when you do get one, it is a mere chance, whether he is faithful, and will suit your purpose. It would be a very great loss to me, to have him taken off at this time, when I have equipped myself for a journey.

Teague was a good deal incensed at this refusal of his master, and insisted that he would be a philosopher. You are an ignoramus, said the Captain. It is not the being among philosophers, will make you one.

Teague insisted that he had a right to make the best of his fortune: and as there was a door open to his advancement he did not see why he might not make use of it.

The Captain finding that it answered no end to dispute the matter with him by words of sense and reason, took a contrary way to manage him.

Teague, said he, I have a regard for you, and would wish to see you do well. But before you take this step, I would wish to speak a word or two in private. If you will go, I may perhaps suggest some things that may be of service to you, for your future conduct in that body.

Teague consenting, they stepped aside; and the Captain addressed him in the following manner:

Teague, said he, do you know what you are about? It is a fine thing at first sight to be a philosopher, and get into this body. And indeed, if you were a real philosopher, it might be some honor, and also safe, to take that leap. But do you think it is to make a philosopher of you that they want you? Far from it. It is their great study to find curiosities; and because this man saw you coming after me, with a red head, trotting like an Esquimaux Indian, it has struck his mind to pick you up, and pass you for one. Nay, it is possible they may intend worse; and when they have examined you awhile, take the skin off you, and pass you for an overgrown otter, or a musk-rat, or some outlandish animal, for which they will themselves invent a name. If you were at the museum of one of these societies, to observe the quantity of skins and skeletons they have, you might be well assured they did not come by them honestly. I know so much of these people, that I am well persuaded they would think no more of throwing you into a kettle of boiling water, than they would a terrapin; and having scraped you out to a shell, present you as the relics of an animal they had procured at an immense price, from some Guinea merchant. Or if they should not at once turn you to this use, how, in the mean time, will they dispose of you? They will have you away through the bogs and marshes, catching flies and mire-snipes; or send you to the woods to bring a polecat; or oblige you to descend into draw-wells, for fog, and phlogistic air, and the Lord knows what. You must go into wolves' dens, and catch bears by the tail: run over mountains like an opossum, and dig the earth like a ground-hog. You will have to climb over trees, and be bit by flying-squirrels. There will be no end to the musquetoes you will have to dissect. What is all this, to diving into milldams and rivers, to catch eraw-fish? Or if you go to the ocean, there are alligators to devour you like a cat-fish. Who knows but it may come your turn, in a windy night, to go aloft to the heavens, to rub down the stars, and give the goats and rams that are there, fodder? The keeping the stars clean is a laborious work; a great deal worse than scouring andirons or brass kettles. There is a bull there, would think no more of tossing you on his horns than he would a puppy dog. If the crab should get you into his claws, he would squeeze you like a lobster. But what is all that to your having no place to stand on! How would you like to be up

at the moon, and to fall down when you had missed your hold, like a boy from the topmast of a ship, and have your brains beat out upon the top of some great mountain; where the devil might take your skeleton and give it to the turkey-buzzards?

ca.

Or if they should, in the mean time, excuse you from such out-of-door services, they will rack and torture you with hard questions. You must tell them how long the rays of light are coming from the sun; how many drops of rain fall in a thundergust; what makes the grasshopper chirp when the sun is hot; how muscle-shells get up to the top of the mountains; how the Indians got over to AmeriYou will have to prove that the negroes were once white; and that their flat noses came by some cause in the compass of human means to produce. These are puzzling questions: and yet you must solve them all. Take my advice, and stay where you are. Many men have ruined themselves by their ambition, and made bad worse. There is another kind of philosophy, which lies more within your sphere; that is moral philosophy. Every hostler or hireling can study this, and you have the most excellent opportunity of acquiring this knowledge in our traverses through the country, or communications at the different taverns or villages, where we may happen to sojourn.

Teague had long ago, in his own mind, given up all thoughts of the society, and would not for the world have any more to do with it; therefore, without bidding the philosopher adieu they pursued their route as usual.

