TO be descended from an illustrious fami­ly certainly reflects honour on any man, in spite of the sans-culotte principles of the present day. This is, however, an honour that I have no pretension to. All that I can boast of in my birth, is, that I was born in Old Eng­land; the country from whence came the men who explored and settled North America; the country of Penn, and of the father and mo­ther of General Washington.

With respect to my ancestors, I shall go no further back than my grand-father, and for this plain reason, that I never heard talk of any prior to him. He was a day-labourer, and I have heard my father say, that he worked for one farmer from the day of his marriage to [Page 10] that of his death, upwards of forty years. He died before I was born, but I have often slept beneath the same roof that had sheltered him, and where his widow dwelt for several years af­ter his death. It was a little thatched cottage with a garden before the door. It had but two win­dows; a damson tree shaded one, and a clump of filberts the other. Here I and my brothers went every Christmas and Whitsuntide, to spend a week or two, and torment the poor old woman with our noise and dilapidations. She used to give us milk and bread for break­fast, an apple pudding for our dinner, and a piece of bread and cheese for supper. Her fire was made of turf, cut from the neighbour­ing heath, and her evening light was a rush dipped in grease.

How much better is it, thus to tell the naked truth, than to descend to such miserable shifts as Doctor Franklin has had recourse to, in or­der to persuade people, that his fore-fathers were men of wealth and consideration. Not being able to refer his reader to the herald's office for proofs of the fame and antiquity of his family, he appeals to the etymology of his name, and points out a passage in an obsolete book, whence he has the conscience to insist on our concluding, that, in the Old English lan­guage, a Franklin meant a man of good reputa­tion and of consequence. According to Doctor Johnson, a Franklin was what we now call a gentleman's steward or land-bailiff, a personage one degree above a bumbailiff, and that's all.

[Page 11]Every one will, I hope, have the goodness to believe, that my grandfather was no philo­sopher. Indeed he was not. He never made a lightning rod nor bottled up a single quart of sun-shine in the whole course of his life. He was no almanac-maker, nor quack, nor chimney-doctor, nor soap-boiler, nor ambassa­dor, nor printer's devil: neither was he a de­ist, and all his children were born in wedlock. The legacies he left, were, his scythe, his reap-hook, and his flail; he bequeathed no old and irrecoverable debts to an hospital: he never cheated the poor during his life, nor mocked them in his death. He has, it is true, been suffered to sleep quietly beneath the green-sord; but, if his descendants cannot point to his statue over the door of a library, they have not the mor­tification to hear him daily accused of having been a whoremaster, a hypocrite and an in­fidel.

My father, when I was born, was a farmer. The reader will easily believe, from the pover­ty of his parents, that he had received no ve­ry brilliant education: he was, however, learn­ed, for a man in his rank of life. When a little boy, he drove plough for two-pence a day, and these his earnings were appropriated to the expenses of an evening school. What a village school-master could be expected to teach, he had learnt, and had besides considerably improved himself in several branches of the mathematicks. He understood land surveying well, and was often chosen to draw the plans of disputed territory: in short, he had the re­putation [Page 12] of possessing experience and under­standing, which never fails, in England, to give a man in a country place, some little weight with his neighbours. He was honest, in­dustrious, and frugal; it was not, therefore, won­derful, that he should be situated in a good farm, and happy in a wife of his own rank, like him, beloved and respected.

So much for my ancestors, from whom, if I derive no honour, I derive no shame.

I had (and I hope I yet have) three bro­thers: the eldest is a shop-keeper, the second a farmer, and the youngest, if alive, is in the service of the Honourable East India company, a private soldier, perhaps, as I have been in the service of the king. I was born on the ninth of March 1766: the exact age of my brothers I have forgotten, but I remember hav­ing heard my mother say, that there was but three years and three quarters difference be­tween the age of the oldest and that of the youngest.

A father like ours, it will be readily suppos­ed did not suffer us to eat the bread of idleness. I do not remember the time when I did not earn my living. My first occupation was, driv­ing the small birds from the turnip seed, and the rooks from the peas. When I first trudged a-field, with my wooden bottle and my satchel swung over my shoulders, I was hardly able to climb the gates and stiles, and, at the close of the day, to reach home was a task of infi­nite [Page 13] difficulty. My next employment was weed­ing wheat, and leading a single horse at har­rowing barley. Hoeing peas followed, and hence I arrived at the honour of joining the reapers in harvest, driving the team and hold­ing plough. We were all of us strong and la­borious, and my father used to boast, that he had four boys, the eldest of whom was but fif­teen years old, who did as much work as any three men in the parish of Farnham. Honest pride, and happy days!

I have some faint recollection of going to school to an old woman, who, I believe, did not succeed in learning me my letters. In the winter evenings my father learnt us all to read and write, and gave us a pretty tolerable knowledge of arithmetic. Grammar he did not perfectly understand himself, and there­fore his endeavours to learn us that, necessari­ly failed; for, though he thought he understood it, and though he made us get the rules by heart, we learnt nothing at all of the princi­ples.

Our religion was that of the Church of Eng­land, to which I have ever remained attach­ed; the more so, perhaps, as it bears the name of my country. As my ancestors were never persecuted for their religious opinions, they never had an opportunity of giving such a sin­gular proof of their faith as Doctor Franklin's grandfather did, when he kept his Bible under the lid of a close-stool. (What a book-case!) If I had been in the place of Doctor Franklin, [Page 14] I never would have related this ridiculous cir­cumstance, especially as it must be construed into a boast of his grandfather's having an ex­traordinary degree of veneration for a book, which, it is well known, he himself durst not believe in.

As to politics, we were like the rest of the country people in England; that is to say, we neither knew or thought any thing about the matter. The shouts of victory or the mur­murs at a defeat, would now-and-then break in upon our tranquillity for a moment; but I do not remember ever having seen a news-paper in the house, and most certainly that privation did not render us less industrious, happy or free.

After, however, the American war had con­tinued for some time, and the cause and nature of it began to be understood, or rather misun­derstood, by the lower classes of the people in England, we became a little better acquainted with subjects of this kind. It is well known, that the people were, as to numbers, nearly equally divided in their opinions concerning that war, and their wishes respecting the result of it. My father was a partizan of the Ame­ricans: he used frequently to dispute on the subject with the gardener of a nobleman who lived near us. This was generally done with good humour, over a pot of our best ale; yet the disputants sometimes grew warm, and gave way to language that could not fail to attract our attention. My father was worsted without [Page 15] doubt, as he had for antagonist, a shrewd and sensible old Scotchman, far his superior in political knowledge; but he pleaded before a partial audience: we thought there was but one wise man in the world, and that that one was our father. He who pleaded the cause of the Americans had an advantage, too, with young minds: he had only to represent the king's troops as sent to cut the throats of a peo­ple, our friends and relations, merely because they would not submit to oppression, and his cause was gained. Speaking to the passions is ever sure to succeed on the uninformed.

