An antidote for Tom Paine's theological and political poison: containing 1. Tom's life, interspersed with remarks and reflections by P. Porcupine. 2. An apology for the Bible, in a series of letters addressed to Paine by the Bishop of Landaff. 3. An apology for Christianity, by the same learned, elegant writer. 4. An answer to Paine's anarchical nonsense, commonly called, the Rights of man. — Political censor. 1796 Sept.

An antidote for Tom Paine's theological and political poison: containing 1. Tom's life, interspersed with remarks and reflections by P. Porcupine. 2. An apology for the Bible, in a series of letters addressed to Paine by the Bishop of Landaff. 3. An apology for Christianity, by the same learned, elegant writer. 4. An answer to Paine's anarchical nonsense, commonly called, the Rights of man. — Political censor. 1796 Sept.

Table of contents

Title page

THE POLITICAL CENSOR, For SEPTEMBER, 1796. LIFE OF THOMAS PAINE, Interspersed with Remarks and Reflections.

REMARKS On the Pamphlets lately published against Peter Porcupine.

A ROASTER FOR PETER PORCUPINE.

THE BLUE SHOP; or Humorous Observations, &c.

PORCUPINE A PRINT.

"THE HISTORY OF A PORCUPINE."

"A PILL FOR PORCUPINE."

"THE IMPOSTOR DETECTED."

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AN ANTIDOTE FOR TOM PAINE's THEOLOGICAL AND POLITICAL POISON: CONTAINING

1. Tom's Life, interspersed with Remarks and Reflections by P. Porcupine.

2. An Apology for the Bible, in a Series of Letters addressed to Paine by the Bishop of Landaff.

3. An Apology for Christianity, by the same learned, elegant Writer.

4. An Answer to Paine's Anarchical Nonsense, commonly called, the Rights of Man.

PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED FOR, AND SOLD BY, WILLIAM COBBETT, NORTH SECOND STREET, OPPOSITE CHRIST CHURCH.

Oct. 1796.

THE POLITICAL CENSOR, For SEPTEMBER, 1796.
LIFE OF THOMAS PAINE, Interspersed with Remarks and Reflections.

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"A Life that's one continu'd scene

"Of all that's infamous and mean."

CHURCHILL.

BIOGRAPHICAL memoirs of persons, famous for the great good or the great mischief they have done, are so sure to meet with a favourable reception in print, that it has long been subject of [Page] astonishment, that none of the disciples of Paine should ever have thought of obliging the world with an account of his life. His being of mean birth could form no reasonable objection: when the life of his hero is spotless, the biographer feels a pride as well as a pleasure in tracing him from the penurious shed to the pinnacle of renown. Besides, those from whom we might have expected the history of Old Common Sense, are professed admirers of all that is of low and even base extraction. They are continually boasting of the superior virtues of their "democratic floor," as they call it; it, therefore, seems wonderful, that they should have neglected giving an instance of this superiority in the life of their virtuous leader.

This unaccountable negligence of Paine's friends has, in some measure, been compensated by the diligence of the friends of order and religion. His life was published in London, in 1793; but, like most other works calculated to stem the torrent of popular prejudice, it has never found admittance into the American press. I am afraid it will be a lasting reproach on those, into whose hands this press has fallen, that while thousands upon thousands of that blasphemous work, "the Age of Reason," were struck off, the instant it arrived in the country, not a single copy of the life and crimes of the blasphemer, so fit to counteract his diabolical efforts, was printed in the whole Union.

This little pamphlet has, at last, fallen into my hands, and were I to delay communicating it to the public, I should be unworthy of that liberty of the press, which, in spite of lying pamphlets and threatening [Page] letters, I am determined to enjoy, while I have types and paper at my command.

The reader must observe that this account of Paine's Life, is an abstract of his life, a larger work, written by Francis Oldys, A. M. of the University of Pennsylvania, and published by Mr. Stockdale of London. The following extract is taken from the London Review of the work.—‘A more cogent reason cannot be given for this publication, than that which is assigned by the writer of Mr. Paine's Life, in the following short exordium.— It has been established by the reiterated suffrage of mankind, that the lives of those persons, who have either performed useful actions, or neglected essential duties, ought to be recounted, as much for an example to the present age, as for the instruction of future times.—THOMAS PAIN * (proceed the Reviewers) is placed precisely in this predicament. His actions have stamped him a public character, and from his public conduct much useful information and instruction may be derived. In his transactions as a private individual, we find the records of villainy in various shapes, not imposing upon mankind under any impenetrable mask, or close-wrought veil, but, almost from the beginning, openly and avowedly practised [Page] in the broad face of day. The facts on which he stands convicted by his Biographer are not lightly stated, but are supported by authentic documents and substantiated by evidence.’

I shall detain the reader here but a moment, to observe, that these Reviewers were, and are, the partizans of Paine, rather than otherwise; and that, in many parts of their review, they have attempted to palliate his crimes.

The following abstract of the Life of Paine, by Mr. Oldys of Philadelphia, will perhaps be acceptable to the world; as every fact in it is, by the confession of Paine himself, of his friends, and of his enemies, undeniably authentic.*

THOMAS PAINE was born at Thetford, in the county of Norfolk (in England), on the 29th of January, 1736-7. His father was Joseph Pain, a staymaker by trade, and of the sect of the Quakers. His mother, Frances Cocke, daughter of an attorney at Thetford, and of the established Church.

By some accident, probably arising from the disagreement of his parents in their religious sentiments, [Page] the son was never baptized. He was, however, confirmed at the usual age, by the Bishop of Norwich, through the care of his aunt, Mistress Cocke.

At the free-school of Thetford, under Mr. Knowles, young Paine was instructed in reading, writing, and arithmetic. The expense of his education was defrayed by his father, with some assistance from his mother's relations.—At the age of thirteen, he became his father's apprentice, in the trade of a staymaker. At this employment he continued for five years; although he, himself, forgetful or regardless of the truth, has, in the second part of his Rights of Man, related, that he entered, at the age of sixteen, on board the Terrible privateer, Captain Death; which was not fitted out till some years afterwards.

He went, at the age of nineteen, to try his fortune in London; where he worked for some time with Mr. Morris, an eminent staymaker in Hanover-street, Long-acre.—After a very short stay in this situation, he repaired to Dover; and there obtained employment with Mr. Grace, a respectable staymaker. While Paine remained here, an attachment began between him and Miss Grace, his master's daughter: in consequence of which, Mr. Grace was induced to lend our adventurer ten pounds, to enable him to settle as a master-staymaker at Sandwich.

He settled at Sandwich in April, 1759; but forgot to repay the ten pounds, or to fulfil the marriage, in expectation of which the money had [Page] been advanced to him.—Here, it seems, he took up his lodging in the market place; and formed a little congregation, to whom he preached, in his lodging, as an independent minister.

In the mean time, he fell in love with a pretty, modest, young woman, Mary Lambert, daughter of James Lambert; who, with his wife Mary, had come to Sittingbourne as an exciseman, before the year 1736; but, having been dismissed for misconduct, had opened a shop, and acted, besides, as bum-bailiff of Sittingbourne. Both father and mother were by this time dead, in indigent circumstances; and the daughter was now waiting-woman to Mrs. Solly, wife of Richard Solly, an eminent woollen-draper at Sandwich.—Mary Lambert and Thomas Paine were married on the 27th of September, 1759. Although he was only twenty-two, and she twenty-one years of age, yet, by the scars of disease, or by the native harshness of his features, he appeared at the time of the marriage so much older than she, that the good women of Sandwich expressed their astonishment, that so fine a girl should marry so old a fellow.

Thomas, soon after the marriage, finding himself somehow disappointed, began to maltreat his wife. Little more than two months had passed, when this became visible to the whole town. By Mrs. Solly's aid, their poverty was occasionally relieved. From the furnished lodging in which Paine had hitherto lived, the young couple soon removed to a house, for which they, with some difficulty, obtained furniture upon credit. But he having contracted debts which he was unable to discharge, our adventurer, [Page] with his wife, found themselves obliged to take what is called in Scotland, a moonlight flitting; and, on the night between the seventh and eighth of April, 1760, they set out from Sandwich to Margate; Thomas carrying with him the furniture which he had purchased on credit, a stove belonging to his house, and the stays of a customer. The stays were recovered from him by a timeful claim. He sold the furniture by auction at Margate.—The sale of goods obtained upon credit on a false pretext, is a crime that was formerly punished by exposure on the pillory, which has since been changed for transportation.

At this place, the reader will undoubtedly call to mind Paine's vehement sallies against the English penal code. All the patriots look upon law-givers, judges, juries, and the whole suite of justice, as their mortal enemies. "Inhuman wretches," says Tom, ‘that are leagued together to rob Man of his Rights, and with them of his existence.’ This is like the thief, who, when about to receive sentence of death, protested he would swear the peace against the judge, for that he verily believed he had a design upon his life.—Reader, while you live suspect those tender-hearted fellows who shudder at the name of the gallows. When you hear a man loud against the severity of the laws, set him down for a rogue.

‘From Margate, Paine returned to London. His wife set out with him: but her subsequent fate is not well known. Some say that she perished on the road, by ill usage and a premature birth: [Page] others, in consequence of diligent inquiry, believe her to be still alive; although the obscurity of her retreat prevents ready discovery.’

Now, who that reads this, does not feel a desire to kick the scoundrel of a stay-maker, for exclaiming against aristocracy, because, as he pretends, its laws and customs are cruel and unnatural?— "With what kind of parental reflections," says the hypocrite in his Rights of Man, ‘can the father and mother contemplate their tender offspring?—To restore parents to their children, and children to their parents, relations to each other, and man to society, the French Constitution has destroyed the law of primogenitureship.’ —Is not this fine cant to entrap the unsuspecting vulgar? Who would not imagine that the soul which pours itself forth in joy for the restoration of all these dear relatives to each other, was made up of constancy and tenderness? Who would suspect the man whose benevolence is thus extended to foreigners, whom he never saw, of being a brutal and savage husband, and an unnatural father?—Do you ask, ‘with what kind of parental reflections the father and mother can contemplate their tender offspring?’—Hypocritical monster! with what kind of reflections did you contemplate the last agonies of a poor, weak, credulous woman, who had braved the scoffs of the world, who had abandoned every thing for your sake, had put her all in your possession, and who looked up to you, and you alone, for support?

Paine's humanity, like that of all the reforming philosophers of the present enlightened day, is of [Page] the speculative kind. It never breaks out into action. Hear these people, and you would think them overflowing with the milk of human kindness. They stretch their benevolence to the extremities of the globe: it embraces every living creature—except those who have the misfortune to come in contact with them. They are all citizens of the world: country and friends and relations are unworthy the attention of men who are occupied in rendering all mankind happy and free.

I ever suspect the sincerity of a man whose discourse abounds in expressions of universal philanthropy. Nothing is easier than for a person of some imagination to raise himself to a swell of sentiment, without the aid of one single feeling of the heart. Rousseau, for instance, is everlastingly babbling about his genre humain (human race) and his "coeur aimant et tendre" (tender and loving heart). He writes for the human race, his heart bleeds for the distresses of the human race, and, in the midst of all this, he sends his unfortunate bastards to the poor-house, the receptacle of misery! Virtuous and tender-hearted and sympathetic Rousseau! Certainly nothing is so disgusting as this, except it be to see the humane and sentimental Sterne wiping away a tear at the sight of a dead jack-ass, while his injured wife and child were pining away their days in a nunnery, and while he was debauching the wife of his friend.*

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In July, 1761▪ Thomas returned, without her, to his father's house.—Having been unsuccessful in the business of a stay-maker, he was now willing to leave it for the Excise. In the Excise, after fourteen months of study and trials, he was established on the 1st of December 1762, at the age of twenty-five. The kindness of Mr. Cocksedge, recorder of Thetford, procured for him this appointment. He was sent, as a supernumerary, first to Grantham; and on the 8th of August 1764, to Alford.—Being detected in some misconduct, he was, on the 27th of August 1765, dismissed from his office.

