Theſe ſeveral charges are an ample reward for all ſervices rendered..

Men who are habituated to the expences incurred in law-ſuits in England, will ſcarcely be perſuaded of the extent to which a reform would be carried, on a general deſtruction of abuſes. But let them reflect, that when law proceedings are ſtripped of every thing, but what the nature of the ſubject requires, there is no myſtery left. The rational part that remains is ſoon comprehended, and eaſily retained in memory. This would doubtleſs augment the number of ſuits; for it would open the courts to vaſt multitudes of people, againſt whom they are now effectually ſhut. But in proportion as it increaſed the number of law-ſuits, it would diminiſh the quantity of law-buſineſs; and the number of lawyers would dwindle to one tenth of what it is at preſent. in the country above alluded to, the number of men ſupported by this profeſſion is to the whole population, as one to 4600. Reduce the lawyers here to that proportion, and there would be left about three thouſand in the kingdom. It is aſſerted, (I know not on what ground) that the preſent number is thirty thouſand. Allowing it to be true, an army of twenty-ſeven thouſand lawyers, on this reform would find ſome other employment. But whether the reduction would amount to the number here ſuppoſed, or to half of it, is a queſtion of little moment. Saving the expence of maintaining twenty or thirty thouſand men in a uſeleſs occupation, and ſending them to profitable buſineſs, however important the object may appear, bears no proportion to the advantage of opening the door of juſtice to the people, and habituating them to an eaſy and well-known method of demanding their right.

There is a ſtrange idea prevalent in England, (it has had its day in America) that it is good policy to raiſe the expences of legal proceedings above the reach of the lower claſſes of people; as it leſſens the number of ſuits. This kind of reaſoning appears too abſurd to ſupport its own weight for a moment; and it would be beneath our ſerious notice, were it not for the reflection, that men of ſuperficial reſearch are perpetually caught by it. the human mind is fitted, from its own indolence, to be dazzled by the glare of a propoſition; and to receive and utter for truth, what it never gives itſelf the trouble to examine. There is no paradox among all the enormities of deſpotiſm, but what finds its advocates from this very circumſtance. We muſt not therefore ſcorn to encounter an argument becauſe it is fooliſh. The buſineſs of ſober philoſophy is often a taſk of drudgery; it muſt ſometimes liſten to the moſt incoherent clamours, which would be unworthy of its attention, did they not form a part of the general din, by which mankind are deafened and miſled.

For a man to bring into court a ſuit that is manifeſtly unjuſt, is a crime againſt the ſtate; to hinder him from bringing one that is juſt, is a crime of the ſtate againſt him. It is a poor compliment to the wiſdom of a nation, to ſuppoſe that no method can be deviſed for preventing the firſt of theſe evils, without running into the laſt; and the laſt is ten times the greateſt of the two. The French, who appear to have been deſtined to give leſſons to the world by the wiſdom of their new inſtitutions, as well as by the folly of their old, have found the ſecret of impoſing a ſmall fine on a vexatious plaintiff; and of eſtabliſhing many other regulations on this ſubject, which effectually ſhut the door of the tribunal againſt the oppreſſor, while it eaſily opens to the feebleſt cry of the oppreſſed.

They have likewiſe eſtabliſhed a method of communicating the knowledge of the laws to every human creature in the kingdom, however ignorant he may be in other reſpects. They are printed and paſted up on public buildings in every town and village, and read and explained by the curate from the pulpit in every pariſh. It is in contemplation likewiſe to inſtitute a general ſyſtem of public inſtruction, on a more uſeful and extenſive plan than has ever yet been deviſed. Several enlightened philoſophers are buſied in theſe reſearches; and ſeveral ſocieties are formed, whoſe object is to diſcover and bring forward the beſt concerted plan for this important purpoſe. In their whole ſyſtem of diſtributing knowledge and juſtice, they ſeem to be aiming at a degree of perfection which promiſes great ſucceſs. With all my partiality for the inſtitutions of the United States, I ſhould quote them (in compariſon to thoſe of France) with leſs confidence on the ſubject of this chapter, than of any other.

