Chapter I - The Author's Profession Of Faith

Produced by David Widger

THE WRITINGS OF THOMAS PAINE, VOLUME I.

By Thomas Paine

Collected And Edited By Moncure Daniel Conway

Transcriber's Note:This file posted, on the US President's Day Holiday,

in memory of Thomas Paine, one of our most influential and most

unappreciated patriots.

THE AMERICAN CRISIS

Table of Contents

Editor's Preface

The Crisis No. I

The Crisis No. II - To Lord Howe

The Crisis No. III

The Crisis No. IV

The Crisis No. V - To General Sir William Howe

- To The Inhabitants Of America

The Crisis No. VI - To The Earl Of Carlisle, General Clinton, And

William Eden, ESQ., British Commissioners At New York

The Crisis No. VII - To The People Of England

The Crisis No. VIII - Addressed To The People Of England

The Crisis No. IX - The Crisis Extraordinary - On the Subject

of Taxation

The Crisis No. X - On The King Of England's Speech

- To The People Of America

The Crisis No. XI - On The Present State Of News

- A Supernumerary Crisis (To Sir Guy Carleton.)

The Crisis No. XII - To The Earl Of Shelburne

The Crisis No. XIII - On The Peace, And The Probable Advantages

Thereof

A Supernumerary Crisis - (To The People Of America)

THE AMERICAN CRISIS.

EDITOR'S PREFACE.

THOMAS PAINE, in his Will, speaks of this work as The American Crisis,

remembering perhaps that a number of political pamphlets had appeared in

London, 1775-1776, under general title of "The Crisis." By the blunder

of an early English publisher of Paine's writings, one essay in the

London "Crisis" was attributed to Paine, and the error has continued

to cause confusion. This publisher was D. I. Eaton, who printed as

the first number of Paine's "Crisis" an essay taken from the London

publication. But his prefatory note says: "Since the printing of this

book, the publisher is informed that No. 1, or first Crisis in this

publication, is not one of the thirteen which Paine wrote, but a

letter previous to them." Unfortunately this correction is sufficiently

equivocal to leave on some minds the notion that Paine did write the

letter in question, albeit not as a number of his "Crisis "; especially

as Eaton's editor unwarrantably appended the signature "C. S.,"

suggesting "Common Sense." There are, however, no such letters in the

London essay, which is signed "Casca." It was published August, 1775,

in the form of a letter to General Gage, in answer to his Proclamation

concerning the affair at Lexington. It was certainly not written by

Paine. It apologizes for the Americans for having, on April 19, at

Lexington, made "an attack upon the King's troops from behind walls and

lurking holes." The writer asks: "Have not the Americans been driven

to this frenzy? Is it not common for an enemy to take every advantage?"

Paine, who was in America when the affair occurred at Lexington, would

have promptly denounced Gage's story as a falsehood, but the facts known

to every one in America were as yet not before the London writer. The

English "Crisis" bears evidence throughout of having been written in

London. It derived nothing from Paine, and he derived nothing from it,

unless its title, and this is too obvious for its origin to require

discussion. I have no doubt, however, that the title was suggested

by the English publication, because Paine has followed its scheme in

introducing a "Crisis Extraordinary." His work consists of thirteen

numbers, and, in addition to these, a "Crisis Extraordinary" and a

"Supernumerary Crisis." In some modern collections all of these have been

serially numbered, and a brief newspaper article added, making sixteen

numbers. But Paine, in his Will, speaks of the number as thirteen,

wishing perhaps, in his characteristic way, to adhere to the number

of the American Colonies, as he did in the thirteen ribs of his iron

bridge. His enumeration is therefore followed in the present volume, and

the numbers printed successively, although other writings intervened.

The first "Crisis" was printed in the Pennsylvania Journal, December

19, 1776, and opens with the famous sentence, "These are the times that

try men's souls"; the last "Crisis" appeared April 19,1783, (eighth

anniversary of the first gun of the war, at Lexington,) and opens with

the words, "The times that tried men's souls are over." The great

effect produced by Paine's successive publications has been attested by

Washington and Franklin, by every leader of the American Revolution,

by resolutions of Congress, and by every contemporary historian of the

events amid which they were written. The first "Crisis" is of especial

historical interest. It was written during the retreat of Washington

across the Delaware, and by order of the Commander was read to groups of

his dispirited and suffering soldiers. Its opening sentence was adopted

as the watchword of the movement on Trenton, a few days after its

publication, and is believed to have inspired much of the courage which

won that victory, which, though not imposing in extent, was of great

moral effect on Washington's little army.

THE CRISIS

THE CRISIS I. (THESE ARE THE TIMES THAT TRY MEN'S SOULS)

THESE are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the

sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their

country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man

and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this

consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the

triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness

only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper

price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an

article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated. Britain, with an army to

enforce her tyranny, has declared that she has a right (not only to TAX)

but "to BIND us in ALL CASES WHATSOEVER," and if being bound in that

manner, is not slavery, then is there not such a thing as slavery upon

earth. Even the expression is impious; for so unlimited a power can

belong only to God.

Whether the independence of the continent was declared too soon, or

delayed too long, I will not now enter into as an argument; my own

simple opinion is, that had it been eight months earlier, it would have

been much better. We did not make a proper use of last winter, neither

could we, while we were in a dependent state. However, the fault, if it

were one, was all our own*; we have none to blame but ourselves. But

no great deal is lost yet. All that Howe has been doing for this month

past, is rather a ravage than a conquest, which the spirit of the

Jerseys, a year ago, would have quickly repulsed, and which time and a

little resolution will soon recover.

* The present winter is worth an age, if rightly employed; but, if

lost or neglected, the whole continent will partake of the evil; and

there is no punishment that man does not deserve, be he who, or what, or

where he will, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious

and useful.

I have as little superstition in me as any man living, but my secret

opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Almighty will not give up

a people to military destruction, or leave them unsupportedly to perish,

who have so earnestly and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities

of war, by every decent method which wisdom could invent. Neither have I

so much of the infidel in me, as to suppose that He has relinquished the

government of the world, and given us up to the care of devils; and as I

do not, I cannot see on what grounds the king of Britain can look up

to heaven for help against us: a common murderer, a highwayman, or a

house-breaker, has as good a pretence as he.

'Tis surprising to see how rapidly a panic will sometimes run through

a country. All nations and ages have been subject to them. Britain has

trembled like an ague at the report of a French fleet of flat-bottomed

boats; and in the fourteenth [fifteenth] century the whole English army,

after ravaging the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified

with fear; and this brave exploit was performed by a few broken forces

collected and headed by a woman, Joan of Arc. Would that heaven might

inspire some Jersey maid to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair

fellow sufferers from ravage and ravishment! Yet panics, in some cases,

have their uses; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is

always short; the mind soon grows through them, and acquires a firmer

habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the

touchstones of sincerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to

light, which might otherwise have lain forever undiscovered. In fact,

they have the same effect on secret traitors, which an imaginary

apparition would have upon a private murderer. They sift out the

hidden thoughts of man, and hold them up in public to the world. Many

a disguised Tory has lately shown his head, that shall penitentially

solemnize with curses the day on which Howe arrived upon the Delaware.

As I was with the troops at Fort Lee, and marched with them to the edge

of Pennsylvania, I am well acquainted with many circumstances, which

those who live at a distance know but little or nothing of. Our

situation there was exceedingly cramped, the place being a narrow

neck of land between the North River and the Hackensack. Our force

was inconsiderable, being not one-fourth so great as Howe could bring

against us. We had no army at hand to have relieved the garrison, had

we shut ourselves up and stood on our defence. Our ammunition, light

artillery, and the best part of our stores, had been removed, on the

apprehension that Howe would endeavor to penetrate the Jerseys, in

which case Fort Lee could be of no use to us; for it must occur to every

thinking man, whether in the army or not, that these kind of field forts

are only for temporary purposes, and last in use no longer than the

enemy directs his force against the particular object which such forts

are raised to defend. Such was our situation and condition at Fort Lee

on the morning of the 20th of November, when an officer arrived with

information that the enemy with 200 boats had landed about seven miles

above; Major General [Nathaniel] Green, who commanded the garrison,

immediately ordered them under arms, and sent express to General

Washington at the town of Hackensack, distant by the way of the ferry

= six miles. Our first object was to secure the bridge over the

Hackensack, which laid up the river between the enemy and us, about six

miles from us, and three from them. General Washington arrived in about

three-quarters of an hour, and marched at the head of the troops towards

the bridge, which place I expected we should have a brush for; however,

they did not choose to dispute it with us, and the greatest part of our

troops went over the bridge, the rest over the ferry, except some which

passed at a mill on a small creek, between the bridge and the ferry, and

made their way through some marshy grounds up to the town of Hackensack,

and there passed the river. We brought off as much baggage as the wagons

could contain, the rest was lost. The simple object was to bring off

the garrison, and march them on till they could be strengthened by the

Jersey or Pennsylvania militia, so as to be enabled to make a stand.

We staid four days at Newark, collected our out-posts with some of

the Jersey militia, and marched out twice to meet the enemy, on being

informed that they were advancing, though our numbers were greatly

inferior to theirs. Howe, in my little opinion, committed a great error

in generalship in not throwing a body of forces off from Staten Island

through Amboy, by which means he might have seized all our stores

at Brunswick, and intercepted our march into Pennsylvania; but if we

believe the power of hell to be limited, we must likewise believe that

their agents are under some providential control.

I shall not now attempt to give all the particulars of our retreat to

the Delaware; suffice it for the present to say, that both officers

and men, though greatly harassed and fatigued, frequently without rest,

covering, or provision, the inevitable consequences of a long retreat,

bore it with a manly and martial spirit. All their wishes centred in

one, which was, that the country would turn out and help them to drive

the enemy back. Voltaire has remarked that King William never appeared

to full advantage but in difficulties and in action; the same remark may

be made on General Washington, for the character fits him. There is a

natural firmness in some minds which cannot be unlocked by trifles, but

which, when unlocked, discovers a cabinet of fortitude; and I reckon it

among those kind of public blessings, which we do not immediately see,

that God hath blessed him with uninterrupted health, and given him a

mind that can even flourish upon care.

I shall conclude this paper with some miscellaneous remarks on the state

of our affairs; and shall begin with asking the following question, Why

is it that the enemy have left the New England provinces, and made these

middle ones the seat of war? The answer is easy: New England is not

infested with Tories, and we are. I have been tender in raising the

cry against these men, and used numberless arguments to show them their

danger, but it will not do to sacrifice a world either to their folly

or their baseness. The period is now arrived, in which either they or

we must change our sentiments, or one or both must fall. And what is a

Tory? Good God! what is he? I should not be afraid to go with a hundred

Whigs against a thousand Tories, were they to attempt to get into arms.

Every Tory is a coward; for servile, slavish, self-interested fear is

the foundation of Toryism; and a man under such influence, though he may

be cruel, never can be brave.

But, before the line of irrecoverable separation be drawn between us,

let us reason the matter together: Your conduct is an invitation to the

enemy, yet not one in a thousand of you has heart enough to join him.

Howe is as much deceived by you as the American cause is injured by you.

He expects you will all take up arms, and flock to his standard, with

muskets on your shoulders. Your opinions are of no use to him, unless

you support him personally, for 'tis soldiers, and not Tories, that he

wants.

I once felt all that kind of anger, which a man ought to feel, against

the mean principles that are held by the Tories: a noted one, who kept a

tavern at Amboy, was standing at his door, with as pretty a child in his

hand, about eight or nine years old, as I ever saw, and after speaking

his mind as freely as he thought was prudent, finished with this

unfatherly expression, "Well! give me peace in my day." Not a man lives

on the continent but fully believes that a separation must some time or

other finally take place, and a generous parent should have said, "If

there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have

peace;" and this single reflection, well applied, is sufficient to

awaken every man to duty. Not a place upon earth might be so happy as

America. Her situation is remote from all the wrangling world, and she

has nothing to do but to trade with them. A man can distinguish himself

between temper and principle, and I am as confident, as I am that God

governs the world, that America will never be happy till she gets clear

of foreign dominion. Wars, without ceasing, will break out till that

period arrives, and the continent must in the end be conqueror; for

though the flame of liberty may sometimes cease to shine, the coal can

never expire.

America did not, nor does not want force; but she wanted a proper

application of that force. Wisdom is not the purchase of a day, and it

is no wonder that we should err at the first setting off. From an excess

of tenderness, we were unwilling to raise an army, and trusted our

cause to the temporary defence of a well-meaning militia. A summer's

experience has now taught us better; yet with those troops, while they

were collected, we were able to set bounds to the progress of the enemy,

and, thank God! they are again assembling. I always considered militia

as the best troops in the world for a sudden exertion, but they will not

do for a long campaign. Howe, it is probable, will make an attempt on

this city [Philadelphia]; should he fail on this side the Delaware, he

is ruined. If he succeeds, our cause is not ruined. He stakes all on his

side against a part on ours; admitting he succeeds, the consequence will

be, that armies from both ends of the continent will march to assist

their suffering friends in the middle states; for he cannot go

everywhere, it is impossible. I consider Howe as the greatest enemy the

Tories have; he is bringing a war into their country, which, had it not

been for him and partly for themselves, they had been clear of. Should

he now be expelled, I wish with all the devotion of a Christian, that

the names of Whig and Tory may never more be mentioned; but should the

Tories give him encouragement to come, or assistance if he come, I

as sincerely wish that our next year's arms may expel them from the

continent, and the Congress appropriate their possessions to the relief

of those who have suffered in well-doing. A single successful battle

next year will settle the whole. America could carry on a two years' war

by the confiscation of the property of disaffected persons, and be made

happy by their expulsion. Say not that this is revenge, call it rather

the soft resentment of a suffering people, who, having no object in view

but the good of all, have staked their own all upon a seemingly doubtful

event. Yet it is folly to argue against determined hardness; eloquence

may strike the ear, and the language of sorrow draw forth the tear

of compassion, but nothing can reach the heart that is steeled with

prejudice.

Quitting this class of men, I turn with the warm ardor of a friend to

those who have nobly stood, and are yet determined to stand the matter

out: I call not upon a few, but upon all: not on this state or that

state, but on every state: up and help us; lay your shoulders to the

wheel; better have too much force than too little, when so great an

object is at stake. Let it be told to the future world, that in the

depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive, that

the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to

meet and to repulse it. Say not that thousands are gone, turn out your

tens of thousands; throw not the burden of the day upon Providence, but

"show your faith by your works," that God may bless you. It matters not

where you live, or what rank of life you hold, the evil or the blessing

will reach you all. The far and the near, the home counties and the

back, the rich and the poor, will suffer or rejoice alike. The heart

that feels not now is dead; the blood of his children will curse his

cowardice, who shrinks back at a time when a little might have saved the

whole, and made them happy. I love the man that can smile in trouble,

that can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection.

'Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm,

and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles

unto death. My own line of reasoning is to myself as straight and clear

as a ray of light. Not all the treasures of the world, so far as I

believe, could have induced me to support an offensive war, for I think

it murder; but if a thief breaks into my house, burns and destroys my

property, and kills or threatens to kill me, or those that are in it,

and to "bind me in all cases whatsoever" to his absolute will, am I to

suffer it? What signifies it to me, whether he who does it is a king or

a common man; my countryman or not my countryman; whether it be done by

an individual villain, or an army of them? If we reason to the root

of things we shall find no difference; neither can any just cause be

assigned why we should punish in the one case and pardon in the other.

Let them call me rebel and welcome, I feel no concern from it; but I

should suffer the misery of devils, were I to make a whore of my soul by

swearing allegiance to one whose character is that of a sottish, stupid,

stubborn, worthless, brutish man. I conceive likewise a horrid idea in

receiving mercy from a being, who at the last day shall be shrieking to

the rocks and mountains to cover him, and fleeing with terror from the

orphan, the widow, and the slain of America.

There are cases which cannot be overdone by language, and this is one.

There are persons, too, who see not the full extent of the evil which

threatens them; they solace themselves with hopes that the enemy, if he

succeed, will be merciful. It is the madness of folly, to expect

mercy from those who have refused to do justice; and even mercy, where

conquest is the object, is only a trick of war; the cunning of the

fox is as murderous as the violence of the wolf, and we ought to guard

equally against both. Howe's first object is, partly by threats and

partly by promises, to terrify or seduce the people to deliver up their

arms and receive mercy. The ministry recommended the same plan to Gage,

and this is what the tories call making their peace, "a peace which

passeth all understanding" indeed! A peace which would be the immediate

forerunner of a worse ruin than any we have yet thought of. Ye men of

Pennsylvania, do reason upon these things! Were the back counties to

give up their arms, they would fall an easy prey to the Indians, who are

all armed: this perhaps is what some Tories would not be sorry for. Were

the home counties to deliver up their arms, they would be exposed to the

resentment of the back counties who would then have it in their power to

chastise their defection at pleasure. And were any one state to give up

its arms, that state must be garrisoned by all Howe's army of Britons

and Hessians to preserve it from the anger of the rest. Mutual fear is

the principal link in the chain of mutual love, and woe be to that state

that breaks the compact. Howe is mercifully inviting you to barbarous

destruction, and men must be either rogues or fools that will not see

it. I dwell not upon the vapors of imagination; I bring reason to your

ears, and, in language as plain as A, B, C, hold up truth to your eyes.

I thank God, that I fear not. I see no real cause for fear. I know

our situation well, and can see the way out of it. While our army was

collected, Howe dared not risk a battle; and it is no credit to him

that he decamped from the White Plains, and waited a mean opportunity to

ravage the defenceless Jerseys; but it is great credit to us, that, with

a handful of men, we sustained an orderly retreat for near an hundred

miles, brought off our ammunition, all our field pieces, the greatest

part of our stores, and had four rivers to pass. None can say that our

retreat was precipitate, for we were near three weeks in performing it,

that the country might have time to come in. Twice we marched back to

meet the enemy, and remained out till dark. The sign of fear was not

seen in our camp, and had not some of the cowardly and disaffected

inhabitants spread false alarms through the country, the Jerseys had

never been ravaged. Once more we are again collected and collecting; our

new army at both ends of the continent is recruiting fast, and we shall

be able to open the next campaign with sixty thousand men, well armed

and clothed. This is our situation, and who will may know it. By

perseverance and fortitude we have the prospect of a glorious issue;

by cowardice and submission, the sad choice of a variety of evils--a

ravaged country--a depopulated city--habitations without safety, and

slavery without hope--our homes turned into barracks and bawdy-houses

for Hessians, and a future race to provide for, whose fathers we shall

doubt of. Look on this picture and weep over it! and if there yet

remains one thoughtless wretch who believes it not, let him suffer it

unlamented.

COMMON SENSE.

December 23, 1776.

THE CRISIS II. TO LORD HOWE.

"What's in the name of lord, that I should fear

To bring my grievance to the public ear?"

CHURCHILL.

UNIVERSAL empire is the prerogative of a writer. His concerns are with

all mankind, and though he cannot command their obedience, he can assign

them their duty. The Republic of Letters is more ancient than monarchy,

and of far higher character in the world than the vassal court of

Britain; he that rebels against reason is a real rebel, but he that in

defence of reason rebels against tyranny has a better title to "Defender

of the Faith," than George the Third.

As a military man your lordship may hold out the sword of war, and call

it the "ultima ratio regum": the last reason of kings; we in return

can show you the sword of justice, and call it "the best scourge of

tyrants." The first of these two may threaten, or even frighten for a

while, and cast a sickly languor over an insulted people, but reason

will soon recover the debauch, and restore them again to tranquil

fortitude. Your lordship, I find, has now commenced author, and

published a proclamation; I have published a Crisis. As they stand, they

are the antipodes of each other; both cannot rise at once, and one of

them must descend; and so quick is the revolution of things, that your

lordship's performance, I see, has already fallen many degrees from

its first place, and is now just visible on the edge of the political

horizon.

It is surprising to what a pitch of infatuation, blind folly and

obstinacy will carry mankind, and your lordship's drowsy proclamation

is a proof that it does not even quit them in their sleep. Perhaps you

thought America too was taking a nap, and therefore chose, like Satan

to Eve, to whisper the delusion softly, lest you should awaken her. This

continent, sir, is too extensive to sleep all at once, and too watchful,

even in its slumbers, not to startle at the unhallowed foot of an

invader. You may issue your proclamations, and welcome, for we have

learned to "reverence ourselves," and scorn the insulting ruffian that

employs you. America, for your deceased brother's sake, would gladly

have shown you respect and it is a new aggravation to her feelings,

that Howe should be forgetful, and raise his sword against those, who at

their own charge raised a monument to his brother. But your master has

commanded, and you have not enough of nature left to refuse. Surely

there must be something strangely degenerating in the love of monarchy,

that can so completely wear a man down to an ingrate, and make him proud

to lick the dust that kings have trod upon. A few more years, should you

survive them, will bestow on you the title of "an old man": and in some

hour of future reflection you may probably find the fitness of Wolsey's

despairing penitence--"had I served my God as faithful as I have served

my king, he would not thus have forsaken me in my old age."

The character you appear to us in, is truly ridiculous. Your friends,

the Tories, announced your coming, with high descriptions of your

unlimited powers; but your proclamation has given them the lie, by

showing you to be a commissioner without authority. Had your powers been

ever so great they were nothing to us, further than we pleased; because

we had the same right which other nations had, to do what we thought

was best. "The UNITED STATES of AMERICA," will sound as pompously in the

world or in history, as "the kingdom of Great Britain"; the character of

General Washington will fill a page with as much lustre as that of

Lord Howe: and the Congress have as much right to command the king and

Parliament in London to desist from legislation, as they or you have

to command the Congress. Only suppose how laughable such an edict would

appear from us, and then, in that merry mood, do but turn the tables

upon yourself, and you will see how your proclamation is received here.

Having thus placed you in a proper position in which you may have a full

view of your folly, and learn to despise it, I hold up to you, for

that purpose, the following quotation from your own lunarian

proclamation.--"And we (Lord Howe and General Howe) do command (and in

his majesty's name forsooth) all such persons as are assembled together,

under the name of general or provincial congresses, committees,

conventions or other associations, by whatever name or names known and

distinguished, to desist and cease from all such treasonable actings and

doings."

You introduce your proclamation by referring to your declarations of

the 14th of July and 19th of September. In the last of these you sunk

yourself below the character of a private gentleman. That I may not

seem to accuse you unjustly, I shall state the circumstance: by a verbal

invitation of yours, communicated to Congress by General Sullivan, then

a prisoner on his parole, you signified your desire of conferring with

some members of that body as private gentlemen. It was beneath the

dignity of the American Congress to pay any regard to a message that

at best was but a genteel affront, and had too much of the ministerial

complexion of tampering with private persons; and which might probably

have been the case, had the gentlemen who were deputed on the business

possessed that kind of easy virtue which an English courtier is so truly

distinguished by. Your request, however, was complied with, for honest

men are naturally more tender of their civil than their political fame.

The interview ended as every sensible man thought it would; for

your lordship knows, as well as the writer of the Crisis, that it is

impossible for the King of England to promise the repeal, or even the

revisal of any acts of parliament; wherefore, on your part, you had

nothing to say, more than to request, in the room of demanding, the

entire surrender of the continent; and then, if that was complied with,

to promise that the inhabitants should escape with their lives. This was

the upshot of the conference. You informed the conferees that you were

two months in soliciting these powers. We ask, what powers? for as

commissioner you have none. If you mean the power of pardoning, it is

an oblique proof that your master was determined to sacrifice all before

him; and that you were two months in dissuading him from his purpose.

Another evidence of his savage obstinacy! From your own account of the

matter we may justly draw these two conclusions: 1st, That you serve

a monster; and 2d, That never was a messenger sent on a more foolish

errand than yourself. This plain language may perhaps sound uncouthly to

an ear vitiated by courtly refinements, but words were made for use,

and the fault lies in deserving them, or the abuse in applying them

unfairly.

Soon after your return to New York, you published a very illiberal and

unmanly handbill against the Congress; for it was certainly stepping out

of the line of common civility, first to screen your national pride

by soliciting an interview with them as private gentlemen, and in the

conclusion to endeavor to deceive the multitude by making a handbill

attack on the whole body of the Congress; you got them together under

one name, and abused them under another. But the king you serve, and the

cause you support, afford you so few instances of acting the gentleman,

that out of pity to your situation the Congress pardoned the insult by

taking no notice of it.

You say in that handbill, "that they, the Congress, disavowed every

purpose for reconciliation not consonant with their extravagant and

inadmissible claim of independence." Why, God bless me! what have you to

do with our independence? We ask no leave of yours to set it up; we ask

no money of yours to support it; we can do better without your fleets

and armies than with them; you may soon have enough to do to protect

yourselves without being burdened with us. We are very willing to be at

peace with you, to buy of you and sell to you, and, like young beginners

in the world, to work for our living; therefore, why do you put

yourselves out of cash, when we know you cannot spare it, and we do not

desire you to run into debt? I am willing, sir, that you should see

your folly in every point of view I can place it in, and for that reason

descend sometimes to tell you in jest what I wish you to see in earnest.

But to be more serious with you, why do you say, "their independence?"

To set you right, sir, we tell you, that the independency is ours, not

theirs. The Congress were authorized by every state on the continent to

publish it to all the world, and in so doing are not to be considered as

the inventors, but only as the heralds that proclaimed it, or the office

from which the sense of the people received a legal form; and it was as

much as any or all their heads were worth, to have treated with you on

the subject of submission under any name whatever. But we know the men

in whom we have trusted; can England say the same of her Parliament?

I come now more particularly to your proclamation of the 30th of

November last. Had you gained an entire conquest over all the armies

of America, and then put forth a proclamation, offering (what you call)

mercy, your conduct would have had some specious show of humanity; but

to creep by surprise into a province, and there endeavor to terrify

and seduce the inhabitants from their just allegiance to the rest by

promises, which you neither meant nor were able to fulfil, is both cruel

and unmanly: cruel in its effects; because, unless you can keep all

the ground you have marched over, how are you, in the words of your

proclamation, to secure to your proselytes "the enjoyment of their

property?" What is to become either of your new adopted subjects, or

your old friends, the Tories, in Burlington, Bordentown, Trenton, Mount

Holly, and many other places, where you proudly lorded it for a few

days, and then fled with the precipitation of a pursued thief? What, I

say, is to become of those wretches? What is to become of those who went

over to you from this city and State? What more can you say to them than

"shift for yourselves?" Or what more can they hope for than to wander

like vagabonds over the face of the earth? You may now tell them to take

their leave of America, and all that once was theirs. Recommend them,

for consolation, to your master's court; there perhaps they may make

a shift to live on the scraps of some dangling parasite, and choose

companions among thousands like themselves. A traitor is the foulest

fiend on earth.

In a political sense we ought to thank you for thus bequeathing estates

to the continent; we shall soon, at this rate, be able to carry on a war

without expense, and grow rich by the ill policy of Lord Howe, and the

generous defection of the Tories. Had you set your foot into this city,

you would have bestowed estates upon us which we never thought of, by

bringing forth traitors we were unwilling to suspect. But these men,

you'll say, "are his majesty's most faithful subjects;" let that honor,

then, be all their fortune, and let his majesty take them to himself.

I am now thoroughly disgusted with them; they live in ungrateful ease,

and bend their whole minds to mischief. It seems as if God had

given them over to a spirit of infidelity, and that they are open to

conviction in no other line but that of punishment. It is time to have

done with tarring, feathering, carting, and taking securities for their

future good behavior; every sensible man must feel a conscious shame

at seeing a poor fellow hawked for a show about the streets, when it is

known he is only the tool of some principal villain, biassed into his

offence by the force of false reasoning, or bribed thereto, through sad

necessity. We dishonor ourselves by attacking such trifling characters

while greater ones are suffered to escape; 'tis our duty to find

them out, and their proper punishment would be to exile them from the

continent for ever. The circle of them is not so great as some imagine;

the influence of a few have tainted many who are not naturally corrupt.

A continual circulation of lies among those who are not much in the way

of hearing them contradicted, will in time pass for truth; and the crime

lies not in the believer but the inventor. I am not for declaring

war with every man that appears not so warm as myself: difference of

constitution, temper, habit of speaking, and many other things, will go

a great way in fixing the outward character of a man, yet simple honesty

may remain at bottom. Some men have naturally a military turn, and can

brave hardships and the risk of life with a cheerful face; others have

not; no slavery appears to them so great as the fatigue of arms, and

no terror so powerful as that of personal danger. What can we say? We

cannot alter nature, neither ought we to punish the son because the

father begot him in a cowardly mood. However, I believe most men have

more courage than they know of, and that a little at first is enough

to begin with. I knew the time when I thought that the whistling of a

cannon ball would have frightened me almost to death; but I have since

tried it, and find that I can stand it with as little discomposure, and,

I believe, with a much easier conscience than your lordship. The same

dread would return to me again were I in your situation, for my solemn

belief of your cause is, that it is hellish and damnable, and, under

that conviction, every thinking man's heart must fail him.

From a concern that a good cause should be dishonored by the least

disunion among us, I said in my former paper, No. I. "That should the

enemy now be expelled, I wish, with all the sincerity of a Christian,

that the names of Whig and Tory might never more be mentioned;" but

there is a knot of men among us of such a venomous cast, that they

will not admit even one's good wishes to act in their favor. Instead

of rejoicing that heaven had, as it were, providentially preserved this

city from plunder and destruction, by delivering so great a part of the

enemy into our hands with so little effusion of blood, they stubbornly

affected to disbelieve it till within an hour, nay, half an hour, of

the prisoners arriving; and the Quakers put forth a testimony, dated the

20th of December, signed "John Pemberton," declaring their attachment to

the British government.* These men are continually harping on the great

sin of our bearing arms, but the king of Britain may lay waste the world

in blood and famine, and they, poor fallen souls, have nothing to say.

* I have ever been careful of charging offences upon whole societies

of men, but as the paper referred to is put forth by an unknown set of

men, who claim to themselves the right of representing the whole:

and while the whole Society of Quakers admit its validity by a silent

acknowledgment, it is impossible that any distinction can be made by

the public: and the more so, because the New York paper of the 30th of

December, printed by permission of our enemies, says that "the Quakers

begin to speak openly of their attachment to the British Constitution."

We are certain that we have many friends among them, and wish to know

them.

In some future paper I intend to distinguish between the different kind

of persons who have been denominated Tories; for this I am clear in,

that all are not so who have been called so, nor all men Whigs who

were once thought so; and as I mean not to conceal the name of any true

friend when there shall be occasion to mention him, neither will I that

of an enemy, who ought to be known, let his rank, station or religion be

what it may. Much pains have been taken by some to set your lordship's

private character in an amiable light, but as it has chiefly been done

by men who know nothing about you, and who are no ways remarkable for

their attachment to us, we have no just authority for believing it.

George the Third has imposed upon us by the same arts, but time, at

length, has done him justice, and the same fate may probably attend your

lordship. You avowed purpose here is to kill, conquer, plunder, pardon,

and enslave: and the ravages of your army through the Jerseys have been

marked with as much barbarism as if you had openly professed yourself

the prince of ruffians; not even the appearance of humanity has been

preserved either on the march or the retreat of your troops; no general

order that I could ever learn, has ever been issued to prevent or

even forbid your troops from robbery, wherever they came, and the only

instance of justice, if it can be called such, which has distinguished

you for impartiality, is, that you treated and plundered all alike; what

could not be carried away has been destroyed, and mahogany furniture has

been deliberately laid on fire for fuel, rather than the men should be

fatigued with cutting wood.* There was a time when the Whigs confided

much in your supposed candor, and the Tories rested themselves in your

favor; the experiments have now been made, and failed; in every town,

nay, every cottage, in the Jerseys, where your arms have been, is

a testimony against you. How you may rest under this sacrifice of

character I know not; but this I know, that you sleep and rise with the

daily curses of thousands upon you; perhaps the misery which the Tories

have suffered by your proffered mercy may give them some claim to their

country's pity, and be in the end the best favor you could show them.

* As some people may doubt the truth of such wanton destruction, I

think it necessary to inform them that one of the people called Quakers,

who lives at Trenton, gave me this information at the house of Mr.

Michael Hutchinson, (one of the same profession,) who lives near Trenton

ferry on the Pennsylvania side, Mr. Hutchinson being present.

In a folio general-order book belonging to Col. Rhal's battalion, taken

at Trenton, and now in the possession of the council of safety for

this state, the following barbarous order is frequently repeated, "His

excellency the Commander-in-Chief orders, that all inhabitants who

shall be found with arms, not having an officer with them, shall be

immediately taken and hung up." How many you may thus have privately

sacrificed, we know not, and the account can only be settled in another

world. Your treatment of prisoners, in order to distress them to enlist

in your infernal service, is not to be equalled by any instance in

Europe. Yet this is the humane Lord Howe and his brother, whom the

Tories and their three-quarter kindred, the Quakers, or some of them at

least, have been holding up for patterns of justice and mercy!

A bad cause will ever be supported by bad means and bad men; and whoever

will be at the pains of examining strictly into things, will find that

one and the same spirit of oppression and impiety, more or less,

governs through your whole party in both countries: not many days ago,

I accidentally fell in company with a person of this city noted for

espousing your cause, and on my remarking to him, "that it appeared

clear to me, by the late providential turn of affairs, that God Almighty

was visibly on our side," he replied, "We care nothing for that you may

have Him, and welcome; if we have but enough of the devil on our side,

we shall do." However carelessly this might be spoken, matters not, 'tis

still the insensible principle that directs all your conduct and will at

last most assuredly deceive and ruin you.

If ever a nation was made and foolish, blind to its own interest and

bent on its own destruction, it is Britain. There are such things as

national sins, and though the punishment of individuals may be reserved

to another world, national punishment can only be inflicted in this

world. Britain, as a nation, is, in my inmost belief, the greatest and

most ungrateful offender against God on the face of the whole earth.

Blessed with all the commerce she could wish for, and furnished, by

a vast extension of dominion, with the means of civilizing both the

eastern and western world, she has made no other use of both than

proudly to idolize her own "thunder," and rip up the bowels of whole

countries for what she could get. Like Alexander, she has made war her

sport, and inflicted misery for prodigality's sake. The blood of India

is not yet repaid, nor the wretchedness of Africa yet requited. Of

late she has enlarged her list of national cruelties by her butcherly

destruction of the Caribbs of St. Vincent's, and returning an answer by

the sword to the meek prayer for "Peace, liberty and safety." These

are serious things, and whatever a foolish tyrant, a debauched court,

a trafficking legislature, or a blinded people may think, the national

account with heaven must some day or other be settled: all countries

have sooner or later been called to their reckoning; the proudest

empires have sunk when the balance was struck; and Britain, like an

individual penitent, must undergo her day of sorrow, and the sooner it

happens to her the better. As I wish it over, I wish it to come, but

withal wish that it may be as light as possible.

Perhaps your lordship has no taste for serious things; by your

connections in England I should suppose not; therefore I shall drop this

part of the subject, and take it up in a line in which you will better

understand me.

By what means, may I ask, do you expect to conquer America? If you could

not effect it in the summer, when our army was less than yours, nor

in the winter, when we had none, how are you to do it? In point of

generalship you have been outwitted, and in point of fortitude outdone;

your advantages turn out to your loss, and show us that it is in our

power to ruin you by gifts: like a game of drafts, we can move out of

one square to let you come in, in order that we may afterwards take

two or three for one; and as we can always keep a double corner for

ourselves, we can always prevent a total defeat. You cannot be so

insensible as not to see that we have two to one the advantage of you,

because we conquer by a drawn game, and you lose by it. Burgoyne might

have taught your lordship this knowledge; he has been long a student in

the doctrine of chances.

I have no other idea of conquering countries than by subduing the armies

which defend them: have you done this, or can you do it? If you have

not, it would be civil in you to let your proclamations alone for the

present; otherwise, you will ruin more Tories by your grace and favor,

than you will Whigs by your arms.

Were you to obtain possession of this city, you would not know what to

do with it more than to plunder it. To hold it in the manner you hold

New York, would be an additional dead weight upon your hands; and if a

general conquest is your object, you had better be without the city than

with it. When you have defeated all our armies, the cities will fall

into your hands of themselves; but to creep into them in the manner you

got into Princeton, Trenton, &c. is like robbing an orchard in the

night before the fruit be ripe, and running away in the morning. Your

experiment in the Jerseys is sufficient to teach you that you have

something more to do than barely to get into other people's houses; and

your new converts, to whom you promised all manner of protection, and

seduced into new guilt by pardoning them from their former virtues, must

begin to have a very contemptible opinion both of your power and your

policy. Your authority in the Jerseys is now reduced to the small circle

which your army occupies, and your proclamation is no where else seen

unless it be to be laughed at. The mighty subduers of the continent have

retreated into a nutshell, and the proud forgivers of our sins are fled

from those they came to pardon; and all this at a time when they were

despatching vessel after vessel to England with the great news of

every day. In short, you have managed your Jersey expedition so very

dexterously, that the dead only are conquerors, because none will

dispute the ground with them.

In all the wars which you have formerly been concerned in you had only

armies to contend with; in this case you have both an army and a country

to combat with. In former wars, the countries followed the fate of their

capitals; Canada fell with Quebec, and Minorca with Port Mahon or St.

Phillips; by subduing those, the conquerors opened a way into, and

became masters of the country: here it is otherwise; if you get

possession of a city here, you are obliged to shut yourselves up in it,

and can make no other use of it, than to spend your country's money in.

This is all the advantage you have drawn from New York; and you would

draw less from Philadelphia, because it requires more force to keep it,

and is much further from the sea. A pretty figure you and the Tories

would cut in this city, with a river full of ice, and a town full of

fire; for the immediate consequence of your getting here would be, that

you would be cannonaded out again, and the Tories be obliged to make

good the damage; and this sooner or later will be the fate of New York.

I wish to see the city saved, not so much from military as from natural

motives. 'Tis the hiding place of women and children, and Lord Howe's

proper business is with our armies. When I put all the circumstances

together which ought to be taken, I laugh at your notion of conquering

America. Because you lived in a little country, where an army might run

over the whole in a few days, and where a single company of soldiers

might put a multitude to the rout, you expected to find it the same

here. It is plain that you brought over with you all the narrow notions

you were bred up with, and imagined that a proclamation in the king's

name was to do great things; but Englishmen always travel for knowledge,

and your lordship, I hope, will return, if you return at all, much wiser

than you came.

We may be surprised by events we did not expect, and in that interval of

recollection you may gain some temporary advantage: such was the case

a few weeks ago, but we soon ripen again into reason, collect our

strength, and while you are preparing for a triumph, we come upon you

with a defeat. Such it has been, and such it would be were you to try

it a hundred times over. Were you to garrison the places you might march

over, in order to secure their subjection, (for remember you can do it

by no other means,) your army would be like a stream of water running to

nothing. By the time you extended from New York to Virginia, you would

be reduced to a string of drops not capable of hanging together; while

we, by retreating from State to State, like a river turning back upon

itself, would acquire strength in the same proportion as you lost it,

and in the end be capable of overwhelming you. The country, in the

meantime, would suffer, but it is a day of suffering, and we ought

to expect it. What we contend for is worthy the affliction we may go

through. If we get but bread to eat, and any kind of raiment to put on,

we ought not only to be contented, but thankful. More than that we ought

not to look for, and less than that heaven has not yet suffered us

to want. He that would sell his birthright for a little salt, is as

worthless as he who sold it for pottage without salt; and he that would

part with it for a gay coat, or a plain coat, ought for ever to be

a slave in buff. What are salt, sugar and finery, to the inestimable

blessings of "Liberty and Safety!" Or what are the inconveniences of

a few months to the tributary bondage of ages? The meanest peasant in

America, blessed with these sentiments, is a happy man compared with a

New York Tory; he can eat his morsel without repining, and when he has

done, can sweeten it with a repast of wholesome air; he can take his

child by the hand and bless it, without feeling the conscious shame of

neglecting a parent's duty.

In publishing these remarks I have several objects in view.

On your part they are to expose the folly of your pretended authority

as a commissioner; the wickedness of your cause in general; and the

impossibility of your conquering us at any rate. On the part of the

public, my intention is, to show them their true and sold interest;

to encourage them to their own good, to remove the fears and falsities

which bad men have spread, and weak men have encouraged; and to excite

in all men a love for union, and a cheerfulness for duty.

I shall submit one more case to you respecting your conquest of this

country, and then proceed to new observations.

Suppose our armies in every part of this continent were immediately to

disperse, every man to his home, or where else he might be safe, and

engage to reassemble again on a certain future day; it is clear that you

would then have no army to contend with, yet you would be as much at

a loss in that case as you are now; you would be afraid to send your

troops in parties over to the continent, either to disarm or prevent us

from assembling, lest they should not return; and while you kept them

together, having no arms of ours to dispute with, you could not call it

a conquest; you might furnish out a pompous page in the London Gazette

or a New York paper, but when we returned at the appointed time, you

would have the same work to do that you had at first.

It has been the folly of Britain to suppose herself more powerful than

she really is, and by that means has arrogated to herself a rank in the

world she is not entitled to: for more than this century past she

has not been able to carry on a war without foreign assistance. In

Marlborough's campaigns, and from that day to this, the number of German

troops and officers assisting her have been about equal with her own;

ten thousand Hessians were sent to England last war to protect her

from a French invasion; and she would have cut but a poor figure in her

Canadian and West Indian expeditions, had not America been lavish both

of her money and men to help her along. The only instance in which she

was engaged singly, that I can recollect, was against the rebellion in

Scotland, in the years 1745 and 1746, and in that, out of three battles,

she was twice beaten, till by thus reducing their numbers, (as we

shall yours) and taking a supply ship that was coming to Scotland

with clothes, arms and money, (as we have often done,) she was at last

enabled to defeat them. England was never famous by land; her officers

have generally been suspected of cowardice, have more of the air of a

dancing-master than a soldier, and by the samples which we have taken

prisoners, we give the preference to ourselves. Her strength, of late,

has lain in her extravagance; but as her finances and credit are now

low, her sinews in that line begin to fail fast. As a nation she is the

poorest in Europe; for were the whole kingdom, and all that is in it, to

be put up for sale like the estate of a bankrupt, it would not fetch as

much as she owes; yet this thoughtless wretch must go to war, and with

the avowed design, too, of making us beasts of burden, to support her in

riot and debauchery, and to assist her afterwards in distressing those

nations who are now our best friends. This ingratitude may suit a Tory,

or the unchristian peevishness of a fallen Quaker, but none else.

'Tis the unhappy temper of the English to be pleased with any war, right

or wrong, be it but successful; but they soon grow discontented with ill

fortune, and it is an even chance that they are as clamorous for peace

next summer, as the king and his ministers were for war last winter.

In this natural view of things, your lordship stands in a very critical

situation: your whole character is now staked upon your laurels; if they

wither, you wither with them; if they flourish, you cannot live long to

look at them; and at any rate, the black account hereafter is not far

off. What lately appeared to us misfortunes, were only blessings in

disguise; and the seeming advantages on your side have turned out to

our profit. Even our loss of this city, as far as we can see, might be a

principal gain to us: the more surface you spread over, the thinner

you will be, and the easier wiped away; and our consolation under that

apparent disaster would be, that the estates of the Tories would become

securities for the repairs. In short, there is no old ground we can fail

upon, but some new foundation rises again to support us. "We have put,

sir, our hands to the plough, and cursed be he that looketh back."

Your king, in his speech to parliament last spring, declared, "That

he had no doubt but the great force they had enabled him to send to

America, would effectually reduce the rebellious colonies." It has not,

neither can it; but it has done just enough to lay the foundation of

its own next year's ruin. You are sensible that you left England in a

divided, distracted state of politics, and, by the command you had here,

you became a principal prop in the court party; their fortunes rest on

yours; by a single express you can fix their value with the public, and

the degree to which their spirits shall rise or fall; they are in your

hands as stock, and you have the secret of the alley with you. Thus

situated and connected, you become the unintentional mechanical

instrument of your own and their overthrow. The king and his ministers

put conquest out of doubt, and the credit of both depended on the proof.

To support them in the interim, it was necessary that you should make

the most of every thing, and we can tell by Hugh Gaine's New York

paper what the complexion of the London Gazette is. With such a list

of victories the nation cannot expect you will ask new supplies; and

to confess your want of them would give the lie to your triumphs, and

impeach the king and his ministers of treasonable deception. If you make

the necessary demand at home, your party sinks; if you make it not, you

sink yourself; to ask it now is too late, and to ask it before was too

soon, and unless it arrive quickly will be of no use. In short, the part

you have to act, cannot be acted; and I am fully persuaded that all you

have to trust to is, to do the best you can with what force you have

got, or little more. Though we have greatly exceeded you in point of

generalship and bravery of men, yet, as a people, we have not entered

into the full soul of enterprise; for I, who know England and the

disposition of the people well, am confident, that it is easier for us

to effect a revolution there, than you a conquest here; a few thousand

men landed in England with the declared design of deposing the present

king, bringing his ministers to trial, and setting up the Duke of

Gloucester in his stead, would assuredly carry their point, while you

are grovelling here, ignorant of the matter. As I send all my papers to

England, this, like Common Sense, will find its way there; and though

it may put one party on their guard, it will inform the other, and the

nation in general, of our design to help them.

Thus far, sir, I have endeavored to give you a picture of present

affairs: you may draw from it what conclusions you please. I wish

as well to the true prosperity of England as you can, but I consider

INDEPENDENCE as America's natural right and interest, and never could

see any real disservice it would be to Britain. If an English merchant

receives an order, and is paid for it, it signifies nothing to him who

governs the country. This is my creed of politics. If I have any where

expressed myself over-warmly, 'tis from a fixed, immovable hatred I

have, and ever had, to cruel men and cruel measures. I have likewise an

aversion to monarchy, as being too debasing to the dignity of man; but

I never troubled others with my notions till very lately, nor ever

published a syllable in England in my life. What I write is pure nature,

and my pen and my soul have ever gone together. My writings I have

always given away, reserving only the expense of printing and paper, and

sometimes not even that. I never courted either fame or interest, and my

manner of life, to those who know it, will justify what I say. My study

is to be useful, and if your lordship loves mankind as well as I do,

you would, seeing you cannot conquer us, cast about and lend your hand

towards accomplishing a peace. Our independence with God's blessing

we will maintain against all the world; but as we wish to avoid

evil ourselves, we wish not to inflict it on others. I am never

over-inquisitive into the secrets of the cabinet, but I have some notion

that, if you neglect the present opportunity, it will not be in our

power to make a separate peace with you afterwards; for whatever

treaties or alliances we form, we shall most faithfully abide by;

wherefore you may be deceived if you think you can make it with us at

any time. A lasting independent peace is my wish, end and aim; and to

accomplish that, I pray God the Americans may never be defeated, and I

trust while they have good officers, and are well commanded, and willing

to be commanded, that they NEVER WILL BE.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, Jan. 13, 1777.

THE CRISIS III. (IN THE PROGRESS OF POLITICS)

IN THE progress of politics, as in the common occurrences of life,

we are not only apt to forget the ground we have travelled over, but

frequently neglect to gather up experience as we go. We expend, if I may

so say, the knowledge of every day on the circumstances that produce it,

and journey on in search of new matter and new refinements: but as it is

pleasant and sometimes useful to look back, even to the first periods of

infancy, and trace the turns and windings through which we have passed,

so we may likewise derive many advantages by halting a while in our

political career, and taking a review of the wondrous complicated

labyrinth of little more than yesterday.

Truly may we say, that never did men grow old in so short a time! We

have crowded the business of an age into the compass of a few months,

and have been driven through such a rapid succession of things, that

for the want of leisure to think, we unavoidably wasted knowledge as we

came, and have left nearly as much behind us as we brought with us: but

the road is yet rich with the fragments, and, before we finally lose

sight of them, will repay us for the trouble of stopping to pick them

up.

Were a man to be totally deprived of memory, he would be incapable of

forming any just opinion; every thing about him would seem a chaos:

he would have even his own history to ask from every one; and by not

knowing how the world went in his absence, he would be at a loss to

know how it ought to go on when he recovered, or rather, returned to it

again. In like manner, though in a less degree, a too great inattention

to past occurrences retards and bewilders our judgment in everything;

while, on the contrary, by comparing what is past with what is present,

we frequently hit on the true character of both, and become wise with

very little trouble. It is a kind of counter-march, by which we get into

the rear of time, and mark the movements and meaning of things as we

make our return. There are certain circumstances, which, at the time

of their happening, are a kind of riddles, and as every riddle is to be

followed by its answer, so those kind of circumstances will be followed

by their events, and those events are always the true solution. A

considerable space of time may lapse between, and unless we continue our

observations from the one to the other, the harmony of them will pass

away unnoticed: but the misfortune is, that partly from the pressing

necessity of some instant things, and partly from the impatience of our

own tempers, we are frequently in such a hurry to make out the meaning

of everything as fast as it happens, that we thereby never truly

understand it; and not only start new difficulties to ourselves by so

doing, but, as it were, embarrass Providence in her good designs.

I have been civil in stating this fault on a large scale, for, as it now

stands, it does not appear to be levelled against any particular set of

men; but were it to be refined a little further, it might afterwards

be applied to the Tories with a degree of striking propriety: those men

have been remarkable for drawing sudden conclusions from single facts.

The least apparent mishap on our side, or the least seeming advantage

on the part of the enemy, have determined with them the fate of a whole

campaign. By this hasty judgment they have converted a retreat into

a defeat; mistook generalship for error; while every little advantage

purposely given the enemy, either to weaken their strength by dividing

it, embarrass their councils by multiplying their objects, or to secure

a greater post by the surrender of a less, has been instantly magnified

into a conquest. Thus, by quartering ill policy upon ill principles,

they have frequently promoted the cause they designed to injure, and

injured that which they intended to promote.

It is probable the campaign may open before this number comes from

the press. The enemy have long lain idle, and amused themselves with

carrying on the war by proclamations only. While they continue their

delay our strength increases, and were they to move to action now, it

is a circumstantial proof that they have no reinforcement coming;

wherefore, in either case, the comparative advantage will be ours. Like

a wounded, disabled whale, they want only time and room to die in; and

though in the agony of their exit, it may be unsafe to live within the

flapping of their tail, yet every hour shortens their date, and lessens

their power of mischief. If any thing happens while this number is in

the press, it will afford me a subject for the last pages of it. At

present I am tired of waiting; and as neither the enemy, nor the state

of politics have yet produced any thing new, I am thereby left in

the field of general matter, undirected by any striking or particular

object. This Crisis, therefore, will be made up rather of variety than

novelty, and consist more of things useful than things wonderful.

