This spirit, however, has not yet been sufficient to banish from persons in authority that timidity which they have discovered from the beginning. The executive courts have not yet dared to adjudge the Stamp Act void, nor to proceed with business as usual, though it should seem that necessity alone would be sufficient to justify business at present, though the act should be allowed to be obligatory. The stamps are in the castle. Mr. Oliver has no commission. The Governor has no authority to distribute or even to unpack the bales; the Act has never been proclaimed nor read in the Province; yet the probate office is shut, the custom-house is shut, the courts of justice are shut, and all business seems at a stand. Yesterday and the day before, the two last days of service for January Term, only one man asked me for a writ, and he was soon determined to waive his request. I have not drawn

a writ since the first of November.

How long we are to remain in this languid condition, this passive obedience to the Stamp Act, is not certain. But such a pause cannot be lasting. Debtors grow insolent; creditors grow angry; and it is to be expected that the public offices will very soon be forced open, unless such favorable accounts should be received from England as to draw away the fears of the great, or unless a greater dread of the multitude should drive away the fear of censure from Great Britain.

It is my opinion that by this inactivity we discover cowardice, and too much respect to the Act. This rest appears to be, by implication at least, an acknowledgment of the authority of Parliament to tax us. And if this authority is once acknowledged and established, the ruin of America will become inevitable.

A very Pleasant Evening.

Boston, May 14, 1771.-A very pleasant evening. Otis gave us an account of a present from Doctor Cummings of Concord to Harvard College chapel, of a brass branch of candlesticks, such as Isaac Royal, Esq., gave to the Representatives' room, and that it was sent to N. Hurd's to have an inscription engraved on it. The inscription is

In sacelli hujusce ornatum et splendorem
Phosphoron hoc munus, benigne contulit
Cumings, armiger, medicus, Concordiensis.

Danforth. "The inscription was much faulted by the wits at club, and as it was to be a durable thing for the criticisms of strangers and of posterity, it was thought that it ought to be altered." Doctor Cooper mentioned an old proverb, that an ounce of mother wit is worth a pound of clergy. Mr. Otis mentioned another, which he said conveyed the same sentiment,-An ounce of prudence is worth a pound of wit. This produced a dispute, and the sense of the company was, that the word wit in the second proverb meant, the faculty of suddenly raising pleasant pictures in the fancy; but that the phrase, mother wit, in the first proverb, meant natural parts, and clergy-acquired learning-book learning. Doctor Cooper quoted another proverb from his Negro Glasgow,-A mouse can build an house without trouble. And then told us another instance of Glasgow's intellect, of which I had before thought him entirely destitute. The Doctor was speaking to Glasgow about Adam's Fall, and the introduction of natural and moral evil into the world, and Glasgow said, they had in his country a different account of this matter. The tradition was, that a dog and a toad were to run a race, and if the dog reached the goal first, the world was to continue innocent and happy; but if the toad should outstrip the dog, the

Nov. 10, 1772.-Sunday. Heard Mr. Cutler of Ipswich Hamlet; dined at Dr. Putnam's, with Colonel Putnam and lady, and two young gentlemen, nephews of the Doctor, and Colonel and a Mrs. Scollay. Colonel Putnam told a story of an Indian upon Connecticut River, who called at a tavern, in the fall of the year, for a dram. The landlord asked him two The next spring, happening at the coppers for it. same house, he called for another, and had three coppers to pay for it. "How is this, landlord?" says he; "last fall, you asked but two coppers for a glass of rum, now you ask three." "Oh!" says the landlord, "it costs me a good deal to keep rum over winter. It is as expensive to keep a hogshead of rum over winter as a horse." "Ay!" says the Indian, "I can't see through that; he wont eat so much hay:-Maybe he drink as much water." This was sheer wit, pure satire, and true humor. Humor, wit and satire, in one very short repartee.

Madame Helvetius.

Paris, April 15, 1778.-Dined this day with Madame Helvetius. One gentleman, one lady, Dr. Franklin, his grandson, and myself, made the company; an elegant dinner. Madame is a widow; her husband was a man of learning, and wrote several books. She has erected a monument to her husband, a model of which she has. It is herself weeping over his tomb, with this inscription.