CAPTAIN FARRAGO'S INSTRUCTIONS TO TEAGUE ON THE DUELLO.

Having thus dismissed the secondary man, he called in his servant Teague, and accosted him as follows: Teague, said he, you have heretofore discovered an ambition to be employed in some way that would advance your reputation. There is now a case fallen out, to which you are fully competent. It is not a matter that requires the head to contrive, but the hand to execute. The greatest fool is as fit for it as a wise man. It is indeed your greatest blockheads that chiefly undertake it. The knowledge of law, physick, or divinity, is out of the question. Literature and political understanding is useless. Nothing more is necessary than a little resolution of the heart. Yet it is an undertaking which is of much estimation with the rabble, and has a great many on its side to approve and praise it. The females of the world, especially, admire the act, and call it valour. I know you wish to stand well with the ladies. Here is an opportunity of advanc ing your credit. I have had what is called a challenge sent me this morning. It is from a certain Jacko, who is a suitor to a Miss Vapour, and has taken offence at an expression of mine, respecting him, to this female. I wish you to accept the challenge, and fight him for me.

At this proposition, Teague looked wild, and made apology that he was not much used to boxing. Boxing, said the Captain, you are to fight what is called a duel. You are to encounter him with pistols, and put a bullet through him if you can. It is true, he will have a chance of putting one through you; but in that consists the honour; for where there is no danger, there is no glory. You will provide yourself a second. There is an hostler here at the public house, that is a brave fellow, and will answer the purpose. Being furnished with a second, you will provide yourself with a pair of pistols, powder and ball of course. In the mean time your adversary, notified of your intentions, will do the like.-Thus equipped, you will advance to the place agreed upon. The ground will be measured out; ten, seven, or

five steps; back to back, and coming round to your place, fire. Or taking your ground, stand still and fire; or it may be, advance and fire as you meet, at what distance you think proper. The rules in this respect are not fixed, but as the parties can agree, or the seconds point out. When you come to fire, be sure you keep a steady hand, and take good aim. Remember that the pistol barrel being short, the powder is apt to throw the bullet up. Your sight, therefore, ought to be about the waistband of his breeches, so that you have the whole length of his body, and his head in the bargain, to come and go upon. It is true, he in the mean time will take the same advantage of you. may hit you about the groin, or the belly. I have known some shot in the thigh, or the leg. The throat also, and the head, are in themselves vulnerable. It is no uncommon thing to have an arm broke, or a splinter struck off the nose, or an eye shot out: but as in that case the ball mostly passes through the brain, and the man being dead at any rate, the loss of sight is not greatly felt.

He

As the Captain spoke, Teague seemed to feel in himself every wound which was described, the ball hitting him, now in one part, and now in another. At the last words, it seemed to pass through his head, and he was half dead, in imagination. Making a shift to express himself, he gave the Captain to understand, that he could by no means undertake the office. What! said the Captain; you whom nothing would serve some time ago but to be a legislator, or a philosopher, or preacher, in order to gain fame, will now decline a business for which you are qualified! This requires no knowledge of finances, no reading of natural history, or any study of the fathers. You have nothing more to do than keep a steady hand and a good eye.

In the early practice of this exercise, I mean the combat of the duel, it was customary to exact an oath of the combatants, before they entered the lists, that they had no enchantments, or power of witchcraft, about them-Whether you should think it necessary to put him to his voir dire, on this point, I shall not say; but I am persuaded, that on your part you have too much honour, to make use of spells, or undue means, to take away his life or save your own. You will leave all to the chance of fair shooting. One thing you will observe and which is allowable in this battle; you will take care not to present yourself to him with a full breast, but angularly, and your head turned round over the left shoulder, like a weather-cock. For thus a smaller surface being presented to an adversary, he will be less likely to hit you. You must throw your legs into lines parallel, and keep them one directly behind the other. Thus you will stand like a sail hauled close to the wind. Keep a good countenance, a sharp eye, and a sour look; and if you feel any thing like a cholic, or a palpitation of the heart, make no noise about it. If the ball should take you in the gills, or the gizzard, fall down as decently as you can, and die like a man of honour.