The success of the cause, the union of the people, and the means of

supporting and securing both, are points which cannot be too much

attended to. He who doubts of the former is a desponding coward, and

he who wilfully disturbs the latter is a traitor. Their characters are

easily fixed, and under these short descriptions I leave them for the

present.

One of the greatest degrees of sentimental union which America ever

knew, was in denying the right of the British parliament "to bind the

colonies in all cases whatsoever." The Declaration is, in its form, an

almighty one, and is the loftiest stretch of arbitrary power that ever

one set of men or one country claimed over another. Taxation was

nothing more than the putting the declared right into practice; and

this failing, recourse was had to arms, as a means to establish both

the right and the practice, or to answer a worse purpose, which will be

mentioned in the course of this number. And in order to repay themselves

the expense of an army, and to profit by their own injustice, the

colonies were, by another law, declared to be in a state of actual

rebellion, and of consequence all property therein would fall to the

conquerors.

The colonies, on their part, first, denied the right; secondly, they

suspended the use of taxable articles, and petitioned against the

practice of taxation: and these failing, they, thirdly, defended their

property by force, as soon as it was forcibly invaded, and, in answer

to the declaration of rebellion and non-protection, published their

Declaration of Independence and right of self-protection.

These, in a few words, are the different stages of the quarrel; and the

parts are so intimately and necessarily connected with each other as to

admit of no separation. A person, to use a trite phrase, must be a

Whig or a Tory in a lump. His feelings, as a man, may be wounded; his

charity, as a Christian, may be moved; but his political principles must

go through all the cases on one side or the other. He cannot be a Whig

in this stage, and a Tory in that. If he says he is against the united

independence of the continent, he is to all intents and purposes against

her in all the rest; because this last comprehends the whole. And he may

just as well say, that Britain was right in declaring us rebels; right

in taxing us; and right in declaring her "right to bind the colonies in

all cases whatsoever." It signifies nothing what neutral ground, of his

own creating, he may skulk upon for shelter, for the quarrel in no

stage of it hath afforded any such ground; and either we or Britain are

absolutely right or absolutely wrong through the whole.

Britain, like a gamester nearly ruined, has now put all her losses into

one bet, and is playing a desperate game for the total. If she wins

it, she wins from me my life; she wins the continent as the forfeited

property of rebels; the right of taxing those that are left as reduced

subjects; and the power of binding them slaves: and the single die

which determines this unparalleled event is, whether we support our

independence or she overturn it. This is coming to the point at once.

Here is the touchstone to try men by. He that is not a supporter of the

independent States of America in the same degree that his religious and

political principles would suffer him to support the government of any

other country, of which he called himself a subject, is, in the American

sense of the word, A TORY; and the instant that he endeavors to bring

his toryism into practice, he becomes A TRAITOR. The first can only be

detected by a general test, and the law hath already provided for the

latter.

It is unnatural and impolitic to admit men who would root up our

independence to have any share in our legislation, either as electors

or representatives; because the support of our independence rests, in

a great measure, on the vigor and purity of our public bodies. Would

Britain, even in time of peace, much less in war, suffer an election to

be carried by men who professed themselves to be not her subjects, or

allow such to sit in Parliament? Certainly not.

But there are a certain species of Tories with whom conscience or

principle has nothing to do, and who are so from avarice only. Some

of the first fortunes on the continent, on the part of the Whigs, are

staked on the issue of our present measures. And shall disaffection only

be rewarded with security? Can any thing be a greater inducement to a

miserly man, than the hope of making his Mammon safe? And though the

scheme be fraught with every character of folly, yet, so long as he

supposes, that by doing nothing materially criminal against America

on one part, and by expressing his private disapprobation against

independence, as palliative with the enemy, on the other part, he stands

in a safe line between both; while, I say, this ground be suffered to

remain, craft, and the spirit of avarice, will point it out, and men

will not be wanting to fill up this most contemptible of all characters.

These men, ashamed to own the sordid cause from whence their

disaffection springs, add thereby meanness to meanness, by endeavoring

to shelter themselves under the mask of hypocrisy; that is, they had

rather be thought to be Tories from some kind of principle, than Tories

by having no principle at all. But till such time as they can show

some real reason, natural, political, or conscientious, on which their

objections to independence are founded, we are not obliged to give them

credit for being Tories of the first stamp, but must set them down as

Tories of the last.

In the second number of the Crisis, I endeavored to show the

impossibility of the enemy's making any conquest of America, that

nothing was wanting on our part but patience and perseverance, and

that, with these virtues, our success, as far as human speculation could

discern, seemed as certain as fate. But as there are many among us, who,

influenced by others, have regularly gone back from the principles

they once held, in proportion as we have gone forward; and as it is the

unfortunate lot of many a good man to live within the neighborhood of

disaffected ones; I shall, therefore, for the sake of confirming the one

and recovering the other, endeavor, in the space of a page or two, to go

over some of the leading principles in support of independence. It is a

much pleasanter task to prevent vice than to punish it, and, however our

tempers may be gratified by resentment, or our national expenses eased

by forfeited estates, harmony and friendship is, nevertheless, the

happiest condition a country can be blessed with.

The principal arguments in support of independence may be comprehended

under the four following heads.

1st, The natural right of the continent to independence.

2d, Her interest in being independent.

3d, The necessity,--and

4th, The moral advantages arising therefrom.

I. The natural right of the continent to independence, is a point which

never yet was called in question. It will not even admit of a debate.

To deny such a right, would be a kind of atheism against nature: and the

best answer to such an objection would be, "The fool hath said in his

heart there is no God."

II. The interest of the continent in being independent is a point as

clearly right as the former. America, by her own internal industry,

and unknown to all the powers of Europe, was, at the beginning of the

dispute, arrived at a pitch of greatness, trade and population, beyond

which it was the interest of Britain not to suffer her to pass, lest she

should grow too powerful to be kept subordinate. She began to view

this country with the same uneasy malicious eye, with which a covetous

guardian would view his ward, whose estate he had been enriching himself

by for twenty years, and saw him just arriving at manhood. And America

owes no more to Britain for her present maturity, than the ward would

to the guardian for being twenty-one years of age. That America hath

flourished at the time she was under the government of Britain, is

true; but there is every natural reason to believe, that had she been an

independent country from the first settlement thereof, uncontrolled by

any foreign power, free to make her own laws, regulate and encourage her

own commerce, she had by this time been of much greater worth than now.

The case is simply this: the first settlers in the different colonies

were left to shift for themselves, unnoticed and unsupported by any

European government; but as the tyranny and persecution of the old world

daily drove numbers to the new, and as, by the favor of heaven on their

industry and perseverance, they grew into importance, so, in a like

degree, they became an object of profit to the greedy eyes of Europe.

It was impossible, in this state of infancy, however thriving and

promising, that they could resist the power of any armed invader that

should seek to bring them under his authority. In this situation,

Britain thought it worth her while to claim them, and the continent

received and acknowledged the claimer. It was, in reality, of no very

great importance who was her master, seeing, that from the force and

ambition of the different powers of Europe, she must, till she acquired

strength enough to assert her own right, acknowledge some one. As well,

perhaps, Britain as another; and it might have been as well to have been

under the states of Holland as any. The same hopes of engrossing and

profiting by her trade, by not oppressing it too much, would have

operated alike with any master, and produced to the colonies the same

effects. The clamor of protection, likewise, was all a farce; because,

in order to make that protection necessary, she must first, by her own

quarrels, create us enemies. Hard terms indeed!

To know whether it be the interest of the continent to be independent,

we need only ask this easy, simple question: Is it the interest of a man

to be a boy all his life? The answer to one will be the answer to both.

America hath been one continued scene of legislative contention from

the first king's representative to the last; and this was unavoidably

founded in the natural opposition of interest between the old country

and the new. A governor sent from England, or receiving his authority

therefrom, ought never to have been considered in any other light

than that of a genteel commissioned spy, whose private business was

information, and his public business a kind of civilized oppression. In

the first of these characters he was to watch the tempers, sentiments,

and disposition of the people, the growth of trade, and the increase of

private fortunes; and, in the latter, to suppress all such acts of the

assemblies, however beneficial to the people, which did not directly

or indirectly throw some increase of power or profit into the hands of

those that sent him.

America, till now, could never be called a free country, because her

legislation depended on the will of a man three thousand miles distant,

whose interest was in opposition to ours, and who, by a single "no,"

could forbid what law he pleased.

The freedom of trade, likewise, is, to a trading country, an article of

such importance, that the principal source of wealth depends upon it;

and it is impossible that any country can flourish, as it otherwise

might do, whose commerce is engrossed, cramped and fettered by the

laws and mandates of another--yet these evils, and more than I can here

enumerate, the continent has suffered by being under the government of

England. By an independence we clear the whole at once--put

an end to the business of unanswered petitions and fruitless

remonstrances--exchange Britain for Europe--shake hands with the

world--live at peace with the world--and trade to any market where we

can buy and sell.

III. The necessity, likewise, of being independent, even before it was

declared, became so evident and important, that the continent ran the

risk of being ruined every day that she delayed it. There was reason to

believe that Britain would endeavor to make an European matter of it,

and, rather than lose the whole, would dismember it, like Poland, and

dispose of her several claims to the highest bidder. Genoa, failing in

her attempts to reduce Corsica, made a sale of it to the French, and

such trafficks have been common in the old world. We had at that time no

ambassador in any part of Europe, to counteract her negotiations, and

by that means she had the range of every foreign court uncontradicted

on our part. We even knew nothing of the treaty for the Hessians till it

was concluded, and the troops ready to embark. Had we been independent

before, we had probably prevented her obtaining them. We had no credit

abroad, because of our rebellious dependency. Our ships could claim no

protection in foreign ports, because we afforded them no justifiable

reason for granting it to us. The calling ourselves subjects, and at

the same time fighting against the power which we acknowledged, was

a dangerous precedent to all Europe. If the grievances justified the

taking up arms, they justified our separation; if they did not justify

our separation, neither could they justify our taking up arms. All

Europe was interested in reducing us as rebels, and all Europe (or the

greatest part at least) is interested in supporting us as independent

States. At home our condition was still worse: our currency had no

foundation, and the fall of it would have ruined Whig and Tory alike. We

had no other law than a kind of moderated passion; no other civil

power than an honest mob; and no other protection than the temporary

attachment of one man to another. Had independence been delayed a few

months longer, this continent would have been plunged into irrecoverable

confusion: some violent for it, some against it, till, in the general

cabal, the rich would have been ruined, and the poor destroyed. It is to

independence that every Tory owes the present safety which he lives

in; for by that, and that only, we emerged from a state of dangerous

suspense, and became a regular people.

The necessity, likewise, of being independent, had there been no rupture

between Britain and America, would, in a little time, have brought one

on. The increasing importance of commerce, the weight and perplexity of

legislation, and the entangled state of European politics, would daily

have shown to the continent the impossibility of continuing subordinate;

for, after the coolest reflections on the matter, this must be allowed,

that Britain was too jealous of America to govern it justly; too

ignorant of it to govern it well; and too far distant from it to govern

it at all.

IV. But what weigh most with all men of serious reflection are, the

moral advantages arising from independence: war and desolation have

become the trade of the old world; and America neither could nor can be

under the government of Britain without becoming a sharer of her

guilt, and a partner in all the dismal commerce of death. The spirit

of duelling, extended on a national scale, is a proper character for

European wars. They have seldom any other motive than pride, or any

other object than fame. The conquerors and the conquered are generally

ruined alike, and the chief difference at last is, that the one marches

home with his honors, and the other without them. 'Tis the natural

temper of the English to fight for a feather, if they suppose that

feather to be an affront; and America, without the right of asking why,

must have abetted in every quarrel, and abided by its fate. It is a

shocking situation to live in, that one country must be brought into all

the wars of another, whether the measure be right or wrong, or whether

she will or not; yet this, in the fullest extent, was, and ever would

be, the unavoidable consequence of the connection. Surely the Quakers

forgot their own principles when, in their late Testimony, they called

this connection, with these military and miserable appendages hanging to

it--"the happy constitution."

Britain, for centuries past, has been nearly fifty years out of every

hundred at war with some power or other. It certainly ought to be a

conscientious as well political consideration with America, not to

dip her hands in the bloody work of Europe. Our situation affords us

a retreat from their cabals, and the present happy union of the states

bids fair for extirpating the future use of arms from one quarter of

the world; yet such have been the irreligious politics of the present

leaders of the Quakers, that, for the sake of they scarce know what,

they would cut off every hope of such a blessing by tying this continent

to Britain, like Hector to the chariot wheel of Achilles, to be dragged

through all the miseries of endless European wars.

The connection, viewed from this ground, is distressing to every man

who has the feelings of humanity. By having Britain for our master, we

became enemies to the greatest part of Europe, and they to us: and the

consequence was war inevitable. By being our own masters, independent of

any foreign one, we have Europe for our friends, and the prospect of an

endless peace among ourselves. Those who were advocates for the British

government over these colonies, were obliged to limit both their

arguments and their ideas to the period of an European peace only; the

moment Britain became plunged in war, every supposed convenience to us

vanished, and all we could hope for was not to be ruined. Could this be

a desirable condition for a young country to be in?

Had the French pursued their fortune immediately after the defeat of

Braddock last war, this city and province had then experienced the woful

calamities of being a British subject. A scene of the same kind might

happen again; for America, considered as a subject to the crown

of Britain, would ever have been the seat of war, and the bone of

contention between the two powers.

On the whole, if the future expulsion of arms from one quarter of the

world would be a desirable object to a peaceable man; if the freedom of

trade to every part of it can engage the attention of a man of business;

if the support or fall of millions of currency can affect our interests;

if the entire possession of estates, by cutting off the lordly claims

of Britain over the soil, deserves the regard of landed property; and if

the right of making our own laws, uncontrolled by royal or ministerial

spies or mandates, be worthy our care as freemen;--then are all men

interested in the support of independence; and may he that supports it

not, be driven from the blessing, and live unpitied beneath the servile

sufferings of scandalous subjection!

We have been amused with the tales of ancient wonders; we have read,

and wept over the histories of other nations: applauded, censured, or

pitied, as their cases affected us. The fortitude and patience of the

sufferers--the justness of their cause--the weight of their oppressions

and oppressors--the object to be saved or lost--with all the

consequences of a defeat or a conquest--have, in the hour of sympathy,

bewitched our hearts, and chained it to their fate: but where is the

power that ever made war upon petitioners? Or where is the war on which

a world was staked till now?

We may not, perhaps, be wise enough to make all the advantages we ought

of our independence; but they are, nevertheless, marked and presented

to us with every character of great and good, and worthy the hand of

him who sent them. I look through the present trouble to a time of

tranquillity, when we shall have it in our power to set an example of

peace to all the world. Were the Quakers really impressed and influenced

by the quiet principles they profess to hold, they would, however

they might disapprove the means, be the first of all men to approve of

independence, because, by separating ourselves from the cities of Sodom

and Gomorrah, it affords an opportunity never given to man before of

carrying their favourite principle of peace into general practice, by

establishing governments that shall hereafter exist without wars. O! ye

fallen, cringing, priest-and-Pemberton-ridden people! What more can we

say of ye than that a religious Quaker is a valuable character, and a

political Quaker a real Jesuit.

Having thus gone over some of the principal points in support of

independence, I must now request the reader to return back with me to

the period when it first began to be a public doctrine, and to examine

the progress it has made among the various classes of men. The area I

mean to begin at, is the breaking out of hostilities, April 19th, 1775.

Until this event happened, the continent seemed to view the dispute as

a kind of law-suit for a matter of right, litigating between the old

country and the new; and she felt the same kind and degree of horror,

as if she had seen an oppressive plaintiff, at the head of a band of

ruffians, enter the court, while the cause was before it, and put the

judge, the jury, the defendant and his counsel, to the sword. Perhaps a

more heart-felt convulsion never reached a country with the same

degree of power and rapidity before, and never may again. Pity for the

sufferers, mixed with indignation at the violence, and heightened with

apprehensions of undergoing the same fate, made the affair of Lexington

the affair of the continent. Every part of it felt the shock, and all

vibrated together. A general promotion of sentiment took place: those

who had drank deeply into Whiggish principles, that is, the right and

necessity not only of opposing, but wholly setting aside the power of

the crown as soon as it became practically dangerous (for in theory

it was always so), stepped into the first stage of independence; while

another class of Whigs, equally sound in principle, but not so sanguine

in enterprise, attached themselves the stronger to the cause, and fell

close in with the rear of the former; their partition was a mere point.

Numbers of the moderate men, whose chief fault, at that time, arose from

entertaining a better opinion of Britain than she deserved, convinced

now of their mistake, gave her up, and publicly declared themselves

good Whigs. While the Tories, seeing it was no longer a laughing matter,

either sank into silent obscurity, or contented themselves with coming

forth and abusing General Gage: not a single advocate appeared to

justify the action of that day; it seemed to appear to every one with

the same magnitude, struck every one with the same force, and created in

every one the same abhorrence. From this period we may date the growth

of independence.

If the many circumstances which happened at this memorable time, be

taken in one view, and compared with each other, they will justify a

conclusion which seems not to have been attended to, I mean a fixed

design in the king and ministry of driving America into arms, in order

that they might be furnished with a pretence for seizing the whole

continent, as the immediate property of the crown. A noble plunder for

hungry courtiers!

It ought to be remembered, that the first petition from the Congress

was at this time unanswered on the part of the British king. That the

motion, called Lord North's motion, of the 20th of February, 1775,

arrived in America the latter end of March. This motion was to be laid,

by the several governors then in being, before, the assembly of each

province; and the first assembly before which it was laid, was the

assembly of Pennsylvania, in May following. This being a just state of

the case, I then ask, why were hostilities commenced between the time

of passing the resolve in the House of Commons, of the 20th of February,

and the time of the assemblies meeting to deliberate upon it? Degrading

and famous as that motion was, there is nevertheless reason to believe

that the king and his adherents were afraid the colonies would agree

to it, and lest they should, took effectual care they should not, by

provoking them with hostilities in the interim. They had not the least

doubt at that time of conquering America at one blow; and what they

expected to get by a conquest being infinitely greater than any thing

they could hope to get either by taxation or accommodation, they seemed

determined to prevent even the possibility of hearing each other, lest

America should disappoint their greedy hopes of the whole, by listening

even to their own terms. On the one hand they refused to hear the

petition of the continent, and on the other hand took effectual care the

continent should not hear them.

That the motion of the 20th February and the orders for commencing

hostilities were both concerted by the same person or persons, and not

the latter by General Gage, as was falsely imagined at first, is evident

from an extract of a letter of his to the administration, read among

other papers in the House of Commons; in which he informs his masters,

"That though their idea of his disarming certain counties was a right

one, yet it required him to be master of the country, in order to enable

him to execute it." This was prior to the commencement of hostilities,

and consequently before the motion of the 20th February could be

deliberated on by the several assemblies.

Perhaps it may be asked, why was the motion passed, if there was at the

same time a plan to aggravate the Americans not to listen to it? Lord

North assigned one reason himself, which was a hope of dividing them.

This was publicly tempting them to reject it; that if, in case the

injury of arms should fail in provoking them sufficiently, the insult

of such a declaration might fill it up. But by passing the motion and

getting it afterwards rejected in America, it enabled them, in their

wicked idea of politics, among other things, to hold up the colonies to

foreign powers, with every possible mark of disobedience and rebellion.

They had applied to those powers not to supply the continent with arms,

ammunition, etc., and it was necessary they should incense them against

us, by assigning on their own part some seeming reputable reason why.

By dividing, it had a tendency to weaken the States, and likewise to

perplex the adherents of America in England. But the principal scheme,

and that which has marked their character in every part of their

conduct, was a design of precipitating the colonies into a state which

they might afterwards deem rebellion, and, under that pretence, put an

end to all future complaints, petitions and remonstrances, by seizing

the whole at once. They had ravaged one part of the globe, till it could

glut them no longer; their prodigality required new plunder, and through

the East India article tea they hoped to transfer their rapine from that

quarter of the world to this. Every designed quarrel had its pretence;

and the same barbarian avarice accompanied the plant to America, which

ruined the country that produced it.

That men never turn rogues without turning fools is a maxim, sooner or

later, universally true. The commencement of hostilities, being in the

beginning of April, was, of all times the worst chosen: the Congress

were to meet the tenth of May following, and the distress the continent

felt at this unparalleled outrage gave a stability to that body which

no other circumstance could have done. It suppressed too all inferior

debates, and bound them together by a necessitous affection, without

giving them time to differ upon trifles. The suffering likewise softened

the whole body of the people into a degree of pliability, which laid the

principal foundation-stone of union, order, and government; and which,

at any other time, might only have fretted and then faded away

unnoticed and unimproved. But Providence, who best knows how to time her

misfortunes as well as her immediate favors, chose this to be the time,

and who dare dispute it?

It did not seem the disposition of the people, at this crisis, to

heap petition upon petition, while the former remained unanswered. The

measure however was carried in Congress, and a second petition was sent;

of which I shall only remark that it was submissive even to a dangerous

fault, because the prayer of it appealed solely to what it called the

prerogative of the crown, while the matter in dispute was confessedly

constitutional. But even this petition, flattering as it was, was

still not so harmonious as the chink of cash, and consequently not

sufficiently grateful to the tyrant and his ministry. From every

circumstance it is evident, that it was the determination of the British

court to have nothing to do with America but to conquer her fully and

absolutely. They were certain of success, and the field of battle was

the only place of treaty. I am confident there are thousands and tens of

thousands in America who wonder now that they should ever have thought

otherwise; but the sin of that day was the sin of civility; yet it

operated against our present good in the same manner that a civil

opinion of the devil would against our future peace.

Independence was a doctrine scarce and rare, even towards the conclusion

of the year 1775; all our politics had been founded on the hope of

expectation of making the matter up--a hope, which, though general on

the side of America, had never entered the head or heart of the British

court. Their hope was conquest and confiscation. Good heavens! what

volumes of thanks does America owe to Britain? What infinite obligation

to the tool that fills, with paradoxical vacancy, the throne! Nothing

but the sharpest essence of villany, compounded with the strongest

distillation of folly, could have produced a menstruum that would have

effected a separation. The Congress in 1774 administered an abortive

medicine to independence, by prohibiting the importation of goods,

and the succeeding Congress rendered the dose still more dangerous by

continuing it. Had independence been a settled system with America, (as

Britain has advanced,) she ought to have doubled her importation, and

prohibited in some degree her exportation. And this single circumstance

is sufficient to acquit America before any jury of nations, of having

a continental plan of independence in view; a charge which, had it been

true, would have been honorable, but is so grossly false, that either

the amazing ignorance or the wilful dishonesty of the British court is

effectually proved by it.

The second petition, like the first, produced no answer; it was

scarcely acknowledged to have been received; the British court were too

determined in their villainy even to act it artfully, and in their rage

for conquest neglected the necessary subtleties for obtaining it. They

might have divided, distracted and played a thousand tricks with us, had

they been as cunning as they were cruel.

This last indignity gave a new spring to independence. Those who knew

the savage obstinacy of the king, and the jobbing, gambling spirit of

the court, predicted the fate of the petition, as soon as it was sent

from America; for the men being known, their measures were easily

foreseen. As politicians we ought not so much to ground our hopes on

the reasonableness of the thing we ask, as on the reasonableness of

the person of whom we ask it: who would expect discretion from a fool,

candor from a tyrant, or justice from a villain?

As every prospect of accommodation seemed now to fail fast, men began to

think seriously on the matter; and their reason being thus stripped of

the false hope which had long encompassed it, became approachable by

fair debate: yet still the bulk of the people hesitated; they startled

at the novelty of independence, without once considering that our

getting into arms at first was a more extraordinary novelty, and that

all other nations had gone through the work of independence before

us. They doubted likewise the ability of the continent to support

it, without reflecting that it required the same force to obtain an

accommodation by arms as an independence. If the one was acquirable, the

other was the same; because, to accomplish either, it was necessary that

our strength should be too great for Britain to subdue; and it was too

unreasonable to suppose, that with the power of being masters, we should

submit to be servants.* Their caution at this time was exceedingly

misplaced; for if they were able to defend their property and maintain

their rights by arms, they, consequently, were able to defend and

support their independence; and in proportion as these men saw the

necessity and correctness of the measure, they honestly and openly

declared and adopted it, and the part that they had acted since has done

them honor and fully established their characters. Error in opinion has

this peculiar advantage with it, that the foremost point of the contrary

ground may at any time be reached by the sudden exertion of a thought;

and it frequently happens in sentimental differences, that some striking

circumstance, or some forcible reason quickly conceived, will effect in

an instant what neither argument nor example could produce in an age.

* In this state of political suspense the pamphlet Common Sense made

its appearance, and the success it met with does not become me to

mention. Dr. Franklin, Mr. Samuel and John Adams, were severally spoken

of as the supposed author. I had not, at that time, the pleasure either

of personally knowing or being known to the two last gentlemen. The

favor of Dr. Franklin's friendship I possessed in England, and my

introduction to this part of the world was through his patronage. I

happened, when a school-boy, to pick up a pleasing natural history of

Virginia, and my inclination from that day of seeing the western side

of the Atlantic never left me. In October, 1775, Dr. Franklin proposed

giving me such materials as were in his hands, towards completing a

history of the present transactions, and seemed desirous of having the

first volume out the next Spring. I had then formed the outlines of

Common Sense, and finished nearly the first part; and as I supposed the

doctor's design in getting out a history was to open the new year with

a new system, I expected to surprise him with a production on that

subject, much earlier than he thought of; and without informing him what

I was doing, got it ready for the press as fast as I conveniently could,

and sent him the first pamphlet that was printed off.

I find it impossible in the small compass I am limited to, to trace out

the progress which independence has made on the minds of the different

classes of men, and the several reasons by which they were moved. With

some, it was a passionate abhorrence against the king of England and his

ministry, as a set of savages and brutes; and these men, governed by

the agony of a wounded mind, were for trusting every thing to hope and

heaven, and bidding defiance at once. With others, it was a growing

conviction that the scheme of the British court was to create, ferment

and drive on a quarrel, for the sake of confiscated plunder: and men

of this class ripened into independence in proportion as the evidence

increased. While a third class conceived it was the true interest of

America, internally and externally, to be her own master, and gave their

support to independence, step by step, as they saw her abilities to

maintain it enlarge. With many, it was a compound of all these reasons;

while those who were too callous to be reached by either, remained, and

still remain Tories.

The legal necessity of being independent, with several collateral

reasons, is pointed out in an elegant masterly manner, in a charge to

the grand jury for the district of Charleston, by the Hon. William

Henry Drayton, chief justice of South Carolina, [April 23, 1776]. This

performance, and the address of the convention of New York, are pieces,

in my humble opinion, of the first rank in America.

The principal causes why independence has not been so universally

supported as it ought, are fear and indolence, and the causes why it

has been opposed, are, avarice, down-right villany, and lust of personal

power. There is not such a being in America as a Tory from conscience;

some secret defect or other is interwoven in the character of all those,

be they men or women, who can look with patience on the brutality,

luxury and debauchery of the British court, and the violations of their

army here. A woman's virtue must sit very lightly on her who can even

hint a favorable sentiment in their behalf. It is remarkable that the

whole race of prostitutes in New York were tories; and the schemes for

supporting the Tory cause in this city, for which several are now

in jail, and one hanged, were concerted and carried on in common

bawdy-houses, assisted by those who kept them.

The connection between vice and meanness is a fit subject for satire,

but when the satire is a fact, it cuts with the irresistible power of a

diamond. If a Quaker, in defence of his just rights, his property,

and the chastity of his house, takes up a musket, he is expelled the

meeting; but the present king of England, who seduced and took into

keeping a sister of their society, is reverenced and supported by

repeated Testimonies, while, the friendly noodle from whom she was taken

(and who is now in this city) continues a drudge in the service of his

rival, as if proud of being cuckolded by a creature called a king.

Our support and success depend on such a variety of men and

circumstances, that every one who does but wish well, is of some use:

there are men who have a strange aversion to arms, yet have hearts to

risk every shilling in the cause, or in support of those who have better

talents for defending it. Nature, in the arrangement of mankind, has

fitted some for every service in life: were all soldiers, all would

starve and go naked, and were none soldiers, all would be slaves. As

disaffection to independence is the badge of a Tory, so affection to

it is the mark of a Whig; and the different services of the Whigs, down

from those who nobly contribute every thing, to those who have nothing

to render but their wishes, tend all to the same center, though with

different degrees of merit and ability. The larger we make the circle,

the more we shall harmonize, and the stronger we shall be. All we want

to shut out is disaffection, and, that excluded, we must accept from

each other such duties as we are best fitted to bestow. A narrow system

of politics, like a narrow system of religion, is calculated only to

sour the temper, and be at variance with mankind.

All we want to know in America is simply this, who is for independence,

and who is not? Those who are for it, will support it, and the remainder

will undoubtedly see the reasonableness of paying the charges; while

those who oppose or seek to betray it, must expect the more rigid fate

of the jail and the gibbet. There is a bastard kind of generosity, which

being extended to all men, is as fatal to society, on one hand, as the

want of true generosity is on the other. A lax manner of administering

justice, falsely termed moderation, has a tendency both to dispirit

public virtue, and promote the growth of public evils. Had the late

committee of safety taken cognizance of the last Testimony of the

Quakers and proceeded against such delinquents as were concerned

therein, they had, probably, prevented the treasonable plans which

have been concerted since. When one villain is suffered to escape, it

encourages another to proceed, either from a hope of escaping likewise,

or an apprehension that we dare not punish. It has been a matter of

general surprise, that no notice was taken of the incendiary publication

of the Quakers, of the 20th of November last; a publication evidently

intended to promote sedition and treason, and encourage the enemy, who

were then within a day's march of this city, to proceed on and possess

it. I here present the reader with a memorial which was laid before the

board of safety a few days after the Testimony appeared. Not a member of

that board, that I conversed with, but expressed the highest detestation

of the perverted principles and conduct of the Quaker junto, and a wish

that the board would take the matter up; notwithstanding which, it was

suffered to pass away unnoticed, to the encouragement of new acts of

treason, the general danger of the cause, and the disgrace of the state.

To the honorable the Council of Safety of the State of

Pennsylvania.

At a meeting of a reputable number of the inhabitants of the city of

Philadelphia, impressed with a proper sense of the justice of the cause

which this continent is engaged in, and animated with a generous fervor

for supporting the same, it was resolved, that the following be laid

before the board of safety:

"We profess liberality of sentiment to all men; with this distinction

only, that those who do not deserve it would become wise and seek

to deserve it. We hold the pure doctrines of universal liberty of

conscience, and conceive it our duty to endeavor to secure that sacred

right to others, as well as to defend it for ourselves; for we undertake

not to judge of the religious rectitude of tenets, but leave the whole

matter to Him who made us.

"We persecute no man, neither will we abet in the persecution of any

man for religion's sake; our common relation to others being that of

fellow-citizens and fellow-subjects of one single community; and in this

line of connection we hold out the right hand of fellowship to all men.

But we should conceive ourselves to be unworthy members of the free and

independent States of America, were we unconcernedly to see or to suffer

any treasonable wound, public or private, directly or indirectly, to be

given against the peace and safety of the same. We inquire not into the

rank of the offenders, nor into their religious persuasion; we have no

business with either, our part being only to find them out and exhibit

them to justice.

"A printed paper, dated the 20th of November, and signed 'John

Pemberton,' whom we suppose to be an inhabitant of this city, has lately

been dispersed abroad, a copy of which accompanies this. Had the framers

and publishers of that paper conceived it their duty to exhort the youth

and others of their society, to a patient submission under the present

trying visitations, and humbly to wait the event of heaven towards them,

they had therein shown a Christian temper, and we had been silent; but

the anger and political virulence with which their instructions are

given, and the abuse with which they stigmatize all ranks of men not

thinking like themselves, leave no doubt on our minds from what spirit

their publication proceeded: and it is disgraceful to the pure cause of

truth, that men can dally with words of the most sacred import, and play

them off as mechanically as if religion consisted only in contrivance.

We know of no instance in which the Quakers have been compelled to bear

arms, or to do any thing which might strain their conscience; wherefore

their advice, 'to withstand and refuse to submit to the arbitrary

instructions and ordinances of men,' appear to us a false alarm, and

could only be treasonably calculated to gain favor with our enemies,

when they are seemingly on the brink of invading this State, or, what

is still worse, to weaken the hands of our defence, that their entrance

into this city might be made practicable and easy.

"We disclaim all tumult and disorder in the punishment of offenders;

and wish to be governed, not by temper but by reason, in the manner of

treating them. We are sensible that our cause has suffered by the two

following errors: first, by ill-judged lenity to traitorous persons in

some cases; and, secondly, by only a passionate treatment of them in

others. For the future we disown both, and wish to be steady in our

proceedings, and serious in our punishments.

"Every State in America has, by the repeated voice of its inhabitants,

directed and authorized the Continental Congress to publish a formal

Declaration of Independence of, and separation from, the oppressive king

and Parliament of Great Britain; and we look on every man as an

enemy, who does not in some line or other, give his assistance towards

supporting the same; at the same time we consider the offence to be

heightened to a degree of unpardonable guilt, when such persons,

under the show of religion, endeavor, either by writing, speaking, or

otherwise, to subvert, overturn, or bring reproach upon the independence

of this continent as declared by Congress.

"The publishers of the paper signed 'John Pemberton,' have called in a

loud manner to their friends and connections, 'to withstand or refuse'

obedience to whatever 'instructions or ordinances' may be published, not

warranted by (what they call) 'that happy Constitution under which they

and others long enjoyed tranquillity and peace.' If this be not treason,

we know not what may properly be called by that name.

"To us it is a matter of surprise and astonishment, that men with the

word 'peace, peace,' continually on their lips, should be so fond of

living under and supporting a government, and at the same time calling

it 'happy,' which is never better pleased than when a war--that has

filled India with carnage and famine, Africa with slavery, and tampered

with Indians and negroes to cut the throats of the freemen of America.

We conceive it a disgrace to this State, to harbor or wink at such

palpable hypocrisy. But as we seek not to hurt the hair of any man's

head, when we can make ourselves safe without, we wish such persons to

restore peace to themselves and us, by removing themselves to some part

of the king of Great Britain's dominions, as by that means they may live

unmolested by us and we by them; for our fixed opinion is, that those

who do not deserve a place among us, ought not to have one.

"We conclude with requesting the Council of Safety to take into

consideration the paper signed 'John Pemberton,' and if it shall appear

to them to be of a dangerous tendency, or of a treasonable nature, that

they would commit the signer, together with such other persons as they

can discover were concerned therein, into custody, until such time as

some mode of trial shall ascertain the full degree of their guilt and

punishment; in the doing of which, we wish their judges, whoever

they may be, to disregard the man, his connections, interest, riches,

poverty, or principles of religion, and to attend to the nature of his

offence only."

The most cavilling sectarian cannot accuse the foregoing with containing

the least ingredient of persecution. The free spirit on which the

American cause is founded, disdains to mix with such an impurity, and

leaves it as rubbish fit only for narrow and suspicious minds to grovel

in. Suspicion and persecution are weeds of the same dunghill, and

flourish together. Had the Quakers minded their religion and their

business, they might have lived through this dispute in enviable ease,

and none would have molested them. The common phrase with these people

is, 'Our principles are peace.' To which may be replied, and your

practices are the reverse; for never did the conduct of men oppose their

own doctrine more notoriously than the present race of the Quakers. They

have artfully changed themselves into a different sort of people to what

they used to be, and yet have the address to persuade each other that

they are not altered; like antiquated virgins, they see not the havoc

deformity has made upon them, but pleasantly mistaking wrinkles for

dimples, conceive themselves yet lovely and wonder at the stupid world

for not admiring them.

Did no injury arise to the public by this apostacy of the Quakers from

themselves, the public would have nothing to do with it; but as both the

design and consequences are pointed against a cause in which the whole

community are interested, it is therefore no longer a subject confined

to the cognizance of the meeting only, but comes, as a matter of

criminality, before the authority either of the particular State in

which it is acted, or of the continent against which it operates. Every

attempt, now, to support the authority of the king and Parliament of

Great Britain over America, is treason against every State; therefore

it is impossible that any one can pardon or screen from punishment an

offender against all.

But to proceed: while the infatuated Tories of this and other States

were last spring talking of commissioners, accommodation, making the

matter up, and the Lord knows what stuff and nonsense, their good king

and ministry were glutting themselves with the revenge of reducing

America to unconditional submission, and solacing each other with the

certainty of conquering it in one campaign. The following quotations are

from the parliamentary register of the debate's of the House of Lords,

March 5th, 1776:

"The Americans," says Lord Talbot,* "have been obstinate, undutiful, and

ungovernable from the very beginning, from their first early and infant

settlements; and I am every day more and more convinced that this people

never will be brought back to their duty, and the subordinate relation

they stand in to this country, till reduced to unconditional, effectual

submission; no concession on our part, no lenity, no endurance, will

have any other effect but that of increasing their insolence."

* Steward of the king's household.

"The struggle," says Lord Townsend,* "is now a struggle for power; the

die is cast, and the only point which now remains to be determined is,

in what manner the war can be most effectually prosecuted and speedily

finished, in order to procure that unconditional submission, which has

been so ably stated by the noble Earl with the white staff" (meaning

Lord Talbot;) "and I have no reason to doubt that the measures now

pursuing will put an end to the war in the course of a single campaign.

Should it linger longer, we shall then have reason to expect that

some foreign power will interfere, and take advantage of our domestic

troubles and civil distractions."

* Formerly General Townsend, at Quebec, and late lord-lieutenant of

Ireland.

Lord Littleton. "My sentiments are pretty well known. I shall only

observe now that lenient measures have had no other effect than to

produce insult after insult; that the more we conceded, the higher

America rose in her demands, and the more insolent she has grown. It

is for this reason that I am now for the most effective and decisive

measures; and am of opinion that no alternative is left us, but to

relinquish America for ever, or finally determine to compel her to

acknowledge the legislative authority of this country; and it is the

principle of an unconditional submission I would be for maintaining."

Can words be more expressive than these? Surely the Tories will believe

the Tory lords! The truth is, they do believe them and know as fully as

any Whig on the continent knows, that the king and ministry never had

the least design of an accommodation with America, but an absolute,

unconditional conquest. And the part which the Tories were to act, was,

by downright lying, to endeavor to put the continent off its guard, and

to divide and sow discontent in the minds of such Whigs as they might

gain an influence over. In short, to keep up a distraction here, that

the force sent from England might be able to conquer in "one campaign."

They and the ministry were, by a different game, playing into each

other's hands. The cry of the Tories in England was, "No reconciliation,

no accommodation," in order to obtain the greater military force;

while those in America were crying nothing but "reconciliation and

accommodation," that the force sent might conquer with the less

resistance.

But this "single campaign" is over, and America not conquered. The

whole work is yet to do, and the force much less to do it with. Their

condition is both despicable and deplorable: out of cash--out of heart,

and out of hope. A country furnished with arms and ammunition as America

now is, with three millions of inhabitants, and three thousand miles

distant from the nearest enemy that can approach her, is able to look

and laugh them in the face.

Howe appears to have two objects in view, either to go up the North

River, or come to Philadelphia.

By going up the North River, he secures a retreat for his army through

Canada, but the ships must return if they return at all, the same way

they went; as our army would be in the rear, the safety of their passage

down is a doubtful matter. By such a motion he shuts himself from all

supplies from Europe, but through Canada, and exposes his army and

navy to the danger of perishing. The idea of his cutting off the

communication between the eastern and southern states, by means of

the North River, is merely visionary. He cannot do it by his shipping;

because no ship can lay long at anchor in any river within reach of the

shore; a single gun would drive a first rate from such a station. This

was fully proved last October at Forts Washington and Lee, where one

gun only, on each side of the river, obliged two frigates to cut and

be towed off in an hour's time. Neither can he cut it off by his army;

because the several posts they must occupy would divide them almost

to nothing, and expose them to be picked up by ours like pebbles on a

river's bank; but admitting that he could, where is the injury? Because,

while his whole force is cantoned out, as sentries over the water, they

will be very innocently employed, and the moment they march into the

country the communication opens.

The most probable object is Philadelphia, and the reasons are many.

Howe's business is to conquer it, and in proportion as he finds himself

unable to the task, he will employ his strength to distress women and

weak minds, in order to accomplish through their fears what he cannot

accomplish by his own force. His coming or attempting to come to

Philadelphia is a circumstance that proves his weakness: for no general

that felt himself able to take the field and attack his antagonist would

think of bringing his army into a city in the summer time; and this mere

shifting the scene from place to place, without effecting any thing,

has feebleness and cowardice on the face of it, and holds him up in a

contemptible light to all who can reason justly and firmly. By several

informations from New York, it appears that their army in general, both

officers and men, have given up the expectation of conquering America;

their eye now is fixed upon the spoil. They suppose Philadelphia to be

rich with stores, and as they think to get more by robbing a town than

by attacking an army, their movement towards this city is probable. We

are not now contending against an army of soldiers, but against a band

of thieves, who had rather plunder than fight, and have no other hope of

conquest than by cruelty.

They expect to get a mighty booty, and strike another general panic, by

making a sudden movement and getting possession of this city; but unless

they can march out as well as in, or get the entire command of the

river, to remove off their plunder, they may probably be stopped with

the stolen goods upon them. They have never yet succeeded wherever they

have been opposed, but at Fort Washington. At Charleston their defeat

was effectual. At Ticonderoga they ran away. In every skirmish at

Kingsbridge and the White Plains they were obliged to retreat, and the

instant that our arms were turned upon them in the Jerseys, they turned

likewise, and those that turned not were taken.

The necessity of always fitting our internal police to the circumstances

of the times we live in, is something so strikingly obvious, that no

sufficient objection can be made against it. The safety of all

societies depends upon it; and where this point is not attended to,

the consequences will either be a general languor or a tumult. The

encouragement and protection of the good subjects of any state, and the

suppression and punishment of bad ones, are the principal objects for

which all authority is instituted, and the line in which it ought to

operate. We have in this city a strange variety of men and characters,

and the circumstances of the times require that they should be publicly

known; it is not the number of Tories that hurt us, so much as the not

finding out who they are; men must now take one side or the other, and

abide by the consequences: the Quakers, trusting to their short-sighted

sagacity, have, most unluckily for them, made their declaration in their

last Testimony, and we ought now to take them at their word. They have

involuntarily read themselves out of the continental meeting, and cannot

hope to be restored to it again but by payment and penitence. Men whose

political principles are founded on avarice, are beyond the reach

of reason, and the only cure of Toryism of this cast is to tax it.

A substantial good drawn from a real evil, is of the same benefit to

society, as if drawn from a virtue; and where men have not public spirit

to render themselves serviceable, it ought to be the study of government

to draw the best use possible from their vices. When the governing

passion of any man, or set of men, is once known, the method of managing

them is easy; for even misers, whom no public virtue can impress, would

become generous, could a heavy tax be laid upon covetousness.

The Tories have endeavored to insure their property with the enemy, by

forfeiting their reputation with us; from which may be justly inferred,

that their governing passion is avarice. Make them as much afraid of

losing on one side as on the other, and you stagger their Toryism; make

them more so, and you reclaim them; for their principle is to worship

the power which they are most afraid of.

This method of considering men and things together, opens into a large

field for speculation, and affords me an opportunity of offering some

observations on the state of our currency, so as to make the support

of it go hand in hand with the suppression of disaffection and the

encouragement of public spirit.

The thing which first presents itself in inspecting the state of the

currency, is, that we have too much of it, and that there is a necessity

of reducing the quantity, in order to increase the value. Men are daily

growing poor by the very means that they take to get rich; for in the

same proportion that the prices of all goods on hand are raised, the

value of all money laid by is reduced. A simple case will make this

clear; let a man have 100 L. in cash, and as many goods on hand as will

to-day sell for 20 L.; but not content with the present market price,

he raises them to 40 L. and by so doing obliges others, in their own

defence, to raise cent. per cent. likewise; in this case it is evident

that his hundred pounds laid by, is reduced fifty pounds in value;

whereas, had the market lowered cent. per cent., his goods would have

sold but for ten, but his hundred pounds would have risen in value to

two hundred; because it would then purchase as many goods again, or

support his family as long again as before. And, strange as it may seem,

he is one hundred and fifty pounds the poorer for raising his goods, to

what he would have been had he lowered them; because the forty pounds

which his goods sold for, is, by the general raise of the market cent.

per cent., rendered of no more value than the ten pounds would be had

the market fallen in the same proportion; and, consequently, the whole

difference of gain or loss is on the difference in value of the hundred

pounds laid by, viz. from fifty to two hundred. This rage for raising

goods is for several reasons much more the fault of the Tories than the

Whigs; and yet the Tories (to their shame and confusion ought they to

be told of it) are by far the most noisy and discontented. The greatest

part of the Whigs, by being now either in the army or employed in some

public service, are buyers only and not sellers, and as this evil has

its origin in trade, it cannot be charged on those who are out of it.

But the grievance has now become too general to be remedied by partial

methods, and the only effectual cure is to reduce the quantity of money:

with half the quantity we should be richer than we are now, because

the value of it would be doubled, and consequently our attachment to it

increased; for it is not the number of dollars that a man has, but how

far they will go, that makes him either rich or poor. These two points

being admitted, viz. that the quantity of money is too great, and that

the prices of goods can only be effectually reduced by, reducing the

quantity of the money, the next point to be considered is, the method

how to reduce it.

The circumstances of the times, as before observed, require that the

public characters of all men should now be fully understood, and the

only general method of ascertaining it is by an oath or affirmation,

renouncing all allegiance to the king of Great Britain, and to support

the independence of the United States, as declared by Congress. Let, at

the same time, a tax of ten, fifteen, or twenty per cent. per annum, to

be collected quarterly, be levied on all property. These alternatives,

by being perfectly voluntary, will take in all sorts of people. Here

is the test; here is the tax. He who takes the former, conscientiously

proves his affection to the cause, and binds himself to pay his quota

by the best services in his power, and is thereby justly exempt from the

latter; and those who choose the latter, pay their quota in money, to be

excused from the former, or rather, it is the price paid to us for their

supposed, though mistaken, insurance with the enemy.

But this is only a part of the advantage which would arise by knowing

the different characters of men. The Whigs stake everything on the issue

of their arms, while the Tories, by their disaffection, are sapping and

undermining their strength; and, of consequence, the property of the

Whigs is the more exposed thereby; and whatever injury their estates

may sustain by the movements of the enemy, must either be borne by

themselves, who have done everything which has yet been done, or by the

Tories, who have not only done nothing, but have, by their disaffection,

invited the enemy on.

In the present crisis we ought to know, square by square and house by

house, who are in real allegiance with the United Independent States,

and who are not. Let but the line be made clear and distinct, and all

men will then know what they are to trust to. It would not only be

good policy but strict justice, to raise fifty or one hundred thousand

pounds, or more, if it is necessary, out of the estates and property

of the king of England's votaries, resident in Philadelphia, to be

distributed, as a reward to those inhabitants of the city and State, who

should turn out and repulse the enemy, should they attempt to march this

way; and likewise, to bind the property of all such persons to make

good the damages which that of the Whigs might sustain. In the

undistinguishable mode of conducting a war, we frequently make reprisals

at sea, on the vessels of persons in England, who are friends to our

cause compared with the resident Tories among us.

In every former publication of mine, from Common Sense down to the last

Crisis, I have generally gone on the charitable supposition, that the

Tories were rather a mistaken than a criminal people, and have applied

argument after argument, with all the candor and temper which I was

capable of, in order to set every part of the case clearly and fairly

before them, and if possible to reclaim them from ruin to reason. I have

done my duty by them and have now done with that doctrine, taking it for

granted, that those who yet hold their disaffection are either a set

of avaricious miscreants, who would sacrifice the continent to save

themselves, or a banditti of hungry traitors, who are hoping for

a division of the spoil. To which may be added, a list of crown or

proprietary dependants, who, rather than go without a portion of power,

would be content to share it with the devil. Of such men there is no

hope; and their obedience will only be according to the danger set

before them, and the power that is exercised over them.

A time will shortly arrive, in which, by ascertaining the characters of

persons now, we shall be guarded against their mischiefs then; for in

proportion as the enemy despair of conquest, they will be trying the

arts of seduction and the force of fear by all the mischiefs which they

can inflict. But in war we may be certain of these two things, viz. that

cruelty in an enemy, and motions made with more than usual parade, are

always signs of weakness. He that can conquer, finds his mind too free

and pleasant to be brutish; and he that intends to conquer, never makes

too much show of his strength.

We now know the enemy we have to do with. While drunk with the

certainty of victory, they disdained to be civil; and in proportion as

disappointment makes them sober, and their apprehensions of an European

war alarm them, they will become cringing and artful; honest they cannot

be. But our answer to them, in either condition they may be in, is short

and full--"As free and independent States we are willing to make peace

with you to-morrow, but we neither can hear nor reply in any other

character."

If Britain cannot conquer us, it proves that she is neither able to

govern nor protect us, and our particular situation now is such, that

any connection with her would be unwisely exchanging a half-defeated

enemy for two powerful ones. Europe, by every appearance, is now on the

eve, nay, on the morning twilight of a war, and any alliance with George

the Third brings France and Spain upon our backs; a separation from him

attaches them to our side; therefore, the only road to peace, honor and

commerce is Independence.

Written this fourth year of the UNION, which God preserve.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, April 19, 1777.

THE CRISIS IV. (THOSE WHO EXPECT TO REAP THE BLESSINGS OF FREEDOM)

THOSE who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, must, like men,

undergo the fatigues of supporting it. The event of yesterday was one

of those kind of alarms which is just sufficient to rouse us to duty,

without being of consequence enough to depress our fortitude. It is not

a field of a few acres of ground, but a cause, that we are defending,

and whether we defeat the enemy in one battle, or by degrees, the

consequences will be the same.

Look back at the events of last winter and the present year, there you

will find that the enemy's successes always contributed to reduce them.

What they have gained in ground, they paid so dearly for in numbers,

that their victories have in the end amounted to defeats. We have always

been masters at the last push, and always shall be while we do our duty.

Howe has been once on the banks of the Delaware, and from thence driven

back with loss and disgrace: and why not be again driven from the

Schuylkill? His condition and ours are very different. He has everybody

to fight, we have only his one army to cope with, and which wastes away

at every engagement: we can not only reinforce, but can redouble our

numbers; he is cut off from all supplies, and must sooner or later

inevitably fall into our hands.

