LETTER I.

YOUR correspondents, in their ex­aminations of several measures which have of late very much engaged the attention of the public, have, in my opinion, reasoned from a very erroneous principle, namely, that prin­ces or presidents ought always to act fairly, openly and ingenuously: that they ought not only to see that the laws should be obeyed by others, but should, in all their actions, strictly act in conformity to both the letter and spirit of the law themselves. If this indeed were so, that princes were bound by laws, and could never cause right to bend to convenience, I, for my part, would as soon be a dray-man as a secretary of state; as soon tug at the oar, as [Page 10] fill the presidential chair—But I am bold to af­firm, that I can prove the contrary; first, by the authority of the most learned and wise an­cient sages; and, secondly, by the practices of princes in all ages.

No man, says Pliny, ever presumes to pre­scribe to princes, or include them within the verge of any laws but their own inclination. In the highest post, justice is always on the strongest side. That which is most profitable, can never be unlawful. Holiness and piety, faith, truth, and common honesty, are the vir­tues of private men—princes are above these vulgar dispensations.

It is allowed by all, that it is lawful for gov­ernors to use dissimulation. Says one of high authority, "The same dissimulation, which in persons of private condition would be vicious and abominable, is in princes highly commend­able: there is no discharging their weighty af­fairs without it; yea, the very thing which ruins private conversation, is the best support of government. A prince or governor must appear open, honest, sincere; but in his mind deceit, deep design, and cunning must hold their seat. If he wishes to govern wisely, he must know, like Cromwell, the art of employ­ing SPIES, and the almighty power of BRIB­ERY—of compassing his designs by deep de­vised and unseen methods, by equivocating and [Page 11] ambiguous terms; by refined subtilties and deep intrigue; by good words, fair promises, com­pliments and congratulations, formalities of EMBASSIES and letters; and by these outward­ly fair pretences and amusing stratagems, bring the matters about on which his whole foul is steadily fixed." And to accomplish this, says Plato, "governors ought to make no scruple of having frequent recourse to lies and tricks;" and Pliny asserts, that it is a part of prudence to deceive, as occasion and the present posture of affairs shall require. Suppose, for instance, that in any state or country whatever, there should be a citizen or subject turbulent, over­ruling and rebellious, head of a strong and de­termined party, would it not be just to em­ploy the assassin secretly to stab him, or bribe one of his intimates to hand him the poisoned draught? Or suppose some great man, who was every day increasing in popularity, and strength­ening his interest; who undoubtedly had it in his power to do mischief, if he were so inclin­ed; I say, would it not be prudent for the governor to clip his wings—check his popular­ity by well devised and plausible stories, forged letters, and secret correspondence, that so he might not be able to annoy, if he would? To me it appears evident, that in both these cases the ruler would be perfectly justifiable. One thing is certain, princes ever have acted thus, [Page 12] and in so acting have ever found advocates. "In order to preserve justice in greater and more important matters, there is sometimes a neces­sity, says Plutarch, of deviating from it in those of less moment; and in order to do right to the generality, it is allowable to put some hard­ships and to do some wrong to particular persons." Commonly speaking, says Tacitus, the noblest exploits carry somewhat of injustice in them. A prudent prince, says Plutarch, must not on­ly know how to govern according to law, but know how to govern the laws themselves: that is, if the laws are not willing that he should do what is necessary at that time, he must make them willing. And, not to tire you with quo­tations from the ancients, Aristotle's rule is, if a prince cannot be good in all, it is sufficient that he be so in the greater part of his admin­istration.

I now think I have fully established my po­sition by authorities, that princes are not bound to be, like other men, virtuous. Were I to en­ter on the proof of it from the practice of princes, it would be giving a history of their lives, which abounded, according to their abili­ties, in every species of dissimulation, deceit, and cunning; and if the most diligent historian can select one eminent for virtue, he will stand rara avis in terra, nigroque similima cygno ^*. [Page 13] From this disquisition, of governors or princes being, in certain cases supreme above all law, I would deduce the following particulars:

1st. An irrefragable argument for the justice of the Alien Bill. Those people who are most affected by it, and against whom it was made, are inimical to all good government. Witness the troubles they raised in Ireland, where at present, and for many hundred years past, the government hath been temperate, humane, and just.

2d. It was necessary, by the Sedition Law, to clip the wings of some men, and to shew the heinous nature of speaking against persons high in trust. What would have been the conse­quence if a stop had not been put to such abuse?—Colonel Lyon's imprisonment and fine did more good to America, by inculcating a pro­per submission to our rulers, than any thing that could be devised, short of cutting off his head: which indeed might have been wrong in itself, but would have been right nevertheless, for great advantages would have sprung from it.

I was in great spirits a few days ago, ex­pecting that the tale of a tub with a double bottom, would have proved our governors well skilled in developing the secrets of foreign courts; but I am now quite chapfaln, for the tub appears to have lost both its bottoms. [Page 14] But I hope they will be more fortunate in their next attempt. I trust also that the people will soon open their eyes, to see that the paltry sums of money which are granted by their represent­atives in Congress, for the use of government, will never serve to answer any valuable purpose: if ever they wish to see their government re­spectable, they must give freely, and not stand trifling for a few thousands, like women on a market-day higgling for halfpence; for when all is done, no sword can cut so deep as that with a silver edge; it serves with zeal, obeys without grudging, and draws the world af­ter it. Let us never judge governors by those rules by which we ourselves are to abide and be governed; but rest satisfied under whatever laws, decrees, or ordinances the rulers frame, still re­membering this grand advice, (which is my last authority) whosoever resisteth the power, re­sisteth the ordinance of God, and they that re­sist shall receive to themselves DAMNATION.

LETTER II.

UNTIL of late your paper ne­ver came into the neighbourhood where I live: we all with one consent pronounced it a French paper; and yet, when I begin to think why we did so, I cannot, for my life, find a rea­son; for none of us ever read a word of it. However, it came into my hands in the fol­lowing manner: A few weeks ago a man came to be my next door neighbour, who we soon found took the AURORA; and, indeed when we found that, we determined to keep ourselves to our­selves, and not to be defiled by democrats; but this resolution we some how or other have entirely broken through; for he is a sober, quiet, religious sort of a man, and the whole family are the most obliging you ever knew. As we grew intimate I thought it could do me no hurt to read a paragraph of his paper, just for sake of curiosity, as I had no paper of my own, for I gave up the English paper six months ago; not that I disliked his politics, but be­cause he taught the children to curse, and speak bawdy. Well, to be sure since that time I have every now and then, when tired of working, read a little; and it has produced on [Page 16] me strange effects: my neighbours say I am be­witched, and point their fingers at me, and call me a turn-coat; and then I wish your pa­per had never been seen,—but the next day the paper comes, and I cannot for the soul of me keep from reading it. It makes every thing appear so fair, open, and so like a history, that I believe my neighbours may hoot on, for I am determined to read a little longer.

Indeed, Mr. Editor you publish some strange things; I am often very much surprised: the other day, for instance, I was almost thunder­struck with the account of the liberties allowed to kings and princes, in that piece signed a MONARCHIST—Lord bless me, said I to my neighbour, can this be true? True, says he, aye, and this is only a very small and imperfect sketch of their character. Saying this, he took down a large Chronology book (I think he called it) and read to me above fifty instances of kings and princes swearing to do one thing, and do­ing immediately the contrary: of their treach­ery, malice, unforgiving temper, cruelty; of their secret murdering, covetousness, and usury; until my hair nearly stood an end. But God be thanked, says I, these were all heathens, I am sure Christians could not be guilty of such crimes. My neighbour smiled, and said, I am sorry my friend to inform you, that the infamy of kings professing Christianity, has been more [Page 17] notorious than that of the Heathen of Pagan monarchs: well says I, if this be so, how can they ever say the Lord's prayer? Can they ever think of being Christians, without following Christ's rule, of doing as they would be done by? Do they ever think on death? Do you suppose that they can be Christians, and yet strive to cheat and defraud? Kiss like Judas, and stab like Joab; make fair promises and base per­formances; wink at wickedness, and suffer every species of fraud to pass unpunished; reward people for acting as spics; honor the adulterer, and laugh at the crime!—Lord keep me from unbelief, said I; these men are great men, high in learning and in fame—Do they think religion a cheat, or a bug-bear only to frighten chil­dren? I believe, says my neighbour, they think nothing at all about it! The scripture says, the god of this world hath blinded their eyes—and I verily believe it; but, surely said I, if the rulers of this world would act so, the clergy would excommunicate them, and would not suffer them thus to wear the Christian name, without its power. I cannot, said I, believe it; it cannot be. Do you know, said my neighbour any wicked men who are very rich? Yes, says I, there is X. Y. and Z. they are very rich, and every body knows they are great rascals. Well, says my neighbour, are they excommunicated? No—I protest said I, now when I think of it, [Page 18] the rev. Mr. W. dined with X. on—, and with Y. on—, and six or seven clergymen dined with Z. a few days ago. God preserve us, said I, where shall we look for help; in the great depravity is permitted, some kinds of wickedness counted laudable, and every species winked at. It is our great comfort, said my friend, that although here some things are wrong, I must confess, among the rich and great, yet the great, the honourable and very worthy, our AMERICAN FARMERS, are VIRTUOUS, not in name but in REALITY. Vice has not been able to entice them from the standard of VIRTUE, IN­DEPENDENCE, and FREEDOM. To them we look—they are our bulwark, the guardians of our rights, the supporters of our dignity, and the pillars of our CONSTITUTION. The mist of darkness, ignorance and error, begins to dissi­pate; party-spirit will soon, like a fretful child, cry itself to rest; the seeds of reform that are sown in our constitution, will bring forth fruit; the storm indeed may awfully growl and grumble at a distance: but said my friend (leaping to his feet, whilst I shrunk into a corner) the sun will arise with ten-fold glory; the demons of war, discord, and desolation shall be disappointed—true religion shall banish pretence and hypocrisy, and AMERICA SHALL STILL BE FREE.

LETTER III.

I THINK I have lived in the world about forty years, but I am not certain, for my parents thought dates of little conse­quence—"Our son, said they, will never be a great man, and what use will it be to him to be able at every opportunity to hand down the record of his birth." The prophesy has been literally accomplished—I stand unno­ticed among the swinish herd, as the poor are generally called by the great and well-born. However, be that as it may, these two or three last years past have brought about more won­derful things, than all the rest of my life; and children, and weak minded ignorant peo­ple, you know, are so delighted with wonders, that oftentimes they think things are great wonders, that are no wonders at all—but I really am of opinion that these things are very wonderful which I am going to relate. The first thing that set me a wondering was, when the states rebelled against Great Britain: Lord bless me! said I, are the people mad? Is it pos­sible they can think to be able to oppose king George? Why their destruction is as sure as if it were written in the Bible. I trembled for [Page 20] fear, and skulked into a corner, where I lay snug out of sight during the awful contest; and when Washington had gained the day, and made En­gland, very much against her inclination, ac­knowledge our independence; I, wondering more than ever, slipped out of my hiding-place, and talked, as well as I could, about Liberty, In­dependence, Freedom, and such like things, just as the rest of my neighbours did, who had hid as well as I. Since that to within these two or three years, as I said before, my wonders have not been very great, though pretty numerous. I wondered a good deal about the poor soldiers who were so nicely tricked out of their hard earned wages, by receiving two shillings and sixpence for twenty; and when I heard so much about funding systems, and banking systems, and public debt being a public blessing; O, said I to myself, my poor head can't understand this—I wonder what it means?

I wondered a good deal to see the old tories slipping in by little and little into places of pow­er and trust—I then wondered at their impu­dence, and next at the readiness with which they were admitted; and lastly wondered what it would all come to. But these were only the beginning of wonders. I declare, Mr. Editor, one wonder of late has so closely followed ano­ther, I am yet astonished to look back on them. The revolution of France, the defeating of the [Page 21] combined powers, the creating of so many new Republics, the pulling down of Antichrist, for which the Protestants and Presbyterians have so long prayed to God, and now when God has pulled him down, they say they don't thank him, which to me appears a very great religious wonder, and I believe, a very irreligious con­tradiction. I wondered at the valour and confi­dence of the king of Naples, the sagacity of the king of Sardinia, the consistency of the Duke of Tuscany, and above all, the modesty and fore­sight of General Mack. At home I have won­dered at the Sedition Law—the Alien bill—the tale of a tub—the existence of a stupendous army of United Irishmen in America—the barbarous and bloody hot water insurrection—the great ar­my sent to subdue the vendue cryer—and, not to tire your patience with my wonders, I was struck dumb with astonishment when I saw such a deep laid, well concerted and organized plan, to influence the people into federal ideas at the next election: not altogether understanding some part of it, I took up the paper and went in to my neighbour, who understands Latin, and is therefore you know a man of more than ordina­ry knowledge—Did you see this, says I, about the election for governor—See it says he, yes, yes!—Surely, says I, it must all be a humbug—It has only been printed for a piece of fun; ah, says my neighbour, there is no joke like a true [Page 22] joke—It is as true as the gospel. Well for my part, says I, I cannot for the life of me, see much meaning in it—surely, added I, there are very few people in this state who do not know Judge M'Keau? Very true, said my neighbour, and thousands know nothing at all about James Ross. Why I was in company not may evenings ago, when it was strongly debated, and some bets made about where he lived, and a world and all never heard of him before, and this they said was the reason why such pains are now ta­ken. They are fully assured that without these exertions there would be no chance at all for their candidate's getting many votes—they will stretch every nerve to the utmost, and you know if they stand in need of a few votes, there may be found a successor for Josey Thomas, of electioneering memory, who can forge a few: besides, it makes it altogether evident what an opinion is entertained, by these gentlemen, of the independent electors of Pennsylvania; it is in fact speaking to them in this language, back­country farmers and others, long experience has undoubtedly taught you, that such poor, illit­erate, uncultivated creatures as you are, can by no means pretend to judge for yourselves, we therefore, who now address you, being infallibly certain that we are gifted with all possible know­ledge and extensive discernment, and likewise being the friends of order, and good government, [Page 23] the admirers of the British government, firm sup­porters of the British Treaty, the Excise Law and Stamp Act, the Alien and Sedition bills, &c. &c.—do in great love to you, and from the purest and most disinterested motives, intreat and beseech you not to pretend to judge for yourselves; on the day of election, trust not to your senses, be­cause you are poor ignorant swine, unfit for such an important task, but one and all of you be governed by our infallible committees, they will write your tickets for you; and you thus acting shall be entirely freed from the trouble of thinking, which alas has brought so many evils on the United States—on France, and in­deed on all Europe. Here I could hold no lon­ger! Surely my friend, said I, you cannot be serious; did not our Congress-men say that we were the most enlightened people in the world—it would in my opinion, said I, be a flat con­tradiction for these men to think thus if they believed as you say.

By no means said my friend, do you think when they asserted that we were the most en­lightened nation, that the poor farmers were included in the account; if you do, you are very much mistaken, the truly enlightened are your lovers of order, your federalists, at whose head stands his excellency of Ninety-Six, his highness the courageous and continent Thatcher, the sweet scented Rutledge, and the thrice noble [Page 24] and diffident Bayard—after these follow the four New-England States, who for true learning, zeal, piety, liberality of sentiment, and philanthro­py, are not, were not, nor ever will be equalled, until the commencement of the glorious millen­nium: the residue of the union who do not think just as these truly illuminated men do, are es­teemed by them just as high as the Jews, during the Mosaic dispensation, esteemed the heathens around them—as dross and dung, or in plain modern terms, as swine. Lord bless me, said I, you astonish me—If these men think so, no doubt but they will soon strive to deprive the poor of the right of being electors. Soon strive, said my neighbour, why they strive every election, and a number are really deprived of their rights to all intents. Why they plainly tell all their labourers and tradesmen, if they do not vote as they order them, they shall not be employed by them another day!—I never was more pleased than with an answer made by a barber, with whom I am acquainted, at an election not long ago, to one of those very wise and important gentlemen—"For whom does thee vote," said a very plain but very spruce looking man; for Swanwick, said the barber. If I had known that thee held such principles, replied the other, thee would not have gotten so much money from me for shaving, but thee shall never shave me again; as to that said the barber, [Page 25] much nettled—I don't care a straw, but if thee does not go very quickly about thy busi­ness, I'll effectually lather thee, and then I don't care who the devil shaves thee. Just as my neighbour said this, I perceived his wise yawning, and casting my eyes up to the clock, saw it was past eleven, so I got up hastily, for fear I should be troublesome, and bade my neigh­bour a very good night.

LETTER IV.