Toi dont l'Ame sublime et tendre, A fait ma Gloire, et mon Bonheur, Je t'ai perdu: près de ta Cendre, Je viens jouir de ma Douleur.

Voltaire and Franklin.

Paris, April 29, 1778.-After dinner we went to the Academy of Sciences, and heard M. d'Alembert, as perpetual secretary, pronounce eulogies on several of their members, lately deceased. Voltaire and Franklin were both present, and there presently arose a general cry that M. Voltaire and M. Franklin should be introduced to each other. This was done, and they bowed and spoke to each other. This was no satisfaction; there must be something more. Neither of our philosophers seemed to divine what was wished or expected; they, however, took each other by the hand. But this was not enough; the clamor continued, until the explanation came out. "Il faut s'embrasser à la Françoise." The two aged actors upon this great theatre of philosophy and frivolity then embraced each other, by hugging one another in their arms, and kissing each other's cheeks, and then the tumult subsided. And the cry immediately spread through the whole kingdom, and, I suppose, over all Europe-"Qu'il était charmant de voir embrasser Solon et Sophocle! "*

FROM THE LETTERS.

John Adams to his Wife.

Philadelphia, May 22d, four o'clock in the morning. After a series of the severest and harshest

*This anecdote is told in the Life of Voltaire, by Condorcet, Euvres Complètes, vol. c. p. 161.-Note to Works.

weather that I ever felt in this climate, we are at last blessed with a bright sun and a soft air. The weather here has been like our old easterly winds to me and southerly winds to you. The charms of the morning at this hour are irresistible. The streaks of glory dawning in the east; the freshness and purity in the air, the bright blue of the sky, the sweet warblings of a great variety of birds intermingling with the martial clarions of a hundred cocks now within my hearing, all conspire to cheer the spirits.

This kind of puerile description is a very pretty employment for an old fellow whose brow is furrowed with the cares of politics and war. I shall be on horseback in a few minutes, and then I shall enjoy the morning in more perfection. I spent the last evening at the war office with General Arnold. He has been basely slandered and libelled. The regulars say, "he fought like Julius Cæsar" [at Danbury]. I am wearied to death with the wrangles between military officers, high and low. They quarrel like cats and dogs. They worry one another like mastiffs, scrambling for rank and pay, like apes for nuts. I believe there is no one principle which predominates in human nature so much, in every stage of life, from the cradle to the grave, in males and females, old and young, black and white, rich and poor, high and low, as this passion for superiority. Every human being compares itself in its imagination with every other round about it, and will find some superiority over every other, real or imaginary, or it will die of grief and vexation. I have seen it among boys and girls at school, among lads at college, among practitioners at the bar, among the clergy in their associations, among clubs of friends, among the people in town meetings, among the members of a House of Representatives, among the grave councillors, on the more solemn bench of Justice, and in that awfully august body, the Congress, and on many of its committees, and among ladies everywhere; but I never saw it operate with such keenness, ferocity, and fury, as among military officers. They will go terrible lengths in their emulation, their envy and revenge, in consequence of it.

So much for philosophy. I hope my five or six babes are all well. My duty to my mother and your father, and love to sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles. Pray how does your asparagus perform? &c. I would give three guineas for a barrel of your cider. Not one drop is to be had here for gold, and wine is not to be had under six or eight dollars a gallon, and that very bad. I would give a guinea for a barrel of your beer. The small beer here is wretchedly bad. In short, I can get nothing that I can drink, and I believe I shall be sick from this cause alone. Rum at forty shillings a gallon, and bad water will never do, in this hot climate, in summer, when acid liquors are necessary against putrefaction.

The same to the same.

Passy, April 25th, 1778. MY DEAREST FRIEND,Monsieur Chaumont has just informed me of a vessel bound to Boston, but I am reduced to such a moment of time, that I can only inform you that I am well, and enclose a few lines from Johnny to let you know that he is so. I have ordered the things you desired to be sent you, but I will not yet say by what conveyance, for fear of accidents.