Shall a band of ten or twelve thousand robbers, who are this day fifteen

hundred or two thousand men less in strength than they were yesterday,

conquer America, or subdue even a single state? The thing cannot be,

unless we sit down and suffer them to do it. Another such a brush,

notwithstanding we lost the ground, would, by still reducing the enemy,

put them in a condition to be afterwards totally defeated. Could our

whole army have come up to the attack at one time, the consequences

had probably been otherwise; but our having different parts of

the Brandywine creek to guard, and the uncertainty which road to

Philadelphia the enemy would attempt to take, naturally afforded them an

opportunity of passing with their main body at a place where only a

part of ours could be posted; for it must strike every thinking man with

conviction, that it requires a much greater force to oppose an enemy in

several places, than is sufficient to defeat him in any one place.

Men who are sincere in defending their freedom, will always feel concern

at every circumstance which seems to make against them; it is the

natural and honest consequence of all affectionate attachments, and the

want of it is a vice. But the dejection lasts only for a moment; they

soon rise out of it with additional vigor; the glow of hope, courage and

fortitude, will, in a little time, supply the place of every inferior

passion, and kindle the whole heart into heroism.

There is a mystery in the countenance of some causes, which we have not

always present judgment enough to explain. It is distressing to see an

enemy advancing into a country, but it is the only place in which we can

beat them, and in which we have always beaten them, whenever they made

the attempt. The nearer any disease approaches to a crisis, the nearer

it is to a cure. Danger and deliverance make their advances together,

and it is only the last push, in which one or the other takes the lead.

There are many men who will do their duty when it is not wanted; but a

genuine public spirit always appears most when there is most occasion

for it. Thank God! our army, though fatigued, is yet entire. The attack

made by us yesterday, was under many disadvantages, naturally arising

from the uncertainty of knowing which route the enemy would take; and,

from that circumstance, the whole of our force could not be brought

up together time enough to engage all at once. Our strength is yet

reserved; and it is evident that Howe does not think himself a gainer by

the affair, otherwise he would this morning have moved down and attacked

General Washington.

Gentlemen of the city and country, it is in your power, by a spirited

improvement of the present circumstance, to turn it to a real advantage.

Howe is now weaker than before, and every shot will contribute to reduce

him. You are more immediately interested than any other part of the

continent: your all is at stake; it is not so with the general cause;

you are devoted by the enemy to plunder and destruction: it is the

encouragement which Howe, the chief of plunderers, has promised his

army. Thus circumstanced, you may save yourselves by a manly resistance,

but you can have no hope in any other conduct. I never yet knew our

brave general, or any part of the army, officers or men, out of heart,

and I have seen them in circumstances a thousand times more trying than

the present. It is only those that are not in action, that feel languor

and heaviness, and the best way to rub it off is to turn out, and make

sure work of it.

Our army must undoubtedly feel fatigue, and want a reinforcement of rest

though not of valor. Our own interest and happiness call upon us to

give them every support in our power, and make the burden of the day, on

which the safety of this city depends, as light as possible. Remember,

gentlemen, that we have forces both to the northward and southward of

Philadelphia, and if the enemy be but stopped till those can arrive,

this city will be saved, and the enemy finally routed. You have too much

at stake to hesitate. You ought not to think an hour upon the matter,

but to spring to action at once. Other states have been invaded, have

likewise driven off the invaders. Now our time and turn is come, and

perhaps the finishing stroke is reserved for us. When we look back on

the dangers we have been saved from, and reflect on the success we have

been blessed with, it would be sinful either to be idle or to despair.

I close this paper with a short address to General Howe. You, sir, are

only lingering out the period that shall bring with it your defeat.

You have yet scarce began upon the war, and the further you enter, the

faster will your troubles thicken. What you now enjoy is only a respite

from ruin; an invitation to destruction; something that will lead on to

our deliverance at your expense. We know the cause which we are engaged

in, and though a passionate fondness for it may make us grieve at every

injury which threatens it, yet, when the moment of concern is over, the

determination to duty returns. We are not moved by the gloomy smile of a

worthless king, but by the ardent glow of generous patriotism. We fight

not to enslave, but to set a country free, and to make room upon the

earth for honest men to live in. In such a case we are sure that we are

right; and we leave to you the despairing reflection of being the tool

of a miserable tyrant.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, Sept. 12, 1777.

THE CRISIS. V. TO GEN. SIR WILLIAM HOWE.

TO argue with a man who has renounced the use and authority of reason,

and whose philosophy consists in holding humanity in contempt, is like

administering medicine to the dead, or endeavoring to convert an atheist

by scripture. Enjoy, sir, your insensibility of feeling and reflecting.

It is the prerogative of animals. And no man will envy you these honors,

in which a savage only can be your rival and a bear your master.

As the generosity of this country rewarded your brother's services

in the last war, with an elegant monument in Westminster Abbey, it is

consistent that she should bestow some mark of distinction upon you. You

certainly deserve her notice, and a conspicuous place in the catalogue

of extraordinary persons. Yet it would be a pity to pass you from the

world in state, and consign you to magnificent oblivion among the tombs,

without telling the future beholder why. Judas is as much known as John,

yet history ascribes their fame to very different actions.

Sir William has undoubtedly merited a monument; but of what kind, or

with what inscription, where placed or how embellished, is a question

that would puzzle all the heralds of St. James's in the profoundest mood

of historical deliberation. We are at no loss, sir, to ascertain your

real character, but somewhat perplexed how to perpetuate its identity,

and preserve it uninjured from the transformations of time or mistake.

A statuary may give a false expression to your bust, or decorate it with

some equivocal emblems, by which you may happen to steal into reputation

and impose upon the hereafter traditionary world. Ill nature or ridicule

may conspire, or a variety of accidents combine to lessen, enlarge, or

change Sir William's fame; and no doubt but he who has taken so much

pains to be singular in his conduct, would choose to be just as singular

in his exit, his monument and his epitaph.

The usual honors of the dead, to be sure, are not sufficiently sublime

to escort a character like you to the republic of dust and ashes; for

however men may differ in their ideas of grandeur or of government here,

the grave is nevertheless a perfect republic. Death is not the monarch

of the dead, but of the dying. The moment he obtains a conquest he loses

a subject, and, like the foolish king you serve, will, in the end, war

himself out of all his dominions.

As a proper preliminary towards the arrangement of your funeral honors,

we readily admit of your new rank of knighthood. The title is perfectly

in character, and is your own, more by merit than creation. There are

knights of various orders, from the knight of the windmill to the knight

of the post. The former is your patron for exploits, and the latter will

assist you in settling your accounts. No honorary title could be more

happily applied! The ingenuity is sublime! And your royal master has

discovered more genius in fitting you therewith, than in generating the

most finished figure for a button, or descanting on the properties of a

button mould.

But how, sir, shall we dispose of you? The invention of a statuary is

exhausted, and Sir William is yet unprovided with a monument. America is

anxious to bestow her funeral favors upon you, and wishes to do it in

a manner that shall distinguish you from all the deceased heroes of the

last war. The Egyptian method of embalming is not known to the

present age, and hieroglyphical pageantry hath outlived the science

of deciphering it. Some other method, therefore, must be thought of to

immortalize the new knight of the windmill and post. Sir William, thanks

to his stars, is not oppressed with very delicate ideas. He has no

ambition of being wrapped up and handed about in myrrh, aloes and

cassia. Less expensive odors will suffice; and it fortunately happens

that the simple genius of America has discovered the art of preserving

bodies, and embellishing them too, with much greater frugality than

the ancients. In balmage, sir, of humble tar, you will be as secure

as Pharaoh, and in a hieroglyphic of feathers, rival in finery all the

mummies of Egypt.

As you have already made your exit from the moral world, and by

numberless acts both of passionate and deliberate injustice engraved an

"here lieth" on your deceased honor, it must be mere affectation in you

to pretend concern at the humors or opinions of mankind respecting you.

What remains of you may expire at any time. The sooner the better. For

he who survives his reputation, lives out of despite of himself, like a

man listening to his own reproach.

Thus entombed and ornamented, I leave you to the inspection of the

curious, and return to the history of your yet surviving actions. The

character of Sir William has undergone some extraordinary revolutions.

since his arrival in America. It is now fixed and known; and we

have nothing to hope from your candor or to fear from your capacity.

Indolence and inability have too large a share in your composition, ever

to suffer you to be anything more than the hero of little villainies and

unfinished adventures. That, which to some persons appeared moderation

in you at first, was not produced by any real virtue of your own, but

by a contrast of passions, dividing and holding you in perpetual

irresolution. One vice will frequently expel another, without the least

merit in the man; as powers in contrary directions reduce each other to

rest.

It became you to have supported a dignified solemnity of character;

to have shown a superior liberality of soul; to have won respect by an

obstinate perseverance in maintaining order, and to have exhibited on

all occasions such an unchangeable graciousness of conduct, that while

we beheld in you the resolution of an enemy, we might admire in you the

sincerity of a man. You came to America under the high sounding titles

of commander and commissioner; not only to suppress what you call

rebellion, by arms, but to shame it out of countenance by the excellence

of your example. Instead of which, you have been the patron of low and

vulgar frauds, the encourager of Indian cruelties; and have imported a

cargo of vices blacker than those which you pretend to suppress.

Mankind are not universally agreed in their determination of right and

wrong; but there are certain actions which the consent of all nations

and individuals has branded with the unchangeable name of meanness. In

the list of human vices we find some of such a refined constitution,

they cannot be carried into practice without seducing some virtue to

their assistance; but meanness has neither alliance nor apology. It is

generated in the dust and sweepings of other vices, and is of such a

hateful figure that all the rest conspire to disown it. Sir William, the

commissioner of George the Third, has at last vouchsafed to give it

rank and pedigree. He has placed the fugitive at the council board, and

dubbed it companion of the order of knighthood.

The particular act of meanness which I allude to in this description, is

forgery. You, sir, have abetted and patronized the forging and uttering

counterfeit continental bills. In the same New York newspapers in which

your own proclamation under your master's authority was published,

offering, or pretending to offer, pardon and protection to these states,

there were repeated advertisements of counterfeit money for sale, and

persons who have come officially from you, and under the sanction of

your flag, have been taken up in attempting to put them off.

A conduct so basely mean in a public character is without precedent or

pretence. Every nation on earth, whether friends or enemies, will unite

in despising you. 'Tis an incendiary war upon society, which nothing can

excuse or palliate,--an improvement upon beggarly villany--and shows an

inbred wretchedness of heart made up between the venomous malignity of a

serpent and the spiteful imbecility of an inferior reptile.

The laws of any civilized country would condemn you to the gibbet

without regard to your rank or titles, because it is an action foreign

to the usage and custom of war; and should you fall into our hands,

which pray God you may, it will be a doubtful matter whether we are to

consider you as a military prisoner or a prisoner for felony.

Besides, it is exceedingly unwise and impolitic in you, or any other

persons in the English service, to promote or even encourage, or wink

at the crime of forgery, in any case whatever. Because, as the riches of

England, as a nation, are chiefly in paper, and the far greater part of

trade among individuals is carried on by the same medium, that is, by

notes and drafts on one another, they, therefore, of all people in the

world, ought to endeavor to keep forgery out of sight, and, if possible,

not to revive the idea of it. It is dangerous to make men familiar with

a crime which they may afterwards practise to much greater advantage

against those who first taught them. Several officers in the English

army have made their exit at the gallows for forgery on their agents;

for we all know, who know any thing of England, that there is not a more

necessitous body of men, taking them generally, than what the English

officers are. They contrive to make a show at the expense of the

tailors, and appear clean at the charge of the washer-women.

England, has at this time, nearly two hundred million pounds sterling

of public money in paper, for which she has no real property: besides a

large circulation of bank notes, bank post bills, and promissory notes

and drafts of private bankers, merchants and tradesmen. She has the

greatest quantity of paper currency and the least quantity of gold and

silver of any nation in Europe; the real specie, which is about sixteen

millions sterling, serves only as change in large sums, which are always

made in paper, or for payment in small ones. Thus circumstanced, the

nation is put to its wit's end, and obliged to be severe almost to

criminality, to prevent the practice and growth of forgery. Scarcely

a session passes at the Old Bailey, or an execution at Tyburn, but

witnesses this truth, yet you, sir, regardless of the policy which her

necessity obliges her to adopt, have made your whole army intimate with

the crime. And as all armies at the conclusion of a war, are too apt to

carry into practice the vices of the campaign, it will probably happen,

that England will hereafter abound in forgeries, to which art the

practitioners were first initiated under your authority in America. You,

sir, have the honor of adding a new vice to the military catalogue; and

the reason, perhaps, why the invention was reserved for you, is, because

no general before was mean enough even to think of it.

That a man whose soul is absorbed in the low traffic of vulgar vice, is

incapable of moving in any superior region, is clearly shown in you by

the event of every campaign. Your military exploits have been without

plan, object or decision. Can it be possible that you or your employers

suppose that the possession of Philadelphia will be any ways equal

to the expense or expectation of the nation which supports you? What

advantages does England derive from any achievements of yours? To her it

is perfectly indifferent what place you are in, so long as the business

of conquest is unperformed and the charge of maintaining you remains the

same.

If the principal events of the three campaigns be attended to, the

balance will appear against you at the close of each; but the last, in

point of importance to us, has exceeded the former two. It is pleasant

to look back on dangers past, and equally as pleasant to meditate on

present ones when the way out begins to appear. That period is now

arrived, and the long doubtful winter of war is changing to the sweeter

prospects of victory and joy. At the close of the campaign, in 1775, you

were obliged to retreat from Boston. In the summer of 1776, you appeared

with a numerous fleet and army in the harbor of New York. By what

miracle the continent was preserved in that season of danger is a

subject of admiration! If instead of wasting your time against Long

Island you had run up the North River, and landed any where above

New York, the consequence must have been, that either you would have

compelled General Washington to fight you with very unequal numbers, or

he must have suddenly evacuated the city with the loss of nearly all

the stores of his army, or have surrendered for want of provisions; the

situation of the place naturally producing one or the other of these

events.

The preparations made to defend New York were, nevertheless, wise and

military; because your forces were then at sea, their numbers uncertain;

storms, sickness, or a variety of accidents might have disabled their

coming, or so diminished them on their passage, that those which

survived would have been incapable of opening the campaign with

any prospect of success; in which case the defence would have been

sufficient and the place preserved; for cities that have been raised

from nothing with an infinitude of labor and expense, are not to be

thrown away on the bare probability of their being taken. On these

grounds the preparations made to maintain New York were as judicious

as the retreat afterwards. While you, in the interim, let slip the very

opportunity which seemed to put conquest in your power.

Through the whole of that campaign you had nearly double the forces

which General Washington immediately commanded. The principal plan at

that time, on our part, was to wear away the season with as little loss

as possible, and to raise the army for the next year. Long Island, New

York, Forts Washington and Lee were not defended after your superior

force was known under any expectation of their being finally maintained,

but as a range of outworks, in the attacking of which your time might be

wasted, your numbers reduced, and your vanity amused by possessing them

on our retreat. It was intended to have withdrawn the garrison from Fort

Washington after it had answered the former of those purposes, but

the fate of that day put a prize into your hands without much honor to

yourselves.

Your progress through the Jerseys was accidental; you had it not even

in contemplation, or you would not have sent a principal part of your

forces to Rhode Island beforehand. The utmost hope of America in the

year 1776, reached no higher than that she might not then be conquered.

She had no expectation of defeating you in that campaign. Even the

most cowardly Tory allowed, that, could she withstand the shock of that

summer, her independence would be past a doubt. You had then greatly

the advantage of her. You were formidable. Your military knowledge

was supposed to be complete. Your fleets and forces arrived without an

accident. You had neither experience nor reinforcements to wait for.

You had nothing to do but to begin, and your chance lay in the first

vigorous onset.

America was young and unskilled. She was obliged to trust her defence to

time and practice; and has, by mere dint of perseverance, maintained her

cause, and brought the enemy to a condition, in which she is now capable

of meeting him on any grounds.

It is remarkable that in the campaign of 1776 you gained no more,

notwithstanding your great force, than what was given you by consent of

evacuation, except Fort Washington; while every advantage obtained by

us was by fair and hard fighting. The defeat of Sir Peter Parker was

complete. The conquest of the Hessians at Trenton, by the remains of a

retreating army, which but a few days before you affected to despise, is

an instance of their heroic perseverance very seldom to be met with.

And the victory over the British troops at Princeton, by a harassed and

wearied party, who had been engaged the day before and marched all night

without refreshment, is attended with such a scene of circumstances and

superiority of generalship, as will ever give it a place in the first

rank in the history of great actions.

When I look back on the gloomy days of last winter, and see America

suspended by a thread, I feel a triumph of joy at the recollection of

her delivery, and a reverence for the characters which snatched her

from destruction. To doubt now would be a species of infidelity, and to

forget the instruments which saved us then would be ingratitude.

The close of that campaign left us with the spirit of conquerors. The

northern districts were relieved by the retreat of General Carleton over

the lakes. The army under your command were hunted back and had their

bounds prescribed. The continent began to feel its military importance,

and the winter passed pleasantly away in preparations for the next

campaign.

However confident you might be on your first arrival, the result of the

year 1776 gave you some idea of the difficulty, if not impossibility of

conquest. To this reason I ascribe your delay in opening the campaign of

1777. The face of matters, on the close of the former year, gave you

no encouragement to pursue a discretionary war as soon as the spring

admitted the taking the field; for though conquest, in that case, would

have given you a double portion of fame, yet the experiment was too

hazardous. The ministry, had you failed, would have shifted the whole

blame upon you, charged you with having acted without orders, and

condemned at once both your plan and execution.

To avoid the misfortunes, which might have involved you and your money

accounts in perplexity and suspicion, you prudently waited the arrival

of a plan of operations from England, which was that you should proceed

for Philadelphia by way of the Chesapeake, and that Burgoyne, after

reducing Ticonderoga, should take his route by Albany, and, if

necessary, join you.

The splendid laurels of the last campaign have flourished in the north.

In that quarter America has surprised the world, and laid the foundation

of this year's glory. The conquest of Ticonderoga, (if it may be called

a conquest) has, like all your other victories, led on to ruin. Even the

provisions taken in that fortress (which by General Burgoyne's return

was sufficient in bread and flour for nearly 5000 men for ten weeks, and

in beef and pork for the same number of men for one month) served only

to hasten his overthrow, by enabling him to proceed to Saratoga, the

place of his destruction. A short review of the operations of the last

campaign will show the condition of affairs on both sides.

You have taken Ticonderoga and marched into Philadelphia. These are all

the events which the year has produced on your part. A trifling campaign

indeed, compared with the expenses of England and the conquest of the

continent. On the other side, a considerable part of your northern force

has been routed by the New York militia under General Herkemer. Fort

Stanwix has bravely survived a compound attack of soldiers and savages,

and the besiegers have fled. The Battle of Bennington has put a thousand

prisoners into our hands, with all their arms, stores, artillery and

baggage. General Burgoyne, in two engagements, has been defeated;

himself, his army, and all that were his and theirs are now ours.

Ticonderoga and Independence [forts] are retaken, and not the shadow of

an enemy remains in all the northern districts. At this instant we

have upwards of eleven thousand prisoners, between sixty and seventy

[captured] pieces of brass ordnance, besides small arms, tents, stores,

etc.

In order to know the real value of those advantages, we must reverse

the scene, and suppose General Gates and the force he commanded to be at

your mercy as prisoners, and General Burgoyne, with his army of soldiers

and savages, to be already joined to you in Pennsylvania. So dismal a

picture can scarcely be looked at. It has all the tracings and colorings

of horror and despair; and excites the most swelling emotions of

gratitude by exhibiting the miseries we are so graciously preserved

from.

I admire the distribution of laurels around the continent. It is the

earnest of future union. South Carolina has had her day of sufferings

and of fame; and the other southern States have exerted themselves in

proportion to the force that invaded or insulted them. Towards the close

of the campaign, in 1776, these middle States were called upon and did

their duty nobly. They were witnesses to the almost expiring flame of

human freedom. It was the close struggle of life and death, the line of

invisible division; and on which the unabated fortitude of a Washington

prevailed, and saved the spark that has since blazed in the north with

unrivalled lustre.

Let me ask, sir, what great exploits have you performed? Through all the

variety of changes and opportunities which the war has produced, I know

no one action of yours that can be styled masterly. You have moved in

and out, backward and forward, round and round, as if valor consisted in

a military jig. The history and figure of your movements would be truly

ridiculous could they be justly delineated. They resemble the labors of

a puppy pursuing his tail; the end is still at the same distance, and

all the turnings round must be done over again.

The first appearance of affairs at Ticonderoga wore such an unpromising

aspect, that it was necessary, in July, to detach a part of the forces

to the support of that quarter, which were otherwise destined or

intended to act against you; and this, perhaps, has been the means of

postponing your downfall to another campaign. The destruction of one

army at a time is work enough. We know, sir, what we are about, what we

have to do, and how to do it.

Your progress from the Chesapeake, was marked by no capital stroke of

policy or heroism. Your principal aim was to get General Washington

between the Delaware and Schuylkill, and between Philadelphia and your

army. In that situation, with a river on each of his flanks, which

united about five miles below the city, and your army above him, you

could have intercepted his reinforcements and supplies, cut off all

his communication with the country, and, if necessary, have despatched

assistance to open a passage for General Burgoyne. This scheme was too

visible to succeed: for had General Washington suffered you to command

the open country above him, I think it a very reasonable conjecture that

the conquest of Burgoyne would not have taken place, because you could,

in that case, have relieved him. It was therefore necessary, while that

important victory was in suspense, to trepan you into a situation in

which you could only be on the defensive, without the power of

affording him assistance. The manoeuvre had its effect, and Burgoyne was

conquered.

There has been something unmilitary and passive in you from the time of

your passing the Schuylkill and getting possession of Philadelphia,

to the close of the campaign. You mistook a trap for a conquest, the

probability of which had been made known to Europe, and the edge of your

triumph taken off by our own information long before.

Having got you into this situation, a scheme for a general attack upon

you at Germantown was carried into execution on the 4th of October, and

though the success was not equal to the excellence of the plan, yet the

attempting it proved the genius of America to be on the rise, and her

power approaching to superiority. The obscurity of the morning was your

best friend, for a fog is always favorable to a hunted enemy. Some weeks

after this you likewise planned an attack on General Washington while

at Whitemarsh. You marched out with infinite parade, but on finding him

preparing to attack you next morning, you prudently turned about, and

retreated to Philadelphia with all the precipitation of a man conquered

in imagination.

Immediately after the battle of Germantown, the probability of

Burgoyne's defeat gave a new policy to affairs in Pennsylvania, and it

was judged most consistent with the general safety of America, to wait

the issue of the northern campaign. Slow and sure is sound work. The

news of that victory arrived in our camp on the 18th of October, and

no sooner did that shout of joy, and the report of the thirteen cannon

reach your ears, than you resolved upon a retreat, and the next day,

that is, on the 19th, you withdrew your drooping army into Philadelphia.

This movement was evidently dictated by fear; and carried with it a

positive confession that you dreaded a second attack. It was hiding

yourself among women and children, and sleeping away the choicest part

of the campaign in expensive inactivity. An army in a city can never

be a conquering army. The situation admits only of defence. It is mere

shelter: and every military power in Europe will conclude you to be

eventually defeated.

The time when you made this retreat was the very time you ought to have

fought a battle, in order to put yourself in condition of recovering in

Pennsylvania what you had lost in Saratoga. And the reason why you did

not, must be either prudence or cowardice; the former supposes your

inability, and the latter needs no explanation. I draw no conclusions,

sir, but such as are naturally deduced from known and visible facts,

and such as will always have a being while the facts which produced them

remain unaltered.

After this retreat a new difficulty arose which exhibited the power of

Britain in a very contemptible light; which was the attack and defence

of Mud Island. For several weeks did that little unfinished fortress

stand out against all the attempts of Admiral and General Howe. It was

the fable of Bender realized on the Delaware. Scheme after scheme, and

force upon force were tried and defeated. The garrison, with scarce

anything to cover them but their bravery, survived in the midst of mud,

shot and shells, and were at last obliged to give it up more to the

powers of time and gunpowder than to military superiority of the

besiegers.

It is my sincere opinion that matters are in much worse condition with

you than what is generally known. Your master's speech at the opening of

Parliament, is like a soliloquy on ill luck. It shows him to be coming

a little to his reason, for sense of pain is the first symptom of

recovery, in profound stupefaction. His condition is deplorable. He is

obliged to submit to all the insults of France and Spain, without daring

to know or resent them; and thankful for the most trivial evasions to

the most humble remonstrances. The time was when he could not deign an

answer to a petition from America, and the time now is when he dare not

give an answer to an affront from France. The capture of Burgoyne's army

will sink his consequence as much in Europe as in America. In his speech

he expresses his suspicions at the warlike preparations of France and

Spain, and as he has only the one army which you command to support his

character in the world with, it remains very uncertain when, or in what

quarter it will be most wanted, or can be best employed; and this will

partly account for the great care you take to keep it from action and

attacks, for should Burgoyne's fate be yours, which it probably will,

England may take her endless farewell not only of all America but of all

the West Indies.

Never did a nation invite destruction upon itself with the eagerness and

the ignorance with which Britain has done. Bent upon the ruin of a

young and unoffending country, she has drawn the sword that has wounded

herself to the heart, and in the agony of her resentment has applied a

poison for a cure. Her conduct towards America is a compound of rage and

lunacy; she aims at the government of it, yet preserves neither dignity

nor character in her methods to obtain it. Were government a mere

manufacture or article of commerce, immaterial by whom it should be made

or sold, we might as well employ her as another, but when we consider

it as the fountain from whence the general manners and morality of a

country take their rise, that the persons entrusted with the execution

thereof are by their serious example an authority to support these

principles, how abominably absurd is the idea of being hereafter

governed by a set of men who have been guilty of forgery, perjury,

treachery, theft and every species of villany which the lowest wretches

on earth could practise or invent. What greater public curse can befall

any country than to be under such authority, and what greater blessing

than to be delivered therefrom. The soul of any man of sentiment would

rise in brave rebellion against them, and spurn them from the earth.

The malignant and venomous tempered General Vaughan has amused his

savage fancy in burning the whole town of Kingston, in York government,

and the late governor of that state, Mr. Tryon, in his letter to General

Parsons, has endeavored to justify it and declared his wish to burn the

houses of every committeeman in the country. Such a confession from

one who was once intrusted with the powers of civil government, is a

reproach to the character. But it is the wish and the declaration of a

man whom anguish and disappointment have driven to despair, and who is

daily decaying into the grave with constitutional rottenness.

There is not in the compass of language a sufficiency of words to

express the baseness of your king, his ministry and his army. They

have refined upon villany till it wants a name. To the fiercer vices of

former ages they have added the dregs and scummings of the most finished

rascality, and are so completely sunk in serpentine deceit, that there

is not left among them one generous enemy.

From such men and such masters, may the gracious hand of Heaven preserve

America! And though the sufferings she now endures are heavy, and

severe, they are like straws in the wind compared to the weight of evils

she would feel under the government of your king, and his pensioned

Parliament.

There is something in meanness which excites a species of resentment

that never subsides, and something in cruelty which stirs up the heart

to the highest agony of human hatred; Britain has filled up both these

characters till no addition can be made, and has not reputation left

with us to obtain credit for the slightest promise. The will of God has

parted us, and the deed is registered for eternity. When she shall be

a spot scarcely visible among the nations, America shall flourish the

favorite of heaven, and the friend of mankind.

For the domestic happiness of Britain and the peace of the world, I

wish she had not a foot of land but what is circumscribed within her own

island. Extent of dominion has been her ruin, and instead of civilizing

others has brutalized herself. Her late reduction of India, under Clive

and his successors, was not so properly a conquest as an extermination

of mankind. She is the only power who could practise the prodigal

barbarity of tying men to mouths of loaded cannon and blowing them away.

It happens that General Burgoyne, who made the report of that horrid

transaction, in the House of Commons, is now a prisoner with us,

and though an enemy, I can appeal to him for the truth of it, being

confident that he neither can nor will deny it. Yet Clive received the

approbation of the last Parliament.

When we take a survey of mankind, we cannot help cursing the wretch,

who, to the unavoidable misfortunes of nature, shall wilfully add the

calamities of war. One would think there were evils enough in the world

without studying to increase them, and that life is sufficiently short

without shaking the sand that measures it. The histories of Alexander,

and Charles of Sweden, are the histories of human devils; a good man

cannot think of their actions without abhorrence, nor of their deaths

without rejoicing. To see the bounties of heaven destroyed, the

beautiful face of nature laid waste, and the choicest works of creation

and art tumbled into ruin, would fetch a curse from the soul of piety

itself. But in this country the aggravation is heightened by a new

combination of affecting circumstances. America was young, and, compared

with other countries, was virtuous. None but a Herod of uncommon malice

would have made war upon infancy and innocence: and none but a people

of the most finished fortitude, dared under those circumstances, have

resisted the tyranny. The natives, or their ancestors, had fled from the

former oppressions of England, and with the industry of bees had changed

a wilderness into a habitable world. To Britain they were indebted for

nothing. The country was the gift of heaven, and God alone is their Lord

and Sovereign.

The time, sir, will come when you, in a melancholy hour, shall reckon up

your miseries by your murders in America. Life, with you, begins to wear

a clouded aspect. The vision of pleasurable delusion is wearing away,

and changing to the barren wild of age and sorrow. The poor reflection

of having served your king will yield you no consolation in your

parting moments. He will crumble to the same undistinguished ashes with

yourself, and have sins enough of his own to answer for. It is not the

farcical benedictions of a bishop, nor the cringing hypocrisy of a court

of chaplains, nor the formality of an act of Parliament, that can change

guilt into innocence, or make the punishment one pang the less. You may,

perhaps, be unwilling to be serious, but this destruction of the goods

of Providence, this havoc of the human race, and this sowing the world

with mischief, must be accounted for to him who made and governs it.

To us they are only present sufferings, but to him they are deep

rebellions.

If there is a sin superior to every other, it is that of wilful and

offensive war. Most other sins are circumscribed within narrow limits,

that is, the power of one man cannot give them a very general extension,

and many kinds of sins have only a mental existence from which no

infection arises; but he who is the author of a war, lets loose the

whole contagion of hell, and opens a vein that bleeds a nation to death.

We leave it to England and Indians to boast of these honors; we feel no

thirst for such savage glory; a nobler flame, a purer spirit animates

America. She has taken up the sword of virtuous defence; she has bravely

put herself between Tyranny and Freedom, between a curse and a blessing,

determined to expel the one and protect the other.

It is the object only of war that makes it honorable. And if there was

ever a just war since the world began, it is this in which America is

now engaged. She invaded no land of yours. She hired no mercenaries to

burn your towns, nor Indians to massacre their inhabitants. She

wanted nothing from you, and was indebted for nothing to you: and thus

circumstanced, her defence is honorable and her prosperity is certain.

Yet it is not on the justice only, but likewise on the importance of

this cause that I ground my seeming enthusiastical confidence of our

success. The vast extension of America makes her of too much value in

the scale of Providence, to be cast like a pearl before swine, at the

feet of an European island; and of much less consequence would it be

that Britain were sunk in the sea than that America should miscarry.

There has been such a chain of extraordinary events in the discovery of

this country at first, in the peopling and planting it afterwards, in

the rearing and nursing it to its present state, and in the protection

of it through the present war, that no man can doubt, but Providence

has some nobler end to accomplish than the gratification of the petty

elector of Hanover, or the ignorant and insignificant king of Britain.

As the blood of the martyrs has been the seed of the Christian church,

so the political persecutions of England will and have already enriched

America with industry, experience, union, and importance. Before the

present era she was a mere chaos of uncemented colonies, individually

exposed to the ravages of the Indians and the invasion of any power that

Britain should be at war with. She had nothing that she could call her

own. Her felicity depended upon accident. The convulsions of Europe

might have thrown her from one conqueror to another, till she had been

the slave of all, and ruined by every one; for until she had spirit

enough to become her own master, there was no knowing to which master

she should belong. That period, thank God, is past, and she is no longer

the dependent, disunited colonies of Britain, but the independent and

United States of America, knowing no master but heaven and herself. You,

or your king, may call this "delusion," "rebellion," or what name you

please. To us it is perfectly indifferent. The issue will determine the

character, and time will give it a name as lasting as his own.

You have now, sir, tried the fate of three campaigns, and can fully

declare to England, that nothing is to be got on your part, but blows

and broken bones, and nothing on hers but waste of trade and credit, and

an increase of poverty and taxes. You are now only where you might have

been two years ago, without the loss of a single ship, and yet not a

step more forward towards the conquest of the continent; because, as I

have already hinted, "an army in a city can never be a conquering army."

The full amount of your losses, since the beginning of the war, exceeds

twenty thousand men, besides millions of treasure, for which you have

nothing in exchange. Our expenses, though great, are circulated within

ourselves. Yours is a direct sinking of money, and that from both ends

at once; first, in hiring troops out of the nation, and in paying them

afterwards, because the money in neither case can return to Britain. We

are already in possession of the prize, you only in pursuit of it. To

us it is a real treasure, to you it would be only an empty triumph. Our

expenses will repay themselves with tenfold interest, while yours entail

upon you everlasting poverty.

Take a review, sir, of the ground which you have gone over, and let

it teach you policy, if it cannot honesty. You stand but on a very

tottering foundation. A change of the ministry in England may probably

bring your measures into question, and your head to the block. Clive,

with all his successes, had some difficulty in escaping, and yours being

all a war of losses, will afford you less pretensions, and your enemies

more grounds for impeachment.

Go home, sir, and endeavor to save the remains of your ruined country,

by a just representation of the madness of her measures. A few moments,

well applied, may yet preserve her from political destruction. I am not

one of those who wish to see Europe in a flame, because I am persuaded

that such an event will not shorten the war. The rupture, at present,

is confined between the two powers of America and England. England finds

that she cannot conquer America, and America has no wish to conquer

England. You are fighting for what you can never obtain, and we

defending what we never mean to part with. A few words, therefore,

settle the bargain. Let England mind her own business and we will mind

ours. Govern yourselves, and we will govern ourselves. You may then

trade where you please unmolested by us, and we will trade where we

please unmolested by you; and such articles as we can purchase of each

other better than elsewhere may be mutually done. If it were possible

that you could carry on the war for twenty years you must still come to

this point at last, or worse, and the sooner you think of it the better

it will be for you.

My official situation enables me to know the repeated insults which

Britain is obliged to put up with from foreign powers, and the wretched

shifts that she is driven to, to gloss them over. Her reduced strength

and exhausted coffers in a three years' war with America, has given a

powerful superiority to France and Spain. She is not now a match

for them. But if neither councils can prevail on her to think, nor

sufferings awaken her to reason, she must e'en go on, till the honor of

England becomes a proverb of contempt, and Europe dub her the Land of

Fools.

I am, Sir, with every wish for an honorable peace,

Your friend, enemy, and countryman,

COMMON SENSE.

TO THE INHABITANTS OF AMERICA.

WITH all the pleasure with which a man exchanges bad company for good,

I take my leave of Sir William and return to you. It is now nearly three

years since the tyranny of Britain received its first repulse by the

arms of America. A period which has given birth to a new world, and

erected a monument to the folly of the old.

I cannot help being sometimes surprised at the complimentary references

which I have seen and heard made to ancient histories and transactions.

The wisdom, civil governments, and sense of honor of the states of

Greece and Rome, are frequently held up as objects of excellence and

imitation. Mankind have lived to very little purpose, if, at this period

of the world, they must go two or three thousand years back for lessons

and examples. We do great injustice to ourselves by placing them in such

a superior line. We have no just authority for it, neither can we tell

why it is that we should suppose ourselves inferior.

Could the mist of antiquity be cleared away, and men and things be

viewed as they really were, it is more than probable that they would

admire us, rather than we them. America has surmounted a greater variety

and combination of difficulties, than, I believe, ever fell to the share

of any one people, in the same space of time, and has replenished the

world with more useful knowledge and sounder maxims of civil government

than were ever produced in any age before. Had it not been for America,

there had been no such thing as freedom left throughout the whole

universe. England has lost hers in a long chain of right reasoning from

wrong principles, and it is from this country, now, that she must learn

the resolution to redress herself, and the wisdom how to accomplish it.

The Grecians and Romans were strongly possessed of the spirit of liberty

but not the principle, for at the time that they were determined not to

be slaves themselves, they employed their power to enslave the rest of

mankind. But this distinguished era is blotted by no one misanthropical

vice. In short, if the principle on which the cause is founded, the

universal blessings that are to arise from it, the difficulties that

accompanied it, the wisdom with which it has been debated, the fortitude

by which it has been supported, the strength of the power which we had

to oppose, and the condition in which we undertook it, be all taken

in one view, we may justly style it the most virtuous and illustrious

revolution that ever graced the history of mankind.

A good opinion of ourselves is exceedingly necessary in private life,

but absolutely necessary in public life, and of the utmost importance in

supporting national character. I have no notion of yielding the palm of

the United States to any Grecians or Romans that were ever born. We

have equalled the bravest in times of danger, and excelled the wisest in

construction of civil governments.

From this agreeable eminence let us take a review of present affairs.

The spirit of corruption is so inseparably interwoven with British

politics, that their ministry suppose all mankind are governed by the

same motives. They have no idea of a people submitting even to temporary

inconvenience from an attachment to rights and privileges. Their plans

of business are calculated by the hour and for the hour, and are uniform

in nothing but the corruption which gives them birth. They never had,

neither have they at this time, any regular plan for the conquest of

America by arms. They know not how to go about it, neither have they

power to effect it if they did know. The thing is not within the compass

of human practicability, for America is too extensive either to be fully

conquered or passively defended. But she may be actively defended by

defeating or making prisoners of the army that invades her. And this is

the only system of defence that can be effectual in a large country.

There is something in a war carried on by invasion which makes it differ

in circumstances from any other mode of war, because he who conducts it

cannot tell whether the ground he gains be for him, or against him, when

he first obtains it. In the winter of 1776, General Howe marched with

an air of victory through the Jerseys, the consequence of which was his

defeat; and General Burgoyne at Saratoga experienced the same fate from

the same cause. The Spaniards, about two years ago, were defeated by

the Algerines in the same manner, that is, their first triumphs became

a trap in which they were totally routed. And whoever will attend to

the circumstances and events of a war carried on by invasion, will find,

that any invader, in order to be finally conquered must first begin to

conquer.

I confess myself one of those who believe the loss of Philadelphia to

be attended with more advantages than injuries. The case stood thus:

The enemy imagined Philadelphia to be of more importance to us than it

really was; for we all know that it had long ceased to be a port: not a

cargo of goods had been brought into it for near a twelvemonth, nor any

fixed manufactories, nor even ship-building, carried on in it; yet as

the enemy believed the conquest of it to be practicable, and to that

belief added the absurd idea that the soul of all America was centred

there, and would be conquered there, it naturally follows that their

possession of it, by not answering the end proposed, must break up the

plans they had so foolishly gone upon, and either oblige them to form a

new one, for which their present strength is not sufficient, or to give

over the attempt.

We never had so small an army to fight against, nor so fair an

opportunity of final success as now. The death wound is already given.

The day is ours if we follow it up. The enemy, by his situation, is

within our reach, and by his reduced strength is within our power. The

ministers of Britain may rage as they please, but our part is to conquer

their armies. Let them wrangle and welcome, but let, it not draw our

attention from the one thing needful. Here, in this spot is our own

business to be accomplished, our felicity secured. What we have now to

do is as clear as light, and the way to do it is as straight as a

line. It needs not to be commented upon, yet, in order to be perfectly

understood I will put a case that cannot admit of a mistake.

Had the armies under Generals Howe and Burgoyne been united, and taken

post at Germantown, and had the northern army under General Gates been

joined to that under General Washington, at Whitemarsh, the consequence

would have been a general action; and if in that action we had killed

and taken the same number of officers and men, that is, between nine and

ten thousand, with the same quantity of artillery, arms, stores, etc.,

as have been taken at the northward, and obliged General Howe with the

remains of his army, that is, with the same number he now commands, to

take shelter in Philadelphia, we should certainly have thought ourselves

the greatest heroes in the world; and should, as soon as the season

permitted, have collected together all the force of the continent and

laid siege to the city, for it requires a much greater force to besiege

an enemy in a town than to defeat him in the field. The case now is just

the same as if it had been produced by the means I have here supposed.

Between nine and ten thousand have been killed and taken, all their

stores are in our possession, and General Howe, in consequence of that

victory, has thrown himself for shelter into Philadelphia. He, or his

trifling friend Galloway, may form what pretences they please, yet no

just reason can be given for their going into winter quarters so early

as the 19th of October, but their apprehensions of a defeat if they

continued out, or their conscious inability of keeping the field with

safety. I see no advantage which can arise to America by hunting the

enemy from state to state. It is a triumph without a prize, and wholly

unworthy the attention of a people determined to conquer. Neither can

any state promise itself security while the enemy remains in a condition

to transport themselves from one part of the continent to another. Howe,

likewise, cannot conquer where we have no army to oppose, therefore any

such removals in him are mean and cowardly, and reduces Britain to a

common pilferer. If he retreats from Philadelphia, he will be despised;

if he stays, he may be shut up and starved out, and the country, if he

advances into it, may become his Saratoga. He has his choice of evils

and we of opportunities. If he moves early, it is not only a sign but a

proof that he expects no reinforcement, and his delay will prove that he

either waits for the arrival of a plan to go upon, or force to execute

it, or both; in which case our strength will increase more than his,

therefore in any case we cannot be wrong if we do but proceed.

The particular condition of Pennsylvania deserves the attention of all

the other States. Her military strength must not be estimated by

the number of inhabitants. Here are men of all nations, characters,

professions and interests. Here are the firmest Whigs, surviving,

like sparks in the ocean, unquenched and uncooled in the midst of

discouragement and disaffection. Here are men losing their all with

cheerfulness, and collecting fire and fortitude from the flames of their

own estates. Here are others skulking in secret, many making a market

of the times, and numbers who are changing to Whig or Tory with the

circumstances of every day.

It is by a mere dint of fortitude and perseverance that the Whigs of

this State have been able to maintain so good a countenance, and do even

what they have done. We want help, and the sooner it can arrive the more

effectual it will be. The invaded State, be it which it may, will always

feel an additional burden upon its back, and be hard set to support its

civil power with sufficient authority; and this difficulty will rise or

fall, in proportion as the other states throw in their assistance to the

common cause.

The enemy will most probably make many manoeuvres at the opening of this

campaign, to amuse and draw off the attention of the several States from

the one thing needful. We may expect to hear of alarms and pretended

expeditions to this place and that place, to the southward, the

eastward, and the northward, all intended to prevent our forming

into one formidable body. The less the enemy's strength is, the more

subtleties of this kind will they make use of. Their existence depends

upon it, because the force of America, when collected, is sufficient

to swallow their present army up. It is therefore our business to make

short work of it, by bending our whole attention to this one principal

point, for the instant that the main body under General Howe is

defeated, all the inferior alarms throughout the continent, like so many

shadows, will follow his downfall.

The only way to finish a war with the least possible bloodshed, or

perhaps without any, is to collect an army, against the power of which

the enemy shall have no chance. By not doing this, we prolong the war,

and double both the calamities and expenses of it. What a rich and happy

country would America be, were she, by a vigorous exertion, to reduce

Howe as she has reduced Burgoyne. Her currency would rise to millions

beyond its present value. Every man would be rich, and every man would

have it in his power to be happy. And why not do these things? What

is there to hinder? America is her own mistress and can do what she

pleases.

If we had not at this time a man in the field, we could, nevertheless,

raise an army in a few weeks sufficient to overwhelm all the force

which General Howe at present commands. Vigor and determination will do

anything and everything. We began the war with this kind of spirit, why

not end it with the same? Here, gentlemen, is the enemy. Here is the

army. The interest, the happiness of all America, is centred in this

half ruined spot. Come and help us. Here are laurels, come and share

them. Here are Tories, come and help us to expel them. Here are Whigs

that will make you welcome, and enemies that dread your coming.

The worst of all policies is that of doing things by halves. Penny-wise

and pound-foolish, has been the ruin of thousands. The present spring,

if rightly improved, will free us from our troubles, and save us

the expense of millions. We have now only one army to cope with. No

opportunity can be fairer; no prospect more promising. I shall conclude

this paper with a few outlines of a plan, either for filling up the

battalions with expedition, or for raising an additional force, for any

limited time, on any sudden emergency.

That in which every man is interested, is every man's duty to support.

And any burden which falls equally on all men, and from which every

man is to receive an equal benefit, is consistent with the most perfect

ideas of liberty. I would wish to revive something of that virtuous

ambition which first called America into the field. Then every man was

eager to do his part, and perhaps the principal reason why we have in

any degree fallen therefrom, is because we did not set a right value by

it at first, but left it to blaze out of itself, instead of regulating

and preserving it by just proportions of rest and service.

Suppose any State whose number of effective inhabitants was 80,000,

should be required to furnish 3,200 men towards the defence of the

continent on any sudden emergency.

1st, Let the whole number of effective inhabitants be divided into

hundreds; then if each of those hundreds turn out four men, the whole

number of 3,200 will be had.

2d, Let the name of each hundred men be entered in a book, and let four

dollars be collected from each man, with as much more as any of the

gentlemen, whose abilities can afford it, shall please to throw in,

which gifts likewise shall be entered against the names of the donors.

3d, Let the sums so collected be offered as a present, over and above

the bounty of twenty dollars, to any four who may be inclined to propose

themselves as volunteers: if more than four offer, the majority of the

subscribers present shall determine which; if none offer, then four out

of the hundred shall be taken by lot, who shall be entitled to the said

sums, and shall either go, or provide others that will, in the space of

six days.

4th, As it will always happen that in the space of ground on which a

hundred men shall live, there will be always a number of persons who, by

age and infirmity, are incapable of doing personal service, and as such

persons are generally possessed of the greatest part of property in any

country, their portion of service, therefore, will be to furnish each

man with a blanket, which will make a regimental coat, jacket, and

breeches, or clothes in lieu thereof, and another for a watch cloak,

and two pair of shoes; for however choice people may be of these things

matters not in cases of this kind; those who live always in houses can

find many ways to keep themselves warm, but it is a shame and a sin to

suffer a soldier in the field to want a blanket while there is one in

the country.

Should the clothing not be wanted, the superannuated or infirm persons

possessing property, may, in lieu thereof, throw in their money

subscriptions towards increasing the bounty; for though age will

naturally exempt a person from personal service, it cannot exempt him

from his share of the charge, because the men are raised for the defence

of property and liberty jointly.

There never was a scheme against which objections might not be raised.

But this alone is not a sufficient reason for rejection. The only line

to judge truly upon is to draw out and admit all the objections which

can fairly be made, and place against them all the contrary qualities,

conveniences and advantages, then by striking a balance you come at the

true character of any scheme, principle or position.

The most material advantages of the plan here proposed are, ease,

expedition, and cheapness; yet the men so raised get a much larger

bounty than is any where at present given; because all the expenses,

extravagance, and consequent idleness of recruiting are saved or

prevented. The country incurs no new debt nor interest thereon; the

whole matter being all settled at once and entirely done with. It is

a subscription answering all the purposes of a tax, without either the

charge or trouble of collecting. The men are ready for the field with

the greatest possible expedition, because it becomes the duty of the

inhabitants themselves, in every part of the country, to find their

proportion of men instead of leaving it to a recruiting sergeant, who,

be he ever so industrious, cannot know always where to apply.

I do not propose this as a regular digested plan, neither will the

limits of this paper admit of any further remarks upon it. I believe it

to be a hint capable of much improvement, and as such submit it to the

public.

COMMON SENSE.

LANCASTER, March 21, 1778.

THE CRISIS VI. (TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE AND GENERAL CLINTON)

TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE, GENERAL CLINTON, AND

WILLIAM EDEN, ESQ., BRITISH COMMISSIONERS

AT NEW YORK.

THERE is a dignity in the warm passions of a Whig, which is never to be

found in the cold malice of a Tory. In the one nature is only heated--in

the other she is poisoned. The instant the former has it in his power to

punish, he feels a disposition to forgive; but the canine venom of the

latter knows no relief but revenge. This general distinction will, I

believe, apply in all cases, and suits as well the meridian of England

as America.

As I presume your last proclamation will undergo the strictures of other

pens, I shall confine my remarks to only a few parts thereof. All that

you have said might have been comprised in half the compass. It is

tedious and unmeaning, and only a repetition of your former follies,

with here and there an offensive aggravation. Your cargo of pardons will

have no market. It is unfashionable to look at them--even speculation

is at an end. They have become a perfect drug, and no way calculated for

the climate.

In the course of your proclamation you say, "The policy as well as the

benevolence of Great Britain have thus far checked the extremes of war,

when they tended to distress a people still considered as their fellow

subjects, and to desolate a country shortly to become again a source of

mutual advantage." What you mean by "the benevolence of Great Britain"

is to me inconceivable. To put a plain question; do you consider

yourselves men or devils? For until this point is settled, no

determinate sense can be put upon the expression. You have already

equalled and in many cases excelled, the savages of either Indies; and

if you have yet a cruelty in store you must have imported it, unmixed

with every human material, from the original warehouse of hell.

To the interposition of Providence, and her blessings on our endeavors,

and not to British benevolence are we indebted for the short chain that

limits your ravages. Remember you do not, at this time, command a foot

of land on the continent of America. Staten Island, York Island, a small

part of Long Island, and Rhode Island, circumscribe your power; and even

those you hold at the expense of the West Indies. To avoid a defeat, or

prevent a desertion of your troops, you have taken up your quarters in

holes and corners of inaccessible security; and in order to conceal what

every one can perceive, you now endeavor to impose your weakness upon

us for an act of mercy. If you think to succeed by such shadowy devices,

you are but infants in the political world; you have the A, B, C, of

stratagem yet to learn, and are wholly ignorant of the people you have

to contend with. Like men in a state of intoxication, you forget that

the rest of the world have eyes, and that the same stupidity which

conceals you from yourselves exposes you to their satire and contempt.

The paragraph which I have quoted, stands as an introduction to the

following: "But when that country [America] professes the unnatural

design, not only of estranging herself from us, but of mortgaging

herself and her resources to our enemies, the whole contest is changed:

and the question is how far Great Britain may, by every means in her

power, destroy or render useless, a connection contrived for her ruin,

and the aggrandizement of France. Under such circumstances, the laws

of self-preservation must direct the conduct of Britain, and, if the

British colonies are to become an accession to France, will direct her

to render that accession of as little avail as possible to her enemy."