THE other evening I happened to step out to see an acquaintance, and on my way stopped at a neighbour's store; whilst I stood there, talking of, I do not remember what trifle, in came a man, seemingly in high spirits, and went on without any apology thus—"Well neighbour," addressing himself to the store-keep­er, "I have good news for you; you may lie down now without dread, and rise up without fear; our government is determined to demon­strate to the world, that it is not to be played upon by every designing democratic rascal; God be thanked! we have learned from the [Page 26] practice of the English government, which is the best government on earth, how traitors ought to be served."—"Why, what's the matter now," said the store-keeper, "is the army to march again? Has Harper found another clue? Has Dr. Logan gone again to France—or have the conspirators broken jail, or—speak I pray you."—"No," answered he, "but the grant jury have found three of the insurgents guilty of trea­son, and they shall be hanged, beheaded and quar­tered, their hearts torn out and thrown in their faces, just the way they serve conspirators in En­gland. "O but" says I, venturing to thrust in a word, "I believe, no body can as yet tell what will be their sentence; I believe said I, they must be tried by a jury of their fellow citizens."—"Fellow fiddlesticks!" replied the other, "if every cursed democrat of you could, you would free them without judge or jury;—but I tell you they shall die, let the jury condemn them or not. If," continued he, "we had been wise enough in the beginning of the unnatural rebel­lion, and trussed up but a dozen of the leading men in each state in time, this country would have been yet happy under the king of Great Britain; but we were such plagued fools as to give the designing fellows liberty to prate; they stirred up the common people, and chiefly the the hot-headed rebellious Irish, by which means the detestable sin of resisting the Lord's anointed [Page 27] was committed, and under this sin our whole country lies, and for this, and this only, have we been punished with first, the Hessian Fly, sec­ond the Yellow Fever, and lastly by rebellion; and yet, with all this before our eyes, some of you wish to have these men freed, and talk a­bout juries forsooth! but we'll jury them, and judge them too.—If Washington had drawn and quartered thirty or forty of the whisky boys, we would not have had this rompus; but he was always so much inclined to what he called mercy, and humanity, and forgiveness, and all that there sort of whining stuff, that all that Hamilton and the rest of them could do, he would not agree to it; so now we see the con­sequence. But it wo'nt be the case now; our present President, God bless him, will give them a passport to the other world, I'll be bail; and if he should'nt, I know what I know."—"I hope," said I, "my friend you do'nt intend to take the law into your own hands."—"Why sir," answered he, "what the devil would you have us to do? Do you imagine we are to sit still and look tamely on, till all the advances we have made to be hap­pily reconciled to our mother country are en­tirely destroyed? No sir, we will resist, and that in a way which some folks little dream of. I thought," continued he, "that the people were heartily tired of their folly. I was fully [Page 28] convinced in my own mind, that all they had been told by the President, about republics, and republican governments, by Fenno and Peter Porcupine, about liberty or such nonsense, had prepared them for at last putting absolute con­fidence in the men to whom they had entrusted the government that they have established; and not to do any thing contrary to the mind of the leading characters. But behold they set up Thomas M'Kean for governor, though fully satisfied that he is a democrat; sure that he was, and still is, an enemy to our mother country, Great Britain, and sure that he, as president of Congress, signed the instrument of all our woes, the Declaration of Independence!—But Peter's right, we, who are the friends of order and good government, must and will be found at our post—What!" said he, "I have—but mum is the word."—"Lord bless me," said I to myself, "its a hundred to one if he is not thinking about making the calico shirts and blue breeches!—Indeed," said I, "friend, I know but very little about politics, but you seem to know a great deal." "And so I may," said he, "I learned politics when this country was a land that flowed with milk and honey. The year sixty-five—ah! we'll never see such times again, unless"—"Unless what," said I—"Never mind," added he, "I'm old enough to know where to stop"—and stamping his foot [Page 29] with much force, stalked out of the shop with great dignity; and shortly after I took my leave. When I came home I stepped into my neighbour's, and told him the story: Do you think, said I, that the man can have any founda­tion for venturing to talk so—I declare, added I, I sometimes trembled for fear, when he talked so big, about hanging and quartering, but most of all when he said mum! But now I am quite easy, I don't believe a word of it.—In­deed, added I, as I cannot say that I am over and above courageous, except when I take a glass extraordinary; and am besides a fellow of a pale face, I dread very much fellows of Ster­retorian courage. "Indeed Robert, said my neighbour, we ought neither to pay too much regard to what we hear in this way, nor reject it altogether; there is a middle way between these extremes, which is generally the sasest—that is, we ought coolly and dispassionately to examine both sides, and reject or approve ac­cording to the dictates of reason.—Porcupine has sounded the alarm, and much in the same strain. He is undoubtedly the organ of a strong British party—they well know, that when Thomas M'Kean is chosen govern­or, as without a doubt he will, it will be signing another declaration of independence a­gainst being under the influence of British mea­sures, or British connections—they will there­fore [Page 30] do all in their power to oppose his elec­tion."—

"Lord bless me," said I, "I'll settle my af­fairs, and retreat to my old hiding-place. I hate fighting, not so much for the name of the thing but the smart of the blows;—and besides, in contests of this kind, a man might lose an eye, or a leg, or an arm, or indeed perchance be killed by accident, and then you know 'twould be no matter to me, whether Ross or M'Kean was governor—!"

"Very true," said my friend, laughing, "very true;—but you need be in to haste, although I am well assured that they will do all they can to intimidate weak minded people, keep back re­turns, forge votes, and bribe voters; yet they know too well what would be the result of any acts of violence. Numbers have been induced to join their party, not from an evil design, but merely from thinking them real friends to the country; but very impolitically they have thrown off the mask—he who was an angel of light appears now to be a devil. Porcupine first exposed him, Fenno tore the mask, and the hot water insurrection, and Captain Montgomery's new method of preserving the laws inviolate, have clearly exhibited the cloven foot—now by their own folly their whole plan is deranged; Harper begat a clue of conspiracy, the clue of conspira­cy begat a forgery; that forgery begat the tale of [Page 31] a tub; the tale of a tub begat the hot water war; that begat the devil among the taylors—in all five generations, evidently springing from the slippe­ry end of the Harperian clue; and they all, like their father, will soon sleep in that disgraceful silence which they so justly merit."—As my neighbour said this, we were both alarmed with a great noise in the street—it proved to be a lover of order and good government, who was teaching his rib, the true meaning of being sub­ject to the higher powers—whether he convinced her or not I cannot say, but I'm sure his argu­ments were so pointed that she must have had the worst of it.

LETTER V.

WHEN your Saturday's paper came to hand, I took it up with a great deal of earnestness, and casting my eyes over it to see what I should read first, I perceived—"To the President of the United States," in large letters. So, so, says I, let me see what we have got here. Amazing! three columns and an half long! Why what in the name of wonder has the man to say to his Excellency, that can take [Page 32] him such a time in telling his story! However, said I to myself, 'tis no matter, my head could never, even in my youngest days, know the meaning of so long a tale; I'll pass it over, and leave it to those men who are blessed with a greater stock of patience, and a stronger brain. But just as I was about to begin the next arti­cle, A Maryland Clergyman met my view. What, says I, was it written by a clergyman? It must be good, it would be sacrilege not to read it. Perhaps, Mr. Editor, you may think strange that the term Clergyman could produce on me such an effect; the reason is, my father, who loved religion, not for the name of it, but for its life and power, paid always the greatest respect to the clergy. They labour for the good of our souls, he would say, and are there­fore worthy of double honour. If one of them committed a fault, instead of railing out against the whole fraternity; let us remember, he would say, a minister is but a man; and "no man liveth and sinneth not." I endeavour to imitate the old man, and though I fall far short in performance, I still remember the precept. There must be something good in it, said I; perhaps its a sermon, though I can't see the text—but perhaps I will meet it as I go along—so having snuffed the candle, opened the wick, and set myself a little more on my centre, I began.

[Page 33] ^* God be thanked, said I, after I had read the first five or six paragraphs, while wicked­ness abounds, we have a good, virtuous, and truly wise man for our President—who is "a terror to evil doors," and a praise to them that do well;—under his virtuous administration, no encouragement will be given to men who devour widow's houses; and for a pretence make long prayers. But let me read a little farther—"Make a perfect bedlam of our country," in [Page 34] the name of wonder what does this mean?—"Make a bedlam of all America;" to me it appears, said I, perfectly nonsense. I thought when the French went to Egypt, it was a mad scheme; and when before that, they changed the Sabbath into a decade, a foolish scheme; but to turn America into a mad house, was the maddest of mad schemes that ever a raving mad people could for a moment conceive. Was it for this, said I, they assisted us to obtain our independence? Was it for this that they have been ever since telling us fair tales and smooth stories? No, no, said I, if that's what they want, they shall want; why I would not give them the size of my garden for a mad house, let alone all America. I tried to read, it was all a joke; I could think of nothing but Bedlam—Bedlam, make a perfect Bedlam of our country, rung in my ears. I took off my spectacles, put them in the case, and muttering Bedlam all the way, went in to my neighbour? Did you ever hear the like, said I? Why what's the matter, said my neighbour? Why, said I, our President tells us these plagued French folks, want to make a perfect bedlam of our country. "O," said my neighbour, "you are always in too great haste.—Did I not tell you in our last conversation, that you ought to weigh both sides of every point dispassionately, and then judge? Had you read a little farther, you would have seen that [Page 35] what is there meant by a Bedlam, is not a mad term, as you imagined, but a receptacle for peo­ple holding opinions on religious subjects, which we and a majority of the United States think entirely without foundation, either in reason or scripture." Indeed! said I, is that the meaning of a "perfect bedlam?'—"It is not," said he, "the real meaning of the term; but, however, must be the meaning of it here.—But read on," said my friend—"you are but just began, I see:" I read on accordingly—Is it possible, said I; can this clergyman be depend­ed on? I thought, added I, that no religion of any kind was suffered in France; and yet here are prelates, bishops, vicars, curates, &c. large salaries and fine seminaries. ^* Well, said I, the more I read, I see I know the less—I wish to God, said I, some of our great preachers would for the love of the gospel, go to France. Poor things! they never heard a good gospel sermon, [Page 36] from an honest Calvinistic Presbyterian minister. You think then, said my friend, that there are no Presbyterians in France! Think, said I, to be sure I do, they are all papists or infidels—Indeed my friend, replied my neighbour, you are much mistaken; truly there are more Pres­byterians in France at this day, than there are citizens in the United States; and among these are men eminent, yea of the first rank in all sci­entific acquirements. A number of their leading men are deists, 'tis true, and so are a number of the leading men here, and in all other countries. The number may be more in France, because of its very great population, and the long night of darkness and slavery in which they laboured—But here we are increasing in proportion to our population, in every species of what is called in England liberality, as fast as ever they did in France or elsewhere. Well, says I, but was it not from France that we derived all our wick­edness and profanity, and infidelity; sure, says I, our parson says so, and he is a learned cler­gyman. Read on, said my neighbour, and then judge. Why I protest, said I, this gentleman thinks that our intercourse with England has tended more to our growth in wickedness and infidelity, than our love of French principles; and for my own part, added I, I must confess I believe him. If the French, continued I, are infidels that come here, they can do little [Page 37] hurt to me, for I do not understand a word of their gibberish nor they of mine—and I do not ever remember to have seen a Frenchman drunk, or in a quarrel, from the day of their revolution to this. I believe said I, they do not pay much regard to the Sabbath; but alas! they may say as much of us—And if, said my friend, that be the mark of infidelity, but a small num­ber of believers will be found in Philadelphia. And yet, says he, I have been through most of the capital cities in Europe, and never did my eyes behold such a well regulated, quiet, inoffensive and peaceable people, as the inhabitants of Philadelphia. I suppose, however, that what your parson meant was in allusion to the great circulation that is given to the Age of Reason, by Thomas Paine; he thinks it was our love of French principles that enticed us to read his work; but in this, with all due respect, said my friend, I chuse to judge for myself. Paine's works were, and are sought for, be­cause, first, he was a man very active, and high­ly esteemed in our revolutionary contest; his Common Sense, is a jewel which cannot be too much esteemed—and his Rights of Man are but a continuation of the same subject; and it is richly deserving of high approbation.—Again, his Age of Reason, would never have been much known in this country if the Clergy had suffered it to rest; but they dragged it into [Page 38] publicity—let the text be what it would, ani­madversions on Paine, made a part of the ser­mon. The clergy wrote—the people read. Paine was brought to the bar of the public, and in general so ill was the cause of Christianity handled, by its weak, yet conceited friends, that Paine too frequently came off with flying co­lours. I, for my own part, continued my friend, have read over seriously and carefully that paper of which you have now read a part, and do in my judgment declare it to be a strong evidence that the writer is possessed of sound judgment, a clear understanding, and a good heart, and had I influence I would undoubtedly endeavour to induce every good republican to read it seriously, and weigh it impartially: it answers compleatly all the cavils that are so loudly sounded about our being corrupted by French principles; and his strictures on the ap­pointment of men to offices of any kind what­ever, who are not in their stations a terror to evil doers, and a praise to them that do well, argue that he is not a minister for filthy lucre's sake—that he holds the person of no man in estimation—but is determined to reprove and not to spare. But after all, said I, I can't rest ea­sy—'tis no matter to us, added I, where the people came from, or who they are, if they make a perfect bedlam of our country—No doubt says I, but William Cobbett meant the same thing, [Page 39] when he so pompously proclaimed the Church in danger. The world is indeed in a strange way—I don't half like it, I hate to be among mad people, they say a bite is dangerous; besides, not being a strong man, added I, and not much used to tussling, I believe I had better in time slip quietly out of the way—better an hour too soon, than a moment too long, is my motto; and I think a safe one. I have no pleasure in spasms, pangs, and convulsions.

I never thought, said my neighbour, that you were so fearful; why I tell you there is no dan­ger—the jarrings, discontents, and murmurings of party here, will just keep pace with the soul­afflicting state of Europe. That men there will finally be free, is clear to every unprejudiced en­quirer—and as soon as Europe shall rejoice in peace, happiness, and liberty, so soon shall this country, in renovated splendour, lift aloft the ensigns of freedom; then she will rejoice, and her joy will receive an infinite addition, when she reflects that the bright ray of liberty, which has dispelled the shades of savage barbarity des­potic cruelty, and monkish ignorance, first illu­minated the American hemisphere.—Stop my friend said I, I will consider of this a little more at leisure, my poor head begins to grow giddy, and can't hold any more at this time; but, said I, I'll not forget your advice, I'll weigh both sides of every question for the fu­ture, [Page 40] and judge as dispassionately as I can. Hav­ing said this, I bade my friend good morning.

LETTER VI.

IN the country where I was born, scarce a day passes in which the little country towns are not visited by deaf and dumb prophets, who for a small sum make the people as well acquainted with what is to come, as they are with what is past. When I was a child, one of the most eminent of these divines, plainly declared that I would stand in great dan­ger of being frightened to death. This pro­phecy has at different times made me very un­easy and at every appearance of danger I make it my chief concern to slip out of harm's road as soon as I can. However, I am very much alarmed at present, I dread very much that the fulfilment of the fatal prediction draweth near; and I have been so often plagued and frighten­ed of late, that it will require but a little more to do my turn. Indeed if it had not been for one little circumstance, it would have been all over with me long ere this time; but this gave me a little courage and kept my spirits, which [Page 41] were just ready to make a last retreat, a little longer in a state of operation. The circumstance was, that all the alarms which were so indus­triously spread by men of the first rank, and all friends of order and good government, turned out to be what my neighbour the Latinist says, an old fellow whose name I have forgotten, said of the nightingale, Vox [...]t nihil preteria, that is, as my friend explains it, only a voice: for exam­ple, when William Cobbett published what he called a formidable and alarming conspiracy of the United Irishmen, their constitution, regu­lations, and an army 50,000 strong. I quaking at every limb, believed every word as firmly as if it had been revelation, barred my gates, double locked all my doors, and if a mouse but scratched on the wall I was ready to hide be­hind the curtains. But in a short time Cob­bett grew quiet, and all our experience from that to this has proved that it was only a voice. Next our city was to be burned—I trembled very much, and I believe so did a great many more. I every night had a sharp eye about me, praised the carefulness of the friends of good government, and wetting out all the fires in the house myself, went quaking to bed—and this also proved a voice only. I was much per­plexed about the affair of X. Y. and Z.; dreamt every night of a French invasion—dreaded ter­ribly that the negroes would rebel—prayed all [Page 42] my friends to strive with all their might for to increase our navy—wished heartily for a league offensive and defensive with our mother En­gland—and thought our Envoys, the President, the King of England, and the Grand Signior, the greatest men upon earth. Think, only think of my disappointment, when this, by the plain tale of Mr. Gerry, was shewn to be like the rest, for some special purpose, only a voice. When the great Harper ingeniously catched the clue of a most dangerous conspiracy, he made the Congress-hall ring with it, and my heart throbbed violently—Lord bless me, said I, where will all this end? We have the best government on earth, except the English; and I dare say our great men would, to oblige us, make our's as good as their's, if we would but ask them—and yet we are a divided people. Thus I mistrusted my near neighbours, and was all of a cold sweat if I saw two men talking seriously—Oh, says I, they are making up the plot—and then I ran home to put all my af­fairs to rights, that I might decamp at a mo­ment's warning. But think how I felt con­founded when I got my eyes opened, and saw that the whole plan of United Irishmen, burn­ing the city, and the clue of conspiracy, were only to prepare the way for the Alien and Se­dition bills. The tale of the tubs also had its day, and produced on my weak mind very sen­sible [Page 43] effects—and my disturbance of mind was beyond my feeble powers to express, when as I was going to church on the Sabbath, a most wicked conspiracy was defeated, by the vigi­lance of some active magistrates: a conspiracy which had taken root among the taylors, who my neighbour the Latinist says, being generally people (excuse me for not saying men) feeble, and like myself owners of pale faces, were ne­ver known to be at the head of a conspiracy before. But, Mr. Editor, all these frights were only as a mole-hill by the side of a moun­tain, when compared with what I the other night felt, and, alas! do yet grievously feel.