It was of no use to urge the matter; the Irishman was but the more opposed to the proposition, and utterly refused to be after fighting in any such manner. The Captain, finding this to be the case, dismissed him to clean his boots and spurs, and rub down his horse in the stable.

On reflection, it seemed advisable to the Captain to write an answer to the card which Colonel or Major Jacko, or whatever his title may have been, had sent him this morning. It was as follows:SIR,

I have two objections to this duel matter. The one is, lest I should hurt you; and the other is, lest

you should hurt me. I do not see any good it would do me to put a bullet thro' any part of your body. I could make no use of you when dead for any culinary purpose, as I would a rabbit or turkey. I am no cannibal to feed on the flesh of men. Why then shoot down a human creature, of which I could make no use? A buffaloe would be better meat. For though your flesh may be delicate and tender; yet it wants that firmness and consistency which takes and retains salt. At any rate, it would not be fit for long sea voyages. You might make a good barbacue, it is true, being of the nature of a racoon or an opossum; but people are not in the habit of barbacuing any thing human now. As to your hide, it is not worth taking off, being little better than that of a year old colt.

It would seem to me a strange thing to shoot at a man that would stand still to be shot at; inasmuch as I have been heretofore used to shoot at things flying, or running, or jumping.-Were you on a tree now, like a squirrel, endeavouring to hide yourself in the branches, or like a racoon, that after much eyeing and spying, I observe at length in the crutch of a tall oak, with boughs and leaves intervening, so that I could just get a sight of his hinder parts, I should think it pleasurable enough to take a shot at you. But as it is, there is no skill or judgment requisite either to discover or take you down.

As to myself, I do not much like to stand in the way of any thing harmful. I am under apprehensions you might hit me. That being the case, I think it most advisable to stay at a distance. If you want to try your pistols, take some object, a tree or a barn door, about my dimensions. If you hit that, send me word, and I shall acknowledge that if I had been in the same place you might also have hit me. J. F.

AN ESSAY ON COMMON SENSE.

After thinking a good deal upon what might be given as a definition of common sense; in other words, what phrase might be substituted in lieu of it; for that is what is meant by a definition; I would try whether the phrase, natural judgment, would not do. Getting up a little in the world, and examining mankind, there was nothing that struck me so much as to find men, thought eminent in a profession, seeming to want judgment in matters of knowledge, which was common to me with them. I took it for granted, that it was owing to the mind being so much employed in a particular way, that it had no habit of thinking in any other; and doubtless there is a good deal in this. For a mathematician, capable of demonstrating all the problems of Euclid; and even of inventing shorter and clearer methods of demonstration, may be incapable of comparing ideas, and drawing conclusions on a matter of domestic economy or national concern. For though a great deal may be owing to a knowledge of the particular subject, and a habit of thinking upon it; yet as much or more depends upon the natural judgment. I will select the instance of a lawyer, because it is in that profession that I have had an opportunity, the most, of examining the original powers of the mind. In this profession I have found those of the highest reputation of legal knowledge, and who were so, and yet were not the most successful in particular causes. The reason was, that though they had a knowledge of rules, they failed in the application of them and had not given good advice, in bringing or defending the action in which they had been consulted. Or whether the cause were good or bad, they had wanted judgment in conducting it. The attempting to maintain untenable ground; or the points upon which they put the