I consider you in this declaration, like madmen biting in the hour of

death. It contains likewise a fraudulent meanness; for, in order to

justify a barbarous conclusion, you have advanced a false position. The

treaty we have formed with France is open, noble, and generous. It is

true policy, founded on sound philosophy, and neither a surrender

or mortgage, as you would scandalously insinuate. I have seen every

article, and speak from positive knowledge. In France, we have found an

affectionate friend and faithful ally; in Britain, we have found nothing

but tyranny, cruelty, and infidelity.

But the happiness is, that the mischief you threaten, is not in your

power to execute; and if it were, the punishment would return upon you

in a ten-fold degree. The humanity of America has hitherto restrained

her from acts of retaliation, and the affection she retains for

many individuals in England, who have fed, clothed and comforted her

prisoners, has, to the present day, warded off her resentment, and

operated as a screen to the whole. But even these considerations

must cease, when national objects interfere and oppose them. Repeated

aggravations will provoke a retort, and policy justify the measure. We

mean now to take you seriously up upon your own ground and principle,

and as you do, so shall you be done by.

You ought to know, gentlemen, that England and Scotland, are far more

exposed to incendiary desolation than America, in her present state, can

possibly be. We occupy a country, with but few towns, and whose riches

consist in land and annual produce. The two last can suffer but little,

and that only within a very limited compass. In Britain it is otherwise.

Her wealth lies chiefly in cities and large towns, the depositories

of manufactures and fleets of merchantmen. There is not a nobleman's

country seat but may be laid in ashes by a single person. Your own

may probably contribute to the proof: in short, there is no evil which

cannot be returned when you come to incendiary mischief. The ships in

the Thames, may certainly be as easily set on fire, as the temporary

bridge was a few years ago; yet of that affair no discovery was ever

made; and the loss you would sustain by such an event, executed at a

proper season, is infinitely greater than any you can inflict. The East

India House and the Bank, neither are nor can be secure from this sort

of destruction, and, as Dr. Price justly observes, a fire at the latter

would bankrupt the nation. It has never been the custom of France and

England when at war, to make those havocs on each other, because the

ease with which they could retaliate rendered it as impolitic as if each

had destroyed his own.

But think not, gentlemen, that our distance secures you, or our

invention fails us. We can much easier accomplish such a point than any

nation in Europe. We talk the same language, dress in the same habit,

and appear with the same manners as yourselves. We can pass from

one part of England to another unsuspected; many of us are as well

acquainted with the country as you are, and should you impolitically

provoke us, you will most assuredly lament the effects of it. Mischiefs

of this kind require no army to execute them. The means are obvious, and

the opportunities unguardable. I hold up a warning to our senses, if you

have any left, and "to the unhappy people likewise, whose affairs are

committed to you."* I call not with the rancor of an enemy, but the

earnestness of a friend, on the deluded people of England, lest, between

your blunders and theirs, they sink beneath the evils contrived for us.

* General [Sir H.] Clinton's letter to Congress.

"He who lives in a glass house," says a Spanish proverb, "should never

begin throwing stones." This, gentlemen, is exactly your case, and you

must be the most ignorant of mankind, or suppose us so, not to see on

which side the balance of accounts will fall. There are many other modes

of retaliation, which, for several reasons, I choose not to mention. But

be assured of this, that the instant you put your threat into execution,

a counter-blow will follow it. If you openly profess yourselves savages,

it is high time we should treat you as such, and if nothing but distress

can recover you to reason, to punish will become an office of charity.

While your fleet lay last winter in the Delaware, I offered my service

to the Pennsylvania Navy Board then at Trenton, as one who would make

a party with them, or any four or five gentlemen, on an expedition down

the river to set fire to it, and though it was not then accepted, nor

the thing personally attempted, it is more than probable that your own

folly will provoke a much more ruinous act. Say not when mischief is

done, that you had not warning, and remember that we do not begin it,

but mean to repay it. Thus much for your savage and impolitic threat.

In another part of your proclamation you say, "But if the honors of

a military life are become the object of the Americans, let them seek

those honors under the banners of their rightful sovereign, and in

fighting the battles of the united British Empire, against our late

mutual and natural enemies." Surely! the union of absurdity with madness

was never marked in more distinguishable lines than these. Your rightful

sovereign, as you call him, may do well enough for you, who dare not

inquire into the humble capacities of the man; but we, who estimate

persons and things by their real worth, cannot suffer our judgments to

be so imposed upon; and unless it is your wish to see him exposed, it

ought to be your endeavor to keep him out of sight. The less you have

to say about him the better. We have done with him, and that ought to

be answer enough. You have been often told so. Strange! that the answer

must be so often repeated. You go a-begging with your king as with a

brat, or with some unsaleable commodity you were tired of; and though

every body tells you no, no, still you keep hawking him about. But

there is one that will have him in a little time, and as we have no

inclination to disappoint you of a customer, we bid nothing for him.

The impertinent folly of the paragraph that I have just quoted, deserves

no other notice than to be laughed at and thrown by, but the principle

on which it is founded is detestable. We are invited to submit to a man

who has attempted by every cruelty to destroy us, and to join him in

making war against France, who is already at war against him for our

support.

Can Bedlam, in concert with Lucifer, form a more mad and devilish

request? Were it possible a people could sink into such apostacy they

would deserve to be swept from the earth like the inhabitants of Sodom

and Gomorrah. The proposition is an universal affront to the rank which

man holds in the creation, and an indignity to him who placed him

there. It supposes him made up without a spark of honor, and under no

obligation to God or man.

What sort of men or Christians must you suppose the Americans to be,

who, after seeing their most humble petitions insultingly rejected;

the most grievous laws passed to distress them in every quarter; an

undeclared war let loose upon them, and Indians and negroes invited to

the slaughter; who, after seeing their kinsmen murdered, their fellow

citizens starved to death in prisons, and their houses and property

destroyed and burned; who, after the most serious appeals to heaven, the

most solemn abjuration by oath of all government connected with you, and

the most heart-felt pledges and protestations of faith to each other;

and who, after soliciting the friendship, and entering into alliances

with other nations, should at last break through all these obligations,

civil and divine, by complying with your horrid and infernal proposal.

Ought we ever after to be considered as a part of the human race? Or

ought we not rather to be blotted from the society of mankind, and

become a spectacle of misery to the world? But there is something in

corruption, which, like a jaundiced eye, transfers the color of itself

to the object it looks upon, and sees every thing stained and impure;

for unless you were capable of such conduct yourselves, you would never

have supposed such a character in us. The offer fixes your infamy. It

exhibits you as a nation without faith; with whom oaths and treaties

are considered as trifles, and the breaking them as the breaking of a

bubble. Regard to decency, or to rank, might have taught you better; or

pride inspired you, though virtue could not. There is not left a step in

the degradation of character to which you can now descend; you have put

your foot on the ground floor, and the key of the dungeon is turned upon

you.

That the invitation may want nothing of being a complete monster,

you have thought proper to finish it with an assertion which has no

foundation, either in fact or philosophy; and as Mr. Ferguson, your

secretary, is a man of letters, and has made civil society his study,

and published a treatise on that subject, I address this part to him.

In the close of the paragraph which I last quoted, France is styled the

"natural enemy" of England, and by way of lugging us into some strange

idea, she is styled "the late mutual and natural enemy" of both

countries. I deny that she ever was the natural enemy of either; and

that there does not exist in nature such a principle. The expression

is an unmeaning barbarism, and wholly unphilosophical, when applied to

beings of the same species, let their station in the creation be what

it may. We have a perfect idea of a natural enemy when we think of the

devil, because the enmity is perpetual, unalterable and unabateable. It

admits, neither of peace, truce, or treaty; consequently the warfare is

eternal, and therefore it is natural. But man with man cannot arrange

in the same opposition. Their quarrels are accidental and equivocally

created. They become friends or enemies as the change of temper, or the

cast of interest inclines them. The Creator of man did not constitute

them the natural enemy of each other. He has not made any one order of

beings so. Even wolves may quarrel, still they herd together. If any two

nations are so, then must all nations be so, otherwise it is not nature

but custom, and the offence frequently originates with the accuser.

England is as truly the natural enemy of France, as France is of

England, and perhaps more so. Separated from the rest of Europe, she

has contracted an unsocial habit of manners, and imagines in others the

jealousy she creates in herself. Never long satisfied with peace,

she supposes the discontent universal, and buoyed up with her own

importance, conceives herself the only object pointed at. The expression

has been often used, and always with a fraudulent design; for when the

idea of a natural enemy is conceived, it prevents all other inquiries,

and the real cause of the quarrel is hidden in the universality of the

conceit. Men start at the notion of a natural enemy, and ask no other

question. The cry obtains credit like the alarm of a mad dog, and is

one of those kind of tricks, which, by operating on the common passions,

secures their interest through their folly.

But we, sir, are not to be thus imposed upon. We live in a large world,

and have extended our ideas beyond the limits and prejudices of an

island. We hold out the right hand of friendship to all the universe,

and we conceive that there is a sociality in the manners of France,

which is much better disposed to peace and negotiation than that of

England, and until the latter becomes more civilized, she cannot expect

to live long at peace with any power. Her common language is vulgar

and offensive, and children suck in with their milk the rudiments of

insult--"The arm of Britain! The mighty arm of Britain! Britain that

shakes the earth to its center and its poles! The scourge of France! The

terror of the world! That governs with a nod, and pours down vengeance

like a God." This language neither makes a nation great or little; but

it shows a savageness of manners, and has a tendency to keep national

animosity alive. The entertainments of the stage are calculated to the

same end, and almost every public exhibition is tinctured with insult.

Yet England is always in dread of France,--terrified at the apprehension

of an invasion, suspicious of being outwitted in a treaty, and privately

cringing though she is publicly offending. Let her, therefore, reform

her manners and do justice, and she will find the idea of a natural

enemy to be only a phantom of her own imagination.

Little did I think, at this period of the war, to see a proclamation

which could promise you no one useful purpose whatever, and tend only

to expose you. One would think that you were just awakened from a four

years' dream, and knew nothing of what had passed in the interval.

Is this a time to be offering pardons, or renewing the long forgotten

subjects of charters and taxation? Is it worth your while, after every

force has failed you, to retreat under the shelter of argument and

persuasion? Or can you think that we, with nearly half your army

prisoners, and in alliance with France, are to be begged or threatened

into submission by a piece of paper? But as commissioners at a hundred

pounds sterling a week each, you conceive yourselves bound to do

something, and the genius of ill-fortune told you, that you must write.

For my own part, I have not put pen to paper these several months.

Convinced of our superiority by the issue of every campaign, I was

inclined to hope, that that which all the rest of the world now see,

would become visible to you, and therefore felt unwilling to ruffle your

temper by fretting you with repetitions and discoveries. There have been

intervals of hesitation in your conduct, from which it seemed a pity to

disturb you, and a charity to leave you to yourselves. You have often

stopped, as if you intended to think, but your thoughts have ever been

too early or too late.

There was a time when Britain disdained to answer, or even hear

a petition from America. That time is past and she in her turn is

petitioning our acceptance. We now stand on higher ground, and offer

her peace; and the time will come when she, perhaps in vain, will ask

it from us. The latter case is as probable as the former ever was. She

cannot refuse to acknowledge our independence with greater obstinacy

than she before refused to repeal her laws; and if America alone could

bring her to the one, united with France she will reduce her to the

other. There is something in obstinacy which differs from every other

passion; whenever it fails it never recovers, but either breaks like

iron, or crumbles sulkily away like a fractured arch. Most other

passions have their periods of fatigue and rest; their suffering and

their cure; but obstinacy has no resource, and the first wound is

mortal. You have already begun to give it up, and you will, from the

natural construction of the vice, find yourselves both obliged and

inclined to do so.

If you look back you see nothing but loss and disgrace. If you look

forward the same scene continues, and the close is an impenetrable

gloom. You may plan and execute little mischiefs, but are they worth the

expense they cost you, or will such partial evils have any effect on the

general cause? Your expedition to Egg Harbor, will be felt at a distance

like an attack upon a hen-roost, and expose you in Europe, with a sort

of childish frenzy. Is it worth while to keep an army to protect you

in writing proclamations, or to get once a year into winter quarters?

Possessing yourselves of towns is not conquest, but convenience, and

in which you will one day or other be trepanned. Your retreat from

Philadelphia, was only a timely escape, and your next expedition may be

less fortunate.

It would puzzle all the politicians in the universe to conceive what you

stay for, or why you should have stayed so long. You are prosecuting

a war in which you confess you have neither object nor hope, and that

conquest, could it be effected, would not repay the charges: in the mean

while the rest of your affairs are running to ruin, and a European war

kindling against you. In such a situation, there is neither doubt nor

difficulty; the first rudiments of reason will determine the choice, for

if peace can be procured with more advantages than even a conquest can

be obtained, he must be an idiot indeed that hesitates.

But you are probably buoyed up by a set of wretched mortals, who, having

deceived themselves, are cringing, with the duplicity of a spaniel, for

a little temporary bread. Those men will tell you just what you

please. It is their interest to amuse, in order to lengthen out their

protection. They study to keep you amongst them for that very purpose;

and in proportion as you disregard their advice, and grow callous to

their complaints, they will stretch into improbability, and season their

flattery the higher. Characters like these are to be found in every

country, and every country will despise them.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, Oct. 20, 1778.

THE CRISIS VII. TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.

THERE are stages in the business of serious life in which to amuse is

cruel, but to deceive is to destroy; and it is of little consequence, in

the conclusion, whether men deceive themselves, or submit, by a kind of

mutual consent, to the impositions of each other. That England has long

been under the influence of delusion or mistake, needs no other proof

than the unexpected and wretched situation that she is now involved in:

and so powerful has been the influence, that no provision was ever made

or thought of against the misfortune, because the possibility of its

happening was never conceived.

The general and successful resistance of America, the conquest of

Burgoyne, and a war in France, were treated in parliament as the dreams

of a discontented opposition, or a distempered imagination. They were

beheld as objects unworthy of a serious thought, and the bare intimation

of them afforded the ministry a triumph of laughter. Short triumph

indeed! For everything which has been predicted has happened, and all

that was promised has failed. A long series of politics so remarkably

distinguished by a succession of misfortunes, without one alleviating

turn, must certainly have something in it systematically wrong. It is

sufficient to awaken the most credulous into suspicion, and the most

obstinate into thought. Either the means in your power are insufficient,

or the measures ill planned; either the execution has been bad, or the

thing attempted impracticable; or, to speak more emphatically, either

you are not able or heaven is not willing. For, why is it that you have

not conquered us? Who, or what has prevented you? You have had every

opportunity that you could desire, and succeeded to your utmost wish in

every preparatory means. Your fleets and armies have arrived in America

without an accident. No uncommon fortune has intervened. No foreign

nation has interfered until the time which you had allotted for victory

was passed. The opposition, either in or out of parliament, neither

disconcerted your measures, retarded or diminished your force. They only

foretold your fate. Every ministerial scheme was carried with as high a

hand as if the whole nation had been unanimous. Every thing wanted was

asked for, and every thing asked for was granted.

A greater force was not within the compass of your abilities to send,

and the time you sent it was of all others the most favorable. You were

then at rest with the whole world beside. You had the range of every

court in Europe uncontradicted by us. You amused us with a tale of

commissioners of peace, and under that disguise collected a numerous

army and came almost unexpectedly upon us. The force was much greater

than we looked for; and that which we had to oppose it with, was unequal

in numbers, badly armed, and poorly disciplined; beside which, it was

embodied only for a short time, and expired within a few months after

your arrival. We had governments to form; measures to concert; an

army to train, and every necessary article to import or to create. Our

non-importation scheme had exhausted our stores, and your command by sea

intercepted our supplies. We were a people unknown, and unconnected with

the political world, and strangers to the disposition of foreign

powers. Could you possibly wish for a more favorable conjunction of

circumstances? Yet all these have happened and passed away, and, as

it were, left you with a laugh. There are likewise, events of such an

original nativity as can never happen again, unless a new world should

arise from the ocean.

If any thing can be a lesson to presumption, surely the circumstances

of this war will have their effect. Had Britain been defeated by

any European power, her pride would have drawn consolation from the

importance of her conquerors; but in the present case, she is excelled

by those that she affected to despise, and her own opinions retorting

upon herself, become an aggravation of her disgrace. Misfortune and

experience are lost upon mankind, when they produce neither reflection

nor reformation. Evils, like poisons, have their uses, and there are

diseases which no other remedy can reach. It has been the crime and

folly of England to suppose herself invincible, and that, without

acknowledging or perceiving that a full third of her strength was drawn

from the country she is now at war with. The arm of Britain has been

spoken of as the arm of the Almighty, and she has lived of late as if

she thought the whole world created for her diversion. Her politics,

instead of civilizing, has tended to brutalize mankind, and under the

vain, unmeaning title of "Defender of the Faith," she has made war like

an Indian against the religion of humanity. Her cruelties in the East

Indies will never be forgotten, and it is somewhat remarkable that the

produce of that ruined country, transported to America, should there

kindle up a war to punish the destroyer. The chain is continued,

though with a mysterious kind of uniformity both in the crime and the

punishment. The latter runs parallel with the former, and time and fate

will give it a perfect illustration.

When information is withheld, ignorance becomes a reasonable excuse; and

one would charitably hope that the people of England do not encourage

cruelty from choice but from mistake. Their recluse situation,

surrounded by the sea, preserves them from the calamities of war, and

keeps them in the dark as to the conduct of their own armies. They see

not, therefore they feel not. They tell the tale that is told them and

believe it, and accustomed to no other news than their own, they receive

it, stripped of its horrors and prepared for the palate of the nation,

through the channel of the London Gazette. They are made to believe that

their generals and armies differ from those of other nations, and have

nothing of rudeness or barbarity in them. They suppose them what

they wish them to be. They feel a disgrace in thinking otherwise, and

naturally encourage the belief from a partiality to themselves. There

was a time when I felt the same prejudices, and reasoned from the

same errors; but experience, sad and painful experience, has taught me

better. What the conduct of former armies was, I know not, but what the

conduct of the present is, I well know. It is low, cruel, indolent and

profligate; and had the people of America no other cause for separation

than what the army has occasioned, that alone is cause sufficient.

The field of politics in England is far more extensive than that of

news. Men have a right to reason for themselves, and though they cannot

contradict the intelligence in the London Gazette, they may frame upon

it what sentiments they please. But the misfortune is, that a general

ignorance has prevailed over the whole nation respecting America. The

ministry and the minority have both been wrong. The former was always

so, the latter only lately so. Politics, to be executively right, must

have a unity of means and time, and a defect in either overthrows the

whole. The ministry rejected the plans of the minority while they were

practicable, and joined in them when they became impracticable. From

wrong measures they got into wrong time, and have now completed the

circle of absurdity by closing it upon themselves.

I happened to come to America a few months before the breaking out of

hostilities. I found the disposition of the people such, that they might

have been led by a thread and governed by a reed. Their suspicion was

quick and penetrating, but their attachment to Britain was obstinate,

and it was at that time a kind of treason to speak against it. They

disliked the ministry, but they esteemed the nation. Their idea of

grievance operated without resentment, and their single object was

reconciliation. Bad as I believed the ministry to be, I never conceived

them capable of a measure so rash and wicked as the commencing of

hostilities; much less did I imagine the nation would encourage it.

I viewed the dispute as a kind of law-suit, in which I supposed the

parties would find a way either to decide or settle it. I had no

thoughts of independence or of arms. The world could not then have

persuaded me that I should be either a soldier or an author. If I had

any talents for either, they were buried in me, and might ever have

continued so, had not the necessity of the times dragged and driven them

into action. I had formed my plan of life, and conceiving myself happy,

wished every body else so. But when the country, into which I had just

set my foot, was set on fire about my ears, it was time to stir. It

was time for every man to stir. Those who had been long settled had

something to defend; those who had just come had something to pursue;

and the call and the concern was equal and universal. For in a country

where all men were once adventurers, the difference of a few years in

their arrival could make none in their right.

The breaking out of hostilities opened a new suspicion in the politics

of America, which, though at that time very rare, has since been proved

to be very right. What I allude to is, "a secret and fixed determination

in the British Cabinet to annex America to the crown of England as a

conquered country." If this be taken as the object, then the whole

line of conduct pursued by the ministry, though rash in its origin and

ruinous in its consequences, is nevertheless uniform and consistent in

its parts. It applies to every case and resolves every difficulty.

But if taxation, or any thing else, be taken in its room, there is no

proportion between the object and the charge. Nothing but the whole

soil and property of the country can be placed as a possible equivalent

against the millions which the ministry expended. No taxes raised in

America could possibly repay it. A revenue of two millions sterling a

year would not discharge the sum and interest accumulated thereon, in

twenty years.

Reconciliation never appears to have been the wish or the object of the

administration; they looked on conquest as certain and infallible, and,

under that persuasion, sought to drive the Americans into what they

might style a general rebellion, and then, crushing them with arms

in their hands, reap the rich harvest of a general confiscation, and

silence them for ever. The dependents at court were too numerous to be

provided for in England. The market for plunder in the East Indies was

over; and the profligacy of government required that a new mine should

be opened, and that mine could be no other than America, conquered

and forfeited. They had no where else to go. Every other channel was

drained; and extravagance, with the thirst of a drunkard, was gaping for

supplies.

If the ministry deny this to have been their plan, it becomes them to

explain what was their plan. For either they have abused us in coveting

property they never labored for, or they have abused you in expending an

amazing sum upon an incompetent object. Taxation, as I mentioned before,

could never be worth the charge of obtaining it by arms; and any kind of

formal obedience which America could have made, would have weighed with

the lightness of a laugh against such a load of expense. It is therefore

most probable that the ministry will at last justify their policy by

their dishonesty, and openly declare, that their original design was

conquest: and, in this case, it well becomes the people of England to

consider how far the nation would have been benefited by the success.

In a general view, there are few conquests that repay the charge of

making them, and mankind are pretty well convinced that it can never be

worth their while to go to war for profit's sake. If they are made war

upon, their country invaded, or their existence at stake, it is their

duty to defend and preserve themselves, but in every other light, and

from every other cause, is war inglorious and detestable. But to return

to the case in question--

When conquests are made of foreign countries, it is supposed that the

commerce and dominion of the country which made them are extended. But

this could neither be the object nor the consequence of the present

war. You enjoyed the whole commerce before. It could receive no possible

addition by a conquest, but on the contrary, must diminish as the

inhabitants were reduced in numbers and wealth. You had the same

dominion over the country which you used to have, and had no complaint

to make against her for breach of any part of the contract between

you or her, or contending against any established custom, commercial,

political or territorial. The country and commerce were both your own

when you began to conquer, in the same manner and form as they had been

your own a hundred years before. Nations have sometimes been induced to

make conquests for the sake of reducing the power of their enemies, or

bringing it to a balance with their own. But this could be no part of

your plan. No foreign authority was claimed here, neither was any such

authority suspected by you, or acknowledged or imagined by us. What

then, in the name of heaven, could you go to war for? Or what chance

could you possibly have in the event, but either to hold the same

country which you held before, and that in a much worse condition, or

to lose, with an amazing expense, what you might have retained without a

farthing of charges?

War never can be the interest of a trading nation, any more than

quarrelling can be profitable to a man in business. But to make war with

those who trade with us, is like setting a bull-dog upon a customer at

the shop-door. The least degree of common sense shows the madness of

the latter, and it will apply with the same force of conviction to the

former. Piratical nations, having neither commerce or commodities of

their own to lose, may make war upon all the world, and lucratively

find their account in it; but it is quite otherwise with Britain: for,

besides the stoppage of trade in time of war, she exposes more of her

own property to be lost, than she has the chance of taking from others.

Some ministerial gentlemen in parliament have mentioned the greatness of

her trade as an apology for the greatness of her loss. This is miserable

politics indeed! Because it ought to have been given as a reason for her

not engaging in a war at first. The coast of America commands the West

India trade almost as effectually as the coast of Africa does that of

the Straits; and England can no more carry on the former without the

consent of America, than she can the latter without a Mediterranean

pass.

In whatever light the war with America is considered upon commercial

principles, it is evidently the interest of the people of England not to

support it; and why it has been supported so long, against the clearest

demonstrations of truth and national advantage, is, to me, and must be

to all the reasonable world, a matter of astonishment. Perhaps it may

be said that I live in America, and write this from interest. To this

I reply, that my principle is universal. My attachment is to all the

world, and not to any particular part, and if what I advance is right,

no matter where or who it comes from. We have given the proclamation of

your commissioners a currency in our newspapers, and I have no doubt you

will give this a place in yours. To oblige and be obliged is fair.

Before I dismiss this part of my address, I shall mention one more

circumstance in which I think the people of England have been equally

mistaken: and then proceed to other matters.

There is such an idea existing in the world, as that of national honor,

and this, falsely understood, is oftentimes the cause of war. In a

Christian and philosophical sense, mankind seem to have stood still

at individual civilization, and to retain as nations all the original

rudeness of nature. Peace by treaty is only a cessation of violence for

a reformation of sentiment. It is a substitute for a principle that

is wanting and ever will be wanting till the idea of national honor be

rightly understood. As individuals we profess ourselves Christians, but

as nations we are heathens, Romans, and what not. I remember the late

Admiral Saunders declaring in the House of Commons, and that in the time

of peace, "That the city of Madrid laid in ashes was not a sufficient

atonement for the Spaniards taking off the rudder of an English sloop

of war." I do not ask whether this is Christianity or morality, I ask

whether it is decency? whether it is proper language for a nation to

use? In private life we call it by the plain name of bullying, and

the elevation of rank cannot alter its character. It is, I think,

exceedingly easy to define what ought to be understood by national

honor; for that which is the best character for an individual is the

best character for a nation; and wherever the latter exceeds or

falls beneath the former, there is a departure from the line of true

greatness.

I have thrown out this observation with a design of applying it to Great

Britain. Her ideas of national honor seem devoid of that benevolence of

heart, that universal expansion of philanthropy, and that triumph over

the rage of vulgar prejudice, without which man is inferior to himself,

and a companion of common animals. To know who she shall regard or

dislike, she asks what country they are of, what religion they profess,

and what property they enjoy. Her idea of national honor seems to

consist in national insult, and that to be a great people, is to be

neither a Christian, a philosopher, or a gentleman, but to threaten with

the rudeness of a bear, and to devour with the ferocity of a lion. This

perhaps may sound harsh and uncourtly, but it is too true, and the more

is the pity.

I mention this only as her general character. But towards America she

has observed no character at all; and destroyed by her conduct what she

assumed in her title. She set out with the title of parent, or mother

country. The association of ideas which naturally accompany this

expression, are filled with everything that is fond, tender and

forbearing. They have an energy peculiar to themselves, and, overlooking

the accidental attachment of common affections, apply with infinite

softness to the first feelings of the heart. It is a political term

which every mother can feel the force of, and every child can judge of.

It needs no painting of mine to set it off, for nature only can do it

justice.

But has any part of your conduct to America corresponded with the title

you set up? If in your general national character you are unpolished and

severe, in this you are inconsistent and unnatural, and you must have

exceeding false notions of national honor to suppose that the world can

admire a want of humanity or that national honor depends on the

violence of resentment, the inflexibility of temper, or the vengeance of

execution.

I would willingly convince you, and that with as much temper as the

times will suffer me to do, that as you opposed your own interest by

quarrelling with us, so likewise your national honor, rightly conceived

and understood, was no ways called upon to enter into a war with

America; had you studied true greatness of heart, the first and fairest

ornament of mankind, you would have acted directly contrary to all that

you have done, and the world would have ascribed it to a generous cause.

Besides which, you had (though with the assistance of this country)

secured a powerful name by the last war. You were known and dreaded

abroad; and it would have been wise in you to have suffered the world to

have slept undisturbed under that idea. It was to you a force existing

without expense. It produced to you all the advantages of real power;

and you were stronger through the universality of that charm, than any

future fleets and armies may probably make you. Your greatness was so

secured and interwoven with your silence that you ought never to have

awakened mankind, and had nothing to do but to be quiet. Had you been

true politicians you would have seen all this, and continued to draw

from the magic of a name, the force and authority of a nation.

Unwise as you were in breaking the charm, you were still more unwise

in the manner of doing it. Samson only told the secret, but you have

performed the operation; you have shaven your own head, and wantonly

thrown away the locks. America was the hair from which the charm was

drawn that infatuated the world. You ought to have quarrelled with no

power; but with her upon no account. You had nothing to fear from any

condescension you might make. You might have humored her, even if there

had been no justice in her claims, without any risk to your reputation;

for Europe, fascinated by your fame, would have ascribed it to your

benevolence, and America, intoxicated by the grant, would have slumbered

in her fetters.

But this method of studying the progress of the passions, in order to

ascertain the probable conduct of mankind, is a philosophy in politics

which those who preside at St. James's have no conception of. They know

no other influence than corruption and reckon all their probabilities

from precedent. A new case is to them a new world, and while they are

seeking for a parallel they get lost. The talents of Lord Mansfield can

be estimated at best no higher than those of a sophist. He understands

the subtleties but not the elegance of nature; and by continually

viewing mankind through the cold medium of the law, never thinks of

penetrating into the warmer region of the mind. As for Lord North, it

is his happiness to have in him more philosophy than sentiment, for he

bears flogging like a top, and sleeps the better for it. His punishment

becomes his support, for while he suffers the lash for his sins,

he keeps himself up by twirling about. In politics, he is a good

arithmetician, and in every thing else nothing at all.

There is one circumstance which comes so much within Lord North's

province as a financier, that I am surprised it should escape him,

which is, the different abilities of the two countries in supporting the

expense; for, strange as it may seem, England is not a match for America

in this particular. By a curious kind of revolution in accounts, the

people of England seem to mistake their poverty for their riches; that

is, they reckon their national debt as a part of their national wealth.

They make the same kind of error which a man would do, who after

mortgaging his estate, should add the money borrowed, to the full value

of the estate, in order to count up his worth, and in this case he would

conceive that he got rich by running into debt. Just thus it is with

England. The government owed at the beginning of this war one hundred

and thirty-five millions sterling, and though the individuals to whom it

was due had a right to reckon their shares as so much private property,

yet to the nation collectively it was so much poverty. There are as

effectual limits to public debts as to private ones, for when once the

money borrowed is so great as to require the whole yearly revenue to

discharge the interest thereon, there is an end to further borrowing;

in the same manner as when the interest of a man's debts amounts to

the yearly income of his estate, there is an end to his credit. This is

nearly the case with England, the interest of her present debt being

at least equal to one half of her yearly revenue, so that out of ten

millions annually collected by taxes, she has but five that she can call

her own.

The very reverse of this was the case with America; she began the war

without any debt upon her, and in order to carry it on, she neither

raised money by taxes, nor borrowed it upon interest, but created it;

and her situation at this time continues so much the reverse of yours

that taxing would make her rich, whereas it would make you poor. When we

shall have sunk the sum which we have created, we shall then be out of

debt, be just as rich as when we began, and all the while we are doing

it shall feel no difference, because the value will rise as the quantity

decreases.

There was not a country in the world so capable of bearing the expense

of a war as America; not only because she was not in debt when she

began, but because the country is young and capable of infinite

improvement, and has an almost boundless tract of new lands in store;

whereas England has got to her extent of age and growth, and has not

unoccupied land or property in reserve. The one is like a young heir

coming to a large improvable estate; the other like an old man whose

chances are over, and his estate mortgaged for half its worth.

In the second number of the Crisis, which I find has been republished

in England, I endeavored to set forth the impracticability of conquering

America. I stated every case, that I conceived could possibly happen,

and ventured to predict its consequences. As my conclusions were drawn

not artfully, but naturally, they have all proved to be true. I was upon

the spot; knew the politics of America, her strength and resources, and

by a train of services, the best in my power to render, was honored with

the friendship of the congress, the army and the people. I considered

the cause a just one. I know and feel it a just one, and under that

confidence never made my own profit or loss an object. My endeavor was

to have the matter well understood on both sides, and I conceived

myself tendering a general service, by setting forth to the one the

impossibility of being conquered, and to the other the impossibility

of conquering. Most of the arguments made use of by the ministry for

supporting the war, are the very arguments that ought to have been used

against supporting it; and the plans, by which they thought to conquer,

are the very plans in which they were sure to be defeated. They have

taken every thing up at the wrong end. Their ignorance is astonishing,

and were you in my situation you would see it. They may, perhaps,

have your confidence, but I am persuaded that they would make very

indifferent members of Congress. I know what England is, and what

America is, and from the compound of knowledge, am better enabled to

judge of the issue than what the king or any of his ministers can be.

In this number I have endeavored to show the ill policy and

disadvantages of the war. I believe many of my remarks are new. Those

which are not so, I have studied to improve and place in a manner that

may be clear and striking. Your failure is, I am persuaded, as certain

as fate. America is above your reach. She is at least your equal in the

world, and her independence neither rests upon your consent, nor can it

be prevented by your arms. In short, you spend your substance in vain,

and impoverish yourselves without a hope.

But suppose you had conquered America, what advantages, collectively or

individually, as merchants, manufacturers, or conquerors, could you

have looked for? This is an object you seemed never to have attended to.

Listening for the sound of victory, and led away by the frenzy of arms,

you neglected to reckon either the cost or the consequences. You must

all pay towards the expense; the poorest among you must bear his share,

and it is both your right and your duty to weigh seriously the matter.

Had America been conquered, she might have been parcelled out in grants

to the favorites at court, but no share of it would have fallen to you.

Your taxes would not have been lessened, because she would have been

in no condition to have paid any towards your relief. We are rich by

contrivance of our own, which would have ceased as soon as you became

masters. Our paper money will be of no use in England, and silver and

gold we have none. In the last war you made many conquests, but were any

of your taxes lessened thereby? On the contrary, were you not taxed to

pay for the charge of making them, and has not the same been the case in

every war?

To the Parliament I wish to address myself in a more particular manner.

They appear to have supposed themselves partners in the chase, and to

have hunted with the lion from an expectation of a right in the booty;

but in this it is most probable they would, as legislators, have

been disappointed. The case is quite a new one, and many unforeseen

difficulties would have arisen thereon. The Parliament claimed a

legislative right over America, and the war originated from that

pretence. But the army is supposed to belong to the crown, and if

America had been conquered through their means, the claim of the

legislature would have been suffocated in the conquest. Ceded, or

conquered, countries are supposed to be out of the authority of

Parliament. Taxation is exercised over them by prerogative and not by

law. It was attempted to be done in the Grenadas a few years ago, and

the only reason why it was not done was because the crown had made a

prior relinquishment of its claim. Therefore, Parliament have been all

this while supporting measures for the establishment of their authority,

in the issue of which, they would have been triumphed over by the

prerogative. This might have opened a new and interesting opposition

between the Parliament and the crown. The crown would have said that it

conquered for itself, and that to conquer for Parliament was an unknown

case. The Parliament might have replied, that America not being a

foreign country, but a country in rebellion, could not be said to be

conquered, but reduced; and thus continued their claim by disowning

the term. The crown might have rejoined, that however America might

be considered at first, she became foreign at last by a declaration of

independence, and a treaty with France; and that her case being, by that

treaty, put within the law of nations, was out of the law of Parliament,

who might have maintained, that as their claim over America had never

been surrendered, so neither could it be taken away. The crown might

have insisted, that though the claim of Parliament could not be taken

away, yet, being an inferior, it might be superseded; and that, whether

the claim was withdrawn from the object, or the object taken from the

claim, the same separation ensued; and that America being subdued after

a treaty with France, was to all intents and purposes a regal conquest,

and of course the sole property of the king. The Parliament, as the

legal delegates of the people, might have contended against the term

"inferior," and rested the case upon the antiquity of power, and this

would have brought on a set of very interesting and rational questions.

1st, What is the original fountain of power and honor in any country?

2d, Whether the prerogative does not belong to the people?

3d, Whether there is any such thing as the English constitution?

4th, Of what use is the crown to the people?

5th, Whether he who invented a crown was not an enemy to mankind?

6th, Whether it is not a shame for a man to spend a million a year

and do no good for it, and whether the money might not be better

applied? 7th, Whether such a man is not better dead than alive?

8th, Whether a Congress, constituted like that of America, is not the

most happy and consistent form of government in the world?--With a

number of others of the same import.

In short, the contention about the dividend might have distracted the

nation; for nothing is more common than to agree in the conquest and

quarrel for the prize; therefore it is, perhaps, a happy circumstance,

that our successes have prevented the dispute.

If the Parliament had been thrown out in their claim, which it is most

probable they would, the nation likewise would have been thrown out in

their expectation; for as the taxes would have been laid on by the crown

without the Parliament, the revenue arising therefrom, if any could

have arisen, would not have gone into the exchequer, but into the privy

purse, and so far from lessening the taxes, would not even have been

added to them, but served only as pocket money to the crown. The more I

reflect on this matter, the more I am satisfied at the blindness and

ill policy of my countrymen, whose wisdom seems to operate without

discernment, and their strength without an object.

To the great bulwark of the nation, I mean the mercantile and

manufacturing part thereof, I likewise present my address. It is your

interest to see America an independent, and not a conquered country. If

conquered, she is ruined; and if ruined, poor; consequently the

trade will be a trifle, and her credit doubtful. If independent, she

flourishes, and from her flourishing must your profits arise. It

matters nothing to you who governs America, if your manufactures find

a consumption there. Some articles will consequently be obtained from

other places, and it is right that they should; but the demand for

others will increase, by the great influx of inhabitants which a state

of independence and peace will occasion, and in the final event you may

be enriched. The commerce of America is perfectly free, and ever will

be so. She will consign away no part of it to any nation. She has not

to her friends, and certainly will not to her enemies; though it is

probable that your narrow-minded politicians, thinking to please you

thereby, may some time or other unnecessarily make such a proposal.

Trade flourishes best when it is free, and it is weak policy to attempt

to fetter it. Her treaty with France is on the most liberal and generous

principles, and the French, in their conduct towards her, have proved

themselves to be philosophers, politicians, and gentlemen.

To the ministry I likewise address myself. You, gentlemen, have studied

the ruin of your country, from which it is not within your abilities to

rescue her. Your attempts to recover her are as ridiculous as your plans

which involved her are detestable. The commissioners, being about to

depart, will probably bring you this, and with it my sixth number,

addressed to them; and in so doing they carry back more Common Sense

than they brought, and you likewise will have more than when you sent

them.

Having thus addressed you severally, I conclude by addressing you

collectively. It is a long lane that has no turning. A period of sixteen

years of misconduct and misfortune, is certainly long enough for any one

nation to suffer under; and upon a supposition that war is not declared

between France and you, I beg to place a line of conduct before you

that will easily lead you out of all your troubles. It has been hinted

before, and cannot be too much attended to.

Suppose America had remained unknown to Europe till the present year,

and that Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander, in another voyage round the world,

had made the first discovery of her, in the same condition that she is

now in, of arts, arms, numbers, and civilization. What, I ask, in that

case, would have been your conduct towards her? For that will point out

what it ought to be now. The problems and their solutions are equal,

and the right line of the one is the parallel of the other. The question

takes in every circumstance that can possibly arise. It reduces politics

to a simple thought, and is moreover a mode of investigation, in which,

while you are studying your interest the simplicity of the case will

cheat you into good temper. You have nothing to do but to suppose that

you have found America, and she appears found to your hand, and while

in the joy of your heart you stand still to admire her, the path of

politics rises straight before you.

Were I disposed to paint a contrast, I could easily set off what you

have done in the present case, against what you would have done in that

case, and by justly opposing them, conclude a picture that would make

you blush. But, as, when any of the prouder passions are hurt, it is

much better philosophy to let a man slip into a good temper than to

attack him in a bad one, for that reason, therefore, I only state the

case, and leave you to reflect upon it.

To go a little back into politics, it will be found that the true

interest of Britain lay in proposing and promoting the independence of

America immediately after the last peace; for the expense which Britain

had then incurred by defending America as her own dominions, ought to

have shown her the policy and necessity of changing the style of the

country, as the best probable method of preventing future wars and

expense, and the only method by which she could hold the commerce

without the charge of sovereignty. Besides which, the title which she

assumed, of parent country, led to, and pointed out the propriety,

wisdom and advantage of a separation; for, as in private life, children

grow into men, and by setting up for themselves, extend and secure the

interest of the whole family, so in the settlement of colonies large

enough to admit of maturity, the same policy should be pursued, and the

same consequences would follow. Nothing hurts the affections both of

parents and children so much, as living too closely connected, and

keeping up the distinction too long. Domineering will not do over those,

who, by a progress in life, have become equal in rank to their parents,

that is, when they have families of their own; and though they may

conceive themselves the subjects of their advice, will not suppose them

the objects of their government. I do not, by drawing this parallel,

mean to admit the title of parent country, because, if it is due any

where, it is due to Europe collectively, and the first settlers from

England were driven here by persecution. I mean only to introduce the

term for the sake of policy and to show from your title the line of your

interest.

When you saw the state of strength and opulence, and that by her own

industry, which America arrived at, you ought to have advised her to set

up for herself, and proposed an alliance of interest with her, and in

so doing you would have drawn, and that at her own expense, more real

advantage, and more military supplies and assistance, both of ships and

men, than from any weak and wrangling government that you could exercise

over her. In short, had you studied only the domestic politics of a

family, you would have learned how to govern the state; but, instead of

this easy and natural line, you flew out into every thing which was

wild and outrageous, till, by following the passion and stupidity of the

pilot, you wrecked the vessel within sight of the shore.

Having shown what you ought to have done, I now proceed to show why it

was not done. The caterpillar circle of the court had an interest

to pursue, distinct from, and opposed to yours; for though by the

independence of America and an alliance therewith, the trade would have

continued, if not increased, as in many articles neither country can go

to a better market, and though by defending and protecting herself,

she would have been no expense to you, and consequently your

national charges would have decreased, and your taxes might have been

proportionably lessened thereby; yet the striking off so many places

from the court calendar was put in opposition to the interest of the

nation. The loss of thirteen government ships, with their appendages,

here and in England, is a shocking sound in the ear of a hungry

courtier. Your present king and ministry will be the ruin of you; and

you had better risk a revolution and call a Congress, than be thus led

on from madness to despair, and from despair to ruin. America has set

you the example, and you may follow it and be free.

I now come to the last part, a war with France. This is what no man in

his senses will advise you to, and all good men would wish to prevent.

Whether France will declare war against you, is not for me in this place

to mention, or to hint, even if I knew it; but it must be madness in you

to do it first. The matter is come now to a full crisis, and peace is

easy if willingly set about. Whatever you may think, France has behaved

handsomely to you. She would have been unjust to herself to have acted

otherwise than she did; and having accepted our offer of alliance she

gave you genteel notice of it. There was nothing in her conduct reserved

or indelicate, and while she announced her determination to support her

treaty, she left you to give the first offence. America, on her part,

has exhibited a character of firmness to the world. Unprepared and

unarmed, without form or government, she, singly opposed a nation

that domineered over half the globe. The greatness of the deed demands

respect; and though you may feel resentment, you are compelled both to

wonder and admire.

Here I rest my arguments and finish my address. Such as it is, it is a

gift, and you are welcome. It was always my design to dedicate a Crisis

to you, when the time should come that would properly make it a Crisis;

and when, likewise, I should catch myself in a temper to write it, and

suppose you in a condition to read it. That time has now arrived, and

with it the opportunity for conveyance. For the commissioners--poor

commissioners! having proclaimed, that "yet forty days and Nineveh shall

be overthrown," have waited out the date, and, discontented with their

God, are returning to their gourd. And all the harm I wish them is, that

it may not wither about their ears, and that they may not make their

exit in the belly of a whale.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, Nov. 21, 1778.

P.S.--Though in the tranquillity of my mind I have concluded with a

laugh, yet I have something to mention to the commissioners, which, to

them, is serious and worthy their attention. Their authority is derived

from an Act of Parliament, which likewise describes and limits their

official powers. Their commission, therefore, is only a recital, and

personal investiture, of those powers, or a nomination and description

of the persons who are to execute them. Had it contained any thing

contrary to, or gone beyond the line of, the written law from which

it is derived, and by which it is bound, it would, by the English

constitution, have been treason in the crown, and the king been subject

to an impeachment. He dared not, therefore, put in his commission what

you have put in your proclamation, that is, he dared not have authorised

you in that commission to burn and destroy any thing in America. You are

both in the act and in the commission styled commissioners for restoring

peace, and the methods for doing it are there pointed out. Your last

proclamation is signed by you as commissioners under that act. You

make Parliament the patron of its contents. Yet, in the body of it, you

insert matters contrary both to the spirit and letter of the act, and

what likewise your king dared not have put in his commission to you. The

state of things in England, gentlemen, is too ticklish for you to run

hazards. You are accountable to Parliament for the execution of that act

according to the letter of it. Your heads may pay for breaking it, for

you certainly have broke it by exceeding it. And as a friend, who would

wish you to escape the paw of the lion, as well as the belly of the

whale, I civilly hint to you, to keep within compass.

Sir Harry Clinton, strictly speaking, is as accountable as the rest; for

though a general, he is likewise a commissioner, acting under a superior

authority. His first obedience is due to the act; and his plea of being

a general, will not and cannot clear him as a commissioner, for that

would suppose the crown, in its single capacity, to have a power of

dispensing with an Act of Parliament. Your situation, gentlemen, is nice

and critical, and the more so because England is unsettled. Take heed!

Remember the times of Charles the First! For Laud and Stafford fell by

trusting to a hope like yours.

Having thus shown you the danger of your proclamation, I now show you

the folly of it. The means contradict your design: you threaten to lay

waste, in order to render America a useless acquisition of alliance to

France. I reply, that the more destruction you commit (if you could do

it) the more valuable to France you make that alliance. You can destroy

only houses and goods; and by so doing you increase our demand upon her

for materials and merchandise; for the wants of one nation, provided it

has freedom and credit, naturally produce riches to the other; and,

as you can neither ruin the land nor prevent the vegetation, you would

increase the exportation of our produce in payment, which would be to

her a new fund of wealth. In short, had you cast about for a plan on

purpose to enrich your enemies, you could not have hit upon a better.

C. S.

THE CRISIS VIII. ADDRESS TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.

"TRUSTING (says the king of England in his speech of November last,)

in the divine providence, and in the justice of my cause, I am firmly

resolved to prosecute the war with vigor, and to make every exertion

in order to compel our enemies to equitable terms of peace and

accommodation." To this declaration the United States of America, and

the confederated powers of Europe will reply, if Britain will have war,

she shall have enough of it.

Five years have nearly elapsed since the commencement of hostilities,

and every campaign, by a gradual decay, has lessened your ability to

conquer, without producing a serious thought on your condition or your

fate. Like a prodigal lingering in an habitual consumption, you feel

the relics of life, and mistake them for recovery. New schemes, like

new medicines, have administered fresh hopes, and prolonged the disease

instead of curing it. A change of generals, like a change of physicians,

served only to keep the flattery alive, and furnish new pretences for

new extravagance.

"Can Britain fail?"* has been proudly asked at the undertaking of every

enterprise; and that "whatever she wills is fate,"*(2) has been given

with the solemnity of prophetic confidence; and though the question

has been constantly replied to by disappointment, and the prediction

falsified by misfortune, yet still the insult continued, and your

catalogue of national evils increased therewith. Eager to persuade

the world of her power, she considered destruction as the minister of

greatness, and conceived that the glory of a nation like that of an

[American] Indian, lay in the number of its scalps and the miseries

which it inflicts.

* Whitehead's New Year's ode for 1776.

*(2) Ode at the installation of Lord North, for Chancellor of the

University of Oxford.

Fire, sword and want, as far as the arms of Britain could extend them,

have been spread with wanton cruelty along the coast of America; and

while you, remote from the scene of suffering, had nothing to lose

and as little to dread, the information reached you like a tale of

antiquity, in which the distance of time defaces the conception, and

changes the severest sorrows into conversable amusement.

This makes the second paper, addressed perhaps in vain, to the people

of England. That advice should be taken wherever example has failed,

or precept be regarded where warning is ridiculed, is like a picture

of hope resting on despair: but when time shall stamp with universal

currency the facts you have long encountered with a laugh, and the

irresistible evidence of accumulated losses, like the handwriting on

the wall, shall add terror to distress, you will then, in a conflict of

suffering, learn to sympathize with others by feeling for yourselves.

The triumphant appearance of the combined fleets in the channel and at

your harbor's mouth, and the expedition of Captain Paul Jones, on the

western and eastern coasts of England and Scotland, will, by placing

you in the condition of an endangered country, read to you a stronger

lecture on the calamities of invasion, and bring to your minds a truer

picture of promiscuous distress, than the most finished rhetoric can

describe or the keenest imagination conceive.

Hitherto you have experienced the expenses, but nothing of the miseries

of war. Your disappointments have been accompanied with no immediate

suffering, and your losses came to you only by intelligence. Like fire

at a distance you heard not even the cry; you felt not the danger, you

saw not the confusion. To you every thing has been foreign but the taxes

to support it. You knew not what it was to be alarmed at midnight with

an armed enemy in the streets. You were strangers to the distressing

scene of a family in flight, and to the thousand restless cares and

tender sorrows that incessantly arose. To see women and children

wandering in the severity of winter, with the broken remains of a well

furnished house, and seeking shelter in every crib and hut, were matters

that you had no conception of. You knew not what it was to stand by and

see your goods chopped for fuel, and your beds ripped to pieces to make

packages for plunder. The misery of others, like a tempestuous night,

added to the pleasures of your own security. You even enjoyed the storm,

by contemplating the difference of conditions, and that which carried

sorrow into the breasts of thousands served but to heighten in you a

species of tranquil pride. Yet these are but the fainter sufferings

of war, when compared with carnage and slaughter, the miseries of a

military hospital, or a town in flames.

The people of America, by anticipating distress, had fortified their

minds against every species you could inflict. They had resolved to

abandon their homes, to resign them to destruction, and to seek new

settlements rather than submit. Thus familiarized to misfortune, before

it arrived, they bore their portion with the less regret: the justness

of their cause was a continual source of consolation, and the hope of

final victory, which never left them, served to lighten the load and

sweeten the cup allotted them to drink.

But when their troubles shall become yours, and invasion be transferred

upon the invaders, you will have neither their extended wilderness

to fly to, their cause to comfort you, nor their hope to rest upon.

