One would think there were evils enough in
the world without studying to increase them, and that life is
sufficiently short without shaking the sand that measures it. The
histories of Alexander, and Charles of Sweden, are the histories of
human devils; a good man cannot think of their actions without
abhorrence, nor of their deaths without rejoicing. To see the bounties
of heaven destroyed, the beautiful face of nature laid waste, and
the choicest works of creation and art tumbled into ruin, would
fetch a curse from the soul of piety itself. But in this country the
aggravation is heightened by a new combination of affecting
circumstances. America was young, and, compared with other
countries, was virtuous. None but a Herod of uncommon malice would
have made war upon infancy and innocence: and none but a people of the
most finished fortitude, dared under those circumstances, have
resisted the tyranny. The natives, or their ancestors, had fled from
the former oppressions of England, and with the industry of bees had
changed a wilderness into a habitable world. To Britain they were
indebted for nothing. The country was the gift of heaven, and God
alone is their Lord and Sovereign.
The time, sir, will come when you, in a melancholy hour, shall
reckon up your miseries by your murders in America. Life, with you,
begins to wear a clouded aspect. The vision of pleasurable delusion is
wearing away, and changing to the barren wild of age and sorrow. The
poor reflection of having served your king will yield you no
consolation in your parting moments.
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