LETTER ADDRESSED TO THE ABBE RAYNAL ON THE Affairs of North-America.

TO an author of ſuch diſtinguiſhed reputation as the Abbe Raynal, it might very well be⯑come me to apologize for the preſent under⯑taking; but as to be right is the firſt wiſh of philoſophy, and the firſt principle of hiſtory, he will, I preſume, accept from me a declaration of my motives, which are thoſe of doing juſtice, in preference to any complimental apology I might otherwiſe make.—The Abbe, in the courſe of his work, has, in ſome inſtan⯑ces, extolled without a reaſon, and wounded without a cauſe. He has given ſame where it was not deſerved, and withheld it where it was juſtly due; and appears to be ſo frequently in and out of temper with his ſubjects and parties, that few or none of them are decicively and uniformly marked.

IT is yet too ſoon to write the hiſtory of the revolu⯑tion, and whoever attempts it precipitately, will una⯑voidably [8]miſtake characters and circumſtances, and in⯑volve himſelf in error and difficulty Things like men are ſeldom underſtood rightly at firſt ſight. But the Abbe is wrong even in the foundation of his work; that is, he has miſconceived and miſtated the couſes which produced the rupture between England and her th [...]n colonies, and which led on, ſtep by ſtep, unſtudied and uncontrived on the part of America, to a revolution, which has engaged the attention, and affected the inte⯑reſt, of Europe.

To prove this, I ſhall bring forward a paſſage, which, though placed towards the latter part of the Abbe's work, is more intimately connected with the beginning; and in which, ſpeaking of the original cauſe of the diſpute, he declares himſelf in the following manner.—

"NONE," ſays he, ‘of thoſe energetic cauſes, which have produced ſo many revolutions upon the globe, exiſted in North America. Neither religion nor laws had been outraged. The blood of martyrs or patri⯑ots had not there ſtreamed from ſcaffolds. Morals had not there been inſulted. Manners, cuſtoms, ha⯑bits, no object dear to nations, had there been the ſport of ridicule. Arbitrary power had not there torn any inhabitant from the arms of his family and his friends, to drag him to a dreary dungeon. Public order had not been there inverted. The principles of adminiſtration had not been changed there; and the maxims of government had there always remained the ſame. The whole queſtion was reduced to the knowing whether the mother country had, or had not a right to lay, directly or indirectly, a ſlight tax upon the colonies.’

ON this extraordinary paſſage, it may not be improper, in general terms, to remark, that none can feel like thoſe who ſuffer; and that for a man to be a competant judge of the provocative, or, as the Abbe ſtiles them, the ener⯑getic cauſes of the revolution, he muſt have reſided in America.

[9]THE Abbe in ſaying that the ſeveral particulars he has enumerated, did not exiſt in America, and neglecting to point out the particular period, in which he means they did not exiſt, reduces thereby his declaration to a nullity by taking away all meaning from the paſſage.

THEY did not exiſt in 1763 and they all exiſted before 1776; conſequently as there was a time when they did not, and another, when they did exiſt, the time when con⯑ſtitutes the eſſence of the fact, and not to give it, is to withhold the only evidence, which proves the declaration right or wrong, and on which it muſt ſtand or fall. But the declaration as it now appears, unaccompanied by time has an effect in holding out to the world, that there was no real cauſe for the revolution, becauſe it denies the exiſtence of all thoſe cauſes, which are ſuppoſed to be juſtifiable and which the Abbe ſtiles energetic.

I CONFESS myſelf exceedingly at a loſs to find out the time to which the Abbe alludes; becauſe, in another part of the work in ſpeaking of the ſtamp act which was paſ⯑ſed in 1764, he ſtiles it, "An uſurpation of the Americans moſt precious and ſacred rights." Conſequently he here admits the moſt energetic of all cauſes that is, an uſurpa⯑tion of their moſt precious and ſacred rights, to have exiſted in America twelve years before the declaration of inde⯑pendence, and ten years before the breaking out of hoſti⯑lities — The time, therefore, in which the paragraph is true, muſt be antecedent to the ſtamp act, but as at that time there was no revolution nor any idea of one, it con⯑ſequently applies without a meaning; and as it cannot, on the Abbe's own principle, be applied to any time after the ſtamp act, it is therefore a wandering ſolitary paragraph connected with nothing and at variance with every thing.

THE ſtamp act, it is true, was repealed in two years after it was paſſed▪ but it was immediately followed by one of infinitely more miſchievous magnitude, I mean the declaratory act, which aſſerted the right, as it was ſtiled, of the Britiſh Parliament, "to bind America in all caſes whatſoever."

[10]IF then the ſtamp act was an uſurpation of the Ameri⯑cans moſt precious and ſacred rights, the declaratory act left them no right at all; and contained the full grown ſeeds of the moſt deſpotic government ever exerciſed in the world. It placed America not only in the loweſt, but in the baſeſt ſtate of vaſſalage; becauſe it demanded an un⯑conditional ſubmiſſion in every thing, or as the act ex⯑preſſes it, in all caſes whatſoever: And what renders this act the more offenſive is, that it appears to have been p [...]ſſed as an act of mercy; truly then may it be ſaid, that the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.

ALL the original charters from the Crown of England, under the f [...]i [...]h of which, the adventurers from the old world ſettled in the new, were by this act diſplaced from their foundations; becauſe, contrary to the nature of them which was that of a compact they were now made ſubject to repeal or alteration at the meer will of one party only The whole condition of America was thus put into the hands of the Parliament or the Miniſtry without leaving to her the leaſt right in any caſe whatſoever.

THERE is no deſpotiſm to which this iniquitous law did not extend; and tho' it might have been convenient in the execution of it to have conſulted manners and ha⯑bits, the principle of [...]he [...]ot made all tyranny legal. It ſtopt nowhere It went to every thing. It took in with it the whole life of a man, or if I may ſo expreſs it, an eternity of circumſtances It is the nature of law to re⯑quire obedience, but this demanded ſervitude; and the condition of an American under the operation of it▪ was not that of a ſubject but a vaſſal. Tyranny has often been eſtabliſhed without law and ſometimes againſt it, but the hiſtory of mankind does not produce another inſtance, in which it has been eſtabliſhed by law. It is an audaci⯑ous outrage upon civil government, and cannot be too much expoſed, in order to be ſufficiently deteſted.

NEITHER could it be ſaid after this, that the legiſla⯑ture of that country any longer made laws for this but that it gave out commands; for wherein differed an act [11]of Parliament conſtructed on this principle, and operating in this manner, over an unrepreſented people, from the orders of a military eſtabliſhment.

THE Parliament of England, with reſpect to America, was not ſeptennial but perpetual. It appeared to the lat⯑ter a body always in being. Its election or its expiration were to her the ſame as it its members ſucceeded by inhe⯑ritance, or went out by death, or lived for ever, or were appointed to it as a matter of office. Therefore for the people of England to have any juſt conception of the mind of America, reſpecting this extraordinary act, they muſt ſuppoſe all election and expiration in that country to ceaſe for ever, and the preſent parliament, its heirs, &c. to be perpetual; in this caſe, I aſk, what would the moſt clamorous of them think were an act to be p [...]ſſ [...]d, decla⯑ring the right of ſuch a parliament to bind them in all ca⯑ſes whatſoever? For this word whatſoever would go as effectually to their Magna Charta, Bill of Rights. Trial by Juries, &c. as it went to the charters and forms of go⯑vermeat in America.

I AM perſuaded that the Gentleman to whom I addreſs remarks will not, after the paſſing this act, ſay, ‘That the principles of adminiſtration had not been changed in America, and that the maxims of govern⯑ment had there been always the ſame.’ For here is, in principle, a total overthr [...]w of the whole; and not a ſubverſion only, but an annihilation of the foundation of liberty, and abſolute domination eſtabliſhed in its ſtead.

THE Abbe likewiſe ſtates the caſe exceedingly wrong and i [...]juriouſly, when he ſays, ‘that the whole queſtion was reduced to the knowing whether the mother coun⯑try had, or had not, a right to lay, directly, or in⯑directly a ſlight tax upon the colonies’—This was not the whole of the queſtion; neither was the quantity of the tax the object▪ either to the Miniſtry or to the Ame⯑ricans. It was the principle, of which the tax made but a part▪ and the quantity ſtill leſs, that formed the ground on which America oppoſed.

[12]THE tax on tea, which is the tax here alluded to was neither more or leſs than an experiment to eſtabliſh the practice of the declaratory law upon; modelled into the more faſhionable phraſe of the univerſal ſupremacy of Parliament. For until this time the declaratory law had lain dormant, and the framers of it had contented them⯑ſelves with barely declaring an opinion.

THEREFORE the whole queſtion with America, in the opening of the diſpute, was ſhall we be bound in all ca⯑ſ [...] wha [...]ſoever by the Britiſh Parliament, or ſhall we not? For ſubmiſſion to the tea or tax act implied an acknowledg⯑ment of the declaratory act, or in other words, of the univerſal ſupremacy of Parliament, which as they never intended to do, it was neceſſary they ſhould oppoſe it, in its firſt ſtage of execution.

IT is probable, the Abbe has been led into this miſtake by peruſing detached pieces in ſome of the American news⯑papers; for in a eaſe, where all were intereſted, every one had a right to give his opinion; and there were ma⯑ny, who with the beſt intentions, did not chuse the beſt▪ nor indeed the true ground, to defend their cauſe upon. They felt themſelves right by a general impulſe, without being able to ſeparate, analyze, and arrange the parts.

I AM ſomewhat unwilling to examine too minutely into the whole of this extraordinary paſſage of the Abbe, leſt I ſhould appear to treat it with ſeverity; otherwiſe I could ſhow that not a ſingle declaration is juſtly founded: For inſtance, the reviving an obſolete act of the reign of Henry the eighth, and fitting it to the Americans by au⯑thority of which they were to be ſeized and brought from America to England, and there impriſoned and tried for any ſuppoſed offences, was, in the worſt ſenſe of the words, to tear them, by the arbitrary power of Parliament, from the arms of their families and friends and drag them not only to dreary but diſtant dungeons. Yet this act was con⯑trived ſome years before the breaking out of hoſtilities. And again, though the blood of martyrs and patriots had not ſtreamed on the ſcaffolds, it ſtreamed in the ſtreets, [13]in the maſſacre of the inhabitants of Boſton, by the Bri⯑tiſh ſoldiery in the year 1770.

HAD the Abbe ſaid that the cauſes which produced the revolution in America were originally different from thoſe which produced revolutions in other parts of the globe, he had been right. Here the value and quality of liberty, the nature of government, and the dignity of man, were known and underſtood, and the attachment of the Ame⯑ricans to theſe principles produced the revolution as a natural and almoſt unavoidable conſequence. They had no particular family to ſet up or pull down. Nothing of perſonality was incorporated with their cauſe. They ſtarted even handed with each other, and went no faſter into the ſeveral ſtages of it, than they were driven by the unrelenting and imperious conduct of Britain. Nay, in the laſt act, the declaration of independence, they had nearly been too late; for had it not been declared at the exact time it was, I ſee no period in their affairs ſince, in which it could have been declared with the ſame effect, and probably not at all.