Distress with them was sharpened by no self-reflection. They had not

brought it on themselves. On the contrary, they had by every proceeding

endeavored to avoid it, and had descended even below the mark of

congressional character, to prevent a war. The national honor or the

advantages of independence were matters which, at the commencement of

the dispute, they had never studied, and it was only at the last moment

that the measure was resolved on. Thus circumstanced, they naturally

and conscientiously felt a dependence upon providence. They had a clear

pretension to it, and had they failed therein, infidelity had gained a

triumph.

But your condition is the reverse of theirs. Every thing you suffer you

have sought: nay, had you created mischiefs on purpose to inherit

them, you could not have secured your title by a firmer deed. The world

awakens with no pity it your complaints. You felt none for others; you

deserve none for yourselves. Nature does not interest herself in cases

like yours, but, on the contrary, turns from them with dislike, and

abandons them to punishment. You may now present memorials to what court

you please, but so far as America is the object, none will listen.

The policy of Europe, and the propensity there in every mind to curb

insulting ambition, and bring cruelty to judgment, are unitedly against

you; and where nature and interest reinforce with each other, the

compact is too intimate to be dissolved.

Make but the case of others your own, and your own theirs, and you

will then have a clear idea of the whole. Had France acted towards her

colonies as you have done, you would have branded her with every epithet

of abhorrence; and had you, like her, stepped in to succor a struggling

people, all Europe must have echoed with your own applauses. But

entangled in the passion of dispute you see it not as you ought, and

form opinions thereon which suit with no interest but your own. You

wonder that America does not rise in union with you to impose on herself

a portion of your taxes and reduce herself to unconditional submission.

You are amazed that the southern powers of Europe do not assist you

in conquering a country which is afterwards to be turned against

themselves; and that the northern ones do not contribute to reinstate

you in America who already enjoy the market for naval stores by the

separation. You seem surprised that Holland does not pour in her succors

to maintain you mistress of the seas, when her own commerce is suffering

by your act of navigation; or that any country should study her own

interest while yours is on the carpet.

Such excesses of passionate folly, and unjust as well as unwise

resentment, have driven you on, like Pharaoh, to unpitied miseries, and

while the importance of the quarrel shall perpetuate your disgrace, the

flag of America will carry it round the world. The natural feelings of

every rational being will be against you, and wherever the story shall

be told, you will have neither excuse nor consolation left. With an

unsparing hand, and an insatiable mind, you have desolated the world,

to gain dominion and to lose it; and while, in a frenzy of avarice and

ambition, the east and the west are doomed to tributary bondage, you

rapidly earned destruction as the wages of a nation.

At the thoughts of a war at home, every man amongst you ought to

tremble. The prospect is far more dreadful there than in America. Here

the party that was against the measures of the continent were in general

composed of a kind of neutrals, who added strength to neither army.

There does not exist a being so devoid of sense and sentiment as to

covet "unconditional submission," and therefore no man in America could

be with you in principle. Several might from a cowardice of mind, prefer

it to the hardships and dangers of opposing it; but the same disposition

that gave them such a choice, unfitted them to act either for or against

us. But England is rent into parties, with equal shares of resolution.

The principle which produced the war divides the nation. Their

animosities are in the highest state of fermentation, and both sides, by

a call of the militia, are in arms. No human foresight can discern, no

conclusion can be formed, what turn a war might take, if once set on

foot by an invasion. She is not now in a fit disposition to make a

common cause of her own affairs, and having no conquests to hope for

abroad, and nothing but expenses arising at home, her everything is

staked upon a defensive combat, and the further she goes the worse she

is off.

There are situations that a nation may be in, in which peace or war,

abstracted from every other consideration, may be politically right or

wrong. When nothing can be lost by a war, but what must be lost without

it, war is then the policy of that country; and such was the situation

of America at the commencement of hostilities: but when no security can

be gained by a war, but what may be accomplished by a peace, the case

becomes reversed, and such now is the situation of England.

That America is beyond the reach of conquest, is a fact which experience

has shown and time confirmed, and this admitted, what, I ask, is now the

object of contention? If there be any honor in pursuing self-destruction

with inflexible passion--if national suicide be the perfection of

national glory, you may, with all the pride of criminal happiness,

expire unenvied and unrivalled. But when the tumult of war shall cease,

and the tempest of present passions be succeeded by calm reflection, or

when those, who, surviving its fury, shall inherit from you a legacy

of debts and misfortunes, when the yearly revenue scarcely be able to

discharge the interest of the one, and no possible remedy be left for

the other, ideas far different from the present will arise, and embitter

the remembrance of former follies. A mind disarmed of its rage feels no

pleasure in contemplating a frantic quarrel. Sickness of thought, the

sure consequence of conduct like yours, leaves no ability for enjoyment,

no relish for resentment; and though, like a man in a fit, you feel

not the injury of the struggle, nor distinguish between strength and

disease, the weakness will nevertheless be proportioned to the violence,

and the sense of pain increase with the recovery.

To what persons or to whose system of politics you owe your present

state of wretchedness, is a matter of total indifference to America.

They have contributed, however unwillingly, to set her above themselves,

and she, in the tranquillity of conquest, resigns the inquiry. The case

now is not so properly who began the war, as who continues it. That

there are men in all countries to whom a state of war is a mine of

wealth, is a fact never to be doubted. Characters like these naturally

breed in the putrefaction of distempered times, and after fattening

on the disease, they perish with it, or, impregnated with the stench,

retreat into obscurity.

But there are several erroneous notions to which you likewise owe a

share of your misfortunes, and which, if continued, will only increase

your trouble and your losses. An opinion hangs about the gentlemen

of the minority, that America would relish measures under their

administration, which she would not from the present cabinet. On this

rock Lord Chatham would have split had he gained the helm, and several

of his survivors are steering the same course. Such distinctions in

the infancy of the argument had some degree of foundation, but they now

serve no other purpose than to lengthen out a war, in which the limits

of a dispute, being fixed by the fate of arms, and guaranteed by

treaties, are not to be changed or altered by trivial circumstances.

The ministry, and many of the minority, sacrifice their time in

disputing on a question with which they have nothing to do, namely,

whether America shall be independent or not. Whereas the only question

that can come under their determination is, whether they will accede to

it or not. They confound a military question with a political one, and

undertake to supply by a vote what they lost by a battle. Say she shall

not be independent, and it will signify as much as if they voted

against a decree of fate, or say that she shall, and she will be no more

independent than before. Questions which, when determined, cannot be

executed, serve only to show the folly of dispute and the weakness of

disputants.

From a long habit of calling America your own, you suppose her governed

by the same prejudices and conceits which govern yourselves. Because you

have set up a particular denomination of religion to the exclusion of

all others, you imagine she must do the same, and because you, with an

unsociable narrowness of mind, have cherished enmity against France and

Spain, you suppose her alliance must be defective in friendship.

Copying her notions of the world from you, she formerly thought as you

instructed, but now feeling herself free, and the prejudice removed, she

thinks and acts upon a different system. It frequently happens that

in proportion as we are taught to dislike persons and countries, not

knowing why, we feel an ardor of esteem upon the removal of the mistake:

it seems as if something was to be made amends for, and we eagerly give

in to every office of friendship, to atone for the injury of the error.

But, perhaps, there is something in the extent of countries, which,

among the generality of people, insensibly communicates extension of the

mind. The soul of an islander, in its native state, seems bounded by

the foggy confines of the water's edge, and all beyond affords to him

matters only for profit or curiosity, not for friendship. His island

is to him his world, and fixed to that, his every thing centers in it;

while those who are inhabitants of a continent, by casting their eye

over a larger field, take in likewise a larger intellectual circuit,

and thus approaching nearer to an acquaintance with the universe, their

atmosphere of thought is extended, and their liberality fills a wider

space. In short, our minds seem to be measured by countries when we are

men, as they are by places when we are children, and until something

happens to disentangle us from the prejudice, we serve under it without

perceiving it.

In addition to this, it may be remarked, that men who study any

universal science, the principles of which are universally known, or

admitted, and applied without distinction to the common benefit of all

countries, obtain thereby a larger share of philanthropy than those

who only study national arts and improvements. Natural philosophy,

mathematics and astronomy, carry the mind from the country to the

creation, and give it a fitness suited to the extent. It was not

Newton's honor, neither could it be his pride, that he was an

Englishman, but that he was a philosopher, the heavens had liberated him

from the prejudices of an island, and science had expanded his soul as

boundless as his studies.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, March, 1780.

THE CRISIS IX. (HAD AMERICA PURSUED HER ADVANTAGES)

HAD America pursued her advantages with half the spirit that she

resisted her misfortunes, she would, before now, have been a conquering

and a peaceful people; but lulled in the lap of soft tranquillity, she

rested on her hopes, and adversity only has convulsed her into action.

Whether subtlety or sincerity at the close of the last year induced the

enemy to an appearance for peace, is a point not material to know; it is

sufficient that we see the effects it has had on our politics, and that

we sternly rise to resent the delusion.

The war, on the part of America, has been a war of natural feelings.

Brave in distress; serene in conquest; drowsy while at rest; and in

every situation generously disposed to peace; a dangerous calm, and

a most heightened zeal have, as circumstances varied, succeeded each

other. Every passion but that of despair has been called to a tour

of duty; and so mistaken has been the enemy, of our abilities

and disposition, that when she supposed us conquered, we rose the

conquerors. The extensiveness of the United States, and the variety of

their resources; the universality of their cause, the quick operation of

their feelings, and the similarity of their sentiments, have, in every

trying situation, produced a something, which, favored by providence,

and pursued with ardor, has accomplished in an instant the business of

a campaign. We have never deliberately sought victory, but snatched it;

and bravely undone in an hour the blotted operations of a season.

The reported fate of Charleston, like the misfortunes of 1776, has at

last called forth a spirit, and kindled up a flame, which perhaps

no other event could have produced. If the enemy has circulated a

falsehood, they have unwisely aggravated us into life, and if they have

told us the truth, they have unintentionally done us a service. We were

returning with folded arms from the fatigues of war, and thinking and

sitting leisurely down to enjoy repose. The dependence that has been

put upon Charleston threw a drowsiness over America. We looked on the

business done--the conflict over--the matter settled--or that all which

remained unfinished would follow of itself. In this state of dangerous

relaxation, exposed to the poisonous infusions of the enemy, and having

no common danger to attract our attention, we were extinguishing, by

stages, the ardor we began with, and surrendering by piece-meal the

virtue that defended us.

Afflicting as the loss of Charleston may be, yet if it universally rouse

us from the slumber of twelve months past, and renew in us the spirit of

former days, it will produce an advantage more important than its loss.

America ever is what she thinks herself to be. Governed by sentiment,

and acting her own mind, she becomes, as she pleases, the victor or the

victim.

It is not the conquest of towns, nor the accidental capture of

garrisons, that can reduce a country so extensive as this. The

sufferings of one part can never be relieved by the exertions of

another, and there is no situation the enemy can be placed in that does

not afford to us the same advantages which he seeks himself. By dividing

his force, he leaves every post attackable. It is a mode of war that

carries with it a confession of weakness, and goes on the principle of

distress rather than conquest.

The decline of the enemy is visible, not only in their operations, but

in their plans; Charleston originally made but a secondary object in the

system of attack, and it is now become their principal one, because

they have not been able to succeed elsewhere. It would have carried a

cowardly appearance in Europe had they formed their grand expedition, in

1776, against a part of the continent where there was no army, or not

a sufficient one to oppose them; but failing year after year in their

impressions here, and to the eastward and northward, they deserted their

capital design, and prudently contenting themselves with what they can

get, give a flourish of honor to conceal disgrace.

But this piece-meal work is not conquering the continent. It is a

discredit in them to attempt it, and in us to suffer it. It is now full

time to put an end to a war of aggravations, which, on one side, has

no possible object, and on the other has every inducement which honor,

interest, safety and happiness can inspire. If we suffer them much

longer to remain among us, we shall become as bad as themselves.

An association of vice will reduce us more than the sword. A nation

hardened in the practice of iniquity knows better how to profit by it,

than a young country newly corrupted. We are not a match for them in the

line of advantageous guilt, nor they for us on the principles which we

bravely set out with. Our first days were our days of honor. They have

marked the character of America wherever the story of her wars are told;

and convinced of this, we have nothing to do but wisely and unitedly to

tread the well known track. The progress of a war is often as ruinous

to individuals, as the issue of it is to a nation; and it is not only

necessary that our forces be such that we be conquerors in the end,

but that by timely exertions we be secure in the interim. The present

campaign will afford an opportunity which has never presented itself

before, and the preparations for it are equally necessary, whether

Charleston stand or fall. Suppose the first, it is in that case only

a failure of the enemy, not a defeat. All the conquest that a besieged

town can hope for, is, not to be conquered; and compelling an enemy

to raise the siege, is to the besieged a victory. But there must be

a probability amounting almost to a certainty, that would justify a

garrison marching out to attack a retreat. Therefore should Charleston

not be taken, and the enemy abandon the siege, every other part of the

continent should prepare to meet them; and, on the contrary, should it

be taken, the same preparations are necessary to balance the loss, and

put ourselves in a position to co-operate with our allies, immediately

on their arrival.

We are not now fighting our battles alone, as we were in 1776; England,

from a malicious disposition to America, has not only not declared war

against France and Spain, but, the better to prosecute her passions

here, has afforded those powers no military object, and avoids them,

to distress us. She will suffer her West India islands to be overrun by

France, and her southern settlements to be taken by Spain, rather than

quit the object that gratifies her revenge. This conduct, on the part

of Britain, has pointed out the propriety of France sending a naval and

land force to co-operate with America on the spot. Their arrival cannot

be very distant, nor the ravages of the enemy long. The recruiting the

army, and procuring the supplies, are the two things most necessary to

be accomplished, and a capture of either of the enemy's divisions will

restore to America peace and plenty.

At a crisis, big, like the present, with expectation and events, the

whole country is called to unanimity and exertion. Not an ability ought

now to sleep, that can produce but a mite to the general good, nor even

a whisper to pass that militates against it. The necessity of the case,

and the importance of the consequences, admit no delay from a friend,

no apology from an enemy. To spare now, would be the height of

extravagance, and to consult present ease, would be to sacrifice it

perhaps forever.

America, rich in patriotism and produce, can want neither men nor

supplies, when a serious necessity calls them forth. The slow

operation of taxes, owing to the extensiveness of collection, and their

depreciated value before they arrived in the treasury, have, in many

instances, thrown a burden upon government, which has been artfully

interpreted by the enemy into a general decline throughout the

country. Yet this, inconvenient as it may at first appear, is not only

remediable, but may be turned to an immediate advantage; for it makes no

real difference, whether a certain number of men, or company of militia

(and in this country every man is a militia-man), are directed by law

to send a recruit at their own expense, or whether a tax is laid on them

for that purpose, and the man hired by government afterwards. The first,

if there is any difference, is both cheapest and best, because it saves

the expense which would attend collecting it as a tax, and brings the

man sooner into the field than the modes of recruiting formerly used;

and, on this principle, a law has been passed in this state, for

recruiting two men from each company of militia, which will add upwards

of a thousand to the force of the country.

But the flame which has broken forth in this city since the report from

New York, of the loss of Charleston, not only does honor to the place,

but, like the blaze of 1776, will kindle into action the scattered

sparks throughout America. The valor of a country may be learned by the

bravery of its soldiery, and the general cast of its inhabitants, but

confidence of success is best discovered by the active measures pursued

by men of property; and when the spirit of enterprise becomes so

universal as to act at once on all ranks of men, a war may then, and not

till then, be styled truly popular.

In 1776, the ardor of the enterprising part was considerably checked by

the real revolt of some, and the coolness of others. But in the present

case, there is a firmness in the substance and property of the country

to the public cause. An association has been entered into by

the merchants, tradesmen, and principal inhabitants of the city

[Philadelphia], to receive and support the new state money at the value

of gold and silver; a measure which, while it does them honor, will

likewise contribute to their interest, by rendering the operations of

the campaign convenient and effectual.

Nor has the spirit of exertion stopped here. A voluntary subscription is

likewise begun, to raise a fund of hard money, to be given as bounties,

to fill up the full quota of the Pennsylvania line. It has been the

remark of the enemy, that every thing in America has been done by the

force of government; but when she sees individuals throwing in their

voluntary aid, and facilitating the public measures in concert with the

established powers of the country, it will convince her that the cause

of America stands not on the will of a few but on the broad foundation

of property and popularity.

Thus aided and thus supported, disaffection will decline, and the

withered head of tyranny expire in America. The ravages of the enemy

will be short and limited, and like all their former ones, will produce

a victory over themselves.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, June 9, 1780.

P. S. At the time of writing this number of the Crisis, the loss of

Charleston, though believed by some, was more confidently disbelieved

by others. But there ought to be no longer a doubt upon the matter.

Charleston is gone, and I believe for the want of a sufficient supply of

provisions. The man that does not now feel for the honor of the best

and noblest cause that ever a country engaged in, and exert himself

accordingly, is no longer worthy of a peaceable residence among a people

determined to be free.

C. S.

THE CRISIS EXTRAORDINARY

ON THE SUBJECT OF TAXATION.

IT IS impossible to sit down and think seriously on the affairs of

America, but the original principles upon which she resisted, and

the glow and ardor which they inspired, will occur like the undefaced

remembrance of a lovely scene. To trace over in imagination the purity

of the cause, the voluntary sacrifices that were made to support it,

and all the various turnings of the war in its defence, is at once both

paying and receiving respect. The principles deserve to be remembered,

and to remember them rightly is repossessing them. In this indulgence

of generous recollection, we become gainers by what we seem to give, and

the more we bestow the richer we become.

So extensively right was the ground on which America proceeded, that it

not only took in every just and liberal sentiment which could impress

the heart, but made it the direct interest of every class and order

of men to defend the country. The war, on the part of Britain, was

originally a war of covetousness. The sordid and not the splendid

passions gave it being. The fertile fields and prosperous infancy of

America appeared to her as mines for tributary wealth. She viewed the

hive, and disregarding the industry that had enriched it, thirsted for

the honey. But in the present stage of her affairs, the violence of

temper is added to the rage of avarice; and therefore, that which at

the first setting out proceeded from purity of principle and public

interest, is now heightened by all the obligations of necessity; for it

requires but little knowledge of human nature to discern what would

be the consequence, were America again reduced to the subjection of

Britain. Uncontrolled power, in the hands of an incensed, imperious, and

rapacious conqueror, is an engine of dreadful execution, and woe be to

that country over which it can be exercised. The names of Whig and Tory

would then be sunk in the general term of rebel, and the oppression,

whatever it might be, would, with very few instances of exception, light

equally on all.

Britain did not go to war with America for the sake of dominion, because

she was then in possession; neither was it for the extension of trade

and commerce, because she had monopolized the whole, and the country

had yielded to it; neither was it to extinguish what she might call

rebellion, because before she began no resistance existed. It could then

be from no other motive than avarice, or a design of establishing, in

the first instance, the same taxes in America as are paid in England

(which, as I shall presently show, are above eleven times heavier than

the taxes we now pay for the present year, 1780) or, in the second

instance, to confiscate the whole property of America, in case of

resistance and conquest of the latter, of which she had then no doubt.

I shall now proceed to show what the taxes in England are, and what

the yearly expense of the present war is to her--what the taxes of

this country amount to, and what the annual expense of defending it

effectually will be to us; and shall endeavor concisely to point out

the cause of our difficulties, and the advantages on one side, and the

consequences on the other, in case we do, or do not, put ourselves in

an effectual state of defence. I mean to be open, candid, and sincere.

I see a universal wish to expel the enemy from the country, a murmuring

because the war is not carried on with more vigor, and my intention is

to show, as shortly as possible, both the reason and the remedy.

The number of souls in England (exclusive of Scotland and Ireland) is

seven millions,* and the number of souls in America is three millions.

* This is taking the highest number that the people of England have

been, or can be rated at.

The amount of taxes in England (exclusive of Scotland and Ireland)

was, before the present war commenced, eleven millions six hundred and

forty-two thousand six hundred and fifty-three pounds sterling; which,

on an average, is no less a sum than one pound thirteen shillings and

three-pence sterling per head per annum, men, women, and children;

besides county taxes, taxes for the support of the poor, and a tenth of

all the produce of the earth for the support of the bishops and clergy.*

Nearly five millions of this sum went annually to pay the interest of

the national debt, contracted by former wars, and the remaining sum of

six millions six hundred and forty-two thousand six hundred pounds

was applied to defray the yearly expense of government, the peace

establishment of the army and navy, placemen, pensioners, etc.;

consequently the whole of the enormous taxes being thus appropriated,

she had nothing to spare out of them towards defraying the expenses

of the present war or any other. Yet had she not been in debt at the

beginning of the war, as we were not, and, like us, had only a land and

not a naval war to carry on, her then revenue of eleven millions and a

half pounds sterling would have defrayed all her annual expenses of

war and government within each year. * The following is taken from Dr.

Price's state of the taxes of England.

An account of the money drawn from the public by taxes, annually, being

the medium of three years before the year 1776.

Amount of customs in England 2,528,275 L.

Amount of the excise in England 4,649,892

Land tax at 3s. 1,300,000

Land tax at 1s. in the pound 450,000

Salt duties 218,739

Duties on stamps, cards, dice, advertisements,

bonds, leases, indentures, newspapers,

almanacks, etc. 280,788

Duties on houses and windows 385,369

Post office, seizures, wine licences, hackney

coaches, etc. 250,000

Annual profits from lotteries 150,000

Expense of collecting the excise in England 297,887

Expense of collecting the customs in England 468,703

Interest of loans on the land tax at 4s. expenses

of collection, militia, etc. 250,000

Perquisites, etc. to custom-house officers, &c.

supposed 250,000

Expense of collecting the salt duties in England

10 1/2 per cent. 27,000

Bounties on fish exported 18,000

Expense of collecting the duties on stamps, cards,

advertisements, etc. at 5 and 1/4 per cent. 18,000

Total 11,642,653 L.

But this not being the case with her, she is obliged to borrow about ten

millions pounds sterling, yearly, to prosecute the war that she is now

engaged in, (this year she borrowed twelve) and lay on new taxes to

discharge the interest; allowing that the present war has cost her only

fifty millions sterling, the interest thereon, at five per cent., will

be two millions and an half; therefore the amount of her taxes now

must be fourteen millions, which on an average is no less than forty

shillings sterling, per head, men, women and children, throughout the

nation. Now as this expense of fifty millions was borrowed on the hopes

of conquering America, and as it was avarice which first induced her to

commence the war, how truly wretched and deplorable would the condition

of this country be, were she, by her own remissness, to suffer an

enemy of such a disposition, and so circumstanced, to reduce her to

subjection.

I now proceed to the revenues of America.

I have already stated the number of souls in America to be three

millions, and by a calculation that I have made, which I have every

reason to believe is sufficiently correct, the whole expense of the

war, and the support of the several governments, may be defrayed for

two million pounds sterling annually; which, on an average, is thirteen

shillings and four pence per head, men, women, and children, and the

peace establishment at the end of the war will be but three quarters of

a million, or five shillings sterling per head. Now, throwing out of

the question everything of honor, principle, happiness, freedom, and

reputation in the world, and taking it up on the simple ground of

interest, I put the following case:

Suppose Britain was to conquer America, and, as a conqueror, was to lay

her under no other conditions than to pay the same proportion towards

her annual revenue which the people of England pay: our share, in that

case, would be six million pounds sterling yearly. Can it then be

a question, whether it is best to raise two millions to defend the

country, and govern it ourselves, and only three quarters of a million

afterwards, or pay six millions to have it conquered, and let the enemy

govern it?

Can it be supposed that conquerors would choose to put themselves in a

worse condition than what they granted to the conquered? In England, the

tax on rum is five shillings and one penny sterling per gallon, which is

one silver dollar and fourteen coppers. Now would it not be laughable to

imagine, that after the expense they have been at, they would let either

Whig or Tory drink it cheaper than themselves? Coffee, which is so

inconsiderable an article of consumption and support here, is there

loaded with a duty which makes the price between five and six shillings

per pound, and a penalty of fifty pounds sterling on any person detected

in roasting it in his own house. There is scarcely a necessary of life

that you can eat, drink, wear, or enjoy, that is not there loaded with

a tax; even the light from heaven is only permitted to shine into their

dwellings by paying eighteen pence sterling per window annually; and the

humblest drink of life, small beer, cannot there be purchased without a

tax of nearly two coppers per gallon, besides a heavy tax upon the malt,

and another on the hops before it is brewed, exclusive of a land-tax on

the earth which produces them. In short, the condition of that country,

in point of taxation, is so oppressive, the number of her poor so great,

and the extravagance and rapaciousness of the court so enormous, that,

were they to effect a conquest of America, it is then only that the

distresses of America would begin. Neither would it signify anything

to a man whether he be Whig or Tory. The people of England, and the

ministry of that country, know us by no such distinctions. What they

want is clear, solid revenue, and the modes which they would take to

procure it, would operate alike on all. Their manner of reasoning would

be short, because they would naturally infer, that if we were able to

carry on a war of five or six years against them, we were able to pay

the same taxes which they do.

I have already stated that the expense of conducting the present war,

and the government of the several states, may be done for two millions

sterling, and the establishment in the time of peace, for three quarters

of a million.*

* I have made the calculations in sterling, because it is a rate

generally known in all the states, and because, likewise, it admits of

an easy comparison between our expenses to support the war, and those

of the enemy. Four silver dollars and a half is one pound sterling, and

three pence over.

As to navy matters, they flourish so well, and are so well attended to

by individuals, that I think it consistent on every principle of real

use and economy, to turn the navy into hard money (keeping only three or

four packets) and apply it to the service of the army. We shall not have

a ship the less; the use of them, and the benefit from them, will be

greatly increased, and their expense saved. We are now allied with a

formidable naval power, from whom we derive the assistance of a navy.

And the line in which we can prosecute the war, so as to reduce the

common enemy and benefit the alliance most effectually, will be by

attending closely to the land service.

I estimate the charge of keeping up and maintaining an army, officering

them, and all expenses included, sufficient for the defence of the

country, to be equal to the expense of forty thousand men at thirty

pounds sterling per head, which is one million two hundred thousand

pounds.

I likewise allow four hundred thousand pounds for continental expenses

at home and abroad.

And four hundred thousand pounds for the support of the several state

governments--the amount will then be:

For the army 1,200,000 L.

Continental expenses at home and abroad 400,000

Government of the several states 400,000

Total 2,000,000 L.

I take the proportion of this state, Pennsylvania, to be an eighth part

of the thirteen United States; the quota then for us to raise will be

two hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling; two hundred thousand

of which will be our share for the support and pay of the army, and

continental expenses at home and abroad, and fifty thousand pounds for

the support of the state government.

In order to gain an idea of the proportion in which the raising such a

sum will fall, I make the following calculation:

Pennsylvania contains three hundred and seventy-five thousand

inhabitants, men, women and children; which is likewise an eighth of the

number of inhabitants of the whole United States: therefore, two hundred

and fifty thousand pounds sterling to be raised among three hundred and

seventy-five thousand persons, is, on an average, thirteen shillings

and four pence per head, per annum, or something more than one shilling

sterling per month. And our proportion of three quarters of a

million for the government of the country, in time of peace, will be

ninety-three thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds sterling; fifty

thousand of which will be for the government expenses of the state,

and forty-three thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds for continental

expenses at home and abroad.

The peace establishment then will, on an average, be five shillings

sterling per head. Whereas, was England now to stop, and the war cease,

her peace establishment would continue the same as it is now, viz. forty

shillings per head; therefore was our taxes necessary for carrying on

the war, as much per head as hers now is, and the difference to be

only whether we should, at the end of the war, pay at the rate of five

shillings per head, or forty shillings per head, the case needs no

thinking of. But as we can securely defend and keep the country for

one third less than what our burden would be if it was conquered, and

support the governments afterwards for one eighth of what Britain would

levy on us, and could I find a miser whose heart never felt the emotion

of a spark of principle, even that man, uninfluenced by every love but

the love of money, and capable of no attachment but to his interest,

would and must, from the frugality which governs him, contribute to the

defence of the country, or he ceases to be a miser and becomes an idiot.

But when we take in with it every thing that can ornament mankind; when

the line of our interest becomes the line of our happiness; when all

that can cheer and animate the heart, when a sense of honor, fame,

character, at home and abroad, are interwoven not only with the security

but the increase of property, there exists not a man in America, unless

he be an hired emissary, who does not see that his good is connected

with keeping up a sufficient defence.

I do not imagine that an instance can be produced in the world, of a

country putting herself to such an amazing charge to conquer and enslave

another, as Britain has done. The sum is too great for her to think of

with any tolerable degree of temper; and when we consider the burden

she sustains, as well as the disposition she has shown, it would be the

height of folly in us to suppose that she would not reimburse herself by

the most rapid means, had she America once more within her power. With

such an oppression of expense, what would an empty conquest be to her!

What relief under such circumstances could she derive from a victory

without a prize? It was money, it was revenue she first went to war for,

and nothing but that would satisfy her. It is not the nature of avarice

to be satisfied with any thing else. Every passion that acts upon

mankind has a peculiar mode of operation. Many of them are temporary

and fluctuating; they admit of cessation and variety. But avarice is a

fixed, uniform passion. It neither abates of its vigor nor changes its

object; and the reason why it does not, is founded in the nature of

things, for wealth has not a rival where avarice is a ruling passion.

One beauty may excel another, and extinguish from the mind of man the

pictured remembrance of a former one: but wealth is the phoenix of

avarice, and therefore it cannot seek a new object, because there is not

another in the world.

I now pass on to show the value of the present taxes, and compare them

with the annual expense; but this I shall preface with a few explanatory

remarks.

There are two distinct things which make the payment of taxes difficult;

the one is the large and real value of the sum to be paid, and the other

is the scarcity of the thing in which the payment is to be made; and

although these appear to be one and the same, they are in several

instances riot only different, but the difficulty springs from different

causes.

Suppose a tax to be laid equal to one half of what a man's yearly income

is, such a tax could not be paid, because the property could not be

spared; and on the other hand, suppose a very trifling tax was laid, to

be collected in pearls, such a tax likewise could not be paid, because

they could not be had. Now any person may see that these are distinct

cases, and the latter of them is a representation of our own.

That the difficulty cannot proceed from the former, that is, from the

real value or weight of the tax, is evident at the first view to any

person who will consider it.

The amount of the quota of taxes for this State for the year, 1780, (and

so in proportion for every other State,) is twenty millions of dollars,

which at seventy for one, is but sixty-four thousand two hundred and

eighty pounds three shillings sterling, and on an average, is no more

than three shillings and five pence sterling per head, per annum, per

man, woman and child, or threepence two-fifths per head per month. Now

here is a clear, positive fact, that cannot be contradicted, and which

proves that the difficulty cannot be in the weight of the tax, for in

itself it is a trifle, and far from being adequate to our quota of the

expense of the war. The quit-rents of one penny sterling per acre on

only one half of the state, come to upwards of fifty thousand pounds,

which is almost as much as all the taxes of the present year, and

as those quit-rents made no part of the taxes then paid, and are now

discontinued, the quantity of money drawn for public-service this year,

exclusive of the militia fines, which I shall take notice of in the

process of this work, is less than what was paid and payable in any year

preceding the revolution, and since the last war; what I mean is, that

the quit-rents and taxes taken together came to a larger sum then, than

the present taxes without the quit-rents do now.

My intention by these arguments and calculations is to place the

difficulty to the right cause, and show that it does not proceed from

the weight or worth of the tax, but from the scarcity of the medium in

which it is paid; and to illustrate this point still further, I shall

now show, that if the tax of twenty millions of dollars was of four

times the real value it now is, or nearly so, which would be about two

hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling, and would be our full quota,

this sum would have been raised with more ease, and have been less felt,

than the present sum of only sixty-four thousand two hundred and eighty

pounds.

The convenience or inconvenience of paying a tax in money arises from

the quantity of money that can be spared out of trade.

When the emissions stopped, the continent was left in possession of

two hundred millions of dollars, perhaps as equally dispersed as it was

possible for trade to do it. And as no more was to be issued, the rise

or fall of prices could neither increase nor diminish the quantity. It

therefore remained the same through all the fluctuations of trade and

exchange.

Now had the exchange stood at twenty for one, which was the rate

Congress calculated upon when they arranged the quota of the several

states, the latter end of last year, trade would have been carried on

for nearly four times less money than it is now, and consequently the

twenty millions would have been spared with much greater ease, and when

collected would have been of almost four times the value that they now

are. And on the other hand, was the depreciation to be ninety or one

hundred for one, the quantity required for trade would be more than at

sixty or seventy for one, and though the value of them would be less,

the difficulty of sparing the money out of trade would be greater. And

on these facts and arguments I rest the matter, to prove that it is

not the want of property, but the scarcity of the medium by which the

proportion of property for taxation is to be measured out, that makes

the embarrassment which we lie under. There is not money enough, and,

what is equally as true, the people will not let there be money enough.

While I am on the subject of the currency, I shall offer one remark

which will appear true to everybody, and can be accounted for by nobody,

which is, that the better the times were, the worse the money grew;

and the worse the times were, the better the money stood. It never

depreciated by any advantage obtained by the enemy. The troubles of

1776, and the loss of Philadelphia in 1777, made no sensible impression

on it, and every one knows that the surrender of Charleston did not

produce the least alteration in the rate of exchange, which, for long

before, and for more than three months after, stood at sixty for one. It

seems as if the certainty of its being our own, made us careless of its

value, and that the most distant thoughts of losing it made us hug

it the closer, like something we were loth to part with; or that we

depreciate it for our pastime, which, when called to seriousness by the

enemy, we leave off to renew again at our leisure. In short, our good

luck seems to break us, and our bad makes us whole.

Passing on from this digression, I shall now endeavor to bring into one

view the several parts which I have already stated, and form thereon

some propositions, and conclude.

I have placed before the reader, the average tax per head, paid by the

people of England; which is forty shillings sterling.

And I have shown the rate on an average per head, which will defray

all the expenses of the war to us, and support the several governments

without running the country into debt, which is thirteen shillings and

four pence.

I have shown what the peace establishment may be conducted for, viz., an

eighth part of what it would be, if under the government of Britain.

And I have likewise shown what the average per head of the present

taxes is, namely, three shillings and fivepence sterling, or threepence

two-fifths per month; and that their whole yearly value, in sterling,

is only sixty-four thousand two hundred and eighty pounds. Whereas our

quota, to keep the payments equal with the expenses, is two hundred

and fifty thousand pounds. Consequently, there is a deficiency of one

hundred and eighty-five thousand seven hundred and twenty pounds, and

the same proportion of defect, according to the several quotas, happens

in every other state. And this defect is the cause why the army has been

so indifferently fed, clothed and paid. It is the cause, likewise, of

the nerveless state of the campaign, and the insecurity of the country.

Now, if a tax equal to thirteen and fourpence per head, will remove all

these difficulties, and make people secure in their homes, leave them to

follow the business of their stores and farms unmolested, and not only

drive out but keep out the enemy from the country; and if the neglect of

raising this sum will let them in, and produce the evils which might be

prevented--on which side, I ask, does the wisdom, interest and policy

lie? Or, rather, would it not be an insult to reason, to put the

question? The sum, when proportioned out according to the several

abilities of the people, can hurt no one, but an inroad from the enemy

ruins hundreds of families.

Look at the destruction done in this city [Philadelphia]. The many

houses totally destroyed, and others damaged; the waste of fences in

the country round it, besides the plunder of furniture, forage,

and provisions. I do not suppose that half a million sterling would

reinstate the sufferers; and, does this, I ask, bear any proportion to

the expense that would make us secure? The damage, on an average, is

at least ten pounds sterling per head, which is as much as thirteen

shillings and fourpence per head comes to for fifteen years. The same

has happened on the frontiers, and in the Jerseys, New York, and other

places where the enemy has been--Carolina and Georgia are likewise

suffering the same fate.

That the people generally do not understand the insufficiency of the

taxes to carry on the war, is evident, not only from common observation,

but from the construction of several petitions which were presented to

the Assembly of this state, against the recommendation of Congress of

the 18th of March last, for taking up and funding the present currency

at forty to one, and issuing new money in its stead. The prayer of the

petition was, that the currency might be appreciated by taxes (meaning

the present taxes) and that part of the taxes be applied to the support

of the army, if the army could not be otherwise supported. Now it could

not have been possible for such a petition to have been presented,

had the petitioners known, that so far from part of the taxes being

sufficient for the support of the whole of them falls three-fourths

short of the year's expenses.

Before I proceed to propose methods by which a sufficiency of money

may be raised, I shall take a short view of the general state of the

country.

Notwithstanding the weight of the war, the ravages of the enemy, and the

obstructions she has thrown in the way of trade and commerce, so soon

does a young country outgrow misfortune, that America has already

surmounted many that heavily oppressed her. For the first year or two

of the war, we were shut up within our ports, scarce venturing to look

towards the ocean. Now our rivers are beautified with large and valuable

vessels, our stores filled with merchandise, and the produce of the

country has a ready market, and an advantageous price. Gold and silver,

that for a while seemed to have retreated again within the bowels of

the earth, have once more risen into circulation, and every day adds new

strength to trade, commerce and agriculture. In a pamphlet, written

by Sir John Dalrymple, and dispersed in America in the year 1775, he

asserted that two twenty-gun ships, nay, says he, tenders of those

ships, stationed between Albermarle sound and Chesapeake bay, would shut

up the trade of America for 600 miles. How little did Sir John Dalrymple

know of the abilities of America!

While under the government of Britain, the trade of this country was

loaded with restrictions. It was only a few foreign ports which we were

allowed to sail to. Now it is otherwise; and allowing that the quantity

of trade is but half what it was before the war, the case must show the

vast advantage of an open trade, because the present quantity under her

restrictions could not support itself; from which I infer, that if half

the quantity without the restrictions can bear itself up nearly, if not

quite, as well as the whole when subject to them, how prosperous must

the condition of America be when the whole shall return open with all

the world. By the trade I do not mean the employment of a merchant only,

but the whole interest and business of the country taken collectively.

It is not so much my intention, by this publication, to propose

particular plans for raising money, as it is to show the necessity and

the advantages to be derived from it. My principal design is to form the

disposition of the people to the measures which I am fully persuaded it

is their interest and duty to adopt, and which need no other force to

accomplish them than the force of being felt. But as every hint may

be useful, I shall throw out a sketch, and leave others to make such

improvements upon it as to them may appear reasonable.

The annual sum wanted is two millions, and the average rate in which it

falls, is thirteen shillings and fourpence per head.

Suppose, then, that we raise half the sum and sixty thousand pounds

over. The average rate thereof will be seven shillings per head.

In this case we shall have half the supply that we want, and an annual

fund of sixty thousand pounds whereon to borrow the other million;

because sixty thousand pounds is the interest of a million at six per

cent.; and if at the end of another year we should be obliged, by the

continuance of the war, to borrow another million, the taxes will be

increased to seven shillings and sixpence; and thus for every million

borrowed, an additional tax, equal to sixpence per head, must be levied.

The sum to be raised next year will be one million and sixty thousand

pounds: one half of which I would propose should be raised by duties on

imported goods, and prize goods, and the other half by a tax on landed

property and houses, or such other means as each state may devise.

But as the duties on imports and prize goods must be the same in all the

states, therefore the rate per cent., or what other form the duty shall

be laid, must be ascertained and regulated by Congress, and ingrafted in

that form into the law of each state; and the monies arising therefrom

carried into the treasury of each state. The duties to be paid in gold

or silver.

There are many reasons why a duty on imports is the most convenient

duty or tax that can be collected; one of which is, because the whole is

payable in a few places in a country, and it likewise operates with the

greatest ease and equality, because as every one pays in proportion to

what he consumes, so people in general consume in proportion to what

they can afford; and therefore the tax is regulated by the abilities

which every man supposes himself to have, or in other words, every man

becomes his own assessor, and pays by a little at a time, when it suits

him to buy. Besides, it is a tax which people may pay or let alone

by not consuming the articles; and though the alternative may have no

influence on their conduct, the power of choosing is an agreeable thing

to the mind. For my own part, it would be a satisfaction to me was there

a duty on all sorts of liquors during the war, as in my idea of things

it would be an addition to the pleasures of society to know, that when

the health of the army goes round, a few drops, from every glass becomes

theirs. How often have I heard an emphatical wish, almost accompanied by

a tear, "Oh, that our poor fellows in the field had some of this!" Why

then need we suffer under a fruitless sympathy, when there is a way to

enjoy both the wish and the entertainment at once.

But the great national policy of putting a duty upon imports is, that it

either keeps the foreign trade in our own hands, or draws something for

the defence of the country from every foreigner who participates in it

with us.

Thus much for the first half of the taxes, and as each state will best

devise means to raise the other half, I shall confine my remarks to the

resources of this state.

The quota, then, of this state, of one million and sixty thousand

pounds, will be one hundred and thirty-three thousand two hundred and

fifty pounds, the half of which is sixty-six thousand six hundred

and twenty-five pounds; and supposing one fourth part of Pennsylvania

inhabited, then a tax of one bushel of wheat on every twenty acres of

land, one with another, would produce the sum, and all the present taxes

to cease. Whereas, the tithes of the bishops and clergy in England,

exclusive of the taxes, are upwards of half a bushel of wheat on every

single acre of land, good and bad, throughout the nation.

In the former part of this paper, I mentioned the militia fines, but

reserved speaking of the matter, which I shall now do. The ground I

shall put it upon is, that two millions sterling a year will support

a sufficient army, and all the expenses of war and government, without

having recourse to the inconvenient method of continually calling men

from their employments, which, of all others, is the most expensive and

the least substantial. I consider the revenues created by taxes as the

first and principal thing, and fines only as secondary and accidental

things. It was not the intention of the militia law to apply the fines

to anything else but the support of the militia, neither do they produce

any revenue to the state, yet these fines amount to more than all the

taxes: for taking the muster-roll to be sixty thousand men, the fine

on forty thousand who may not attend, will be sixty thousand pounds

sterling, and those who muster, will give up a portion of time equal

to half that sum, and if the eight classes should be called within the

year, and one third turn out, the fine on the remaining forty thousand

would amount to seventy-two millions of dollars, besides the fifteen

shillings on every hundred pounds of property, and the charge of seven

and a half per cent. for collecting, in certain instances which, on

the whole, would be upwards of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds

sterling.

Now if those very fines disable the country from raising a sufficient

revenue without producing an equivalent advantage, would it not be for

the ease and interest of all parties to increase the revenue, in the

manner I have proposed, or any better, if a better can be devised, and

cease the operation of the fines? I would still keep the militia as an

organized body of men, and should there be a real necessity to call them

forth, pay them out of the proper revenues of the state, and increase

the taxes a third or fourth per cent. on those who do not attend. My

limits will not allow me to go further into this matter, which I shall

therefore close with this remark; that fines are, of all modes of

revenue, the most unsuited to the minds of a free country. When a

man pays a tax, he knows that the public necessity requires it, and

therefore feels a pride in discharging his duty; but a fine seems

an atonement for neglect of duty, and of consequence is paid with

discredit, and frequently levied with severity.

I have now only one subject more to speak of, with which I shall

conclude, which is, the resolve of Congress of the 18th of March last,

for taking up and funding the present currency at forty for one, and

issuing new money in its stead.

Every one knows that I am not the flatterer of Congress, but in this

instance they are right; and if that measure is supported, the currency

will acquire a value, which, without it, it will not. But this is not

all: it will give relief to the finances until such time as they can be

properly arranged, and save the country from being immediately doubled

taxed under the present mode. In short, support that measure, and it

will support you.

I have now waded through a tedious course of difficult business, and

over an untrodden path. The subject, on every point in which it could be

viewed, was entangled with perplexities, and enveloped in obscurity, yet

such are the resources of America, that she wants nothing but system to

secure success.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, Oct. 4, 1780.

THE CRISIS X. ON THE KING OF ENGLAND'S SPEECH.

OF all the innocent passions which actuate the human mind there is none

more universally prevalent than curiosity. It reaches all mankind, and

in matters which concern us, or concern us not, it alike provokes in us

a desire to know them.

Although the situation of America, superior to every effort to enslave

her, and daily rising to importance and opulence, has placed her above

the region of anxiety, it has still left her within the circle of

curiosity; and her fancy to see the speech of a man who had proudly

threatened to bring her to his feet, was visibly marked with that

tranquil confidence which cared nothing about its contents. It was

inquired after with a smile, read with a laugh, and dismissed with

disdain.

But, as justice is due, even to an enemy, it is right to say, that the

speech is as well managed as the embarrassed condition of their affairs

could well admit of; and though hardly a line of it is true, except the

mournful story of Cornwallis, it may serve to amuse the deluded commons

and people of England, for whom it was calculated.

"The war," says the speech, "is still unhappily prolonged by that

restless ambition which first excited our enemies to commence it, and

which still continues to disappoint my earnest wishes and diligent

exertions to restore the public tranquillity."

How easy it is to abuse truth and language, when men, by habitual

wickedness, have learned to set justice at defiance. That the very man

who began the war, who with the most sullen insolence refused to answer,

and even to hear the humblest of all petitions, who has encouraged

his officers and his army in the most savage cruelties, and the most

scandalous plunderings, who has stirred up the Indians on one side, and

the negroes on the other, and invoked every aid of hell in his behalf,

should now, with an affected air of pity, turn the tables from himself,

and charge to another the wickedness that is his own, can only be

equalled by the baseness of the heart that spoke it.

To be nobly wrong is more manly than to be meanly right, is an

expression I once used on a former occasion, and it is equally

applicable now. We feel something like respect for consistency even in

error. We lament the virtue that is debauched into a vice, but the

vice that affects a virtue becomes the more detestable: and amongst the

various assumptions of character, which hypocrisy has taught, and men

have practised, there is none that raises a higher relish of disgust,

than to see disappointed inveteracy twisting itself, by the most visible

falsehoods, into an appearance of piety which it has no pretensions to.

"But I should not," continues the speech, "answer the trust committed

to the sovereign of a free people, nor make a suitable return to my

subjects for their constant, zealous, and affectionate attachment to my

person, family and government, if I consented to sacrifice, either to

my own desire of peace, or to their temporary ease and relief, those

essential rights and permanent interests, upon the maintenance and

preservation of which, the future strength and security of this country

must principally depend."

That the man whose ignorance and obstinacy first involved and still

continues the nation in the most hopeless and expensive of all wars,

should now meanly flatter them with the name of a free people, and make

a merit of his crime, under the disguise of their essential rights and

permanent interests, is something which disgraces even the character of

perverseness. Is he afraid they will send him to Hanover, or what does

he fear? Why is the sycophant thus added to the hypocrite, and the man

who pretends to govern, sunk into the humble and submissive memorialist?

What those essential rights and permanent interests are, on which the

future strength and security of England must principally depend, are not

so much as alluded to. They are words which impress nothing but the ear,

and are calculated only for the sound.

But if they have any reference to America, then do they amount to

the disgraceful confession, that England, who once assumed to be her

protectress, has now become her dependant. The British king and ministry

are constantly holding up the vast importance which America is of

to England, in order to allure the nation to carry on the war: now,

whatever ground there is for this idea, it ought to have operated as a

reason for not beginning it; and, therefore, they support their present

measures to their own disgrace, because the arguments which they now

use, are a direct reflection on their former policy.

"The favorable appearance of affairs," continues the speech, "in the

East Indies, and the safe arrival of the numerous commercial fleets of

my kingdom, must have given you satisfaction."

That things are not quite so bad every where as in America may be some

cause of consolation, but can be none for triumph. One broken leg

is better than two, but still it is not a source of joy: and let the

appearance of affairs in the East Indies be ever so favorable, they are

nevertheless worse than at first, without a prospect of their ever being

better. But the mournful story of Cornwallis was yet to be told, and it

was necessary to give it the softest introduction possible.

"But in the course of this year," continues the speech, "my assiduous

endeavors to guard the extensive dominions of my crown have not been

attended with success equal to the justice and uprightness of my

views."--What justice and uprightness there was in beginning a war with

America, the world will judge of, and the unequalled barbarity with

which it has been conducted, is not to be worn from the memory by the

cant of snivelling hypocrisy.

"And it is with great concern that I inform you that the events of war

have been very unfortunate to my arms in Virginia, having ended in the

loss of my forces in that province."--And our great concern is that they

are not all served in the same manner.

"No endeavors have been wanted on my part," says the speech, "to

extinguish that spirit of rebellion which our enemies have found means

to foment and maintain in the colonies; and to restore to my deluded

subjects in America that happy and prosperous condition which they

formerly derived from a due obedience to the laws."

The expression of deluded subjects is become so hacknied and

contemptible, and the more so when we see them making prisoners of whole

armies at a time, that the pride of not being laughed at would induce a

man of common sense to leave it off. But the most offensive falsehood

in the paragraph is the attributing the prosperity of America to a

wrong cause. It was the unremitted industry of the settlers and their

descendants, the hard labor and toil of persevering fortitude, that

were the true causes of the prosperity of America. The former tyranny

of England served to people it, and the virtue of the adventurers to

improve it. Ask the man, who, with his axe, has cleared a way in the

wilderness, and now possesses an estate, what made him rich, and he will

tell you the labor of his hands, the sweat of his brow, and the blessing

of heaven. Let Britain but leave America to herself and she asks no

more. She has risen into greatness without the knowledge and against the

will of England, and has a right to the unmolested enjoyment of her own

created wealth.

"I will order," says the speech, "the estimates of the ensuing year to

be laid before you. I rely on your wisdom and public spirit for such

supplies as the circumstances of our affairs shall be found to require.

Among the many ill consequences which attend the continuation of the

present war, I most sincerely regret the additional burdens which it

must unavoidably bring upon my faithful subjects."

It is strange that a nation must run through such a labyrinth of

trouble, and expend such a mass of wealth to gain the wisdom which an

hour's reflection might have taught. The final superiority of America

over every attempt that an island might make to conquer her, was as

naturally marked in the constitution of things, as the future ability of

a giant over a dwarf is delineated in his features while an infant.

How far providence, to accomplish purposes which no human wisdom could

foresee, permitted such extraordinary errors, is still a secret in the

womb of time, and must remain so till futurity shall give it birth.

"In the prosecution of this great and important contest," says the

speech, "in which we are engaged, I retain a firm confidence in the

protection of divine providence, and a perfect conviction in the justice

of my cause, and I have no doubt, but, that by the concurrence and

support of my Parliament, by the valour of my fleets and armies, and by

a vigorous, animated, and united exertion of the faculties and resources

of my people, I shall be enabled to restore the blessings of a safe and

honorable peace to all my dominions."