In the adminiſtration of juſtice, the Americans are too much attached to the Engliſh forms; which ſerve to increaſe the expence and to myſticiſe the buſineſs, to a degree that is manifeſtly incoſiſtent with the dignity of a true republic. But in reſpect to Public Inſtruction, there are ſome circumſtances which deſerve to be mentioned to their praiſe. I am going to ſpeak only of the particular ſtate with which I am beſt acquainted. How many of the others are better regulated in this reſpect, and how many are worſe, I am not accurately informed. This ſtate (which contains leſs than 240,000 inhabitants) is divided into about one hundred towns. Theſe are ſub-divided into ſmall portions, called ſchool-diſtricts, ſuitable for the ſupport of ſmall ſchools. Each of theſe diſtricts has a drawback on the ſtate-treaſury for a ſum, which bears a proportion to the public taxes paid by the inhabitants of the diſtrict, and which is about half equal to the ſupport of a ſchool-maſter. But this ſum can be drawn only on condition, that a ſchool is maintained in the diſtrict.

The following remarkable conſequences ſeem to have reſulted from this proviſion: There is not perhaps in that ſtate, a perſon of ſix years old and of common intellects, who cannot read; and very few who cannot write and caſt accounts!—Beſides the uſeful books that are found in every family, it is computed that there are in the ſtate about three hundred public libraries, which have been formed by voluntary ſubſcription among the people of the diſtricts and the pariſhes; till about the year 1768, which was more than one hundred and thirty years after the ſettlement of the ſtate, no capital puniſhment, as I am informed, had been inflicted within its juriſdiction, nor any perſon convicted of a capital offence; ſince that period, very few have been convicted, and thoſe few are generally Europeans by birth and education; there is no extreme poverty in the ſtate, and no extraordinary wealth accumulated by individuals.

It would be abſurd to ſuppoſe, that Public Inſtruction is by any means carried to the perfection that it ought to be, in this or any other ſtate in the univerſe. But this experiment proves, that good morals and equal liberty are reciprocal cauſes and effects; and that they are both the parents of national happineſs, and of great proſperity.

All governments that lay any claim to reſpectability or juſtice have proſcribed the idea of ex-poſt-ſacto laws, or laws made after the performance of an action, conſtituting that action a crime, and puniſhing the party for a thing that was innocent at the time of its being done. Such laws would be ſo flagrant a violation of natural right, that in the French and ſeveral of the American State Conſtitutions, they are ſolemnly interdicted in their Declarations of Rights. This proſcription is likewiſe conſidered as a fundamental article of Engliſh liberty, and almoſt the only one that has not been habitually violated, within the preſent century. But let us reſort to reaſon and juſtice, and aſk what is the difference between a violation of this article, and the obſervance of that tremendous maxim of juriſprudence, common to all the nations abovementioned, ignorantia legis neminem excuſat?

Moſt of the laws of ſociety are poſitive regulations, not taught by nature. Indeed, ſuch only are applicable to the ſubject now in queſtion. For ignorantia legis can have reference only to laws ariſing out of ſociety, in which our natural feelings have no concern; and where a man is ignorant of ſuch a law, he is in the ſame ſituation as if the law did not exiſt. To read it to him from the tribunal, where he ſtands arraigned for the breach of it, is to him preciſely the ſame thing as it would be to originate it at the ſame time by the ſame tribunal, for the expreſs purpoſe of his condemnation. The law till then, as relative to him, is not in being. He is therefore in the ſame predicament that the ſociety in general would be, under the operation of an ex-poſt-facto law. Hence we ought to conclude that, as it ſeems difficult for a government to diſpenſe with the maxim above-mentioned, a free people ought, in their declaration of rights, to provide for univerſal public inſtruction. If they neglect to do this, and mean to avoid the abſurdity of a ſelf-deſtroying policy, by adhering to a ſyſtem of juſtice which would preſerve a dignity and inſpire a confidence worthy the name of liberty, they ought to reject the maxim altogether; and inſert in their declaration of rights, that inſtruction alone can conſtitute a duty; and that laws can enforce no obedience, but where they are explained.

It is truly hard and ſufficiently to be regreted, that any part of ſociety ſhould be obliged to yield obedience to the laws to which they have not literally and perſonally conſented. Such is the ſtate of things; it is neceſſary that a majority ſhould govern. If it be an evil to obey a law to which we have not conſented, it is at leaſt a neceſſary evil; but to compel a compliance with orders which are unknown, is carrying injuſtice beyond the bounds of neceſſity; it is abſurd, and even impoſſible. Laws in this caſe may be avenged, but cannot be obeyed; they may inſpire terror, but can never command reſpect.