citizen and the soldier, even if no previous animosities subsist; and it is farther certain, from a consideration of the nature of mankind, as well as from constant experience, that Standing Armies always endanger the liberty of the subject. But when the people, on the one part, considered the Army as sent to enslave them; and the Army, on the other, were taught to look on the people as in a state of rebellion, it was but just to fear the most disagreeable consequences. Our fears, we have seen, were but too well grounded.

The many injuries offered to the Town I pass over in silence. I cannot now mark out the path which led to that unequalled scene of horrour, the sad remembrance of which takes the full possession of my soul. The sanguinary theatre again opens itself to view; the baleful images of terrour crowd around me; and discontented ghosts, with hollow groans, appear to solemnize the anniversary of the fifth of March.

Approach we then the melancholy walk of death! Hither let me call the gay companion; here let him drop a farewell tear upon that body which so late he saw vigorous and warm with social mirth! Hither let me lead the tender mother, to weep over her beloved son! Come, widowed mourner, here satiate thy grief. Behold thy murdered husband gasping on the ground! And, to complete the pompous shew of wretchedness, bring in each hand thy infant children to bewail their father’s fate. Take heed, ye orphan babes, lest, whilst your streaming eyes are fixed upon the ghastly corpse, your feet slide on the stones bespattered with your father’s brains.* Enough! This tragedy need not be heightened by an infant weltering in the blood of him that gave it birth. Nature, reluctant, shrinks already from the view, and the chilled blood rolls slowly backward to its fountain. We wildly stare about, and with amazement ask, Who spread this ruin round us? What wretch has dared to deface the image of his God? Has haughty France, or cruel Spain, sent forth her myrmidons? Has the grim Savage rushed again from the far distant wilderness? Or does some fiend, fierce from the depth of Hell, with all the rancorous malice which the apostate damned can feel, twang her destructive bow, and hurl her deadly arrows at our breast? No, none of these. But how astonishing! It is the hand of Britain that inflicts the wound; the Arms of George, our rightful King, have been employed to shed that blood which freely would have flown at his command, when justice, or the honour of his Crown, had called his subjects to the field.

But pity, grief, astonishment, with all the softer movements of the soul, must now give way to stronger passions. Say, fellow-citizens, what dreadful thought now swells your heaving bosoms? You fly to arms; sharp indignation flashes from each eye; revenge gnashes her iron teeth; death grins a hideous smile, secure to drench his greedy jaws in human gore; whilst hovering furies darken all the air.

But stop, my bold adventurous countrymen; stain not your weapons with the blood of Britons; attend to reason’s voice; humanity puts in her claim, and sues to be again admitted to her wonted seat—the bosom of the brave. Revenge is far beneath the noble mind. Many, perhaps, compelled to rank among the vile assassins, do, from their inmost souls, detest the barbarous action. The winged death, shot from your arms, may chance to pierce some breast that bleeds already for your injured Country.

The storm subsides; a solemn pause ensues; you spare upon condition they depart. They go; they quit your City; they no more shall give offence. Thus closes the important drama.

And could it have been conceived that we again should have seen a British Army in our land, sent to enforce obedience to Acts of Parliament destructive of our liberty? But the Royal ear, far distant from the Western world, has been assaulted by the tongue of slander; and villains, traitorous alike to King and Country, have prevailed upon a gracious Prince to clothe his countenance with wrath, and to erect the hostile banner against a people ever affectionate and loyal to him and his illustrious predecessors of the House of Hanover. Our Streets are again filled with armed men, our Harbour is crowded with Ships-of-war; but these cannot intimidate us; our liberty must be preserved; it is far dearer than life; we hold it even dear as our allegiance; we must defend it against the attacks of friends as well as enemies; we cannot suffer even Britons to ravish it from us.

No longer could we reflect with generous pride on the heroick actions of our American forefathers; no longer boast our origin from that far-famed island, whose warlike sons have so often drawn their well-tried swords to save her from the ravages of tyranny, could we but for a moment entertain the thought of giving up our liberty. The man who meanly will submit to wear a shackle, contemns the noblest gift of Heaven, and impiously affronts the God that made him free.

It was a maxim of the Roman people, which eminently conduced to the greatness of that State, never to despair of the Commonwealth. The maxim may prove as salutary to us now as it did to them. Short-sighted mortals see not the numerous links of small and great events, which form the chain on which the fate of Kings and Nations is suspended. Ease and prosperity (though pleasing for a day) have often sunk a people into effeminacy and sloth. Hardships and dangers (though we forever strive to shun them) have frequently called forth such virtues as have commanded the applause and reverence of an admiring world.

Our Country loudly calls you to be circumspect, vigilant, active, and brave. Perhaps, (all-gracious Heaven avert it) perhaps the power of Britain, a Nation great in war, by some malignant influence may be employed to enslave you; but let not even this discourage you. Her Arms, it is true, have filled the world with terrour; her Troops have reaped the laurels of the field; her Fleets have rode triumphant on the sea; and when or where did you, my countrymen, depart inglorious from the field of fight?* You, too, can show the trophies of your forefathers’ victories and your own; can name the fortresses and battles you have won, and many of you count the honourable scars of wounds received, whilst fighting for your King and Country.

Where justice is the standard, Heaven is the warriour’s shield; but conscious guilt unnerves the arm that lifts the sword against the innocent. Britain, united with these Colonies by commerce and affection, by interest and blood, may mock the threats of France and Spain; may be the seat of universal Empire. But should America either by force, or those more dangerous engines—luxury and corruption, ever be brought into a state of vassalage, Britain must lose her freedom also. No longer shall she sit the Empress of the sea; her ships no more shall waft her thunders over the wide ocean; the wreath shall wither on her temples; her weakened arm shall be unable to defend her coasts; and she at last must bow her venerable head to some proud foreigner’s despotick rule.

But if from past events we may venture to form a judgment of the future, we justly may expect that the devices of our enemies will but increase the triumphs of our Country. I must indulge a hope that Britain’s liberty, as well as ours, will eventually be preserved by the virtue of America.

The attempt of the British Parliament to raise a Revenue from America, and our denial of their right to do it, have excited an almost universal inquiry into the rights of mankind in general, and of British subjects in particular; the necessary result of which must be such a liberality of sentiment, and such a jealousy of those in power, as will, better than an adamantine wall, secure us against the future approaches of despotism.

* After Mr. Gray had been shot through the body, and had fallen dead on the ground, a bayonet was pushed through his skull; part of the bone being broken, his brains fell out upon the pavement.

* The patience with which this people have borne the repeated injuries which have been heaped upon them, and their unwillingness to take any sanguinary measures, has very injudiciously been ascribed to cowardice, by persons both here and in Great Britain. I most heartily wish that an opinion so erroneous in itself, and so fatal in its consequences, might be utterly removed before it be too late; and I think nothing farther necessary to convince every intelligent man that the conduct of this people is owing to the tender regard which they have for their fellow-men, and an utter abhorrence to the shedding of human blood, than a little attention to their general temper and disposition discovered when they cannot be supposed to be under any apprehension of danger to themselves. I will only mention the universal detestation which they shew to every act of cruelty, by whom, and upon whomsoever committed; the mild spirit of their Laws; the very few crimes to which capital penalties are annexed, and the very great backwardness which both Courts and Juries discover, in condemning persons charged with capital crimes. But if any should think this observation not to the purpose, I readily appeal to those gentlemen of the Army who have been in the camp, or in the field, with the Americans.