The King of England is one of the readiest believers in the world. In

the beginning of the contest he passed an act to put America out of the

protection of the crown of England, and though providence, for seven

years together, has put him out of her protection, still the man has no

doubt. Like Pharaoh on the edge of the Red Sea, he sees not the plunge

he is making, and precipitately drives across the flood that is closing

over his head.

I think it is a reasonable supposition, that this part of the speech was

composed before the arrival of the news of the capture of Cornwallis:

for it certainly has no relation to their condition at the time it was

spoken. But, be this as it may, it is nothing to us. Our line is

fixed. Our lot is cast; and America, the child of fate, is arriving at

maturity. We have nothing to do but by a spirited and quick exertion,

to stand prepared for war or peace. Too great to yield, and too noble

to insult; superior to misfortune, and generous in success, let us

untaintedly preserve the character which we have gained, and show to

future ages an example of unequalled magnanimity. There is something in

the cause and consequence of America that has drawn on her the attention

of all mankind. The world has seen her brave. Her love of liberty; her

ardour in supporting it; the justice of her claims, and the constancy

of her fortitude have won her the esteem of Europe, and attached to her

interest the first power in that country.

Her situation now is such, that to whatever point, past, present or to

come, she casts her eyes, new matter rises to convince her that she is

right. In her conduct towards her enemy, no reproachful sentiment lurks

in secret. No sense of injustice is left upon the mind. Untainted with

ambition, and a stranger to revenge, her progress has been marked by

providence, and she, in every stage of the conflict, has blest her with

success.

But let not America wrap herself up in delusive hope and suppose the

business done. The least remissness in preparation, the least relaxation

in execution, will only serve to prolong the war, and increase

expenses. If our enemies can draw consolation from misfortune, and

exert themselves upon despair, how much more ought we, who are to win a

continent by the conquest, and have already an earnest of success?

Having, in the preceding part, made my remarks on the several matters

which the speech contains, I shall now make my remarks on what it does

not contain.

There is not a syllable in its respecting alliances. Either the

injustice of Britain is too glaring, or her condition too desperate, or

both, for any neighboring power to come to her support. In the beginning

of the contest, when she had only America to contend with, she hired

assistance from Hesse, and other smaller states of Germany, and

for nearly three years did America, young, raw, undisciplined and

unprovided, stand against the power of Britain, aided by twenty thousand

foreign troops, and made a complete conquest of one entire army. The

remembrance of those things ought to inspire us with confidence and

greatness of mind, and carry us through every remaining difficulty with

content and cheerfulness. What are the little sufferings of the present

day, compared with the hardships that are past? There was a time, when

we had neither house nor home in safety; when every hour was the hour of

alarm and danger; when the mind, tortured with anxiety, knew no repose,

and every thing, but hope and fortitude, was bidding us farewell.

It is of use to look back upon these things; to call to mind the times

of trouble and the scenes of complicated anguish that are past and gone.

Then every expense was cheap, compared with the dread of conquest and

the misery of submission. We did not stand debating upon trifles, or

contending about the necessary and unavoidable charges of defence. Every

one bore his lot of suffering, and looked forward to happier days, and

scenes of rest.

Perhaps one of the greatest dangers which any country can be exposed

to, arises from a kind of trifling which sometimes steals upon the mind,

when it supposes the danger past; and this unsafe situation marks at

this time the peculiar crisis of America. What would she once have given

to have known that her condition at this day should be what it now is?

And yet we do not seem to place a proper value upon it, nor vigorously

pursue the necessary measures to secure it. We know that we cannot be

defended, nor yet defend ourselves, without trouble and expense. We have

no right to expect it; neither ought we to look for it. We are a people,

who, in our situation, differ from all the world. We form one common

floor of public good, and, whatever is our charge, it is paid for our

own interest and upon our own account.

Misfortune and experience have now taught us system and method; and the

arrangements for carrying on the war are reduced to rule and order. The

quotas of the several states are ascertained, and I intend in a future

publication to show what they are, and the necessity as well as the

advantages of vigorously providing for them.

In the mean time, I shall conclude this paper with an instance of

British clemency, from Smollett's History of England, vol. xi., printed

in London. It will serve to show how dismal the situation of a conquered

people is, and that the only security is an effectual defence.

We all know that the Stuart family and the house of Hanover opposed each

other for the crown of England. The Stuart family stood first in the

line of succession, but the other was the most successful.

In July, 1745, Charles, the son of the exiled king, landed in Scotland,

collected a small force, at no time exceeding five or six thousand

men, and made some attempts to re-establish his claim. The late Duke of

Cumberland, uncle to the present King of England, was sent against him,

and on the 16th of April following, Charles was totally defeated at

Culloden, in Scotland. Success and power are the only situations in

which clemency can be shown, and those who are cruel, because they

are victorious, can with the same facility act any other degenerate

character.

"Immediately after the decisive action at Culloden, the Duke of

Cumberland took possession of Inverness; where six and thirty deserters,

convicted by a court martial, were ordered to be executed: then he

detached several parties to ravage the country. One of these apprehended

The Lady Mackintosh, who was sent prisoner to Inverness, plundered her

house, and drove away her cattle, though her husband was actually in the

service of the government. The castle of Lord Lovat was destroyed.

The French prisoners were sent to Carlisle and Penrith: Kilmarnock,

Balmerino, Cromartie, and his son, The Lord Macleod, were conveyed by

sea to London; and those of an inferior rank were confined in different

prisons. The Marquis of Tullibardine, together with a brother of the

Earl of Dunmore, and Murray, the pretender's secretary, were seized and

transported to the Tower of London, to which the Earl of Traquaire

had been committed on suspicion; and the eldest son of Lord Lovat was

imprisoned in the castle of Edinburgh. In a word, all the jails in

Great Britain, from the capital, northwards, were filled with those

unfortunate captives; and great numbers of them were crowded together in

the holds of ships, where they perished in the most deplorable manner,

for want of air and exercise. Some rebel chiefs escaped in two French

frigates that arrived on the coast of Lochaber about the end of April,

and engaged three vessels belonging to his Britannic majesty, which

they obliged to retire. Others embarked on board a ship on the coast

of Buchan, and were conveyed to Norway, from whence they travelled to

Sweden. In the month of May, the Duke of Cumberland advanced with the

army into the Highlands, as far as Fort Augustus, where he encamped; and

sent off detachments on all hands, to hunt down the fugitives, and

lay waste the country with fire and sword. The castles of Glengary and

Lochiel were plundered and burned; every house, hut, or habitation,

met with the same fate, without distinction; and all the cattle and

provision were carried off; the men were either shot upon the mountains,

like wild beasts, or put to death in cold blood, without form of trial;

the women, after having seen their husbands and fathers murdered, were

subjected to brutal violation, and then turned out naked, with their

children, to starve on the barren heaths. One whole family was enclosed

in a barn, and consumed to ashes. Those ministers of vengeance were so

alert in the execution of their office, that in a few days there was

neither house, cottage, man, nor beast, to be seen within the compass of

fifty miles; all was ruin, silence, and desolation."

I have here presented the reader with one of the most shocking instances

of cruelty ever practised, and I leave it, to rest on his mind, that he

may be fully impressed with a sense of the destruction he has escaped,

in case Britain had conquered America; and likewise, that he may see

and feel the necessity, as well for his own personal safety, as for the

honor, the interest, and happiness of the whole community, to omit or

delay no one preparation necessary to secure the ground which we so

happily stand upon.

TO THE PEOPLE OF AMERICA

On the expenses, arrangements and disbursements for

carrying on the war, and finishing it with honor

and advantage

WHEN any necessity or occasion has pointed out the convenience of

addressing the public, I have never made it a consideration whether the

subject was popular or unpopular, but whether it was right or wrong; for

that which is right will become popular, and that which is wrong, though

by mistake it may obtain the cry or fashion of the day, will soon lose

the power of delusion, and sink into disesteem.

A remarkable instance of this happened in the case of Silas Deane; and

I mention this circumstance with the greater ease, because the poison

of his hypocrisy spread over the whole country, and every man, almost

without exception, thought me wrong in opposing him. The best friends

I then had, except Mr. [Henry] Laurens, stood at a distance, and this

tribute, which is due to his constancy, I pay to him with respect, and

that the readier, because he is not here to hear it. If it reaches him

in his imprisonment, it will afford him an agreeable reflection.

"As he rose like a rocket, he would fall like a stick," is a metaphor

which I applied to Mr. Deane, in the first piece which I published

respecting him, and he has exactly fulfilled the description. The credit

he so unjustly obtained from the public, he lost in almost as short a

time. The delusion perished as it fell, and he soon saw himself stripped

of popular support. His more intimate acquaintances began to doubt, and

to desert him long before he left America, and at his departure, he saw

himself the object of general suspicion. When he arrived in France,

he endeavored to effect by treason what he had failed to accomplish by

fraud. His plans, schemes and projects, together with his expectation of

being sent to Holland to negotiate a loan of money, had all miscarried.

He then began traducing and accusing America of every crime, which could

injure her reputation. "That she was a ruined country; that she only

meant to make a tool of France, to get what money she could out of her,

and then to leave her and accommodate with Britain." Of all which and

much more, Colonel Laurens and myself, when in France, informed Dr.

Franklin, who had not before heard of it. And to complete the character

of traitor, he has, by letters to his country since, some of which, in

his own handwriting, are now in the possession of Congress, used every

expression and argument in his power, to injure the reputation of

France, and to advise America to renounce her alliance, and surrender up

her independence.* Thus in France he abuses America, and in his letters

to America he abuses France; and is endeavoring to create disunion

between two countries, by the same arts of double-dealing by which he

caused dissensions among the commissioners in Paris, and distractions in

America. But his life has been fraud, and his character has been that of

a plodding, plotting, cringing mercenary, capable of any disguise that

suited his purpose. His final detection has very happily cleared up

those mistakes, and removed that uneasiness, which his unprincipled

conduct occasioned. Every one now sees him in the same light; for

towards friends or enemies he acted with the same deception and

injustice, and his name, like that of Arnold, ought now to be forgotten

among us. As this is the first time that I have mentioned him since my

return from France, it is my intention that it shall be the last. From

this digression, which for several reasons I thought necessary to give,

I now proceed to the purport of my address.

* Mr. William Marshall, of this city [Philadelphia], formerly a

pilot, who had been taken at sea and carried to England, and got from

thence to France, brought over letters from Mr. Deane to America, one of

which was directed to "Robert Morris, Esq." Mr. Morris sent it unopened

to Congress, and advised Mr. Marshall to deliver the others there, which

he did. The letters were of the same purport with those which have been

already published under the signature of S. Deane, to which they had

frequent reference.

I consider the war of America against Britain as the country's war,

the public's war, or the war of the people in their own behalf, for

the security of their natural rights, and the protection of their own

property. It is not the war of Congress, the war of the assemblies, or

the war of government in any line whatever. The country first, by

mutual compact, resolved to defend their rights and maintain their

independence, at the hazard of their lives and fortunes; they elected

their representatives, by whom they appointed their members of Congress,

and said, act you for us, and we will support you. This is the

true ground and principle of the war on the part of America, and,

consequently, there remains nothing to do, but for every one to fulfil

his obligation.

It was next to impossible that a new country, engaged in a new

undertaking, could set off systematically right at first. She saw not

the extent of the struggle that she was involved in, neither could she

avoid the beginning. She supposed every step that she took, and every

resolution which she formed, would bring her enemy to reason and close

the contest. Those failing, she was forced into new measures; and these,

like the former, being fitted to her expectations, and failing in their

turn, left her continually unprovided, and without system. The

enemy, likewise, was induced to prosecute the war, from the temporary

expedients we adopted for carrying it on. We were continually expecting

to see their credit exhausted, and they were looking to see our currency

fail; and thus, between their watching us, and we them, the hopes of

both have been deceived, and the childishness of the expectation has

served to increase the expense.

Yet who, through this wilderness of error, has been to blame? Where is

the man who can say the fault, in part, has not been his? They were the

natural, unavoidable errors of the day. They were the errors of a whole

country, which nothing but experience could detect and time remove.

Neither could the circumstances of America admit of system, till either

the paper currency was fixed or laid aside. No calculation of a finance

could be made on a medium failing without reason, and fluctuating

without rule.

But there is one error which might have been prevented and was not; and

as it is not my custom to flatter, but to serve mankind, I will speak it

freely. It certainly was the duty of every assembly on the continent to

have known, at all times, what was the condition of its treasury, and

to have ascertained at every period of depreciation, how much the real

worth of the taxes fell short of their nominal value. This knowledge,

which might have been easily gained, in the time of it, would have

enabled them to have kept their constituents well informed, and this is

one of the greatest duties of representation. They ought to have studied

and calculated the expenses of the war, the quota of each state, and

the consequent proportion that would fall on each man's property for

his defence; and this must have easily shown to them, that a tax of one

hundred pounds could not be paid by a bushel of apples or an hundred of

flour, which was often the case two or three years ago. But instead of

this, which would have been plain and upright dealing, the little line

of temporary popularity, the feather of an hour's duration, was too much

pursued; and in this involved condition of things, every state, for the

want of a little thinking, or a little information, supposed that it

supported the whole expenses of the war, when in fact it fell, by the

time the tax was levied and collected, above three-fourths short of its

own quota.

Impressed with a sense of the danger to which the country was exposed by

this lax method of doing business, and the prevailing errors of the day,

I published, last October was a twelvemonth, the Crisis Extraordinary,

on the revenues of America, and the yearly expense of carrying on

the war. My estimation of the latter, together with the civil list of

Congress, and the civil list of the several states, was two million

pounds sterling, which is very nearly nine millions of dollars.

Since that time, Congress have gone into a calculation, and have

estimated the expenses of the War Department and the civil list of

Congress (exclusive of the civil list of the several governments) at

eight millions of dollars; and as the remaining million will be

fully sufficient for the civil list of the several states, the two

calculations are exceedingly near each other.

The sum of eight millions of dollars have called upon the states to

furnish, and their quotas are as follows, which I shall preface with the

resolution itself.

"By the United States in Congress assembled.

"October 30, 1781.

"Resolved, That the respective states be called upon to furnish the

treasury of the United States with their quotas of eight millions of

dollars, for the War Department and civil list for the ensuing year, to

be paid quarterly, in equal proportions, the first payment to be made on

the first day of April next.

"Resolved, That a committee, consisting of a member from each state, be

appointed to apportion to the several states the quota of the above sum.

"November 2d. The committee appointed to ascertain the proportions of

the several states of the monies to be raised for the expenses of the

ensuing year, report the following resolutions:

"That the sum of eight millions of dollars, as required to be raised by

the resolutions of the 30th of October last, be paid by the states in

the following proportion:

New Hampshire....... $ 373,598

Massachusetts....... 1,307,596

Rhode Island........ 216,684

Connecticut......... 747,196

New York............ 373,598

New Jersey.......... 485,679

Pennsylvania........ 1,120,794

Delaware............ 112,085

Maryland............ 933,996

Virginia............ 1,307,594

North Carolina...... 622,677

South Carolina...... 373,598

Georgia............. 24,905

$8,000,000

"Resolved, That it be recommended to the several states, to lay taxes

for raising their quotas of money for the United States, separate from

those laid for their own particular use."

On these resolutions I shall offer several remarks.

1st, On the sum itself, and the ability of the country.

2d, On the several quotas, and the nature of a union. And,

3d, On the manner of collection and expenditure.

1st, On the sum itself, and the ability of the country. As I know my

own calculation is as low as possible, and as the sum called for by

congress, according to their calculation, agrees very nearly therewith,

I am sensible it cannot possibly be lower. Neither can it be done for

that, unless there is ready money to go to market with; and even in that

case, it is only by the utmost management and economy that it can be

made to do.

By the accounts which were laid before the British Parliament last

spring, it appeared that the charge of only subsisting, that is, feeding

their army in America, cost annually four million pounds sterling, which

is very nearly eighteen millions of dollars. Now if, for eight millions,

we can feed, clothe, arm, provide for, and pay an army sufficient for

our defence, the very comparison shows that the money must be well laid

out.

It may be of some use, either in debate or conversation, to attend to

the progress of the expenses of an army, because it will enable us to

see on what part any deficiency will fall.

The first thing is, to feed them and prepare for the sick.

_Second_, to clothe them.

_Third_, to arm and furnish them.

_Fourth_, to provide means for removing them from place to place. And,

_Fifth_, to pay them.

The first and second are absolutely necessary to them as men. The third

and fourth are equally as necessary to them as an army. And the fifth is

their just due. Now if the sum which shall be raised should fall short,

either by the several acts of the states for raising it, or by the

manner of collecting it, the deficiency will fall on the fifth head, the

soldiers' pay, which would be defrauding them, and eternally disgracing

ourselves. It would be a blot on the councils, the country, and the

revolution of America, and a man would hereafter be ashamed to own that

he had any hand in it.

But if the deficiency should be still shorter, it would next fall on the

fourth head, the means of removing the army from place to place; and, in

this case, the army must either stand still where it can be of no use,

or seize on horses, carts, wagons, or any means of transportation which

it can lay hold of; and in this instance the country suffers. In short,

every attempt to do a thing for less than it can he done for, is sure to

become at last both a loss and a dishonor.

But the country cannot bear it, say some. This has been the most

expensive doctrine that ever was held out, and cost America millions

of money for nothing. Can the country bear to be overrun, ravaged,

and ruined by an enemy? This will immediately follow where defence is

wanting, and defence will ever be wanting, where sufficient revenues

are not provided. But this is only one part of the folly. The second is,

that when the danger comes, invited in part by our not preparing against

it, we have been obliged, in a number of instances, to expend double the

sums to do that which at first might have been done for half the money.

But this is not all. A third mischief has been, that grain of all sorts,

flour, beef fodder, horses, carts, wagons, or whatever was absolutely or

immediately wanted, have been taken without pay. Now, I ask, why was all

this done, but from that extremely weak and expensive doctrine, that

the country could not bear it? That is, that she could not bear, in the

first instance, that which would have saved her twice as much at last;

or, in proverbial language, that she could not bear to pay a penny to

save a pound; the consequence of which has been, that she has paid a

pound for a penny. Why are there so many unpaid certificates in almost

every man's hands, but from the parsimony of not providing sufficient

revenues? Besides, the doctrine contradicts itself; because, if the

whole country cannot bear it, how is it possible that a part should?

And yet this has been the case: for those things have been had; and they

must be had; but the misfortune is, that they have been obtained in

a very unequal manner, and upon expensive credit, whereas, with ready

money, they might have been purchased for half the price, and nobody

distressed.

But there is another thought which ought to strike us, which is, how is

the army to bear the want of food, clothing and other necessaries? The

man who is at home, can turn himself a thousand ways, and find as many

means of ease, convenience or relief: but a soldier's life admits of

none of those: their wants cannot be supplied from themselves: for an

army, though it is the defence of a state, is at the same time the child

of a country, or must be provided for in every thing.

And lastly, the doctrine is false. There are not three millions of

people in any part of the universe, who live so well, or have such a

fund of ability, as in America. The income of a common laborer, who is

industrious, is equal to that of the generality of tradesmen in England.

In the mercantile line, I have not heard of one who could be said to be

a bankrupt since the war began, and in England they have been without

number. In America almost every farmer lives on his own lands, and in

England not one in a hundred does. In short, it seems as if the poverty

of that country had made them furious, and they were determined to risk

all to recover all.

Yet, notwithstanding those advantages on the part of America, true it

is, that had it not been for the operation of taxes for our necessary

defence, we had sunk into a state of sloth and poverty: for there was

more wealth lost by neglecting to till the earth in the years 1776,

'77, and '78, than the quota of taxes amounts to. That which is lost by

neglect of this kind, is lost for ever: whereas that which is paid, and

continues in the country, returns to us again; and at the same time that

it provides us with defence, it operates not only as a spur, but as a

premium to our industry.

I shall now proceed to the second head, viz., on the several quotas, and

the nature of a union.

There was a time when America had no other bond of union, than that of

common interest and affection. The whole country flew to the relief of

Boston, and, making her cause, their own, participated in her cares and

administered to her wants. The fate of war, since that day, has carried

the calamity in a ten-fold proportion to the southward; but in the mean

time the union has been strengthened by a legal compact of the states,

jointly and severally ratified, and that which before was choice, or the

duty of affection, is now likewise the duty of legal obligation.

The union of America is the foundation-stone of her independence;

the rock on which it is built; and is something so sacred in her

constitution, that we ought to watch every word we speak, and every

thought we think, that we injure it not, even by mistake. When a

multitude, extended, or rather scattered, over a continent in the manner

we were, mutually agree to form one common centre whereon the whole

shall move to accomplish a particular purpose, all parts must act

together and alike, or act not at all, and a stoppage in any one is a

stoppage of the whole, at least for a time.

Thus the several states have sent representatives to assemble together

in Congress, and they have empowered that body, which thus becomes their

centre, and are no other than themselves in representation, to conduct

and manage the war, while their constituents at home attend to the

domestic cares of the country, their internal legislation, their farms,

professions or employments, for it is only by reducing complicated

things to method and orderly connection that they can be understood

with advantage, or pursued with success. Congress, by virtue of this

delegation, estimates the expense, and apportions it out to the several

parts of the empire according to their several abilities; and here the

debate must end, because each state has already had its voice, and the

matter has undergone its whole portion of argument, and can no more be

altered by any particular state, than a law of any state, after it has

passed, can be altered by any individual. For with respect to those

things which immediately concern the union, and for which the union was

purposely established, and is intended to secure, each state is to the

United States what each individual is to the state he lives in. And

it is on this grand point, this movement upon one centre, that our

existence as a nation, our happiness as a people, and our safety as

individuals, depend.

It may happen that some state or other may be somewhat over or under

rated, but this cannot be much. The experience which has been had upon

the matter, has nearly ascertained their several abilities. But even

in this case, it can only admit of an appeal to the United States, but

cannot authorise any state to make the alteration itself, any more than

our internal government can admit an individual to do so in the case of

an act of assembly; for if one state can do it, then may another do the

same, and the instant this is done the whole is undone.

Neither is it supposable that any single state can be a judge of all the

comparative reasons which may influence the collective body in arranging

the quotas of the continent. The circumstances of the several states are

frequently varying, occasioned by the accidents of war and commerce, and

it will often fall upon some to help others, rather beyond what their

exact proportion at another time might be; but even this assistance is

as naturally and politically included in the idea of a union as that of

any particular assigned proportion; because we know not whose turn

it may be next to want assistance, for which reason that state is the

wisest which sets the best example.

Though in matters of bounden duty and reciprocal affection, it is rather

a degeneracy from the honesty and ardor of the heart to admit any thing

selfish to partake in the government of our conduct, yet in cases where

our duty, our affections, and our interest all coincide, it may be of

some use to observe their union. The United States will become heir to

an extensive quantity of vacant land, and their several titles to

shares and quotas thereof, will naturally be adjusted according to their

relative quotas, during the war, exclusive of that inability which may

unfortunately arise to any state by the enemy's holding possession of

a part; but as this is a cold matter of interest, I pass it by,

and proceed to my third head, viz., on the manner of collection and

expenditure.

It has been our error, as well as our misfortune, to blend the affairs

of each state, especially in money matters, with those of the United

States; whereas it is our case, convenience and interest, to keep them

separate. The expenses of the United States for carrying on the war, and

the expenses of each state for its own domestic government, are distinct

things, and to involve them is a source of perplexity and a cloak for

fraud. I love method, because I see and am convinced of its beauty and

advantage. It is that which makes all business easy and understood, and

without which, everything becomes embarrassed and difficult.

There are certain powers which the people of each state have delegated

to their legislative and executive bodies, and there are other powers

which the people of every state have delegated to Congress, among

which is that of conducting the war, and, consequently, of managing the

expenses attending it; for how else can that be managed, which concerns

every state, but by a delegation from each? When a state has furnished

its quota, it has an undoubted right to know how it has been applied,

and it is as much the duty of Congress to inform the state of the one,

as it is the duty of the state to provide the other.

In the resolution of Congress already recited, it is recommended to the

several states to lay taxes for raising their quotas of money for the

United States, separate from those laid for their own particular use.

This is a most necessary point to be observed, and the distinction

should follow all the way through. They should be levied, paid and

collected, separately, and kept separate in every instance. Neither have

the civil officers of any state, nor the government of that state, the

least right to touch that money which the people pay for the support of

their army and the war, any more than Congress has to touch that which

each state raises for its own use.

This distinction will naturally be followed by another. It will occasion

every state to examine nicely into the expenses of its civil list, and

to regulate, reduce, and bring it into better order than it has hitherto

been; because the money for that purpose must be raised apart, and

accounted for to the public separately. But while the, monies of both

were blended, the necessary nicety was not observed, and the poor

soldier, who ought to have been the first, was the last who was thought

of.

Another convenience will be, that the people, by paying the taxes

separately, will know what they are for; and will likewise know that

those which are for the defence of the country will cease with the war,

or soon after. For although, as I have before observed, the war is their

own, and for the support of their own rights and the protection of their

own property, yet they have the same right to know, that they have

to pay, and it is the want of not knowing that is often the cause of

dissatisfaction.

This regulation of keeping the taxes separate has given rise to a

regulation in the office of finance, by which it is directed:

"That the receivers shall, at the end of every month, make out an exact

account of the monies received by them respectively, during such month,

specifying therein the names of the persons from whom the same shall

have been received, the dates and the sums; which account they shall

respectively cause to be published in one of the newspapers of the

state; to the end that every citizen may know how much of the monies

collected from him, in taxes, is transmitted to the treasury of the

United States for the support of the war; and also, that it may be known

what monies have been at the order of the superintendent of finance. It

being proper and necessary, that, in a free country, the people should

be as fully informed of the administration of their affairs as the

nature of things will admit."

It is an agreeable thing to see a spirit of order and economy taking

place, after such a series of errors and difficulties. A government or

an administration, who means and acts honestly, has nothing to fear, and

consequently has nothing to conceal; and it would be of use if a monthly

or quarterly account was to be published, as well of the expenditures

as of the receipts. Eight millions of dollars must be husbanded with an

exceeding deal of care to make it do, and, therefore, as the management

must be reputable, the publication would be serviceable.

I have heard of petitions which have been presented to the assembly of

this state (and probably the same may have happened in other states)

praying to have the taxes lowered. Now the only way to keep taxes low

is, for the United States to have ready money to go to market with: and

though the taxes to be raised for the present year will fall heavy,

and there will naturally be some difficulty in paying them, yet the

difficulty, in proportion as money spreads about the country, will every

day grow less, and in the end we shall save some millions of dollars by

it. We see what a bitter, revengeful enemy we have to deal with, and

any expense is cheap compared to their merciless paw. We have seen the

unfortunate Carolineans hunted like partridges on the mountains, and it

is only by providing means for our defence, that we shall be kept from

the same condition. When we think or talk about taxes, we ought to

recollect that we lie down in peace and sleep in safety; that we

can follow our farms or stores or other occupations, in prosperous

tranquillity; and that these inestimable blessings are procured to us

by the taxes that we pay. In this view, our taxes are properly our

insurance money; they are what we pay to be made safe, and, in strict

policy, are the best money we can lay out.

It was my intention to offer some remarks on the impost law of five per

cent. recommended by Congress, and to be established as a fund for the

payment of the loan-office certificates, and other debts of the United

States; but I have already extended my piece beyond my intention. And

as this fund will make our system of finance complete, and is strictly

just, and consequently requires nothing but honesty to do it, there

needs but little to be said upon it.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, March 5, 1782.

THE CRISIS. XI. ON THE PRESENT STATE OF NEWS.

SINCE the arrival of two, if not three packets in quick succession, at

New York, from England, a variety of unconnected news has circulated

through the country, and afforded as great a variety of speculation.

That something is the matter in the cabinet and councils of our enemies,

on the other side of the water, is certain--that they have run their

length of madness, and are under the necessity of changing their

measures may easily be seen into; but to what this change of measures

may amount, or how far it may correspond with our interest, happiness

and duty, is yet uncertain; and from what we have hitherto experienced,

we have too much reason to suspect them in every thing. I do not address

this publication so much to the people of America as to the British

ministry, whoever they may be, for if it is their intention to promote

any kind of negotiation, it is proper they should know beforehand, that

the United States have as much honor as bravery; and that they are no

more to be seduced from their alliance than their allegiance; that their

line of politics is formed and not dependent, like that of their enemy,

on chance and accident. On our part, in order to know, at any time, what

the British government will do, we have only to find out what they ought

not to do, and this last will be their conduct. Forever changing and

forever wrong; too distant from America to improve in circumstances, and

too unwise to foresee them; scheming without principle, and executing

without probability, their whole line of management has hitherto been

blunder and baseness. Every campaign has added to their loss, and every

year to their disgrace; till unable to go on, and ashamed to go back,

their politics have come to a halt, and all their fine prospects to a

halter.

Could our affections forgive, or humanity forget the wounds of an

injured country--we might, under the influence of a momentary oblivion,

stand still and laugh. But they are engraven where no amusement can

conceal them, and of a kind for which there is no recompense. Can ye

restore to us the beloved dead? Can ye say to the grave, give up the

murdered? Can ye obliterate from our memories those who are no more?

Think not then to tamper with our feelings by an insidious contrivance,

nor suffocate our humanity by seducing us to dishonor.

In March 1780, I published part of the Crisis, No. VIII., in the

newspapers, but did not conclude it in the following papers, and the

remainder has lain by me till the present day. There appeared about

that time some disposition in the British cabinet to cease the further

prosecution of the war, and as I had formed my opinion that whenever

such a design should take place, it would be accompanied by a

dishonorable proposition to America, respecting France, I had suppressed

the remainder of that number, not to expose the baseness of any such

proposition. But the arrival of the next news from England, declared her

determination to go on with the war, and consequently as the political

object I had then in view was not become a subject, it was unnecessary

in me to bring it forward, which is the reason it was never published.

The matter which I allude to in the unpublished part, I shall now make a

quotation of, and apply it as the more enlarged state of things, at this

day, shall make convenient or necessary. It was as follows:

"By the speeches which have appeared from the British Parliament, it is

easy to perceive to what impolitic and imprudent excesses their passions

and prejudices have, in every instance, carried them during the present

war. Provoked at the upright and honorable treaty between America and

France, they imagined that nothing more was necessary to be done to

prevent its final ratification, than to promise, through the agency of

their commissioners (Carlisle, Eden, and Johnstone) a repeal of their

once offensive acts of Parliament. The vanity of the conceit, was as

unpardonable as the experiment was impolitic. And so convinced am I of

their wrong ideas of America, that I shall not wonder, if, in their last

stage of political frenzy, they propose to her to break her alliance

with France, and enter into one with them. Such a proposition, should

it ever be made, and it has been already more than once hinted at in

Parliament, would discover such a disposition to perfidiousness, and

such disregard of honor and morals, as would add the finishing vice to

national corruption.--I do not mention this to put America on the watch,

but to put England on her guard, that she do not, in the looseness of

her heart, envelop in disgrace every fragment of reputation."--Thus far

the quotation.

By the complection of some part of the news which has transpired through

the New York papers, it seems probable that this insidious era in the

British politics is beginning to make its appearance. I wish it may

not; for that which is a disgrace to human nature, throws something of a

shade over all the human character, and each individual feels his share

of the wound that is given to the whole. The policy of Britain has ever

been to divide America in some way or other. In the beginning of the

dispute, she practised every art to prevent or destroy the union of the

states, well knowing that could she once get them to stand singly, she

could conquer them unconditionally. Failing in this project in America,

she renewed it in Europe; and, after the alliance had taken place, she

made secret offers to France to induce her to give up America; and what

is still more extraordinary, she at the same time made propositions to

Dr. Franklin, then in Paris, the very court to which she was secretly

applying, to draw off America from France. But this is not all. On the

14th of September, 1778, the British court, through their secretary,

Lord Weymouth, made application to the Marquis d'Almadovar, the Spanish

ambassador at London, to "ask the mediation," for these were the words,

of the court of Spain, for the purpose of negotiating a peace with

France, leaving America (as I shall hereafter show) out of the question.

Spain readily offered her mediation, and likewise the city of Madrid as

the place of conference, but withal, proposed, that the United States of

America should be invited to the treaty, and considered as independent

during the time the business was negotiating. But this was not the

view of England. She wanted to draw France from the war, that she might

uninterruptedly pour out all her force and fury upon America; and being

disappointed in this plan, as well through the open and generous conduct

of Spain, as the determination of France, she refused the mediation

which she had solicited. I shall now give some extracts from the

justifying memorial of the Spanish court, in which she has set the

conduct and character of Britain, with respect to America, in a clear

and striking point of light.

The memorial, speaking of the refusal of the British court to meet in

conference with commissioners from the United States, who were to be

considered as independent during the time of the conference, says,

"It is a thing very extraordinary and even ridiculous, that the court of

London, who treats the colonies as independent, not only in acting, but

of right, during the war, should have a repugnance to treat them as

such only in acting during a truce, or suspension of hostilities.

The convention of Saratoga; the reputing General Burgoyne as a lawful

prisoner, in order to suspend his trial; the exchange and liberation of

other prisoners made from the colonies; the having named commissioners

to go and supplicate the Americans, at their own doors, request peace of

them, and treat with them and the Congress: and, finally, by a thousand

other acts of this sort, authorized by the court of London, which have

been, and are true signs of the acknowledgment of their independence.

"In aggravation of all the foregoing, at the same time the British

cabinet answered the King of Spain in the terms already mentioned, they

were insinuating themselves at the court of France by means of secret

emissaries, and making very great offers to her, to abandon the colonies

and make peace with England. But there is yet more; for at this same

time the English ministry were treating, by means of another certain

emissary, with Dr. Franklin, minister plenipotentiary from the colonies,

residing at Paris, to whom they made various proposals to disunite them

from France, and accommodate matters with England.

"From what has been observed, it evidently follows, that the whole

of the British politics was, to disunite the two courts of Paris and

Madrid, by means of the suggestions and offers which she separately

made to them; and also to separate the colonies from their treaties and

engagements entered into with France, and induce them to arm against the

house of Bourbon, or more probably to oppress them when they found,

from breaking their engagements, that they stood alone and without

protection.

"This, therefore, is the net they laid for the American states; that is

to say, to tempt them with flattering and very magnificent promises to

come to an accommodation with them, exclusive of any intervention of

Spain or France, that the British ministry might always remain the

arbiters of the fate of the colonies. But the Catholic king (the King

of Spain) faithful on the one part of the engagements which bind him

to the Most Christian king (the King of France) his nephew; just and

upright on the other, to his own subjects, whom he ought to protect

and guard against so many insults; and finally, full of humanity and

compassion for the Americans and other individuals who suffer in the

present war; he is determined to pursue and prosecute it, and to make

all the efforts in his power, until he can obtain a solid and permanent

peace, with full and satisfactory securities that it shall be observed."

Thus far the memorial; a translation of which into English, may be seen

in full, under the head of State Papers, in the Annual Register, for

1779.

The extracts I have here given, serve to show the various endeavors

and contrivances of the enemy, to draw France from her connection with

America, and to prevail on her to make a separate peace with England,

leaving America totally out of the question, and at the mercy of a

merciless, unprincipled enemy. The opinion, likewise, which Spain

has formed of the British cabinet's character for meanness and

perfidiousness, is so exactly the opinion of America respecting it,

that the memorial, in this instance, contains our own statements and

language; for people, however remote, who think alike, will unavoidably

speak alike.

Thus we see the insidious use which Britain endeavored to make of the

propositions of peace under the mediation of Spain. I shall now proceed

to the second proposition under the mediation of the Emperor of Germany

and the Empress of Russia; the general outline of which was, that a

congress of the several powers at war should meet at Vienna, in 1781,

to settle preliminaries of peace. I could wish myself at liberty to make

use of all the information which I am possessed of on this subject, but

as there is a delicacy in the matter, I do not conceive it prudent, at

least at present, to make references and quotations in the same manner

as I have done with respect to the mediation of Spain, who published the

whole proceedings herself; and therefore, what comes from me, on this

part of the business, must rest on my own credit with the public,

assuring them, that when the whole proceedings, relative to the proposed

Congress of Vienna shall appear, they will find my account not only

true, but studiously moderate.

We know at the time this mediation was on the carpet, the expectation of

the British king and ministry ran high with respect to the conquest of

America. The English packet which was taken with the mail on board,

and carried into l'Orient, in France, contained letters from Lord G.

Germaine to Sir Henry Clinton, which expressed in the fullest terms the

ministerial idea of a total conquest. Copies of those letters were sent

to congress and published in the newspapers of last year. Colonel

[John] Laurens brought over the originals, some of which, signed in the

handwriting of the then secretary, Germaine, are now in my possession.

Filled with these high ideas, nothing could be more insolent towards

America than the language of the British court on the proposed

mediation. A peace with France and Spain she anxiously solicited; but

America, as before, was to be left to her mercy, neither would she hear

any proposition for admitting an agent from the United States into the

congress of Vienna.

On the other hand, France, with an open, noble and manly determination,

and a fidelity of a good ally, would hear no proposition for a separate

peace, nor even meet in congress at Vienna, without an agent from

America: and likewise that the independent character of the United

States, represented by the agent, should be fully and unequivocally

defined and settled before any conference should be entered on. The

reasoning of the court of France on the several propositions of the

two imperial courts, which relate to us, is rather in the style of an

American than an ally, and she advocated the cause of America as if she

had been America herself.--Thus the second mediation, like the first,

proved ineffectual. But since that time, a reverse of fortune has

overtaken the British arms, and all their high expectations are dashed

to the ground. The noble exertions to the southward under General

[Nathaniel] Greene; the successful operations of the allied arms in the

Chesapeake; the loss of most of their islands in the West Indies, and

Minorca in the Mediterranean; the persevering spirit of Spain against

Gibraltar; the expected capture of Jamaica; the failure of making a

separate peace with Holland, and the expense of an hundred millions

sterling, by which all these fine losses were obtained, have read them

a loud lesson of disgraceful misfortune and necessity has called on them

to change their ground.

In this situation of confusion and despair, their present councils have

no fixed character. It is now the hurricane months of British politics.

Every day seems to have a storm of its own, and they are scudding under

the bare poles of hope. Beaten, but not humble; condemned, but not

penitent; they act like men trembling at fate and catching at a straw.

From this convulsion, in the entrails of their politics, it is more than

probable, that the mountain groaning in labor, will bring forth a mouse,

as to its size, and a monster in its make. They will try on America the

same insidious arts they tried on France and Spain.

We sometimes experience sensations to which language is not equal.

The conception is too bulky to be born alive, and in the torture of

thinking, we stand dumb. Our feelings, imprisoned by their magnitude,

find no way out--and, in the struggle of expression, every finger tries

to be a tongue. The machinery of the body seems too little for the mind,

and we look about for helps to show our thoughts by. Such must be the

sensation of America, whenever Britain, teeming with corruption, shall

propose to her to sacrifice her faith.

But, exclusive of the wickedness, there is a personal offence contained

in every such attempt. It is calling us villains: for no man asks the

other to act the villain unless he believes him inclined to be one.

No man attempts to seduce the truly honest woman. It is the supposed

looseness of her mind that starts the thoughts of seduction, and he who

offers it calls her a prostitute. Our pride is always hurt by the same

propositions which offend our principles; for when we are shocked at the

crime, we are wounded by the suspicion of our compliance.

Could I convey a thought that might serve to regulate the public mind,

I would not make the interest of the alliance the basis of defending

it. All the world are moved by interest, and it affords them nothing to

boast of. But I would go a step higher, and defend it on the ground of

honor and principle. That our public affairs have flourished under the

alliance--that it was wisely made, and has been nobly executed--that by

its assistance we are enabled to preserve our country from conquest, and

expel those who sought our destruction--that it is our true interest to

maintain it unimpaired, and that while we do so no enemy can conquer

us, are matters which experience has taught us, and the common good of

ourselves, abstracted from principles of faith and honor, would lead us

to maintain the connection.

But over and above the mere letter of the alliance, we have been nobly

and generously treated, and have had the same respect and attention paid

to us, as if we had been an old established country. To oblige and

be obliged is fair work among mankind, and we want an opportunity of

showing to the world that we are a people sensible of kindness and

worthy of confidence. Character is to us, in our present circumstances,

of more importance than interest. We are a young nation, just stepping

upon the stage of public life, and the eye of the world is upon us

to see how we act. We have an enemy who is watching to destroy our

reputation, and who will go any length to gain some evidence against

us, that may serve to render our conduct suspected, and our character

odious; because, could she accomplish this, wicked as it is, the world

would withdraw from us, as from a people not to be trusted, and our task

would then become difficult. There is nothing which sets the character

of a nation in a higher or lower light with others, than the faithfully

fulfilling, or perfidiously breaking, of treaties. They are things not

to be tampered with: and should Britain, which seems very probable,

propose to seduce America into such an act of baseness, it would

merit from her some mark of unusual detestation. It is one of those

extraordinary instances in which we ought not to be contented with the

bare negative of Congress, because it is an affront on the multitude as

well as on the government. It goes on the supposition that the public

are not honest men, and that they may be managed by contrivance, though

they cannot be conquered by arms. But, let the world and Britain know,

that we are neither to be bought nor sold; that our mind is great and

fixed; our prospect clear; and that we will support our character as

firmly as our independence.

But I will go still further; General Conway, who made the motion, in

the British Parliament, for discontinuing offensive war in America, is a

gentleman of an amiable character. We have no personal quarrel with him.

But he feels not as we feel; he is not in our situation, and that alone,

without any other explanation, is enough. The British Parliament suppose

they have many friends in America, and that, when all chance of conquest

is over, they will be able to draw her from her alliance with France.

Now, if I have any conception of the human heart, they will fail in this

more than in any thing that they have yet tried.

This part of the business is not a question of policy only, but of honor

and honesty; and the proposition will have in it something so visibly

low and base, that their partisans, if they have any, will be ashamed of

it. Men are often hurt by a mean action who are not startled at a wicked

one, and this will be such a confession of inability, such a declaration

of servile thinking, that the scandal of it will ruin all their hopes.

In short, we have nothing to do but to go on with vigor and

determination. The enemy is yet in our country. They hold New York,

Charleston, and Savannah, and the very being in those places is an

offence, and a part of offensive war, and until they can be driven from

them, or captured in them, it would be folly in us to listen to an idle

tale. I take it for granted that the British ministry are sinking under

the impossibility of carrying on the war. Let them then come to a fair

and open peace with France, Spain, Holland and America, in the manner

they ought to do; but until then, we can have nothing to say to them.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, May 22, 1782.

A SUPERNUMERARY CRISIS

TO SIR GUY CARLETON.

IT is the nature of compassion to associate with misfortune; and I

address this to you in behalf even of an enemy, a captain in the British

service, now on his way to the headquarters of the American army, and

unfortunately doomed to death for a crime not his own. A sentence so

extraordinary, an execution so repugnant to every human sensation, ought

never to be told without the circumstances which produced it: and as the

destined victim is yet in existence, and in your hands rests his life or

death, I shall briefly state the case, and the melancholy consequence.

Captain Huddy, of the Jersey militia, was attacked in a small fort on

Tom's River, by a party of refugees in the British pay and service, was

made prisoner, together with his company, carried to New York and lodged

in the provost of that city: about three weeks after which, he was taken

out of the provost down to the water-side, put into a boat, and brought

again upon the Jersey shore, and there, contrary to the practice of all

nations but savages, was hung up on a tree, and left hanging till found

by our people who took him down and buried him. The inhabitants of that

part of the country where the murder was committed, sent a deputation

to General Washington with a full and certified statement of the fact.

Struck, as every human breast must be, with such brutish outrage, and

determined both to punish and prevent it for the future, the General

represented the case to General Clinton, who then commanded, and

demanded that the refugee officer who ordered and attended the

execution, and whose name is Lippencott, should be delivered up as

a murderer; and in case of refusal, that the person of some British

officer should suffer in his stead. The demand, though not refused, has

not been complied with; and the melancholy lot (not by selection, but by

casting lots) has fallen upon Captain Asgill, of the Guards, who, as I

have already mentioned, is on his way from Lancaster to camp, a

martyr to the general wickedness of the cause he engaged in, and the

ingratitude of those whom he served.

The first reflection which arises on this black business is, what sort

of men must Englishmen be, and what sort of order and discipline do

they preserve in their army, when in the immediate place of their

headquarters, and under the eye and nose of their commander-in-chief,

a prisoner can be taken at pleasure from his confinement, and his death

made a matter of sport.

The history of the most savage Indians does not produce instances

exactly of this kind. They, at least, have a formality in their

punishments. With them it is the horridness of revenge, but with your

army it is a still greater crime, the horridness of diversion. The

British generals who have succeeded each other, from the time of General

Gage to yourself, have all affected to speak in language that they have

no right to. In their proclamations, their addresses, their letters

to General Washington, and their supplications to Congress (for they

deserve no other name) they talk of British honor, British generosity,

and British clemency, as if those things were matters of fact; whereas,

we whose eyes are open, who speak the same language with yourselves,

many of whom were born on the same spot with you, and who can no more

be mistaken in your words than in your actions, can declare to all the

world, that so far as our knowledge goes, there is not a more detestable

character, nor a meaner or more barbarous enemy, than the present

British one. With us, you have forfeited all pretensions to reputation,

and it is only by holding you like a wild beast, afraid of your keepers,

that you can be made manageable. But to return to the point in question.

Though I can think no man innocent who has lent his hand to destroy

the country which he did not plant, and to ruin those that he could not

enslave, yet, abstracted from all ideas of right and wrong on the

original question, Captain Asgill, in the present case, is not the

guilty man. The villain and the victim are here separated characters.

You hold the one and we the other. You disown, or affect to disown and

reprobate the conduct of Lippincut, yet you give him a sanctuary; and by

so doing you as effectually become the executioner of Asgill, as if you

had put the rope on his neck, and dismissed him from the world. Whatever

your feelings on this interesting occasion may be are best known to

yourself. Within the grave of your own mind lies buried the fate of

Asgill. He becomes the corpse of your will, or the survivor of your

justice. Deliver up the one, and you save the other; withhold the one,

and the other dies by your choice.

On our part the case is exceeding plain; an officer has been taken from

his confinement and murdered, and the murderer is within your lines.

Your army has been guilty of a thousand instances of equal cruelty,

but they have been rendered equivocal, and sheltered from personal

detection. Here the crime is fixed; and is one of those extraordinary

cases which can neither be denied nor palliated, and to which the custom

of war does not apply; for it never could be supposed that such a brutal

outrage would ever be committed. It is an original in the history

of civilized barbarians, and is truly British. On your part you are

accountable to us for the personal safety of the prisoners within your

walls. Here can be no mistake; they can neither be spies nor suspected

as such; your security is not endangered, nor your operations subjected

to miscarriage, by men immured within a dungeon. They differ in every

circumstance from men in the field, and leave no pretence for severity

of punishment. But if to the dismal condition of captivity with you must

be added the constant apprehensions of death; if to be imprisoned is

so nearly to be entombed; and if, after all, the murderers are to be

protected, and thereby the crime encouraged, wherein do you differ from

[American] Indians either in conduct or character?

We can have no idea of your honor, or your justice, in any future

transaction, of what nature it may be, while you shelter within your

lines an outrageous murderer, and sacrifice in his stead an officer of

your own. If you have no regard to us, at least spare the blood which

it is your duty to save. Whether the punishment will be greater on him,

who, in this case, innocently dies, or on him whom sad necessity forces

to retaliate, is, in the nicety of sensation, an undecided question? It

rests with you to prevent the sufferings of both. You have nothing to do

but to give up the murderer, and the matter ends.

But to protect him, be he who he may, is to patronize his crime, and to

trifle it off by frivolous and unmeaning inquiries, is to promote it.

There is no declaration you can make, nor promise you can give that will

obtain credit. It is the man and not the apology that is demanded.

You see yourself pressed on all sides to spare the life of your own

officer, for die he will if you withhold justice. The murder of Captain

Huddy is an offence not to be borne with, and there is no security which

we can have, that such actions or similar ones shall not be repeated,

but by making the punishment fall upon yourselves. To destroy the last

security of captivity, and to take the unarmed, the unresisting prisoner

to private and sportive execution, is carrying barbarity too high for

silence. The evil must be put an end to; and the choice of persons rests

with you. But if your attachment to the guilty is stronger than to the

innocent, you invent a crime that must destroy your character, and if

the cause of your king needs to be so supported, for ever cease, sir,

to torture our remembrance with the wretched phrases of British honor,

British generosity and British clemency.

From this melancholy circumstance, learn, sir, a lesson of morality. The

refugees are men whom your predecessors have instructed in wickedness,

the better to fit them to their master's purpose. To make them useful,

they have made them vile, and the consequence of their tutored villany

is now descending on the heads of their encouragers. They have been

trained like hounds to the scent of blood, and cherished in every

species of dissolute barbarity. Their ideas of right and wrong are

worn away in the constant habitude of repeated infamy, till, like men

practised in execution, they feel not the value of another's life.

The task before you, though painful, is not difficult; give up the

murderer, and save your officer, as the first outset of a necessary

reformation. COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA May 31, 1782.

THE CRISIS. XII. TO THE EARL OF SHELBURNE.

MY LORD,--A speech, which has been printed in several of the British and

New York newspapers, as coming from your lordship, in answer to one from

the Duke of Richmond, of the 10th of July last, contains expressions and

opinions so new and singular, and so enveloped in mysterious reasoning,

that I address this publication to you, for the purpose of giving them a

free and candid examination. The speech I allude to is in these words:

"His lordship said, it had been mentioned in another place, that he had

been guilty of inconsistency. To clear himself of this, he asserted that

he still held the same principles in respect to American independence

which he at first imbibed. He had been, and yet was of opinion, whenever

the Parliament of Great Britain acknowledges that point, the sun of

England's glory is set forever. Such were the sentiments he possessed on

a former day, and such the sentiments he continued to hold at this

hour. It was the opinion of Lord Chatham, as well as many other able

statesmen. Other noble lords, however, think differently, and as the

majority of the cabinet support them, he acquiesced in the measure,

dissenting from the idea; and the point is settled for bringing

the matter into the full discussion of Parliament, where it will be

candidly, fairly, and impartially debated. The independence of America

would end in the ruin of England; and that a peace patched up with

France, would give that proud enemy the means of yet trampling on this

country. The sun of England's glory he wished not to see set forever; he

looked for a spark at least to be left, which might in time light us

up to a new day. But if independence was to be granted, if Parliament

deemed that measure prudent, he foresaw, in his own mind, that England

was undone. He wished to God that he had been deputed to Congress, that

be might plead the cause of that country as well as of this, and that he

might exercise whatever powers he possessed as an orator, to save both

from ruin, in a conviction to Congress, that, if their independence was

signed, their liberties were gone forever.