Men of integrity are generally pretty obsti­nate in adhering to an opinion once adopted. Whether it was owing to this, or to the weak­ness of Mr. Martin's arguments, I will not pre­tend to say, but he never could make a convert of my father: he continued an American, and so staunch a one, that he would not have suffered his best friend to drink success to the king's arms at his table. I cannot give the reader a better idea of his obstinacy in this respect, and of the length to which this difference in sentiment was carried in England, than by relating the following instance.

My father used to take one of us with him every year to the great hop-fair at Wey-Hill. The fair was held at Old Michaelmas-tide, and the journey was, to us, a sort of reward for the labours of the summer. It happened to be my turn to go thither the very year that Long-Island was taken by the British. A great company [Page 16] of hop-merchants and farmers were just sitting down to supper as the post arrived, bringing in the extraordinary Gazette which announced the victory. A hop-factor from London took the paper, placed his chair upon the table, and began to read with an audible voice. He was opposed, a dispute ensued, and my father re­tired, taking me by the hand, to another apart­ment, where we supped with about a dozen others of the same sentiments. Here Washing­ton's health, and success to the Americans, were repeatedly toasted, and this was the first time, as far as I can recollect, that I ever heard the General's name mentioned. Little did I then dream, that I should ever see the man, and still less that I should hear some of his own countrymen reviling and execrating him.

Let not the reader imagine, that I wish to assume any merit from this, perhaps mistaken, prejudice of an honoured and beloved parent. Whether he was right or wrong is not now worth talking about: that I had no opinion of my own is certain; for, had my father been on the other side, I should have been on the other side too, and should have looked upon the company I then made a part of as malcon­tents and rebels. I mention these circum­stances merely to show that I was not ‘nursed in the lap of aristocracy,’ and that I did not imbibe my principles, or prejudices, from those who were the advocates of blind submis­sion. If my father had any fault, it was not being submissive enough, and I am much [Page 17] afraid my acquaintance have but too often dis­covered the same fault in his son.

It would be as useless as unentertaining to dwell on the occupations and sports of a coun­try boy; to lead the reader to fairs, cricket-matches and hare-hunts. I shall therefore come at once to the epoch, when an accident hap­pened that gave that turn to my future life, which at last brought me to the United States.

Towards the autumn of 1782 I went to vi­sit a relation who lived in the neighbourhood of Portsmouth. From the top of Portsdown, I, for the first time, beheld the sea, and no soon­er did I behold it than I wished to be a sailor. I could never account for this sudden impulse, nor can I now. Almost all English boys feel the same inclination: it would seem that, like young ducks, instinct leads them to rush on the bosom of the water.

But it was not the sea alone that I saw: the grand fleet was riding at anchor at Spithead. I had heard of the wooden walls of Old Eng­land: I had formed my ideas of a ship and of a fleet; but, what I now beheld so far surpassed what I had ever been able to form a conception of, that I stood lost between astonishment and admiration. I had heard talk of the glorious deeds of our admirals and sailors, of the defeat of the Spanish Armada, and of all those me­morable combats that good and true English­men never fail to relate to their children about [Page 18] a hundred times a year. The brave Rodney's victories over our natural enemies, the French and Spaniards, had long been the theme of our praise, and the burthen of our songs. The sight of the fleet brought all these into my mind; in confused order, it is true, but with irresisti­ble force. My heart was inflated with national pride. The sailors were my countrymen, the fleet belonged to my country, and surely I had my part in it, and in all its honours: yet, these honours I had not earned; I took to myself a sort of reproach for possessing what I had no right to, and resolved to have a just claim by sharing in the hardships and the dangers.

I arrived at my uncle's late in the evening, with my mind full of my sea-faring project. Though I had walked thirty miles during the day, and consequently was well wearied, I slept not a moment. It was no sooner day-light than I arose and walked down towards the old castle on the beach of Spithead. For a sixpence given to an invalid I got permission to go up on the battlements: here I had a closer view of the fleet, and at every look my impatience to be on board increased. In short, I went from the castle to Portsmouth, got into a boat, and was in a few minutes on board the Pegasus man of war, commanded by the Right Honoura­ble George Berkley, brother to the Earl of Berkley.

The Captain had more compassion than is generally met with in men of his profession: he represented to me the toils I must undergo, [Page 19] and the punishment that the least disobedience or neglect would subject me to. He persuaded me to return home, and I remember he con­cluded his advice with telling me, that it was better to be led to church in a halter, to be ti­ed to a girl that I did not like, than to be tied to the gang-way, or, as the sailors call it, mar­ried to miss roper. From the conclusion of this wholesome counsel, I perceived that the cap­tain thought I had eloped on account of a bastard. I blushed, and that confirmed him in his opinion; but I declare to the reader, that I was no more guilty of such an offence than Mr. Swanwick, or any other gentleman who is constitutionally virtuous. No; thank hea­ven, I have none of the Franklintonian crimes to accuse myself of; my children do not hang their hats up in other men's houses; I am nei­ther patriot nor philosopher.

I in vain attempted to convince Captain Berkley, that choice alone had led me to the sea; he sent me on shore, and I at last quitted Portsmouth; but not before I had applied to the Port-Admiral, Evans, to get my name en­rolled among those who were destined for the service. I was, in some sort, obliged to ac­quaint the Admiral with what had passed on board the Pegasus, in consequence of which my request was refused, and I happily escap­ed, sorely against my will, from the most toil-some and perilous profession in the world.

I returned once more to the plough, but I was spoiled for a farmer. I had, before my Ports­mouth [Page 20] adventure, never known any other am­bition than that of surpassing my brothers in the different labours of the field; but it was quite otherwise now; I sighed for a sight of the world; the little island of Britain seemed too small a compass for me. The things in which I had taken the most delight were neglected; the singing of the birds grew insipid, and even the heart-cheer­ing cry of the hounds, after which I formerly used to fly from my work, bound o'er the fields, and dash through the brakes and coppices, was heard with the most torpid indifference. Still, how­ever, I remained at home till the following spring, when I quitted it, perhaps, for ever.