298

cause, showed a want of judgment. It is the same thing in the case of a judge. The knowledge of all law goes but a little way to the discerning the justice of the cause. Because the application of the rule to the case, is the province of judgment. Hence it is that if my cause is good, and I am to have my choice of two judges, the one of great legal science, but deficient in natural judgment; the other of good natural judgment, but of no legal knowledge, I would take the one that had what we call common sense. For though I could not have a perfect confidence in the decision of one or the other, yet I would think my chance best with the one that had common sense. If my cause was bad, I might think I stood some chance with the learned judge, deficient in natural judgment. An ingenious advocate would lead off his mind, upon some quibble, and calling that law, flatter him upon his knowing the law, and least his knowledge of it should be called in question, the learned judge might determine for him. For there is nothing that alarms a dunce so much as the idea of reason. It is a prostrating principle that puts him upon a level with the bulk of mankind. ledge of an artificial rule sets him above these, and is, therefore, maintained by him with all the tenacity of distinguishing prerogative. To a weak judge, deficient in natural reason, a knowledge of precedents is indispensable. In the language of Scotch presbyterian eloquence, there is such a thing as hukes and e'en to haud up a crippled Christian's breeks; or, in English, hooks and eyes, which were before buttons and button-holes, to answer the same purpose with pantaloons or sherry vallies. Such are cases to a judge, weak in understanding; because these give him the appearance of learning, and having made

research.

The know

But it does not follow, that I undervalue legal knowledge in a lawyer, or judge, or resolve all into common sense in that or any other profession or occupation.

I select, in the next instance, that of a physician. What can one do in this profession, without medical knowledge? And yet without good sense, the physician is as likely to kill as to cure. It is the only means that one who is not a physician himself has to judge of the skill of one who calls himself such, what appears to be the grade of his mind, and his understanding upon common subjects. We say, he does not appear to have common sense; how can he be trusted in his profession? Common sense, I take to be, therefore, judgment upon common subjects: and that degree of it which falls to the share of the bulk of mankind. For even amongst the common people, we speak of mother wit, which is but another name for common sense. Clergy wit, is that of school learning; or the lessons of science, in which a dunce may be eminent. For it requires but memory and application. But the adage is the dictate of experience, and the truth of it is eternal, ounce of mother wit is worth a pound of clergy."

66 An

We speak of an egregious blockhead, and say, he has not even common sense: that is, he has not the very thing that is necessary to begin with; and which every person is usually endowed with, that has the proportions of the human form. It seems to be something bordering on instinct, and resembles it in the uniformity and certainty of its operations. It is that without which it is not worth while attempting to make a great man. What is a general without common sense-that is, natural judgment? But why talk of generals, or lawyers, or judges, or go so far from home? Where we see, as we sometimes do, the want of natural judgment, in the management of a man's own affairs, on a small scale; whether of merchandise, or of manufactures, or farming,

we say that he cannot succeed; and in general, though not always, the want of success in common pursuits, is owing to inexperience, or a want of natural judgment. The quibbling in a matter of contract; the evasion of fulfilment, is a want of natural judgment. I think the poet says,

The want of honesty is want of sense.

For,

There can be nothing more true. And I think it is remarkable, that in those divine writings, which we call, by way of eminence, the scriptures, dishonesty is called folly; and honesty wisdom. Common sense is that degree of understanding which is given to men in general, though some are peculiarly favoured with uncommon powers. But no man can be said to have common sense who is a knave. of all things, it is the strongest proof of a want of judgment upon an extensive scale. Had I the world to begin again, with all the experience that years have given me, and were to think myself at liberty, from all considerations of duty or obligation; yet, on the principle of self-interest, I would be honest, and exceed, rather than come short, in giving to all their due. For it is the adage, and as true as any of the apothegms that we hear, that honesty is the best policy. Indeed all the rules of morality are but maxims of prudence. They all lead to self-preservaand had they no other foundation, they would rest upon this, as sufficient to support them. The discerning mind sees its interest as clear as a ray of light, leading it to do justice. Let me see any man quibble and evade, cheat or defraud, and I do not say constructively, and with a reference to a future state, but in relation to this life, and his temporal affairs, that he is unwise; that is, he wants the judg ment to perceive his true interest. This is the presumption; and when knavery is found to consist with strong powers, I resolve it into defect of fortitude, or want of resolution, to be what the man must know what he ought to be. The

tion;

is correct.