"Peace, his lordship added, was a desirable object, but it must be an

honorable peace, and not an humiliating one, dictated by France, or

insisted on by America. It was very true, that this kingdom was not in a

flourishing state, it was impoverished by war. But if we were not

rich, it was evident that France was poor. If we were straitened in our

finances, the enemy were exhausted in their resources. This was a great

empire; it abounded with brave men, who were able and willing to fight

in a common cause; the language of humiliation should not, therefore, be

the language of Great Britain. His lordship said, that he was not afraid

nor ashamed of those expressions going to America. There were numbers,

great numbers there, who were of the same way of thinking, in respect

to that country being dependent on this, and who, with his lordship,

perceived ruin and independence linked together."

Thus far the speech; on which I remark--That his lordship is a total

stranger to the mind and sentiments of America; that he has wrapped

himself up in fond delusion, that something less than independence, may,

under his administration, be accepted; and he wishes himself sent to

Congress, to prove the most extraordinary of all doctrines, which is,

that independence, the sublimest of all human conditions, is loss of

liberty.

In answer to which we may say, that in order to know what the contrary

word dependence means, we have only to look back to those years of

severe humiliation, when the mildest of all petitions could obtain no

other notice than the haughtiest of all insults; and when the base

terms of unconditional submission were demanded, or undistinguishable

destruction threatened. It is nothing to us that the ministry have been

changed, for they may be changed again. The guilt of a government is

the crime of a whole country; and the nation that can, though but for

a moment, think and act as England has done, can never afterwards be

believed or trusted. There are cases in which it is as impossible to

restore character to life, as it is to recover the dead. It is a phoenix

that can expire but once, and from whose ashes there is no resurrection.

Some offences are of such a slight composition, that they reach no

further than the temper, and are created or cured by a thought. But the

sin of England has struck the heart of America, and nature has not left

in our power to say we can forgive.

Your lordship wishes for an opportunity to plead before Congress the

cause of England and America, and to save, as you say, both from ruin.

That the country, which, for more than seven years has sought our

destruction, should now cringe to solicit our protection, is adding the

wretchedness of disgrace to the misery of disappointment; and if England

has the least spark of supposed honor left, that spark must be darkened

by asking, and extinguished by receiving, the smallest favor from

America; for the criminal who owes his life to the grace and mercy of

the injured, is more executed by living, than he who dies.

But a thousand pleadings, even from your lordship, can have no effect.

Honor, interest, and every sensation of the heart, would plead against

you. We are a people who think not as you think; and what is equally

true, you cannot feel as we feel. The situations of the two countries

are exceedingly different. Ours has been the seat of war; yours has seen

nothing of it. The most wanton destruction has been committed in our

sight; the most insolent barbarity has been acted on our feelings. We

can look round and see the remains of burnt and destroyed houses, once

the fair fruit of hard industry, and now the striking monuments of

British brutality. We walk over the dead whom we loved, in every part of

America, and remember by whom they fell. There is scarcely a village but

brings to life some melancholy thought, and reminds us of what we have

suffered, and of those we have lost by the inhumanity of Britain. A

thousand images arise to us, which, from situation, you cannot see, and

are accompanied by as many ideas which you cannot know; and therefore

your supposed system of reasoning would apply to nothing, and all your

expectations die of themselves.

The question whether England shall accede to the independence of

America, and which your lordship says is to undergo a parliamentary

discussion, is so very simple, and composed of so few cases, that it

scarcely needs a debate.

It is the only way out of an expensive and ruinous war, which has no

object, and without which acknowledgment there can be no peace.

But your lordship says, the sun of Great Britain will set whenever she

acknowledges the independence of America.--Whereas the metaphor would

have been strictly just, to have left the sun wholly out of the figure,

and have ascribed her not acknowledging it to the influence of the moon.

But the expression, if true, is the greatest confession of disgrace

that could be made, and furnishes America with the highest notions of

sovereign independent importance. Mr. Wedderburne, about the year 1776,

made use of an idea of much the same kind,--Relinquish America! says

he--What is it but to desire a giant to shrink spontaneously into a

dwarf.

Alas! are those people who call themselves Englishmen, of so little

internal consequence, that when America is gone, or shuts her eyes

upon them, their sun is set, they can shine no more, but grope about in

obscurity, and contract into insignificant animals? Was America, then,

the giant of the empire, and England only her dwarf in waiting! Is the

case so strangely altered, that those who once thought we could not live

without them, are now brought to declare that they cannot exist without

us? Will they tell to the world, and that from their first minister of

state, that America is their all in all; that it is by her importance

only that they can live, and breathe, and have a being? Will they, who

long since threatened to bring us to their feet, bow themselves to

ours, and own that without us they are not a nation? Are they become so

unqualified to debate on independence, that they have lost all idea of

it themselves, and are calling to the rocks and mountains of America to

cover their insignificance? Or, if America is lost, is it manly to sob

over it like a child for its rattle, and invite the laughter of the

world by declarations of disgrace? Surely, a more consistent line of

conduct would be to bear it without complaint; and to show that England,

without America, can preserve her independence, and a suitable rank with

other European powers. You were not contented while you had her, and to

weep for her now is childish.

But Lord Shelburne thinks something may yet be done. What that something

is, or how it is to be accomplished, is a matter in obscurity. By arms

there is no hope. The experience of nearly eight years, with the expense

of an hundred million pounds sterling, and the loss of two armies,

must positively decide that point. Besides, the British have lost their

interest in America with the disaffected. Every part of it has been

tried. There is no new scene left for delusion: and the thousands

who have been ruined by adhering to them, and have now to quit the

settlements which they had acquired, and be conveyed like transports to

cultivate the deserts of Augustine and Nova Scotia, has put an end to

all further expectations of aid.

If you cast your eyes on the people of England, what have they

to console themselves with for the millions expended? Or, what

encouragement is there left to continue throwing good money after bad?

America can carry on the war for ten years longer, and all the charges

of government included, for less than you can defray the charges of war

and government for one year. And I, who know both countries, know well,

that the people of America can afford to pay their share of the expense

much better than the people of England can. Besides, it is their own

estates and property, their own rights, liberties and government, that

they are defending; and were they not to do it, they would deserve to

lose all, and none would pity them. The fault would be their own, and

their punishment just.

The British army in America care not how long the war lasts. They enjoy

an easy and indolent life. They fatten on the folly of one country and

the spoils of another; and, between their plunder and their prey, may go

home rich. But the case is very different with the laboring farmer, the

working tradesman, and the necessitous poor in England, the sweat of

whose brow goes day after day to feed, in prodigality and sloth, the

army that is robbing both them and us. Removed from the eye of that

country that supports them, and distant from the government that employs

them, they cut and carve for themselves, and there is none to call them

to account.

But England will be ruined, says Lord Shelburne, if America is

independent.

Then I say, is England already ruined, for America is already

independent: and if Lord Shelburne will not allow this, he immediately

denies the fact which he infers. Besides, to make England the mere

creature of America, is paying too great a compliment to us, and too

little to himself.

But the declaration is a rhapsody of inconsistency. For to say, as Lord

Shelburne has numberless times said, that the war against America is

ruinous, and yet to continue the prosecution of that ruinous war for

the purpose of avoiding ruin, is a language which cannot be understood.

Neither is it possible to see how the independence of America is to

accomplish the ruin of England after the war is over, and yet not affect

it before. America cannot be more independent of her, nor a greater

enemy to her, hereafter than she now is; nor can England derive less

advantages from her than at present: why then is ruin to follow in the

best state of the case, and not in the worst? And if not in the worst,

why is it to follow at all?

That a nation is to be ruined by peace and commerce, and fourteen or

fifteen millions a-year less expenses than before, is a new doctrine in

politics. We have heard much clamor of national savings and economy; but

surely the true economy would be, to save the whole charge of a silly,

foolish, and headstrong war; because, compared with this, all other

retrenchments are baubles and trifles.

But is it possible that Lord Shelburne can be serious in supposing that

the least advantage can be obtained by arms, or that any advantage can

be equal to the expense or the danger of attempting it? Will not

the capture of one army after another satisfy him, must all become

prisoners? Must England ever be the sport of hope, and the victim of

delusion? Sometimes our currency was to fail; another time our army was

to disband; then whole provinces were to revolt. Such a general said

this and that; another wrote so and so; Lord Chatham was of this

opinion; and lord somebody else of another. To-day 20,000 Russians and

20 Russian ships of the line were to come; to-morrow the empress was

abused without mercy or decency. Then the Emperor of Germany was to

be bribed with a million of money, and the King of Prussia was to do

wonderful things. At one time it was, Lo here! and then it was, Lo

there! Sometimes this power, and sometimes that power, was to engage in

the war, just as if the whole world was mad and foolish like Britain.

And thus, from year to year, has every straw been catched at, and every

Will-with-a-wisp led them a new dance.

This year a still newer folly is to take place. Lord Shelburne wishes to

be sent to Congress, and he thinks that something may be done.

Are not the repeated declarations of Congress, and which all America

supports, that they will not even hear any proposals whatever, until the

unconditional and unequivocal independence of America is recognised; are

not, I say, these declarations answer enough?

But for England to receive any thing from America now, after so many

insults, injuries and outrages, acted towards us, would show such

a spirit of meanness in her, that we could not but despise her for

accepting it. And so far from Lord Shelburne's coming here to solicit

it, it would be the greatest disgrace we could do them to offer it.

England would appear a wretch indeed, at this time of day, to ask or owe

any thing to the bounty of America. Has not the name of Englishman blots

enough upon it, without inventing more? Even Lucifer would scorn to

reign in heaven by permission, and yet an Englishman can creep for only

an entrance into America. Or, has a land of liberty so many charms, that

to be a doorkeeper in it is better than to be an English minister of

state?

But what can this expected something be? Or, if obtained, what can it

amount to, but new disgraces, contentions and quarrels? The people

of America have for years accustomed themselves to think and speak so

freely and contemptuously of English authority, and the inveteracy is

so deeply rooted, that a person invested with any authority from that

country, and attempting to exercise it here, would have the life of a

toad under a harrow. They would look on him as an interloper, to whom

their compassion permitted a residence. He would be no more than the

Mungo of a farce; and if he disliked that, he must set off. It would

be a station of degradation, debased by our pity, and despised by our

pride, and would place England in a more contemptible situation than

any she has yet been in during the war. We have too high an opinion

of ourselves, even to think of yielding again the least obedience to

outlandish authority; and for a thousand reasons, England would be the

last country in the world to yield it to. She has been treacherous, and

we know it. Her character is gone, and we have seen the funeral.

Surely she loves to fish in troubled waters, and drink the cup of

contention, or she would not now think of mingling her affairs with

those of America. It would be like a foolish dotard taking to his arms

the bride that despises him, or who has placed on his head the ensigns

of her disgust. It is kissing the hand that boxes his ears, and

proposing to renew the exchange. The thought is as servile as the war is

wicked, and shows the last scene of the drama to be as inconsistent as

the first.

As America is gone, the only act of manhood is to let her go. Your

lordship had no hand in the separation, and you will gain no honor

by temporising politics. Besides, there is something so exceedingly

whimsical, unsteady, and even insincere in the present conduct of

England, that she exhibits herself in the most dishonorable colors. On

the second of August last, General Carleton and Admiral Digby wrote to

General Washington in these words:

"The resolution of the House of Commons, of the 27th of February last,

has been placed in Your Excellency's hands, and intimations given at

the same time that further pacific measures were likely to follow. Since

which, until the present time, we have had no direct communications

with England; but a mail is now arrived, which brings us very important

information. We are acquainted, sir, by authority, that negotiations for

a general peace have already commenced at Paris, and that Mr. Grenville

is invested with full powers to treat with all the parties at war, and

is now at Paris in execution of his commission. And we are further, sir,

made acquainted, that His Majesty, in order to remove any obstacles to

this peace which he so ardently wishes to restore, has commanded his

ministers to direct Mr. Grenville, that the independence of the Thirteen

United Provinces, should be proposed by him in the first instance,

instead of making it a condition of a general treaty."

Now, taking your present measures into view, and comparing them with the

declaration in this letter, pray what is the word of your king, or his

ministers, or the Parliament, good for? Must we not look upon you as a

confederated body of faithless, treacherous men, whose assurances are

fraud, and their language deceit? What opinion can we possibly form of

you, but that you are a lost, abandoned, profligate nation, who sport

even with your own character, and are to be held by nothing but the

bayonet or the halter?

To say, after this, that the sun of Great Britain will be set whenever

she acknowledges the independence of America, when the not doing it is

the unqualified lie of government, can be no other than the language of

ridicule, the jargon of inconsistency. There were thousands in America

who predicted the delusion, and looked upon it as a trick of treachery,

to take us from our guard, and draw off our attention from the only

system of finance, by which we can be called, or deserve to be called,

a sovereign, independent people. The fraud, on your part, might be worth

attempting, but the sacrifice to obtain it is too high.

There are others who credited the assurance, because they thought it

impossible that men who had their characters to establish, would begin

with a lie. The prosecution of the war by the former ministry was savage

and horrid; since which it has been mean, trickish, and delusive.

The one went greedily into the passion of revenge, the other into the

subtleties of low contrivance; till, between the crimes of both, there

is scarcely left a man in America, be he Whig or Tory, who does not

despise or detest the conduct of Britain.

The management of Lord Shelburne, whatever may be his views, is a

caution to us, and must be to the world, never to regard British

assurances. A perfidy so notorious cannot be hid. It stands even in the

public papers of New York, with the names of Carleton and Digby affixed

to it. It is a proclamation that the king of England is not to be

believed; that the spirit of lying is the governing principle of the

ministry. It is holding up the character of the House of Commons to

public infamy, and warning all men not to credit them. Such are the

consequences which Lord Shelburne's management has brought upon his

country.

After the authorized declarations contained in Carleton and Digby's

letter, you ought, from every motive of honor, policy and prudence,

to have fulfilled them, whatever might have been the event. It was

the least atonement that you could possibly make to America, and the

greatest kindness you could do to yourselves; for you will save millions

by a general peace, and you will lose as many by continuing the war.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, Oct. 29, 1782.

P. S. The manuscript copy of this letter is sent your lordship, by the

way of our head-quarters, to New York, inclosing a late pamphlet of

mine, addressed to the Abbe Raynal, which will serve to give your

lordship some idea of the principles and sentiments of America.

C. S.

THE CRISIS. XIII. THOUGHTS ON THE PEACE, AND PROBABLE ADVANTAGES

THEREOF.

"THE times that tried men's souls,"* are over--and the greatest and

completest revolution the world ever knew, gloriously and happily

accomplished.

* "These are the times that try men's souls," The Crisis No. I.

published December, 1776.

But to pass from the extremes of danger to safety--from the tumult

of war to the tranquillity of peace, though sweet in contemplation,

requires a gradual composure of the senses to receive it. Even calmness

has the power of stunning, when it opens too instantly upon us. The long

and raging hurricane that should cease in a moment, would leave us in a

state rather of wonder than enjoyment; and some moments of recollection

must pass, before we could be capable of tasting the felicity of repose.

There are but few instances, in which the mind is fitted for sudden

transitions: it takes in its pleasures by reflection and comparison

and those must have time to act, before the relish for new scenes is

complete.

In the present case--the mighty magnitude of the object--the various

uncertainties of fate it has undergone--the numerous and complicated

dangers we have suffered or escaped--the eminence we now stand on,

and the vast prospect before us, must all conspire to impress us with

contemplation.

To see it in our power to make a world happy--to teach mankind the art

of being so--to exhibit, on the theatre of the universe a character

hitherto unknown--and to have, as it were, a new creation intrusted to

our hands, are honors that command reflection, and can neither be too

highly estimated, nor too gratefully received.

In this pause then of recollection--while the storm is ceasing, and the

long agitated mind vibrating to a rest, let us look back on the scenes

we have passed, and learn from experience what is yet to be done.

Never, I say, had a country so many openings to happiness as this. Her

setting out in life, like the rising of a fair morning, was unclouded

and promising. Her cause was good. Her principles just and liberal. Her

temper serene and firm. Her conduct regulated by the nicest steps, and

everything about her wore the mark of honor. It is not every country

(perhaps there is not another in the world) that can boast so fair

an origin. Even the first settlement of America corresponds with the

character of the revolution. Rome, once the proud mistress of the

universe, was originally a band of ruffians. Plunder and rapine made her

rich, and her oppression of millions made her great. But America need

never be ashamed to tell her birth, nor relate the stages by which she

rose to empire.

The remembrance, then, of what is past, if it operates rightly, must

inspire her with the most laudable of all ambition, that of adding to

the fair fame she began with. The world has seen her great in adversity;

struggling, without a thought of yielding, beneath accumulated

difficulties, bravely, nay proudly, encountering distress, and rising

in resolution as the storm increased. All this is justly due to her, for

her fortitude has merited the character. Let, then, the world see that

she can bear prosperity: and that her honest virtue in time of peace, is

equal to the bravest virtue in time of war.

She is now descending to the scenes of quiet and domestic life. Not

beneath the cypress shade of disappointment, but to enjoy in her own

land, and under her own vine, the sweet of her labors, and the reward of

her toil.--In this situation, may she never forget that a fair national

reputation is of as much importance as independence. That it possesses

a charm that wins upon the world, and makes even enemies civil. That it

gives a dignity which is often superior to power, and commands reverence

where pomp and splendor fail.

It would be a circumstance ever to be lamented and never to be

forgotten, were a single blot, from any cause whatever, suffered to fall

on a revolution, which to the end of time must be an honor to the age

that accomplished it: and which has contributed more to enlighten the

world, and diffuse a spirit of freedom and liberality among mankind,

than any human event (if this may be called one) that ever preceded it.

It is not among the least of the calamities of a long continued war,

that it unhinges the mind from those nice sensations which at other

times appear so amiable. The continual spectacle of woe blunts the

finer feelings, and the necessity of bearing with the sight, renders it

familiar. In like manner, are many of the moral obligations of society

weakened, till the custom of acting by necessity becomes an apology,

where it is truly a crime. Yet let but a nation conceive rightly of

its character, and it will be chastely just in protecting it. None

ever began with a fairer than America and none can be under a greater

obligation to preserve it.

The debt which America has contracted, compared with the cause she

has gained, and the advantages to flow from it, ought scarcely to be

mentioned. She has it in her choice to do, and to live as happily as

she pleases. The world is in her hands. She has no foreign power

to monopolize her commerce, perplex her legislation, or control her

prosperity. The struggle is over, which must one day have happened, and,

perhaps, never could have happened at a better time.* And instead of a

domineering master, she has gained an ally whose exemplary greatness,

and universal liberality, have extorted a confession even from her

enemies.

* That the revolution began at the exact period of time best fitted

to the purpose, is sufficiently proved by the event.--But the great

hinge on which the whole machine turned, is the Union of the States: and

this union was naturally produced by the inability of any one state to

support itself against any foreign enemy without the assistance of the

rest. Had the states severally been less able than they were when

the war began, their united strength would not have been equal to the

undertaking, and they must in all human probability have failed.--And,

on the other hand, had they severally been more able, they might not

have seen, or, what is more, might not have felt, the necessity

of uniting: and, either by attempting to stand alone or in small

confederacies, would have been separately conquered. Now, as we cannot

see a time (and many years must pass away before it can arrive) when the

strength of any one state, or several united, can be equal to the whole

of the present United States, and as we have seen the extreme difficulty

of collectively prosecuting the war to a successful issue, and

preserving our national importance in the world, therefore, from the

experience we have had, and the knowledge we have gained, we must,

unless we make a waste of wisdom, be strongly impressed with the

advantage, as well as the necessity of strengthening that happy union

which had been our salvation, and without which we should have been

a ruined people. While I was writing this note, I cast my eye on the

pamphlet, Common Sense, from which I shall make an extract, as it

exactly applies to the case. It is as follows: "I have never met with

a man, either in England or America, who has not confessed it as his

opinion that a separation between the countries would take place one

time or other; and there is no instance in which we have shown less

judgment, than in endeavoring to describe what we call the ripeness

or fitness of the continent for independence. As all men allow the

measure, and differ only in their opinion of the time, let us, in order

to remove mistakes, take a general survey of things, and endeavor, if

possible, to find out the very time. But we need not to go far,

the inquiry ceases at once, for, the time has found us. The general

concurrence, the glorious union of all things prove the fact. It is not

in numbers, but in a union, that our great strength lies. The continent

is just arrived at that pitch of strength, in which no single colony is

able to support itself, and the whole, when united, can accomplish

the matter; and either more or less than this, might be fatal in its

effects."

With the blessings of peace, independence, and an universal commerce,

the states, individually and collectively, will have leisure and

opportunity to regulate and establish their domestic concerns, and to

put it beyond the power of calumny to throw the least reflection on

their honor. Character is much easier kept than recovered, and that man,

if any such there be, who, from sinister views, or littleness of soul,

lends unseen his hand to injure it, contrives a wound it will never be

in his power to heal.

As we have established an inheritance for posterity, let that

inheritance descend, with every mark of an honorable conveyance.

The little it will cost, compared with the worth of the states, the

greatness of the object, and the value of the national character, will

be a profitable exchange.

But that which must more forcibly strike a thoughtful, penetrating mind,

and which includes and renders easy all inferior concerns, is the UNION

OF THE STATES. On this our great national character depends. It is this

which must give us importance abroad and security at home. It is through

this only that we are, or can be, nationally known in the world; it is

the flag of the United States which renders our ships and commerce safe

on the seas, or in a foreign port. Our Mediterranean passes must be

obtained under the same style. All our treaties, whether of alliance,

peace, or commerce, are formed under the sovereignty of the United

States, and Europe knows us by no other name or title.

The division of the empire into states is for our own convenience, but

abroad this distinction ceases. The affairs of each state are local.

They can go no further than to itself. And were the whole worth of even

the richest of them expended in revenue, it would not be sufficient to

support sovereignty against a foreign attack. In short, we have no other

national sovereignty than as United States. It would even be fatal

for us if we had--too expensive to be maintained, and impossible to be

supported. Individuals, or individual states, may call themselves what

they please; but the world, and especially the world of enemies, is

not to be held in awe by the whistling of a name. Sovereignty must have

power to protect all the parts that compose and constitute it: and as

UNITED STATES we are equal to the importance of the title, but otherwise

we are not. Our union, well and wisely regulated and cemented, is the

cheapest way of being great--the easiest way of being powerful, and the

happiest invention in government which the circumstances of America can

admit of.--Because it collects from each state, that which, by being

inadequate, can be of no use to it, and forms an aggregate that serves

for all.

The states of Holland are an unfortunate instance of the effects of

individual sovereignty. Their disjointed condition exposes them to

numerous intrigues, losses, calamities, and enemies; and the almost

impossibility of bringing their measures to a decision, and that

decision into execution, is to them, and would be to us, a source of

endless misfortune.

It is with confederated states as with individuals in society; something

must be yielded up to make the whole secure. In this view of things

we gain by what we give, and draw an annual interest greater than the

capital.--I ever feel myself hurt when I hear the union, that great

palladium of our liberty and safety, the least irreverently spoken of.

It is the most sacred thing in the constitution of America, and that

which every man should be most proud and tender of. Our citizenship

in the United States is our national character. Our citizenship in any

particular state is only our local distinction. By the latter we

are known at home, by the former to the world. Our great title is

AMERICANS--our inferior one varies with the place.

So far as my endeavors could go, they have all been directed to

conciliate the affections, unite the interests, and draw and keep

the mind of the country together; and the better to assist in this

foundation work of the revolution, I have avoided all places of profit

or office, either in the state I live in, or in the United States; kept

myself at a distance from all parties and party connections, and even

disregarded all private and inferior concerns: and when we take into

view the great work which we have gone through, and feel, as we ought

to feel, the just importance of it, we shall then see, that the

little wranglings and indecent contentions of personal parley, are as

dishonorable to our characters, as they are injurious to our repose.

It was the cause of America that made me an author. The force with which

it struck my mind and the dangerous condition the country appeared to me

in, by courting an impossible and an unnatural reconciliation with those

who were determined to reduce her, instead of striking out into the only

line that could cement and save her, A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE, made

it impossible for me, feeling as I did, to be silent: and if, in the

course of more than seven years, I have rendered her any service, I have

likewise added something to the reputation of literature, by freely and

disinterestedly employing it in the great cause of mankind, and showing

that there may be genius without prostitution.

Independence always appeared to me practicable and probable, provided

the sentiment of the country could be formed and held to the object:

and there is no instance in the world, where a people so extended,

and wedded to former habits of thinking, and under such a variety of

circumstances, were so instantly and effectually pervaded, by a turn

in politics, as in the case of independence; and who supported their

opinion, undiminished, through such a succession of good and ill

fortune, till they crowned it with success.

But as the scenes of war are closed, and every man preparing for home

and happier times, I therefore take my leave of the subject. I have most

sincerely followed it from beginning to end, and through all its turns

and windings: and whatever country I may hereafter be in, I shall always

feel an honest pride at the part I have taken and acted, and a gratitude

to nature and providence for putting it in my power to be of some use to

mankind.

COMMON SENSE.

PHILADELPHIA, April 19, 1783.

A SUPERNUMERARY CRISIS: TO THE PEOPLE OF AMERICA.

IN "_Rivington's New York Gazette_," of December 6th, is a publication,

under the appearance of a letter from London, dated September 30th; and

is on a subject which demands the attention of the United States.

The public will remember that a treaty of commerce between the United

States and England was set on foot last spring, and that until the

said treaty could be completed, a bill was brought into the British

Parliament by the then chancellor of the exchequer, Mr. Pitt, to admit

and legalize (as the case then required) the commerce of the United

States into the British ports and dominions. But neither the one nor the

other has been completed. The commercial treaty is either broken off, or

remains as it began; and the bill in Parliament has been thrown aside.

And in lieu thereof, a selfish system of English politics has started

up, calculated to fetter the commerce of America, by engrossing to

England the carrying trade of the American produce to the West India

islands.

Among the advocates for this last measure is Lord Sheffield, a member

of the British Parliament, who has published a pamphlet entitled

"Observations on the Commerce of the American States." The pamphlet

has two objects; the one is to allure the Americans to purchase British

manufactures; and the other to spirit up the British Parliament to

prohibit the citizens of the United States from trading to the West

India islands.

Viewed in this light, the pamphlet, though in some parts dexterously

written, is an absurdity. It offends, in the very act of endeavoring

to ingratiate; and his lordship, as a politician, ought not to have

suffered the two objects to have appeared together. The latter alluded

to, contains extracts from the pamphlet, with high encomiums on Lord

Sheffield, for laboriously endeavoring (as the letter styles it) "to

show the mighty advantages of retaining the carrying trade."

Since the publication of this pamphlet in England, the commerce of

the United States to the West Indies, in American vessels, has been

prohibited; and all intercourse, except in British bottoms, the property

of and navigated by British subjects, cut off.

That a country has a right to be as foolish as it pleases, has been

proved by the practice of England for many years past: in her island

situation, sequestered from the world, she forgets that her whispers are

heard by other nations; and in her plans of politics and commerce she

seems not to know, that other votes are necessary besides her own.

America would be equally as foolish as Britain, were she to suffer so

great a degradation on her flag, and such a stroke on the freedom of her

commerce, to pass without a balance.

We admit the right of any nation to prohibit the commerce of another

into its own dominions, where there are no treaties to the contrary; but

as this right belongs to one side as well as the other, there is always

a way left to bring avarice and insolence to reason.

But the ground of security which Lord Sheffield has chosen to erect his

policy upon, is of a nature which ought, and I think must, awaken

in every American a just and strong sense of national dignity. Lord

Sheffield appears to be sensible, that in advising the British nation

and Parliament to engross to themselves so great a part of the carrying

trade of America, he is attempting a measure which cannot succeed, if

the politics of the United States be properly directed to counteract the

assumption.

But, says he, in his pamphlet, "It will be a long time before the

American states can be brought to act as a nation, neither are they to

be feared as such by us."

What is this more or less than to tell us, that while we have no

national system of commerce, the British will govern our trade by their

own laws and proclamations as they please. The quotation discloses

a truth too serious to be overlooked, and too mischievous not to be

remedied.

Among other circumstances which led them to this discovery none could

operate so effectually as the injudicious, uncandid and indecent

opposition made by sundry persons in a certain state, to the

recommendations of Congress last winter, for an import duty of five per

cent. It could not but explain to the British a weakness in the national

power of America, and encourage them to attempt restrictions on her

trade, which otherwise they would not have dared to hazard. Neither is

there any state in the union, whose policy was more misdirected to its

interest than the state I allude to, because her principal support is

the carrying trade, which Britain, induced by the want of a well-centred

power in the United States to protect and secure, is now attempting to

take away. It fortunately happened (and to no state in the union more

than the state in question) that the terms of peace were agreed on

before the opposition appeared, otherwise, there cannot be a doubt, that

if the same idea of the diminished authority of America had occurred

to them at that time as has occurred to them since, but they would have

made the same grasp at the fisheries, as they have done at the carrying

trade.

It is surprising that an authority which can be supported with so much

ease, and so little expense, and capable of such extensive advantages

to the country, should be cavilled at by those whose duty it is to watch

over it, and whose existence as a people depends upon it. But this,

perhaps, will ever be the case, till some misfortune awakens us into

reason, and the instance now before us is but a gentle beginning of what

America must expect, unless she guards her union with nicer care and

stricter honor. United, she is formidable, and that with the least

possible charge a nation can be so; separated, she is a medley of

individual nothings, subject to the sport of foreign nations.

It is very probable that the ingenuity of commerce may have found out

a method to evade and supersede the intentions of the British, in

interdicting the trade with the West India islands. The language of both

being the same, and their customs well understood, the vessels of one

country may, by deception, pass for those of another. But this would

be a practice too debasing for a sovereign people to stoop to, and too

profligate not to be discountenanced. An illicit trade, under any shape

it can be placed, cannot be carried on without a violation of truth.

America is now sovereign and independent, and ought to conduct her

affairs in a regular style of character. She has the same right to

say that no British vessel shall enter ports, or that no British

manufactures shall be imported, but in American bottoms, the property

of, and navigated by American subjects, as Britain has to say the same

thing respecting the West Indies. Or she may lay a duty of ten, fifteen,

or twenty shillings per ton (exclusive of other duties) on every

British vessel coming from any port of the West Indies, where she is not

admitted to trade, the said tonnage to continue as long on her side as

the prohibition continues on the other.

But it is only by acting in union, that the usurpations of foreign

nations on the freedom of trade can be counteracted, and security

extended to the commerce of America. And when we view a flag, which to

the eye is beautiful, and to contemplate its rise and origin inspires

a sensation of sublime delight, our national honor must unite with our

interest to prevent injury to the one, or insult to the other.

COMMON SENSE.

NEW YORK, December 9, 1783.

THE WRITINGS OF THOMAS PAINE, VOLUME II.

By Thomas Paine

Collected And Edited By

Moncure Daniel Conway

1779 - 1792

[Redactor's Note: Reprinted from the "The Writings of Thomas Paine

Volume I" (1894 - 1896). The author's notes are preceded by a "*". A

Table of Contents has been added for each part for the convenience of

the reader which is not included in the printed edition. Notes are at

the end of Part II. ]

TABLE OF CONTENTS

XIII The Rights of Man

PART THE FIRST

BEING AN ANSWER TO MR. BURKE'S ATTACK ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

* Editor's Introduction

* Dedication to George Washington

* Preface to the English Edition

* Preface to the French Edition

* Rights of Man

* Miscellaneous Chapter

* Conclusion

XIV The Rights of Man

PART THE SECOND

COMBINING PRINCIPLE AND PRACTICE

* French Translator's Preface

* Dedication to M. de la Fayette

* Preface

* Introduction

* Chapter I Of Society and Civilisation

* Chapter II Of the Origin of the Present Old Governments

* Chapter III Of the Old and New Systems of Government

* Chapter IV Of Constitutions

* Chapter V Ways and Means of Improving the Condition of Europe,

Interspersed with Miscellaneous Observations

* Appendix

* Notes

XIII. RIGHTS OF MAN.

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION.

WHEN Thomas Paine sailed from America for France, in April, 1787, he was

perhaps as happy a man as any in the world. His most intimate friend,

Jefferson, was Minister at Paris, and his friend Lafayette was the idol

of France. His fame had preceded him, and he at once became, in Paris,

the centre of the same circle of savants and philosophers that had

surrounded Franklin. His main reason for proceeding at once to Paris was

that he might submit to the Academy of Sciences his invention of an iron

bridge, and with its favorable verdict he came to England, in September.

He at once went to his aged mother at Thetford, leaving with a publisher

(Ridgway), his "Prospects on the Rubicon." He next made arrangements to

patent his bridge, and to construct at Rotherham the large model of it

exhibited on Paddington Green, London. He was welcomed in England by

leading statesmen, such as Lansdowne and Fox, and above all by Edmund

Burke, who for some time had him as a guest at Beaconsfield, and drove

him about in various parts of the country. He had not the slightest

revolutionary purpose, either as regarded England or France. Towards

Louis XVI. he felt only gratitude for the services he had rendered

America, and towards George III. he felt no animosity whatever. His four

months' sojourn in Paris had convinced him that there was approaching a

reform of that country after the American model, except that the Crown

would be preserved, a compromise he approved, provided the throne should

not be hereditary. Events in France travelled more swiftly than he had

anticipated, and Paine was summoned by Lafayette, Condorcet, and others,

as an adviser in the formation of a new constitution.

Such was the situation immediately preceding the political and literary

duel between Paine and Burke, which in the event turned out a tremendous

war between Royalism and Republicanism in Europe. Paine was, both in

France and in England, the inspirer of moderate counsels. Samuel Rogers

relates that in early life he dined at a friend's house in London

with Thomas Paine, when one of the toasts given was the "memory of

Joshua,"--in allusion to the Hebrew leader's conquest of the kings of

Canaan, and execution of them. Paine observed that he would not treat

kings like Joshua. "I 'm of the Scotch parson's opinion," he said,

"when he prayed against Louis XIV.--`Lord, shake him over the mouth of

hell, but don't let him drop!'" Paine then gave as his toast, "The

Republic of the World,"--which Samuel Rogers, aged twenty-nine, noted

as a sublime idea. This was Paine's faith and hope, and with it he

confronted the revolutionary storms which presently burst over France

and England.

Until Burke's arraignment of France in his parliamentary speech

(February 9, 1790), Paine had no doubt whatever that he would sympathize

with the movement in France, and wrote to him from that country as

if conveying glad tidings. Burke's "Reflections on the Revolution in

France" appeared November 1, 1790, and Paine at once set himself to

answer it. He was then staying at the Angel Inn, Islington. The inn

has been twice rebuilt since that time, and from its contents there is

preserved only a small image, which perhaps was meant to represent

"Liberty,"--possibly brought from Paris by Paine as an ornament for his

study. From the Angel he removed to a house in Harding Street, Fetter

Lane. Rickman says Part First of "Rights of Man" was finished at

Versailles, but probably this has reference to the preface only, as I

cannot find Paine in France that year until April 8. The book had been

printed by Johnson, in time for the opening of Parliament, in February;

but this publisher became frightened after a few copies were out (there

is one in the British Museum), and the work was transferred to J. S.

Jordan, 166 Fleet Street, with a preface sent from Paris (not contained

in Johnson's edition, nor in the American editions). The pamphlet,

though sold at the same price as Burke's, three shillings, had a vast

circulation, and Paine gave the proceeds to the Constitutional Societies

which sprang up under his teachings in various parts of the country.

Soon after appeared Burke's "Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs." In

this Burke quoted a good deal from "Rights of Man," but replied to it

only with exclamation points, saying that the only answer such ideas

merited was "criminal justice." Paine's Part Second followed, published

February 17, 1792. In Part First Paine had mentioned a rumor that Burke

was a masked pensioner (a charge that will be noticed in connection with

its detailed statement in a further publication); and as Burke had

been formerly arraigned in Parliament, while Paymaster, for a very

questionable proceeding, this charge no doubt hurt a good deal. Although

the government did not follow Burke's suggestion of a prosecution

at that time, there is little doubt that it was he who induced the

prosecution of Part Second. Before the trial came on, December 18, 1792,

Paine was occupying his seat in the French Convention, and could only be

outlawed.

Burke humorously remarked to a friend of Paine and himself, "We hunt

in pairs." The severally representative character and influence of these

two men in the revolutionary era, in France and England, deserve more

adequate study than they have received. While Paine maintained freedom

of discussion, Burke first proposed criminal prosecution for sentiments

by no means libellous (such as Paine's Part First). While Paine was

endeavoring to make the movement in France peaceful, Burke fomented the

league of monarchs against France which maddened its people, and brought

on the Reign of Terror. While Paine was endeavoring to preserve the

French throne ("phantom" though he believed it), to prevent bloodshed,

Burke was secretly writing to the Queen of France, entreating her not

to compromise, and to "trust to the support of foreign armies"

("Histoire de France depuis 1789." Henri Martin, i., 151). While Burke

thus helped to bring the King and Queen to the guillotine, Paine pleaded

for their lives to the last moment. While Paine maintained the right of

mankind to improve their condition, Burke held that "the awful Author

of our being is the author of our place in the order of existence;

and that, having disposed and marshalled us by a divine tactick, not

according to our will, but according to his, he has, in and by that

disposition, virtually subjected us to act the part which belongs to

the place assigned us." Paine was a religious believer in eternal

principles; Burke held that "political problems do not primarily

concern truth or falsehood. They relate to good or evil. What in the

result is likely to produce evil is politically false, that which is

productive of good politically is true." Assuming thus the visionary's

right to decide before the result what was "likely to produce evil,"

Burke vigorously sought to kindle war against the French Republic which

might have developed itself peacefully, while Paine was striving for

an international Congress in Europe in the interest of peace. Paine

had faith in the people, and believed that, if allowed to choose

representatives, they would select their best and wisest men; and that

while reforming government the people would remain orderly, as they had

generally remained in America during the transition from British rule

to selfgovernment. Burke maintained that if the existing political order

were broken up there would be no longer a people, but "a number of

vague, loose individuals, and nothing more." "Alas!" he exclaims,

"they little know how many a weary step is to be taken before they can

form themselves into a mass, which has a true personality." For the sake

of peace Paine wished the revolution to be peaceful as the advance of

summer; he used every endeavor to reconcile English radicals to some

modus vivendi with the existing order, as he was willing to retain Louis

XVI. as head of the executive in France: Burke resisted every tendency

of English statesmanship to reform at home, or to negotiate with the

French Republic, and was mainly responsible for the King's death and the

war that followed between England and France in February, 1793. Burke

became a royal favorite, Paine was outlawed by a prosecution originally

proposed by Burke. While Paine was demanding religious liberty, Burke

was opposing the removal of penal statutes from Unitarians, on the

ground that but for those statutes Paine might some day set up a church

in England. When Burke was retiring on a large royal pension, Paine

was in prison, through the devices of Burke's confederate, the American

Minister in Paris. So the two men, as Burke said, "hunted in pairs."

So far as Burke attempts to affirm any principle he is fairly quoted in

Paine's work, and nowhere misrepresented. As for Paine's own ideas, the

reader should remember that "Rights of Man" was the earliest complete

statement of republican principles. They were pronounced to be the

fundamental principles of the American Republic by Jefferson, Madison,

and Jackson,-the three Presidents who above all others represented the

republican idea which Paine first allied with American Independence.

Those who suppose that Paine did but reproduce the principles of

Rousseau and Locke will find by careful study of his well-weighed

language that such is not the case. Paine's political principles were

evolved out of his early Quakerism. He was potential in George Fox. The

belief that every human soul was the child of God, and capable of

direct inspiration from the Father of all, without mediator or priestly

intervention, or sacramental instrumentality, was fatal to all privilege

and rank. The universal Fatherhood implied universal Brotherhood, or

human equality. But the fate of the Quakers proved the necessity of

protecting the individual spirit from oppression by the majority as well

as by privileged classes. For this purpose Paine insisted on surrounding

the individual right with the security of the Declaration of Rights,

not to be invaded by any government; and would reduce government to an

association limited in its operations to the defence of those rights

which the individual is unable, alone, to maintain.

From the preceding chapter it will be seen that Part Second of "Rights

of Man" was begun by Paine in the spring of 1791. At the close of that

year, or early in 1792, he took up his abode with his friend Thomas

"Clio" Rickman, at No. 7 Upper Marylebone Street. Rickman was a radical

publisher; the house remains still a book-binding establishment, and

seems little changed since Paine therein revised the proofs of Part

Second on a table which Rickman marked with a plate, and which is now in

possession of Mr. Edward Truelove. As the plate states, Paine wrote on

the same table other works which appeared in England in 1792.

In 1795 D. I. Eaton published an edition of "Rights of Man," with a

preface purporting to have been written by Paine while in Luxembourg

prison. It is manifestly spurious. The genuine English and French

prefaces are given.

RIGHTS OF MAN

Being An Answer To Mr. Burke's Attack On The French Revoloution

By Thomas Paine

Secretary For Foreign Affairs To Congress In The American War, And

Author Of The Works Entitled "Common Sense" And "A Letter To Abbe

Raynal"

DEDICATION

George Washington

President Of The United States Of America

Sir,

I present you a small treatise in defence of those principles of

freedom which your exemplary virtue hath so eminently contributed to

establish. That the Rights of Man may become as universal as your

benevolence can wish, and that you may enjoy the happiness of seeing

the New World regenerate the Old, is the prayer of

Sir,

Your much obliged, and

Obedient humble Servant,

Thomas Paine

PAINE'S PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

From the part Mr. Burke took in the American Revolution, it was natural

that I should consider him a friend to mankind; and as our acquaintance

commenced on that ground, it would have been more agreeable to me to

have had cause to continue in that opinion than to change it.

At the time Mr. Burke made his violent speech last winter in the English

Parliament against the French Revolution and the National Assembly, I

was in Paris, and had written to him but a short time before to inform

him how prosperously matters were going on. Soon after this I saw his

advertisement of the Pamphlet he intended to publish: As the attack

was to be made in a language but little studied, and less understood in

France, and as everything suffers by translation, I promised some of

the friends of the Revolution in that country that whenever Mr. Burke's

Pamphlet came forth, I would answer it. This appeared to me the more

necessary to be done, when I saw the flagrant misrepresentations which

Mr. Burke's Pamphlet contains; and that while it is an outrageous

abuse on the French Revolution, and the principles of Liberty, it is an

imposition on the rest of the world.

I am the more astonished and disappointed at this conduct in Mr. Burke,

as (from the circumstances I am going to mention) I had formed other

expectations.

I had seen enough of the miseries of war, to wish it might never more

have existence in the world, and that some other mode might be found

out to settle the differences that should occasionally arise in the

neighbourhood of nations. This certainly might be done if Courts were

disposed to set honesty about it, or if countries were enlightened

enough not to be made the dupes of Courts. The people of America had

been bred up in the same prejudices against France, which at that time

characterised the people of England; but experience and an acquaintance

with the French Nation have most effectually shown to the Americans the

falsehood of those prejudices; and I do not believe that a more cordial

and confidential intercourse exists between any two countries than

between America and France.

When I came to France, in the spring of 1787, the Archbishop of

Thoulouse was then Minister, and at that time highly esteemed. I became

much acquainted with the private Secretary of that Minister, a man of

an enlarged benevolent heart; and found that his sentiments and my own

perfectly agreed with respect to the madness of war, and the wretched

impolicy of two nations, like England and France, continually worrying

each other, to no other end than that of a mutual increase of burdens

and taxes. That I might be assured I had not misunderstood him, nor he

me, I put the substance of our opinions into writing and sent it to him;

subjoining a request, that if I should see among the people of England,

any disposition to cultivate a better understanding between the two

nations than had hitherto prevailed, how far I might be authorised

to say that the same disposition prevailed on the part of France? He

answered me by letter in the most unreserved manner, and that not for

himself only, but for the Minister, with whose knowledge the letter was

declared to be written.

I put this letter into the, hands of Mr. Burke almost three years ago,

and left it with him, where it still remains; hoping, and at the same

time naturally expecting, from the opinion I had conceived of him, that

he would find some opportunity of making good use of it, for the purpose

of removing those errors and prejudices which two neighbouring nations,

from the want of knowing each other, had entertained, to the injury of

both.

When the French Revolution broke out, it certainly afforded to Mr. Burke

an opportunity of doing some good, had he been disposed to it; instead

of which, no sooner did he see the old prejudices wearing away, than he

immediately began sowing the seeds of a new inveteracy, as if he were

afraid that England and France would cease to be enemies. That there are

men in all countries who get their living by war, and by keeping up the

quarrels of Nations, is as shocking as it is true; but when those who

are concerned in the government of a country, make it their study to sow

discord and cultivate prejudices between Nations, it becomes the more

unpardonable.

With respect to a paragraph in this work alluding to Mr. Burke's having

a pension, the report has been some time in circulation, at least two

months; and as a person is often the last to hear what concerns him

the most to know, I have mentioned it, that Mr. Burke may have an

opportunity of contradicting the rumour, if he thinks proper.

Thomas Paine

PAINE'S PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION

The astonishment which the French Revolution has caused throughout

Europe should be considered from two different points of view: first as

it affects foreign peoples, secondly as it affects their governments.

The cause of the French people is that of all Europe, or rather of the

whole world; but the governments of all those countries are by no means

favorable to it. It is important that we should never lose sight of this

distinction. We must not confuse the peoples with their governments;

especially not the English people with its government.

The government of England is no friend of the revolution of France.

Of this we have sufficient proofs in the thanks given by that weak and

witless person, the Elector of Hanover, sometimes called the King of

England, to Mr. Burke for the insults heaped on it in his book, and in

the malevolent comments of the English Minister, Pitt, in his speeches

in Parliament.

In spite of the professions of sincerest friendship found in the

official correspondence of the English government with that of France,

its conduct gives the lie to all its declarations, and shows us clearly

that it is not a court to be trusted, but an insane court, plunging in

all the quarrels and intrigues of Europe, in quest of a war to satisfy

its folly and countenance its extravagance.

The English nation, on the contrary, is very favorably disposed towards

the French Revolution, and to the progress of liberty in the whole

world; and this feeling will become more general in England as the

intrigues and artifices of its government are better known, and the

principles of the revolution better understood. The French should know

that most English newspapers are directly in the pay of government, or,

if indirectly connected with it, always under its orders; and that those

papers constantly distort and attack the revolution in France in order

to deceive the nation. But, as it is impossible long to prevent the

prevalence of truth, the daily falsehoods of those papers no longer have

the desired effect.

To be convinced that the voice of truth has been stifled in England, the

world needs only to be told that the government regards and prosecutes

as a libel that which it should protect.*[1] This outrage on morality is

called law, and judges are found wicked enough to inflict penalties on

truth.

The English government presents, just now, a curious phenomenon. Seeing

that the French and English nations are getting rid of the prejudices

and false notions formerly entertained against each other, and which

have cost them so much money, that government seems to be placarding its

need of a foe; for unless it finds one somewhere, no pretext exists for

the enormous revenue and taxation now deemed necessary.

Therefore it seeks in Russia the enemy it has lost in France, and

appears to say to the universe, or to say to itself. "If nobody will be

so kind as to become my foe, I shall need no more fleets nor armies,

and shall be forced to reduce my taxes. The American war enabled me to

double the taxes; the Dutch business to add more; the Nootka humbug gave

me a pretext for raising three millions sterling more; but unless I can

make an enemy of Russia the harvest from wars will end. I was the first

to incite Turk against Russian, and now I hope to reap a fresh crop of

taxes."

If the miseries of war, and the flood of evils it spreads over a

country, did not check all inclination to mirth, and turn laughter

into grief, the frantic conduct of the government of England would only

excite ridicule. But it is impossible to banish from one's mind the

images of suffering which the contemplation of such vicious policy

presents. To reason with governments, as they have existed for ages,

is to argue with brutes. It is only from the nations themselves that

reforms can be expected. There ought not now to exist any doubt that the

peoples of France, England, and America, enlightened and enlightening

each other, shall henceforth be able, not merely to give the world an

example of good government, but by their united influence enforce its

practice.

(Translated from the French)

RIGHTS OF MAN. PART THE FIRST BEING AN ANSWER TO MR. BURKE'S ATTACK ON

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

Among the incivilities by which nations or individuals provoke and

irritate each other, Mr. Burke's pamphlet on the French Revolution is an

extraordinary instance. Neither the People of France, nor the National

Assembly, were troubling themselves about the affairs of England, or

the English Parliament; and that Mr. Burke should commence an unprovoked

attack upon them, both in Parliament and in public, is a conduct that

cannot be pardoned on the score of manners, nor justified on that of

policy.

There is scarcely an epithet of abuse to be found in the English

language, with which Mr. Burke has not loaded the French Nation and the

National Assembly. Everything which rancour, prejudice, ignorance or

knowledge could suggest, is poured forth in the copious fury of near

four hundred pages. In the strain and on the plan Mr. Burke was writing,

he might have written on to as many thousands. When the tongue or the

pen is let loose in a frenzy of passion, it is the man, and not the

subject, that becomes exhausted.

Hitherto Mr. Burke has been mistaken and disappointed in the opinions

he had formed of the affairs of France; but such is the ingenuity of his

hope, or the malignancy of his despair, that it furnishes him with new

pretences to go on. There was a time when it was impossible to make Mr.

Burke believe there would be any Revolution in France. His opinion then

was, that the French had neither spirit to undertake it nor fortitude to

support it; and now that there is one, he seeks an escape by condemning

it.

Not sufficiently content with abusing the National Assembly, a great

part of his work is taken up with abusing Dr. Price (one of the

best-hearted men that lives) and the two societies in England known by

the name of the Revolution Society and the Society for Constitutional

Information.

Dr. Price had preached a sermon on the 4th of November, 1789, being

the anniversary of what is called in England the Revolution, which took

place 1688. Mr. Burke, speaking of this sermon, says: "The political

Divine proceeds dogmatically to assert, that by the principles of

the Revolution, the people of England have acquired three fundamental

rights:

1. To choose our own governors.

2. To cashier them for misconduct.

3. To frame a government for ourselves."

Dr. Price does not say that the right to do these things exists in this

or in that person, or in this or in that description of persons, but

that it exists in the whole; that it is a right resident in the nation.