BUT the object being formed before the reverſe of for⯑tune took place, that is before the operations of the gloo⯑my campaign of 1776, their honor, their intereſt, their every thing called loudly on them to maintain it; and that glow of thought and energy of heart, which even a diſtant proſpect of independence inſpires, gave confidence to their hopes and reſolution to their conduct, which a ſtate of dependence could never have reached. They looked forward to happier days and ſcenes of reſt, and qualified the hardſhips of the campaign by contemplating the eſtabliſhment of their new born ſyſtem.

IF on the other hand we take a review of what part Britain has acted, we ſhall find every thing which ought to make a nation bluſh. The moſt vulgar abuſe, accom⯑panied by that ſpecies of haughtineſs, which diſtinguiſhes the hero of a mob from the character of a gentleman; it was equally as much from her manners as from her in⯑juſtice that ſhe loſt the colonies. By the latter ſhe pro⯑voked [14]their principles, by the former ſhe wore out their temper; and it ought to be held out as an example to the world, to ſhow, how neceſſary it is to conduct the buſineſs of government with civility. In ſhort, other revolutions may have originated in caprice or generated in ambition; but here, the moſt un [...]ff [...]ding hu [...]ility was tortured into rage, and the infancy of exiſtence made to weep.

A UNION ſo extenſive▪ continued and determined ſuf⯑fering with patience and never in deſpair could not have been produced by common cauſes. I muſt be ſomething capable of reaching the whole ſoul of man and arming it with perpetual energy In vein is it to look for pre⯑cedents among the revolutions of former ages to find out▪ by compariſon, the cauſes of this. The ſpring, the progreſs, the object▪ the conſequences ray the men, their habits of thinking and all the circumſtances of the country are different. Thoſe of other nations are in general, little more than the hiſtory of their quarrels. They are marked by no important character in the an⯑nals of events; mixt in the maſs of general matters they occupy but a common page; and while the chief of the ſucceſsful parti [...]ns ſlept into power, the plundered [...]ul⯑titude ſat down and ſorrowed. Few very few of them are accompanied with reformation either in government or manners; many of them with the moſt conſummate profligacy. Triumph on the one ſide and miſery on the other were the only events. Pains, puniſhments, tor⯑ture, and death were made the buſineſs of mankind, un⯑til c [...]m [...]i [...]n▪ the f [...]ireſt aſſociate of the heart, was dri⯑ven from its place and the eye accuſtomed to continual cruelty, could behold it without offence.

BUT as the principles of the preſent revolution dif⯑fered from thoſe which preceeded it, ſo likewiſe has the conduct of America both in government and war Nei⯑ther the foul finger of diſgrace nor the bloody hand of vengeance has hitherto put a blot upon her fame. Her victories have received luſtre from a greatneſs of lenity; and her laws been permitted to ſlumber▪ where they might juſtly have awakened to puniſh. War, ſo much [15]the trade of the world, has here been only the buſineſs of neceſſity; and when the neceſſity ſhall ceaſe, her very enemies muſt confeſs, that as ſhe drew the ſword in her juſt defence, ſhe uſed it without cruelty and ſheathed it without revenge.

AS it is not my deſign to extend theſe remarks to a hiſtory, I ſhall now take my leave of this paſſage of the Abbe, with an obſervation, which until ſomething un⯑folds itſelf to convince me otherwiſe, I cannot avoid be⯑lieving to be true;—which is that it was the fix [...] deter⯑mination of the Britiſh cabinet to quarrel with America at all events.

THEY ( [...]he members who compoſe the cabinet) had no doubt of ſucceſs, if they could once bring it to the iſſue of a battle; and they expected from a conqueſt, what they could neither propoſe with decency no [...] hope for by negociation. The charters and conſtitutions of the co⯑lonies were become to them matters of offence, and their rapid progreſs in property and population were diſguſt⯑ingly beheld as the growing and natural means of inde⯑pendence. They ſaw no way to retain them long but by reducing them in time. A conqueſt would at once have made them both lords and landlords; and put them in poſſeſſion both of the revenue and rental. The whole trouble of government would have ceaſed in a vic⯑tory, and a final end been put to remonſtrance & debate. The experience of the ſtamp act had taught them how to quarrel with the advantages of cover and convenience, and they had nothing to do but to renew the ſcene, and put contention into motion. They hoped for a rebellion, and they made one They expected a declaration of inde⯑pendence, and they were not diſappointed. But after this, they looked for victory, and they obtained a defeat.

In this be taken as the generating cauſe of the conteſt, then is every part of the conduct of the Britiſh Miniſtry conſiſtent from the commencement of the diſpute, until the ſigning the treaty of Paris, after which, conqueſt be⯑coming doubtful, they retreated to negociation, and were again defeated.

[16]THO' the Abbe poſſeſſes and diſplays great powers of genius and is a maſter of ſtile and language, he ſeems not to pay equal attention to the office of an hiſtorian. His facts are coldly and careleſſly ſtated. They neither inf [...]r [...] the reader nor intereſt him. Many of them are erroneous and moſt of them defective and obſcure. It is undoubtedly both an ornament and a uſeful addition to hiſtory to accompany it with maxims and reflections. They afford likewiſe an agreeable change to the ſtile and a more diverſified manner of expreſſion; but it is abſolutely ne⯑ceſſary that the root from whence they ſpring or the foundations on which they are raiſed ſhould be well at⯑tended to which in this work they are not. The Abbe haſtens through his narrations as if he was glad to get from them, that he may enter the more copious field of eloquence and imagination.

THE actions of Trenton and Princeton in New-Jerſey, in December 1776 and January following on which the fate of America ſtood for a while trembling on the point of ſuſpence, and from which the moſt important conſe⯑quences followed, are compriſed within a ſingle paragraph faintly conceived, and barren of character, circumſtance and deſcription.

"ON the 25th of December," ſays the Abbe, ‘they ( [...]he Americans) croſſed the Delaware, and fell acci⯑dentally upon Trenton, which was occupied by fifteen hundred of the twelve thouſand Heſſians, ſold in ſo b [...]ſe a manner by their avaricious maſter to the King of Great Britain. This corps was maſſacred taken, or diſperſed. Eight days after, three Engliſh regiments were in like manner driven from Princeton, but after having better ſupported their reputation than the foreign troops in their pay.’

THIS is all the account which is given of theſe moſt intereſting events. The Abbe has preceded them by two or three pages on the military operations of both armies, from the time of General Howe arriving before New-York from Halifax, and the vaſt reinforcements of Britiſh and [17]foreign troops with Lord Howe from England. But in theſe, there is ſo much miſtake, and ſo many omiſſions, that, to ſet them right, muſt be the buſineſs of hiſtory and not of a letter. The action of Long Iſland is but barely hinted at, and the operations at the White Plains wholly omitted: as are likewiſe the attack and loſs of fort Waſhington, with a garriſon of about two thouſand five hundred men, and the precipitate evacuation of Fort Lee, in conſequence thereof; which losses were in a great meaſure the cauſe of the retreat through the Jerſies to the Delaware, a diſtance of about ninety miles. Neither is the manner of the retreat deſcribed, which, from the ſeaſon of the year, the nature of the country, the nearneſs of the two armies, (ſometimes within ſight and ſhot of each o⯑ther for ſuch a length of way) the rear of the one employ⯑ed in pulling down bridges, and the van of the other in building them up, muſt neceſſarily be accompanied with many intereſting circumſtances.

IT is a period of diſtreſſes. A criſis rather of dan⯑ger than of hope. There is no deſcription can do it juſtice; and even the actors in it, looking back upon the ſcene, are ſurpriſed how they got through; and at a loſs to account for thoſe powers of the mind and ſprings of animation, by which they withſtood the force of accumu⯑lated misfortune.

IT was expected, that the time for which the army was inliſted, would carry the campaign ſo far into the winter, that the ſeverity of the ſeaſon, and the conſequent con⯑dition of the roads, would prevent any material opera⯑tion of the enemy, until the new army could be raiſed for the next year. And I mention it as a matter worthy of attention by all future hiſtorians, that the movements of the American army, until the attack upon the Heſſian poſt at Trenton, the 26th December, are to be conſider⯑ed as operating to effect no other principal purpoſe than delay, and to wear away the campaign under all the diſ⯑advantages of an unequal force, with as little misfortune as poſſible.

[18]BUT the loſs of the garriſon at Fort-Waſhington on the 16th of November, and the expiration of the time of a conſiderable part of the army, ſo early as the 30th of the ſame month, and which were to be followed by al⯑moſt daily expirations afterwards made retreat the only final expedient. To theſe circumſtances may be added the forlorn and deſtitute condition of the few that re⯑mained; for the garriſon of Fort-Lee, which compoſed almoſt the whole of the retreat, had been obliged to abandon it ſo inſtantaneouſly, that every article of ſtores and baggage was left behind, and in this deſtitute con⯑dition, without tent or blanket, and without any other utenſils to dreſs their proviſion than what they procured by the way, they performed a march of about ninety miles, and had the addreſs and management to prolong it to the ſpace of nineteen days.

BY this unexpected or rather unthought of turn of affairs, the country was in an inſtant ſurpriſed into con⯑fuſion, and found an enemy within its bowels without an army to oppoſe him. There were no ſuccours to be had, but from the free will offering of the inhabitants. All was choice and every man reaſoned for himſelf.

IT was in this ſituation of affairs, equally calculated to confound or to inſpire, that the gentleman, the merchant, the farmer, the tradeſman and the labourer mutually turned from all the conveniences of home, to perform the duties of private ſoldiers and undergo the ſeverities of a winter campaign. The delay ſo judiciouſly contrived on the retreat, afforded time for the volunteer reinforce⯑ments to join General Waſhington on the Delaware.

THE Abbe is likewiſe wrong in ſaying, that the Ame⯑rican army fell accidentally on Trenton. It was the ve⯑ry object for which General Waſhington croſſed the De⯑laware in the dead of the night and in the midſt of ſnow, ſtorms, and ice; and which he immediately re-croſſed with his priſoners, as ſoon as he had accompliſhed his purpoſe. Neither was the intended enterpriſe a ſecret to the enemy, information having been ſent of it by let⯑ter [19]from a Britiſh officer at Princetown to Colonel Rolle, who commanded the Heſſians at Trenton, which letter was afterwards found by the Americans. Nevertheleſs, the poſt was completely ſurpriſed. A ſmall circumſtance which had the appearance of miſtake on the part of the Americans, led to a more capital and real miſtake on the part of Rolle.