PROPHECY OF THE GREATNESS OF AMERICA-FROM THE KISING GLORY OF AMERICA.

Eugenio. "Tis true no human eye can penetrate The veil obscure, and in fair light disclos'd Behold the scenes of dark futurity; Yet if we reason from the course of things, And downward trace the vestiges of time, The mind prophetic grows and pierces far Thro' ages yet unborn. We saw the states And mighty empires of the East arise In swift succession from the Assyrian To Macedon and Rome; to Britain thence Dominion drove her car, she stretch'd her reign O'er many isles, wide seas and peopled lands, Now in the West a continent appears; A newer world now opens to her view; She hastens onward to th' Americ shores

And bids a scene of recent wonders rise.
New states, new empires, and a line of kings,
High raised in glory, cities, palaces,

Fair domes on each long bay, sea, shore, or stream,
Circling the hills, now rear their lofty heads.
Far in the Arctic skies a Petersburgh,
A Bergen or Archangel lifts its spires,
Glitt'ring with ice, far in the West appears
A new Palmyra or an Ecbatan,

And sees the slow pac'd caravan return
O'er many a realm from the Pacific shore,
Where fleets shall then convey rich Persia's silks,
Arabia's perfumes, and spices rare

Of Philipine, Colebe, and Marian isles,
Or from the Acapulco coast our India then,
Laden with pearl, and burning gems and gold.
Far in the South I see a Babylon,
As once by Tigris or Euphrates stream,
With blazing watch-tow'rs and observatories
Rising to heaven; from thence astronomers
With optic glass take nobler views of God,
In golden suns and shining worlds display'd,
Than the poor Chaldean with the naked eye.
A Nineveh where Oronoque descends
With waves discolor'd from the Andes high,
Winding himself around a hundred isles
Where golden buildings glitter o'er his tide.
Two mighty nations shall the people grow
Which cultivate the banks of many a flood,
In crystal currents poured from the hills,
Apalachia named, to lave the sands
Of Carolina, Georgia, and the plains
Stretch'd out from thence far to the burning line,
St. John's, or Clarendon, or Albemarle.
And thou Patowmack, navigable stream,
Rolling thy waters through Virginia's groves,
Shall vie with Thames, the Tiber, or the Rhine,
For on thy banks I see an hundred towns,
And the tall vessels wafted down thy tide.
Hoarse Niagara's stream now roaring on

Thro' woods and rocks, and broken mountains torn,
In days remote, far from their ancient beds,
By some great monarch taught a better course,
Or cleared of cataracts shall flow beneath
Unnumber'd boats, and merchandize, and men;
And from the coasts of piny Labradore,
A thousand navies crowd before the gale,
And spread their commerce to remotest lands,
Or bear their thunder round the conquer'd world.
Leander. And here fair freedom shall for ever
reign.

I see a train, a glorious train appear,

Of patriots plac'd in equal fame with those
Who nobly fell for Athens or for Rome.
The sons of Boston resolute and brave,
The firm supporters of our injured rights,
Shall lose their splendors in the brighter beams
Of patriots famed and heroes yet unborn.

Acasto. 'Tis but the morning of the world with us,
And science yet but sheds her orient rays.
I see the age, the happy age roll on
Bright with the splendors of her mid-day beams.
I see a Homer and a Milton rise

In all the pomp and majesty of song,
Which gives immortal vigor to the deeds
Achiev'd by heroes in the fields of fame.
A second Pope, like that Arabian bird

Of which no age can boast but one, may yet
Awake the muse by Schuylkill's silent stream,
And bid new forests bloom along her tide.
And Susquehanna's rocky stream unsung,
In bright meanders winding round the hills,
Where first the mountain nymph sweet echo heard
The uncouth music of my rural lay,
Shall yet remurmur to the magic sound

Of song heroic, when in future days
Some noble Hampden rises into fame.
Leander On Roanoke's and James's limpid waves
The sound of music murmurs in the gale;
Another Denham celebrates their flow,

In gliding numbers and harmonious lays.