Mr. Burke, on the contrary, denies that such a right exists in the

nation, either in whole or in part, or that it exists anywhere; and,

what is still more strange and marvellous, he says: "that the people

of England utterly disclaim such a right, and that they will resist

the practical assertion of it with their lives and fortunes." That men

should take up arms and spend their lives and fortunes, not to maintain

their rights, but to maintain they have not rights, is an entirely new

species of discovery, and suited to the paradoxical genius of Mr. Burke.

The method which Mr. Burke takes to prove that the people of England

have no such rights, and that such rights do not now exist in the

nation, either in whole or in part, or anywhere at all, is of the same

marvellous and monstrous kind with what he has already said; for his

arguments are that the persons, or the generation of persons, in whom

they did exist, are dead, and with them the right is dead also. To prove

this, he quotes a declaration made by Parliament about a hundred years

ago, to William and Mary, in these words: "The Lords Spiritual and

Temporal, and Commons, do, in the name of the people aforesaid" (meaning

the people of England then living) "most humbly and faithfully submit

themselves, their heirs and posterities, for Ever." He quotes a clause

of another Act of Parliament made in the same reign, the terms of which

he says, "bind us" (meaning the people of their day), "our heirs and our

posterity, to them, their heirs and posterity, to the end of time."

Mr. Burke conceives his point sufficiently established by producing

those clauses, which he enforces by saying that they exclude the

right of the nation for ever. And not yet content with making such

declarations, repeated over and over again, he farther says, "that if

the people of England possessed such a right before the Revolution"

(which he acknowledges to have been the case, not only in England, but

throughout Europe, at an early period), "yet that the English Nation

did, at the time of the Revolution, most solemnly renounce and abdicate

it, for themselves, and for all their posterity, for ever."

As Mr. Burke occasionally applies the poison drawn from his horrid

principles, not only to the English nation, but to the French Revolution

and the National Assembly, and charges that august, illuminated and

illuminating body of men with the epithet of usurpers, I shall, sans

ceremonie, place another system of principles in opposition to his.

The English Parliament of 1688 did a certain thing, which, for

themselves and their constituents, they had a right to do, and which

it appeared right should be done. But, in addition to this right, which

they possessed by delegation, they set up another right by assumption,

that of binding and controlling posterity to the end of time. The case,

therefore, divides itself into two parts; the right which they possessed

by delegation, and the right which they set up by assumption. The first

is admitted; but with respect to the second, I reply: There never

did, there never will, and there never can, exist a Parliament, or any

description of men, or any generation of men, in any country, possessed

of the right or the power of binding and controlling posterity to

the "end of time," or of commanding for ever how the world shall be

governed, or who shall govern it; and therefore all such clauses, acts

or declarations by which the makers of them attempt to do what they have

neither the right nor the power to do, nor the power to execute, are in

themselves null and void. Every age and generation must be as free to

act for itself in all cases as the age and generations which preceded

it. The vanity and presumption of governing beyond the grave is the most

ridiculous and insolent of all tyrannies. Man has no property in man;

neither has any generation a property in the generations which are to

follow. The Parliament or the people of 1688, or of any other period,

had no more right to dispose of the people of the present day, or to

bind or to control them in any shape whatever, than the parliament or

the people of the present day have to dispose of, bind or control those

who are to live a hundred or a thousand years hence. Every generation

is, and must be, competent to all the purposes which its occasions

require. It is the living, and not the dead, that are to be

accommodated. When man ceases to be, his power and his wants cease with

him; and having no longer any participation in the concerns of this

world, he has no longer any authority in directing who shall be

its governors, or how its government shall be organised, or how

administered.

I am not contending for nor against any form of government, nor for nor

against any party, here or elsewhere. That which a whole nation chooses

to do it has a right to do. Mr. Burke says, No. Where, then, does the

right exist? I am contending for the rights of the living, and against

their being willed away and controlled and contracted for by the

manuscript assumed authority of the dead, and Mr. Burke is contending

for the authority of the dead over the rights and freedom of the living.

There was a time when kings disposed of their crowns by will upon their

death-beds, and consigned the people, like beasts of the field, to

whatever successor they appointed. This is now so exploded as scarcely

to be remembered, and so monstrous as hardly to be believed. But the

Parliamentary clauses upon which Mr. Burke builds his political church

are of the same nature.

The laws of every country must be analogous to some common principle.

In England no parent or master, nor all the authority of Parliament,

omnipotent as it has called itself, can bind or control the personal

freedom even of an individual beyond the age of twenty-one years. On

what ground of right, then, could the Parliament of 1688, or any other

Parliament, bind all posterity for ever?

Those who have quitted the world, and those who have not yet arrived

at it, are as remote from each other as the utmost stretch of mortal

imagination can conceive. What possible obligation, then, can exist

between them--what rule or principle can be laid down that of two

nonentities, the one out of existence and the other not in, and who

never can meet in this world, the one should control the other to the

end of time?

In England it is said that money cannot be taken out of the pockets

of the people without their consent. But who authorised, or who could

authorise, the Parliament of 1688 to control and take away the freedom

of posterity (who were not in existence to give or to withhold their

consent) and limit and confine their right of acting in certain cases

for ever?

A greater absurdity cannot present itself to the understanding of man

than what Mr. Burke offers to his readers. He tells them, and he tells

the world to come, that a certain body of men who existed a hundred

years ago made a law, and that there does not exist in the nation, nor

ever will, nor ever can, a power to alter it. Under how many subtilties

or absurdities has the divine right to govern been imposed on the

credulity of mankind? Mr. Burke has discovered a new one, and he

has shortened his journey to Rome by appealing to the power of this

infallible Parliament of former days, and he produces what it has done

as of divine authority, for that power must certainly be more than human

which no human power to the end of time can alter.

But Mr. Burke has done some service--not to his cause, but to his

country--by bringing those clauses into public view. They serve to

demonstrate how necessary it is at all times to watch against the

attempted encroachment of power, and to prevent its running to excess.

It is somewhat extraordinary that the offence for which James II. was

expelled, that of setting up power by assumption, should be re-acted,

under another shape and form, by the Parliament that expelled him. It

shows that the Rights of Man were but imperfectly understood at the

Revolution, for certain it is that the right which that Parliament set

up by assumption (for by the delegation it had not, and could not

have it, because none could give it) over the persons and freedom of

posterity for ever was of the same tyrannical unfounded kind which James

attempted to set up over the Parliament and the nation, and for which he

was expelled. The only difference is (for in principle they differ not)

that the one was an usurper over living, and the other over the unborn;

and as the one has no better authority to stand upon than the other,

both of them must be equally null and void, and of no effect.

From what, or from whence, does Mr. Burke prove the right of any human

power to bind posterity for ever? He has produced his clauses, but he

must produce also his proofs that such a right existed, and show how it

existed. If it ever existed it must now exist, for whatever appertains

to the nature of man cannot be annihilated by man. It is the nature of

man to die, and he will continue to die as long as he continues to be

born. But Mr. Burke has set up a sort of political Adam, in whom all

posterity are bound for ever. He must, therefore, prove that his Adam

possessed such a power, or such a right.

The weaker any cord is, the less will it bear to be stretched, and the

worse is the policy to stretch it, unless it is intended to break it.

Had anyone proposed the overthrow of Mr. Burke's positions, he would

have proceeded as Mr. Burke has done. He would have magnified the

authorities, on purpose to have called the right of them into question;

and the instant the question of right was started, the authorities must

have been given up.

It requires but a very small glance of thought to perceive that although

laws made in one generation often continue in force through succeeding

generations, yet they continue to derive their force from the consent of

the living. A law not repealed continues in force, not because it cannot

be repealed, but because it is not repealed; and the non-repealing

passes for consent.

But Mr. Burke's clauses have not even this qualification in their

favour. They become null, by attempting to become immortal. The nature

of them precludes consent. They destroy the right which they might have,

by grounding it on a right which they cannot have. Immortal power is

not a human right, and therefore cannot be a right of Parliament. The

Parliament of 1688 might as well have passed an act to have authorised

themselves to live for ever, as to make their authority live for ever.

All, therefore, that can be said of those clauses is that they are a

formality of words, of as much import as if those who used them had

addressed a congratulation to themselves, and in the oriental style of

antiquity had said: O Parliament, live for ever!

The circumstances of the world are continually changing, and the

opinions of men change also; and as government is for the living, and

not for the dead, it is the living only that has any right in it.

That which may be thought right and found convenient in one age may be

thought wrong and found inconvenient in another. In such cases, who is

to decide, the living or the dead?

As almost one hundred pages of Mr. Burke's book are employed upon these

clauses, it will consequently follow that if the clauses themselves, so

far as they set up an assumed usurped dominion over posterity for ever,

are unauthoritative, and in their nature null and void; that all his

voluminous inferences, and declamation drawn therefrom, or founded

thereon, are null and void also; and on this ground I rest the matter.

We now come more particularly to the affairs of France. Mr. Burke's book

has the appearance of being written as instruction to the French nation;

but if I may permit myself the use of an extravagant metaphor, suited

to the extravagance of the case, it is darkness attempting to illuminate

light.

While I am writing this there are accidentally before me some proposals

for a declaration of rights by the Marquis de la Fayette (I ask his

pardon for using his former address, and do it only for distinction's

sake) to the National Assembly, on the 11th of July, 1789, three

days before the taking of the Bastille, and I cannot but remark with

astonishment how opposite the sources are from which that gentleman and

Mr. Burke draw their principles. Instead of referring to musty records

and mouldy parchments to prove that the rights of the living are lost,

"renounced and abdicated for ever," by those who are now no more, as

Mr. Burke has done, M. de la Fayette applies to the living world,

and emphatically says: "Call to mind the sentiments which nature has

engraved on the heart of every citizen, and which take a new force when

they are solemnly recognised by all:--For a nation to love liberty, it

is sufficient that she knows it; and to be free, it is sufficient that

she wills it." How dry, barren, and obscure is the source from which Mr.

Burke labors! and how ineffectual, though gay with flowers, are all his

declamation and his arguments compared with these clear, concise, and

soul-animating sentiments! Few and short as they are, they lead on to a

vast field of generous and manly thinking, and do not finish, like Mr.

Burke's periods, with music in the ear, and nothing in the heart.

As I have introduced M. de la Fayette, I will take the liberty of adding

an anecdote respecting his farewell address to the Congress of America

in 1783, and which occurred fresh to my mind, when I saw Mr. Burke's

thundering attack on the French Revolution. M. de la Fayette went to

America at the early period of the war, and continued a volunteer in her

service to the end. His conduct through the whole of that enterprise is

one of the most extraordinary that is to be found in the history of a

young man, scarcely twenty years of age. Situated in a country that was

like the lap of sensual pleasure, and with the means of enjoying it, how

few are there to be found who would exchange such a scene for the woods

and wildernesses of America, and pass the flowery years of youth in

unprofitable danger and hardship! but such is the fact. When the

war ended, and he was on the point of taking his final departure, he

presented himself to Congress, and contemplating in his affectionate

farewell the Revolution he had seen, expressed himself in these words:

"May this great monument raised to liberty serve as a lesson to the

oppressor, and an example to the oppressed!" When this address came to

the hands of Dr. Franklin, who was then in France, he applied to Count

Vergennes to have it inserted in the French Gazette, but never

could obtain his consent. The fact was that Count Vergennes was an

aristocratical despot at home, and dreaded the example of the American

Revolution in France, as certain other persons now dread the example of

the French Revolution in England, and Mr. Burke's tribute of fear (for

in this light his book must be considered) runs parallel with Count

Vergennes' refusal. But to return more particularly to his work.

"We have seen," says Mr. Burke, "the French rebel against a mild and

lawful monarch, with more fury, outrage, and insult, than any people

has been known to rise against the most illegal usurper, or the most

sanguinary tyrant." This is one among a thousand other instances, in

which Mr. Burke shows that he is ignorant of the springs and principles

of the French Revolution.

It was not against Louis XVI. but against the despotic principles of

the Government, that the nation revolted. These principles had not their

origin in him, but in the original establishment, many centuries back:

and they were become too deeply rooted to be removed, and the Augean

stables of parasites and plunderers too abominably filthy to be cleansed

by anything short of a complete and universal Revolution. When it

becomes necessary to do anything, the whole heart and soul should go

into the measure, or not attempt it. That crisis was then arrived, and

there remained no choice but to act with determined vigor, or not to

act at all. The king was known to be the friend of the nation, and this

circumstance was favorable to the enterprise. Perhaps no man bred up in

the style of an absolute king, ever possessed a heart so little disposed

to the exercise of that species of power as the present King of France.

But the principles of the Government itself still remained the same. The

Monarch and the Monarchy were distinct and separate things; and it was

against the established despotism of the latter, and not against the

person or principles of the former, that the revolt commenced, and the

Revolution has been carried.

Mr. Burke does not attend to the distinction between men and principles,

and, therefore, he does not see that a revolt may take place against the

despotism of the latter, while there lies no charge of despotism against

the former.

The natural moderation of Louis XVI. contributed nothing to alter

the hereditary despotism of the monarchy. All the tyrannies of former

reigns, acted under that hereditary despotism, were still liable to be

revived in the hands of a successor. It was not the respite of a reign

that would satisfy France, enlightened as she was then become. A casual

discontinuance of the practice of despotism, is not a discontinuance of

its principles: the former depends on the virtue of the individual who

is in immediate possession of the power; the latter, on the virtue and

fortitude of the nation. In the case of Charles I. and James II. of

England, the revolt was against the personal despotism of the men;

whereas in France, it was against the hereditary despotism of the

established Government. But men who can consign over the rights of

posterity for ever on the authority of a mouldy parchment, like Mr.

Burke, are not qualified to judge of this Revolution. It takes in

a field too vast for their views to explore, and proceeds with a

mightiness of reason they cannot keep pace with.

But there are many points of view in which this Revolution may be

considered. When despotism has established itself for ages in a country,

as in France, it is not in the person of the king only that it resides.

It has the appearance of being so in show, and in nominal authority; but

it is not so in practice and in fact. It has its standard everywhere.

Every office and department has its despotism, founded upon custom and

usage. Every place has its Bastille, and every Bastille its despot.

The original hereditary despotism resident in the person of the king,

divides and sub-divides itself into a thousand shapes and forms, till

at last the whole of it is acted by deputation. This was the case in

France; and against this species of despotism, proceeding on through

an endless labyrinth of office till the source of it is scarcely

perceptible, there is no mode of redress. It strengthens itself by

assuming the appearance of duty, and tyrannies under the pretence of

obeying.

When a man reflects on the condition which France was in from the nature

of her government, he will see other causes for revolt than those which

immediately connect themselves with the person or character of Louis

XVI. There were, if I may so express it, a thousand despotisms to be

reformed in France, which had grown up under the hereditary despotism

of the monarchy, and became so rooted as to be in a great measure

independent of it. Between the Monarchy, the Parliament, and the

Church there was a rivalship of despotism; besides the feudal despotism

operating locally, and the ministerial despotism operating everywhere.

But Mr. Burke, by considering the king as the only possible object of

a revolt, speaks as if France was a village, in which everything that

passed must be known to its commanding officer, and no oppression could

be acted but what he could immediately control. Mr. Burke might have

been in the Bastille his whole life, as well under Louis XVI. as Louis

XIV., and neither the one nor the other have known that such a man as

Burke existed. The despotic principles of the government were the same

in both reigns, though the dispositions of the men were as remote as

tyranny and benevolence.

What Mr. Burke considers as a reproach to the French Revolution (that of

bringing it forward under a reign more mild than the preceding ones)

is one of its highest honors. The Revolutions that have taken place in

other European countries, have been excited by personal hatred. The rage

was against the man, and he became the victim. But, in the instance of

France we see a Revolution generated in the rational contemplation of

the Rights of Man, and distinguishing from the beginning between persons

and principles.

But Mr. Burke appears to have no idea of principles when he is

contemplating Governments. "Ten years ago," says he, "I could have

felicitated France on her having a Government, without inquiring what

the nature of that Government was, or how it was administered." Is this

the language of a rational man? Is it the language of a heart feeling as

it ought to feel for the rights and happiness of the human race? On

this ground, Mr. Burke must compliment all the Governments in the world,

while the victims who suffer under them, whether sold into slavery, or

tortured out of existence, are wholly forgotten. It is power, and

not principles, that Mr. Burke venerates; and under this abominable

depravity he is disqualified to judge between them. Thus much for his

opinion as to the occasions of the French Revolution. I now proceed to

other considerations.

I know a place in America called Point-no-Point, because as you proceed

along the shore, gay and flowery as Mr. Burke's language, it continually

recedes and presents itself at a distance before you; but when you have

got as far as you can go, there is no point at all. Just thus it is with

Mr. Burke's three hundred and sixty-six pages. It is therefore difficult

to reply to him. But as the points he wishes to establish may be

inferred from what he abuses, it is in his paradoxes that we must look

for his arguments.

As to the tragic paintings by which Mr. Burke has outraged his own

imagination, and seeks to work upon that of his readers, they are

very well calculated for theatrical representation, where facts are

manufactured for the sake of show, and accommodated to produce, through

the weakness of sympathy, a weeping effect. But Mr. Burke should

recollect that he is writing history, and not plays, and that his

readers will expect truth, and not the spouting rant of high-toned

exclamation.

When we see a man dramatically lamenting in a publication intended to be

believed that "The age of chivalry is gone! that The glory of Europe is

extinguished for ever! that The unbought grace of life (if anyone knows

what it is), the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment

and heroic enterprise is gone!" and all this because the Quixot age of

chivalry nonsense is gone, what opinion can we form of his judgment, or

what regard can we pay to his facts? In the rhapsody of his imagination

he has discovered a world of wind mills, and his sorrows are that there

are no Quixots to attack them. But if the age of aristocracy, like that

of chivalry, should fall (and they had originally some connection) Mr.

Burke, the trumpeter of the Order, may continue his parody to the end,

and finish with exclaiming: "Othello's occupation's gone!"

Notwithstanding Mr. Burke's horrid paintings, when the French Revolution

is compared with the Revolutions of other countries, the astonishment

will be that it is marked with so few sacrifices; but this astonishment

will cease when we reflect that principles, and not persons, were the

meditated objects of destruction. The mind of the nation was acted

upon by a higher stimulus than what the consideration of persons could

inspire, and sought a higher conquest than could be produced by the

downfall of an enemy. Among the few who fell there do not appear to be

any that were intentionally singled out. They all of them had their fate

in the circumstances of the moment, and were not pursued with that long,

cold-blooded unabated revenge which pursued the unfortunate Scotch in

the affair of 1745.

Through the whole of Mr. Burke's book I do not observe that the Bastille

is mentioned more than once, and that with a kind of implication as if

he were sorry it was pulled down, and wished it were built up again. "We

have rebuilt Newgate," says he, "and tenanted the mansion; and we have

prisons almost as strong as the Bastille for those who dare to libel the

queens of France."*[2] As to what a madman like the person called Lord

George Gordon might say, and to whom Newgate is rather a bedlam than a

prison, it is unworthy a rational consideration. It was a madman that

libelled, and that is sufficient apology; and it afforded an opportunity

for confining him, which was the thing that was wished for. But certain

it is that Mr. Burke, who does not call himself a madman (whatever other

people may do), has libelled in the most unprovoked manner, and in

the grossest style of the most vulgar abuse, the whole representative

authority of France, and yet Mr. Burke takes his seat in the British

House of Commons! From his violence and his grief, his silence on some

points and his excess on others, it is difficult not to believe that Mr.

Burke is sorry, extremely sorry, that arbitrary power, the power of the

Pope and the Bastille, are pulled down.

Not one glance of compassion, not one commiserating reflection that I

can find throughout his book, has he bestowed on those who lingered out

the most wretched of lives, a life without hope in the most miserable of

prisons. It is painful to behold a man employing his talents to corrupt

himself. Nature has been kinder to Mr. Burke than he is to her. He is

not affected by the reality of distress touching his heart, but by the

showy resemblance of it striking his imagination. He pities the plumage,

but forgets the dying bird. Accustomed to kiss the aristocratical hand

that hath purloined him from himself, he degenerates into a composition

of art, and the genuine soul of nature forsakes him. His hero or his

heroine must be a tragedy-victim expiring in show, and not the real

prisoner of misery, sliding into death in the silence of a dungeon.

As Mr. Burke has passed over the whole transaction of the Bastille (and

his silence is nothing in his favour), and has entertained his readers

with refections on supposed facts distorted into real falsehoods, I will

give, since he has not, some account of the circumstances which preceded

that transaction. They will serve to show that less mischief could

scarcely have accompanied such an event when considered with the

treacherous and hostile aggravations of the enemies of the Revolution.

The mind can hardly picture to itself a more tremendous scene than what

the city of Paris exhibited at the time of taking the Bastille, and for

two days before and after, nor perceive the possibility of its quieting

so soon. At a distance this transaction has appeared only as an act of

heroism standing on itself, and the close political connection it had

with the Revolution is lost in the brilliancy of the achievement. But

we are to consider it as the strength of the parties brought man to man,

and contending for the issue. The Bastille was to be either the prize

or the prison of the assailants. The downfall of it included the idea

of the downfall of despotism, and this compounded image was become as

figuratively united as Bunyan's Doubting Castle and Giant Despair.

The National Assembly, before and at the time of taking the Bastille,

was sitting at Versailles, twelve miles distant from Paris. About a week

before the rising of the Partisans, and their taking the Bastille, it

was discovered that a plot was forming, at the head of which was

the Count D'Artois, the king's youngest brother, for demolishing the

National Assembly, seizing its members, and thereby crushing, by a coup

de main, all hopes and prospects of forming a free government. For

the sake of humanity, as well as freedom, it is well this plan did not

succeed. Examples are not wanting to show how dreadfully vindictive and

cruel are all old governments, when they are successful against what

they call a revolt.

This plan must have been some time in contemplation; because, in order

to carry it into execution, it was necessary to collect a large military

force round Paris, and cut off the communication between that city

and the National Assembly at Versailles. The troops destined for this

service were chiefly the foreign troops in the pay of France, and who,

for this particular purpose, were drawn from the distant provinces where

they were then stationed. When they were collected to the amount of

between twenty-five and thirty thousand, it was judged time to put the

plan into execution. The ministry who were then in office, and who were

friendly to the Revolution, were instantly dismissed and a new ministry

formed of those who had concerted the project, among whom was Count de

Broglio, and to his share was given the command of those troops.

The character of this man as described to me in a letter which I

communicated to Mr. Burke before he began to write his book, and from

an authority which Mr. Burke well knows was good, was that of "a

high-flying aristocrat, cool, and capable of every mischief."

While these matters were agitating, the National Assembly stood in the

most perilous and critical situation that a body of men can be supposed

to act in. They were the devoted victims, and they knew it. They had the

hearts and wishes of their country on their side, but military authority

they had none. The guards of Broglio surrounded the hall where the

Assembly sat, ready, at the word of command, to seize their persons,

as had been done the year before to the Parliament of Paris. Had the

National Assembly deserted their trust, or had they exhibited signs of

weakness or fear, their enemies had been encouraged and their country

depressed. When the situation they stood in, the cause they were engaged

in, and the crisis then ready to burst, which should determine their

personal and political fate and that of their country, and probably of

Europe, are taken into one view, none but a heart callous with prejudice

or corrupted by dependence can avoid interesting itself in their

success.

The Archbishop of Vienne was at this time President of the National

Assembly--a person too old to undergo the scene that a few days or a few

hours might bring forth. A man of more activity and bolder fortitude

was necessary, and the National Assembly chose (under the form of a

Vice-President, for the Presidency still resided in the Archbishop) M.

de la Fayette; and this is the only instance of a Vice-President being

chosen. It was at the moment that this storm was pending (July 11th)

that a declaration of rights was brought forward by M. de la Fayette,

and is the same which is alluded to earlier. It was hastily drawn up,

and makes only a part of the more extensive declaration of rights agreed

upon and adopted afterwards by the National Assembly. The particular

reason for bringing it forward at this moment (M. de la Fayette has

since informed me) was that, if the National Assembly should fall in

the threatened destruction that then surrounded it, some trace of its

principles might have the chance of surviving the wreck.

Everything now was drawing to a crisis. The event was freedom or

slavery. On one side, an army of nearly thirty thousand men; on the

other, an unarmed body of citizens--for the citizens of Paris, on whom

the National Assembly must then immediately depend, were as unarmed and

as undisciplined as the citizens of London are now. The French guards

had given strong symptoms of their being attached to the national cause;

but their numbers were small, not a tenth part of the force that Broglio

commanded, and their officers were in the interest of Broglio.

Matters being now ripe for execution, the new ministry made their

appearance in office. The reader will carry in his mind that the

Bastille was taken the 14th July; the point of time I am now speaking of

is the 12th. Immediately on the news of the change of ministry reaching

Paris, in the afternoon, all the playhouses and places of entertainment,

shops and houses, were shut up. The change of ministry was considered as

the prelude of hostilities, and the opinion was rightly founded.

The foreign troops began to advance towards the city. The Prince de

Lambesc, who commanded a body of German cavalry, approached by the Place

of Louis Xv., which connects itself with some of the streets. In his

march, he insulted and struck an old man with a sword. The French are

remarkable for their respect to old age; and the insolence with which it

appeared to be done, uniting with the general fermentation they were

in, produced a powerful effect, and a cry of "To arms! to arms!" spread

itself in a moment over the city.

Arms they had none, nor scarcely anyone who knew the use of them; but

desperate resolution, when every hope is at stake, supplies, for a

while, the want of arms. Near where the Prince de Lambesc was drawn up,

were large piles of stones collected for building the new bridge, and

with these the people attacked the cavalry. A party of French guards

upon hearing the firing, rushed from their quarters and joined the

people; and night coming on, the cavalry retreated.

The streets of Paris, being narrow, are favourable for defence, and the

loftiness of the houses, consisting of many stories, from which great

annoyance might be given, secured them against nocturnal enterprises;

and the night was spent in providing themselves with every sort of

weapon they could make or procure: guns, swords, blacksmiths' hammers,

carpenters' axes, iron crows, pikes, halberts, pitchforks, spits, clubs,

etc., etc. The incredible numbers in which they assembled the next

morning, and the still more incredible resolution they exhibited,

embarrassed and astonished their enemies. Little did the new ministry

expect such a salute. Accustomed to slavery themselves, they had no idea

that liberty was capable of such inspiration, or that a body of unarmed

citizens would dare to face the military force of thirty thousand men.

Every moment of this day was employed in collecting arms, concerting

plans, and arranging themselves into the best order which such an

instantaneous movement could afford. Broglio continued lying round the

city, but made no further advances this day, and the succeeding night

passed with as much tranquility as such a scene could possibly produce.

But defence only was not the object of the citizens. They had a cause

at stake, on which depended their freedom or their slavery. They every

moment expected an attack, or to hear of one made on the National

Assembly; and in such a situation, the most prompt measures are

sometimes the best. The object that now presented itself was the

Bastille; and the eclat of carrying such a fortress in the face of such

an army, could not fail to strike terror into the new ministry, who had

scarcely yet had time to meet. By some intercepted correspondence this

morning, it was discovered that the Mayor of Paris, M. Defflesselles,

who appeared to be in the interest of the citizens, was betraying them;

and from this discovery, there remained no doubt that Broglio would

reinforce the Bastille the ensuing evening. It was therefore necessary

to attack it that day; but before this could be done, it was first

necessary to procure a better supply of arms than they were then

possessed of.

There was, adjoining to the city a large magazine of arms deposited at

the Hospital of the Invalids, which the citizens summoned to surrender;

and as the place was neither defensible, nor attempted much defence,

they soon succeeded. Thus supplied, they marched to attack the Bastille;

a vast mixed multitude of all ages, and of all degrees, armed with all

sorts of weapons. Imagination would fail in describing to itself the

appearance of such a procession, and of the anxiety of the events which

a few hours or a few minutes might produce. What plans the ministry

were forming, were as unknown to the people within the city, as what

the citizens were doing was unknown to the ministry; and what movements

Broglio might make for the support or relief of the place, were to the

citizens equally as unknown. All was mystery and hazard.

That the Bastille was attacked with an enthusiasm of heroism, such only

as the highest animation of liberty could inspire, and carried in the

space of a few hours, is an event which the world is fully possessed of.

I am not undertaking the detail of the attack, but bringing into view

the conspiracy against the nation which provoked it, and which fell

with the Bastille. The prison to which the new ministry were dooming the

National Assembly, in addition to its being the high altar and castle of

despotism, became the proper object to begin with. This enterprise

broke up the new ministry, who began now to fly from the ruin they had

prepared for others. The troops of Broglio dispersed, and himself fled

also.

Mr. Burke has spoken a great deal about plots, but he has never once

spoken of this plot against the National Assembly, and the liberties

of the nation; and that he might not, he has passed over all the

circumstances that might throw it in his way. The exiles who have fled

from France, whose case he so much interests himself in, and from whom

he has had his lesson, fled in consequence of the miscarriage of this

plot. No plot was formed against them; they were plotting against

others; and those who fell, met, not unjustly, the punishment they

were preparing to execute. But will Mr. Burke say that if this plot,

contrived with the subtilty of an ambuscade, had succeeded, the

successful party would have restrained their wrath so soon? Let the

history of all governments answer the question.

Whom has the National Assembly brought to the scaffold? None. They

were themselves the devoted victims of this plot, and they have not

retaliated; why, then, are they charged with revenge they have not

acted? In the tremendous breaking forth of a whole people, in which all

degrees, tempers and characters are confounded, delivering themselves,

by a miracle of exertion, from the destruction meditated against them,

is it to be expected that nothing will happen? When men are sore with

the sense of oppressions, and menaced with the prospects of new ones,

is the calmness of philosophy or the palsy of insensibility to be looked

for? Mr. Burke exclaims against outrage; yet the greatest is that which

himself has committed. His book is a volume of outrage, not apologised

for by the impulse of a moment, but cherished through a space of ten

months; yet Mr. Burke had no provocation--no life, no interest, at

stake.

More of the citizens fell in this struggle than of their opponents: but

four or five persons were seized by the populace, and instantly put to

death; the Governor of the Bastille, and the Mayor of Paris, who was

detected in the act of betraying them; and afterwards Foulon, one of the

new ministry, and Berthier, his son-in-law, who had accepted the office

of intendant of Paris. Their heads were stuck upon spikes, and carried

about the city; and it is upon this mode of punishment that Mr. Burke

builds a great part of his tragic scene. Let us therefore examine how

men came by the idea of punishing in this manner.

They learn it from the governments they live under; and retaliate the

punishments they have been accustomed to behold. The heads stuck upon

spikes, which remained for years upon Temple Bar, differed nothing in

the horror of the scene from those carried about upon spikes at Paris;

yet this was done by the English Government. It may perhaps be said that

it signifies nothing to a man what is done to him after he is dead; but

it signifies much to the living; it either tortures their feelings or

hardens their hearts, and in either case it instructs them how to punish

when power falls into their hands.

Lay then the axe to the root, and teach governments humanity. It is

their sanguinary punishments which corrupt mankind. In England the

punishment in certain cases is by hanging, drawing and quartering;

the heart of the sufferer is cut out and held up to the view of the

populace. In France, under the former Government, the punishments were

not less barbarous. Who does not remember the execution of Damien, torn

to pieces by horses? The effect of those cruel spectacles exhibited to

the populace is to destroy tenderness or excite revenge; and by the

base and false idea of governing men by terror, instead of reason,

they become precedents. It is over the lowest class of mankind that

government by terror is intended to operate, and it is on them that it

operates to the worst effect. They have sense enough to feel they are

the objects aimed at; and they inflict in their turn the examples of

terror they have been instructed to practise.

There is in all European countries a large class of people of that

description, which in England is called the "mob." Of this class were

those who committed the burnings and devastations in London in 1780, and

of this class were those who carried the heads on iron spikes in Paris.

Foulon and Berthier were taken up in the country, and sent to Paris,

to undergo their examination at the Hotel de Ville; for the National

Assembly, immediately on the new ministry coming into office, passed a

decree, which they communicated to the King and Cabinet, that they (the

National Assembly) would hold the ministry, of which Foulon was one,

responsible for the measures they were advising and pursuing; but the

mob, incensed at the appearance of Foulon and Berthier, tore them from

their conductors before they were carried to the Hotel de Ville, and

executed them on the spot. Why then does Mr. Burke charge outrages

of this kind on a whole people? As well may he charge the riots and

outrages of 1780 on all the people of London, or those in Ireland on all

his countrymen.

But everything we see or hear offensive to our feelings and derogatory

to the human character should lead to other reflections than those

of reproach. Even the beings who commit them have some claim to our

consideration. How then is it that such vast classes of mankind as are

distinguished by the appellation of the vulgar, or the ignorant mob,

are so numerous in all old countries? The instant we ask ourselves

this question, reflection feels an answer. They rise, as an unavoidable

consequence, out of the ill construction of all old governments in

Europe, England included with the rest. It is by distortedly exalting

some men, that others are distortedly debased, till the whole is out

of nature. A vast mass of mankind are degradedly thrown into the

back-ground of the human picture, to bring forward, with greater glare,

the puppet-show of state and aristocracy. In the commencement of a

revolution, those men are rather the followers of the camp than of the

standard of liberty, and have yet to be instructed how to reverence it.

I give to Mr. Burke all his theatrical exaggerations for facts, and I

then ask him if they do not establish the certainty of what I here lay

down? Admitting them to be true, they show the necessity of the French

Revolution, as much as any one thing he could have asserted. These

outrages were not the effect of the principles of the Revolution, but

of the degraded mind that existed before the Revolution, and which the

Revolution is calculated to reform. Place them then to their proper

cause, and take the reproach of them to your own side.

It is the honour of the National Assembly and the city of Paris that,

during such a tremendous scene of arms and confusion, beyond the control

of all authority, they have been able, by the influence of example

and exhortation, to restrain so much. Never were more pains taken to

instruct and enlighten mankind, and to make them see that their interest

consisted in their virtue, and not in their revenge, than have been

displayed in the Revolution of France. I now proceed to make some

remarks on Mr. Burke's account of the expedition to Versailles, October

the 5th and 6th.

I can consider Mr. Burke's book in scarcely any other light than a

dramatic performance; and he must, I think, have considered it in the

same light himself, by the poetical liberties he has taken of omitting

some facts, distorting others, and making the whole machinery bend to

produce a stage effect. Of this kind is his account of the expedition to

Versailles. He begins this account by omitting the only facts which as

causes are known to be true; everything beyond these is conjecture, even

in Paris; and he then works up a tale accommodated to his own passions

and prejudices.

It is to be observed throughout Mr. Burke's book that he never speaks

of plots against the Revolution; and it is from those plots that all the

mischiefs have arisen. It suits his purpose to exhibit the consequences

without their causes. It is one of the arts of the drama to do so. If

the crimes of men were exhibited with their sufferings, stage effect

would sometimes be lost, and the audience would be inclined to approve

where it was intended they should commiserate.

After all the investigations that have been made into this intricate

affair (the expedition to Versailles), it still remains enveloped in all

that kind of mystery which ever accompanies events produced more from a

concurrence of awkward circumstances than from fixed design. While the

characters of men are forming, as is always the case in revolutions,

there is a reciprocal suspicion, and a disposition to misinterpret each

other; and even parties directly opposite in principle will sometimes

concur in pushing forward the same movement with very different views,

and with the hopes of its producing very different consequences. A great

deal of this may be discovered in this embarrassed affair, and yet the

issue of the whole was what nobody had in view.

The only things certainly known are that considerable uneasiness was at

this time excited at Paris by the delay of the King in not sanctioning

and forwarding the decrees of the National Assembly, particularly that

of the Declaration of the Rights of Man, and the decrees of the fourth

of August, which contained the foundation principles on which the

constitution was to be erected. The kindest, and perhaps the fairest

conjecture upon this matter is, that some of the ministers intended to

make remarks and observations upon certain parts of them before they

were finally sanctioned and sent to the provinces; but be this as it

may, the enemies of the Revolution derived hope from the delay, and the

friends of the Revolution uneasiness.

During this state of suspense, the Garde du Corps, which was composed as

such regiments generally are, of persons much connected with the

Court, gave an entertainment at Versailles (October 1) to some foreign

regiments then arrived; and when the entertainment was at the height, on

a signal given, the Garde du Corps tore the national cockade from their

hats, trampled it under foot, and replaced it with a counter-cockade

prepared for the purpose. An indignity of this kind amounted to

defiance. It was like declaring war; and if men will give challenges

they must expect consequences. But all this Mr. Burke has carefully kept

out of sight. He begins his account by saying: "History will record that

on the morning of the 6th October, 1789, the King and Queen of France,

after a day of confusion, alarm, dismay, and slaughter, lay down under

the pledged security of public faith to indulge nature in a few hours

of respite, and troubled melancholy repose." This is neither the sober

style of history, nor the intention of it. It leaves everything to

be guessed at and mistaken. One would at least think there had been a

battle; and a battle there probably would have been had it not been

for the moderating prudence of those whom Mr. Burke involves in his

censures. By his keeping the Garde du Corps out of sight Mr. Burke has

afforded himself the dramatic licence of putting the King and Queen in

their places, as if the object of the expedition was against them. But

to return to my account this conduct of the Garde du Corps, as might

well be expected, alarmed and enraged the Partisans. The colors of

the cause, and the cause itself, were become too united to mistake the

intention of the insult, and the Partisans were determined to call

the Garde du Corps to an account. There was certainly nothing of the

cowardice of assassination in marching in the face of the day to demand

satisfaction, if such a phrase may be used, of a body of armed men who

had voluntarily given defiance. But the circumstance which serves

to throw this affair into embarrassment is, that the enemies of the

Revolution appear to have encouraged it as well as its friends. The one

hoped to prevent a civil war by checking it in time, and the other to

make one. The hopes of those opposed to the Revolution rested in making

the King of their party, and getting him from Versailles to Metz,

where they expected to collect a force and set up a standard. We have,

therefore, two different objects presenting themselves at the same time,

and to be accomplished by the same means: the one to chastise the Garde

du Corps, which was the object of the Partisans; the other to render the

confusion of such a scene an inducement to the King to set off for Metz.

On the 5th of October a very numerous body of women, and men in the

disguise of women, collected around the Hotel de Ville or town-hall at

Paris, and set off for Versailles. Their professed object was the Garde

du Corps; but prudent men readily recollect that mischief is more easily

begun than ended; and this impressed itself with the more force from the

suspicions already stated, and the irregularity of such a cavalcade.

As soon, therefore, as a sufficient force could be collected, M. de la

Fayette, by orders from the civil authority of Paris, set off after

them at the head of twenty thousand of the Paris militia. The Revolution

could derive no benefit from confusion, and its opposers might. By an

amiable and spirited manner of address he had hitherto been fortunate in

calming disquietudes, and in this he was extraordinarily successful; to

frustrate, therefore, the hopes of those who might seek to improve

this scene into a sort of justifiable necessity for the King's quitting

Versailles and withdrawing to Metz, and to prevent at the same time

the consequences that might ensue between the Garde du Corps and this

phalanx of men and women, he forwarded expresses to the King, that he

was on his march to Versailles, by the orders of the civil authority of

Paris, for the purpose of peace and protection, expressing at the same

time the necessity of restraining the Garde du Corps from firing upon

the people.*[3]

He arrived at Versailles between ten and eleven at night. The Garde du

Corps was drawn up, and the people had arrived some time before, but

everything had remained suspended. Wisdom and policy now consisted in

changing a scene of danger into a happy event. M. de la Fayette became

the mediator between the enraged parties; and the King, to remove the

uneasiness which had arisen from the delay already stated, sent for the

President of the National Assembly, and signed the Declaration of the

Rights of Man, and such other parts of the constitution as were in

readiness.

It was now about one in the morning. Everything appeared to be composed,

and a general congratulation took place. By the beat of a drum a

proclamation was made that the citizens of Versailles would give the

hospitality of their houses to their fellow-citizens of Paris. Those

who could not be accommodated in this manner remained in the streets, or

took up their quarters in the churches; and at two o'clock the King and

Queen retired.

In this state matters passed till the break of day, when a fresh

disturbance arose from the censurable conduct of some of both parties,

for such characters there will be in all such scenes. One of the Garde

du Corps appeared at one of the windows of the palace, and the people

who had remained during the night in the streets accosted him with

reviling and provocative language. Instead of retiring, as in such a

case prudence would have dictated, he presented his musket, fired, and

killed one of the Paris militia. The peace being thus broken, the people

rushed into the palace in quest of the offender. They attacked the

quarters of the Garde du Corps within the palace, and pursued them

throughout the avenues of it, and to the apartments of the King. On this

tumult, not the Queen only, as Mr. Burke has represented it, but every

person in the palace, was awakened and alarmed; and M. de la Fayette had

a second time to interpose between the parties, the event of which was

that the Garde du Corps put on the national cockade, and the matter

ended as by oblivion, after the loss of two or three lives.

During the latter part of the time in which this confusion was acting,

the King and Queen were in public at the balcony, and neither of them

concealed for safety's sake, as Mr. Burke insinuates. Matters being thus

appeased, and tranquility restored, a general acclamation broke forth of

Le Roi a Paris--Le Roi a Paris--The King to Paris. It was the shout of

peace, and immediately accepted on the part of the King. By this measure

all future projects of trapanning the King to Metz, and setting up the

standard of opposition to the constitution, were prevented, and the

suspicions extinguished. The King and his family reached Paris in the

evening, and were congratulated on their arrival by M. Bailly, the Mayor

of Paris, in the name of the citizens. Mr. Burke, who throughout his

book confounds things, persons, and principles, as in his remarks on

M. Bailly's address, confounded time also. He censures M. Bailly for

calling it "un bon jour," a good day. Mr. Burke should have informed

himself that this scene took up the space of two days, the day on which

it began with every appearance of danger and mischief, and the day on

which it terminated without the mischiefs that threatened; and that

it is to this peaceful termination that M. Bailly alludes, and to the

arrival of the King at Paris. Not less than three hundred thousand

persons arranged themselves in the procession from Versailles to Paris,

and not an act of molestation was committed during the whole march.

Mr. Burke on the authority of M. Lally Tollendal, a deserter from the

National Assembly, says that on entering Paris, the people shouted "Tous

les eveques a la lanterne." All Bishops to be hanged at the lanthorn

or lamp-posts. It is surprising that nobody could hear this but Lally

Tollendal, and that nobody should believe it but Mr. Burke. It has not

the least connection with any part of the transaction, and is totally

foreign to every circumstance of it. The Bishops had never been

introduced before into any scene of Mr. Burke's drama: why then are

they, all at once, and altogether, tout a coup, et tous ensemble,

introduced now? Mr. Burke brings forward his Bishops and his

lanthorn-like figures in a magic lanthorn, and raises his scenes by

contrast instead of connection. But it serves to show, with the rest of

his book what little credit ought to be given where even probability is

set at defiance, for the purpose of defaming; and with this reflection,

instead of a soliloquy in praise of chivalry, as Mr. Burke has done, I

close the account of the expedition to Versailles.*[4]

I have now to follow Mr. Burke through a pathless wilderness of

rhapsodies, and a sort of descant upon governments, in which he asserts

whatever he pleases, on the presumption of its being believed, without

offering either evidence or reasons for so doing.

Before anything can be reasoned upon to a conclusion, certain facts,

principles, or data, to reason from, must be established, admitted, or

denied. Mr. Burke with his usual outrage, abused the Declaration of

the Rights of Man, published by the National Assembly of France, as

the basis on which the constitution of France is built. This he calls

"paltry and blurred sheets of paper about the rights of man." Does Mr.

Burke mean to deny that man has any rights? If he does, then he must

mean that there are no such things as rights anywhere, and that he has

none himself; for who is there in the world but man? But if Mr. Burke

means to admit that man has rights, the question then will be: What are

those rights, and how man came by them originally?

The error of those who reason by precedents drawn from antiquity,

respecting the rights of man, is that they do not go far enough into

antiquity. They do not go the whole way. They stop in some of the

intermediate stages of an hundred or a thousand years, and produce what

was then done, as a rule for the present day. This is no authority at

all. If we travel still farther into antiquity, we shall find a direct

contrary opinion and practice prevailing; and if antiquity is to be

authority, a thousand such authorities may be produced, successively

contradicting each other; but if we proceed on, we shall at last come

out right; we shall come to the time when man came from the hand of his

Maker. What was he then? Man. Man was his high and only title, and a

higher cannot be given him. But of titles I shall speak hereafter.

We are now got at the origin of man, and at the origin of his rights.

As to the manner in which the world has been governed from that day to

this, it is no farther any concern of ours than to make a proper use of

the errors or the improvements which the history of it presents. Those

who lived an hundred or a thousand years ago, were then moderns, as we

are now. They had their ancients, and those ancients had others, and we

also shall be ancients in our turn. If the mere name of antiquity is to

govern in the affairs of life, the people who are to live an hundred or

a thousand years hence, may as well take us for a precedent, as we make

a precedent of those who lived an hundred or a thousand years ago. The

fact is, that portions of antiquity, by proving everything, establish

nothing. It is authority against authority all the way, till we come

to the divine origin of the rights of man at the creation. Here our

enquiries find a resting-place, and our reason finds a home. If a

dispute about the rights of man had arisen at the distance of an hundred

years from the creation, it is to this source of authority they must

have referred, and it is to this same source of authority that we must

now refer.

Though I mean not to touch upon any sectarian principle of religion,

yet it may be worth observing, that the genealogy of Christ is traced

to Adam. Why then not trace the rights of man to the creation of man? I

will answer the question. Because there have been upstart governments,

thrusting themselves between, and presumptuously working to un-make man.

If any generation of men ever possessed the right of dictating the

mode by which the world should be governed for ever, it was the

first generation that existed; and if that generation did it not, no

succeeding generation can show any authority for doing it, nor can set

any up. The illuminating and divine principle of the equal rights of man

(for it has its origin from the Maker of man) relates, not only to the

living individuals, but to generations of men succeeding each other.

Every generation is equal in rights to generations which preceded it,

by the same rule that every individual is born equal in rights with his

contemporary.

Every history of the creation, and every traditionary account, whether

from the lettered or unlettered world, however they may vary in their

opinion or belief of certain particulars, all agree in establishing one

point, the unity of man; by which I mean that men are all of one degree,

and consequently that all men are born equal, and with equal natural

right, in the same manner as if posterity had been continued by creation

instead of generation, the latter being the only mode by which the

former is carried forward; and consequently every child born into the

world must be considered as deriving its existence from God. The world

is as new to him as it was to the first man that existed, and his

natural right in it is of the same kind.

The Mosaic account of the creation, whether taken as divine authority or

merely historical, is full to this point, the unity or equality of man.

The expression admits of no controversy. "And God said, Let us make man

in our own image. In the image of God created he him; male and female

created he them." The distinction of sexes is pointed out, but no other

distinction is even implied. If this be not divine authority, it is at

least historical authority, and shows that the equality of man, so far

from being a modern doctrine, is the oldest upon record.

It is also to be observed that all the religions known in the world are

founded, so far as they relate to man, on the unity of man, as being all

of one degree. Whether in heaven or in hell, or in whatever state man

may be supposed to exist hereafter, the good and the bad are the only

distinctions. Nay, even the laws of governments are obliged to slide

into this principle, by making degrees to consist in crimes and not in

persons.

It is one of the greatest of all truths, and of the highest advantage to

cultivate. By considering man in this light, and by instructing him to

consider himself in this light, it places him in a close connection with

all his duties, whether to his Creator or to the creation, of which he

is a part; and it is only when he forgets his origin, or, to use a more

fashionable phrase, his birth and family, that he becomes dissolute. It

is not among the least of the evils of the present existing governments

in all parts of Europe that man, considered as man, is thrown back to a

vast distance from his Maker, and the artificial chasm filled up with a

succession of barriers, or sort of turnpike gates, through which he has

to pass. I will quote Mr. Burke's catalogue of barriers that he has

set up between man and his Maker. Putting himself in the character of a

herald, he says: "We fear God--we look with awe to kings--with affection

to Parliaments with duty to magistrates--with reverence to priests,

and with respect to nobility." Mr. Burke has forgotten to put in

"'chivalry." He has also forgotten to put in Peter.

The duty of man is not a wilderness of turnpike gates, through which he

is to pass by tickets from one to the other. It is plain and simple, and

consists but of two points. His duty to God, which every man must feel;

and with respect to his neighbor, to do as he would be done by. If those

to whom power is delegated do well, they will be respected: if not,

they will be despised; and with regard to those to whom no power is

delegated, but who assume it, the rational world can know nothing of

them.

Hitherto we have spoken only (and that but in part) of the natural

rights of man. We have now to consider the civil rights of man, and

to show how the one originates from the other. Man did not enter into

society to become worse than he was before, nor to have fewer rights

than he had before, but to have those rights better secured. His natural

rights are the foundation of all his civil rights. But in order to

pursue this distinction with more precision, it will be necessary to

mark the different qualities of natural and civil rights.

A few words will explain this. Natural rights are those which appertain

to man in right of his existence. Of this kind are all the intellectual

rights, or rights of the mind, and also all those rights of acting as an

individual for his own comfort and happiness, which are not injurious to

the natural rights of others. Civil rights are those which appertain to

man in right of his being a member of society. Every civil right has for

its foundation some natural right pre-existing in the individual, but

to the enjoyment of which his individual power is not, in all cases,

sufficiently competent. Of this kind are all those which relate to

security and protection.

From this short review it will be easy to distinguish between that class

of natural rights which man retains after entering into society and

those which he throws into the common stock as a member of society.

The natural rights which he retains are all those in which the Power to

execute is as perfect in the individual as the right itself. Among

this class, as is before mentioned, are all the intellectual rights, or

rights of the mind; consequently religion is one of those rights. The

natural rights which are not retained, are all those in which, though

the right is perfect in the individual, the power to execute them is

defective. They answer not his purpose. A man, by natural right, has a

right to judge in his own cause; and so far as the right of the mind is

concerned, he never surrenders it. But what availeth it him to judge,

if he has not power to redress? He therefore deposits this right in the

common stock of society, and takes the ann of society, of which he is

a part, in preference and in addition to his own. Society grants him

nothing. Every man is a proprietor in society, and draws on the capital

as a matter of right.

From these premisses two or three certain conclusions will follow:

First, That every civil right grows out of a natural right; or, in other

words, is a natural right exchanged.

Secondly, That civil power properly considered as such is made up of