The other evening, having finished my day's work a little sooner than ordinary, I stepped out to drink a pint of ale at a tavern I some­times frequent to read Brown's, Fenno's, or William Cobbett's paper, and smoke a segar. I placed myself in the dark side of the box, and after taking my draught, sat thinking over some of the above alarming occurrences, when in came two men, and taking their seats without ever paying any attention to me, went on thus: You think the sea-tyger a strange beast; I wish you could but get a sight of the Aristocrat. The aristocrat, says the other, you astonish me. Is not your aristocrat a man? No more a man, replied the other, (with a smile of superior wis­dom) than the sea-tyger. Odds my life, re­joined [Page 44] his companion, what do you mean? I have heard it said a thousand times that man's an aristocrat. Granted said the other, and have you not heard men say, that man is a sad dog? Have you not also heard a man stiled a bear, a wolf, a fox, a sheep, &c.? I confess I have said the other. Well continued he, in the same manner a man is called an aristocrat. I listened with both my ears—the subject was something new. Well said the other, this is plagued strange; was it not that I know you are al­ways poring over books, I would not believe a word of this. But pray what sort of a beast is it? I am able only to describe it by hearsay, I am not entitled to a sight of it—I am inform­ed, continued he, that an aristocrat is headed like a lion, its body like a leopard, its feet like a bear, its tongue like that of a man, and its teeth like that of a panther. God bless me, said his companion, it must be a wonderful beast indeed; pray where was it produced? That, answered the other, is much disputed: Clavus Beligero, who has given us an accurate account of it, says it is coeval with the devil, and ac­companied him in his first attack upon man. But this I can scarcely credit, for Milton, who knew all that story as well as the devil him­self, makes no mention of it—Petrus Albinus says, "the aristocrat is the fourth beast spoken of by Daniel;" and Johanus Scotus, who was [Page 45] well acquainted with it, says that it is the king who was set over the beasts which ascended out of the bottomless pit, of whom John writes in the Revelations; and for my own part I think he is right.

This is all new to me, I never heard a word of it, nor did I ever meet with a beast of that name in all my reading. That's not improba­ble, replied the other; yet not the less true. But are these beasts numerous? The aristocrat is like the phoenix in that respect, said the other, there is but one in the world; but that has an­swered the same end as if they were innumera­ble, for it has travelled over the whole world, and wherever it sets its foot, it leaves such terrible impressions that they can scarcely ever be effa­ced, unless by the blood of millions. God for­bid, said his companion, that ever the crea­ture should defile America. Your prayer is useless, answered the other, it has, alas! been in this country too long for our quiet—Who imported it, continued he his not as yet come to my knowledge; but one thing is certain, it was brought here from England, for it is well known that Lord Dunmore was very inti­mate with it, and acted solely under its direc­tion. What new wonder it this?—you speak of it as if it were a reasonable being. Reason­ble, replied the describer, yes, it possesses the art of reasoning to a high degree. It was this [Page 46] circumstance that led Clavus Beligero to think it was the devil's companion in the defeat of our first parents, because the serpent is said to be more subtile than any beast of the field; and what is more wonderful still, it speaks distinct­ly, and understands accurately all the langua­ges and tongues that are spoken on the earth—and its discourse is full of high swelling words of vanity. It was the aristocrat, continued he, that planned the campaign which rendered Burgoyne so famous, it presided at the Indian war feast, and 'tis said that it dictated the war speech delivered to them by the general.—It was also held in high esteem by General Howe, and planned the whole of that elegant exhibition, in honour of the general, stiled the Mezchiensa. At the close of our contest, the English through spite let it loose, well knowing it would be a worse enemy to us, than either the Hittite or the Canaanite was to the Jews. This being found out, Dr. Franklin, Rittenhouse, and a few other ingenious men, contrived a TRAP to catch it; but it is creditably attested, that about that time the crafty creature put itself under the protec­tion of the Society of Cincinnati. Since that time the aristocrat has never appeared to any but the great and well-born, and to them he is so very agreeable, that although he is of such an hideous appearance, yet ladies of the most delicate mould play as familiarly with him as if he [Page 47] were a kitten; it is also said, though I cannot credit it, that the aristocrat has been the chief counsellor, attended to by a certain person high in authority, that he is admitted into the Se­nate chamber when the doors are shut, and is always present in the house of Representatives when the galleries are cleared. Well, said the other, many a strange story you have told me before, but this is the most singular I ever list­ened to; why continued he, the English have done us more real harm by leaving that devil of a beast hehind them, than it was in their power to effect with all their armies. Yes, that's true, said the other—but the TRAP ap­proved of by Franklin is not lost, though it is a little out of order; and I still hope the aris­tocrat will be caught; and, that America may have the honor of freeing the world of this in­human monster.

Having said this, they got up, paid their rec­koning and departed—I followed their example—I ran the whole way home; often however, looking on this side, and that, for fear it would leap upon me from some of its lurking places—and I might, Mr. Editor, safely assure you that the aristocrat meets me in my waking medita­tion, and is even present in my dreams—I wish that some of your ingenious correspondents would be so good as to inform me through the medium of your paper, whether this beast [Page 48] does really exist or not—And so ease in some measure,

LETTER VII.

WELL Mr. Editor, for my own part I can't conceive of what stuff some people are made—You say, that you do not feel that plagued rib-beating and head-bumping bout—Perhaps the gentlemen, for gentlemen they un­doubtedly are, were only in sport, and you did not clearly understand them—if this was the case, I do not think it was over and above kind of either you or them, to make such a confoun­ded rompus, and so to frighten poor, quiet inof­fensive people, out of their seven senses—I am sure that I shan't feel myself the same thing this month. I feel myself dwindle very much of late—I grow paler and paler, and how can it be o­therwise? Constantly on the watch—ever on the wing—Why Hercules could not stand it—and how then can I—Frightened by plots, as­tonished with wonders, made jealous and mis­trustful by conspiracies and combinations, robbed of my natural rest by insurrections, terrified to death by whipping, pummelling, choaking, nosebumping, [Page 49] eye-bruising, and cow-skinning.—I can with the wise man exclaim, with proprie­ty, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. I was just reflecting this last evening, when in stepped my neighbour. He came in without knocking; a ceremony I will never again dispense with—for I will be on my guard, and am deter­mined if I can't get a peep at the knocker through the window, the person shall give his or her name; and unless I know them well, but one at a time shall be my guest.

What think you of times now, said my neigh­bour, as he seated himself in a chair—Think of them said I, why I am going to think no more about them—let them sight who love it: as long, says I, as nothing can be gotten by fighting but black eyes and bloody noses, I'll declare off—I'll start to-morrow morning, added I, and then let the hardest skin hold longest out. Well but I thought, replied my neighbour, that you had been always a lover of order and good govern­ment and yet you talk of running away: Is this the part of a good citizen?

I have always, said I, been a friend to good order, and that for two reasons—religion bade me love my neighbour as myself, and do unto all men as I would they should do unto me—and I do not yet believe that religion is a cypher; secondly, I always have been an advocate for good government, because being but a weakly [Page 50] little fellow, and not very fool-hardy, as I have often told you, my whole dependence for pro­fection is on society—I therefore love the law; not club law, that's my aversion; and if ever I find myself insulted, I retreat behind it, and find myself perfectly secure—But at present, says I, it seems the law is set at defiance—I re­member that in the Bible I have read these words, "There was no king in Israel, and every one did that which seemeth good in his own eyes." I began to think that is the reason of all our disorders—We have too much freedom—our chief magistrate has too little power, and therefore is not sufficiently respected. When the hon. Robert Goodloe Harper, and I. Wil­liams, humbled themselves so much as to state, with remarkable precision and infallible vera­city, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—if sufficient power had been lodged in the proper authority, all who suffered themselves to doubt, but for one instant, the truth of the relation, ought to have been carbo­naded—And you see, added I, what the Editor of the Aurora has gotten for speaking out—I wish, continued I, the law-makers would speak plainly, and tell us, if the being a volunteer, and immediately under the direction of the chief magistrate, gives any exclusive privi­leges—It has some how or other popt in­to my head that it does. I remember a [Page 51] foolish fellow in the country, having been hon­oured with the office of constable, came home in a great flurry, and summoning the neigh­bours together, went on thus: My good friends and neighbours, with the greatest good nature and love, I warn you not to provoke me to an­ger, or even tread on my corns, for the fu­ture; for, rising from his seat, and placing his arms a-kimbo, Gentlemen you must know I am now a civil officer; I am, I say, gentlemen, a constable, and may therefore, kick, cuff, beat, bruise, cowskin, or kill any man I please; there­fore I say gentlemen, for God's sake be careful. Now, says I, if this is the case in respect of the volunteers, as I for my own part have no ob­jection but it should be, because they are gen­tlemen of the nicest honour and humanest minds, and being enrolled for the express purpose of supporting order and good government, and pro­tecting us in the enjoyment of our rights, our lives and honour would undoubtedly be perfectly sase in their hands—I would only wish it to be generally known, and then every person would know, how he ought to respect these gentlemen of honour; I am sure, said I, I would do any thing, brush their coats, black their boots, or powder their fore tops, rather than be either run through the body, or shot through the head; but as long as we are ignorant what should be done for the men whom the President delight­eth [Page 52] to honour, we are every moment in dan­ger of incurring their displeasure, and perhaps occasioning our own ruin.

Indeed said my neighbour, I think we have some reason to be alarmed, but not to such an extent as to cause us to run away from the city—the moderate men of both parties, who I hope are equally lovers of their country's good, though they do not exactly agree in the mode of bringing it about, ought to meet and fix upon some method to keep under this spirit of anarchy. Delays, in such cases as this, may be very dangerous—if blood is once spilt in this mad business, God only knows, where it will stop—Both parties have arms in their hands, and in both parties are many brave men—The death of one man would only be a prelude to the death of thousands. That's what I fear, replied I—Phil­lis, Phillis, cried I, as loud as I could bawl, go and tell your mistress to make all the speed she possibly can, for we'll leave town before day­break. Away ran Phillis—and in came Mrs. Slen­der, Why my dear all this haste? Why all this haste, replied I, that's a question indeed; do you think I am going to stay here to have my throat cut, to be whipped to death, or skivered like a lark?—No, no, I'm not such a fool yet, God be thanked! Our President, said I, said our coun­try was in danger of being turned into a bedlam by French principles—But I doubt that we stand [Page 53] in more danger of turning it into a slaughter­house by wicked practice—But, said she, where will you go?—Go, said I, where should I go, but to the place I was during the last war, and then we will be safe—and if I should live, said I, to see the end of the scuffle, I'll be then in the high way to preferment—for to have done nothing, or worse than nothing for the country, you know has so highly recommended the old tories, that they are now raised to power, trust and honour—That may be true, answered she, for any thing I know; but how shall we go?—We will go in the stage—Why we have no places taken you know, and it is now too late—In the water stage then, cried I—There are no water-stages to sail to-morrow my dear—Well in a waggon, a cart, or on our feet, said I, rather than stay here and be killed—I believe we can't go to-morrow, Patty has no shoes, the mantua-maker has not brought home my gown, and the barber has not your wig ready yet—Death and confusion! cried I—My dear Sir, said my neighbour, do not tor­ment yourself to death; this foolish bustle will in a day or two blow over; and take my word for it, that your security will be more confirmed and not made less sure thereby—The eyes of every true American are on the actions of each day—The genius of America is not dead, but only sleepeth—Let us, said my neighbour, be care­ful not to overleap the boundaries of modera­tion—let [Page 54] us be calm, cool and collected—You will shortly see that those who dig a pit for o­thers shall themselves first fill it—for the pre­sent make yourself easy; I assure you, you are in no danger—So saying, he shook me cordi­ally by the hand, and departed; whilst I was forced, much against my inclination, to postpone my journey.

LETTER VIII.

IN my last you know, I was for­ced much against my mind, to postpone my journey; and as my friend said, I find all the bustle has ended, and peace and good order ope­rate as usually—Ever since I have been endea­vouring to bring my mind to such a state as not always to be so severely acted upon by the sys­tem of alarm which is still kept up by a certain description of people, I doubt not to answer some very valuable purposes. I can only speak for myself—of other folks I know but little—but if many in the union have been so plagued with their lying alarms as I have been, I think they may exclaim, like the old fellow with the great belly, in a book my neighbour sometimes reads [Page 55] to me, called, I think, Shakespeare, "Lord help the while"—I have been, like the weather-cock, the sport of every blast; like a tennis ball, ban­died from hand to hand; now up and then down, for all the world like the ends of a balancing beam—As for example: when first I heard of a French conspiracy for the subversion of our government, published in the English paper, and found that a number of our very wise men in Congress believed it, why what should poor I do, but believe it also—Ah, says I, it must indeed be true; if there were not some foundation for it, Harper, and Smith, and Otis, and Fenno, and WILLIAM COBBETT, men so remarkably gifted with long heads, would never have credited it; and I'll lay my life, added I, those men will ferret out these secret-working villains, who wish to rise on our ruin—Thus my mind was placed on the very pinnacle of expectation—I greedi­ly ran over the contents of each paper, looking for something which would prove me a true prophet: for I have ever been very much ad­dicted to the act of foreseeing, though I must confess I am generally disappointed; but in that I have good company, witness my friend Har­per—that's my comfort. Well, as I was saying, I looked, and looked, and paused, and looked again, till at long, and at last, out came the story of the famous packet directed to Benja­min Franklin Bache, sealed after the form in [Page 56] which the Directory, and all that sort of peo­ple, seal their letters of great consequence—So so, says I, my prophecy is come true at last—I thought they would ferret it out, and I see I was not mistaken—I could scarcely sit a mo­ment still, ran round to all my acquaintances, told them of my having foreseen as much long ago, and freely consigned Bache to punishment and insamy. But judge Mr. Editor, my confusion, when Bache, with so much manliness, called upon them for his packet—and when received, broke it in the presence even of his enemies, as well as friends; and lo! the important communi­cation proved to be two pamphlets—My neigh­bours laughed at me—What's come of your pro­phecy now, said one?—You foresee truly, said another—What death must Bachedie, said a third—Ask Porcupine, he is in the secret, replied a fourth; whilst I stood in the middle, as still as a mouse, and as sheepish as Hamilton when he wrote the story about Reynolds' wife.

However, picking up a little confidence, Have patience, friends, says I, you will all see—Hush, cries a man at my elbow—Robert is going to give us another prophecy—aye—aye—Harper—says a second—He foresees—Out with it, said a third. I turned, and seeing an opening in the croud, ran home as fast as my heels could carry me; from which I did not stir for three days. The recalling of this transaction has so ruffled [Page 57] my spirits, that although I intended when I sat down to write, to tell you how all the alarms one by one operated on my weak head and poor spirits—yet I find I must desist, and postpone the account to another opportunity.

LETTER IX.
To Mr. ROBERT SLENDER.

THIS comes with the kind love, and good wishes of myself and family to you and yours, hoping this will find you all in good health, as we are, thank God, at present—I was much surprised to besure cousin Robert, to hear that you had of late turned your mind so much to politics, and in particular, that you had ven­tured to correspond in the public prints with the editor of the Aurora, who is for certain, as all our neighbours say, a dangerous sort of a man. It was by mere chance, as I do not take the Auro­ra, that I met with your publications, and now write purely to give you my advice on the occa­sion—Ah! cousin Robert, if you only followed the good advice of your father, my honoured uncle [Page 58] Timothy Slender, you would certainly never have troubled yourself with such kind of busi­ness, which, believe me, does not suit such heads as yours—Is it possible you can have forgotten how earnestly he always warned all his friends and relations, and particularly yourself, how that you should not upon any account have any thing to do with state affairs, but mind your own proper business, and get money as fast as possible. He was, as every body knows, a very wise man, and to me it appears unaccountable that you could so soon forget his precepts—But how in the name of wonder, if you must be med­dling in politics, came you to choose the editor of the Aurora, in preference to all others, to correspond with? Why he is represented all thro' this neighbourhood as a most strange sort of a man, and moreover suspected somehow of a kind of an inclination for democracy, and writing and printing about liberty; and how that all men ought to be equal, and that the present system, which (as Mr. Fenno says) no body understands, is better than the good old kingly government, which you know our wise fathers always loved. You may well be afraid, as I see by your letters you are, of the bad consequences of such con­duct. See only what it has brought your corres­pondent to. Why we have been informed, that he has been attacked on account of his publica­tions, and beaten and abused in a most sad man­ner. [Page 59] —Take warning dear cousin, and think how poor a chance you would stand against such fighting fellows, when the editor of the Aurora was overcome by only ten, and it is even doubt­ed if Buonaparte himself would not be over­matched by twenty such desperadoes. Why there is one fellow who is so powerful, that he can kill at every blow, if he pleases; and then there is another, God bless us, a most dreadful sort of a man, who is sure to injure every one that comes within a scaffold pole's length of him—besides there is M. R—a most fierce man, as all this country can witness; but as he was al­ways on the right side, I only hint this, to warn you against making him your enemy, or you might happen to be burnt alive.