Eugenio. Now in the bowers of Tuscarora hills, As once on Pindus all the muses stray, New Theban bards high soaring reach the skies, And swim along thro' azure deeps of air.

Leander. From Alleghany in thick groves imbrown'd,

Sweet music breathing thro' the shades of night
Steals on my ear, they sing the origin

Of those fair lights which gild the firmament;
From whence the gale that murmurs in the pines;
Why flows the stream down from the mountain's
brow,

And rolls the ocean lower than the land?
They sing the final destiny of things,
The great result of all our labors here,
The last day's glory and the world renew'd.
Such are their themes, for in these happier days
The bard enraptur'd scorns ignoble strains.
Fair science smiling and full truth revealed,
The world at peace, and all her tumults o'er,
The blissful prelude to Emanuel's reign.

Acasto. This is thy praise, America, thy pow'r,
Thou best of climes by science visited,
By freedom blest, and richly stor'd with all
The luxuries of life. Hail, happy land,
The seat of empire, the abode of kings,
The final stage where time shall introduce
Renowned characters, and glorious works
Of high invention and of wond'rous art,
Which not the ravages of time shall waste
Till he himself has run his long career;
Till all those glorious orbs of light on high,
The rolling wonders that surround the ball,
Drop from their spheres extinguish'd and consum'd;
When final ruin with her fiery car

Rides o'er creation, and all nature's works
Are lost in chaos and the womb of night.

WILLIAM WHITE.

WILLIAM WHITE was born in Philadelphia, April 4, 1748 (March 24, 1747, Old Style). He was prepared for college at the Latin school by the celebrated teachers Paul Jackson and John Beveridge, the Latin poet, whom he calls "a thorough grammarian, with little else to recommend him."* An anecdote of his early days is related by one of his playfellows. We give it in the words of the narrator from the Rev. Dr. Wilson's Memoir: "It has been thought that the bent of the genius, and the probable future pursuits in life, are sometimes indicated by the amusements most attractive in early youth. A few circumstances of that nature, occurring while he was very young, have been communicated to me. They were repeatedly related by a lady who was his intimate playmate from a very early age, and about a year and a half older than he was; a daughter of Mr. Stephen Pascal,† a member of the society of Friends,‡

6

residing in the house adjoining Colonel White's. That lady bore testimony to his early piety, and was wont to say, when she was herself advanced in life, Billy White (so she continued to call him) was born a bishop. I never could persuade him to play any thing but church. He would tie his own or my apron round his neck, for a gown, and stand behind a low chair, which he called his pulpit; I, seated before him on a little bench, was the congregation; and he always preached to me about being good. One day,' she added, ‘I heard him crying, and saw him running into the street, and the nurse-maid after him, calling to him to come back and be dressed. He refused, saying, I do not want to go to dancing-school, and I won't be dressed, for I don't think it is good to learn to dance. And that was the only time I

ever knew Billy White to be a naughty boy.' The lady who gave me these anecdotes, and in whose own language nearly they are related, added that she had the pleasure of repeating these reminiscences of his childhood to the Bishop: they amused him; and he told her that his mother, finding that he was so averse to learning to dance, gave it up; though,' he said, 'I am by no means opposed to others learning, if they like to dance.'

He completed his collegiate course in his seventeenth year, and soon entered upon a preparation for the career of his choice. He was much impressed at this period of his life by the preaching of Whitefield.

In 1770, White visited England to obtain ordination. He was a neighbor during a portion of his residence in London of Goldsmith, and describes an interview with him:

We lodged, for some time, near to one another, in Brick Court, of the Temple. I had it intimated to him, by an acquaintance of both, that I wished for the pleasure of making him a visit. It ensued; and in our conversation it took a turn which excited in me a painful sensation, from the circumstance that a man of such a genius should write for bread. His "Deserted Village" came under notice; and some remarks were made by us on the principle of itthe decay of the peasantry. He said, that were he to write a pamphlet on the subject, he could prove the point incontrovertibly. On his being asked, why he did not set his mind to this, his answer was: "It is not worth my while. A good poem will bring me one hundred guineas: but the pamphlet would bring me nothing." This was a short time before my leav ing of England, and I saw the Doctor no more.