THE caſe was this. A detachment of twenty or thirty Americans had been ſent acroſs the river from a poſt a few miles above, by an officer unacquainted with the in⯑tended attack; theſe were net by a body of Heſſians on the night, to which the information pointed, which was Chriſtmas night, and repulſed. Nothing further appear⯑ing, and the Heſſians, miſtaking this for the advanced party, ſuppoſed the enterpriſe diſconcerted, which at that time was not began, and under this idea returned to their quarters; ſo that, what might have raiſed an a⯑larm, and brought the Americans into an ambuſcade, ſerved to take off the force of an information and pro⯑mote the ſucceſs of the enterprize. Soon after day light General Waſhington entered the town, and after a little oppoſition, made himſelf maſter of it, with upwards of nine hundred priſoners.

THIS combination of equivocal circumſtances, falling within what the Abbeſtiles "the wide empire of chance," would have afforded a fine field for thought, and I wiſh, for the ſake of that elegance of reflection he is ſo capable of uſing, that he had known it.

BUT the action at Princeton was accompanied by a ſtill greater embarraſſment of matters, and followed by more extraordinary conſequences. The Americans, by a hap⯑py ſtroke of generalſhip, in this inſtance, not only derang⯑ed and defeated all the plans of the Britiſh in the intend⯑ed moment of execution, but drew from their poſts the enemy they were not able to drive, and oblige them to cloſe the campaign. As the circumſtance is a curioſity in war, and not well underſtood in Europe, I ſhall, as con⯑ciſely as I can, relate the principal parts; they may ſerve [20]to prevent future hiſtorians from error, and recover from forgetfulneſs a ſcene of magnificent fortitude.

IMMEDIATELY after the ſurprize of the Heſſians at Trenton, General Waſhington recroſſed the Delaware, which at this place is about three quarters of a mile over, and reaſſumed his former poſt on the Pennſylvania ſide. Trenton remained unoccupied, and the enemy were poſted at Princeton, twelve miles diſtant, on the road towards New-York. The weather was now growing very ſevere, and as there were very few houſes near the ſhore where General Waſhington had taken his ſtation, the greateſt part of his army remained out in the woods and fields.—Theſe, with ſome other circumſtances, induced the recroſs⯑ing the Delaware and taking poſſeſſion of Trenton. It was undoubtedly a bold adventure, and carried with it the panic ſtruck condition of the enemy on the loſs of the Heſſian poſt. But in order to give a juſt idea of the af⯑fair, it is neceſſary I ſhould deſcribe the place.

TRENTON is ſituated on a riſing ground, about three quarters of a mile diſtant from the Delaware, on the eaſt⯑ern or Jerſey ſide; and is cut into two diviſions by a ſmall creek or rivulet, ſufficient to turn a mill which is on it; after which it empties itſelf at nearly right angles into the Delaware. The upper diviſion, which is to the north eaſt, contains about ſeventy or eighty houſes,—and the lower about forty or fifty. The ground on each ſide this creek, and on which the houſes are, is likewiſe riſing, and the two diviſions preſent an agreeable proſpect to each other, with the creek between, on which there is a ſmall ſtone bridge of one arch.

SCARCELY had General Waſhington taken poſt here, and before the ſeveral parties of militia, out on detach⯑ments, or on their way could be collected, than the Britiſh, leaving behind them a ſtrong garriſon at Princeton, march⯑ed ſuddenly and entered Trenton at the upper or north eaſt quarter. A party of the Americans ſkirmiſhed with the advanced party of the Britiſh, to afford time for removing [21]the ſtores and baggage, and withdrawing over the bridge.

IN a little time the Britiſh had poſſeſſion of one half of the town, General Waſhington of the other;—and the creek only ſeparated the two armies. Nothing could be a more critical ſituation than this;—and if ever the fate of America depended on the event of a day, it was now. The Delaware was filling faſt with large ſheets of driving ice, and was impaſſible, ſo that no retreat into Pennſylva⯑nia could be effected; neither is it poſſible, in the face of an enemy, to paſs a river of ſuch extent. The roads were broken and rugged with the froſt, and the main road was occupied by the enemy.

ABOUT four o'clock a party of the Britiſh approached the bridge, with a deſign to gain it, but were repulſed. The [...] made no more attempts, though the creek itſelf is poſſible any where between the bridge & the Delaware. It runs into a rugged natural made ditch, over which a perſon may paſs with little difficulty, the ſtream being rapid and ſhallow. Evening was now coming on, and the Britiſh, believing they had all the advantages they could wiſh for, and that they could uſe them when they pleaſed, diſconti⯑nued all further operations, and held themſelves prepared to make the attack next morning.

BUT the next morning produced a ſcene, as elegant as it was unexpected. The Britiſh were under arms and ready to march to action, when one of their light-horſe from Princeton, came ſuriouſly down the ſtreet, with an account, that General Waſhington had that morning at⯑tacked and carried the Britiſh poſt at that place, and was proceeding on to ſeize the magazine at Brunſwick; on which the Britiſh, who were then on the point of making an aſſault on the evacuated camp of the Americans, wheel⯑ed about, and in a fit of conſternation, marched for Princeton.

THIS retreat is one of thoſe extraordinary circumſtan⯑ces, that in future ages may probably paſs for fable. For [22]it will with difficulty be believed, that two armies, on which ſuch important conſequences depended, ſhould be crouded into ſo ſmall a ſpace as Trenton; and that the one, on the eve of an engagement, when every ear is ſup⯑poſed to be open, and every watchfulneſs employed ſhould move compleatly from the ground, with all its ſtores bag⯑gage, and artillery, unknown, and even unſuſpected by the other. And ſo entirely were the Britiſh deceived, that when they heard the report of the cannon and ſmall arms at Princeton, they ſuppoſed it to be thunder, though in the depth of winter.

GENERAL Waſhington, the better to cover and diſguiſe his retreat from Trenton, had ordered a line of fires to be lighted up in front of his camp. Theſe not only ſerved to give an appearance of going to reſt, and continuing that deception, but they effectually concealed from the Bri⯑tiſh whatever was acting behind them,—for flame can no more be ſeen through than a wall,—and in this ſituation, it may wiſh ſome propriety be ſaid, they became a pillar of fire to the one army, and a pillar of a cloud to the other: after this, by a circuitous march of about eighteen miles, the Americans reached Princeton early in the morning.

THE number of priſoners taken were between two and three hundred, with which General Waſhington immedi⯑ately ſet off. The van of the Britiſh army from Trenton entered Princeton about an hour after the Americans had left it, who continuing their match for the remainder of the day, arrived in the evening at a convenient ſituation, wide of the main road to Brunſwick, and about ſixteen miles diſtant from Princeton.—But ſo wearied and ex⯑hauſted were they, with the continual and unabated ſervice and fatigue of two days and a night, from action to action, without ſhelter and almoſt without refreſhment, that the bare and frozen ground, with no other covering than the ſky, became to them a place of comfortable reſt. By theſe two events, and with but little comparative force to ac⯑compliſh, which, but a few days before, threatened the country with deſtruction. The Britiſh army, apprehenſive [23]for the ſafety of their magazines at Brunſwick, eighteen miles diſtant, marched immediately for that place, where they arrived late in the evening, and from which they made no attempts to move, for nearly five months.

HAVING thus ſtated the principal outlines of theſe two moſt intereſting actions, I ſhall now quit them, to put the Abbe right in his miſtated account of the debt and paper money of America, wherein, ſpeaking of theſe matters, he ſays,

‘THESE ideal riches were rejected. The more the multiplication of them was urged by want, the greater did their depreciation grow. The Congreſs was indig⯑nant at the affronts given to its money, and declared all thoſe to be traitors to their country who ſhould not receive it as they would have received gold itſelf.’

‘DID not this body know, that prepoſſeſſions are no more to be controled than feelings are? Did it not per⯑ceive, that in the preſent criſis every rational man would be afraid of expoſing his fortune? Did it not ſee, that at the beginning of a republic, it permitted to itſelf the exerciſe of ſuch acts of deſpotiſm as are unknown even in the countries which are moulded to, and become fa⯑miliar with ſervitude and oppreſſion? Could it pretend that it did not puniſh a want of confidence with the pains which would have been ſcarcely merited by revolt and treaſon? Of all this was the Congreſs well aware? But it had no choice of means. Its deſpiſed and deſpi⯑cable ſcraps of paper were actually thirty times below their original value, when more of them were ordered to be made. On the 13th of September, 1779, there was of this paper money, amongſt the public, to the a⯑mount of £ 35,544,155. The ſtate owed moreover £ 8,385,356, without reckoning the particular debts of ſingle provinces.’

IN the above recited paſſages, the Abbe ſpeaks as if the United States had contracted a debt of upwards of forty millions pounds ſterling, beſides the debts of individual [24]States. After which, ſpeaking of foreign trade with Ame⯑rica, he ſays, that ‘thoſe countries in Europe, which are truly commercial ones, knowing that North Ame⯑rica had been reduced to contract debts at the epoch of even her greateſt proſperity, wiſely thought, that, in her preſent diſtreſs, ſhe would be able to pay but very little for what might be carried to her.’

I KNOW it muſt be extremely difficult to make foreign⯑ers underſtand the nature and circumſtances of our paper money, becauſe there are natives, who do not underſtand it themſelves. But with us its fate is now determined. Common conſent has conſigned it to reſt with that kind of regard which the long ſervice of inanimate things in⯑ſenſibly obtains from mankind. Every ſtone in the bridge that has carried us over, ſeems to have a claim upon our eſteem. But this was a corner ſtone, and its uſefulneſs cannot be forgotten. There is ſomething in a grateful mind which extends itſelf even to things that can neither be benefitted by regard, nor ſuffer by neglect;—But ſo it is; and almoſt every man is ſenſible of the effect.

BUT to return.—The paper money, though iſſued from Congreſs under the name of dollars, did not come from that body always at that value. Thoſe which were iſſued the firſt year were equal to gold and ſilver; the ſecond year leſs; the third ſtill leſs, and ſo on for nearly the ſpace of five years; at the end of which, I imagine that the whole value at which Congreſs might pay away the ſeveral emiſſions, taking them together, was about ten or twelve millions pounds ſterling.

NOW as it would have taken ten or twelve millions ſterling of taxes to carry on the war for five years, and, as while this money was iſſuing and likewiſe depreciating down to nothing, there were none, or few valuable taxes paid; conſequently the event to the public was the ſame, whether they ſunk ten or twelve millions of ex⯑pended money, by depreciation, or paid ten or twelve millions by taxation; for as they did not do both, and choſe to do one, the matter, in a general view, was [25]indifferent. And therefore, what the Abbe ſuppoſes to be a debt, has now no exiſtence; it having been paid, by every body conſenting to reduce at his own expence, from the value of the bills continually paſſing among themſelves a ſum equal to nearly what the expence of the war was for five years.