I had just wrote so far, when Dorothy com­ing in, and understanding I was writing to you, insisted upon knowing the whole business—It is impossible to give you an idea of the manner she took on, when she heard the dreadful danger you were in, and ordered me to set off immedi­ately, and persuade you all to come up—and in particular to offer cousin Slender the use of Dobbin, together with her new side saddle and safeguard—However, recollecting that you had moved, and not knowing whither, I persuaded her at last it would be more proper to send our oldest son Titus, with directions, if he cannot find you, to call at the Aurora office, and leave [Page 60] this letter for his uncle, which I hope you will receive, and let me hear from you as soon as pos­sible—So no more at present from your loving cousin

LETTER X.
To Mr. SIMON SIMPLE.

I RECEIVED your kind letter, and read it over with much satisfaction. My heart waxed warm on account of your renew­ing a correspondence which has been so long dropped—and for such a trifle too—I believe we both carried the dispute too far—I'm sure for myself I can safely say the bank never bene­fitted me a shilling, and I suppose it never took one from you—and to quarrel about such a thing—Ah cousin Sim, I'm afraid we have both poor heads—I thank you kindly for your advice, but I'm certain if you could have but known what mischief it has done, you never would have written it—I was to be sure frightened, and that very much, with plots upon plots, embas­sies, rebellions, massacres, systems of bribery, hot water insurrections, cavalry trumpeters [Page 61] handling a cat-o'-nine-tails, and the ever memo­rable engagement between the editor of the Aurora and fifteen cavalry officers; in which the officers gained, by manly actions and deeds of hardyhood, laurels, which shall never fade, but flourish as long as the Aurora rises. But all these were nothing to what I now feel—Lord bless me dear Sim, are you in earnest?—Have I indeed been meddling with politics? A­las! I thought I might talk of the moon for a month without meddling with her!—See what it is to have a poor head—I find I have been just in the station of the fellow in a play that my neighbour read to me the other night, who had been speaking prose all his life without know­ing it—Duce take the politics—A man's indeed reduced to a fine condition, when he can't write an account to his friend that he has been frightened, without meddling with poli­tics—Dear Simon, you studied the law a little in your youth—write to me as soon as possible, read over my letters, tell me if I have written sedition—If I have not, they can't put me in limbo; and God be praised I am not an alien. But if you doubt in the smallest degree, put the house in readiness, that was occupied by your brother Hezekiah, and send black Titus down with Dobbin—we'll lose no time, but go up to you bag and baggage; and once we are there, they must have better spies than the British [Page 62] had, to be able to find us out. In the midst of my concern, I reaped a little pleasure from your remembering my good old father so affec­tionately: I hope cousin, since you have so well, and so successfully, remembered his ad­vice, of getting money as fast as you can, that you have not forgotten another of his sayings, which still followed this—"but make not too much haste to be rich"—and then he would add, "and still remember, my dear children, a well won penny goes far."—You ask, how I came to correspond with the seditious editor of the Aurora?—If you had carefully read my first let­ter, you would not have asked. I there informed him, it was because his accounts were so fair, that his paper just read like a history—and the more I read, I declare cousin, I like him the better. I hope, dear Sim, you'll not only take this paper yourself, but cause Simon Sure, Thomas Silly, William Doolittle, and Jeremiah Thought­less, who are all our blood relations, to take it also, and read it seriously, that they may im­prove themselves and know something. Inform them, from me, that they will receive more delight in reading it, than ever they did from Valentine and Orson, the Seven Champions of Christendom—yes, almost as much as from Laugh and be Fat, or any other story book I know. I have read over all my letters with a trembling heart—I can't find that I have writ­ten [Page 63] any thing to make Mr. R. my enemy—the very thought of it makes me feverish. To be burnt alive!!—Lord preserve us! It brings to my mind the poor fellows that were burnt a­live in the buckwheat straw at the Crooked Billet—And for any of the rest, I am not so much afraid at present; for Barnabas Bigbones swears, that if they look cross at me, that he will dress them in the true stile of Mendoza, the British bruiser—But I promise you, I'll not touch any of them, unless I do it without my knowledge, just as I touched politics—Give our best respects to cousin Simple, and tell Ti­tus I am collecting a few diverting story books for to entertain him during the next winter.

N. B. Having by accident seen your name in the list of subscribers for the Aurora, after I had written this, I recollected one of your fa­vourite sayings, viz. a penny saved is a penny won—and so said I to myself, I'll e'en hand my answer to the editor—'twill please cousin Si­mon the better, it will save the postage.

LETTER XI.

I HAVE ever been a great advo­cate for the dignity of human nature, and have ever condemned that very prudent counsel giv­en by a miser to his son, "deal with every man as if he were a rogue;" my practice has ever been the contrary, I deal and esteem every man honest and honourable, unless I know by experience, or on good authority, that he is not. 'Tis very true, I have often suffered by this good opinion of man—but the pleasure I de­rive from placing some degree of confidence in my fellows, and giving no place to distrust in my bosom, amply compensates me for any little losses I have sustained.

In agreeableness to this mode of reasoning, I consider every one of our Representatives in Congress as honourable men, because I know nothing to the contrary. Says I to myself, they all have our good at heart, and are worthy of double honour. One thing, however, appeared to me very strange, that all having but one end in view, how had they come so widely to dif­fer? And so I told my neighbour—I believe neighbour, said I, man himself is the greatest [Page 65] riddle, and the most difficult to explain, that e­ver was proposed since the day that Sampson proposed his famous one to try the skill of the Philistines—Gallatin says one thing, Harper the quite contrary; yet they are both men of know­ledge, and both no doubt love their country—When I hear Harper reason, said I, then I'm on his side; Callatin replies; I change sides—I'm sure he is right. Otis, or Rutledge, or some o­ther tonguey man gets up, harangues for an hour, and in the end convinces me that I was in the wrong—Findley once more convinces me—and thus I am plagued, until at length I know no more of what opinion I am of, than I know of the man in the moon—Now that which puz­zles me so confoundedly, said I, is, whether, judging still charitably, added I, these men think that they themselves are right. Undoubt­edly answered my neighbour, they do; why if they did not from their soul, believe that they were acting for the advancement of their coun­try's good, they would be as arrant knaves as ever existed—Well, answered I, it may be so. God forbid, it should be otherwise; yet I freely acknowledge that my poor brain can't compre­hend it: God help the ignorant, said I, since the wise can be so much mistaken; for although I know but very little, this much I may ven­ture—one of them must be wrong. Indeed Ro­bert, answered my neighbour, you are right— [Page 66] but we will still hope that we have not arrived as yet to such an height in wickedness, as to pretend to be lovers of our country, and pro­moters of its good, while secretly plotting its ruin. Hope! said I, when hope dies heart breaks. I'll hope for the best as long as I can breathe; but though I hope, I can't be satisfied that all are as they should be—I know, continued I, that many a thing is a riddle to me that is very plain to other people—and this always makes me ve­ry diffident: but you, my friend have been blessed with a good education; you can read Latin and Greek, and speak Italian and jabber French—tell me, do you really believe that Harper did not know that the paper he read in Congress was a forgery? Can you think that he ever possessed a thread of conspiracy, but what was bred in his own brain? Do you think that Josey Thomas thought he was right, when he forged the cleven votes on the contested elec­tion—or, can you imagine that Blount thought he was right in that little delicate business, that has been so ingeniously hushed into silence, for the good of the public? Do you imagine, conti­nued I, that the people who so neatly dressed up the story of the ship Ocean, and served up the whole crew carbonaded alamode-de-Francaise, a highly relished dish, sit for a Virginian's dinner on the day of election, thought they were right? Or, to mention no more, can you think Dr. [Page 67] Morse can pretend that he was right, to preach the same story from the pulpit, heightened with all the Doctor's rhetorical skill, that so he might rouse his hearers to revenge; when Christ, whom the Dr. pretends to follow, enjoins it on all his followers to forgive their enemies—It may be, said I, that these people think they are right—but I assure you my poor head can't fathom it.

Indeed Robert, answered my neighbour, in this respect religion and politics are something a-kin; Christ informs us, that they who should kill his disciples would think they were doing God service; although the precepts of the gos­pel are so plain, that he who runs may read them. In politics it is nearly similar: You think a re­publican form of government is best—I think a republican form of government is the highest note in the gamut of nonsense. ^* You think there is nothing on earth, for goodness, to be compared to the federal constitution—I think it is like an old sow going to eat up her farrow of pigs. ^† Each of us no doubt, think we are right, and all these little false steps, that appear so crimi­nal in your eyes, may be easily justified.—You know it is a well known maxim, that every scheme is lawful in war—Are not these parties [Page 68] at open war, as to opinion, and sometimes as to practice too—therefore all schemes are lawful—Now continued my neighbour, if I can out­manoeuvre you by a few well-tim'd lies, a for­ged letter, or a few nicely managed votes—as I know I am right in the end, let that justify the means.

Lord help me, said I, what kind of doctrine is this. Does not the apostle tell us, "Ye shall not do evil that good may come of it."

Yes, truly, answered my neighbour, but that was long ago, and we are not altogether of his o­pinion—For Dr. Dwight, the great poet, says that the Jews slew all the male children of the Canaanites, not for any thing the poor little things had done, but least they should do evil when they could; just as we kill the young snake—not because he has bitten any person, but lest he possibly might do so. I declare, said I, it is the same doctrine to a leek—What? said my neighbour—I'll tell you, said I: the other morning, as I took my walk along the street, I was much alarmed with the noise of blows, and very high words—I hasted up to the house from whence it proceeded, the door stood open—I then saw a lusty shoemaker strapping his wife in a most unmerciful manner. I called out—the fel­low stopped, and, seemingly with much good humour, said, I hope it will do you no harm my dear—Are you not ashamed, man, said I, thus [Page 69] to beat the woman?—No Sir!—Pray, what wrong has she done?—Nothing Sir—In the name of common sense, then, why do you beat her?—Why Sir, for fear she should do wrong!—'Tis just so, said my neighbour—with all these gentlemen you will find it an established axiom—the end justifies the means—For proof of this, attend to the whole system of bribery, spies, somenters of strife, secret service money, diplomatic skill, systems of alarm—and insincere negociations—I'll think of it, said I, as I shut the door—but I am not yet convinced that we should do evil that good may come of it.

LETTER XII.

THE other evening my friend and I, after having taken a cheering glass, sat talking over the affairs of our country, as is our custom—Well, said I, the birth-day of INDEPENDENCE draws near: I hope it may'nt rain—I am an enemy to all holy days, that, and Sunday excepted—But; on the 4th of July, I'm determined to put on my Sunday coat, and treat Mrs. Slender and the children in one of the public gardens, if I should wor [...] an hour la­ter [Page 70] for it, for a fortnight after. I think, said my neighbour, it would be better for you to work the hour later for to pay your expence, for a fortnight before: for I have often heard your frolicking fellows say, it was very disa­greeable to pay for past pleasure. I declare, answered I, you are right—I'll sit up an hour every night from this to that, and the hope of the pleasure will keep up my spirits. But now let me ask you—is it not a shame, that you, who are such a great scholar, and understand grammar, and history, and all that, never write a line we hear of?—Can't you write us an ode, or a song, or an oration, for the fourth of Ju­ly?—Odds my heart do, says I; I'll carry it to the editor myself—Nay, answered he, the editor has one prepared, and a good one too; but, continued he, here, drawing a paper out of his pocket, is an ode, not for that glorious day, but for the day after—you see I am sin­gular—which you may take to your friend and welcome. I snatched the paper with the great­est earnestness, and without saying a single word, whipped up my hat, left my friend in a fit of laughter, and ran to the office with it; where I had the misfortune to not find you. I therefore thought proper to write these lines on the subject, and your attending to my friend's ode, which I have inclosed, in due time, will oblige your friend, &c.

LETTER XIII.

SOME time ago, I thought that I had gained such an entire mastery over my fears, that the whole troop, so remarkable for printer­flogging, here, or elsewhere, could not make me tremble—and so I walked about in open day, ventured even to talk in favour of the Aurora in the little beer-house at the corner, and in­deed was so fool-hardy, as to assert that the clergy were now behaving in the most incon­sistent manner, by praying for the success of Suwarrow, the pope, and the re-establishment of the Romish religion; for the downfall of which they, and their fathers before them in the church, have prayed heartily for at least these two hundred years—But this conduct raised such a buz about my ears, that I have [Page 73] been forced to run away in good earnest. What chiefly led to this was the following—One day having gained a little time, I took my stick in my hand, adjusted my wig, and walked out to see an acquaintance. Who happened to be there, as ill luck would have had it, but his reverence—So after some chit chat, about dry weather, water works, sickness, and some thoughts on death; which I thought, made the parson's face longer than ordinary, though it is not short at any time; [...]the thus addressed me—So Robert, I am informed that the reason why you no longer attend to hear God's word preach­ed on the Sabbath, is because you neither like our prayers, nor our preaching. I confess Mr. Editor, I knew not what to say—I looked on the one side, and then on the other, rose from my chair, spit in the sand box, and threw a se­gar, I had but just lighted, into the fire.—I had never contradicted the clergy, because my good father had often said to me, "Robert ne­ver meddle with the clergy—they are edge­tools;" but father's advice had slipped out of my memory at that time—so giving three pretty loud hems, by way of preface, I answered—And pray your reverence, said I, can I have a better reason? If, Robert, answered he, our preaching or praying were not orthodox, then you would have a right to quit us and go elsewhere; but what fault have you?—Why sir, said I, as to [Page 74] what is orthodox, and, what do you call it, the o­ther dox—Heterodox, replied he—Aye, aye, says I, that's it, I never clearly knew what they meant—I have but a poor head at best, and these are hard words—I would be much obliged to your reverence to tell me what they mean, and then I will try to answer your question. The parson putting on one of his airs, went to thus: I am astonished Robert to hear you talk thus—You have appeared in public, censured men and measures, in that democratical sheet called the Aurora, and your name is samiliar in every company. Some say you're a man of sense; o­thers, that you are a fool; yet both laugh at your productions; and you ask what is the mean­ing of two plain English words.—They may be English or Spanish for me, said I, much asha­med of my own ignorance; but if you please to tell me, I'll thank you kindly sir, and if I can I wont forget what you say.—Why said he, with a smile of superior wisdom, orthodoxy is the whole body of principles taught in our church—and every opinion contrary thereto is heterodox—So, said I, this is indeed to me very strange but I'll remember it—But, added I, can a principle be heterodox one year, and orthodox another year?—No sir, answered his reverence, with much authority; orthodoxy is ever the same; the principles I have the honour to preach, were taught by Christ, his apostles, and so on, [Page 75] to the present day, without the smallest alter­ation.—It may be so, answerd I, I have but a poor brain—but I confess I think otherwise. And pray sir, said the parson, what is this great fault that we have been guilty of, and of which your wise head is so full?—Sir, says I, before you come to preach at our church, the reverend Dr. * * * * never went into the pulpit, but he prayed for the fall of Antichrist, that man of sin, and this I think was orthodox praying—He preached very often against the errors of the church of Rome, and from the prophecies pro­ved, that the Pope was Antichrist; and this, because you know it was taught in our church, was orthodox preaching—Now sir, you pray for the re-establishment of the Romish religion, and preach that the French have committed a damning sin, in pulling Antichrist from his chair, converting images into money, consecrated bells into democratic cannon, shutting up the nunneries, and sending the poor girls into the world to answer the end of their creation—Now sir, is this also orthodoxy? Undoubtedly sir, answered he, for you know it is taught in our church. But, says I, how sir can this be? You told me but just now, that orthodoxy did not change, but was always the same—I ac­knowledge, said his reverence, that you have, Robert, stumbled on something like a contra­diction, and it deserves a reply. We prayed [Page 76] for the downfall of the Pope, because we thought religion would be benefitted by it—we now see that religion is much hurt by it, and therefore we wish it restored—If indeed God had brought down Antichrist in some other way, and establish­ed the true Calvinistic Presbyterian religion in its room, then we would not have desired its restoration—and this is orthodox. It may be or­thodox, said I, for ought I know to the contra­ry, but one thing I'll venture to say, that it is neither agreeable to Judaism or Christianity—I hope, Robert, said his reverence, you don't pretend to argue religion with me!—God for­bid sir, says I, excuse me for speaking rashly; but if you please sir, I'll tell you a story—Let's hear it, says he; but I tell you aforehand, there must be nothing about the French in it, for I hate them heartily—Indeed said I, there is not one word about the French in it, for I believe it is somewhere in the Bible or Testament—Once upon a time, there was a very great man, but he was not a Jew, who had the bad fortune to be afflicted with the leprosy—all the doctors in his own country were consulted in vain, and he was pronounced incurable. At length he was informed, that in the land of Jewry, there lived a very good man, who could cure him in an instant. The great man set forward imme­diately on his journey. His equipage was splen­did—his retinue numerous. He arrived—the [Page 77] man of God paid no respect to him, although he was very great—but sent him word to go and wash himself a number times in the river Jordan. The great man was enraged. Are not, said he, the rivers of my own country much better than the rivers of Israel? I thought he would have come out to me—put his hand on the place, called on God, and so healed me. How­ever, being a man of some sense, and having some wise men about him, he was induced to obey the prophet. He did so, and was cured. You have my story. I can make nothing of it, said the parson. Well, said I, I'll apply it. God had his way (like the prophet) of bringing down Antichrist; but you, like the great man, say his way was not a good way, and if he had taken counsel with the very wise Christians of the day, they would have taught him, that it would have been much better to have left him standing, than to have made use of such instru­ments; and now you would instruct him to go­vern his providential dispensations by your advice, and once more erect spiritual Babylon, bring back the images, catch the poor nuns, and shut them once more in their cells. As I said this, his reverence leaped to his feet. I de­clare Robert, said he, you are unfit to live in society, 'tis such men as you who are bringing the curse of God on our city. I pronounce you an infidel, a despiser of the clergy, consti­tuted [Page 78] authorities, holy customs, and a danger­ous man in society, and I hope we shall shortly have it in our power to lay such fault-finding ignorant fellows by the heels, that so they may learn to reverence the most useful and honourable of all men, the clergy. Having said this, he stalked out of the house with great consequence. Shortly after I took my leave. The story ran like lightening—Robert Slender is an infidel, said one—Why, he argued with the Reverend—, and the parson told him he ought to be imprisoned for the good of so­ciety. Mrs. Slender went to visit her neigh­bour—I am very sorry, says Goody Rattle that it is so bad. What's the matter, said she? Why I need not hide it—Mr. Slender is an infidel—a speaker against the clergy—a puller down of religion—and his reverence says so!—In short, I had once more to shut myself up in the house; and I have moved into the country among my friends, till the story blows over.