It was on the sixth of May 1783, that I, like Don Quixotte, sallied forth to seek ad­ventures. I was dressed in my holiday clothes, in order to accompany two or three lasses to Guildford fair. They were to assemble at a house about three miles from my home, where I was to attend them; but, unfortunately for me, I had to cross the London turnpike road. The stage-coach had just turned the summit of a hill and was rattling down towards me at a merry rate. The notion of going to London never entered my mind till this very moment, yet the step was completely determined on, before the coach came to the spot where I stood. Up I got, and was in London about nine o'clock in the evening.

It was by mere accident that I had money enough to defray the expenses of this day. Being rigged out for the fair, I had three or [Page 21] four crown and half-crown pieces (which most certainly I did not intend to spend) besides a few shillings and half-pence. This my little all, which I had been years in amassing, melt­ed away, like snow before the sun, when touch­ed by the fingers of the inn-keepers and their waiters. In short, when I arrived at Ludgate-Hill, and had paid my fare, I had but about half a crown in my pocket.

By a commencement of that good luck, which has hitherto attended me through all the situa­tions in which fortune has placed me, I was preserved from ruin. A gentleman, who was one of the passengers in the stage, fell into conversation with me at dinner, and he soon learnt that I was going I knew not whither nor for what. This gentleman was a hop-merchant in the borough of Southwark, and, upon clos­er inquiry, it appeared that he had often dealt with my father at Wey-Hill. He knew the danger I was in; he was himself a father, and he felt for my parents. His house became my home, he wrote to my father, and endeavoured to prevail on me to obey his orders, which were to return immediately home. I am asham­ed to say that I was disobedient. It was the first time I had ever been so, and I have repent­ed of it from that moment to this. Willingly would I have returned, but pride would not suffer me to do it. I feared the scoffs of my acquaintances more than the real evils that threatened me.

[Page 22]My generous preserver, finding my obstina­cy not to be overcome, began to look out for an employment for me. He was preparing an advertisement for the news-paper, when an ac­quaintance of his, an attorney, called in to see him. He related my adventure to this gen­tleman, whose name was Holland, and who, happening to want an understrapping quill-driver, did me the honour to take me into his service, and the next day saw me perched up­on a great high stool, in an obscure chamber in Gray's Inn, endeavouring to decypher the crabbed draughts of my employer.

I could write a good plain hand, but I could not read the pot-hooks and hangers of Mr. Holland. He was a month in learning me to copy without almost continual assistance, and even then I was of but little use to him; for, besides that I wrote a snail's pace, my want of knowledge in orthography gave him infinite trouble: so that, for the first two months I was a dead weight upon his hands. Time, how­ever, rendered me useful, and Mr. Holland was pleased to tell me that he was very well satisfied with me, just at the very moment when I began to grow extremely dissatisfied with him.

No part of my life has been totally unattended with pleasure, except the eight or nine months I passed in Gray's Inn. The office (for so the dungeon where I wrote was called) was so dark, that, on cloudy days, we were obliged to burn candle. I worked like a galley-slave from five [Page 23] in the morning till eight or nine at night, and sometimes all night long. How many quarrels have I assisted to foment and perpetuate be­tween those poor innocent fellows, John Doe and Richard Roe! How many times (God for­give me!) have I set them to assault each other with guns, swords, staves and pitch-forks, and then brought them to answer for their misdeeds before Our Sovereign Lord the King seated in His Court of Westminster! When I think of the saids and soforths and the counts of tautolo­gy that I scribbled over; when I think of those sheets of seventy-two words, and those lines two inches a part, my brain turns. Gracious heaven! if I am doomed to be wretched, bury me beneath Iceland snows, and let me feed on blubber; stretch me under the burning line and deny me thy propitious dews; nay, if it be thy will, suffocate me with the infected and pesti­lential air of a democratic club room; but save me from the desk of an attorney!

Mr. Holland was but little in the chambers himself. He always went out to dinner, while I was left to be provided for by the Laundress, as he called her. Those gentlemen of the law, who have resided in the Inns of court in London, know very well what a Laundress means. Ours was, I believe, the oldest and ugliest of the officious sisterhood. She had age and experience enough to be Lady Abbess of all the nuns in all the convents of Irish-Town. It would be wronging the witch of Endor to compare her to this hag, who was the only creature that deigned to enter into conversa­tion [Page 24] with me. All except the name, I was in prison, and this Weird Sister was my keeper. Our chambers were, to me, what the subter­raneous cavern was to Gil Blas: his descrip­tion of the Dame Leonarda exactly suited my Laundress; nor were the professions, or rather the practice, of our masters altogether dis­similar.

I never quitted this gloomy recess except on Sundays, when I usually took a walk to St. James's Park, to feast my eyes with the sight of the trees, the grass, and the water. In one of these walks I happened to cast my eye on an advertisement, inviting all loyal young men, who had a mind to gain riches and glory, to repair to a certain rendezvous, where they might enter into His Majesty's marine ser­vice, and have the peculiar happiness and ho­nour of being enrolled in the Chatham Division. I was not ignorant enough to be the dupe of this morsel of military bombast; but a change was what I wanted: besides, I knew that ma­rines went to sea, and my desire to be on that element had rather increased than diminished by my being penned up in London. In short, I resolved to join this glorious corps; and, to avoid all possibility of being discovered by my friends, I went down to Chatham and enlisted, into the marines as I thought, but the next morning I found myself before a Captain of a marching regiment. There was no retreating: I had taken a shilling to drink his Majesty's health, and his further bounty was ready for my reception.

[Page 25]When I told the Captain (who was an Irish­man, and who has since been an excellent friend to me), that I thought myself engaged in the marines: "By Jases, my lad," said he, "and you have had a narrow escape." He told me, that the regiment into which I had been so happy as to enlist was one of the old­est and boldest in the whole army, and that it was at that moment serving in that fine, flou­rishing and plentiful country, Nova Scotia. He dwelt long on the beauties and riches of this terrestrial Paradise, and dismissed me, per­fectly enchanted with the prospect of a voyage thither.

I enlisted early in 1784, and, as peace had then taken place, no great haste was made to send recruits off to their regiments. I remained upwards of a year at Chatham, during which time I was employed in learning my exercise, and taking my tour in the duty of the garrison. My leisure time, which was a very considerable portion of the twenty-four hours, was spent, not in the dissipations com­mon to such a way of life, but in reading and study. In the course of this year I learnt more than I had ever done before. I subscribed to a circulating library at Brompton, the greatest part of the books in which I read more than once over. The library was not very consi­derable, it is true, nor in my reading was I di­rected by any degree of taste or choice. Novels, plays, history, poetry, all were read, and nearly with equal avidity.