AGAIN. The paper money having now ceaſed, and the depreciation with it, and gold and ſilver ſupplied its place, the war will now be carried on by taxation, which will draw from the public a conſiderable leſs ſum than what the depreciation drew; but as while they pay the former, they do not ſuffer the latter and as when they ſuffered the latter, they did not pay the former, the thing will be nearly equal, with this moral advantage, that taxation occaſions frugality and thought, and deprecia⯑tion produced diſſipation and careleſſneſs.

AND again. If a man's portion of taxes comes to leſs than what he loſt by the depreciation, it proves the alte⯑ration is in his favor. If it comes to more, and he is juſtly aſſeſſed it ſhows that he did not ſuſtain his proper ſhare of depreciation, becauſe the one was as operatively his tax as the other.

IT is true, that it never was intended, neither was it foreſeen, that the debt contained in the paper currency ſhould ſink itſelf in this manner; but as by the voluntary conduct of all and of every one it has arrived at this fate, the debt is paid by thoſe who owed it. Perhaps nothing was ever ſo univerſally the act of a country [...] this. Government had no hand in it. Every man de⯑preciated his own money by his own conſent, for ſuch was the effect, which the raiſing the nominal value of goods produced. But as by ſuch reduction he ſuſtained a loſs equal to what he muſt have paid to ſink it by tax⯑ation, therefore the line of juſtice is to conſider his loſs by the depreciation as his tax for that time, and not to tax him when the war is over, to make that money good in any other perſons hands, which became nothing in his own.

[26]AGAIN. The paper currency was iſſued for the ex⯑preſs purpoſe of carrying on the war. It has performed that ſervice without any other material charge to the public, while it laſted. But to ſuppoſe, as ſome did, that, at the end of the war, it was to grow into gold or ſilver, or become equal thereto, was to ſuppoſe that we were to get two hundred million of dollars by going to war, inſtead of paying the coſt of carrying it on.

BUT if any thing in the ſituation of America, as to her currency or her circumſtances, yet remains not underſtood, then let it be remembered, that this war is the public's war; the people's war; the country's war. It is their independence that is to be ſupported; their property that is to be ſecured; their country that is to be ſaved. Here government, the army and the people, are mutually and reciprocally one. In other wars, kings may loſe their thrones and their dominions; but here, the loſs muſt fall on the majeſty of the multitude, and the property they are contending to ſave. Every man being ſenſible of this, he goes to the field, or pays his portion of the charge, as the ſovereign of his own poſſeſſions; and when he is conquered a monarch falls.

THE remark which the Abbe in the concluſion of the paſſage has made, reſpecting America contracting debts in the time of her proſperity (by which he means before the breaking out of hoſtilities) ſerves to ſhow, though he has not made the application, the very great commercial difference between a dependent and an independent country. In a ſtate of dependence, and with a fettered commerce, though with all the advantages of peace, her trade could not balance itſelf, and ſhe annually run into debt. But now, in a ſtate of independence, though in⯑volved in war, ſhe requires no credit; her ſtores are full of merchandize, and gold and ſilver are become the cur⯑rency of the country. How theſe things have eſtabliſh⯑ed themſelves are difficult to account for: But they are facts, and facts are more powerful than arguments.

As it is probable this letter will undergo a re publica⯑tion [27]in Europe, the remarks here thrown together will ſerve to ſhow the extreme follow of Britain in reſting her hopes of ſucceſs on the extinction of our paper currency. The expectation is at once ſo childiſh and forlorn, that it places her in the laughable condition of a famiſhed lion watching for prey at a ſpider's web.

FROM this account of the currency, the Abbe pro⯑ceeds to ſtate the condition of America in the winter 1777, and the ſpring following; and cloſes his obſerva⯑tions with mentioning the treaty of alliance, which was ſigned in France, and the propoſitions of the Britiſh mi⯑niſtry, which were rejected in America. But in the man⯑ner in which the Abbe has arranged his facts, there is a very material error, that not only he, but other Europe⯑an hiſtorians have fallen into; none of them having aſ⯑ſigned the true cauſe why the Britiſh propoſals were re⯑jected, and all of them have aſſigned a wrong one.

IN the winter 1777, and ſpring following, congreſs were aſſembled at York town in Pennſylvania, the Britiſh were in poſſeſſion of Philadelphia, and General Waſhing⯑ton with the army were encamped in huts at the Valley-Forge, twenty-five miles diſtant therefrom. To all who can remember, it was a ſeaſon of hardſhip, but not of deſpair; and the Abbe, ſpeaking of this period and its inconveniences, ſays,—

‘A multitude of privations, added to ſo many other misfortunes, might make the Americans regret their former tranquility, and incline them to an accommo⯑dation with England. In vain had the people been bound to the new government by the ſacredneſs of oaths and the influence of religion. In vain had en⯑deavours been uſed to convince them that it was im⯑poſſible to treat ſafely with a country, in which one parliament might overturn what ſhould have been eſtabliſhed by another. In vain had they been threat⯑ened with the eternal reſentment of an exasperated and vindictive enemy. It was poſſible that theſe diſ⯑tant troubles might not be balanced by the weight of preſent evils.’

[28] ‘So thought the Britiſh miniſtry, when they ſent to the New World public agents, authoriſed to offer eve⯑ry thing except independence to theſe very Americans, from whom they had two years before exacted an un⯑conditional ſubmiſſion. It is not improbable but that by this plan of conciliation, a few months ſooner, ſome effect might have been produced. But at the period at which it was propoſed by the Court of London, it was rejected with diſdain, becauſe this meaſure ap⯑peared but as an argument of fear and weakneſs. The people were already re aſſured. The Congreſs, the Generals, the troops, the bold and ſkilful men, in each colony had poſſeſſed themſelves of the authority; every thing had recovered its firſt ſpirit. This was the effect of a treaty of friendſhip and commerce between the United States and the Court of Verſailles, ſigned the 6th of February, 1778.’

ON this paſſage of the Abbe's I cannot help remark⯑ing, that, to unite time with circumſtance, is a mate⯑rial nicety in hiſtory; the want of which frequently throws is into endleſs confuſion and miſtake, occaſions a total ſeparation between cauſes and conſequences, and connects them with others they are not immediately, and ſometimes not at all, related to.

THE Abbe, in ſaying that the offer: of the Britiſh mi⯑niſtry "were rejected with diſdain," it right, as to the fact, but wrong as to the time; and this error in the time, has occaſioned him to be miſtaken in the cauſe.

THE ſigning the treaty of Paris the 6th of February, 1778, could have no effect on the mind or politics of America, until it was known in America; and therefore, when the Abbe ſays, that the rejection of the Britiſh of⯑fers was in conſequence of the alliance being known in America; which was not the caſe: And by this miſtake he not only takes from her the reputation which her un⯑ſhaken fortitude in that trying ſituation deſerves, but it likewiſe led very injuriouſly to ſuppoſe, that had ſhe not [29]known of the treaty, the offers would probably have been accepted; whereas ſhe knew nothing of the treaty at the time of the rejection, and conſequently did not reject them on that ground.

THE propoſitions or offers abovementioned were con⯑tained in two bills brought into the Britiſh Parliament by Lord North on the 17th of February, 1778. Thoſe bills were hurried thro' both Houſes with unuſual haſte, and before they had gone thro' all the cuſtomary forms of Par⯑liament, copies of them were ſent over to Lord Howe and General Howe, then in Philadelphia, who were likewiſe Commiſſioners. Gen. Howe ordered them to be printed in Philadelphia, and ſent copies of them by a flag, to Ge⯑neral Waſhington, to be forwarded to Congreſs, at York⯑town, where they arrived the 21ſt of April, 1778. Thus much for the arrival of the bills in America.

CONGRESS, as is their uſual mode, appointed a com⯑mittee from their own body, to examine them, and report thereon. The report was bro't in the next day (the 22d) was read, and unanimouſly agreed to, entered on their journals, and publiſhed for the information of the country. Now this report muſt be the rejection to which the Abbe alludes, becauſe Congreſs gave no other formal opinion on thoſe bills and propoſitions: And on a ſubſequent appli⯑cation from the Britiſh Commiſſioners, dated the 27th of May, and received at York Town the 6th of June, Con⯑greſs immediately referred them for an anſwer to their printed reſolves of the 22d of April. Thus much for the rejection of the offers.

ON the 2d of May, that is, eleven days after the above rejection was made, the treaty between the United States and France, arrived at Yorktown; and until this mo⯑ment, Congreſs had not the leaſt notice or idea, that ſuck a meaſure was in any train of execution. But leſt this declaration of mine ſhould paſs only for aſſertion, I ſhall ſupport it by proof, for it is material to the character and principle of the revolution to ſhow, that no condition of America, ſince the declaration of independence, however [30]trying and ſevere, ever operated to produce the moſt diſtant idea of yielding it up either by force, diſtreſs, artifice or perſuaſion. And this proof is the more neceſſary, be⯑cauſe it was the ſyſtem of the Britiſh Miniſtry at this time, as well as before and ſince, to hold out to the European powers that America was unfix [...] in her reſolutions and policy; hoping, by this artifice, to leſſen her reputation in Europe, and weaken the confidence which thoſe powers, or any of them, might be inclined to place in her.

AT the time theſe matters were tranſacting, I was ſe⯑cretary in the foreign department of Congreſs. All the political letters from the American Commiſſioners reſted in my hands,—and all that were officially written▪ went from my office; and ſo far from Congreſs knowing any thing of the ſigning the treaty, at the time they rejected the Britiſh offers, they had not received a line of informa⯑tion from their Commiſſioners at Paris, on any ſubject whatever, for upwards of a twelve month. Probably the loſs of the port of Philadelphia, and the navigation of the Delaware, together with the dangers of the ſeas, covered at this time with Britiſh cruiſers, contributed to the diſ⯑appointment.

ONE packet, it is true, arrived at Yorktown, in Janu⯑ary preceding, which was about three months before the arrival of the treaty; but ſtrange as it may appear, every letter had been taken out, before it was put on board the veſſel which brought it from France, and blank white pa⯑per put in their ſtead.

HAVING thus ſtated the time when the propoſals from the Britiſh Commiſſioners were firſt received, and likewiſe the time when the treaty of alliance arrived, and ſhewn that the rejection of the former was eleven days prior to the arrival of the latter, and without the leaſt knowledge of ſuch circumſtance having taken place, or being about to take place; the rejection, therefore, muſt, and ought to be attributed to the fixt unvaried ſentiments of Ameri⯑ca reſpecting the enemy ſhe is at war with, and her de⯑termination to ſupport her independence to the laſt poſſible [31]effort, and not to any new circumſtance in her favour, which at that time ſhe did not and could not know of.

BESIDES, there is a vigor of determination and ſpirit of defiance in the language of the rejection, (which I here ſubjoin) which derive their greateſt glory by appearing before the treaty was known; for that which is bravery in diſtreſs, becomes inſult in proſperity: and the treaty placed America on ſuch a ſtrong foundation, that had ſhe then known it, the anſwer which ſhe gave, would have appear⯑ed rather as an air of triumph, than as the glowing ſe⯑renity of fortitude.