P. S. Your papers have come safe to hand. Lord bless me! what a story about horse­thieves, and busy-bodies, and proclamation­mistakes, and Kingston-cargo! But I cannot say I understand it all—but I'll read it over along with my friend the Latinist, (for he came out along with me) and perhaps I'll steal time to send you our remarks.

LETTER XIV.

THE mistakes that are daily made in the world, is a subject, which, if at­tended to, would certainly yield us some good amusement, and perhaps improvement too. I know I have a tolerably good memory, though, like the Irish gentleman's horse, I cannot boast of a very good judgment—I shall therefore try to amuse you a little. Mistakes may be divid­ed into two kinds, first, those that alter the terms, but do not much injure the sense—second, mistakes, that by altering the terms, entirely destroy the sense—As Mr. Reverend says, of each of these I shall treat in its order. I re­member when I was a school-boy, one of my class-mates was reading to old Mr. Slashem, that portion of the New Testament, where it is thus written, "there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth;" but the poor boy read it thus, "there shall be whipping and slashing to death."—You see he miscalled the words, but nearly preserved the sense—the matter was not great. One day I heard a young clergyman citing that text," the devil was a liar from the beginning"—by mistaking the term he pro­nounced it thus, "the devil was a lawyer [Page 80] from the beginning"—the sermon was little the worse—the sense was undoubtedly preserved. When such mistakes as these happen, I think we ought to receive them with good nature, laugh at the blunders, and so dismiss them. But mistakes of the second class ought not to be so easily passed over. As for example: the boy who read in school, "beggars' skins," instead of "badgers' skins," was, without a doubt, de­servedly whipped—for should the transcriber of the command have made such a blunder, and have sent it to the heads of the people; as the command of the Lord, what a plagued bustle would it have made among the beggars—and the butchers would have had a very disagreeable task. The man also was much to be blamed, who read thus, "Mr. Edward Young was executed at Cambridge"—when he ought to have read, "Mr. Edward Young was educated Cam­bridge." But all these mistakes are but as mole­hills to a mountain, when compared with the mistake made by Dr. Stevens, or Dr. Somebo­dy, or T. Pickering—to publish to the United States, that such ports in St. Domingo, on the first day of August, should be open for to receive vessels from the United States; when it should have been, that it would be lawful for vessels to leave the United States on and after the first of August—is such a blunder as I believe has not its parallel. The blunders or mistakes I [Page 81] have just mentioned, have a likeness of sound or a likeness in sense; but this has neither a si­milarity in sound or sense—And so I told my neighbour the Latinist, How do you think, says I, could it have taken place—That I cannot positively say, replied he—perhaps to honour more highly Toussaint, the treaty was written by his secretary, in the language spoken in Guinea, and the mistake is the fault of the trans­lator—But, says I, Dr. Stevens must have heard of it, conversed about it, and agreed to it—Perhaps not, said he, he might confide in General Maitland—the General might tell the Doctor right enough—the Doctor might write his dispatches from memory; his memory might deceive him—or, he might write St. Domingo for the United States, and the United States for St. Domingo—Chesterfield's absent man, you know, did much more than this, when he swallowed the dice and threw the glass of wa­ter over the table.—But, says I, I would suppose, that the whole transactions were regularly laid before our Executive, and I don't see, how Dr. Stevens can be blamed—I would think—, but I confess I know but lit­tle about any thing, my own calling excepted, and not half enough about that; that our Exe­cutive knows, and had as good a right to know all about it as Robert Liston, who I see has the honour of understanding plain language, and set­ting [Page 82] them all to rights—Well, says my friend; if you won't take my thoughts on this business, you must e'en take your own—but added he, my pride as an American, is, I assure you, very much hurt by this shameful affair—where the fault lies is a mystery as yet—but it will come out—It is a disgrace, as the fellow says in the play, put upon a whole nation—And Robert Liston has demonstrated to the world, that he is a man of consummate knowledge and ability-diploma­tic; for he can not only argue, but convince his opponents; for Timothy, who it is well known is no friend to Robert, confesses the fact. But said I, I suppose it cannot be of much consequence, otherwise more care would have been taken—It certainly will produce some very serious con­sequences to some merchants, replied he, who put faith in the proclamation. They immediate­ly fitted out, in order to be there by the time appointed—At the day, they are ready to enter but are not permitted—thus disappointed, they must either run into the English ports, already stalled, or run the risque of falling into the hands of Rigaud's pickeroons; in either way it will enrich the English merchants, and ruin the Americans. God bless me says I, what a mistake this was—A school boy ought to be whipped for it—the skining of the beggars instead of the badgers was but a trifle to it—But I hope, said I, there is so much virtue still left among us as to [Page 83] investigate this matter in full, and so effectually prevent such doings for the future—Having said this, I bade my friend, as I now do you, a very good night.

LETTER XV.

LAST evening I had just placed my tools in proper order, laid aside my apron, and was preparing myself to take a walk, to catch a mouthful of fresh air, when who should step in but my old friend the Latinist, with one of your papers in his hand: I have several times wondered, friend Robert, says he, that you ne­ver spoke to me about Mr. Sweezy the horse­thief, when you and I have been talking about your good friend Robert Liston. Odds my life, says I, I would have mentioned it—but the thing did not at all surprize me—Not surprize you, answered he, why, how could that be, that Sir Robert Liston would have any con­nexion with a horse-thief, a knight of Great Britain with one of the knights of the moon, as John Falstaff says, is unparalleled. I declare, said I, friend, if you talk thus you'll convince me that there's less knowledge connected with a skill in the Latin language than I have former­ly [Page 84] thought—I have not read a great deal, con­tinued I; my time for reading is very little, and my poor weak head can't bear much; but in what little I have read, I never have met with a king that was not surrounded by a parcel of rogues, rascals, sycophants and lazy fellows, who had no conscience but interest, and no god but gain! Only turn to the Bible, said I, see what a righteous set surrounded David, the man after God's own heart, I Sam. xxii. 26. And every one that was in distress, and eve­ry one that was in debt, and every one that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him. But, added I, turn to the history of kings, glance only at their system of bribery, of spies, secret service money, assassinations, open violations of every principle of justice, honour, and honesty—mark the horrid atroci­ties, which by the instrumentality of these pen­sioned vagabonds, they have been enabled to perpetrate; and then say, if a horse-thief does not possess more real honour, more humanity, more generosity, and more Christianity than any king on earth—Mark him out for me, says I, in a rather higher tone of voice, and though I can neither speak Latin, nor read Greek, nor jabber French, nor sing Italian—yet I'll lay the price of all the lasts in my shop, that I'll prove, before an impartial audience, that a horse­thief is the most honourable of the two—for, [Page 85] continued I, what have kings done, since first we found them in the history of man, but car­ried on a system of aggrandizing themselves on the ruins of millions, and endeavouring con­stantly to establish their own greatness, though the poignard of the assassin, or the slow work­ing poison, should drink the blood of thousands? The poor horse-thief—the Sweezies of the pre­sent day, or of antiquity, are so much more ho­nourable, and so far the less criminal, as the value of a horse is beneath the life of a man—Of a man, did I say? of thousands of men. I'll not dispute this with you, Robert, said my friend, but you know in the eyes of the world, the one is more esteemed than the other—More feared answered I, hastily, I think would have been a better word; for that they are feared, is a fact—but esteemed!—I am much of opinion, says I, that if esteem was food, and kings could live on it, there would not be a king in the world in a week. At this my friend laughed heartily, and said, well Robert, you grow more eccentric every day—As to that, says I, I don't know what it is, only one thing I know, I hate kings most heartily—don't mis­take me, added I, I mean their office and their power, as for their persons, God be praised, continued I, I love them and all mankind—be­cause they are all my Father's children, though like the devils, they are in an absolute state of [Page 86] rebellion to his laws.—Well, but Robert, says he, after all, was it not a little strange, that a horse-thief was employed?—I cannot see that it was, answered I—Lord bless me, have not kings their assassins? Emperors their exe­cutioners, whom they can send for a head with­out judge or jury? Have not Seignors, and Sul­tans, and Moguls, their mutes? And have not bawdy-house keepers their—bullies? And would you think it strange, that an ambassador, a ser­vant of a king, might not even employ a horse­thief, and not in his proper vocation either, but only as a letter-carrier?—I confess I see no­thing strange in it; but I have but a poor brain—there may be much in it that I can't see. Why said my friend, I have as little depen­dence on the friendship of kings as yourself, and therefore I cannot help thinking there was more in the choice of this person, than has yet, or perhaps ever may come to light. It was a thousand pities that the fellow got away; on a close examination things might have come to light, which would have been highly ad­vantageous. From the affair of Mr. Blount, and the repeated assurances we have received, through very different channels, of a strong party in the United States, favourable to the interest and political views of Britain; Liston's letters, which are in the hands of the public; and the disagreement between the commission­ers [Page 87] for the settlement of British claims, I am induced strongly to believe, that the British have not yet relinquished the idea of once more causing the United States to bend be­neath their power. Attend to the language of her hirelings here; do they not vilify our con­stitution, mock at our laws, abuse our indepen­dence, traduce and calumniate our magistrates, and talk of our freedom as if it were slavery? Do they not speak of the English government as a paragon of perfection? Smooth over their crimes, and convert them into virtues? Inform our citizens, that the English are the happiest, the freest, the most virtuous and most humane people on earth? Have they not even endea­voured to increase our system of expence? that so our citizens might be galled with taxes, and so forced to look back to the mild era of '63, when they were happy under the fostering wing of Great Britain. Now, continued my friend, keeping [...]t in view, who more fit than the horse-thief, to fill an important of­fice? From his former vocation, you know, he was necessarily well acquainted, with not only the intricate paths and bye-ways through the country, but also the different persons who were conspicuous in the late contest—remem­ber, he was not to go straight forward; but by a circuitous route, and of this Sir Robert was also acquainted. It is highly probable that [Page 88] he was to sound several influential characters, either directly, or indirectly, that so secret service money might not be applied in vain: that they might know their strength, and if opportunity offered, be able to take time by the forelock—For it is absolutely certain, that if the coalition of kings, emperors, seignors, and moguls, can prevail so as to establish a mo­narchy in France, which God in his infinite mercy forbid, our republic must undoubtedly fall: we must receive a king, one of the royal brood of Great Britain, and like spaniels lick the feet of godlike majesty—God help us, said I, I feel very much afraid indeed; I think I see the red coats once more march along the Delaware—I think I hear the groans of free­born Americans from the hulk of the Jersy pri­son ship—my blood runs cold—I think I behold the Crooked Billet scene acted over again, and the poor fellows frying in the buckwheat straw—Lord deliver us, [...]t I, knitting my hands in agony; I see—I see Burgoyne's Indian cantico—I see the savages knawing human bones—I hear their hellish yells, and behold more amiable Miss Crea's victims to their hor­rid cruelty—Where? where? added I, shall we hide! Shall we flee from the hospitable haunts of man, and dwell with the beasts of the forest? Shall we—here my friend kindly took hold of my hand, and said, my dear friend [Page 89] end your terrifying apostrophe—"the Lord reigneth, let the earth be glad." Hear what was spoken by the spirit of inspiration 2000 years ago, Isaiah chap. 24, ver. 21. "And it shall come to pass in that day, the Lord shall punish the host of the high ones that are on high, and the kings of the earth upon the earth." I am fully assured that God hath spoken this; that he will fulfil it: and I trust that you and I will live to ssee it literally and fully accom­plished. Having thus spoken, he bade me good night, and I was well satisfied, for I found that the latter part of our conversation had very much exhausted my poor spirits.

LETTER XVI.

EVER since I have known how to write my own name, I have been wonder­fully fond of new inventions—to plod on the old beaten track, I ever thought an evidence of a low grovelling spirit, a sneaking dependence, and an unfruitful genius—'tis true, many a piece of good leather I have spoiled through this itch of invention, and never found much profit [Page 90] from all my experiments; but I ever comfort­ed myself with this sentence, Well, well, if it is not good for me, it may be good for posterity—and so I have always gone on with much plea­sure, and little profit, to this present day. By this peculiar turn of mind I am induced to keep a memorandum book, and whenever I hear of any new invention—slap—dash, I pop it down in my book, for the good of posterity. It will be here, says I to myself, when I am gone, as I replace my book on the shelf—Judge then Mr. Editor, with what keenness I took down my book, when I heard of the baking of the poor soldier in Bristol a few weeks ago—says I, I have heard in England and Ireland, of gagging for im­pertinence, imprisonment, and sometimes flog­ging for drunkenness, ducking for slovenliness, shooting for desertion, and hanging for being an United Irishman; but BAKING, added I, is, as the Scotchman says, vary new—and shews the inventor to be an original genius, and not a ser­vile copier—But whatever praise, Mr. Editor, may be justly due to the inventor of this saluta­ry and humane mode of military punishment, which undoubtedly will confer a lasting honour on the mildness of the United States' martial laws—yet I trust this great genius will not be offended with a few improvements, which, with all deference to his superior abilities, I hum­bly offer for the improvement of that elegant [Page 91] and original mode of punishment. One capital defect that I would first mention is, that, if I am well informed, the inventor's oven was quite cold; now you know that in all punish­ments, if fear be taken away, the punishment loses much of its effect, and in an oven with­out heat there is not much fear—there is far more fear in a dungeon, for there a man might be eaten alive by rats. 'Tis true, the air might not be very wholesome, and might oc­casion some slight convulsion fits, but what does that signify? that leaves no marks; and with­out marks, you know, there well be but a slight remembrance. I would also remark, that in this punishment there is no degrees—You may answer, yes—degrees of duration; but I mean degrees of external pain: for instance, Put your man when dead drunk into your oven, he either sleeps out his time and then awakens, or sleeps the time appointed and never awakens. In the first case, suppose he awakens at all, what punishment has he felt? In the second, suppose he never awakens, fools and democrats will rail against the mode of punishment—Now to remedy these defects, and make the inven­tion as useful, as it is elegant and manly, the following hints are offered. First, let the oven be carefully heated, and the heat regulated by the best thermometer: when it stands at 90 it [Page 92] may be fit for use; but this must be regulated by the crimes, as follows, viz.