In this state of wretchedness and disgrace, he repaired to London a third time. Here charity supplied him with clothes, money, and lodging; till he was, on the 11th of July 1766, restored to the Excise, although not to immediate employment.—For support, in the mean time, he engaged himself for a salary of five and twenty pounds a year, in the service of Mr. Noble; who keeping an academy in Lemon-street, Goodman's fields, wanted an usher to teach English, and walk out with the children. He won nobody's favour in this family: and, at Christmas, left the service of Mr. Noble for that of Mr. Gardner, who then taught a reputable school at Kensington. With Mr. Gardner he continued only three months.—He would now willingly have taken orders; but, being only an English scholar, could [Page] not obtain the certificate of his qualifications previously necessary. Being violently moved, however, with the spirit of preaching, he wandered about for a while as an itinerant Methodist; and, as urged by his necessities, or directed by his spirit, preached in Moorfields, and in various populous places in England.

At length, in March 1768, he again obtained employment in his calling of an Excise-officer; and was sent in this capacity, to Lewes in Sussex.—He was now, at the age of thirty-one, ambitious of shining as a jolly fellow among his companions; yet without restraining his sullen, overbearing temper; although to the neglect of his duty as an Excise-man. By his intrepidity in water and on ice, he gained the appellation of Commodore. He had gone to live with Mr. Samuel Ollive, a tobacconist; and in his house he continued till that worthy man's death. Mr. Ollive died in bad circumstances; leaving a widow, one daughter, and several sons. For some dishonest intermeddling with the effects of his deceased landlord, Paine was turned out of the house by Mr. Attersol, the executor. But, being more favourably regarded by the widow and daughter, he was received again by them in 1770. He soon after commenced grocer; opening Ollive's shop in his own name. He, at the same time worked the tobacco mill on his own behalf; and, regardless of the regulations of the Excise, and of his duty as an Excise-officer, for several years continued this trade, engaging without scruple in smuggling practices, in order to render it lucrative.

[Page]In 1771, at the age of thirty-four, he again ventured on matrimony. Elizabeth Ollive, the daughter of his late landlord, whom he now married, was a handsome and worthy woman, eleven years younger than himself; and, had it not been for her unfortunate attachment to him, might have married to much greater advantage.—Upon the occasion of this second marriage, Thomas Paine thought proper to represent himself as a batchelor, although he must have known that he was either a widower,—or, indeed, if his former wife was then alive, a married man;—and although the marriage act has declared it to be felony, without benefit of clergy, for a person thus wilfully to make a false entry on the register.— In the same year, Paine first commenced author. —Rumbold, candidate for New Shoreham, required a song to celebrate the patriotism and the conviviality of the occasion. Paine produced one, which was accepted, and rewarded with three guineas.—His poetical honours he seems to have afterwards forgotten; for, in 1779, he asserted in the news-papers, that, till the appearance of his Common Sense, he had never published a syllable.

By a certain boldness and bustle of character, although without the recommendation of honesty, he had become a sort of chief among the Excisemen. They began about this time to be dissatisfied, that their salaries were not augmented with the increase of the national wealth, of the public revenue, and of the price of the necessaries of life. Citizen Paine undertook to write their Case; and, in 1772, produced an octavo pamphlet of one [Page] and twenty pages, containing an Introduction; The State of the Salary of the Officers of Excise; and Thoughts on the Corruption arising from the Poverty of Excise-Officers. Of this pamphlet four thousand copies were printed. A contribution was made by the Excisemen, to supply the expenses attending the solicitation of their case. Paine bustled about, as their agent, in London, in the winter of 1773. But nothing was done; and although liberally paid by his employers, he forgot to pay his printer.

In his attention to the common cause of the Excisemen, he had neglected his own private affairs. His credit failed. He sunk into difficulties and distress: and, in this situation, made a bill of sale of his whole effects to Mr. Whitfield, a considerable grocer at Lewes, and his principal creditor. Mr. Whitfield, seeing no prospect of payment, took possession of the premises, and, in April 1774, disposed of them as his own. The other creditors, thinking themselves outwitted by Whitfield, and cheated by Paine, had recourse to the rigours of law. Paine sought concealment for a time in the cock-loft of the Whitehorse-inn.

About the same time, he was again dismissed from the Excise. His carelessness of the duties of his office—dealing as a grocer in exciseable articles—buying smuggled tobacco, as a grinder of snuff—and conniving at others for the concealment of it himself—could no longer be overlooked or excused. His dismission took place on the 8th of April, 1774. He petitioned to be restored, but without success.

[Page]Reader, how often have I observed, that disappointment, and refusal of favours asked from government, are the great sources of what is now-a-days called patriotism? Here we are arrived at the cause of Tom Paine's mortal enmity to the British government. Had his humble petition been granted; had he been restored to his office, he might, and undoubtedly would, have stigmatized the Americans as rebels and traitors. He would have probably been among the supplest tools of Lord North, instead of by the champion of American Independence.

Who, after reading this, will believe that he was actuated by laudable motives, when he wrote against taxation; when he called the excise a hell-born monster? He long was, you see, an advocate for this hell-born monster, and even one of its choice ministers, and such would he have been to this day, had not his petition been rejected. What, Thomas! Petition to be one of the under-devils of a hell-born monster!

Whatever may be the services which his vindictive pen rendered to the cause of the United States, the people of this country owe him no tribute of gratitude, any more than they do to the pretended friendship of the French court, or nation. Both had the same objects in view: the furthering of their interests and glutting of their revenge. They looked upon the revolted colonists as their tools, and if America profited by their interference, it was owing to the wisdom of her councils, and not to their good-will.

[Page]When patriot Tom began his career in America, it was assuredly very necessary for him to assert, that, till the appearance of his Common Sense, he had never published a single syllable; for, it would have looked a little aukward to see that work coming from the pen of a discarded excise officer, who had petitioned for a reinstatement in his oppressive office. Not a whit less aukward does it now appear, to hear clamours against the expenses of the British government coming from the very man who would willingly have added to those expenses by an augmentation of his own salary. He tells the poor people of Great Britain, that their ‘hard-earned pence are wrung from them by the king and his ministers;’ yet, we see, that he wished a little more to be wrung from them, when he expected a share.— Disinterested and compassionate soul!

The English Clergy, too, and the tithes they receive, have been considerable objects of Thomas's out-cry. Those battering-rams, called the Rights of Man, have been directed against these with their full force. But what would the hypocrite have said, had he been able to slip within the walls of the church? Like Dr. Priestley, Tom looks upon tithes as oppressive, merely because he is not a rector.

How little his attempt to obtain. Holy Orders (sacrilegious monster!) and his Methodist preaching agree with the opinions expressed in his ‘Age of Reason’ I shall notice, when I come to that epoch in his life, when he found it convenient to throw aside the mask, and become an open blasphemer; but I cannot quit him in this place, without observing on the remarkable similarity in the career of [Page] Tom and that of Old John Swanwick. Both had paid off their debts in England with a spunge, both had been field preachers, and both had been excise officers, when the American war broke out: at this moment they separated. After having gone side by side during their whole lives, they steered a course directly opposite to each other. Paine became a flaming patriot, while Swanwick remained a royalist. —How came this? Why, Swanwick was still in office, whereas poor Tom was dismissed. Had Swanwick been dismissed and Paine in office, Tom would have followed the British waggons to New-York, and Swanwick would, probably, have written Common Sense.

With the reader's permission, I will just step aside from my subject, to ask, how it happened, that Citizen John Swanwick, now one of the august representatives of the city of which I have the honour to be an inhabitant, came to be a stanch whig, while his respectable sire was as zealous a waggonmaster as any in the Royal army? Mr. Swanwick was, I presume, too young, at that time, to perceive the amazing advantage that a citizen enjoys over a subject; and, as he professes a great deal of filial piety, one may reasonably suppose, that he would have followed the fortunes of his father, had not his remaining behind been in consequence of a concerted plan. This is a stroke of domestic policy, which has been often practised in ticklish times, but never with more complete success than in the present instance. The father was a faithful subject and the son a firm patriot; the father sang God save the king and the son Yankey-doodle; the father got a pension and the son a seat in Congress.— [Page] I could continue a little further here, but it is time to return to our old broken exciseman.

Amid this knavery and mismanagement, Paine had not distinguished himself by conjugal tenderness to his second wife. He had now lived with her three years and a half, and, besides cruelly beating, had otherwise treated her, wilfully and shamefully, in a manner which would excite the indignation and resentment of every virtuous married woman; and which must ensure to him the detestation of every honourable man. From an attention to the known delicacy and modesty of our fair country-women, we forbear, in this abstract, to state the particulars, though they are published at length in Mr. Oldys's pamphlet.—The consequence of all this was a separation between him and his wife, upon the conditions of her paying her husband thirty-five pounds sterling, and his agreeing to claim no part of whatever property she might thereafter acquire.

Paine now retired to London; but would not leave his wife in peace till they had mutually entered into new articles of separation; in which it was declared on his part, that he no longer found a wife a convenience, and on hers, that she had too long suffered the miseries of such a husband.

This is the kind and philanthropic Tom Paine, who sets up such a piteous howl about the cruelty and tyranny of kings!—‘I have known many of those bold champions for liberty in my time,’ says the good old Vicar of Wakefield, ‘yet do I not [Page] remember one who was not in his heart and in his family a tyrant.’ What Dr. Johnson observes of Milton may with justice be applied to every individual of the king-killing crew: ‘he looked upon woman as made only for obedience and man only for rebellion.’ I would request the reader to look round among his acquaintance, and see if this observation does not every where hold good; see if there be one among the yelping kennel of modern patriots, who is not a bad husband, father, brother, or son. The same pride and turbulence of spirit that lead them to withhold every mark of respect and obedience from their superiors, lead them also to tyrannize over those who are so unfortunate as to be subjected to their will. The laws of nature will seldom, if ever, be respected by the man who has set those of his country and of decorum at defiance; and from this degree of perversity there is but one step to the defiance of heaven itself. The good citizen or subject, the good husband, parent and child, and the good christian, exist together or they exist not at all.

From the circumstances attending Tom's separation from this last wife, we may make a pretty correct calculation of his value as a husband. The poor woman was obliged to pay him thirty-five pounds sterling to get rid of him; so that, a democratic spouse, even supposing him to come up to his great leader in worth is (in Federal currency) just one hundred and fifty-six dollars, sixty-six cents and two-thirds of a cent, worse than nothing. Oh, base democracy! Why, it is absolutely worse than street-sweepings, or the filth of common-sewers.

[Page]The mob of kings that the poor French have got, have lately set Thomas to writing down the credit of English bank-notes, a task that the dregs of his old brain were quite unequal to. Instead of useless labours of this kind, instead of attempting to write down the Bible and bank-notes, I would recommend to him to oblige the people of his ‘beloved America,’ as he calls it, with a statement of the sums necessary to pay off all the democratic husbands in this continent, at the price his own wife fixed on himself; adding to the gross amount as much as would defray the expenses of their transportation to their proper climate, France. Their wives, I dare say, would have no objection to imitate Mrs. Paine, as far as their last farthing would go, and if all wisdom is not banished from within the walls of the Congress, they would never refuse to make up the deficiency.

We have seen enough of Tom as a husband; now let us see what it is to be cursed with such a son.

Citizen Paine now finding that his notoriously bad character rendered it advisable for him to leave a country where he was known; he had the address to procure a recommendation to the late Dr. Franklin, in America, as a person who might, at such a crisis, be useful there. He accordingly sailed for America in September 1774.