UPON the whole, the Abbe appears to have entirely miſtaken the matter: for inſtead of attributing the rejec⯑tion of the propoſitions to our knowledge of that event. And then the reaſon why they were hurried over to America in the ſtate of bills, that is, before they were paſſed into acts, is eaſily accounted for, which is, that they might have the chance of reaching America before any know⯑ledge of the treaty ſhould arrive, which they were lucky enough to do, and there met the fate they ſo richly me⯑rited. That theſe bills were brought into the Britiſh Par⯑liament after the treaty with France was ſigned is proved from the dates: The treaty being on the 6th, and the bills the 17th of February. And that the ſigning the treaty was known in Parliament when the bills were bro't in, is likewiſe proved by a ſpeech of Mr. Charles Fox, on the ſaid 17th of February, who in reply to Lord North, in⯑formed the Houſe of the treaty being ſigned, and chal⯑lenged the Miniſter's knowledge of the ſame fact.^*)

[32]THOUGH I am not ſurpriſed to ſee the Abbe miſtakes in matters of hiſtory, acted at ſo great a diſtance from his [33]ſphere of immediate obſervation, yet I am more than ſur⯑priſed to find him wrong (or at leaſt what appears ſo to me) in the well enlightened field of philoſophical reflec⯑tion Here the materials are his own; creaſed by him⯑ſelf; and the error therefore is an act of the mind.

[34]HITHERTO my remarks have been confined to circum⯑ſtances: [...]h [...] order in which they aroſe, and the events they produced▪ In theſe, my information being better than the Abbe's my taſk was eaſy. How I may ſucceed in controverting matters of ſentiment and opinion, with [35]one whom years, experience, and long eſtabliſhed repu⯑tation have placed in a ſuperior line, I am leſs confi⯑dent in; but as they fall within the ſcope of my obſerva⯑tions it would be improper to paſs them over.

[36]FROM this part of the Abbe's work to the latter end, I find ſeveral expreſſions, which appear to me to ſtart, [37]with a cynical complexion, from the path of liberal think⯑ing, or at leaſt they are ſo involved as to loſe many of the beauties which diſtinguiſh other parts of the perfor⯑mance.

[38]THE Abbe having brought his work to the period when the treaty of alliance between France and the Uni⯑ted States commenced, proceeds to make ſome remarks thereon.

"IN ſhort," ſays he, ‘philoſophy whoſe firſt ſenti⯑ment is the deſire to ſee all governments juſt and all people happy, in caſting her eyes upon this alliance of a monarchy, with a people who are defending their liberty, is curious to know its motive She fees at once, too clearly, that the happineſs of mankind has no part in it’

WHATEVER train of thinking or of temper the Abbe might be in, when he penned this expreſſion, matters not. They will neither qualify the ſentiment, nor add to its defect. If right, it needs no apology; if wrong. it me⯑rits no excuſe. It is ſent into the world as an opinion of philoſophy, and may be examined without regard to the author.

IT ſeems to be a defect, connected with ingenuity, that it often employs itſelf more in matters of curioſity, than uſefulneſs. Man muſt be the privy counſellor of fate, or ſomething is not right. He muſt know the ſprings, the whys and wherefores of every thing, or he fits down un⯑ſatisfied. Whether this be a crime, or only a caprice of humanity. I am not enquiring into. I ſhall take the Paſſage as I find it, and place my objections againſt it.

IT is not ſo properly the motives which produced the alliance, as the conſequences which are to be produced from it, that mark out the field of philoſophical reflection, In the one we only penetrate into the barren cave of ſe⯑crecy, where little can be known, and every thing may be miſconceived; in the other, the mind is preſented with a wide extended proſpect of vegetative good, and ſees a thouſand bleſſings budding into exiſtence.

BUT the expreſſion, even within the compaſs of the Abbe's meaning, ſets out with an error, becauſe it is [39]made to declare that which no man has authority to de⯑clare. Who can ſay that the happineſs of mankind made no part of the motives which produced the alliance? To be able to declare this, a man muſt be poſſeſſed of the mind of all the parties concerned, and know that their motives were ſomething elſe.

IN proportion as the independence of America became contemplated and underſtood, the local advantages of it to the immediate actors, and the numerous benefits it promiſed to mankind, appeared to be every day encrea⯑ſing; and we ſaw not a temporary good for the preſent race only, but a continued good to all poſterity; theſe motives, therefore, added to thoſe which preceeded them, became the motives on the part of America, which led her to propoſe and agree to the treaty of alliance, as the beſt effectual method of extending and ſecuring happi⯑neſs; and therefore with reſpect to us, the Abbe is wrong.

FRANCE. on the other hand, was ſituated very differ⯑ently to America. She was not acted upon by neceſſity to ſeek a friend, and therefore her motive in becoming one, has the ſtrongeſt evidence of being good, and that which is ſo, muſt have ſome happineſs for its object. With regard to herſelf, ſhe ſaw a train of conveniences worthy her attention. By leſſening the power of an enemy, whom, at the ſame time, ſhe ſought neither to deſtroy nor diſtreſs, ſhe gained an advantage without doing an evil, and created to herſelf a new friend by aſſociating with a country in misfortune. The ſprings of thought that led to actions of this kind, however political they may be, are nevertheleſs naturally beneficient; for in all cauſes, good or bad it is neceſſary there ſhould be a fitneſs in the mind to enable it to act in character with the object: There⯑fore as a bad cauſe cannot be proſecuted with a good mo⯑tive, ſo neither an a good cauſe be long ſupported by a had one, and as no man acts without a motive, therefore in the preſent inſtance, as they cannot be bad they muſt be admitted to be good. But the Abbe ſets out upon ſuch an extended ſcale, that he overlooks the degrees by which it is meaſured, and rejects the beginning of good, becauſe the end comes not at once.

[40]IT is true that bad motives may in ſome degree be brought to ſupport a good cauſe or proſecute a good ob⯑ject; but it never continues long, which is not the caſe with France; for either the object will reform the mind, or the mind corrupt the object, or elſe nor being able, ei⯑ther way, to get into uniſon, they will ſeparate in diſguſt: And this natural, though unperceived progreſs of aſſocia⯑tion or contention between the mind and the object, is the ſecret cauſe of fidelity or defection. Every object a man purſues, is for the time, a kind of miſtreſs to his mind: if both are good or bad, the union is natural; but if they are in reverſe, and neither can ſeduce nor yet reform the other, the oppoſition grows into diſlike and a ſeparation fellows.

WHEN the cauſe of America firſt made her appearance on the ſtage of the univerſe, there were many, who, in the ſtile of adventurers and fortune hunters, were dang⯑ling in her train, and making their court to her with every profeſſion of honor and attachment. They were loud in her praiſe and oſtentations in her ſervice. Every place echoed with their ardor or their anger, and they ſeemed like men in love. But, alas, they were fortune hunters. Their expectations were excited, but their minds were unimpreſſed; and finding her not to their purpoſe, nor themſelves reformed by her influence, they ceaſed their ſuit, and in ſome inſtances deſerted and betrayed her.

THERE were others, who at firſt beheld her with in⯑difference, and unacquainted with her character were cau⯑tions of her company. They treated her as one, who, under the fair name of liberty, might conceal the hideous figure of anarchy, or the gloomy monſter of tyranny. They knew not what ſhe was. If fair, ſhe was fair in⯑deed. But ſtill ſhe was ſuſpected, and though born a⯑mong us appeared to be a ſtranger.

ACCIDENT with ſome, and curioſity with others, bro [...] on a diſtant acquaintance. They ventured to look at her. They felt an inclination to ſpeak to her. One intimacy led to another, till the ſuſpicion were away and a change [41]of ſentiment ſtole gradually upon the mind; and having no ſelf-intereſt to ſerve, no paſſion of diſhonor to gratify, they became enamoured of her innocence, and unaltered by misfortune or uninflamed by ſucceſs, ſhared with fide⯑lity in the varieties of her fate.

THIS declaration of the Abbe's, reſpecting motives, has led me unintendedly into a train of metaphyſical rea⯑ſoning; but there was no other avenue by which it could ſo properly be approached. To place preſumption a⯑gainſt preſumption, aſſertion againſt aſſertion, is a mode of oppoſition that has no effect; and therefore the more eligible method was to ſhew, that the declaration does not correſpond with the natural progreſs of the mind and the influence it has upon our conduct.—I ſhall now quit this part and proceed to what I have before ſtated, namely, that it is not ſo properly the motives which produced the alliance, as the conſequences to be produced from it, that mark out the field of philoſophical reflection.

IT is an obſervation I have already made in ſome former publication, that the circle of civilization is yet incom⯑plete. A mutuality of wants have formed the individu⯑als of each country into a kind of national ſociety, and here the progreſs of civilization has ſtopt. For it is eaſy to ſee, that nations with regard to each other (notwith⯑ſtanding the ideal civil law which every one explains as it ſuits him) are like individuals in a ſtate of nature. They are regulated by no fixt principle, governed by no compulſive law, and each does independently what is pleaſes or what it can.

WERE it poſſible we could have known the world when in a ſtate of barbariſm, we might have concluded that it never could be brought into the order we now ſee it. The untamed mind was then as hard, if not harder, to work upon in its individual ſtate, than the national mind is in its preſent one. Yet we have ſeen the accompliſh⯑ment of the one, why then ſhould we doubt that of the other.

[42]THERE is a greater fitneſs in mankind to extend and compleat the civilization of nations with each other at this day▪ than there was to begin it with the unconnected individuals at firſt; in the ſame manner that it is ſome⯑what eaſier to put together the materials of a machine after they are formed▪ than it was to form them from ori⯑ginal matter. The preſent condition of the world dif⯑fering ſo exceedingly from what it formerly was, has gi⯑ven a new caſt to the mind of man, more than what he appears to be ſenſible of. The want of the individual, which firſt produced the idea of ſociety, are now aug⯑mented into the wants of the nation, and he is obliged to ſeek from another country what before he ſought from the next perſon.

LETTERS, the tongue of the world, have in ſome mea⯑ſure brought all mankind acquainted, and by an exten⯑ſion of their uſes are every day promoting ſome new friendſhip. Through them diſtant nations become capa⯑ble of converſation, and loſing by degrees the awkward⯑neſs of ſtrangers, and the moroſeneſs of ſuſpicion, they learn to know and underſtand each other. Science, the partiſan of no country, but the beneficient patroneſs of all, has liberally opened a temple where all may meet. Her influence on the mind, like the ſun on the chilled earth, has long been preparing it for higher cultivation and further improvement. The philoſopher of one coun⯑try ſees not an enemy in the philoſopher of another: He takes his ſeat in the temple of ſcience and aſks not who ſits beſide him.