He must be literally baked in terrorem, as my friend the Latinist says, that is, to frighten [Page 93] others—The inventor may easily see, that I still leave the perfecting of this new military mode of punishment to himself: for there are a number of petty crimes, which his good sense will easily adapt his oven to—such as quarrel­ling, lying, pilfering or stealing, gaming, at­tending houses of ill fame, that is, democrati­cal taverns, or disposing of any of their clothes or accoutrements, &c. &c. I have offered these hints, merely for the good, glory, and honour of the army of the United States, and that the inventor, when he applies for a pa­tent (as he undoubtedly will) to the Congress of the United States, that so not only the pro­fit, but the honour of the invention may be preserved to, and for the use of himself and fa­mily, may have his whole scheme as perfect as possibly—I am well aware, Mr. Editor, that no mode of punishment can be devised, which will not be objected to by you, and your disor­ganizing democrats; but surely in this mode, in point of suffering for the same crime, there can be no partiality—flogging, you well know, has been formerly the punishment; but a drum­mer may strike lighter, or heavier, according as he loves or hates the culprit—not so here, the thermometer loves and hates all alike.

Some snarlers also, have endeavoured to strip the inventor of the merit of the invention—than which nothing can be more unfair or dis­honourable. [Page 94] honourable. They ground their arguments on two passages, one in sacred, the other in profane writ: the first is taken from Daniel, the fur­nace into which Nebuchadnezzer cast the three children—the second is the story of Phalaris's bull—But can any person in his sober senses, for one moment admit, that an iron bull or a fiery furnace is a baker's oven?—see the pitiful shifts envy reduces men to—I had some thoughts, Mr. Editor, of advising to the national use of this same baking scheme; for instance a man might bake into obedience an undutiful and disobedi­ent son; a headstrong, gadding daughter might, by a good baking or two, be sweated out of most, if not all, her prankish humours—and with the oven well heated, a scolding wife might be baked, until she would learn an effectual manner of hold­ing her tongue—But the best of all useful ends which our oven would answer is, that ten or fifteen, or twenty stout officers, whether cavalry or infantry in matters not, could a-la-mode de militaire, bake a democratical printer in such a well-heated oven, and for such a length of time, that for the future he should never give them a single moment's uneasiness—But these and many other advantages, will come more regu­larly before us after the patent is obtained.—

N. B. If any objections can be made to this mode of punishment, I shall answer them all in good time—

LETTER XVII.

LOOKING over the last received numbers of the Aurora, which you have so punc­tually sent me, and for which I thank you, I chanced to light upon that one, in which you have given us your good friend Robert Lis­ton's letters. The largeness of the type im­mediately struck my eye—so taking off my spectacles, and wiping them clean—let me see says I, as I replaced them on my nose, let me see, what we have got here?—it must certainly be of some importance, for I de­clare he has printed it so plain, added I, that he who runs may read it—Having thus said, I read it over, sentence by sentence, till I came to these remarkable words, "THIS GOVERNMENT HAS GIVEN A NEW SUBJECT OF PROVOCATION TO FRANCE." 'Tie a lie said I, a base lie—Our government, said I to myself, is, God be praised, too honest, too honourable, and too much bent on peace, to give a subject of provocation to any nation, or person whatever—so saying I arose from my seat, and stepped into my friend the Latinist—Did you not hear this? says I, as I drew my chair up to his desk. What's the [Page 96] matter Robert, says he, you seem to be much ruffled?—Ruffled says I, why flesh and blood can't bear it—Why, here's that Englishman, added I, who was sent here by the king of Great Britain for no other purpose, as far as I can see, than to breed broils, and see—says I, pointing my finger to the place, he has the assurance to say our government has giv­en another subject of provocation of France—I never in my life, said I, before wished to be a lawyer or a judge, or some great man, added I, but if I were, I would undoubtedly prosecute this—I don't know what to call him, said I, for libelling our government—Why Robert, says my friend, I did not think you had been such a friend to government; sure I have often heard you say—this is not right, that's undoubtedly wrong, ah! I see all's not as it should be, &c. &c. Lord bless me, said I, you almost put me out of patience. I'll tell you a story—When I was a young man, said I, I possessed more courage than I do now; when a man grows a little in years his passions lose much of their headstrongness, and he then begins to ponder, weigh and compare, and not to run head-foremost into danger—One night returning home from a friend's house, where I had spent a very agreeable evening, I heard a dreadful bustle in a house on the road­side—I stood on the step, paused, and would have gone on; but the wine I had pretty, freely [Page 97] drank at my friend's, heightened my natural courage—in I rushed, and to my great surprize found the husband crush'd up in a corner, and the wife banging him with a good cudgel; I im­mediately laid hold of the woman, twisted the staff out of her hand, and for my kindness re­ceived a stout box on the ear; as she made a se­cond blow, I took hold of her hands, upon which her husband recovering himself, came at me with the tongs—I ran for my life, and after re­ceiving three or four stout blows on my head and back, my cloathes torn, and my face all all scratched, I made a shift of scramble away with my life—Next morning I took one of my neighbours along with me, and went out to the house; we found them both within—I asked him why he used me so, when I was so serviceable to him?—Why friend, do you see, said he, my wife and I had a bustle—that's true enough—she beat me—and what of it?—she is my wife still—and may I never, said he, be smiled upon by a woman, if I would not beat any man, aye the parson of the parish, if he would but lay his finger on her—What? said I, though she was flogging you?—Yes says he, though she was flogging me; and I tell you a­gain, though she was, she's my wife still; and as loving a good natured creature too as ever lay by a man's side—I understand you, Robert, said my friend—though you find fault with [Page 98] some part of the governmental proceedings, yet you don't want foreigners to interfere. No, no, says I, I would, if I had power, let all these busy, meddling fellows know, that it was our own government, set up by our own consent, and answerable to us, not to them, for any wrong it may possibly do: and therefore I can't be easy to hear this servant of a king tell his fellow servant, that our government has given a subject of provocation to France—Why Ro­bert, says he, in your passion you forget the best part of your story—He says, ANOTHER SUB­JECT OF PROVOCATION; which, you know, presupposes that they have given some subjects of provocation before this one—Rot the * * * said I, and so he does; well 'tis good for him, added I, that he is in Philadelphia, where we don't love to give subjects of provocation to any body, for I am sure, if our minister in Lon­don, would speak so of the court of London, I don't know what would be the consequence—but I think he would surely be dismissed, and 'tis highly probable his house would be pulled about his ears—but we are the peaceable de­scendants of William Penn, and therefore he's safe, though, says I, for my own part I don't love a bone in HIS BODY, nor of any other body who would dare so to speak of our government—Why we could not talk in another strain, if we were as fond of fighting France as ever buf­fing [Page 99] Jackson, or big Ben, or the tinker of Corn­wall, were of entering the list to fight for fun to the royal family of his royal master.—Are not you too warm on this subject, Robert? said my friend; why, some of the people with whom I have conversed, say there's nothing in what he says, of any consequence—Odds my heart, says I, I wish people would speak from them as they do to them, as the saying is. If any man speak­ing of me should talk thus, 'Tis true indeed, Ro­bert Slender affronted his friend, and he pocket­ed it; then Robert in conjunction with some o­thers gave him another subject of provocation, but it is scarcely supposed to be probable, that his old acquaintance will POCKET this ALSO—what would the impartial public say of me?—would they not be very apt to say, why Robert has indeed behaved very imprudently, first in affronting, and still more in again giving him a new subject of provocation?—we could not have imagined that a man professing, as he does, to be a Christian, and a lover of peace, should evi­dence such a quarrelsome disposition—and in CONJUNCTION with others too! we really thought he would have behaved much more manly than that comes to—however, we see how little trust ought to be put in profession—Who would have thought it?—Well, well, we plainly see, let a man cloak as he will, the cloven foot will out at last—What do you think would be my feel­ings? [Page 100] suppose me innocent, (as I know our government is) vilely traduced, and calumniated in this manner. Could any person, possessed of any sense or feeling, blame me for being warm? I'm sure it could not be, added I—but contin­ued I, I feel much more hurt in this story than if it had been said to myself; for, as the Scotch­man says in the play, you read to me t'other night, 'tis an affront offered to a whole nation—It sticks in my throat, says I, and let others do as they will, I can't swallow it—"Dear Ro­bert, says my friend, gently laying his hand on my shoulder, moderate your passion and govern your feelings—rest assured that the good people of America are feelingly alive to the high sen­timents of honour, generosity, propriety, and the eternal law of rectitude—charity, saith the scripture, suffereth long and is kind; so do they; but when the point is arrived, beyond which it would be criminal longer to bear, they know how to assert and maintain their invalua­ble privileges, and unstained national character. The kings and potentates of the world, have no character to lose; they are so tarnished over with perjury, cruelty, merciless carnage, and unprovoked war, that the feeling historian casts down his pen, so disgusted with their horrid crimes that he is unable to proceed—they would wish us to tread the path they have already trode—that so the very idea of justice and [Page 101] virtue might be banished from the world; but he who sits on the circle of the universe laugh­eth at the vain attempt—He hath recorded it in the annals of eternity, that AMERICA shall maintain a character unsullied to the latest gener­ations, maugre all the wily attempts of fly min­isters, of artful, ambitious, wicked and deceitful kings, and their faithless adherents—Having said this, some company coming in, lest I should be troublesome, I bade my friend good night—

LETTER XVIII.

SINCE you became the editor, I have, till very lately, been highly pleased with you. I considered you as a man of a determined spirit, having one great end in view, and stea­dily pursuing it. I read your paper with both pleasure and profit, and thereby was led to form a pretty accurate judgment of men and man­ners, as I thought; but I believe, sir, you have at last gone mad wrong—Your remarks about the ship Kingston, are, I think, very unsustifi­able; and I shall now undertake to prove, that whoever they were that loaded the ship—who­ever they were who suffered her to clear out, [Page 102] or whoever he was who gave an order for her clearance, all of them acted as honest men ought.

In our dealings with each other, it is a well­known and long-established principle, that, that which advantageth me, and does no harm to any one else, is certainly lawful for me to do.—In the ship Kingston, Dr. Stevens was to sail to St. Domingo—Does not every body know, that when you add to Dr. Stevens's weight—his dignity—his office—his ambition—and his well-known and well-tried diplomatic skill—and join thereto the weight of all his attend­ing retinue—that still the ship would not have half her burden? Now this being granted—and I cannot see how it can be denied—unless it can be demonstrated, that an Ambassador is a sufficient burden for a ship of as large a burden as the Kingston—I proceed to prove, that carrying a few articles more, if it could be of advantage to any person, and disadvantage to no person—could not be a crime—my first is granted—and my second a moral axiom—therefore no blame can be placed to the account of Mr.—, who freighted, Mr.—who cleared it out of the Custom House, or Mr.—who gave the order to the Custom House offi­cer, as their authority—for their part of the business—and yet you have made the whole continent ring about it—Ah, Mr. Editor, I am sorry for thee, that thou didst publish so unad­visedly [Page 103] that inventory—And so I told my friend the Latinist—he has no right to say a word about that business, says I, he can make nothing of it—odds my life, added I, what a foolish thing it would have been to have sent the ship Kingston so far, for such a trifle, as could in reason be paid for the passage of one man and his attendant. Why answered he, Robert, you seem to have entirely mistaken the matter. It may be so, said I, mistakes are very com­mon in our days among men of the first abilities, and how then should I escape—but tell me, added I, in what?—Why Robert, said he, the ship Kingston was hired wholly and solely, for to carry Dr. Stevens and his suite, as they term it. Is it possible you can be serious? said I. I am in reality—it is an established custom. And as foolish a one, said I, as ever I heard of—a whole ship for one man—It puts me in mind of a laughable affair that happened about forty years ago in England—A Liverpool privateer took a very rich Spanish prize; the least boy in the privateer had some thousands for his share. The sailors came into port—dressed themselves as fine as possible—and every way was taken they could devise, to spend their money: they would join in cabals, engage all the coaches they could find; each man would have five or six, one to carry his hat, another his cane, a third his knife, a fourth his tobac­co-box—and [Page 104] in this state would they ride ten or fifteen miles to buy a pound of tobacco. But the fact was, they soon got through their mo­ney—but, says I, this makes it still less of a fault—if they had the Dr's. consent, and gave him enough of elbow room—But still, says my friend, you seem to forget that Congress made a law to prevent us from buy­ing or selling any thing, or having any in­tercourse with France, or her dependencies, until they would alter their treatment of our vessels and come on honourable terms of adjust­ment—No, no, says I, I have not forgotten that—Why, then you know, it was a breach of the law in the most express manner possible—By no means, said I—I remember to have read in the Testament, these words—‘For the LAW was not made for the righteous, but for sinners, and the rebellious’—so say I of this law, and so I expound it—The friends of good order and good government are not bound, nor is it fit they should be bound, by these or­ders and regulations that others are bound by. They are the righteous: Democrats are the sinners and rebellious. Mark that—they speak against authority and revile kings, which you know are God's ordinance—the law was made to bind them—now, said I, if you can prove that a single pair of democratical breeches were aboard the Kingston, then I'll grant it [Page 105] that the law was broken in reality.—Why, Robert, said my friend, many a queer thought comes into your head, but this is the most sin­gular—And yet, replied I, I'm sure it is true; suppose, said I, Schneider the printer had gotten a number of men and flogged Captain Montgo­mery, would the fault have been as trivial as Montgomery's flogging the printer?—Or, had Mr. Duane, and ten or twenty of his friends, went and kicked, cuffed and rib-roasted any of the valiant officers who maltreated him, would the fault be only equal to theirs? Or, to men­tion only one more, if the man, whom the va­lorous Sterrit killed, with so much courage, had killed Sterrit, do you believe, he would have been alive at this day? Its highly probable, said my friend, that he would not. Again, said I, I suppose you have read the paper of the 24th ult. upon account of which the editor was ar­rested, was it in any respect to be compared with Cobbett's insolent and virulent remarks on the nomination of R. V. Murray—and yet you see he was not arrested—And only here lies the difference between them: the one is a citizen of the United States who owes fidelity to the union; the other glories in being a subject of the king of England, our former tyrant:—the first mantains that all governments originate in the people, and that they make rulers, who are responsible to them for their conduct—the [Page 106] other maintains, that kings possess power inhe­rently, and derive it not from the people, to whom they are not at all responsible—and con­sequently the last is a good federalist; the friend of order and good government: the first a disorgan­izer, a jacobin and a democrat, and therefore is arrested—from all which it appears plain to me, that I am not the only one who explains the text I have just cited in this manner; I am pretty sure, said I, according to my poor judgment, that the law was not made for the righteous, but for sinners and the rebellious—I cannot agree with you, re­plied my friend; I am fully of opinion the law was broken to all intents, and that the sending those goods to the island of St. Domingo was nothing better than smuggling—One thing is plain—if you or I had done so, we should have been smugglers undoubtedly—Why that's my story still, says I—"The LAW was not made for the righteous, but for sinners and the rebel­lious—But as you do not think this a complete vindication, I will propose you another, which I think will convince you, that the editor of the Aurora was very wrong to blame the man concerned in this affair—Mistakes, you know, are now pretty common—Suppose two ships in the harbour at the same time, the one bound for St. Domingo, the other for Hamburg; both belonging to N. Crammond, and Co. These goods were intended for Hamburg, but by mis­take [Page 107] take were sent on board the Kingston instead of the other—and suppose the mistake not be found out till ten days after the sailing of the King­ston—how then could the mistake be remedied? or who could be blamed? it only was a mistake, and not done with any evil intention, and there­fore should be explained in a manner as favourable as possible. And I protest, says I, since I began to speak, I am much more pleased with this way of solving the difficulty than the other; and I do, added I, seriously dedicate this solution to the parties concerned, if they have not ere this fa­bricated a better—My friend, on my saying this, got into an immoderate fit of laughing, at which I felt so much hurt and offended, that I immedi­ately took my hat and stick, and came off without bidding him good bye, protesting that I would do as I now have done—tell you the whole story.

LETTER XIX.