If human nature could be made happy by any thing that can please the eye, the ear, the taste, or any other sense, or passion, or fancy, this country would be the region for happiness. But if my country were at peace, I should be happier among the rocks and shades of Penn's hill; and would

cheerfully exchange all the elegance, magnificence, and sublimity of Europe, for the simplicity of Braintree and Weymouth.

To tell you the truth, I admire the ladies here. Don't be jealous. They are handsome, and very well educated. Their accomplishments are exceedingly brilliant, and their knowledge of letters and arts exceeds that of the English ladies, I believe.

Tell Mrs. Warren that I shall write her a letter, as she desired, and let her know some of my reflections in this country. My venerable colleague [Dr. Franklin] enjoys a privilege here, that is much to be envied. Being seventy years of age, the ladies not only allow him to embrace them as often as he pleases, but they are perpetually embracing him. I told him, yesterday, I would write this to America.

Mrs. Adams to her husband.

Sunday, June 18th, 1775. DEAREST FRIEND,-The day, perhaps, the decisive day,-is come, on which the fate of America depends. My bursting heart must find vent at my pen. I have just heard, that our dear friend, Dr. Warren, is no more, but fell gloriously fighting for his country; saying, better to die honorably in the field, than ignominiously hang upon the gallows. Great is our loss. He has distinguished himself in every engagement, by his courage and fortitude, by animating the soldiers, and leading them on by his own example. A particular account of these dreadful, but I hope glorious days will be transmitted to you, no doubt, in the exactest man

ner.

"The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong; but the God of Israel is he that giveth strength and power unto his people. Trust in him at all times, ye people, pour out your hearts before him; God is a refuge for us." Charlestown is laid in ashes. The battle began upon our intrenchments upon Bunker's Hill, Saturday morning about three o'clock, and has not ceased yet, and it is now three o'clock Sabbath afternoon.

It is expected they will come out over the Neck to-night, and a dreadful battle must ensue. Almighty God, cover the heads of our countrymen, and be a shield to our dear friends! How many have fallen, we know not. The constant roar of the cannon is so distressing, that we cannot eat, drink, or sleep. May we be supported and sustained in the dreadful conflict. I shall tarry here till it is thought unsafe by my friends, and then I have secured myself a retreat at your brother's, who has kindly offered me part of his house. I cannot compose myself to write any further at present. I will add more as I hear further.

Tuesday afternoon.-I have been so much agitated, that I have not been able to write since Sabbath day. When I say, that ten thousand reports are passing, vague and uncertain as the wind, I believe I speak the truth. I am not able to give you any authentic account of last Saturday, but you will not be destitute of intelligence. Colonel Palmer has just sent me word, that he has an opportunity of conveyance. Incorrect as this scrawl may be, it shall go. I ardently pray, that you may be supported through the arduous task you have before you. I wish I could contradict the report of the Doctor's death; but it is a lamentable truth, and the tears of multitudes pay tribute to his memory; those favorite lines of Collins continually sound in my ears;

"How sleep the brave," &c.*

I must close, as the Deacon waits. I have not

*Collins's Ode is too well known to need insertion.

Quincy, Feb. 3d, 1794. MY DEAR MRS. SMITH,-I have not written to you since I received yours of January 5th. I go from home but very little, yet I do not find my time hang heavy upon my hands. You know that I have no aversion to join in the cheerful circle, or mix in the world, when opportunity offers. I think it tends to rub off those austerities which age is apt to contract, and reminds us, as Goldsmith says, "that we once were young. Whilst our presence is easy to youth, it will tend to guide and direct them.

"Be to their faults a little blind,

Be to their virtues ever kind,

And fix the padlock on the mind."

To-morrow our theatre is to open. Every precaution has been taken to prevent such unpleasant seenes as you represent are introduced upon yours. I hope the managers will be enabled to govern the mobility, or the whole design of the entertainment will be thwarted.

Since I wrote you last, a renewal of the horrid tragedies has been acted in France, and the Queen is no more.

"Set is her star of life;-the pouring storm

Turns its black deluge from that aching head;
The fiends of murder quit that bloodless form,
And the last animating hope is fled.