The following letter from his mother to his wife, written about this time, proves that she had the distress of knowing his crimes and misfortunes, [Page] and of feeling for them as a parent naturally feels for a child, wicked or unhappy.

DEAR DAUGHTER,

Thetford, Norfolk, 27th July 1774.

I must beg leave to trouble you with my inquiries concerning my unhappy son and your husband: various are the reports, the which I find come originally from the excise office; such as his vile treatment to you; his secreting upwards of £.30, intrusted with him to manage the petition for advance of salary; and that, since his discharge, he have petitioned to be restored, which was rejected with scorn. Since which, I am told, he have left England. To all which I beg you will be kind enough to answer me by due course of post.—You will not be a little surprised at my so strongly desiring to know what is become of him, after I repeat to you his undutiful behaviour to the tenderest of parents: he never asked of us any thing but what was granted, that were in our poor abilities to do; nay, we even distressed ourselves; whose works are given over by old age, to let him have £.20 on bond, and every other tender mark a parent could possibly shew a child; his ingratitude, or want of duty, has been such, that he has not wrote to me upwards of two years.—If the above account be true, I am heartily sorry, that a woman, whose character and amiableness, deserves the greatest respect, love, and esteem, as I have always on inquiry been informed [Page] yours did, should be tied for life, to the worst of husbands.—I am,

DEAR DAUGHTER,

Your affectionate Mother, F. PAIN.

For God's sake, let me have your answer, as I am almost distracted.

He arrived at Philadelphia in the winter of 1774, a few months before the battle of Lexington. He was first engaged as shopman, by Mr. Aitkin, a bookseller in Philadelphia, at the wages of twenty pounds a year. In November 1775, he was employed in a laboratory. He took great pains in experiments for the purpose of discovering some cheap, easy, and expeditious method of making saltpetre. He was also the proposer of a plan for the voluntary supplyiog of the public magazines with gun-powder; and earnestly laboured to persuade the inhabitants of Philadelphia to adopt it.

On the 10th of January 1776, was published his Common Sense, an 8vo. pamphlet of sixty-three pages. This pamphlet was eagerly read, passed through several editions, and was even translated into German. Prosecuting the career, upon which he had thus not unsuccessfully entered, he, on the 19th of December 1776, published, in the Pennsylvania Journal, the first number of the Crisis, intended like the former work, to encourage [Page] the Americans in their opposition to the British government.—The Crisis, he continued to publish in occasional numbers, till the 13th and last appeared on the same day on which a cessation of hostilities between America and Britain was proclaimed at Philadelphia, the 19th of April 1783.

Thus, we see, that he was hardly arrived in America, when he set about digging up saltpetre for the destruction of his countrymen, the servants of that king whom he himself had served, and whom he would still have served, had he not been dismissed in disgrace. And can any one have the folly to believe, or the impudence to say, that this man was actuated by a love of liberty and America?

The unprincipled, or silly, admirers of Paine, when they hear their hero attacked, never fail to stigmatize his enemies as enemies of the American cause. Their object in doing this is evident enough: but, in the name of common sense, what has the justice or injustice of that cause to do with an inquiry into the actions and motives of Paine? Is a man to be looked upon as regretting that America obtained its independence, merely because he detests a cruel, treacherous, and blasphemous ruffian who once wrote in favour of it? Are the characters of the men who effected the separation from Britain so closely united with that of Paine, that they must stand or fall together? Are the merits of the revolution itself at last to be linked to all that is base and infamous?

No one, not even Congress itself, ever attempted to justify the colonists in their revolt against their [Page] sovereign upon any other ground than this: that they were an oppressed people, unable to obtain a redress of their grievances, without appealing to arms. Seeing them in this light we must be careful to exclude from this justification all those subjects of the king, who assisted them without having partaken of the oppression of which they complained. Among the Americans themselves a difference of opinion might, and did, prevail. Some looked upon themselves as oppressed, others did not; both parties were fully justified upon the supposition that they acted agreeably to their consciences: but a man like Paine, just landed in the country, could have no oppression to complain of, and, therefore, his hostility against his country admits of no defence. He was a traitor, as were the Priestleys, the Prices and all others of the same description. No good man, however zealous he might be in the revolution, ever respected Paine, of which the coldness and neglect he experienced, as soon as order was re-established, is a certain proof. The faithful citizen, or subject, naturally detests a traitor: it is an impulse that none of us can resist: however we may differ in opinion in other respects, we all agree (to use one of Tom's own expressions) that ‘a traitor is the foulest fiend on earth.’

In 1777, he was appointed by the Congress, secretary to their committee for foreign affairs. When Silas Deane, commercial agent for the Congress in Europe, was recalled, to make room for William Lee once alderman of London, a contention ensued between Deane and the family of the Lees; and Paine took part in the controversy, [Page] by attacking Deane. He took occasion to involve in the dispute the famous Robert Morris, financier of the United States. Morris interfered against him. And Paine was inadvertantly provoked to retail, through the channel of the newspapers, information which had been communicated to him in his office of secretary. This information betraying intrigues of the French court, their ambassador complained to Congress. Paine being interrogated, confessed himself the author of the newspaper correspondence in question, and was in consequence dismissed from his office.

What remarks I have to make here I shall preface by an extract from Swift's excellent work, lately published, on the laws of Connecticut, Book V. Chap. vii. Speaking of Paine's ‘baseness in his attack on Christianity by publishing his Age of Reason," Mr. Swift observes: "this work is said to be written by Thomas Paine, Secretary for foreign affairs to Congress in the American War. Now, the truth is, that during some period of the American War, Congress appointed a committee for foreign affairs, to which Paine was secretary, but he had no power, and performed no duty, but that of clerk to the committee; without any portion of the authority, afterwards annexed to the office of secretary for foreign affairs. From the post of secretary to the committee for foreign affairs, he was dismissed for a scandalous breach of trust. What must we think of a man, who is capable of such a pitiful artifice to gratify his vanity, and render himself important?’

[Page]These are not the words of an Englishman, but of a native American, a learned and elegant writer, and a tried friend and servant of his country.

The account given by Mr. Swift of Tom's dismission confirms that which is given of it in his life. Both accounts, however, are silent as to the nature of the intrigues which he divulged. As I have heard this matter often spoken of, by my old bookseller and others, I will just repeat what I have heard, without pledging myself for the truth of it.

While Silas Deane was agent under the plenipotentiary administration of Doctor Franklin, at the court of Versailles; these intriguing patriots had the address to procure a present of 200,000 stand of condemned arms from the king of France to the American Congress: but, as this was done at a time when the French court had solemnly, though treacherously, engaged not to interfere in the dispute, the present was to be kept a secret among the immediate agents. The condemned arms, given as a present, were, by the faithful agents, charged as good ones, and paid for by the United States. Who pocketed the money, was then, and is still a question; but there seems to have been but little doubt of its having undergone a division and a subdivision, as the secret had extended far and wide, before poor Tom was silenced. I have heard more than one American, reputed democrats, curse Dr. Franklin for having misapplied the money of the country, and I imagine this must be what they allude to. He must certainly have found the philosopher's-stone, if he thus possessed the gift of turning old iron into gold; and, as I do not see, in his will, to whom he [Page] bequeathed this precious stone, I would thank his grand-child to inform us, in the next number of his polite and patriotic paper, who the happy mortal is.

After having heard these accounts of this dismission, which all agree, let us hear what Thomas says about it himself, in the second part of his Rights of Man. ‘After the declaration of Independence, Congress unanimously appointed me secretary in the foreign department. But a misunderstanding arising between Congress and me, respecting one of their commissioners then in Europe, Mr. Silas Deane, I resigned the office.’—Was there ever a more pitiful attempt at acquiring reputation than this? He was in England when he wrote thus; he would not have dared to write this passage in America. He calls himself secretary in the foreign department, thereby giving to understand that he was a secretary of state in America, as Lord Grenville or the Duke of Portland is in England, and as Mr. Jefferson then was in the United States. Secretary to the committee for foreign affairs would have sounded small; it would have made a jingle like that of half-pence, whereas secretary of state rang in the ears of his empty-headed disciples, like guineas upon a hollow counter.

‘But a misunderstanding arising between Congress and me.’ Here is another fetch at importance. "Between Congress and me!" How the London Corresponding Society and affiliated mobs stared at this, I dare say. If his misconduct ever became a subject of discussion before Congress, that was all. A complaint was lodged against him, and Congress [Page] dismissed him; but his offence was exposing what should have been kept secret, in writing for the Lees against Silas Deane. How does he twist this into a misunderstanding between Congress and him? As well may the criminal say, he has had a misunderstanding with the judge who condemns him.

"And so I resigned the office." Mr. Swift says, and every one in America knows, that he was ‘dismissed for a scandalous breach of trust;’ but this would not have been so convenient for the purpose of those infamous combinations of men who had undertaken to spread his works about the three kingdoms. In the courtier's vocabulary, resigned has long been synonymous with dismissed, discarded, and turned out, and we see that Thomas, though he rails against courts and courtiers, did not scruple to employ it in the same way.

But there was another reason for substituting resigned for turned out. He had every reason to believe that his life would be published, and he wisely foresaw, that his having been turned out of the excise, and again turned out in America, would stagger the faith of some of his proselytes. To be turned out by a monarchical government, and afterwards by a republican one, would have been a pretty convincing proof, that he was friendly to no government whatever. I sincerely believe that he hated, and that he still hates, the general government of the United States (as at present happily established), as much as the government of Great Britain. But it was necessary that he should find out something to hold up to the imitation of the English; no matter what, so as it differed from what they possessed. [Page] Being obliged, therefore, to make this use of the American government, he was the more anxious to hide the truth with respect to his dismission; for how awkward would it have looked, at the end of his pompous encomiums on the government of America, to add: this was the government that turned me out?

In August 1782, Thomas Paine published a controversial letter to the Abbè Raynal, in consequence of the latter author's publication of his history of the Revolution of America. Absurd as were the general principles which Paine had advanced in his Common Sense, Raynal being in great distress for want of something to say on the occasion, had adopted some of them. Pain reclaimed what was his own, and controverted much of the rest that the Abbè said.—His next production was a letter to the Earl of Shelburne, on the effects likely to arise to Great Britain from the acknowledged independence of America.

His labours had not yet received any substantial reward. He, in the mean time, suffered all the miseries of penury. He now solicited the American Assemblies to grant some recompense for the services by which he had contributed to the establishment of their independence. New York bestowed on him lands of little value at New Rochelle; Pennsylvania granted him five hundred pounds.

In the autumn of 1786, he departed for France, after having, at New York, seduced a young woman of a reputable family. In the beginning of [Page] the year 1787, he arrived in Paris, and exhibited before the French academy of sciences, the model of a bridge of peculiar construction.

On the 3d of September, in this same year, Thomas Paine arrived at the White Bear in Piccadilly, London, after an absence of thirteen years from Britain.—His old friends recollected him; although he might have been better satisfied to have been forgotten by some of them.

Before the end of 1787, he published a pamphlet, intituled Prospects on the Rubicon, &c.—In the year 1788, he was busy at Rotherham, in Yorkshire, about the casting of an iron arch for the bridge of which he had presented a model to the French academy. This bridge proved merely an expensive project, by which the contriver was impoverished, and the community not benefited. At Rotherham, his familiarities became disagreeable to the women.

Through various circumstances, Paine became indebted to Whiteside, the American merchant, whom he had employed to receive his remittances, and to furnish his expenses, in the sum of six hundred and twenty pounds. Upon the bankruptcy of Whiteside, Paine was arrested by order of the assignees, at the White Bear, Piccadilly, on the 29th of October 1789. He remained for three weeks, confined in a spunging-house, till he was at length relieved by the kind interference of two eminent American merchants, Messrs. Clagget and Murdock.