[Page 26]Such a course of reading could be attended with but little profit: it was skimming over the surface of every thing. One branch of learn­ing, however, I went to the bottom with, and that the most essential branch too, the gram­mar of my mother tongue. I had experienced the want of a knowledge of grammar during my stay with Mr. Holland; but it is very pro­bable that I never should have thought of en­countering the study of it, had not accident placed me under a man whose friendship ex­tended beyond his interest. Writing a fair hand procured me the honour of being copyist to Colonel Debieg, the commandant of the garrison. I transcribed the famous correspond­ence between him and the Duke of Richmond, which ended in the good and gallant old Colo­nel being stripped of the reward, bestowed on him for his long and meritorious servitude.

Being totally ignorant of the rules of gram­mar, I necessarily made many mistakes in copying, because no one can copy letter by letter, nor even word by word. The Colonel saw my deficiency, and strongly recommended study. He enforced his advice with a sort of injunction, and with a promise of reward in case of success.

I procured me a Lowth's grammar, and ap­plied myself to the study of it with unceasing assiduity, and not without some profit; for, though it was a considerable time before I fully comprehended all that I read, still I read and studied with such unremitted attention, that, at [Page 27] last, I could write without falling into any very gross errors. The pains I took cannot be de­scribed: I wrote the whole grammar out two or three times; I got it by heart; I repeated it every morning and every evening, and, when on guard, I imposed on myself the task of say­ing it all over once every time I was posted sentinel. To this exercise of my memory I ascribe the retentiveness of which I have since found it capable, and to the success with which it was attended, I ascribe the perseverance that has led to the acquirement of the little learning of which I am master.

This study was, too, attended with another advantage: it kept me out of mischief. I was always sober, and regular in my attendance; and, not being a clumsy fellow, I met with none of those reproofs, which disgust so many young men with the service.

There is no situation where merit is so sure to meet with reward as in a well disciplined army. Those who command are obliged to reward it for their own ease and credit. I was soon raised to the rank of Corporal, a rank, which, however contemptible it may appear in some people's eyes, brought me in a clear two-pence per diem, and put a very clever worsted knot upon my shoulder too. Don't you laugh now, Mr. Swanwick; a worsted knot is a much more honourable mark of distinction than a Custom-House badge; though, I confess, the king must have such people as Tide-waiters as well as Corporals.

[Page 28]As promotion began to dawn, I grew impa­tient to get to my regiment, where I expected soon to bask under the rays of Royal favour. The happy day of departure at last came: we set sail from Gravesend, and, after a short and plea­sant passage, arrived at Hallifax in Nova Scotia. When I first beheld the barren, not to say hide­ous, rocks at the entrance of the harbour, I be­gan to fear that the master of the vessel had mistaken his way; for I could perceive no­thing of that fertility that my good recruiting Captain had dwelt on with so much delight.

Nova Scotia had no other charm for me than that of novelty. Every thing I saw was new: bogs, rocks and stumps, musquitoes and bull-frogs. Thousands of Captains and Colo­nels without soldiers, and of 'Squires without stockings or shoes. In England, I had never thought of approaching a 'Squire without a most respectful bow; but, in this new world, though I was but a Corporal, I often ordered a 'Squire to bring me a glass of grog, and even to take care of my knapsack.

We staid but a few weeks in Nova Scotia, being ordered to St. John's, in the Province of New Brunswick. Here, and at other places in the same Province, we remained till the month of September, 1791, when the regiment was relieved, and sent home.

We landed at Portsmouth on the 3d of No­vember, and on the 19th of the next month I obtained my discharge, after having served not [Page 29] quite eight years, and after having, in that short space, passed through every rank, from that of a private sentinel to that of Sergeant Major, without ever being once disgraced, con­fined, or even reprimanded.—But, let my su­periors speak for me, they will tell my friends and all my readers what I was during my ser­vitude.

I shall here add the orders, issued in the garrison of Portsmouth on the day of my dis­charge.

After having laid these pieces before my reader, I beg him to recollect what the Argus of New York and the Aurora of Philadelphia have asserted concerning Peter Porcupine's be­ing flogged in his regiment for thieving, and afterwards deserting. The monstrous, disor­ganizing, democratic gang were not aware that I was in possession of such uncontrovertible proofs as these.

I hope, I may presume that my character will be looked upon as good, down to the date of my discharge; and, if so, it only remains for me to give an account of myself from that time to this.

The democrats have asserted, as may be seen in the preface, that I got my living in London by "garret-scribbling," and that I was obliged to ‘take a French Leave for France, for some night work.’—Now, the fact is, I went to [Page 31] France in March, 1792, and I landed at New York in the month of October following; so that, I had but three months to follow ‘gar­ret-scribbling’ in London. How these three months were employed it is not necessary to say here, but that I had not much leisure for ‘gar­ret-scribbling’ the ladies will be well con­vinced, when I tell them that I got a wife in the time. As to the charge concerning ‘night work,’ I am afraid I must plead guilty, but not with my "fingers," as these malicious fel­lows would insinuate. No, no, I am no rela­tion to Citizen Plato: the French ladies do not call me, the Garçon Fendu.

Before I go any further, it seems necessary to say a word or two about "French Leave." Did this expression escape the democrats in an unwary moment? Why "French Leave?" Do they wish to insinuate, that nobody but French­men are obliged to fly from the hands of thief-catchers? The Germans, and after them the English, have applied this degrading expression to the French nation; but, is it not inconsist­ent, and even ungrateful, for those who are in the interest, and perhaps, in the pay, of that magnanimous republic, to talk about ‘French Leave?’ It is something curious that this ex­pression should find a place in a paragraph wherein I am accused of abusing the French. The fact is, the friendship professed by these people, towards the French nation, is all gri­mace, all hypocrisy: the moment they are off their guard, they let us see that it is the abomi­nable system of French tyranny that they are [Page 32] attached to, and not to the people of that coun­try.—"French Leave!" The leave of a run­away, a thief, a Tom Paine! What could the most prejudiced, the bitterest Englishman have said more galling and severe against the whole French nation? They cry out against me for "abusing" the cut-throats of Nantz and other places, and for accusing the demagogue-tyrants of robbery; while they themselves treat the whole nation as thieves. This is the demo­cratic way of washing out stains; just as the sweet and cleanly Sheelah washes her gentle Dermot's face with a dishclout.