"Blest is the hour of peace, though cursed the hand
Which snaps the thread of life's disastrous loom;
Thrice blest the great, invincible command,

That deals the solace of the slumb'ring tomb." Not content with loading her with ignominy, whilst living, they blacken her memory by ascribing to her the vilest crimes. Would to Heaven that the destroying angel might put up his sword, and say, "It is enough;" that he would bid hatred, madness, and murder cease.

"Peace o'er the world her olive branch extend,

And white-robed Innocence from Heaven descend."

I wish, most ardently, that every arm extended against that unhappy country might be withdrawn, and they left to themselves, to form whatever constitution they choose; and whether it is republican or monarchical is not of any consequence to us, provided it is a regular government of some form or other, which may secure the faith of treaties, and due subordination to the laws, whilst so many governments are tottering to the foundations. Even in one of the freest and happiest in the world, restless spirits will aim at disturbing it. They cry "A lion! a lion!" when no real danger exists, but from their own halloo, which in time may raise other ferocious beasts of prey.

Mrs. Adams to her husband, on his election to the Presidency. Quincy, February 8th, 1797.

"The sun is dressed in brightest beams,

To give thy honors to the day."

And may it prove an auspicious prelude to each ensuing season. You have this day to declare yourself head of a nation. "And now, O Lord, my God, thou hast made thy servant ruler over the people. Give unto him an understanding heart, that he may know how to go out and come in before this great people; that he may discern between good and bad.

189

For who is able to judge this thy so great a people?" were the words of a royal sovereign; and not less applicable to him who is invested with the chief magistracy of a nation, though he wear not a crown, nor the robes of royalty.

My thoughts and my meditations are with you, though personally absent; and my petitions to Heaven are, that "the things which make for peace may not be hidden from your eyes." My feelings are not those of pride or ostentation, upon the occasion. They are solemnized by a sense of the obligations, the important trusts, and numerous duties connected with it. That you may be enabled to discharge them with honor to yourself, with justice and impartiality to your country, and with satisfaction to this great people, shall be the daily prayer of your

HUGH WILLIAMSON.

A. A.

A PHYSICIAN, patriot of note and historical writer, was born of Irish parentage in West Nottingham township, Pennsylvania, Dec. 5, 1735. He was taught at the country academy of the Rev. Francis Alison. After leaving the college of Philadelphia, he became a Presbyterian preacher, which his ill health did not permit him to continue. He was then Professor of Mathematics in his college at Philadelphia, carrying on his medical studies, which he further prosecuted in a residence at Edinburgh in 1764; obtaining his medi

SkuWilliamson

cal degree at Utrecht. On his return to Philadelphia he was engaged in several important astronomical observations, which he published in the transactions of the Philadelphia and New York Philosophical Societies. He travelled in 1772 to the West India Islands, and the next year through Great Britain, to collect funds for an academy at Newark, in Delaware. He had the honor of reporting to the British Government the destruction of the tea in Boston harbor, and prophesying before the Privy Council a civil war if the coercive policy was continued. It is not true, as has been stated, that he procured while in London the letters of Hutchinson which Franklin sent to America; for the letters had been received in Boston before he reached England. Returning home at the outbreak of the war, he employed himself as a mercantile trader at the South, offering his services in the army to the state of North Carolina, which were accepted. He was present at the battle of Camden, administering to the wounded of his countrymen in the enemy's camp, under the protection of a flag. In 1782 he was a member of the legislature of North Carolina, and afterwards of Congress, and in 1787 signed the Constitution of the United States. After 1790 he became a resident of New York. His chief literary productions are his anniversary discourse On the Benefit of Civil History, before the New York Historical Society in 1810; his Observations on the Climate in different parts of America, compared with the climate in Corresponding parts of the other Continent, and his History of North Carolina, published in 1812. He also wrote a number of medical papers, one

on the fascination of serpents, in the Medical Repository and American Medical and Philosophical Register. He was a contributor to Carey's Museum of several papers on languages and politics. An active promoter of the medical, literary, and philanthropical associations of New York, and of its material interests, especially in his advocacy of the canal policy, he enjoyed the friendship of the excellent society then at its height in New York, the Clintons, Hosacks, Mitchells, and others, till his death in his eightyfifth year, May 22, 1819. In his personal character Williamson was a man of strength and integrity. No one could approach him with flattery or falsehood. The style of his writing is direct and forcible. His appearance was noticeable, tall, dignified, with strongly marked features. His portrait was painted by Trumbull.*

SAMUEL PETERS.