THIS was not the condition of the barbarian world. Then the wants of man were few, and the objects within his reach. While he could acquire theſe, he lived in a ſtate of individual independence, the conſequence of which was, there were as many nations as perſons, each contend⯑ing with the other, to ſecure ſomething which he had, or to obtain ſomething which he had not. The world had then no buſineſs to follow, no ſtudies to exerciſe the mind. Their time was divided between ſloth and fatigue. Hunt⯑ing and war were their chief occupations; ſleep and food their principal enjoyments.

[43]Now it is otherwiſe. A change in the mode of life has made it neceſſary to be buſy; and man finds a thou⯑ſand things to do now which before he did not. Inſtead of placing his ideas of greatneſs in the rude atchieve⯑ments of the ſavage, he ſtudies arts, ſcience, agriculture and commerce, the refinements of the gentleman, the principles of ſociety, and the knowledge of the philoſo⯑pher.

THERE are many things which in themſelves are mo⯑rally neither good nor bad, but they are productive of conſequences, which are ſtrongly marked with one or other of theſe characters. Thus commerce, though in itſelf a moral nullity, has had a conſiderable influence in tempering the human mind. It was the want of objects in the ancient world, which occaſioned in them ſuch a rude and perpetual turn for war. Their time hung on their hands without the means of employment. The in⯑dolence they lived in afforded leiſure for miſchief, and being all idle at once, and equal in their circumſtances, they were eaſily provoked or induced to action.

BUT the introduction of commerce furniſhed the world with objects, which in their extent, reach every man and give him ſomething to think about and ſomething to do; by theſe his attention is mechanically drawn from the purſuits, which a ſtate of indolence and an unemployed mind occaſioned, and he trades with the ſame countries, which former ages, tempted by their productions, and too indolent to purchaſe them, would have gone to war with.

THUS, as I have already obſerved, the condition of the world being materially changed by the influence of ſcience and commerce, it is put into a fitneſs not only to admit of, but to deſire, an extenſion of civilization. The principal and almoſt only remaining enemy it now has to encounter, is prejudice; for it is evidently the in⯑tereſt of mankind to agree and make the beſt of life. The world has undergone its diviſions of empire, the ſeveral boundaries of which are known and ſettled. The idea [44]of conquering countries like the Greeks and Romans does not now exiſt; and experience has exploded the notion of going to war for the ſake of profit. In ſhort, the ob⯑j [...]cts for war are exceedingly diminiſhed, and there is now [...]ft ſcarcely any thing to quarrel about, but what ariſes [...]m that demon of ſociety, prejudice, and the conſe⯑quent ſullenneſs and untractableneſs of the temper.

THERE is ſomething exceedingly curious in the con⯑ſtitution and operation of prejudice. It has the ſingular ability of accommodating itſelf to all the poſſible varie⯑ties of the human mind. Some paſſion [...] and vices are bu [...] thinly ſcattered among mankind, and find only here and there a fi [...]neſs of reception. But prejudice, like the ſpider, makes every where his home. It has neither taſte nor choice of place, and all that it requires is room. There is ſcarcely a ſituation except fire or water, in which a ſpider will not live. So let the mind be as naked as the wills of an empty and forſaken tenement, gloomy as a dungeon, or ornamented with the richeſt abilities of think⯑ing, let it be hot, cold, dark or light, lonely or inhabited, ſtill prejudice, if undiſturbed, will fill it with cobwebs, and live, like the ſpider, where there ſeems nothing to live on. If the one prepares her food by poiſoning it to her palate and her uſe, the other does the ſame; and as ſeveral of our paſſions are ſtrongly charactered by the ani⯑mal world, prejudice may be denominated the ſpider of the mind.

PERHAPS no two events ever united ſo intimately and f [...]rceab [...]y to combat and expel prejudice, as the Revolu⯑tio [...] of America and the Alliance with France. Their effects are felt, and their influence already extends as well to the old world as the new. Our ſtile and manner of thinking have undergone a revolution, more extraordina⯑ry than the political revolution of the country. We ſee with other eyes; we hear with other ears; and think with other thoughts, than thoſe we formerly uſed. We can look back on our own prejudices, as if they had been the prejudices of other people. We now ſee and know they were pr [...]judices and nothing elſe, and relieved from [45]their ſhackles enjoy a freedom of mind, we felt not before. It was not all the argument, however powerful, nor all the reaſoning, however elegant, that could have produced this change, ſo neceſſary to the extention of the mind, and the cordiality of the world, without the two circum⯑ſtances of the Revolution and the Alliance.

HAS America dropt quietly from Britain, no material change in ſentiment, had taken place. The ſame notions, prejudices, and conceits, would have governed in both countries, as governed them before, and ſtill the ſlaves of error and education, they would have travelled on in the beaten track of vulgar and habitual thinking. But bro't about by the means it hath been, both with regard to ourſelves to France, and to England, every corner of the mind is ſwept of its cobwebs, poiſon, and duſt, and made fit for the reception of generous happineſs.

PERHAPS there never was an Alliance on a broader ba⯑ſis, than that between America and France, and the pro⯑greſs of it is worth attending to. The countries had been enemies, not properly of themſelves, but through the me⯑dium of England. They, originally, had no quarrel with each other, nor any cauſe for one, but what aroſe from the intereſt of England and her arming America againſt France. At the ſame time, the Americans at a diſtance from, and unacquainted with the world, and tutored in all the prejudices which governed thoſe who governed them conceived it their duty to act as they were taught. In doing this they expended their ſubſtance to make conqueſts, not for themſelves but for their maſters, who in return treated them as ſlaves.

A LONG ſucceſſion of inſolent ſeverity, and the ſepara⯑tion finally occaſioned by the commencement of hoſtilities at Lexington, on the 19th of April, 1775, naturally pro⯑duced a new diſpoſition of thinking. As the mind cloſed itſelf towards England it opened itſelf towards the world, and our prejudices like our oppreſſions underwent though leſs obſerved a mental examination; until we found the former as inconſiſtent with reaſon and benevolence, as the latter were repugnant to our civil and political rights.

[46]WHILE we were thus advancing by degrees into the wide field of extended humanity, the alliance with France was concluded. An alliance not formed for the meer purpoſe of a day, but on juſt and generous grounds, and with equal and mutual advantages; and the eaſy affecti⯑onate manner in which the parties have ſince communica⯑ted, has made it an alliance not of courts only but of countries. There is now an union of mind as well as of intereſt; and our hearts as well as our proſperity call on us to ſupport it.

THE people of England not having experienced this change, had likewiſe no idea of it. They were hugging to their boſoms the ſame prejudices we were trampling beneath our feet; and they expected to keep a hold upon America, by that narrowneſs of thinking, which America diſdained. What they were proud of, we deſpiſed; and this is a principal cauſe why all their negociations, con⯑ſtructed on this ground, have failed. We are now really another people, and cannot again go back to ignorance and prejudice. The mind once enlightened cannot a⯑gain become dark. There is no poſſibility, neither is there any term to expreſs the ſuppoſition by, of the mind, unknowing any thing it already knows; and therefore all attempts on the part of England, fitted to the former habit of America, and on the expectation of their apply⯑ing now, will be like perſuading a ſeeing man to become blind, and a ſenſible one to turn an idiot. The firſt of which is unnatural, and the other impoſſible.

As to the remark which the Abbe makes of the one country being a monarchy and the other a republic, it can have no eſſential meaning. Forms of government have nothing to do with treaties. The former are the internal police of the countries ſeverally; the latter, their external policy jointly: and ſo long as each per⯑forms its part, we have no more right or buſineſs to know how the one or the other conducts its domeſtic affairs, than we have to enquire into the private concerns of a family.

[47]BUT had the Abbe reflected for a moment, he would have ſeen, that courts or the governing powers of all countries, be their forms what they may, are relatively republics with each other. It is the firſt and true prin⯑ciple of alliancing. Antiquity may have given prece⯑dence, and power will naturally create importance, but their equal right in never diſputed. It may likewiſe be worthy of remarking, that a monarchial country can ſuf⯑fer nothing in its popular happineſs by allying with a re⯑publican one; and republican governments have never been deſtroyed by their external connections, but by ſome internal convulſion or contrivance. France has been in alliance with the republic of Swiſſerland for more than two hundred years, and ſtill Swiſſerland retains her origi⯑nal form as entire as if ſhe had allied with a republic like herſelf; therefore this remark of the Abbe goes to no⯑thing —Beſides, it is beſt that mankind ſhould mix. There is ever ſomething to learn, either of manners or principle; and it is by a free communication, without regard to domeſtic matters, that friendſhip is to be ex⯑tended, and prejudice deſtroyed all over the world.

BUT notwithſtanding the Abbe's high profeſſions in fa⯑vor of liberty, he appears ſometimes to forget himſelf, or that his theory is rather the child of his fancy than of his judgment: For in almoſt the ſame inſtant that he cen⯑ſures the alliance as not originally or ſufficiently calcula⯑ted for the happineſs of mankind, he, by a figure of im⯑plication, accuſes France for having acted ſo generouſly and unreſervedly in concluding it. ‘Why did they (ſays he, meaning the Court of France) tie themſelves down by an inconſiderate treaty to conditions with the Con⯑greſs, which they might themſelves have held in de⯑pendence by ample and regular ſupplies.’

WHEN an author undertakes to treat of public happi⯑neſs, he ought to be certain that he does not miſtake paſ⯑ſion for right, nor imagination for principle. Principle, like truth, needs no contrivance. It will ever tell its own tale, and tell it the ſame way. But where this is not the caſe, every page muſt be watched, recollected, and compared, like an invented ſtory.

[48]I AM ſurpriſed at this paſſage of the Abbe. It means nothing or it means ill; and in any caſe it ſhews the great difference between ſpeculative and practical know⯑ledge. A treaty according to the Abbe's language would have neither duration nor affection; it might have laſted to the end of the war, and then expired with it. But France, by acting in a ſtile ſuperior to the little polities of narrow thinking, has eſtabliſhed a generous fame and won the love of a country ſhe was before a ſtranger to. She had to treat with a people who thought as nature taught them; and, on her own part, ſhe wiſely ſaw, there was no preſent advantage to be obtained by unequal terms, which could balance the more laſting ones that might flow from a kind and generous beginning.

FROM this part the Abbe advances into the ſecret tranſactions of the two Cabinets of Verſailles and Madrid reſpecting the independence of America; through which I mean not to follow him. It is a circumſtance ſufficient⯑ly ſtriking without being commented on, that the former union of America with Britain produced a power, which in her hands, was becoming dangerous to the world And there is no improbability in ſuppoſing▪ that had the latter known as much of the ſtrength of the former be⯑fore ſhe began the quarrel as ſhe has known fince, that inſtead of attempting to reduce her to unconditional ſub⯑miſſion, ſhe would have propoſed to her the conqueſt of Mexico. But from the countries ſeparately Spain has nothing to apprehend, though from their union ſhe had more to fear than any other power in Europe.