[Page]Meanwhile, Paine had, during his involuntary retirement, listened eagerly to the news of the rising commotions in France. Soon after he was set at liberty, therefore, he crossed the channel, in order to be a nearer spectator of events in which he rejoiced. He returned to England about the time of the publication of Mr. Burke's pamphlet on the French revolution. His next work was an answer to Mr. Burke, in the first part of his Rights of Man.

This work was published on the 13th of March 1791, by a Mr. Jordan in Fleetstreet. Conscious of the seditious falsehoods which he had advanced in it, Paine dreaded even then the inquiries of the King's messengers, and sought concealment in the house of his friend, Mr. Brand Hollis; while it was industriously given out by those in his secret, that he had hastily departed for Paris.

The work which caused these fears, was perfectly of that cast, by which superficial readers and thinkers are most readily affected; grossly invective, frequently quibbling, confounding generals with particulars, and particulars with generals, audaciously bold, and speaking the language of prevalent prejudices. It was, besides, warmly recommended to the people by a Society, who took the denomination of Constitutional.

In the middle of May, after having thus laboured to enlighten or confound the British nation, Paine returned to Paris. While sojourning there, he entered into a controversy with Emanuel Syeyes, [Page] who had been chiefly active in framing the new constitution of France; Syeyes in defence of that limited monarchy which the new constitution had established; Paine, against the whole hell of monarchy,—to use his own words. This controversy was soon dropped.

On the 13th of July 1791, Paine again arrived at the White Bear in Piccadilly, just in time to assist in the celebration of the anniversary of the French Revolution. He did not, however, appear at the public dinner on the following day. But he joined the celebrators about eight o'clock in the evening; when the people, enraged to see them brave the laws, and exult in events unfriendly to the happiness of Britain, had assembled tumultuously, to drive them away from the Crown and Anchor tavern, the place of their meeting. Mortified at finding those hostile to them, whom they had hoped to seduce to become the instruments of their turbulence, our republicans published, on the 20th of August 1791, from the thatched house tavern, a seditious declaration, the writing of Paine, which obliged the inn-keeper to forbid them his house.

After these transactions, Paine was preparing to visit Ireland, in the character of an apostle of Democracy, when he learned that the Irish were already so well acquainted with his real character, that he might probably meet with an unfavourable reception. On this news, he retired in disgust, to Greenwich.

[Page]On the 4th of November 1791, he assisted, on the eve of the gun powder plot, at the accustomed commemoration of the 5th of November, by the Revolution Society. He was thanked for his Rights of Man; and gave for his toast, the Revolution of the world.

Immediately after this, preparing to bring forth the Second Part of his Rights of Man, he hid himself in FETTER-LANE. None knew where he was concealed, except Mr. Horne—Tooke, whose friendly care corrected the inaccuracies of his style, and Mr. Chapman, who was employed to print his book. At Mr. Chapman's table he occasionally spent a pleasant evening, after the solitary labours of the day. After this commodious intercourse had subsisted for several months, Paine was somehow moved to insult Mr. Chapman's wife;* in consequence of which the printer turned him out of doors with indignation; exclaiming that he had no more principle than a post, and no more religion than a ruffian.

Paine has ascribed a different origin to this quarrel with his printer: but, it is proper that even in so small a matter the truth should be known. A false tale was held out to the public, as is stated at length in Mr. Oldys's pamphlet; and that part of the work which had been rejected by Mr. Chapman was transferred to a Mr. Crowther.

This Second Part was at length printed and published: being recommended by the same qualities [Page] as the First, it met with a similar reception. Its author, finding that he had now excited against himself the strongest abhorrence of all the worthier part of the nation, thought it prudent to retire to France. In the mean time he printed a letter to Mr. Secretary Dundas, and another to Lord Onslow, the absurd scurrility of which, might be supposed matchless; were it not that the same author has since exceeded it in an Address to the Addressers upon his Majesty's proclamation for the suppression of seditious writings,—and in a Letter to the National Convention of France.

His actions and writings, however little credit they may have done him in Britain, recommended him to a seat in the French Convention.

It would be difficult for him to find any other assembly in the world in which he would be not less respectable than most of the leaders. To what issue this last preferment of his may lead, it is not easy to predict. But, from the complexion of some of the late sittings of the Convention, it seems extremely probable that his career may finish with that miserable end to which providence generally permits the machinations of such men to conduct them at last.

For the publication of those writings, the tendency of which is avowedly seditious, and of which there has been too much use made towards the disturbing of the domestic tranquillity of the British empire—our author has, since his retreat into France, been indicted at the instance of the king, as usual in such cases; tried at Guildhall, before [Page] Lord Kenyon; and found guilty by a very respectable jury, as the Author and publisher of a book, called "Second Part of the Rights of Man, containing many false, wicked, scandalous, malicious, and seditious assertions.

It is scarcely necessary to add, that booksellers and other venders of Paine's works must see, by this Verdict, that the laws of their country, if diligently enforced, are ready to punish them for so dishonest a Traffic.

The reader of this plain, candid narrative, may judge for himself, whether Paine be a friend to Great Britain, or a man whose conduct he would choose to imitate, or whose advice he would follow in ordinary cases; and what reliance can be placed on the facts which he has boldly asserted as the ground work of most of his wild theories.

Here ends the account of Paine's life, as I find it in print, and which, as I formerly observed, was published about the beginning of 1793. I shall now attempt a continuation of it down to the present time, dwelling on such parts only of his conduct as will admit of no dispute respecting facts.

Thomas's having merited death, or, at least, transportation in England, was a strong recommendation to him in France, whose newly enlightened inhabitants seem to have conceived a wonderful partiality for all that's vile. Several of the departments disputed with each other the honour of having a convict for their representative; a thing not so much to be wondered at, when we recollect, that their [Page] wise rulers declared, by a decree, that the galley-slaves were all most excellent patriots, and that the hangman's was a post of honour.

The exact time of Tom's flight to this country of liberty and virtue is not mentioned, I believe, in the above account; but I recollect hearing his arrival talked of in the month of June, 1792. I had been on a trip from St. Omer's to Dunkirk, and on my return, I first heard the news announced to a pretty numerous company in the canal stage. ‘Voilá (says an old monk, who had been driven from his cell by the sans-culottes, and who was now looking over the gazette) "Voilá ce coquin de Paine qui nous arrive de l'Angleterre."*—"Ah, mon Dieu’ (exclaimed a well-dressed woman who was sitting beside me) ‘Ah, la pauvre France! Tous les scelerats de tous les päys de l'univers vont s'assembler chez nous.’ † The justness of this observation struck me at the time, and has often occurred to my memory since. Indeed, every man of infamous character, every felon and every traitor, began, at the time I am now speaking of, to look upon France as his home; and this circumstance, better than any other, marks the true character of the revolution. The property of the nation was laid prostrate, and these villains were assembling round it, as birds of prey hover over an expiring carcass.

[Page]Whether Paine was really in France, or not, in June 1792, is immaterial: it is certain that he took his seat among that gang of bloodthirsty tyrants, usually called the Convention, just time enough to assist in proscribing that Constitution which he had written two whole books in defence of, and in conferring every epithet of ridicule and reproach on the Constituent Assembly, whom he had a few months before extolled, as ‘the most august, illuminated and illuminating body of men on earth.’ It was now that the English reformers and the democrats of America would have blushed, had not their fronts been covered with bull-hide, for the pompous eulogiums they had heaped on the author of the Rights of Man.

The first job that Tom was set about, after the destruction of the Constitution, was, making another. This was a thing of course, for there is no such thing as living without constitutions now-a-days. Thomas and his fellow journeymen, Brissot, Clavière and about half a dozen others, fell to work, and, in a very few days, hammered out the clumsy, ill-proportioned devil of a thing, commonly called the Constitution of 1793. Of this ridiculous instrument I shall only observe, that, after being cried up by the American Newspapers, as the masterpiece of legislative wisdom, it was rejected with every mark of contempt, even by the French themselves. What is too absurd for them to swallow must be absurd indeed!

About the time that this constitution work was going on, the unfortunate king was brought to trial by his ten times perjured and rebellious subjects. [Page] Paine did not vote for his death, a circumstance that his friends produce as a proof of his justice and humanity, forgetting at the same time, that they thereby brand all those who did vote for it, with injustice and barbarity. However, upon closer inquiry, we shall find little reason for distinctions between Tom and his colleagues. He voted for the king's banishment, the banishment of a man perfectly innocent, and it was owing merely to his being embarked with the faction of Brissot, instead of that of Danton, that he did not vote for his death. Brissot afterwards published, in the name of his whole party, the reasons why they looked on it as good policy not to put the king to death; on these reasons was the vote of Paine founded, and not on his humanity or his justice. Petion, the infamous Petion de Ville-neuve, did not vote for the king's death; yet certainly no one will believe that motives of justice or humanity restrained the man, who, after having plotted the insurrection of the tenth of August, brought it against the king as a crime, and who loaded the royal captives and their children with every insult and cruelty that the heart of an upstart savage tyrant could suggest.

The whole process of the trial of the king of France, from the beginning to the end, was the most flagrant act of injustice that ever stained the annals of the world. It was well known to every one, and particularly to the audacious regicides themselves, that he was innocent of every crime laid to his charge. The sentence of banishment was therefore as unjust as that of death. Injustice is ever injustice: it may exist in different degrees, but it can never change its nature. Had Paine been [Page] a just and humane man, he would have stood up boldly in the defence of innocence, in place of sheltering himself under a vote for banishment. Banishment! Great God! Banishment on the head of the towering family of Bourbon, pronounced by a discarded English Exciseman!—What must have been the feelings of this forsaken prince, who was once called the great and good ally of America, when he heard the word banishment! come from the lips of a wretch raised to notice by the success of a revolution of which he himself had been a principal support!—I hope no such thought came athwart the mind of the unfortunate Louis; if it did, certain I am it must have been ten million times more poignant than the pangs of death.

However Paine might find it convenient to vote upon this occasion, it is certain he did not feel much horror at the murder of the benefactor of his ‘beloved America,’ or he would not have remained with, and in the service of, his murderers. He was told this by his quondam friend Mr. King, in a letter sent him from England soon afterwards. ‘If the French kill their king, it will be a signal for my departure, for I will not abide among such sanguinary men.—These, Mr. Paine, were your words at our last meeting; yet, after this, you are not only with them, but the chief modeller of their new constitution, formed so heterogeneous and inconsistent, so hypothetical and contradictory, as shows me, that provided your theories obtain fame, you are indifferent how the people may be disappointed in the practice of them.’

[Page]Having introduced this correspondence here, it is a proper place for me to give the reader a striking proof of Thomas's disinterestedness, a quality for which he sets a very high value on himself. ‘Politics and self-interest" (says he, in the second part of what he calls his Rights of Man) "have been so uniformly connected, that the world has a right to be suspicious of public characters: but, with regard to myself, I am perfectly easy on this head. I did not, at my first setting out in public life, turn my thoughts on subjects of government from motives of self-interest; and my conduct from that moment to this proves the fact.’— After this bouncing out-set, he goes on and tells his readers how disinterested he was in America, quite forgetting, however, to observe that he solicited, and obtained, a recompense for his services, as is stated in the above account of his life.—The following letter will put his disinterestedness in a very clear point of view, and may, perhaps, serve to remove the film from the eyes of some of those, who are apt to place too much confidence in the professions of our disinterested patriots.