SAMUEL PETERS, the "Parson Peters" of M'Fingal, and the reputed and undoubted author of a History of Connecticut, very generally read, but deservedly much impugned as an authority, belonged to that one family of Peters which has become so widely spread in the country, and of which, in its first generation in America, the celebrated Hugh Peters was the representative. There were three brothers who came to New England in 1634 to avoid star-chamber persecution, William, Thomas, and Hugh. The last succeeded Roger Williams at Salem, repudiating his alleged heresies, and remained there five years, paying much attention to its civil affairs, his proficiency in which led to his being sent to England to regulate some matters of trade in 1641. He there became the active parliamentary leader and preacher, and on the restoration was somewhat unnecessarily beheaded, as a return for his political career. His publications were sermons, reforming His Good Work for a pamphlets, and poems. Good Magistrate, in 1651, contained the radical proposition of burning the historical records in the Tower.

Hugh Peters, during his imprisonment in the Tower, wrote a book of religious advice and consolation, addressed to his daughter ElizabethMr. Hugh Peters's Last Legacy to an only Child.† His great nephew, Samuel, says of it, "it was printed and published in Old and New England, and myriads of experienced Christians have read his legacy with ecstasy and health to their souls. No doubt but the book will be had in remembrance in America as long as the works of the Assembly of Divines (at Westminster) and the holy Bible." Notwithstanding this prediction it would probably be difficult to procure a copy of the book now. Its spirit may be known by the rules which he sent to his daughter from his prison

Biographical Memoir, by Dr. Hosack. Collections of the New York Historical Society, iii.

+A Dying Father's Last Legacy to an only Child; or Mr. Hugh Peters's Advice to his Daughter: written by his own hand, during his late imprisonment in the Tower of London; and given her a little before his death. London; Printed for G. Calvert and T. Brewster. 1660.

+ History of the Rev. Hugh Peters, 77.

Prayers

Recreation

Memory,

and by the verses which he wrote for her.

MY WISHES.

I wish your Lamp and Vessel full of oyl

Like the Wise Virgins

(which all fools neglect), And the rich Pearl,

for which the Merchants toyl, Yea, how to purchase

are so circumspect:

I wish you that White Stone
With the new Name,
Which none can read

but who possess the same.

I wish you neither Poverty, nor Riches,

But Godliness,

so gainful, with Content; No painted Pomp,

nor Glory that bewitches;
A blameless Life

is the best monument:
And such a Soul

that soars above the Sky,
Well pleased to live,

but better pleased to dye.

I wish you such a Heart
as Mary had,
Minding the Main,

open'd as Lydia's was:
A hand like Dorcas

who the naked clad;
Feet like Joanna's,

posting to Christ apace.
And above all,

to live yourself to see
Marryed to Him,

who must your Saviour be

The son of the eldest brother, William, settled at Hebron, Connecticut, in 1717, where his fifth son, Samuel, was born Dec. 12, 1735. He was graduated at Yale in 1757; travelled the next year to Europe; abandoned the family Puritanism and

became a clergyman of the Church of England in 1760, when he returned to Connecticut, marrying a descendant of learned Dr. John Owen. He had charge of the churches at Hartford and Hebron. In 1774, he was compelled to leave the country