Leaving the ingenious citizens to extricate themselves from this hobble, or fall under the displeasure of their masters, I shall return to my adventures.—I arrived in France in March, 1792, and continued there till the beginning of September following, the six happiest months of my life. I should be the most ungrateful monster that ever existed, were I to speak ill of the French people in general. I went to that country full of all those prejudices, that Eng­lishmen suck in with their mother's milk, against the French and against their religion: a few weeks convinced me that I had been deceived with respect to both. I met every where with civility, and even hospitality, in a degree that I never had been accustomed to. I found the people, among whom I lived, excepting those who were already blasted with the principles of the accursed revolution, honest, pious, and kind to excess.

[Page 33]People may say what they please about the misery of the French peasantry, under the old government; I have conversed with thousands of them, not ten among whom did not regret the change. I have not room here to go into an inquiry into the causes that have led these people to become the passive instruments, the slaves, of a set of tyrants such as the world never saw before, but I venture to predict, that, sooner or later, they will return to that form of government under which they were happy, and under which alone they can over be so again.

My determination to settle in the United States was formed before I went to France, and even before I quitted the army. A desire of seeing a country, so long the theatre of a war of which I had heard and read so much; the flattering picture given of it by Raynal; and, above all, an inclination for seeing the world, led me to this determination. It would look a little like coaxing for me to say, that I had im­bibed principles of republicanism, and that I was ambitious to become a citizen of a free state, but this was really the case. I thought that men enjoyed here a greater degree of li­berty than in England; and this, if not the principal reason, was at least one, for my coming to this country.

I did intend to stay in France till the spring of 1793, as well to perfect myself in the lan­guage, as to pass the winter at Paris; but I per­ceived the storm gathering; I saw that a war with England was inevitable, and it was not [Page 34] difficult to foresee what would be the fate of Englishmen, in that country, where the rulers had laid aside even the appearance of justice and mercy. I wished, however, to see Paris, and had actually hired a coach to go thither. I was even on the way, when I heard, at Abbe­ville, that the king was dethroned and his guards murdered. This intelligence made me turn off towards Havre de Grace, whence I em­barked for America.

I beg leave here to remind the reader, that one of the lying paragraphs, lately published in the lying Aurora, states, that I was whipped at Pa­ris, and that hence I bear a grudge against the French Republic. Now, I never was at Paris, as I can prove by the receipts for my board and lodging, from the day I entered France to that of my leaving it; and, as to the Republic, as it is called, I could have no grudge against it; for the tyrants had not given it that name, when I was so happy as to bid it an eternal adieu. Had I remained a few months longer, I make no doubt that I should have had reason to execrate it as every other man, woman, and child has, who has had the misfortune to groan under its iron anarchy.

Some little time after my arrival in this coun­try, I sent Mr. Jefferson, then Secretary of State, a letter of recommendation, which I had brought from the American Ambassador at the Hague. The following is a copy of the letter Mr. Jefferson wrote me on that occasion.

I will just observe on this letter, that it was thankfully received, and that, had I stood in need of Mr. Jefferson's services, I should have applied to him; but as that did not appear likely to be the case, I wrote him a letter some few months afterwards, requesting him to assist a poor man, the bearer of it, and telling him [Page 36] that I should look upon the assistance as given to myself. I dare say he complied with my request, for the person recommended was in deep distress, and a Frenchman.

With respect to the authenticity of this letter there can be no doubt. I have shown the ori­ginal, as well as those of the other documents here transcribed, to more than fifty gentlemen of the city of Philadelphia, and they may, at any time, be seen by any person of credit, who wishes a sight of them. Nor have I confined the perusal of them to those who have the mis­fortune to be deemed aristocrats. Among per­sons of distant places, I have shown them to Mr. Ketlatas of New York, who, I must do him the justice to say, had the candour to ex­press a becoming detestation of the base cut-throat author of the threatening letter sent to Mr. Oldden.

I have now brought myself to the United States, and have enabled the reader to judge of me so far. It remains for me to negative two assertions which apply to my authoring transactions: the one is, that ‘ Mr. Bradford put a coat upon my back;’ and the other, that I am, or have been, ‘in the pay of a British Agent.’

In the month of July, 1794, the famous Unitarian Doctor, fellow of the Royal Society, London, citizen of France, and delegate to the Grande Convention Nationale of notorious memory, landed at New-York. His landing [Page 37] was nothing to me, nor to any body else; but the fulsome and consequential addresses, sent him by the pretended patriots, and his canting replies, at once calculated to flatter the peo­ple here, and to degrade his country and mine, was something to me. It was my business, and the business of every man who thinks that truth ought to be opposed to malice and hy­pocrisy.

When the Observations on the Emigration of this "martyr to the cause of liberty" were ready for the press, I did not, at first, offer them to Mr. Bradford. I knew him to retain a rooted hatred against Great Britain, and con­cluded, that his principles would prevent him from being instrumental in the publication of any thing that tended to unveil one of its most bitter enemies. I therefore addressed myself to Mr. Carey. This was, to make use of a culinary figure, jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire. Mr. Carey received me as book­sellers generally receive authors (I mean au­thors whom they hope to get but little by): he looked at the title from top to bottom, and then at me from head to foot.—"No, my lad," says he, "I don't think it will suit"— My lad!— God in heaven forgive me! I believe that, at that moment, I wished for another yellow fever to strike the city; not to destroy the inhabi­tants, but to furnish me too with the subject of a pamphlet, that might make me rich.—Mr. Carey has sold hundreds of the Observations since that time, and therefore, I dare say he highly approved of them, when he came to a [Page 38] perusal. At any rate, I must not forget to say, that he behaved honourably in the business; for, he promised not to make known the au­thor, and he certainly kept his word, or the discovery would not have been reserved for the month of June, 1796. This circumstance, con­sidering Mr. Carey's politics, is greatly to his honour, and has almost wiped from my me­mory that contumelious "my lad."

From Mr. Carey I went to Mr. Bradford, and left the pamphlet for his perusal. The next day I went to him to know his determi­nation. He hesitated, wanted to know if I could not make it a little more popular, adding that, unless I could, he feared that the publish­ing of it would endanger his windows. More popular I could not make it. I never was of an accommodating disposition in my life. The only alteration I would consent to was in the title. I had given the pamphlet the double ti­tle of, ‘The Tartuffe Detected; or, Observa­tions, &c.’ The former was suppressed, though, had I not been pretty certain that eve­ry press in the city was as little free as that to which I was sending it, the Tartuffe Detected should have remained; for, the person on whom it was bestowed merited it much better than the character so named by Moliére.