He also visited Johnson.

Having mentioned some literary characters, who became personally known to me in the university, I will not omit, although extraneous to it, that giant of genius and literature, Dr. Samuel Johnson. My introduction to him was a letter from the Rev. Jonathan Odell, formerly missionary at Burlington. The Doctor was very civil to me. I visited him occasionally; and I know some who would be tempted to envy me the felicity of having found him, one morn. ing, in the act of preparing his dictionary for a new edition. His harshness of manners never displayed itself to me, except in one instance; when he told me that had he been prime minister, during the then recent controversy concerning the stamp act, he would have sent a ship of war, and levelled one of our principal cities with the ground. On the other

hand, I have heard from him sentiments expressive of a feeling heart; and convincing me, that he would not have done as he said. Having dined in company with him, in Kensington, at the house of Mr. Elphinstone, well known to scholars of that day, and returning in the stage-coach with the Doctor, I mentioned to him there being a Philadelphia edition of his "Prince of Abyssinia." He expressed a wish to see it. I promised to send him a copy on my return to Philadelphia, and did so. He returned a polite answer, which is printed in Mr. Boswell's second edition of his Life of the Doctor. Mr. (since the Rev. Dr.) Abercrombie's admiration of Dr. Johnson had led to a correspondence with Mr. Boswell, to whom, with my consent, the letter was sent.*

Having been ordained deacon and priest, he returned to his native city, in September, 1772, and was chosen an assistant minister of Christ and St. Peter's churches. In 1773, he married Miss Mary Harrison.

From the outset of the Revolution he sided with his countrymen, but took no active part in the struggle. In his own words, "I never beat the ecclesiastic drum. * * Being invited to preach

before a battalion, I declined; and mentioned to the colonel, who was one of the warmest spirits of the day, my objections to the making of the ministry instrumental to the war." He continued to pray for the king until the signing of the declaration of independence, when he took the oath of allegiance to the United States. During its administration, an acquaintance made a significant gesture of the neck. The clergyman remarked, "I perceived by your gesture that you thought I was exposing my neck to great danger by the step which I have taken. But I have not taken it without full deliberation. I know my danger, and that it is the greater on account of my being a clergyman of the Church of England. But I trust in Providence. The cause is a just one, and I am persuaded will be protected.”

In September, 1777, he was chosen one of the chaplains of Congress. "The circumstances," says his biographer, "attending his acceptance of this appointment were sometimes detailed by him, in conversation with his friends, in a lively manner. Bishop Kemper, of Missouri and Indiana, who was present on some such occasions, mentions to me that he related them thus: That he had removed with his family to Maryland; and being on a journey, stopped at a small village between Harford county and Philadelphia, at which he was met by a courier from Yorktown, inforıning him of his being appointed by Congress their chaplain, and requesting his immediate attendance: that he thought of it for a short time; it was in one of the gloomiest periods of the American affairs, when General Burgoyne was marching, without having yet received a serious check, so far as was then known, through the northern parts of New

There was sent, not the letter, as I supposed, but a copy of it. This fact was not known to me, until the following inci dent. Dining at the table of President Washington, and sitting near to Mr. Swanwick, then a member of Congress, this related anecdote having been given by me to a few gentlemen within hearing, Mr. Swanwick, bearing of the sending of the letter, corrected the error; and declaiming on the subject, expected to see the time when the letter would be worth two thousand guineas. (Note by the Bishop in 1880.)

The colonel alluded to was Timothy Matlack, whose ardor in the American cause cannot but be still remembered by many. (Note by the Bishop in 1880.)