THE part which I ſhall more particularly confine my⯑ſelf to, is that wherein the Abbe takes an opportunity of complimenting the Britiſh Miniſtry with high encomiums of admiration, on their rejecting the offered mediation of the court of Madrid, in 1779.

IT muſt be remembered that before Spain joined France in the war, ſhe undertook the office of a mediator and made propoſals to the Britiſh King and Miniſtry ſo ex⯑ceedingly favourable to their intereſt, that had they been [49]accepted, would have become inconvenient, if not inad⯑miſſible, to America. Theſe propoſals were neverthe⯑leſs rejected by the Britiſh cabinet; on which the Abbe ſays,—

‘It is in ſuch a circumſtance as this; it is in the time when noble pride clevates the ſoul ſuperior to all terror; when nothing is ſeen more dreadful than the ſhame of receiving the law, and when there is no doubt or heſitation which to chuſe, between ruin and diſho⯑nor; it is then, that the greatneſs of a nation is diſ⯑played. I acknowledge however that men, accuſtom⯑ed to judge of things by the event, call great and pe⯑rilous reſolutions, heroiſm or madneſs, according to the good or bad ſucceſs with which they have been attend⯑ed. If then, I ſhould be aſked, what is the name which ſhall in years to come be given to the firmneſs, which was in this moment exhibited by the Engliſh. I ſhall anſwer that I do not know. But that which it deſerves I know. I know that the annals of the world hold out to us but rarely, the auguſt and majeſtic ſpectacle of a nation, which chuſes rather to renounce its duration than its glory.’

IN this paragraph the conception is lofty and the ex⯑preſſion elegant; but the colouring is too high for the original, and the likeneſs fails through an exceſs of graces. To fit the powers of thinking and the turn of language to the ſubject, ſo as to bring out a clear concluſion that ſhall hit the point in queſtion and nothing elſe, is the true criterion of writing. But the greater part of the Abbe's writings (if he will pardon me the remark) appear to me uncentral and burthenſome with variety. They repre⯑ſent a beautiful wilderneſs without paths; in which the eye in diverted by every thing, without being particular⯑ly directed to any thing; and in which it is agreeable to be loſt, and difficult to find the way out.

BEFORE I offer any other remark on the ſpirit and compoſition of the above paſſage, I ſhall compare it with the circumſtance it alludes to.

[50]THE circumſtance then does not deſerve the encomi⯑um. The rejection was not prompted by her fortitude but her vanity She did not view it as a caſe of deſpair or even of extreme danger, and conſequently the deter⯑mination to renounce her duration rather than her glory, cannot apply to the condition of her mind. She had then high expectations of ſubjugating America, and had no other naval force againſt her than France; neither was ſhe certain that rejecting the mediation of Spain would combine that power with France. New mediations might ariſe more favorable than theſe ſhe had refuſed. But if they ſhould not, and Spain ſhould join, ſhe ſtill ſaw that it would only bring out her naval force againſt France and Spain, which was not wanted and could not be employed againſt America, and habits of thinking had taught her to believe herſelf ſuperior to both.

BUT in any caſe to which the conſequence might point, there was nothing to impreſs her with the idea of renoun⯑cing her duration. It is not the policy of Europe to ſuf⯑fer the extinction of any power, but only to lop off or pre⯑vent its dangerous enereaſe. She was likewiſe freed by ſituation from the internal and immediate horrors of in⯑vaſion; was rolling in diſſipation and looking for con⯑queſts; and tho' ſhe ſuffered nothing but the expence of war, ſhe ſtill had a greedy eye to magnificent reimburſe⯑ment.

BUT if the Abbe is delighted with high and ſtriking ſingularities of character, he might, in America, have ſound ample field for encomium. Here was a people, who could not know what part the world would take for, or againſt them; and who were venturing on an untried ſcheme, in oppoſition to a power, againſt which more for⯑midable nations had failed. They had every thing to learn but the principles which ſupported them, and every thing to precure that was neceſſary for their defence. They have at times ſeen themſelves as low as diſtreſs could make them, without ſhowing the leaſt ſtagger in their fortitude; and been raiſed again by the moſt unex⯑pected events, without diſcovering an unmanly diſcompo⯑ſure [51]of joy. To heſitate or to deſpair are conditions e⯑qually unknown in America. Her mind was prepared for every thing; becauſe her original and final reſolution of ſucceeding or periſhing included all poſſible circumſtances.

THE rejection of the Britiſh propoſitions in the year 1778, circumſtanced as America was at that time, is a far greater inſtance of unſhaken fortitude than the refuſal of the Spaniſh mediation by the Court of London: And o⯑ther hiſtorians, beſides the Abbe, ſtruck with the vaſtneſs of her conduct therein, have, like himſelf, attributed it to a circumſtance, which was then unknown, the alliance with France. Their error ſhews their idea of its great⯑neſs; becauſe, in order to account for it, they have ſought a cauſe ſuited to its magnitude, without knowing that the cauſe exiſted in the principles of the country.^*

BUT this paſſionate encomium of the Abbe is deſerved⯑ly ſubject to moral and philoſophical objections. It is the effuſion of wild thinking, and has a tendency to prevent that humanity of reflection which the criminal conduct of Britain enjoins on her as a duty.—It is a laudanum to courtly iniquity.—It keeps in intoxicated ſleep the con⯑ſcience of a nation: and more miſchief in effected by [52]wrapping up guilt in ſplendid excuſe, than by directly pa⯑tronizing it.

BRITAIN is now the only country which holds the world in diſturbance and war; and inſtead of paying compliments to the exceſs of her crimes, the Abbe would have appeared much more in character, had he put to her, or to her monarch, this ſerious queſtion—

ARE there not miſeries enough in the world, too diffi⯑cult to be encountered and too pointed to be borne, with⯑out ſtudying to enlarge the liſt and arming it with new deſtruction? Is life ſo very long, that it is neceſſary, nay even a duty to ſhake the ſand and haſten out the period of duration? Is the path ſo elegantly ſmooth, ſo decked on every ſide and carpeted with joys, that wretchedneſs is wanted to enrich it as a foil? Go aſk thine aching heart when ſorrow from a thouſand cauſes wound it, go aſk thy ſickened ſelf when every medicine fails, whether this be the caſe or not?

QUITTING my remarks on this head, I proceed to ano⯑ther in which the Abbe has let looſe a vein of ill nature, and, what is ſtill worſe, of injuſtice.

AFTER cavilling at the treaty, he goes on to character⯑ize the ſeveral parties combined in the war—"Is it poſ⯑ſible," ſays the Abbe, ‘that a ſtrict union ſhould long ſubſiſt among confederates of characters ſo oppoſite as the haſty, light, diſtainful Frenchman, the jealous, haughty ſly, ſlow, circumſpective Spaniard, and the American, who is ſecretly ſnatching looks at the mo⯑ther country, and would rejoice, were they compatible with his independence, at the diſaſters of his allies.’

TO draw fooliſh portraits of each other, is a mode of attack and repriſal, which the greater part of mankind are fond of indulging. The ſerious philoſopher ſhould be above it, more eſpecially in caſes from which no poſſi⯑ble good can ariſe, and miſchief may, and where no re⯑ceived provocation can palliate the offence.—The Abbe [53]might have invented a difference of character for every country in the world; and they in return might find o⯑thers for him, till in the war of wit all real character is loſt. The pleaſantry of one nation or the gravity of another may, by a little penciling, be diſtorted into whim⯑ſical features, and the painter become as much laugh⯑ed at as the painting.

BUT why did not the Abbe look a little deeper and bring forth the excellencies of the ſeveral parties. Why did he not dwell with pleaſure on that greatneſs of cha⯑racter, that ſuperiority of heart, which has marked the conduct of France in her conqueſts, and which has forced an acknowledgment even from Britain.

THERE is one line at leaſt (and many others might be diſcovered) in which the confederates unite, which is, that of a rival eminence in their treatment of their ene⯑mies. Spain, in her conqueſt of Minorca and the Baha⯑ma iſlands confirms this remark. America has been in⯑variably in her lenity from the beginning of the war, not⯑withſtanding the high provocations ſhe has experienced. It is England only who has been inſolent and cruel.

BUT why muſt America be charged with a crime un⯑deſerved by her conduct, more ſo by her principles, and which, if a fact, would be fatal to her honor. I mean that of want of attachment to her allies, or rejoicing in their diſaſters She, it is true, has been aſſiduous in ſhew⯑ing to the world that ſhe was not the aggreſſor towards England, that the quarrel was not of her ſeeking, or, at that time, even of her wiſhing. But to draw inferences from her candor, and even from her juſtification, to ſtab her character by, and I ſee nothing elſe from which they can be ſuppoſed to be drawn, is unkind and unjuſt.

DOES her rejection of the Britiſh propoſitions in 1778, before ſhe knew of any alliance with France, correſpond with the Abbe's deſcription of her mind? Does a ſingle inſtance of her conduct ſince that time juſtify it?—But there is a ſtill better evidence to apply to, which is, that [54]of all the mails, which at different times have been way⯑laid on the road, in divers parts of America, and taken and carried into New York, and from which the moſt ſe⯑cret and confidential private letters, as well as thoſe from authority, have been publiſhed, not one of them, I repeat it, not a ſingle one of them, gives countenance to ſuch a charge.

THIS is not a country where men are under govern⯑ment reſtraint in ſpeaking; and if there is any kind of reſtraint, it ariſes from a fear of popular reſentment. Now, if nothing in her private or public correſpondence favours ſuch a ſuggeſtion, and if the general diſpoſition of the country is ſuch as to make it unſafe for a man to ſhew an appearance of joy at any diſaſter to her ally, on what grounds, I aſk, can the accuſation ſtand. What company the Abbe may have kept in France, we cannot know; but this we know, that the account he gives does not apply to America.

HAD the Abbe been in America at the time the news arrived of the diſaſter of the fleet under Count de Graſſe, in the Weſt Indies, he would have ſeen his vaſt miſtake. Neither do I remember any inſtance, except the loſs of Charleſtown, in which the public mind ſuffered more ſe⯑vere and pungent concern, or underwent more agitations of hope and apprehenſion as to the truth or falſhood of the report. Had the loſs been all our own it could not have had a deeper effect, yet it was not one of theſe caſes which reached to the independence of America.

IN the geographical account which the Abbe gives of the Thirteen States, he is ſo exceedingly erroneous, that to attempt a particular refutation, would exceed the li⯑mits I have preſcribed to myſelf. And as it is a matter neither political, hiſtorical, nor ſentimental, and which can always be contradicted by the extent and natural cir⯑cumſtances of the country, I ſhall paſs it over; with this additional remark, that I never yet ſaw an European de⯑ſcription of America that was true, neither can any per⯑ſon gain a juſt idea of it, but by coming to it.