These difficulties, and these fears of the book­seller, at once opened my eyes with respect to the boasted liberty of the press. Because the laws of this country proclaim to the world, that every man may write and publish freely, [Page 39] and because I saw the news-papers filled with vaunts on the subject, I was fool enough to imagine that the press was really free for every one. I had not the least idea, that a man's windows were in danger of being broken, if he published any thing that was not popular. I did, indeed, see the words liberty and equality, the rights of man, the crimes of kings, and such like, in most of the bookseller's windows; but I did not know that they were put there to save the glass, as a free republican Frenchman puts a cockade tricolor in his hat to save his head. I was ignorant of all these arcana of the liber­ty of the press.

If it had so happened that one of the Whiskey-Boys had went over to England, and had re­ceived addresses from any part of the people there, congratulating him on his escape from a nation of ruffians, and beseeching the Lord that those ruffians might ‘tread back the paths of infamy and ruin;’ and if this emigrating "Martyr" in the cause of whiskey had echoed back the hypocritical cant, and if he and all his palavering addressers had been detected and exposed by some good American, in London, would not such an American have received the applause of all men of virtue and sense? And what would, or rather what would not, have been said here against the prostituted press of Great Britain, had an English bookseller testi­fied his fears to publish the truth, lest his win­dows should be dashed in?

[Page 40]The work that it was feared would draw down punishment on the publisher, did not contain one untruth, one anarchical, indecent, immoral, or irreligious expression; and yet the bookseller feared for his windows! For what? Because it was not popular enough. A booksel­ler in a despotic state fears to publish a work that is too popular and one in a free state fears to publish a work that is not popular enough. I leave it to the learned philosophers of the "Age of Reason" to determine in which of these states there is the most liberty of the press; for, I must acknowledge the point is too nice for me: fear is fear, whether inspired by a Sovereign Lord the King, or by a Sovereign People.

I shall be told, that Mr. Bradford's fears were groundless. It may be so; but he ought to be a competent judge of the matter; he must know the extent of the liberty of the press better than I could. He might be mistaken, but that he was sincere appeared clearly from his not putting his name at the bottom of the title page. Even the Bone to Gnaw for the De­mocrats, which did not appear till about six months afterwards, was ‘Published for the Purchasers.’ It was not till long after the public had fixed the seal of approbation on these pamphlets, that they were honoured with the bookseller's name. It was something curious that the second and third and fourth editions should be entitled to a mark of respect that the first was not worthy of. Poor little innocents! They were thrown on the parish [Page 41] like foundlings; no soul would own them, till it was found that they possessed the gift of bringing in the pence. Another singularity, is, they got into better paper as they advanced. So the prudent matron changes the little dirty ragged wench into a fine mademoiselle, as soon as she perceives that the beaux begin to cast their eyes on her.

But, it is time to return, and give the read­er an account of my gains. The pecuniary concerns of an author are always the most in­teresting.

The terms on which Mr. Bradford took the Observations, were what booksellers call pub­lishing it together. I beg the reader, if he fore­sees the possibility of his becoming author, to recollect this phrase well. Publishing it toge­ther is thus managed: the bookseller takes the work, prints it, and defrays all expenses of paper, binding, &c. and the profits, if any, are divided between him and the author. —Long after the Observations were sold off, Mr. Bradford rendered me an account (undoubtedly a very just one) of the sales. According to this account, my share of the profits (my share only) amounted to the sum of one shilling and seven-pence half-penny, curren­cy of the State of Pennsylvania (or, about eleven-pence three farthings sterling), quite entirely clear of all deductions whatsoever!

[Page 42]Now, bulky as this sum appears in words at length, I presume, that when 1∫7½ is reduced to figures, no one will suppose it sufficient to put a coat upon my back. If my poor back were not too broad to be clothed with such a sum as this, God knows how I should bear all that has been, and is, and is to be, laid on it by the unmerciful democrats. Why! 1∫7½ would not cover the back of a Lilliputian; no, not even in rags, as they sell here.

Besides, this clothing story will at once fall to the ground, when I assure the reader (and Mr. Carey will bear witness to the truth of what I say), that, when I offered this work for publication, I had as good a coat upon my back, as ever Mr. Bradford or any of his bro­ther booksellers put on in their lives; and, what is more, this coat was my own. No taylor nor shoemaker ever had my name in his books.

After the Observations, Mr. Bradford and I published it together no longer. When a pam­phlet was ready for the press, we made a bar­gain for it, and I took his note of hand, pay­able in one, two, or three months. That the public may know exactly what gains I have derived from the publications that issued from Mr. Bradford's, I here subjoin a list of them, and the sums received in payment.

The best way [...] giving the reader [...] the generosity of [...] bookseller, is, to tell [...] upon my going [...] business for myself, I [...] to purchase the [...]-rights of these [...] at the same price that I had sold them at. Mr. Bradford's refusing to sell, is a clear proof that they were worth more than he gave me, even after they had passed through several editions. Let it not be said, then, that he put a coat up­on my back.

My concerns with Mr. [...] closed with The Prospect from the Congress-Gallery, and, as our separation has given rise to conjectures and reports, I shall trouble the reader with an ex­planation of the matter.

I proposed making a mere collection of the debates, with here and there a note by way of remarks. It was not my intention to publish it in Numbers, but at the end of the session, in one volume; but Mr. Bradford, fearing a want of success in this form, determined on publish­ing [Page 44] in Numbers. This was without my appro­bation, as was also a subscription that was open­ed for the support of the work. When about half a Number was finished, I was informed that many gentlemen had expressed their de­sire, that the work might contain a good deal of original matter, and few debates. In con­sequence of this, I was requested to alter my plan; I said I would, but that I would by no means undertake to continue the work.

The first Number, as it was [...] (but not by [...] published, and i [...] [...]ccess led Mr. [...] to press for a continuation. His son [...] me, I believe, a [...]dred dollars a [...]mber, in place of eight [...] [...] and, I should have accepted his offer, had it not been for a word that escaped him during the conversation. He observed, that their customers would be much disappointed, for that, his father had promised a continuation, and that it should be made very interesting. This slip of the tongue, opened my [...]. [...] a bookseller undertake to [...] that I should write, and that I should write to please his customers too! No; if all his customers, if all the Congress, with the President at their head, had come and solicited me; nay, had my salvation depended on a compliance, I would not have written ano­ther line.