DEAR KING,

I don't know any thing these many years, that surprised, and hurt me more, than the sentiments you published in the Courtly HERALD, the 12th December, signed JOHN KING, Egham Lodge. You have gone back from all you ever said.—You used to complain of abuses as well as me, and wrote your opinions on them in free terms. What then means this sudden attachment [Page] to Kings? This fondness of the English Government and hatred of the French?—If you mean to curry favour, by aiding your government, you are mistaken; they never recompense those who serve it; they buy off those who can annoy it, and let the good that is rendered it, be its own reward. Believe me, KING, more is to be obtained by cherishing the rising spirit of the people, than by subduing it. Follow my fortunes, and I will be answerable, that you shall make your own.

THO. PAINE.

Paris, January 3, 1793.

This letter ought to be stuck upon every wall and every post in the United States, and in every other country where the voice of the people is of any consequence. It is the creed, the multum in parvo, of all the pretended patriots that ever infested the earth. It is all in all; it is conclusive, and requires neither colouring nor commentary.

After the death of the king of France, there was a long struggle between the faction of Brissot, to which Tom had attached himself, and that of Danton, Robespierre and Marat. The last named murderer was dispatched by a murderess of Brissot's faction, after which her abettors were all guillotined, imprisoned, or proscribed. Thomas saved his life by countenancing the degradation of the Christian religion, in his "Age of Reason."

When Danton was solicited to spare him on account of his talents as a writer in the cause of liberty, [Page] "tu ne vois pas donc fo— tu bête," replied he to the solicitor, ‘que nous n'avons plus besoin de pareils fanatiques.*’ Cut-throat Danton was right enough: indeed they no longer stood in need of a fanatical writer in the cause of liberty, when they had made it a crime for men to weep.

Danton made a calculation of Tom's head and talents, just as a farmer makes a calculation of the labour, carcass, hide and offal of a bullock; and he found that he would fetch more living than dead. By writing against religion, he might do his cause some service, and there was little or no danger to be apprehended from him; because, being an Englishman, it was only giving him that name, and he could any when have him killed and dressed, à la mode de Paris, at five minutes warning.

Horrid as Paine's attack on revealed religion must appear to every one untainted with deism or atheism, the base assailant is not seen in his true colours, in his blackest hue, till the opinions in his ‘Age of Reason’ are compared with the hypocritical canting professions of respect for "the Word of God," contained in some of his former writings. In his Common Sense, calling on the people to separate themselves from the government that had discarded him, he says it is ‘a form of government that the word of God bears testimony against;’ and in another part of the same work, proposing the promulgation of a new charter, he says: ‘that we may not appear to be defective even in earthly honours, let [Page] a day be solemnly set apart for proclaiming the charter; let it be brought forth placed on the divine law, the word of God.’—In another place he spends whole pages in endeavouring to persuade his readers that monarchy is disapproved of by God, and he brings his proofs from Holy Writ, concluding with these words. ‘These portions of the Holy Scriptures are direct and positive. They admit of no equivocal construction.’—In one part of the same writings he complains of the "impiety" of the Tories, and in another of ‘the unchristian peevishness of the Quakers.’ He calls upon the people to turn out in the name of God. ‘Say not," adds he, "that thousands are gone out, turn out your tens of thousands; throw not the burthen of the day upon Providence, but "show your faith by your works," that God may bless you.’

—‘We claim (says he again, keeping up the cant) we claim brotherhood with every European christian, and glory in the generosity of the sentiment.’—Generous and sentimental rascal! Whom do you claim brotherhood with now? Who will admit as a brother, the wretch, who, at one time calls the Scriptures the word of God, and quotes them as an infallible guide, and at another, ridicules them as a series of fictions, contrived by artful priests to amuse, delude, and cheat mankind?

From Paine's Common Sense and his Age of Reason we may perceive how his opinion differed concerning the Americans at the two epochs of his writing. When he wrote the former, he looked upon them as a conscientious and pious people; but when he wrote [Page] the latter, he certainly looked upon them in the opposite light, or he never would have ventured to address the work to them. The fact is, he had altered his opinion of them upon the strength of what he saw in the greatest part of the public papers. After seeing a minister of the gospel abused, for having boldly asserted the truth of its doctrines, in opposition to the horrid decrees of the French Convention; after having seen the name of Jesus Christ placed in a list of famous democrats, along with the names of Paine and Marat, it was no wonder if he thought that his manual of blasphemy would be an acceptable present to his "beloved Americans."

Indeed, there is but too much reason to fear, that the Age of Reason being translated into English, apparently for the sole purpose of being published here, its being dedicated to the citizens of the United States, together with the uncommon pains that have been taken to propagate it and the abuse that has been heaped upon all those who have attempted to counteract its effects, will do but little credit to the national character, in the opinions of those foreigners who are not well acquainted with it. Every effort should, therefore, be exerted to convince the world, that all men of sense and worth in America agree in their abhorrence of the work and its malignant author. From this persuasion it was, that I inserted in the Political Censor for May, an extract from Judge Rush's pious address to the grand jury at Reading, and that I now honour the present Censor with an extract from Mr. Swift's System of Laws of Connecticut, a work that every one should read, and that every one who reads must admire.

[Page] ‘To prohibit (says this learned and elegant writer) To prohibit the open, public, and explicit denial of the popular religion of a country, is a necessary measure to preserve the tranquillity of a government. Of this no person in a christian country can complain; for, admitting him to be an infidel, he must acknowledge, that no benefit can be derived from the subversion of a religion which enforces the best system of morality, and inculcates the divine doctrine of doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with God. In this view of the subject, we cannot sufficiently reprobate the baseness of Thomas Paine, in his attack on christianity, by publishing his Age of Reason. While experiencing in a prison, the fruits of his visionary theories of government, he undertakes to disturb the world by his religious opinions. He has the impudence and effrontery to address to the citizens of the United States of America, a paltry performance, which is intended to shake their faith in the religion of their fathers; a religion, which, while it inculcates the practice of moral virtue, contributes to smooth the thorny road of this life, by opening the prospect of a future and better: and all this he does, not to make them happier, or to introduce a better religion, but to embitter their days by the cheerless and dreary visions of unbelief. No language can describe the wickedness of the man, who will attempt to subvert a religion which is a source of comfort and consolation to its votaries, merely for the sake of eradicating all sentiments of religion.’

[Page]Of the many answers to Paine no one demands so much of our praise and our gratitude as DR. WATSON'S Apology for the Bible. From some weak attempts, by persons either unskilled on the subject or unaccustomed to wield the weapons of disputation, the deists began to triumph in the thought that the clumsy cavillings of their leader were unanswerable, when this most excellent work appeared, and left nothing unanswered or unrefuted.* It is as much impossible for me to do justice to the Apology, as to express my veneration for its author. Learning, genius, candour, modesty and humility, all seem to have united here, to do honour to the cause of Christianity and cover its enemies with shame and confusion. And, a circumstance that must be particularly mortifying to Paine, and to all the enemies of order and religion, the man to whom the world is indebted for this production, is an aristocrat, and a Prelate of the Church of England, raised to his dignity by the choice of a King.

Let us now return to the hoary blasphemer at the bottom of his dungeon. There he lies! manacled, besmeared with filth, crawling with vermin, loaded [Page] with years and infamy. This, reader, whatever you may think of him, is the author of the Rights of Man, the eulogist of French liberty. ‘The very same man who a few months back boasted of being the representative of twenty-five millions of free men.’ Look at him. Do you think now, in your conscience, that he has the appearance of a legislator, a civilian, a constitution maker? It is no tyrannical king, I'll assure you, who has tethered him thus. He was condemned by his colleagues, and his fetters were rivetted by his own dear constituents. Here he is, fairly caught in his own trap, a striking example for the disturbers of mankind.

After Thomas got out of his câchot (a word that, I dare say, he understands better than any other in the French language), it was reported that he was dead, which occasioned the epitaph on him, to be seen in the Censor for May; but, it has appeared since, that the report of his death was owing to a mode of expression which the French have, whereby a person sunk into insignificance is said to be dead. He, or some one in his name, has lately written a work, entitled, the Decline and Fall of the British System of Finance, of which it is quite enough to say, that it is of equal merit with the rest of his writings. All his predictions have hitherto remained unfulfilled, and those contained in the last effort of his malice will share the same fate. It is extremely favourable for British bank-notes, that he who doubts of their solidity will not believe in the Bible.

How Tom gets a living now, or what brothel he inhabits, I know not, nor does it much signify to [Page] any body here or any where else. He has done all the mischief he can in the world, and whether his carcass is at last to be suffered to rot on the earth, or to be dried in the air, is of very little consequence. Whenever and wherever he breathes his last, he will excite neither sorrow nor compassion; no friendly hand will close his eyes, not a groan will be uttered, not a tear will be shed. Like Judas he will be remembered by posterity; men will learn to express all that is base, malignant, treacherous, unnatural and blasphemous, by the single monosyllable, Paine.

Notes

*

‘In a note we are informed by Mr. Oldys, that this is the real name; and that his fictitious name is Paine with a final e; for that his father's name was Pain; his own name was Pain when he married, when he corresponded with the excise, and when he first appeared in America. But finding some inconvenience in his real name, or seeing some advantage in a fictitious one, he thus changed the name of his family; and he thus exercised a freedom which the great enjoy for honourable ends.’

↵

*

That part of this essay which the reader finds thus marked with inverted commas, is taken from the printed copy. The rest, whether good or bad, whether republican or anti-republican, I am ready to take upon myself.

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*

Sterne's writings are most admirably calculated to destroy the morals of the youth of both sexes; but it was reserved for some of the printers in the United States to give those writings the finishing touch. What the lewd author was ashamed to do, they have done for him. They have explained his double entendres and filthy inuendos by a set of the most bawdy cuts that ever disgraced the pencil.—I was shown a copy of the Sentimental Journey in this style at the shop of Citizen Thomas Bradford of Philadelphia, the only place in the city, I believe, where it is to be had.

↵

*

See Chapman's testimony on oath; Paine's trial.

↵

*

"Why, that rascal Paine is just arrived from England."

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†

‘Ah, my God! Ah, poor France! All the scoundrels from all the countries in the universe are flocking amongst us.’

↵

*

‘You do not perceive then, you simpleton, that we no longer want fanatics of that sort.’

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*

The Rights of Man also, has, in this country, been pretty generally looked upon as unanswerable. This is not so much to be wondered at, when we consider the pains that have been taken to hide from the people every thing that might tend to wean them from their partiality to the new-fangled doctrine of liberty and equality. The Rights of Man has, however, been answered, and that in a most complete and masterly manner. This answer is now in my possession, and I promise myself the honour of communicating it to the public in a few days. This work ought to accompany Dr. WATSON'S Apology: the two together will be an effective antidote for all Tom's theological and political poison.

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REMARKS On the Pamphlets lately published against Peter Porcupine.

[Page]

‘DEAR FATHER, when you used to set me off to work in the morning, dressed in my blue smock-frock and woollen spatterdashes, with my bag of bread and cheese and bottle of small beer swung over my shoulder on the little crook that my old god-father Boxall gave me, little did you imagine that I should one day become so great a man as to have my picture stuck in the windows, and have four whole books published about me in the course of one week.’—Thus begins a letter which I wrote to my father yesterday morning, and which, if it reaches him, will make the old man drink an extraordinary pot of ale to my health. Heaven bless [Page] him! I think I see him now, by his old-fashioned fire-side, reading the letter to his neighbours." "Ay, Ay," says he, ‘Will will stand his ground wherever he goes.’—And so I will, father, in spite of all the hell of democracy.

When I had the honour to serve King George, I was elated enough at the putting on of my worsted shoulder-knot, and, afterwards, my silver-laced coat; what must my feelings be then, upon seeing half a dozen authors, all Doctors or the devil knows what, writing about me at one time, and ten times that number of printers, book-binders, and booksellers, bustling, running and flying about in all directions, to announce my fame to the impatient public? What must I feel upon seeing the news-papers filled from top to bottom, and the windows and corners of the hoofes placarded, with, a Blue Shop for Peter Porcupine, a Pill for Peter Porcupine, Peter Porcupine detected, a Roaster for Peter Porcupine, a History of Peter Porcupine, a Picture of Peter Porcupine? The public will certainly excuse me, if after all this, I should begin to think myself a person of some importance.