IN reading the history of man, and attending to the important and noble strug­gles of eminent individuals, either for the pre­serving their liberty when assailed by rapacious tyrants, or freeing themselves from the galling yoke of slavery and oppression, I have, said my [Page 108] friend the Latinist, as we sat chatting the o­ther day under a tree, felt for them in all their troubles; my heart has bled for their wounds, and gladly, were it in my power, would I have acted the good Samaritan, and poured in the wine and oil. But, continued he, I do not remember that ever my feelings were excited to a higher pitch, than by the fate of Jonathan Robbins. Why, what of him? said I; I think I never heard his name before. I do not remember any of our ministers, or consuls, our generals, or commodores, added I, of that name: if he was one of them, to be sure he might be an object of pity—for, says I, he might have been recalled, and disgraced, without knowing for what—or dishonoured, by having a young officer placed over his head—or, when almost worn out, and grown grey in the service of his country, a number of men might come forward in the face of the world, and pledge themselves to support and protect all such, as from envy or malevolence might be inclined to raise and circulate stories calcu­lated to injure his reputation, and fully his fair fame.—In the half of the time, said my friend, that you have been conjecturing, I would have told you his story—Odds my life, replied I, let me hear it—has poor Robbins been carbonadoed for going to France (as Dr. Logan did) to make peace, and keep us from [Page 109] murdering one another?—or has he been flog­ged, like SCHNEIDER and DUANE, for writing the truth, as many people say?—or—If you go on at this rate Robert, said my friend, the moon may change before I'll get time to tell you the story—Why, said I, you well know I would fifty times rather find out a thing my­self, than be informed of it by any man alive—but I hope you will go on, and tell the story your own way—Some time ago, said my friend, a British ship called the Hermoine, was taken by the crew—the captain, and some o­thers, fell in the contest—she was carried into a Spanish port, and then sold by those who carried her in, who made off with the booty. After some time, however, the affair was found out, and it was made appear that a Jonathan Robbins was somehow concerned in this busi­ness—This Robbins, a citizen of the United States, had before that fatal affair been pressed aboard the Hermoine, and there forced to work and fight in a cause contrary to his conscience—yet this man was taken in the United States, imprisoned—tried—not by a jury, mind that—and delivered over in chains to the command­er of a British frigate, who immediately sailed for Jamaica, where he will undoubtedly be hanged like a dog.—'Tis all a joke, said I, there is no more truth in it than there is in the Alcoran—A CITIZEN of the UNITED STATES [Page 110] delivered up to the British, to be hanged be­cause he used every means in his power to ob­tain his freedom, when actually a slave!!—No, no, says I, 'tis by circulating such stories as this, that your Democrats will lose any little credit they may have acquired—Don't labour under a mistake Robert, replied my friend, 'tis as true as the gospel—Well, answered I, if it is indeed true, I am as sure as I live; that if any state government has given him up, our President will immediately claim him—Softly good friend, returned he, the President advised and requested them to give him up. Did he indeed? says I, then if he did—but I cannot believe it—'tis all over, we must be once more a British colony—for if that were not the case, could any man be blamed, at the risque of his life to obtain his freedom? I think, says I, I have as much of the milk of human kindness flowing in my veins as any a president or king in the world, and yet I believe in my heart, added I, if I were taken prisoner by an Algerine cruizer, if I had it in my power to gain my liberty by sending the whole ship's crew to Davy Jones, bag and baggage, I would not he­sitate a moment—Nor would any one blame you for so doing, said my friend—but you must remember, this was a frigate belonging to his Britannic Majesty; the chief supporter of or­der, good government, humanity and religion [Page 111] in the world—it matters not, says I, somewhat ruffled, what she was, a sloop or frigate, shal­lop or what you please—or whether she belong­ed to Dick, Billy, Tom or Harry—answer me only this plain question, Was Robbins kept there against his will, or not? if against his mind, then he was as completely a slave on board the Hermoine as if he had been in Algiers; and is it possible that any freeborn republican, who loves, or ought to love his freedom more than his life, can condemn his equal in rights and in liberty, for breaking the chains with which he is unjustly bound, and which every moment rankle in his flesh?—My God! con­tinued I, it is possible, that, if a British rascal makes me a slave, beat, abuse, and compel me to fight contrary to my conscience, and if an opportunity offers by which I may regain my liberty, once more revisit my country, my beloved relations, and dear friends, by the de­struction of my violent oppressor and tyran­nical enslaver—must I for this be delivered up by my country?—must I for this be delivered up to die?—for asserting my native right, for repelling the unjust attack of a cruel tyrant, for supporting my independence at the risque of my life, must I be sacrificed on the altar of despotic power?—If this be true, added I, what language does the unaccountable action speak to the poor American sailors?—Does it not [Page 112] speak thus—sailors of America, remember, that should you be pressed by any of the ships of war belonging to his Britannic Majesty, ye must there do duty faithfully and truly—if you be set at liberty, 'tis well; if not, though it were in your power to regain your liberty, you must not; for in the attempt, should you kill any of his Majesty's subjects, your country will un­doubtedly give you up to his Majesty, the king of Great Britain—and God have mercy on your souls?—Why Robert, said my friend, you talk on this subject as if you felt it—Feel it, replied I, is it possible for an American citizen not to feel it? if he be not actually blinded by prejudice, or money, which is ten times worse, his lost dignity, his injured independence, his degraded situation, from a citizen of the Amer­ican republic, FREE and INDEPENDENT, to be a SLAVE in a British galley, must render him completely miserable—Good heavens! says I, if his blood does not run cold—if he is not a­gonizing through every pore—'tis because he is BOUGHT WITH A PRICE—This is just your way, said my friend, you always get so warm on the subject you discourse of, that I am glad always to withdraw, lest it should injure your health—Health, rejoined I, what is health? what is life? what is house, or home, without liberty? but painted baubles fit only for children—that I do not carry my reasoning too far, said I, I'll [Page 113] put a case, which I would wish the Judge Bee's of the day would rightly consider—Suppose an English frigate, to make up her complement of men, sends a part of her crew and presses fifty Americans—after some time, these men find that it is in their power to take the frigate—they do so; but fifty Britons are slain in the struggle—they run the vessel into the nearest port—suppose a Spanish—dispose of her, and so return home, and openly avow what they have done—Sir Robert Liston prosecutes them—pleads the article of the treaty—and, astonish­ing! "our President gives his advice that they ought to be given up▪" Judge Bee presides—and these fifty men are delivered over to be sacrifi­ced to Molech—Spirits of seventy-six! said I, whither are ye flown? What shall arouse you from your lethargy? Free-born American!—AWAKE! AWAKE! ere thou sleepest a sleep unto death—But stay Robert, said my friend, have you not stated this case wrong?—You know that these fifty men perpetrated an high crime on, or in British territory, that is, on board a British vessel, and by the treaty they must be given up. 'Tis false, said I, I know no such thing; they acted virtuously, they acted nobly—they so acted, said I, that Great Britain, were they her subjects, would load them with honour—But let us, added I, examine this case—suppose says I, this frigate's crew had landed, and in­stead [Page 114] of taking men, had gutted two or three merchants' stores, and carried away whatever they could find valuable, what would you call them? Pirates undoubtedly, answered my friend. And would they not forfeit, said I both the ship and their lives? I am of opinion, said he, they would. Suppose I, or Jonathan, or Nathan, or Dick, or Tom, says I, should kill a dozen of them, or the whole of them—have I or he commit­ted a crime?—By no means said he—but they did not do this. I'll prove they did worse, ad­ded I—do not you know, says I, that in the law of God, which we say we reverence, it is fair­ly stated, that he who steals from me any of my property, must restore it four-fold; but he who steals a man, shall, says the scrip­ture, die the DEATH? But still, says my friend, admitting the full force of this reasoning, for indeed it cannot be denied—they did not come ashore and take away Jonathan Robbins—but pressed him out of one of our ships—That, says I, does not alter the case—You know the Bri­tish council argued, that on board a British ship is British territory, and hence I would suppose that an American ship is American territory, at least my weak brain cannot see the difference—And, says I, by this mode of reasoning, I prove that a British officer pressing, enslaving, and con­fining an American citizen, is a man-stealer, a pi­rate, a robber of the worst possible description— [Page 115] and that any American, confined and enslaved aboard any vessel of any power whatever, as, by his confinement and slavery all ties of amity are broken which did formerly subsist between him and them, is justifiable, in the sight of God and man, to regain his liberty, even with the destruction of the ship's crew—and deserves the highest approbation of his country, for asserting his right in so noble a manner—And, added I, 'tis all a joke to talk about the treaty, because they, by pressing a single American, broke the treaty effectually—unless, added I, there be a secret treaty, by which they are permitted to press American citizens to aid the cause of kings against the cause of republicans—which I have oftentimes thought before now, to be the case—One thing, said I, is pretty certain, there are secrets, there are clues, there are conspiracies;—but, whether the sagacious Harper will be able to ferret them out—or whether Peter will blab them, Robert acknowledge them,—or the Ros­sian committee open the way for them, is as great a secret as the secrets themselves. But, honest Americans, 'tis full time ye were unde­ceived; 'tis time ye should think for yourselves, 'tis full time ye should see what the fate of Jona­than Robbins leads to—and what security it holds out, for the safety of our hardy sailors, and infant navy—And ye shall be made acquaint­ed with it, said I, snatching up my hat, and [Page 116] adjusting my wig, which I had much ruffled in my passion—for I'll go this instant, and send it to my friend Duane, and my friend Callendar; and, says I, to that noble fellow, that I would be very glad to be acquainted with, the editor of the Albany Register—and, says I, we'll hold up the A's, and B's, and C's, and D's, and E's, who yielded up poor Robbins to that infamous government, that they may be branded with eternal execration.—

LETTER XX.

AS I sat musing the other e­vening, after a very hard week's work, who should come in but my old friend the Latinist. His cheerful countenance and friendly address always give me new spirits, and although he is a man of great learning, yet you see he talks as familiarly with me as if I were as great a scholar as himself. After having taken a stool—(for you must know, Mr. Editor, that in a coun­try where taxes are pretty high, provisions not very cheap, and house rent enormous, it is not easy for a poor mechanic, who has five or six [Page 117] children, to purchase chairs)—after taking a stool, in his friendly manner laying his hand upon my knee, he thus began: Friend Robert, what's the matter? you seem in but poor spi­rits. Very true, says I; I have just seen the end of Robbins—poor, brave, injured, betray­ed, unfortunate Robbins!—Are you crazy—or,—No, answered I, I am much as usual; I have seen him with my "mind's eye," as Ham­let says—and a horrid spectacle it was. I have just been composing his epitaph, which, says I, it is probable will never be engraven upon his tomb-stone—though it is certain it will go down to posterity on the faithful and impartial page of history—and perhaps in the very words—Here it is.

Indeed, said my friend, I see you have wrought yourself up to a very serious state of mind; but I much fear, as the scripture saith, that this case of poor Robbins is only "the beginning of sorrows." When the li­berty of nations, and the freedom of states, are depending on almost the turn of a beam—when corruption lifts its head in open day un­ashamed—when bribery is reduced to a regular and avowed system—when religion has degen­erated into hypocrisy, and men with brazen front assert that they love God, and yet plot to destroy their brother, covering the earth with blood, rapine, and horrid cruelty—when such is the state of things, said my friend, the destruction of an obscure individual, however dishonourable and perfidious the sacrifice, will be easily looked over, and perhaps forgotten—for who would attend to the burning of a ta­per, when Etna or Vesuvius blazes?

To enslave men, continued my friend, is now as earnest an object, as to free them was twen­ty years ago—Look at the combination, and [Page 120] mark the intrigues of kings and emperors, popes and muftis, princes and bishops, nobles and priests, with the whole train of their depen­dants and adherents, united as one man—and a­bove all, see republics betrayed into the con­spiracy against themselves—It is vain, friend Robert, to repine over the fate of poor Rob­bins; we may 'tis true deplore the man—but we must consider what is to become of the re­public under such a precedent of dishonour and indignity!—Liberty or its enemies must tri­umph—one or the other must fall; and, how­ever gloomy you may be, considering the state of this martyr to British tyranny and influence, his death may be the salvation of our liberties. My friend never displayed so much sensibility, the tears trickled from his eyes—and I was so much overcome, that I could only squeeze his hand as he laid it once more on my knee, and proceeded again.

My friend Robert, this sacrifice of Robbins is a very serious transaction—and whether sai­lor, or farmer, every man must think upon so strange and cruel a subject—the scheme for re­storing universal slavery is untolding fast, by the principal actors in our country; but it will de­stroy itself. In other countries liberty has been destroyed by one bold stroke—here it is attack­ed by piece-meal—The British arms could not prevail twenty years ago—they now use other [Page 121] weapons, they gain upon us inch by inch—The British treaty was a bold stroke—We now are forced to acknowledge that Grenville out­generalled Jay—and the commissioners for set­tling British claims have discovered, that we are completely entrapped, saddled with an e­normous debt, which for ages we could not discharge—and for which wise behaviour, the singer of discernment, throughout the world, is pointed with rebuke at our degraded forehead—Why need I mention, added my friend, the alien and sedition bills—stamp act—standing ar­my—excise law—and many others; they are but so many features of the grand system that is so well understood, and so warmly advocated by the friends of order and good government—God bless me, says I, why you almost make my hair stand on end—I think, I see slavery rattling her chains and sharpenig all her instruments of torture—What shall we do?—how shall we es­cape? Must we sit still until the label "SLAVE" is stigmatized upon our cheek, or branded on our forhead?—Is there no help?—Yes, answered my friend, there is, thanks to the wise, the virtu­ous framers of our glorious constitution—the invaluable right of election is still ours—Let us but use this right well—let us be diligent to canvass the character of these men that are candidates for any office of power or trust—let our pointed disapprobation ever attend those [Page 122] who are known to have advocated the British treaty, alien and sedition bills, stamp act, stand­ing army, &c.; and in a special manner, let us be careful of trusting any man who maintains, that a republican form of government may mean any thing or nothing. Indeed, said I, I think we ought to be careful—If we can do any good, and do not do it, then we are crim­inal, as my good old father used to say—but it has long been a question with me, as well as with many of my well-meaning neighbours, whether we can do any good by going and vo­ting at elections. I have often heard this ar­gument made use of—What need I go to the election?—let them put in whom they will, to me it makes no difference. I must obey, let them choose who they may. And so reasoning, they stay at home. And if a bad man is chosen, then they comfort themselves thus—Well, God be thanked, we had no hand in it. Indeed, said my friend, they are much mistaken, but they had a hand in it, and a strong one too; for by one man's staying away, the man who would honestly and faithfully serve his coun­try, might lose his election—and every free elector ought to consider his vote of that con­sequence, as that thereby an able man is chosen to act for the common good; and therefore it is a duty which every man owes to God, his country, and himself, to inform himself of the [Page 123] character of every candidate for any public of­fice, as I said before, with the greatest strict­ness and impartiality—If he be a man of true honour and of Christian-like deportment; if he be the poor man's friend, and ever ready to curb the rich in their domineering strides; at every time, and in God's name, let us ever support him; for such a man is undoubtedly a treasure—Having thus said, my friend per­ceiving it grew late, bade me good night.

LETTER XXI.

I FEEL myself still more and more at a loss, as I journey through this strange world. At one time, this is undoubtedly right and law­ful; a few days elapse and it is no longer so—this day it is asserted that such an argument is quite foreign to the purpose—to-morrow the same argument proves equal to a demonstration—Is it possible, sir, that this ought to be so?—Is it agreeable to the nature of things?—Per­haps it is so; if it be, I hope you'll excuse me, as I never learned Latin, and have but a poor brain.

[Page 124] I had just scribbled this far, when in came my friend. Well Robert, writing again? Yes says I, I was just telling my friend how plaguedly I have been puzzled. With what? Why, said I, you know when Judge Bee passed sentence on poor Robbins, he argued, that his being a citizen of the United States was of no consequence—and now we see the greatest pains are taken to prove that he was not a citizen—The wise men in Danbury say they knew him not, and the old sexton was not present at his baptism—If it had been of any importance in any way, the wise and upright judge, would have undoubtedly known it—and since it was not, why search for it now? Are they going to try him again?—or try the judge?—or prove him an English de­serter?—or—I confess, added I, I can make nothing of it—Indeed Robert, answered my friend, I think you might easily see the reason of this piece of cunning—The people of Ameri­ca felt more alive to the public affront that was offered to them in the person of Jonathan Rob­bins, than in any thing that has happened since the aera of their Independence—A citizen to be given up, because he nobly, like themselves, brake the chains by which he was bound, pre­fering death to bondage, made every lover of freedom and independence shudder, and with uplifted eyes exclaim—Is it come to this!

[Page 125] It appears to me pretty evident, that it was supposed, the yielding up an obscure individual, without fortune and without friends, would never have been noticed by the public; but when the mistake was found out—when it was discovered the America, from Georgia to New Hampshire, rang with it, then this story, whe­ther true or false I know not, was presented to the public?—Odds my heart, said I, what's the meaning of this? can it be imagined for a mo­ment, that the people are to be gulled at this rate?—are we bound to swallow all the stories that designing men can invent? No, added I, the days of priest-craft and king-craft are at an end. God be praised, we can, and we will think for ourselves. I heartily agreed with Judge Bee, continued I, in one thing; though I am not sure that I have the honour of apply­ing it after his manner—His being or not being a native of America, in my opinion, is out of the question—one thing is certain, it has not been disputed, that several years ago he applied for, and received a protection, as an American citizen, attested in due form—nevertheless, al­though sailing in one of our vessels, and having his protection, on which he depended, he was pressed by these sea-robbers; his protection des­pised; and in that, the government of the Uni­ted States—For they were either bound to pro­tect him, or they were not: If they were not, [Page 126] why was he granted one? Was it to mock him? or throw him of his guard, that so he might fall into the hands of enemies, from whom he expected, and indeed received no mercy?—If they were bound to protect a man, to whom, in the usual form, a protection had been granted, then was it not as great an insult, as could well be offered to an independent nation, to pay neither respect to its flag, or its public and ap­proved acts?—I do not know, continued I, that ever I have been more affected by any subject, than I have by this—Poor, unfortunate, brave men!—why are ye thus neglected? why is any nation on earth suffered thus to insult us? Let our government come plainly forward and ac­knowledge, that it cannot yield a sailor protec­tion: or else let them resent such degrading be­haviour with proper spirit, and so for ever put an end to the business.