I was fully employed at this time, having a translation on my hands for Mr. Moreau de St. Mery as well as another work which took up a great deal of my time; so that, I believe, I [Page 45] should not have published the Censor, had it not been to convince the customers of Mr. Bradford, that I was not in his pay; that I was not the puppet and he the show-man. That, whatever merits or demerits my writings might have, no part of them fell to his share.

When Mr. Bradford found I was preparing to publish a continuation of the remarks on the debates, he sent me the following note:

To this I returned, for answer.

This brought me a second note, in these words:

[Page 47]Here ended the correspondence, except that it might be said to be continued for about five minutes longer by the hearty laugh, that I be­stowed on this correct and polite billet.

It is something truly singular, that Mr. Brad­ford should threaten me with a prosecution for not writing, just at the moment that others threatened me with a prosecution for writing. It seemed a little difficult to set both at open defi­ance, yet this was done, by continuing to write, and by employing another bookseller.

Indeed these booksellers, in general, are a cru­el race. They imagine that the soul and body of every author that falls into their hands, is their exclusive property. They have adopted the bird-catcher's maxim: ‘a bird that can sing, and wont sing, ought to be made sing.’ When­ever their devils are out of employment, the drudging goblin of an author must sharpen up his pen, and never think of repose till he is relieved by the arrival of a more profitable job. Then the wretch may remain as undisturbed as a sleep-mouse in winter, while the stupid dolt whom he has clad and fattened, receives the applause.

I now come to the assertion, that I am, or have been, in the pay of the British govern­ment.

In the first place the democrats swear that I have been ‘frequently visited by a certain Agent,’ meaning I suppose Mr. Bond: to [Page 48] this I answer, that it is an abominable lie. I never saw Mr. Bond but three times in my life, and then I had business with him as the inter­preter of Frenchmen, who wanted certificates from him, in order to secure their property in the conquered colonies. I never in my life spoke to, corresponded with, or even saw, to my knowledge, either of the British Ministers, or any one of their retinue. Mr. Bradford once told me, that Mr. Allen, the father-in-law of Mr. Hammond, said he was acquainted with me. If this gentleman did really say so, he joked, or he told a lie; for he never saw me in his life, that I know of.

A little while after the New Year's Gift was published, an attack was made in the Argus of New York, on the supposed author of it; in consequence of which, this supposed author, or some one in his behalf, took occasion to ob­serve, in Mr. Claypoole's paper, that it was uncandid to attribute to a gentleman of irre­proachable character, what was well known to be the work of a democrat. I had a great mind to say at that time, what I shall now say; and that is, that let this gentleman be who he will, I think myself as good as he, and of as good a character too; and that, as to the dishonour attached to the publication, I am willing to take it all to myself.

It is hard to prove a negative; it is what no man is expected to do; yet, I think I can prove, that the accusation of my being in Bri­tish [Page 49] pay is not supported by one single fact, or the least shadow of probability.

When a foreign government hires a writer, it takes care that his labours shall be distributed, whether the readers are all willing to pay for them or not. This we daily see verified in the dis­tribution of certain blasphemous gazettes, which, though kicked from the door with disdain, flies in at the window. Now, has this ever been the case with the works of Peter Porcupine? Were they ever thrusted upon people in spite of their remonstrances? Can Mr. Bradford say that thousands of these pamphlets have ever been paid for by any agent of Great Britain? Can he say that I have ever distributed any of them? No; he can say no such thing. They had, at first, to encounter every difficulty, and they have made their way supported by public approbation, and by that alone. Mr. Brad­ford, if he is candid enough to repeat what he told me, will say, that the British Consul, when he purchased half a dozen of them, insisted upon having them at the wholesale price! Did this look like a desire to encourage them? Besides, those who know any thing of Mr. Bradford, will never believe, that he would have lent his aid to a British Agent's publicati­ons; for, of all the Americans I have yet con­versed with, he seems to entertain the greatest degree of rancour against that nation.

I have every reason to believe, that the Bri­tish Consul was far from approving of some, at [Page 50] least, of my publications. I happened to be in a bookseller's shop, unseen by him, when he had the goodness to say, that I was a ‘wild fellow.’ On which I shall only observe, that when the King bestows on me about five hun­dred pounds sterling a year, perhaps, I may become a tame fellow, and hear my master, my countrymen, my friends and my parents, be­lied and execrated, without saying one single word in their defence.

Had the Minister of Great Britain employed me to write, can it be supposed that he would not furnish me with the means of living well, without becoming the retailer of my own works? Can it be supposed that he would have suffered me ever to appear on the scene? It must be a very poor king that he serves, if he could not afford me more than I can get by keeping a book-shop. An Ambas­sador from a king of the Gypsies could not have acted a meaner part. What! where was all the "gold of Pitt?" That gold which tempt­ed, according to the democrats, an American Envoy to sell his country, and two-thirds of the Senate to ratifiy the bargain: that gold which, according to the Convention of France, has made one half of that nation cut the throats of the other half; that potent gold could not keep Peter Porcupine from standing behind a counter to sell a pen-knife, or a quire of paper!

Must it not be evident, too, that the keep­ing of a shop would take up a great part of my time? Time that was hardly worth a paying [Page 51] for at all, if it was not of higher value than the profits on a few pamphlets. Every one knows that the Censor has been delayed on ac­count of my entering on business; would the Minister of Great Britain have suffered this, had I been in his pay? No; I repeat, that it is downright stupidity to suppose, that he would ever have suffered me to appear at all, had he even felt in the least interested in the fate of my works, or the effect they might produce. He must be sensible, that, seeing the uncon­querable prejudices existing in this country, my being known to be an Englishman would operate weightily against whatever I might ad­vance. I saw this very plainly myself; but, as I had a living to get, and as I had deter­mined on this line of business, such a consider­ation was not to awe me into idleness, or make me forego any other advantages that I had reason to hope I should enjoy.

The notion of my being in British pay arose from my having now-and-then taken upon me to attempt a defence of the character of that nation, and of the intentions of its government towards the United States. But, have I ever teazed my readers with this, except when the subject necessarily demanded it? And if I have given way to my indignation when a hy­pocritical political divine attempted to degrade my country, or when its vile calumniators call­ed it "an insular Bastile," what have I done more than every good man in my place would have done? What have I done more than my duty; than obeyed the feelings of my heart? [Page 52] When a man hears his country reviled, does it require that he should be paid for speaking in its defence?

Besides, had my works been intended to in­troduce British influence, they would have as­sumed a more conciliating tone. The author would have flattered the people of this coun­try, even in their excesses; he would have en­deavoured to gain over the enemies of Britain by smooth and soothing language; he would have "stooped to conquer;" he would not, as I have done, rendered them hatred for hatred, and scorn for scorn.

