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your own expenses.” And who I pray, is to judge of 45 their necessity? Why, the King-(and with all due
reverence to his sacred majesty, he understands the real wants of his distant subjects, as little as he does the language of the Choctaws.) Who is to judge concern
ing the frequency of these demands? The ministry. 50 Who is to judge whether the money is properly expended? The cabinet behind the throne. In
every instance, those who take, are to judge for those who pay; if this system is suffered to go into ope
ration, we shall have reason to esteem it a great privilege, 55 that rain and dew do not depend upon parliament; otherwise they would soon be taxed and dried.
But thanks to God, there is freedom enough left upon earth to resist such monstrous injustice. The flame of
liberty is extinguished in Greece and Rome, but the 60 light of its glowing embers it still bright and strong on
the shores of America. Actuated by its sacred influence, we will resist unto death. But we will not countenance anarchy and misrule. The wrongs, that a des
perate community have heaped upon their enemies, 65 shall be amply and speedily repaired. Still, it may be
well for some proud men to remember, that a fire is lighted in these colonies, which one breath of their king may kindle into such fury that the blood of all England cannot extinguish it.
67. Pitt's reply to Walpole.
which the honourable gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palli
ate, nor deny,--but content myself with wishing that I 5
may be one of those whose follies may cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience. Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not, sir, assume the province
of determining ;--but surely age may become justly con10 temptible, if the opportunities which it brings have past
away without improvement, and vice appears to prevail,
when the passions have subsided. The wretch who after having seen the consequences of a thousand er
rors, continues still to blunder, and whose age has on15 ly added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of
either abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that
hairs should secure him from insult. Much more, sir, is he to be abhorred, who, as he advanced in
age, has receded from virtue, and becomes more wicked 20 with less temptation ;---who prostitutes himself for mon
ey which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country. But youth, sir, is not my only crime; I have been accused of acting a
theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply 25 some peculiarities of gesture, or a dissimulation of my
real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and language of another man.
In the first sense, sir, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only to be mentioned to be despis30 ed. I am at liberty, like every other man, to use my
own language; and though, perhaps I may have some ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor very solicitously copy his
diction, or his mien, however matured by age, or mod35 elled by experience. If any man shall, by charging me
with theatrical behaviour, imply that I utter any sentiments but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain ;-nor shall any protection shelter him from
the treatment he deserves. I shall, on such an occa40 sion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with
which wealth and dignity intrench themselves,-nor shall any thing but age
restrain my resentment ;--age, which always brings one privilege, that of being inso
lent and supercilious without punishment. But with 45 regard, sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of
opinion, that if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided their censure : the heat that offended them is the ardour of conviction, and that zeal for the
service of my country, which neither hope nor fear shall 50 influence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned
while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon
public robbery. I will exert my endeavours at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to jus
tice, --whoever may protect them in their villany-and, 55 whoever may partake of their plunder.
68. Speech of Mr. Griffin against Cheetham.
I am one of those who believe that the heart of the wilful and the deliberate libeller is blacker than that of the high-way robber, or of one who commits the crime of
midnight arson. The man who plunders on the high5 way, may have the semblance of an apology for what he
does. An affectionate wife may demand subsistence : a circle of helpless children raise to him the supplicating hand for food. He may be driven to the desperate
act by the high mandate of imperative necessity. The 10 mild features of the husband and the father may inter
mingle with those of the robber and soften the roughness of the shade. But the robber of character plunders that which “not enricheth him,” though it makes
his neighbour“ poor indeed."--The man who at the 15 midnight hour consumes his neighbour's dwelling, does
him an injury which perhaps is not irreparable. Industry may rear another habitation. The storm may indeed descend upon him until charity opens a neighbour
ing door : the rude winds of heaven may whistle around 20 his uncovered family. But he looks forward to better
days : he has yet a hook left to hang a hope on. No such consolation cheers the heart of him whose character has been torn from him. If innocent he may look,
like Anaxagoras, to the Heavens; but he must be con25 strained to feel this world is to him a wilderness. For
whither shall he go? Shall he dedicate himself to the service of his country ? But will his country receive him ? Will she employ in her councils, or in her ar
mies, the man at whom the “ slow unmoving finger of 30 scorn” is pointed ? Shall he betake himself to the
fire-side ? . The story of his disgrace will enter his own doors before him. And can he bear, think you, can he bear the sympathising agonies of a dis
tressed wife? Can he endure the formidable presence 35 of scrutinizing, sneering domestics? Will his children
receive instruction from the lips of a disgraced father ! Gentlemen, I am not ranging on fairy ground. I am telling the plain story of my client's wrongs. By the
ruthless hand of malice his character has been wanton40 ly massacred ;—and he now appears before a jury of his country for redress.
Will you deny him this redress? Is character valuable ? On this point I will not insult you with argument. There are certain things, to
argue which is treason against nature. The author of 45 our being did not intend to leave this point afloat at the
mercy of opinion, but with his own hand has he kindly planted in the soul of man an instinctive love of character. This high sentiment has no affinity to pride. It
is the ennobling quality of the soul : and if we have 50 hitherto been elevated above the ranks of surrounding
creation, human nature owes its elevation to the love of character. It is the love of character for which the poet has sung, the philosopher toiled, the hero bled. It is
the love of character which wrought miracles at ancient 55 Greece ; the love of character is the eagle on which
Rome rose to empire. And it is the love of character animating the bosom of her sons, on which America must depend in those approaching crises that may "try
men's souls." Will a jury weaken this our nation's 60 hope ? Will they by their verdict pronounce to the
youth of our country, that character is scarce worth possessing ?
We read of that philosophy which can smile over the destruction of property--of that religion which enables 65 its possessor to extend the benign look of forgiveness
and complacency to his murderers. But it is not in the soul of man to bear the laceration of slander. The philosophy which could bear it, we should despise. The
religion which could bear it, we should not despise70 but we should be constrained to say, that its kingdom
was not of this world.
69. Thunder Storm. They came to to the highlands. It was the latter part of a calm, sultry day, that they floated gently with the tide between these stern mountains. There was that
perfect quiet which prevails over nature in the languor 5 of summer heat ; the turning of a plank, or the acciden
tal falling of an oar on deck, was echoed from the mountain side, and reverberated along the shores ; and if by chance the captain gave a shout of command, there
were airy tongues that mocked it from every cliff. 10 I gazed about me in mute delight and wonder at these
scenes of nature's magnificence. To the left the Dunderberg reared its woody precipices, height over height, forest over forest, away into the deep summer sky. To
the right strutted forth the bold promontory of Antony's 15 Nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it; while
beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until they seemed to lock their arms together, and confine this mighty river in their embraces. There was a feeling
of quiet luxury in. gazing at the broad, green bosoms 20 here and there scooped out among the precipices; or
at woodlands high in air, nodding over the edge of some beetling bluff, and their foliage all transparent in the yellow sunshine.
In the midst of my admiration, I remarked a pile of 25 bright, snowy clouds peering above the western heights.
It was succeeded by another, and another, each seemingly pushing onwards its predecessor, and towering, with dazzling brilliancy, in the deep blue atmosphere :
and now muttering peals of thunder were faintly heard 30 rolling behind the mountains. The river, hitherto still
and glassy, reflecting pictures of the sky and land, now showed a dark ripple at a distance, as the breeze came creeping up it. The fish hawks wheeled and screamed,
and sought their nests on the high dry trees; the crows 35 flew clamorously to the crevices of the rocks, and all
nature seemed conscious of the approaching thundergust.
The clouds now rolled in volumes over the mountain tops ; their summits still bright and snowy, but the low