"And now, Dannie, mend the fire with another Christmas log. You,
Willie, open the windows at top and bottom, to let out the smoke the
young historian will be sure to raise. Laura, my dear, trim the lamp;
and you, Ella,--will you have the kindness to put a little sugar in
your uncle's cider?--there's a darling! Ned, my boy, just tumble
sleepy-headed Charlie there out of his comfortable nap, and touse him
into his waking senses again. All right? Now I would have every one of
you put your thinking-caps square and tight upon your heads, and keep
all your ears about you; for, depend upon it, what I am now going to
tell you is so full of hard points and tough knots, that, should you
but lose the crossing of a 't,' or even the dotting of an 'i,'
thereof, all the rest will be to you as so much hifalutin
transcendentalism." (Here Uncle Juvinell took a gigantic swallow of
cider, and pronounced the sugar a decided improvement; while the
little folks wrote something on their slates, very long, and which no
two of them spelt alike. Uncle Juvinell smacked his lips, and then
resumed.)
Now, you must know, my dear children, that Great Britain, at the time
of which we are speaking, was, and for many years had been, and, in
fact, still is, and, in all human likelihood, will ever continue to
be, burdened with a mountain-load of debt, which has already given her
a frightful stoop in the shoulders, and may, in time, grow to such an
enormous bulk as to break her sturdy old back outright. She had, as
you have seen, added all French America to her dominions; but with
this increase of power and glory, that made her king and nobles smile
and sing with joy, came also an increase of debt and trouble, that
made her common people scowl and growl with want and discontent. The
expenses of the late war with France had added the weight of another
AEtna or Sinai to the already staggering load that chafed her back;
and, sorely grieved thereat, she began casting in her mind what might
be done to lighten it a little.
"My young Colonies," said our mother to herself, "which were planted
by my love so many years ago, have grown to a goodly size, and
prospered in a wonderful manner, under my fostering care, for which
they owe me many thanks; and, being quite old and strong enough, must
now repay it by taking their due share of my heavy burden."
Now, in all this, our mother did but deceive herself: for these
Colonies had been planted by her oppression, not by her love; they
had grown by her neglect, not by her fostering care. Therefore, they
did not, as she pretended, owe her either love or thanks, although
they gave her both; and she had no right to make them carry her burden
without their consent. Strange as it may appear, these infant Colonies
loved their mother to distraction, in spite of her unmotherly
treatment of them; and would have gone any length to serve her,--even
to the extent of bearing double the burden she would have laid on
them,--had she been wise enough to consult their wishes about the
matter, and suffer them to lay it on their own shoulders, in their own
fashion, and of their own free will. To this the perverse old mother
would not listen for a moment; and, without pausing to reflect what
might be the consequences, took an AEtna or a Sinai from the load on
her own shoulders, and clapped it on those of her children, who sat
down under it plump, and sturdily refused to budge until they should
be allowed to put it there themselves. Whereupon, this stiff-necked,
wrong-headed old Britannia (for such was her Christian name) was
exceeding wroth, made an outlandish noise among the nations, and even
went so far (you will be shocked to hear) as to swear a little. Seeing
there was no help for it but to remove this AEtna, she did so with as
good a grace as could be expected in a family-quarrel; but was so
indiscreet and short-sighted as still to leave a very small burden,--a
mere hillock indeed,--just by way, as she said, of showing that she
had the right to load and unload them when and how it suited her
sovereign pleasure best.
Now, be it known, it was not the burden they had to carry of which
these generous and high-spirited Colonies complained so bitterly; but
that they should be denied the right of freely judging when and how
and wherefore they were to be taxed,--a right that had been the pride
and boast of Englishmen time out of mind. As for the matter of the
burden, had that been all, they could have danced, ay, and blithely
too, under AEtna and Sinai both, had the load but been of their own
choosing, of their own putting-on, and of their own adjusting.
To add to their distress and humiliation, this hardest and
unnaturalest of mothers now set over them judges, who were strangers
to them, and loved them not; who were to hold their places, not, as
theretofore, during good behavior, but at her will and pleasure.
Another right, as dear to Englishmen as life itself, was taken from
them,--to wit, the right of trial by jury; which gave every person,
great or small, suspected or known to be guilty of any crime against
the laws of the land, the privilege of a speedy trial, in open court,
in the place where the crime may have been committed, and by a jury of
honest and impartial men. Instead of this, the person accused was to
be taken aboard some ship-of-war, likely as not a thousand miles from
Christian land, and there tried by some authorities of the navy, who
would know but little, and must needs care still less, concerning the
person under trial, or his offence.
Under these and many other oppressions and injuries, the young
Colonies groaned grievously. But, for all that, they were not to be
subdued or broken. Time and again, they sent petitions to this
unkindest and wilfulest of mothers, beseeching her, in humble and
loving and dutiful terms, to remove this degrading burden from their
shoulders, and once more receive them as children into her maternal
bosom; warning her, at the same time, of what must be the melancholy
consequences, if she hearkened not to their prayers. Then was the
time, if ever, when, by a few kind words betokening a desire for
reconciliation, she might have secured and made fast the love of these
devoted and affectionate children for ever; and, had she been as wise
as she was powerful, even so would she have done. But, like the Egypt
of olden times, she did but harden her heart against them all the
more, even to the hardness of the nether mill-stone; and only sought
how she could the more easily grind them into obedience and
submission. She had grown to be mighty among the nations, this
Britannia. Her armed legions told of her power by land; her ships of
war and her ships of commerce whitened a hundred seas. The great sun,
that set on every kingdom of the known earth, she boasted never went
down on her dominion. Wherefore was she swollen and big with pride,
and from a high place looked haughtily down upon the little nations at
her feet. What height of presumption was it, then, in these
insignificant young Colonies, struggling for bare existence off there
on the uttermost edges of the civilized earth, thus to lift themselves
against her sovereign will, and dare dispute her high decrees! It was
not to be borne: she would humble them for this presumption, chastise
them for their disobedience, and show them what a terrible thing it
was to provoke her wrath. Her heart thus steeled to mercy, she stayed
not her hand, but sent her hosts of armed men in her fleets of armed
ships, to lay her heavy yoke, and fit it firm and fast on the necks of
her rebellious children.
Beholding this, and that it were vain to hope for reconciliation, the
Colonies, with one voice, with one indignant voice, exclaimed, "Now,
since our mother seems bent on treating us as slaves and strangers,
and not as children, then are we compelled, in our own defence, to
treat her, not as our mother, but as a stranger and our enemy. And
bear us witness, O ye nations! how long and humbly and earnestly we
have prayed that there should be love and peace between us and this
our mother; and bear us witness also, that, although we now lift our
rebellious hand against her, there is no hatred in our hearts, even
now, but rather sorrow unspeakable, that she should at last have
driven us to this saddest, this direfulest of alternatives." Then,
moved with one spirit (that of the love of freedom), and bent on one
purpose (that of the defence of their sacred rights), they rose in
their young strength, and, commending their just cause to the God of
hosts, made that last appeal,--which, to a brave and virtuous people,
has ever been the last,--the appeal to arms. And so they did, while
the nations looked on in wonder and applause.