It is true, my heroic adversaries do all set out with telling their readers, that I am a contemptible wretch not worth notice. They should have said, not worth the notice of any honest man, and, as they would all naturally have excluded themselves by such an addition, they would have preserved consistency at least: but, to sit down hammering their brains for a fortnight or three weeks, and at last publish each of them a pamphlet about me and my performances, and then tell the public that I am not worth notice, is such a gross insult to common sense [Page] that nothing but democratic stupidity can be a sufficient excuse for.

At the very moment that I am writing, these sorry fellows are hugging themselves in the thought that they have silenced me, cut me up, as they call it. They think they see me prostrate, and they are swaggering over me, like a popish priest over a dead corps. It would require other pens than theirs to silence me. I shall keep plodding on in my old way, as I used to do at plough; and I think it will not be looked upon as any very extraordinary trait of vanity to say, that the Political Censor will be read, when the very names of their bungling pamphlets will be forgotten.

I must now beg the reader to accompany me in some few remarks that I think it necessary to make on each of their productions, following the order in which they appeared.

A ROASTER FOR PETER PORCUPINE.

What can I say worse of this blustering performance, than that it bears all the internal evidence of being written by the blunderbuss author who disgusted the city with Rub from Snub?

THE BLUE SHOP; or Humorous Observations, &c.

The inoffensive and unmeaning title of this pamphlet is fully expressive of the matter it is prefixed [Page] to, excepting that the word humorous was, perhaps, never before so unfortunately applied. Every one who has been taken in with this quarter-dollar's worth, whether a friend or an enemy of Peter Porcupine, curses it for the most senseless and vapid piece of stuff that ever issued from the press. The author, I hear, retorts, and swears the Americans are a set of stupid jack-asses, who know not what true humour is. 'Tis pity he had not perceived this before, he might then have accommodated his humour to their understandings. It is now too late to rail against their ignorance or want of taste, for, in spite of his railing and fretting, James Quicksilver will, by them, ever be looked upon as a most leaden-headed fellow.

PORCUPINE A PRINT.

This is a caricature, in which I am represented as urged on to write by my old master King George (under the form of a crowned lion), who, of course, comes accompanied with the devil. The Jay, with the treaty in his beak, is mounted on the lion's back, though, by the by, it has ever been said, by the democrats, that the lion rode the Jay. His Satanic Majesty holds me out a bag of money, as an encouragement to destroy the idol, liberty, to which he points. The American Eagle is represented as drooping his wings in consequence of my hostility, and America herself on the same account, weeps over the bust of Franklin. This is almost the only [Page] part of the print of which I find fault; for, if by America the people of America be to be understood, I believe most of those who have read my essays will do me the justice to say, that I have endeavoured to make America laugh instead of weep.— As to myself, I am the hero of the piece, I am brought forward to the front of the stage, where the artist makes me trample upon Randolph's Defence, the Rights of Man, Old Common Sense, Madison, Gallatin, Swanwick, and Peter Pindar. How this blundering fellow came to place Pindar among the rest I cannot imagine. It discovers a total ignorance of that author's writings and of my opinion concerning them. Can the American democrats approve, and can I disapprove, of a writer who says of Tom Paine:

"Paine, in his thirst for reputation,

"Has written to deserve damnation."

Can the democrats approve, and can I disapprove, of a writer who speaks of France and of Frenchmen in the following manner:

"Keel up lies FRANCE! long may she keep that posture!

"Her knav'ry, folly, on the rocks have tost her;

"Behold the thousands that surround the wreck!

"Her cables parted, rudder gone,

"Split all her sails, her mainmast down,

"Chok'd all her pumps, crush'd in her deck;

"Sport for the winds, the billows o'er her roll!

"Now I am glad of it with all my soul.

"To BRITAIN an insidious damn'd Iago—

"Remember, ENGLISHMEN, old Cato's cry,

"And keep that patriot model in your eye—

"His constant cry, "Delenda est Carthago.

[Page]"Love I the French?—By heav'ns 'tis no such matter!

"Who loves a Frenchman wars with simple nature.

"The converse chaste of day, and eke of night,

"The kiss-clad moments of supreme delight,

"To love's pure passion only due;

"The seraph smile that soft-ey'd FRIENDSHIP wears,

"And sorrow's balm of sympathizing tears,

"Those iron-hearted fellows never knew.

"Hear me, Dame Nature, on these men of cork—

"Blush at a FRENCHMAN'S heart, thy handy work;

"A dunghil that luxuriant feeds

"The gaudy and the rankest weeds:

"Deception, grub-like, taints its very core,

"Like flies in carrion—Prithee make no more.

"Yes, FRENCHMEN, this is my unvarying creed,

"Ye are not rational, indeed;

"So low have fond conceit and folly sunk ye:

"Only a larger kind of monkey!"

And yet this is the writer that the learned and sagacious democrats make me trample upon! I think my namesake Peter speaks here like a good honest Englishman, and though Mr. Bache publishes his works, and boasts of being in correspondence with him, I am very far from either trampling on those works or disliking their author.

Perhaps I ought to take some notice of the quarter whence this Caricature and the Blue Shop issued, as it furnishes an instance, among thousands, of that degradation which the first movers in the French revolution have long been, and still are, exhibiting to the world. These poor miserable catch-penny pictures and pamphlets are published by a man of [Page] the name of Moreau, who was one of those whom Tom Paine and his comrades Price and Priestley called, ‘the great, illuminated and illuminating National Assembly of France.’—Goddess of Liberty! and dost thou permit this thy ‘great, illuminated and illuminating’ knocker-down of Bastiles to wage a puny underhand war with one of King George's red-coats! Dost thou permit one of those aspiring "legislators of the Universe," who commanded the folding doors of the Louvre to fly open at their approach, and who scorne to yield the precedence to Princes and Emperors, to dwindle down into a miserable marchand d'estampes! If these be thy tricks, Goddess of French Liberty, may the devil take Peter, if ever thy bloody cap and pike entice him to enlist under thy banners.

Mr. Moreau, to his other misfortunes, adds that most calamitous one of thinking he can write. He is cursed with the scribbling itch, without knowing how to scratch himself with a good grace. As this is torment enough in itself, I do not wish to add to it by mentioning particular instances of his want of taste and talents. The greatest punishment I wish my enemies, is, that Moreau may be obliged to write all his life-time, and that the rest may be obliged to read his productions.

"THE HISTORY OF A PORCUPINE."

This pamphlet is, I am told, copied, verbatim, from a chap-book, containing the lives of several men who were executed in Ireland some years ago [Page] Names and dates only are changed, to give the thing an air of plausibility.—It is said to be published by two Scotch lads, lately arrived in the country, and who now live in some of the alleys about Dock-Street, no matter which.—One of their acquaintances called on me some days after the publication appeared, and offered to furnish me with the book from which it is taken. This offer I declined accepting of.—I shall only add here, as a caution to my readers, that these are the men who are seen hawking about a work in numbers, which they are pleased to call a History of France, and who are proposing to publish a Monthly Magazine.

"A PILL FOR PORCUPINE."

It is a rule with book-makers, that a title should, as briefly as possible, express the nature of the work to which it is prefixed. According to this rule, Pill is a most excellent title to the performance now before me. A Pill is usually a compound of several nauseous, and sometimes poisonous, drugs, and such is the Pill for Porcupine.

Various have been the conjectures as to the author of this abusive piece. Be he who he may, he has certainly done me a favour in grouping me along with Messrs. Hamilton, Belknap, Morse, &c. I would cheerfully swallow my part of his pill, and even think it an honour to be poisoned, in such company as this.

[Page]I shall take particular notice of but one part of this quack's compound of filth. Thinking, I suppose, that I should laugh at all his abuse of myself, the mountebank has endeavoured to wound me through my wife, by artfully insinuating that she is not married to me.

"When we behold," says he, ‘Porcupine inveigling an innocent girl, not more than sixteen or seventeen years, from her aged parents— their only remaining blossom—and last best hope; when we consider him breaking the ties of parental affection, and filial duty; exciting animosity between parent and child; our wonder ceases when we find him endeavouring to excite animosity, between the citizens of the eastern and the southern states. When we view him giving an aged parent occasion to exclaim, in the bitterness of his heart, "If I am bereft of my only daughter, I am bereft!" What parent of sensibility, who has a daughter; or what brother of sensibility, who has a sister; that would not be roused with indignation, at reflecting on such circumstances? Are the tears and sighs of an aching heart—a bereft parent, unworthy of our notice! Is female happiness of no consideration amongst men, that we should pass it over in silence?’—I am sure it is some sentimental scoundrel that writes this. They are undeniably the greatest villains on earth. He adds, in a note: ‘In answer to the foregoing, we have only to observe, that it was generally believed, by those who were intimate at the house [observe, he does not say, those who lived at the house] where Porcupine lodged on his arrival, that he seduced the [Page] girl who lived with him as his wife: they believed, and said so, but upon what authority I never inquired.’

I always like to let these fellows blaze away, till they have advanced some gross absurdity, or falsehood, and then put the extinguisher upon them, as Billy Pitt (God bless him for it!) did upon the English sans-culottes.—This "young woman" whom the cut-throat quack insinuates I ‘seduced from her parents;’ this "only child," this "last best hope," and "only remaining blossom;" all this put together, is one out of six children of a brave Scotchman, who served his Majesty nearly thirty years in the First Battalion of Royal Artillery. He fought several years against the Americans last war, and did not, like a base and perjured traitor, desert to the enemy as many others did, under the specious pretext of a love of liberty. When I married his daughter he had for about fifteen or sixteen years been a serjeant, and he is now, as a reward for his long and faithful services, Master-Gunner of Sterling Castle in Scotland.—May Britain never want such soldiers nor those soldiers want such reward!

From this good old man I received his daughter's hand in the parish church of Woolwich, on the 5th of February 1792; and I trust it will give the reader no ill impression of her merit and my constancy, when I tell him, that this marriage took place after an absence of nearly three years, she being in England and I in New-Brunswick, where I had the happiness of first seeing her.

[Page]Since the sentimental dastard, who has thus aimed a stab at the reputation of a woman, published his Pill, I have shown my marriage certificate to Mr. Abercrombie, the minister of the church opposite me.—All you who emigrate to the United States of America, to enjoy this unrestrained liberty of the press that they make such a fuss about, take care (if you mean to say a word in favour of your country) to bring your vouchers and certificates with you, or they'll stigmatize you for thieves; your wives will be called whores, and your children bastards!—Blessed liberty of the press!

"THE IMPOSTOR DETECTED."

This pamphlet ought, on every account, to come last: we have seen the rest rising above each other progressively; this of Bradford's crowns the whole, caps the climax of falsehood and villainy.

The former part of it bears the assumed name of Tickletoby, the latter, that of Samuel F. Bradford. It is evident, however, that both are by the same author; who he is, is not of much consequence: it is clear that he acted under the directions of Bradford, and Bradford must and shall answer for the whole.

What every one recoils at the bare idea of, is Bradford's writing a pamphlet against the works of Peter Porcupine. Had he confined his attack to my private character and opinions, he would not have [Page] so completely exposed himself; but this, I suppose, his author would not consent to; I do not know any other way of accounting for his conduct.

Every one perceives that the letter which Bradford inserts in Tickletoby's part of the pamphlet, is nothing but a poor and vain attempt to preserve consistency. However, to leave no room for dispute on this score, and to convict the shuffling Bradford on his own words, I am willing to allow him to be neuter with respect to Tickletoby's part, and will take him up on the contents of the letter which he signs. ‘That I have made use," says he, "of the British Corporal for a good purpose, I have little doubt —Dirty water will quench fire.’