I heartily wish, said my friend, this affair had never happened; for I am convinced it will much lessen us in the eyes of the world. Our country is very extensive—in the increase of our population our strength exists—to encourage foreigners therefore, to come and settle among us, is a plan laid in profound wisdom—The hardy and laborious Irish and Germans, flying from bondage, and settling among us, ought to be considered as highly advantageous; and no­thing so much encourages men to settle in any [Page 127] country, as a thorough belief that there they will be protected in their lives, property, and their invaluable privileges—But how will this damp the spirits of Europeans; if they should emigrate to this country, and even be admitted to the rights of citizenship, yet with their attested certificates in their hand, they may be pressed aboard a king's ship, forced to fight against their conscience, or expire under the lash—But, continued my friend, I trust this affair will not be suffered to sleep in silence—Our Representatives are acquainted with it, it was not done in a corner—it calls loudly for a close investigation—Robbins, 'tis true, has suffered—he cannot be restored—but the like may again happen, and we ought to be prepared to meet every difficulty—Entirely occupied by my friend's discourse, and my own reflec­tions, I continued for some time to muse—at last—You are absolutely right, says I, and I hope they will pay that attention to the subject which it deserves. But—as I said this, I look­ed up, but to my astonishment my friend was gone—which so disturbed me, that I could pursue the subject no farther—

LETTER XXII.

HAVING heard that there was a tavern at about the distance of a mile or so from my favourite country spot, where now and then a few neighbours meet to spit, smoke segars, drink apple whiskey, cider, or cider­royal, and read the news—a few evenings ago, I put on my best coat, combed out my wig, put my spectacles in my pocket, and a quarter dol­lar—This I thought was right; for although Mrs. Slender told me eleven-pence was enough, says I, I'll e'en take the quarter dollar, for a man always feels himself of more consequence when he has got good money in his pocket—so out I walks, with a good stout stick in my hand, which I always make a point to carry with me, lest the dogs should make rather freer with my legs than I could wish. But I had not gone more than half the way, when, by making a false step, I splash'd my stocking from the knee to the ancle—Odds my heart, said I, see what a hand I have made of my stocking; I'll be bail, added I, I'll hear of this in both sides of my head—but it can't now be helped—this, and a thousand worse accidents, which daily happen, are all occasioned by pub­lic [Page 129] neglect, and the misapplication of the pub­lic's money—Had I, said I, (talking to myself all the while) the disposal of but half the in­come of the United States, I could at least so order matters, that a man might walk to his next neighbour's without splashing his stock­ings, or being in danger of breaking his legs in ruts, holes, gutts, and gullies. I do not know, says I to myself, as I moralized on my splash'd stocking, but money might with more profit be laid out in repairing the roads, than in marine establishments, supporting a standing army, useless embassies, exhorbitant salaries, giv­en to many flashy fellows that are no honour to us, or to themselves, and chartering whole ships to carry a single man to another nation—Odds my life, continued I, what a number of difficul­ties a man labours under, who has never read farther than Lilly's grammar, and has but a poor brain—had I been favoured with a good educa­tion, I could no doubt readily see the great use­fulness of all these measures of government, that now appear to me so unaccountable—I could then, said I, still talking to myself, see the rea­son why the old patriots, whose blood flowed so freely in purchasing our independence, are cast aside, like a broken pitcher, (as the scripture says) and why the old tories and active refu­gees are advanced to places of power, honour, and trust—I could then be able to explain, why [Page 130] Robbins, an American citizen, for killing an Englishman, who held him a slave, and so gain­ing his liberty, was delivered to the English to be hanged—and Sterret, who killed a veteran sailor, who had formerly fought and bled in the cause of his country, and then was bravely doing his duty, yet remains unpunished—I would then be able to see clearly the reason why James Ross should be advanced to be governor of Pennsylvania in preference to Thomas M'Kean, which to me appears as great a wonder as how George III. Paul of Russia, the Emperor, the humane Suwarrow, and the well­meaning William Pitt, are well exercised, expe­rimental Christians, fighting for the glory of God, the support of true evangelical religion, and the protection of civil and religious LIBER­TY, and good order.

But all these things are to me, by the want of polite learning, so great mysteries, that I have been searching for some time for a man of true learning and goodness of heart, on whose sleeve I might six my political faith, that so I might jog quietly on through life, without thinking for myself—but indeed I have not yet found him—As I said this, by accident I looked up, and perceived to my surprise that if I had gone but one step further, I would have actually knocked my nose against the sign-post—I de­clare said I, here I am—this is a tavern indeed. [Page 131] I then felt in my pocket, if I had my quarter dollar, which to my joy I found—I then unbut­toned my coat, to shew my silk waistcoat, pul­led my watch chain a good piece longer out of my pocket, fixed my hat a little better on my head—and then advanced boldly into the tavern—But I see I am got to the end of my page, and therefore must defer the remainder of my adventure to another opportunity.

LETTER XXIII.

I STEPPED boldly in, as I told you in my last, and calling for the landlord—a plain looking man, pretty much advanced in years came forward. Make me a good glass of your gin toddy—Yes sir—And in a few minutes I found myself in possession of a brimmer.—I had but taken one good sup, lit my segar, and put on my spectacles to read the news, when the conversation of two men, who came in just as I entered, engaged my attention—the one I found was a citizen, the other an alien, and as I shall give you their conversation in their own words, you may know them by these names—

I don't trouble myself much about it.

That indeed is very strange. Han't you been here fourteen years?

Yes, I have, but what of that?

What of that? why don't you live a­mong us?—You have a family, and you know what is good for the whole, is, and must be good for you.

Yes, I know that; but as I am an alien, I have no right to speak of what I think good—If I do, you know I may be suspected, and so informed against, and next sent out of the country, to the ruin of my little family.

You need not be a morsel afraid—our President (God bless him) is a very good and a very merciful man—You are safe enough.

I expect I am—for let me tell you, I wish so to act as never to put myself in the power of a man, who could sign any law that abolishes the trial by jury.

Aye, aye, I see how the land lies—You are a democrat.

As to that I can't clearly say, as I don't well understand the term.

Not understand it! that's strange now. Well, I'll tell you—A democrat is a leveller, a destroyer of all order, a lover of the French, who wish to overthrow all order, sacred and human—a democrat delights in blood, murder, [Page 133] and rapine—and denies the being of both God and the devil.

God bless me—then I am no democrat; but in the name of common sense, who told you that a democrat is such a being?

Why Peter Porcupine, Fenno, Brown, and I don't know how many more.

Indeed! and are these your authori­ties? I see you are well informed truly.

Aye, aye, these are the men whom you will not often find mistaken—they are good fe­deralists.

Yes, so I suppose—for you, I should think, know that Porcupine vilifies your con­stitution, ridicules your laws, sneers at your freedom and independence, and glories in his being a British subject—Fenno says a republican government is the highest note in the gamut of nonsense; whilst Brown, and his learned part­ner, evidence there love of freedom, patriot­ism and veracity, in every page of their impar­tial and well conducted Gazette—Don't how­ever misunderstand me—perhaps I am partial to Paddy Brown, for you must know, he is my own dear countryman, though by his constant and vulgar abuse of every thing that is Irish, he endeavours to persuade the world he is no Irish­man, but a Hottentot.

Hoite-toite—what have I got here? I protest if any body should have told me, I [Page 134] would not have believed it—I find by your way of talking, that Duane is your favourite, and—you are a M'Keanite.

I told you before, I don't trouble my­self much about such matters—but I'll never deny my sentiments; if I had fifty votes, as I have not one, for which at present, I am very sorry, I should give them all for M'Kean—and as I never assert any thing without a reason, I would vote for Mr. M'Kean, because he has ever been zealous for the rights of man, true to the genuine principles of republicanism—I have read the journals of the debates of Congress, in ′76, ′77, &c. and there I saw Thomas M'Kean a very conspicuous character—and for his beha­viour at that period, the torics have not yet, nor ever will they forgive him—In the conven­tion, when your constitution was formed, who displayed the most real knowledge? Who was most active? Was it not Thomas M'Kean? To what act has he ever put his hand, that was not highly advantageous for the United States? I know the tories will, one and all, answer,—to the INSTRUMENT OF INDEPENDENCE—and they will prove that they think so on the day of election—As a president of Congress, as a mem­ber, as a man, they can say nothing to him, but that he was uniformly a foe to Great Britain—In the convention, on the bench, in the church, View him as a patriot, a lawyer, a [Page 135] Christian, and a man—his conduct in all these places and stations, have woven for him such a garland of honest fame, as may make his ene­mies sicken with envy, but which all their in­trigues shall never be able to tarnish.

Well! and what of all that? James Ross is a good man—he never did any harm: he is a man of ability, and by the time he is as old as Judge M'Kean, he may be as honour­able—

No, never—Remember, he advocated the British treaty, which every good man in the Union reprobates—the alien and sedition laws, which he also supported, call loudly on every foreigner, to oppose his election; for thereby they see clearly how much he is their friend—His warmness on the bill for a stand­ing army, calls loudly on the independent far­mer and true American—They may easily dis­cern that, as soon as a standing army is strong enough, their liberty is no more; and by vo­ting for him, they openly approve of all these laws, and many others, equally hurtful; as the stamp act, eight per cent loan, funding system, bank schemes, &c.

Well, all this sounds well—but there's no reality in it.

Reality—'tis every word as true as you are alive.

I don't dispute it my friend—but there's no reality in voting that way.

Why? what the deuce do you mean by reality.

Why I'll tell you—some years ago, I talked as you do now, about liberty, freedom, and such notions—got myself a member of the democratic society, and voted for Swanwick—Well, at this time I had a horse and a dray, and plenty of work: but mark the consequence—when I waited on my employers, "Sir, bring in your bill," says one—" How much do I owe you," said another—" Swanwick will employ you," said a third—My dray stood still—day after day it was the same thing—poverty present­ed itself—I knew not to what hand to turn—At last a thought struck me, and a lucky one it was—I went to Mr. P. told him my story, at which he laughed heartily—At length says he, And suppose I should get you as much work as you could do, what then? you would vote again for Swanwick"—Said I, 'tis a folly to multiply words, but I'll give you my oath if you desire it, that I'll never vote with the de­mocrats again as long as I live; only get me something to do. Away he goes, without more ado, wrote by me a line to Mr. A. Mr. B. Mr. C. Mr. D.—since that to this I never wanted work—I have now six good horses and drays—I own two good brick houses, and have two [Page 137] good lots besides. Now this is the reason I said there is no reality in voting as you would wish. I was a democrat, and I might have starved—I turned tail to them, and I find there is good picking in being a federalist; but with democrats you may suck bare bones—Do you understand me?

Yes, that I do persectly, and I sup­pose you think you are free, don't you?

Yes, yes, I am free—I have it in my power to vote for Mr. M'Kean and lose all I have got, or vote for Mr. Ross, and double my possessions.

But I think you told me you was a citizen of the United States?

Yes, and so I am.

Suppose the British should offer you 1000 a-year, to send them such intelligence as they should agree with you for?

What sir! do you mean to insult me? I would not sell my country for all the wealth in the world.

And yet according to your own words you would sell it for a small sum, aye, and have done it too, for a little daily employment—Right lay on one side, interest lay on the other—but interest weighed down right, and you voted contrary to your conscience—and like all traitors, you enjoy the fruits of treason, for I can call it by no gentler name. Now, shew [Page 138] me a man who would vote against his judgment lest he should hurt his interest, and I'll shew you a traitor, who, were it in his power, would sell his country—only make it for his interest.

I confess I feel a little ashamed—I never saw the matter in this light before—I will think of this more seriously—I hope I have not been altogether so criminal as you would make me; however, I'll act more cautiously for the future,—Lord bless me, I hate a traitor as I hate the devil.

As he said this, they both rose, paid their shot and departed—And after having taken another sup, I began to read the news.

LETTER XXIV.

ROBERT SLENDER, to the aristocrat, the democrat, the would-be-noble, ex-noble, the snug farmer, the lowly plebian, the bishops and clergy, reverend and right rev­erend, doctors and V. D. M's. little men or title men, gentlemen and simple men, laymen and draymen, and all other men, except hang­men, to whom he hath an aversion, throughout [Page 139] this great and flourishing STATE, sendeth greet­ing:

Whereas, a great and important day draw­eth near, in which ye are to exercise a great right, no less than to choose, elect, set apart, solemnly dedicate, appoint, and highly honour, either Thomas M'Kean, chief judge of Penn­sylvania, or James Ross, practitioner in law, with the high sounding title, power, and au­thority, of Governor of this State—Having thrown off his apron, laid aside his tools, and neglected for a small time, the honourable and ancient employment of shoe-mending, he hath, on account of the great division, dissension, and contradiction that exists, the fictions, lies, stories, calumnies, misrepresentations, wrong interpretations, addresses, resolutions, asser­tions, and confutations, thought proper not to address one of you, but all of you, to call upon you in the most solemn, awful, serious, earnest, and interesting manner, to be upon your guard, to open your ears, and attend even to a mender of shoes.

Ye aristocrats, and great men, whether mer­chants, doctors, proctors, or lawyers, who sigh for greatness, and long for dominion, whose hearts yearn for the glory of a Crown, the splen­dor of a court, or the sweet marrow bones that are to be pick'd in his Majesty's kitchen—whose eyes ache painfully, once again to see the stars, [Page 140] crosses, crescents, coronets, with all the hiero­glyphicals, enigmaticals, emblematicals, and all the other cals, including rascals, which a­dorn the court of kings—give a strong, true, and decided vote for James Ross, who supports, approves, hopes for, longs for, and sighs for all these.

Ye bishops and clergy, adorers of the triple crown, the mitre, the sable, the high seat in civil power, the much longed for, an establish­ed church, and the ancient and profligate thing called tythes—unite your forces, set Christianity at defiance, and give a firm vote for James Ross.

Ye old tories and refugees, British spies, spe­culators, guides, and pensioners, approvers of British policy, aimers and designers, who in your hearts wish again to crouch under the protecting paw of the British lion—arrange your forces, and give a fair vote for James Ross, he's your sincere friend.

Ye supporters of the British treaty alien bill, sedition law, stamp act, excise, standing army, funding system, who believe that public debt is a public blessing, who say that republi­canism is any thing or nothing, and maintain that treaties made under the sanction of the CONSTITUTION are superior to it—draw near—be not idle on the day of election, support James [Page 141] Ross, he thinks as ye do, acts as you act, and will follow where ye lead.—

Ye democrats, soldiers of ′76, ye supporters of our independence, ye quellers of Great Bri­tain, ye Americans, in heart and in hand, draw near, remember Thomas M'Kean is your broth­er, the firm freeman, and the real Christian—give him your vote.—

Ye free born Americans, whose hearts beat high for liberty and independence, who fear not the threats, and disdain the frown of all the ty­rants on earth; assert your right, make known that ye have not forgotten the late struggle, that the mean devices, and shallow arguments of the X. Y. and Z's. of the present day, are not able to trick you out of your liberties, or make you the tools of a foreign despot—vote for Thomas M'Kean, the constant asserter of your rights and liberties.—

Ye honest, ye independent, ye virtuous far­mers, who sincerely wish to support that une­qualled and glorious instrument, the Constitution of the United States, untarnished and unadulter­ated, that ye may leave it whole and entire, a sacred deposit to posterity—be not inattentive, your best interest is at stake, join not with that troop, but give an honest vote for Thomas M'Kean, the asserter, supporter, and defender of the invaluable rights of his country.—

[Page 142] Ye honest and industrious mechanics, who daily sweat for the support of your families, who, in the hour of danger, are ever found foremost in the ranks to defend your own and your own and your country's rights—remember the frame law of the city of Philadelphia, and vote for Tho­mas M'Kean, whom great men cannot make wink at injustice and oppression.—

Let Porcupine growl, Liston pet, the long list of English agents, speculators, approvers of the fate of Jonathan Robbins, tories, and refu­gees, gnash their teeth in vain; be true to your country, proof against bribery, true to pos­terity, true to yourselves—arrange ye under the banners of freedom, and ONCE MORE con­quer—let the word be, LIBERTY and M'KEAN.