My writings, the first pamphlet excepted, have had no other object than that of keeping alive an attachment to the Constitution of the United States and the inestimable man who is at the head of the government, and to paint in their true colours those who are the enemies of both; to warn the people, of all ranks and descriptions, of the danger of admitting among them, the anarchical and blasphemous princi­ples of the French revolutionists, principles as opposite to those of liberty as hell is to hea­ven. If, therefore, I have written at the in­stance of a British agent, that agent must most certainly deserve the thanks of all the real friends of America. But, say some of the half democrats, what right have you to meddle with the defence of our government at all?— The same right that you have to exact my obe­dience to it, and my contribution towards its support. Several Englishmen, not so long in [Page 53] the country as I had been, served in the mili­tia against the western rebels, and, had I been called on, I must have served too. Surely a man has a right to defend with his pen, that which he may be compelled to defend with a musquet.

As to the real, bloody, cut-throats, they carry their notion of excluding me from the use of the press still further. "While" (says one of them) ‘While I am a friend to the unlimited freedom of the press, when exercised by an American, I am an implaca­ble foe to its prostitution to a foreigner, and would at any time assist in hunting out of soci­ety, any meddling foreigner who should dare to interfere in our politics. I hope the apathy of our brethren of Philadelphia will no longer be indulged, and that an exemplary ven­geance will soon burst upon the head of such a presumptuous fellow.— Justice, honour, national gratitude, all call for it.—May it no longer be delayed.’

Are not you, Mr. Swanwick, the President of the Emigration Society? Well, then, Sir, as your institution is said to be for the informa­tion of persons emigrating from foreign coun­tries, be so good as to insert the little extract, above quoted, in your next dispatches for a cargo of emigrants. Above all, Sir, be sure to tell those who are disposed to emigrate from England, those martyrs in the cause of liberty; be sure to tell them that this is the land of equal [Page 54] liberty; that here, and here alone, they will find the true unlimited freedom of the press, but that, if they dare to make use of it, ‘ justice, honour, national gratitude, will call for ex­emplary vengeance on their heads.’

I should not have noticed this distinction be­tween foreigners and Americans, had I not per­ceived, that several persons, who are, general­ly speaking, friends to their country, seem to think that it was impertinent in me to meddle with the politics here, because I was an Eng­lishman. I would have these good people to recollect, that the laws of this country hold out, to foreigners, an offer of all that liberty of the press which Americans enjoy, and that, if this liberty be abridged, by whatever means it may be done, the laws and the constitution and all together is a mere cheat; a snare to catch the credulous and enthusiastic of every other nation; a downright imposition on the world. If people who emigrate hither have not a right to make use of the liberty of the press, while the natives have, it is very ill done to call this a country of equal liberty. Equal, above all epithets, is the most improper that can be applied to it; for, if none but Ameri­cans have access to the press, they are the mas­ters and foreigners are their subjects, nay their slaves. An honourable and comfortable situa­tion upon my word! The emigrants from some countries may be content with it, perhaps: I would not say, that the ‘Martyrs in the cause of liberty’ from England, would not quietly bend beneath the yoke, as, indeed, they are [Page 55] in duty bound to do; but, for my part, who have not the ambition to aspire to the crown of martyrdom, I must and I will be excused. Ei­ther the laws shall be altered, or I will con­tinue to avail myself of the liberty that they held out to me, and that partly tempt­ed me to the country. When an act is pass­ed for excluding Englishmen from exercis­ing their talents, and from promulgating what they write, then will I desist; but, I hope, when that time arrives; no act will be passed to prevent people from emigrating back again.

Before I conclude, it seems necessary to say a word or two about the miserable shift, which the democrats have had recourse to, respecting the infamous letter of Citizen Hint. They now pretend, that I fabricated it myself, though I have publicly declared, that it was deliver­ed into my hands by a gentleman of reputati­on, whose name I have mentioned. Can any one be stupid enough to imagine, that I would, particularly at this time, have run the risk of being detected in such a shameful business? And, how could it have been undertaken without run­ning that risk? Had I written it myself, there would have been my hand-writing against me, and had I employed another, that other might have betrayed me; he might have ruined me in the opinion of all those, whom it is my in­terest as well as my pride to be esteemed by; or, at best, I should have been at his mercy for ever afterwards.

[Page 56]Besides the great risk of detection, let any one point out, if he can, what end I could propose to myself by such a device. As to making my shop and myself known, I presume I did not stand in need of a scare-crow, to ef­fect that, when the kind democrats themselves had published to the whole Union, that I had taken the house in which I live, for the purpose of retailing my "poison," as they called it, and had even had the candour to tell the world, that I had paid my rent in advance. ^* They affect to believe, sometimes, that the letter was a mere trick to bring in the pence, and, in one of their latest paragraphs, they call me a [Page 57] "catch-penny author." But, let them recol­lect, that I am now a bookseller, whose trade it is to get money; and if I am driven to such shifts as the Scare-Crow, to get a living, let them reconcile this circumstance with their assertions concerning my being liberally paid by Great Britain. A man in British pay, rolling in "the Gold of Pitt," could certainly never be so reduced as to venture every thing for the sake of collecting a few eleven-penny bits. It is the misfortune of the democrats ever to fur­nish arguments against themselves.

Those who reason upon the improbability of the democrat's sending the threatening letter, do not recollect the extract I have above quoted from the Aurora, in which the people of Phi­ladelphia are called upon to murder me, and are told, that ‘ justice, honour, and national gratitude demand it.’ Is it very improba­ble that men, capable of writing paragraphs like this, should, upon finding the people deaf to their honourable insinuations, attempt to in­timidate my landlord by a cut-throat letter?

Their great object is to silence me, to this all their endeavours point: lies, threats, spies and informers, every engine of Jacobinical invention is played off. I am sorry to tell them, that it is all in vain, for I am one of those whose obstinacy increases with opposi­tion.

[Page 58]I have now to apologize to my indulgent reader, for having taken up so much of his time with subjects relating chiefly to myself. The task, has, to me, been a very disagreea­ble one; but it was become necessary, as well for the vindication of my own character as for the satisfaction of my friends; yes, in spite of envy, malice and falsehood, I say, my numerous and respectable friends, who, I trust, will be well pleased to find, that there is no­thing in the history of Peter Porcupine to raise a blush for the commendations they have be­stowed on his works, or to render them unwor­thy of their future support.