Samuel Peters

as a Royalist clergyman. The circumstances of this exit were characteristic of the times. He was considered by the Whigs who were conducting the Revolution, as an arrant Tory, who was meddling with and marring the work of Independence by his communications to his correspondents in England. If his humorous, voluble style is to be taken as evidence of his conversational powers, his tongue must also have been an unwelcome scourge of his rebellious townspeople. So a committee of the public paid him a domiciliary visit to secure from him a decided declaration of his opinions. Three hundred gathered at his house at Hebron, stated his offences, and hinted at a suit of tar and feathers. It was a committee with power; and they called for books and papers, demanding copies of the letters which he had forwarded, and of the malignant articles which he had sent to the newspapers. They procured from him a declaration in writing, that he had not "sent any letter to the Bishop of London or the Venerable Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, relative to the Boston Port Bill, or the Tea affair, or the Controversy between Great Britain and the Colonies, and designed not to, during his natural life, as these controversies were out of his business as a clergyman; also, he had not written to England to any other gentleman, or designed Company, nor would he do it." He gave them up, also, a copy of Thirteen Resolves which he had written for the press, which were found, when they came to be published and read, to be not satisfactory to the public mind. This was in August. In September, he received another visit from a committee, and undertook to defend himself by argument; but they were there to act and not to talk, and referred him to the sovereign people in full assembly without. He addressed the latter convocation in an harangue; and in the midst of it a gun was heard to go off in his house, notwithstanding his declaration that he had no serviceable fire-arms. He was allowed to go on, and another paper was proposed to be signed by him. He prepared one, and it was not satisfactory. The committee requested his signature to one of their own writing, which he declined. To cut short the parley, the whole body broke into the house by door and windows, and seizing Dr. Peters, carried him off to the meetinghouse green, three quarters of a mile away. He was now convinced by this rough logic, and signed the required document. "During the affair," we are told, "his gown and shirt were torn, one sash of his house was somewhat shattered, a table was turned over, and a punch-bowl and glass were broken."*

After this the Doctor fled to Boston, on his

* Sabine's Loyalists, Art. Peters.

way to England, smarting with the wrongs of the Yankees, and bent on revenge. His design was to accumulate stories of the desperate acts of the people of the state for the government in England, and procure a withdrawal of the Charter. This was suspected by his Connecticut friends, and they made sure of it by intercepting his letters. In one of these, dated Boston, addressed to the Rev. Dr. Auchmuty, of New York, he intimates as in prospect, that "the bounds of New York may directly extend to Connecticut River, Boston meet them, and New Hampshire take the Province of Maine, and Rhode Island be swallowed up as Dathan."*"

Doctor Peters did not carry his point of dismembering Connecticut, but he punished the natives almost as effectually by writing a book-his history of the State. It was published anonymously, but it was as plainly Peters's as if every page had been subscribed by him, like the extorted declarations. Looked at as history, we may say it is unreliable; but regarded as a squib, which the author almost had the opportunity of writing with quills plucked from his writhing body, and planted there by his over-zealous brethren of Hebron, it is vastly enjoyable and may be forgiven.

The General History of Connecticut is as good, in its way, as Knickerbocker's New York. The full-mouthed, humorous gravity of its style is irresistible. Its narrations are independent of time, place, and probability. A sober critic would go mad over an attempt to correct its misstatements; though the good Dr. Dwight thought the subject once of importance enough to do something of the kind in his Travels, where he amends the historian's account of the magnificent flight of steps which led up to the church at Greenwich, by stating that they were simply stones of the street placed there to protect visitors from the mud.‡

In the reprint of the work at New Haven, in 1829, illustrated by eight very remarkable engravings, there is a species of apologetic preface, which would lift the work into the dignity of history, after making liberal allowances for the author's "excited feelings," and particularly his revenge upon the Trumbull family for "that notable tetrastic," which was put into the mouth of the hero by the author of M'Fingal :—

What warnings had ye of your duty,
From our old rev'rend Sam Auchmuty;
From priests of all degrees and metres,
To our fag-end man Parson Peters.

But all this will not do. What are we to think of a sober writer, on the eve of the nineteenth century, publishing such a geographical statement

*Sabine's Loyalists, 584.

A General History of Connecticut; from its First Settlement, under George Fenwick, Esq., to its latest period of amity with Great Britain, including a description of the Country, and many curious and interesting Anecdotes; to which is added an Appendix, wherein new and the true sources of the present Rebellion in America are pointed out; together with the particular part taken by the People of Connecticut in its Promotion. By a Gentleman of the Province. Plus apud me ratio valebit, quam vulgi opinio.-Cic. London, printed for the author. Sold by J. Bew, 1781.

"This is the building pompously exhibited in that mass of folly and falsehood commonly called Peters's History of Connecticut."-Dwight's Travels, iii. 495.