Of his making use of me I shall speak by-and-by; at present I shall confine myself to the dirty water, which is the name he gives my writings.—Now, how will he reconcile this with his zeal to spread them abroad, and with the awkward flattery he and his family used to bore my ears with? Had I believed the half of what they told me, I should have long ago expired in an extacy of self-conceit. When the Observations on Priestley's Emigration were published, Bradford and his wife took great care to inform me of the praises bestowed on them by several gentlemen, Doctor Green in particular, and to point out to me the passages that gave the most pleasure. The first Bone to Gnaw gave universal satisfaction, they told me: it was read in all companies, by the young and by the old; and I remember that the sons told me, on this occasion, how delighted their uncle, the late worthy Attorney General, was with it; and that he said he should have [...] [Page] that it was not for the sake of the profit but the honour of publishing my works, that made him so anxious to continue.—My wife was present at this interview, and can, with me, make oath to the truth of what I have here asserted.

Nay, if my works were dirty water, why did he threaten to prosecute me for not continuing them? Dirty water is not a thing to go to law about. Did ever any body hear of a man's prosecuting another, because he refused to bring him dirty water to throw on the public?

After all this praising and flattering and menacing, my poor labours are good for nothing. The writings which had given so much pleasure to Doctor Green, that the Attorney General would have loved me for ever for, that charmed all sexes and all ages, that made grave Senators shake their sides with laughter, and Congress-men want to treat and hug me; that were so highly approved of by the officers of government, that it was an honour to publish, and that I was threatened with a prosecution for not continuing; these writings are now become dirty water!—Say rather, sour grapes.

I must, however, do the Bradfords the justice to say, that they very candidly told me, that every body could perceive a falling off, after the Congress Gallery. How singular it was, that I should begin to sink the instant I quitted them! Was this because they did no longer amend my works for me, or because they no longer pocketed the cash they produced! The Bradfords are booksellers died in grain. [Page] Heaven is with them worth nothing, unless they can get something by it.

With respect to the motives that gave rise to my pamphlets, I have already stated them, and as to their literary merit, though I have no very great opinion of it, yet, after having heard them ascribed to Mr. Bond, Mr. Thornton (not the language maker but the secretary to the English Embassador), Dr. Andrews, The Rev. Mr. Bisset, Mr. Lewis, Mr. Sedgewick, Dr. Smith, and, in short, to almost every gentleman of distinguished talents among the friends of the Federal Government, it would be mere grimace for me to pretend, that they have no merit at all. It is something singular, that the democrats never pitched upon any low fellow as the author; their suspicions always alighted among gentlemen of family and gentlemen of learning. It is therefore too late to decry my performances as tasteless and illiterate, now it is discovered that the author was brought up at the plough tail, and was a few years ago, a private soldier in the British army.

To return to my friend Bradford. Though I am ready to admit him as a neutral in all that is said by Tickletoby, I cannot do this with regard to what is ushered into the world as the performance of Samuel F. Bradford. This hatter-turned-printer, this sooty-fisted son of ink and urine, whose heart is as black and as foul as the liquid in which he dabbles, must have written, if he did write, at the special instance and request of his father; for, the Lampblack says, "a father's wish is a law with me."

After having premised this, making Bradford responsible for what is contained in his letter and his [Page] son's, I shall proceed to remark on such parts of both as I think worth my notice.

And first on the grand discovery of the letter to the Aurora-Man.—This is a letter which I wrote to the gazette, under the signature of A Correspondent, against the second part of the Bone to Gnaw. The letter, as now printed by Bradford, may, for ought I know, be a very correct copy. I remember the time and all the circumstances well. Bradford, who is as eager to get money into his hands as he is unwilling to let it out again, repeatedly asked me for a Puff to this pamphlet. This very son came to me for it as many as half a dozen times. I at last complied; not that I was unwilling to do it at first (for I had bored the cunning grand-child of the cunning almanack-maker several times before), but I could with difficulty spare time to write it.

Puffs are of several sorts. I believe the one now before us, is what is called a Puff indirect, which means, a piece written by an author, or by his desire, against his own performances, thereby to excite opposition, awaken the attention of the public, and so advance the renown or sale of his labours. A Puff indirect is, then, what I stand accused of, and as I have no argument at hand to prove the moral fitness of the thing, I must, as pleaders do in all knotty points, appeal to precedents. My authorities are very high, being no other than Addison, Phillips and Pope.

No one that has read the Spectator (and who has not done that) can have failed to observe, that he published many letters against his own writings, imitating [Page] the style and manner of his adversaries, and containing weak arguments, which he immediately overturns in his answer.—Doctor Johnson tells us that, before the acting of PHILLIPS'S Distressed Mother, a whole Spectator was devoted to its praise, and on the first night a select audience was called together to applaud it. The Epilogue to this play was written by Addison, who inserted a letter against it in the Spectator, for the sake of giving it a triumphant answer. But, Pope's famous puff is a case exactly in point. "He drew a comparison," says Dr. Johnson, ‘of Phillips's performance with his own, in which, with an unexampled and unequalled artifice of irony, though he has himself always the advantage, he gives the preference to Phillips. The design of aggrandizing himself he disguised with such dexterity, that, though Addison discovered it, Steele was deceived, and was afraid of displeasing Pope by publishing his paper.’ —Now, what censure does Lord Chief-Justice, Johnson (who, God knows, was far from being over lenient) pass on all this? None at all. He calls neither of these authors "an Impostor;" nor can I think he would have done so, had their puffs been written at his request, and for his benefit.

If a puff can ever be construed as an act of meanness, it must be, when its motive is self-interest. This cannot be attributed to me, as I could get nothing by promoting the sale of the work. I had a note of hand for it in my possession; which the number of copies sold could not augment the value of.

[Page]What impudence must a man be blessed with, who can usher to the world a puff, which he wishes should be looked upon as something horridly villainous, when he himself requested it to be written, transcribed it himself, and carried it himself for publication?—But here the Bradfords play a double game. "It was not I transcribed it," says old Goosy Tom; and "a father's wish is a law with me," returns the young Gosling. But you hissing, webfooted animals, is it not between you?—The puffing for fame belongs to me; but the transcribing and carrying to the press; all the interested part of the business, all the dirty work, lies among yourselves, and so I leave you to waddle and dabble about in it.

Having dismissed the Puff, we now come to the breach of confidence in publishing it. There are many transactions which we do not look upon as criminal, which, nevertheless, we do not wish to have made public. A lady, in love with a handsome young fellow, may make indirect advances, by the aid of a third person. This is certainly no crime; but should the confident preserve one of her letters, and afterwards publish it, I presume such confident would meet with general detestation. This is a parallel case so far; but when to this we add the aggravating circumstance of the confident being the original adviser of the correspondence, we are at a loss for words to express our abhorrence. Yet we must go still further with respect to Bradford. He has not only divulged what was communicated to him under his pledged secrecy, and at his pressing request, to serve him; but he has been guilty of this [Page] scandalous breach of confidence towards a man, to whom he owes, perhaps, that he is not now in jail for debt.

It is easy to perceive what drove him to this act of treachery. Revenge for the statement I had published concerning the one shilling and seven-pence half-penny pamphlet. He could not help fearing that people would resent this by avoiding his shop. He was right enough; for, though I am an Englishman, and of course, a sort of lawful prey to the democrats, yet they, even they, cannot help saying that he is an abominable sharper. To be revenged on me for this, he published the letter, and has thus done what all impotent vindictive men do, injured himself without injuring his adversary. I hinted that he had taken me in, and in return he betrays me to the reputation of a sharper, he adds that of a villain.

After this will any one say that I am to blame, if I expose this stupid, this mean, this shabby, this treacherous family? Do they deserve any quarter from me?—Every one says—no, Peter, no.

They say I lived in a garret when first they knew me. They found me sole tenant and occupier of a very good house, No. 81, Callowhill. They say I was poor; and that lump of walking tallow streaked with lampblack, that calls itself Samuel F. Bradford, has the impudence to say that my wardrobe consisted of my old regimentals, &c.—At the time the Bradfords first knew me I earned about 140 dollars pr. month, and which I continued to do for about two years and a half. I taught English to the most [Page] respectable Frenchmen in the city, who did not shuffle me off with notes as Bradford did. With such an income I leave the reader to guess whether I had any occasion to go shabbily dressed.—It would look childish to retort here, but let the reader go and ask the women in Callowhill street about the rent in old Bradford's yellow breeches.

The Bradfords have seen others attack me upon my sudden exaltation, as they call it: upon my having a book-shop, and all this without any visible means of acquiring it; whence they wish to make people believe that I am paid by the British government. It is excessively base in the Bradfords to endeavour to strengthen this opinion, because they know that I came by my money fairly and honestly. They were never out of my debt, from the moment they published the first pamphlet, which was in Aug. 1794, till the latter end of May last.* They used to put off the payment of their notes from time to time, and they always had at their tongues end; "we know you don't want money." And these rascals have now the impudence to say that I was their needy hireling!—'Tis pity, as Tom Jones's Host says, but there should be a hell for such fellows.

It is hinted, and indeed said, in this vile pamphlet, that I have been encouraged by the American government also.—I promised the reader I would tell him a story about Bradford's patriotism, and I will now [Page] be as good as my word.—In order to induce me to continue the Congress Gallery, he informed me, that Mr. Wolcot had promised to procure him the printing of the Reports to Congress: "So," added he, ‘I will print off enough copies for the members, and so many besides as will be sufficient to place at the end of each of your numbers, and Congress will pay for printing the whole!’ He told me he had asked Mr. Wolcot for this job, which I looked upon as an indirect way of asking for a bribe, being assured that he built his hopes of succeeding, upon being the publisher of my works.— Now, here's a dog for you, that goes and asks for a government job, presuming solely upon the merit of being the vender of what he, nine months afterwards, calls dirty water, and who adds to this an attempt to fix the character of government tool on another man. If I would have continued the Numbers, it is probable he might have printed the Reports; but this I would not do. I wanted no Reports tacked on to the end of my pamphlets: that would have been renewing the punishment of coupling the living to the dead.

Sooty Sam, the Gosling, tells the public that I used to call him a sans-culotte and his father a rebel. If this be true, I am sure I can call them nothing worse, and therefore I am by no means anxious to contradict him.—But, pray, wise Mister Bradford of the "political [and bawdy] book-store," is not this avowal of yours rather calculated to destroy what you say about my being an artful and subtle hypocrite? I take it, that my calling you rebels and sans-culottes to you faces is no proof of my hypocrisy; nor will the public think it any proof of your [Page] putting a coat upon my back. Men are generally mean when they are dependent; they do not, indeed they do not, call their patrons sans-culottes and rebels; nor do people suffer themselves to be so called, unless some weighty motive induces them to put up with it.—This acknowledgment of Bradford's is conclusive; it shows at once on what footing we stood with relation to each other.

He says that I abused many of the most respectable characters, by calling them Speculators, Landjobbers, &c. who were continually seeking to entrap and deceive foreigners.—If I did call those men Speculators and Landjobbers, who are continually seeking to entrap foreigners; if I confined myself to such mild terms, I must have been in an extremely good humour. But, young Mister Lampblack, be candid for once and allow me that your father is a sharper. Oh! don't go to deny that now: what every body says must be true.

