Heaven the thunderbolt to wrest,
Shall, when their crimes are finished, find,
That death is not eternal rest.”
But they tell us that it is because the French are true republicans, that we ought to applaud them. What a sarcasm on republicanism! As if fire and sword, prisons and scaffolds, the destruction of cities, the abolition of all religious worship, the inculcation of a doctrine which leads to every crime, stifles remorse, and prevents a return to justice and humanity, were the characteristics of a true republic. If it be so, we ought to blush to call ourselves republicans.
Some of the democratic tribe have cried aloud against me, for speaking of the Dutch and French under the names of Nick Frog and the Baboon; but let them remember, that while they talk about John Bull, I must, and will be permitted to keep up the allegory, Ref 027 particularly at a time when it is become more strikingly à-propos than ever. “Jupiter,” says the fable, “sent the frogs a log of wood Ref 028 to reign over them; but a bull being let loose in the pasture, and having trod the guts of a few of them out, they set up a terrible outcry against the stupidity and negligence of king log. Jupiter tired at last with their everlasting croakings, and determined to punish them for their ingratitude to his anointed log, sent them a huge baboon that gobbled them up by hundreds at a meal.”
Patriot Paine, the heathen philosopher, has observed that republics never marry. There is more humour than truth in this observation; for though one would imagine that the name of sister which they give to each other would be an insuperable bar to such an union, yet experience proves the contrary; for the French republic does not only marry, but is guilty of polygamy. She has already espoused the republic of Batavia (commonly called Holland), and the poor little Geneva, and she is now swaggering about like a Jack wh—e with a couple of under punks at her heels. She wanted to make love to the cheek of John Bull, but John, beast as he is, had too much grace to be seduced by her. “No,” said John, “you heathenish cannibal, I will not touch you; you reek with blood; get from my sight, you stabbing strumpet!” John was half right; for she is indeed a cruel spouse; something like the brazen image formerly made use of in Hungary, that cracked the bones, and squeezed out the blood and guts of those who were condemned to its embraces.
How happy were we in escaping a marriage with a termagant like this! we were, indeed, within an inch of it. Brissot and his crew sent out one of their citizens Ref 029 (who had been employed with so much success in negotiating the marriage with Geneva) to marry us by proxy, and the democrats were beginning to sing “Come haste to the wedding,” when the president, who had not burnt his bible, saw that the laws of consanguinity did not allow of a marriage between two sisters, and therefore, like a good old father of his country, he peremptorily forbad the bans. Heavens bless him for it! if he had not done this, we might long ago have seen the citizen inviting the Congress, as Pichegru does the Dutch assembly, to send him five hundred oxen for breakfast. He had already begun to scamper about our streets with his sans culottes dragoons (among whom, be it remembered, some of our democrats were base enough to enrol themselves), and he would by this time, perhaps, have ordered us, and not without reason, to call Philadelphia, Commune Affranchie.
The Convention, finding that we were not to be won by this boorish kind of courtship, began to send us billets-doux to soothe us into compliance. Among these, that which invites us to change our weights and measures Ref 030 is remarkable enough to merit a particular notice. A citizen somebody had been to measure the terrestrial arc contained between Dunkirk and Barcelona, from which operation it appeared that we ought (at the invitation of the French) to divide our pound into ten ounces, our gallon into ten quarts, our day into ten hours, our quadrant into a hundred degrees, &c. &c. &c., just like Hudibras,
“For he by geometric scale
Could take the size of pots of ale,
And tell by sines and tangents straight,
If bread and butter wanted weight.”
This communication was a sort of a present by way of breaking the ice; artful gallants begin with trifles—a handkerchief, a ring, any bauble marked with the lover’s name, paves the way in affairs of love. If we had set about making the alterations, which we were invited to make, we should, undoubtedly, have been invited to divide our year according to the decadery calendar, abolish Christianity, and punish with death those who should have dared to worship “the ci-devant God.” I almost wonder that these generous enlighteners of the world, these generous encouragers of the arts and sciences, had not sent us, along with the models of weights and measures, models of their lantern-posts and guillotines. They talk about their nautical discoveries, why had they not sent us, then, a model of their drowning-boats, by which fifty women and children were sent to the bottom at a time? They might also have obliged us with an essay on the method of making bread, without taking the bran out of the flour; and how well pleased must the Congress have been with a treatise on legislative boxing! Ref 031 But, as the French have all the honour of these discoveries, so, I suppose, they mean to have all the profit too; and God punish the villain that would wish to rob them of it, I say.
The Convention, in this communication, resemble Jack in the Tale of a Tub: “Flay, pull, tear all off,” say they, “let not a single stitch of the livery of that d——d rogue, John Bull, remain.” The Congress, however, have thought proper to imitate the phlegmatic good-nature of Brother Martin. “Steady, boys, steady,” said they one to another; “those fellows, there, are got keel uppermost, and they want to see us in the same plight.” I would have given a trifle for a view of the senators when they received this ten-ounces-to-the-pound proposal; the gravity of a senator surpasses what I conceived of it, if they did not run a risk of bursting their sides. The notice they have taken of it will, I hope, prevent like invitations for the future; and convince the French that our Congress is not an assembly
“Where quicks and quirks, in dull debates,
Dispute on maximums and weights,
And cut the land in squares;
Making king mob gulp down the cheat,
And singling for themselves the wheat,
Leave for the herd the tares.”
I do not know whether the French are irritated at our sang froid, or at our consulting our interests with other nations, or how it is, but certainly they begin to show their good-will to us in a very odd manner. Their depredations on our commerce have already surpassed those of the English. One captain writes, “I have been robbed by them; they have broken open my trunks, and took my all.” Another says: “They have called me a damned Anglo-American, beat me, and thrown me into prison.” Another says: “They have kept me here these four months; they do what they please with my cargo; and the Lord knows what will become of me!” Another petitions the sans culotte general, and concludes with, “your petitioner shall ever pray!”—And is this all? Do they now talk of these things with the humility of slaves? No, execrations! Have they emptied their galls on the English? Is there not one curse, one poor spiteful curse, left for the sans culottes? Ye Gods! how men are sometimes ice and sometimes fire! When the English took our vessels, what patriot bosom did not burn with rage? There was nothing talked of but vengeance, war, and confiscation. Ref 032 Where is now all this “republican ardour,” where are all those young men who “burnt for an opportunity to defend the liberty, rights, and property of their country?” Where are all those courageous captains who entered into an association to oblige the government to declare war? Are they dead? do they sleep? or are they gone with their chief, Barney, to fight, like Swisses, for the French Convention? Last year, about this time, nothing was to be heard but their malicious left-handed complaints; a rough word or a wry look was thought sufficient to rouse the whole Union to revenge the insults they received on the high seas. They now seem as insensible to every insult as the images at the head of their vessels; submit to their fate with Christian resignation, with, “Lord have mercy upon us,” and, “your petitioners will ever pray!”
If any one wants to be convinced that the democratic outcry about the British depredations was intended to plunge us into war and misery, let him look at their conduct at