[55]THOUGH I have already extended this letter beyond what I at firſt propoſed, I am, nevertheleſs, obliged to omit many obſervations I originally deſigned to have made. I wiſh there had been no occaſion for making any. But the wrong ideas which the Abbe's work had a ten⯑dency to excite, and the prejudicial impreſſions they might make, muſt be an apology for my remarks, and the free⯑dom with which they are done.

I OBSERVE the Abbe has made a ſort of epitome of a conſiderable part of the pamphlet Common Senſe, and in⯑troduced it in that form into his publication. But there are other places where the Abbe has borrowed freely from the ſame pamphlet without acknowledging it. The difference between ſociety and government, with which the pamphlet opens, is taken from it, and in ſome expreſ⯑ſions almoſt literally, into the Abbe's work as if origi⯑nally his own; and through the whole of the Abbe's re⯑marks on this head, the idea in Common Senſe is ſo cloſe⯑ly copied and purſued, that the difference is only in words, and in the arrangement of the thoughts, and not in the thoughts themſelves.^*

[56]BUT as it is time I ſhould come to a concluſion of my letter, I ſhall forbear all further obſervation on the Abbe's [57]work and take a conciſe view of the ſtate of public affaire, ſince the time in which that performance was publiſhed.

[58]A MIND habited to actions of meanneſs and injuſtice, commits them without r [...]l [...]ction, or with a very partial one; for on what other ground than this can we account for the declaration of war againſt the Dutch. To gain an idea of the politics which actuated the Britiſh Miniſtry to this meaſure, we muſt enter into the opinion which they, and the Engliſh in general, had formed of the tem⯑per of the Dutch nation; and from thence infer what their expection of the conſequences would be.

COULD they have imagined that Holland would have ſeriouſly made a common cauſe with France, Spain, and America, the Britiſh Miniſtry would never have dared to provoke them. It would have been a madneſs in poli⯑ties to have done ſo; unleſs their views were to haſten on a period of ſuch emphatic diſtreſs as ſhould juſtify the conceſſions which they ſaw they muſt one day or other make to the world, and for which they wanted an apolo⯑gy to themſelves.—There is a temper in ſome men which ſeeks a pretence for ſubmiſſion. Like a ſhip diſabled in action▪ and unfited to continue it, it waits the approach of a ſtill larger out to ſtrike to, and feels relief at the oppor⯑tunity. Whether this is greatneſs or littleneſs of mind, I am not enquiring into. I ſhould ſuppoſe it to be the latter, becauſe it proceeds from the want of knowing how to bear misfortune in its original ſtate.

BUT the ſubſequent conduct of the Britiſh cabinet has ſhewn that this was not their plan of politics, and conſe⯑quently their motives muſt be ſought for in another line.

THIS truth is, that the Britiſh had formed a very hum⯑ble opinion of the Dutch nation. They looked on them as a people who would ſubmit to any thing; that they might inſult them as they liked, plunder them at they p [...]aſ [...]d, and ſtill the Dutch dated not to be provoked.

IF this be taken as the opinion of the Britiſh cabinet, the meaſure it eaſily accounted for; becauſe it goes on the ſuppoſition that when, by a declaration of hoſtilities, the had rubbed the Dutch of ſome millions ſterling (and to rob them was popular) they could make peace with them again whenever they pleaſed and on almoſt any terms the Britiſh Miniſtry ſhould propoſe. And no ſooner was [59]the plundering committed, than the accommodation was ſet on foot, and failed.

WHEN once the mind loſes the ſenſe of its own digni⯑ty, it loſes, likewiſe, the ability of judging of it in ano⯑ther. And the American war has throw Britain into ſuch a variety of abſurd ſituations that arguing from her⯑ſelf, ſhe ſees not in what conduct national dignity con⯑ſiſts in other countries. From Holland ſhe expected du⯑plicity and ſubmiſſion, and this miſtake aroſe from her having acted, in a number of inſtances during the preſent war, the ſame character herſelf.

To be allied to, or connected with Britain, ſeems to be an unſafe and impolitic ſituation. Holland and Ame⯑rica are inſtances of the reality of this remark. Make thoſe countries the allies of France or Spain, and Britain will court them with civility, and treat them with re⯑ſpect; make them her own allies, and ſhe will inſult and plunder them In the firſt caſe, ſhe feels ſome appre⯑henſions at offending them, becauſe they have ſupport at hand; in the latter, thoſe apprehenſions do not exiſt. Such, however, has hitherto been her conduct.

ANOTHER meaſure which has taken place ſince the pub⯑lication of the Abbe's work, and likewiſe ſince the time of my beginning this letter, is the change in the Britiſh miniſtry. What line the new cabinet will purſue reſpect⯑ing America, is at this time unknown; neither is it very material, unleſs they are ſeriouſly diſpoſed to a general and honorable peace.

REPEATED experience has ſhewn, not only the imprac⯑ticability of conquering America, but the ſtill higher im⯑poſſibility of conquering her mind, or recalling her back to her former condition of thinking. Since the commence⯑ment of the war, which is now approaching to eight years, thouſands and tens of thouſands have advanced and are daily advancing into the firſt ſtage of manhood, who know nothing of Britain but as a barbarous enemy, and to whom the independence of America appears as much the natural and eſtabliſhed government of the country, as that of England does to an Engliſhman And on the other hand, thouſands of the aged, who had Britiſh ideas, have [60]dropped, and are daily dropping, from the ſtage of buſi⯑neſs and life. The natural progreſs of generation and decay operates every hour to the diſadvantage of Britain. Time and death, hard enemies to contend with, fight conſtantly againſt her intereſt; and the bills of mortality in every part of America, are the thermometers of her decline. The children in the ſtreets are from their cradle bred to conſider her as their only foe. They hear of her cruellies; of their fathers, uncles, and kindred killed; they ſee the remains of burnt and deſtroyed houſes, and the common tradition of the ſchool they go to, tells them, thoſe things were done by the Britiſh.

THESE are circumſtances which the mere Engliſh ſtate politician, who conſiders man only in a ſtate of manhood, does not attend to. He gets entangled with parties co⯑eval or equal with himſelf at home, and thinks not how [...] [...]he r [...]ing generation in America is growing beyond his knowledge of them, or they of him. In a few years all [...]rſo [...]al remembrance will be loſt, and who is King or Miniſter in England, will be little known and ſcarcely enquired after.

THE new Britiſh adminiſtration is compoſed of perſons who h [...]ve ever been againſt the war, and who have con⯑ſtantly reprobated all the violent meaſures of the former one. They conſidered the American war as deſtructive to them [...]elves and oppoſed it on that ground. But what are theſe things to America? She has nothing to do with Engliſh parties. The ins and the outs are nothing to her It is the whole country ſhe is at war with, or muſt be at peace with.

WERE every Miniſter in England a Chatham it would now weigh little or nothing in the ſcale of American politics. [...] has preſerved to the memory of this ſtateſm [...]n [...] ſame which he, by [...]iving would have loſt. His plans [...] opinions, towards the letter part of his [...] would have been attended with as many evil conſe⯑quences, and as much reprobated here, as thoſe of Lord [...] and conſidering him a w [...] man, they abound [...] amounting to abſurdities.

[61]IT has apparently been the fault of many in the late minority, to ſuppoſe, that America would agree to certain terms with them, were they in place, which ſhe would not ever liſten to from the then Adminiſtration. This idea can anſwer no other purpoſe than to prolong the war; and Britain may, at the expence of many more mil⯑lions, learn the fatality of ſuch miſtakes. If the new mi⯑niſtry wiſely avoid this hopeleſs policy, they will prove themſelves better pilots, and wiſer men, than they are conceived to be; for it is every day expected to ſee their bark ſtrike upon ſome hidden rock and go to pieces.

BUT there is a line in which they may be great. A more brilliant opening needs not to preſent itſelf; and it is ſuch a one, as true magnanimity would improve, and humanity rejoice in.

A TOTAL reformation is wanted in England. She wants an expanded mind.—an heart which embraces the uni⯑verſe. Inſtead of ſhutting herſelf up in an iſland, and quarrelling with the world▪ ſhe would derive more laſting happineſs, and acquire more real riches, by generouſly mixing with it, and bravely ſaying, I am the enemy of none. It is not now a time for little contrivances or art⯑ful politics. The European world is too experienced to be impoſed upon, and America too wiſe to be duped. It muſt be ſomething new and maſterly that muſt ſucceed. The idea of ſeducing America from her independence, or corrupting her from her alliance, is a thought too little for a great mind, and impoſſible for any honeſt one, to attempt Whenever politics are applied to debauch man⯑kind from their integrity, and diſſolve the virtues of hu⯑man nature, they become deteſtable; and to be a ſtateſ⯑man upon this plan, is to be a commiſſioned villain. He who aims at it leaves a vacancy in his character, which may be filled up with the worſt of epithets.

In the diſpoſition of England ſhould be ſuch, as not to agree to a general and honorable place, and that the war muſt, at all events, con [...] lo [...]ger, I cannot help wiſh⯑ing, that the allia [...]c [...] which America has or may enter into, may become [...]h [...] only o [...]j [...]cts of the war. She wants an opportunity of [...]h [...]wing to the world, that ſhe holds her [62]honor as dear and ſacred as her independence, and that ſhe will in no ſituation forſake thoſe, whom no negociati⯑ons could induce to forſake her. Peace to every reflective mind, is a deſirable object; but that peace which is ac⯑companied with a ruined character, becomes a crime to the ſeducer, and a curſe upon the ſeduced.

BUT where is the impoſſibility or even the great diffi⯑culty of England forming a friendſhip with France and Spain, and making it a national virtue to renounce for ever thoſe prejudiced inveteracies it has been her cuſtom to cheriſh; and which, while they ſerve to ſink her with an encreaſing enormity of debt, by involving her in fruit⯑leſs wars, become likewiſe the bane of her repoſe, and the deſtruction of her manners. We had once the fetters that ſhe has now, but experience has ſhewn us the miſtake, and thinking juſtly has ſet us right.

THE true idea of a great nation is that which extends and promotes the principles of univerſal ſociety. Whole mind riſes above the atmoſpheres of local thoughts, and conſiders mankind, of whatever nation or profeſſion they may be, as the work of one Creator. The rage for con⯑queſt has had its faſhion, and its day. Why may not the amiable virtues have the ſame? The Alexanders and Cae⯑ſars of antiquity have left behind them their monuments of deſtruction, and are remembered with hatred; while theſe more exalted characters, who firſt taught ſociety and ſcience, are bleſt with the gratitude of every age & country. Of more uſe was one philoſopher, though a heathen, to the world, than all the heathen conquerors that ever exiſted.

SHOULD the preſent revolution be diſtinguiſhed by o⯑pening a new ſyſtem of extended civilization, it will receive from heaven the higheſt evidence of approbation; and as this is a ſubject to which the Abbe's powers are ſo emi⯑nently ſuited, I recommend it to his attention, with the affection of a friend, and the ardor of a univerſal citizen.