‘How grossly," says the son, "did you frequently abuse the People of America, by asserting that, for the greater part, they were Aristocrats and Royalists in their hearts, and only wore the mask of hypocrisy to answer their own purposes.’—If young Urine will but agree to leave out People of America, and supply its place with, family of Goosy Tom, I will own the sentence for mine; and I will tell the public into the bargain, how I came to make use of it.—I entered Bradford's one day, and found him poring over an old book on heraldry. I looked at it, and we made some remarks on the orthography. In a few minutes afterwards he asked me if I knew any thing of the great Bradford family in [Page] England. I replied, no. He then told me that he had just seen a list of new Peers (English Peers, reader!), among which was a Lord Bradford; and that he suspected that he was of a branch of their family!— As the old women say, you might have knocked me down with a feather. I did not know which way to look. The blush that warmed my cheek for him then, renews itself as I write.—He did not drop it here. He dunned my ears about it half a dozen times; and even went so far as to request me to make inquiries about it, when I wrote home.—It was on this most ludicrous occasion, that I burst out, ‘Ah, d—n you, I see you are all Aristocrats and Royalists in your hearts yet. Your republicanism is nothing but hypocrisy.’ And I dare say the reader will think I was half right.—I wonder what are the armorial signs of Bradford's family. The crest must be a Goose, of course. Instead of scollops and gueules, he may take a couple of printers balls, a keg of lampblack and a jordon. His two great bears of sons (I except William) may serve as supporters, and his motto may be, ‘One shilling and seven-pence half-penny for a pamphlet.’ All this will form a pretty good republican coat of arms.

Let it be remembered here too, that my calling the Bradfords Aristocrats and hypocrites, does not prove me to be a hypocrite, a needy hireling, or a coward. As to this last term which young Lampblack has conferred on me, it is the blustering noise of a poor timid trembling cock, crowing upon his own dunghil. I hurl his coward back to his teeth, with the addition of fool and scoundrel. I think that is interest enough for one fortnight. The father has served the silly son, as the monkey served the cat, [Page] when he took her paw to rake the chesnuts out of the fire with.

They accuse me of being given to scandal.—If I had published, or made use of, one hundredth part of the anecdotes they supplied me with. I should have set the whole city together by the ears. The governor's share alone would fill a volume.—I'll just mention one or two, which will prove, that I am not the first old acquaintance that Bradford has betrayed.—He told me of a judge, who, when he presented him an old account, refused to pay it, as it was setting a bad example.—‘Ah, righteous judge? A Second Daniel!’—He told me, that he went once to breakfast with Mr. Dallas, now Secretary of the State of Pennsylvania, and that Dallas said to him: ‘By G—d Tom we have no sugar, and I have not a farthing in the world.’—"So," says my Lord Bradford, ‘I put my hand in my pocket, and tossed the girl a quarter of a dollar, and she went out and got some.’—Another time, he said, Mr. Dallas's hair-dresser was going to sue him for a few shillings, when he, like a generous friend, stepped in and put a stop to further proceedings, by buying the debt at a great discount.—I forget whether he says he was repaid, or not.

These anecdotes he wanted me to make use of; but these, as well as all the others he furnished me with, appeared to me to be brought forth by private malice, and therefore I never made use of any of them. Though, I must confess, that, in one instance in particular, this was a very great act of self-denial.

[Page]From Secretaries of State, Judges and Governors, let us come to Presidents.—Don't start reader, my bookseller knew nothing against General Washington, or he would have told it.—No; we are now going to see a trait of Bradford's republicanism of another kind.—Marten's Law of Nations, a work that I translated from the French for Bradford, is dedicated, by him, to the President of the United States. The dedication was written by me, notwithstanding the Bradfords were obliged to amend my writings. When a proof of it was taken off, old Bradford proposed a fulsome addition to it; "give the old boy a little more oil," said he. This greasing I refused to have any hand in, and notwithstanding I did not know how to write, and was a needy hireling, my Lord and Master, Bradford, did not think proper to make any alteration, though I could have no reasonable objection, as it was signed with his name.

While the old man was attempting to wheedle the President and the officers of the Federal Government, the son, Samuel, was wheedling the French Minister: the Bradfords love a double game dearly. He spent whole evenings with him, or at least he told me so. According to his account they were like two brothers. I cannot blame Mr. Adet, who undoubtedly must have a curiosity to know all the secrets of Bradford's press. For my part, as soon as I heard of this intimacy, I looked upon myself as being as well known to the French Minister as I was to Bradford.

But, there is a tale connected with this, which must be told, because it will give the lie to all that [Page] young Lampblack has said about correcting and altering my works. His design is to make people believe that I was obliged to submit to his prunings. We shall see how this was in a moment.— In the New Year's Gift, speaking of the French Minister, I make use of the following words: ‘not that I doubt his veracity, though his not being a Christian might be a trifling objection, with some weak minded people.’—The old Goosy wanted me to change the word Christian for Protestant, as he was a good friend, and might be useful to his son. He came himself with the proof sheet, to prevail on me to do this; but if the reader looks into the New Year's Gift, he will see that I did not yield.

Bradford never prevailed on me to leave out a single word in his life, except a passage in the Congress Gallery. ‘Remember" (says the son in a triumphant manner) "Remember what was erased from the Congress Gallery.’—I do remember it, thou compost of die-stuff, lampblack and urine, I do remember it well; and since you have not told all about it, I will.—The passage erased contained some remarks on the indecent and every way unbecoming expression of Mr. Lewis, on the trial of Randall, when he said, that gentlemen would have served his client right, if they had kicked him out of the room. Bradford told me he had a very particular reason for wishing this left out, and as it was not a passage to which I attached much importance, left out it was: but, had I known that his very particular reason was, that he had engaged Mr. Lewis as his counsellor in a suit which he had just then commenced against his deceased brother's widow and his own sisters, the passage should not [Page] have been left out, for him nor for Mr. Lewis neither. I fear no lawyers.—From this fact we may form a pretty correct idea of the independence of Bradford's press, when left to his own conducting.*

I think, the further we go the deeper My Lord Bradford gets in the mire. Let us stop the career, then. Let us dismiss him, his sons, his press and his shop, with a remark or two on one more passage of his son's letter. ‘You, (meaning me) can declaim and scandalize with the greatest hero of Bilingsgate, yet, in sober argument and chastity of manner, you are a mere nincompoop.’—The reader must have observed, that Boileau, Roscommon and Pope, in their poëtical rules, always convey the precept in an example; so we see here, that young lampblack gives us an example of the very manner he decries.—But, a word more about chastity: not quite in the same sense, though not so far from it as to render the transition very abrupt.— Chastity from the pen of a Bradford! Chastity, I say, from No. 8, South Front Street! Chastity from the bawdy-book-shop!—I have no pretension to an overstock of modesty or squeamishness. I have served an apprenticeship in the army; yet have I [Page] often been shocked to see what the Bradfords sell. Not, perhaps, so much at the obscenity of the books, as at the conduct of the venders. I do not know a traffic so completely infamous as this. In London it is confined to the very scum of the Jews. It is ten times worse than the trade of a bawd: it is pimping for the eyes: it creates what the punk does but satisfy when created. These literary panders are the purveyors for the bawdy-house.—However, as far as relates to the people in question, the sons are not to blame: ‘a father's wish is a law with them.’

I shall conclude with observing, that though Bradford's publication was principally intended to do away the charge of having duped me in the one and seven pence half-penny job, he has left it just as it was. His son, has, indeed, attempted to bewilder the reader by a comparison between the prices of the ensuing pamphlets; but what has this to do with the matter? His father took the Observations, was to publish them, and give me half the profits. Long after, many months after, every copy of the work was sold, I asked him for an account of it, which he brought me in writing, and in which my half of the profits was stated at one shilling and seven pence half-penny, or, about twenty-one cents.—Now, nothing posterior to this could possibly diminish the barefacedness of the transaction. I did not actually receive the twenty-one cents; I threw the paper from me with disdain; nor did I ever receive a farthing for the publication in question from that day to this.

I now take leave of the Bradfords, and of all those who have written against me. People's opinions [Page] must now be made up concerning them and me. Those who still believe the lies that have been vomited forth against me are either too stupid or too perverse to merit further attention. I will, therefore, never write another word in reply to any thing that is published about myself. Bark away, hell-hounds, till you are suffocated in your own foam. Your labours are preserved, bound up together in a piece of bear-skin, with the hair on, and nailed up to a post in my shop, where whoever pleases may read them gratis.

END OF THE CENSOR FOR SEPTEMBER.

Notes

*

At this time they owed me 18 dollars, which had been due for near six months, and which I was at last obliged to take out in books.

↵

*

Bradford pretends to detect me in a lie about my having a press. I have two now at work for me, and the printers are always paid the instant their work is done. Can a Bradford say as much?—He tells me something about my being obliged to pay my taxes. To be sure I am; but did any tax-gatherer ever dare clap his hand on any of my goods or chattels? No; but the land of Thomas Bradford; back-land which he got out of the old soldiers, who were fighting last war while he was a sort of jailer; this land was sold last year by the Sheriff, and that to pay the taxes too.—You see▪ My Lord Bradford, that you have refreshed my memory to some purpose.

↵

§

§

☞ THE HISTORY OF JACOBINISM will be published in the course of the next month, after which, the POLITICAL CENSOR will be continued monthly, without interruption.

§

§

[Page]

IN THE PRESS, AND WILL SPEEDILY BE PUBLISHED, AN ANSWER TO PAINE's RIGHTS OF MAN.

BY H. MAKENZIE, Esq

WILLIAM COBBETT has just published ‘A NEW DRAWING BOOK, from the best Masters;’ price 1 D. 25 Cts.

In disposing of this work, as well as all others of his publishing, he makes a very great allowance to those who take by the dozen or more.

Information about this book

Title statement

An antidote for Tom Paine's theological and political poison: containing 1. Tom's life, interspersed with remarks and reflections by P. Porcupine. 2. An apology for the Bible, in a series of letters addressed to Paine by the Bishop of Landaff. 3. An apology for Christianity, by the same learned, elegant writer. 4. An answer to Paine's anarchical nonsense, commonly called, the Rights of man.Political censor. 1796 Sept.

Cobbett, William, 1763-1835.

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI :

Date

2011-05.

ID [DLPS]

N22862

ID [TCP]

N22862

ID [STC]

Evans 30204

ID [NOTIS]

APW3280

ID [IMAGE-SET]

30204

ID [EVANS-CITATION]

99009189

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early American Imprints, 1639-1800 ; no. 30204.

Notes

(Evans-TCP ; no. N22862)

Transcribed from: (Readex Archive of Americana ; Early American Imprints, series I ; image set 30204)

Images scanned from Readex microprint and microform: (Early American imprints. First series ; no. 30204)

Source

— An antidote for Tom Paine's theological and political poison: containing 1. Tom's life, interspersed with remarks and reflections by P. Porcupine. 2. An apology for the Bible, in a series of letters addressed to Paine by the Bishop of Landaff. 3. An apology for Christianity, by the same learned, elegant writer. 4. An answer to Paine's anarchical nonsense, commonly called, the Rights of man., Political censor. 1796 Sept., Cobbett, William, 1763-1835., Watson, Richard, 1737-1816..

Extent

79, [1] p. : (8vo)

Printed for, and sold by, William Cobbett, North Second Street, opposite Christ Church.,. Philadelphia: :: Oct. 1796.. (Caption title: The political censor, for September, 1796.) (The title page not withstanding, the contents are identical with those of William Cobbett's Political censor for September, 1796. The two essays by the Bishop of Landaff and the answer to Paine's Rights of man are not included.) ("The history of Jacobinism will be published in the course of the next month, after which, the Political censor will be continued monthly, without interruption."--p. 79. Beginning with the November issue, title changed to Porcupine's political censor.) ("Life of Thomas Paine, interspersed with remarks and reflections."--p. [3]-49. Consisting largely of excerpts from the scurrilous life of Paine by Frances Oldys (i.e., George Chalmers).) ("Remarks on the pamphlets lately published against Peter Porcupine."--p. [51]-79.) (Publisher's advertisement, p. [80].)

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