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I sought my couch, but not to sleep;
I lay and pictured me a life
LXXXII.— ENGLAND'S WAR WITH FRANCE
OU have now two wars before you, of which you
must choose one, for both you cannot support. The war against America has hitherto been carried on against her alone, unassisted by any ally; notwithstanding she stood alone, you have been obliged uniformly to increase your exertions, and to push your efforts in the end to the extent of your power, without being able to bring it to any favorable issue. You have exerted all your force hitherto without effect, and you cannot now divide a force found already inadequate to its object.
2. My opinion is for withdrawing your forces from America entirely, for a defensive war you never can think of; a defensive war would ruin this nation at any time and in any circumstances. An offensive war is pointed out as proper for this country; our situation points it out, and the spirit of the nation impels us to attack rather than defense: attack France, then, for she is your object. The nature of the war with her is quite different.
The war against America is against your own countrymen-you have stopped me from saying against your fellow-subjects ; that against France is against your inveterate enemy and rival.
3. Every blow you strike in America is against yourselves; it is against all ideas of reconciliation, and against your own interest, though you should be able, as you never will, to force them to submit. Every stroke against France is of advantage to you; the more you lower the scale in which France lies in the balance, the more your own rises, and the more the Americans will be detached from her as useless to them. Even your own victories over America are in favor of France, from what they must cost you in men and money. Your victories over France will be felt by her ally. America must be conquered in France; France never can be conquered in America.
4. The war of the Americans is a war of passion; it is of such a nature as to be supported by the most powerful virtues—love of liberty and of country; and, at the same time, by those passions in the human heart which give courage, strength, and perseverance to man—the spirit of revenge for the injuries you have done them; of retaliation for the hardships you have inflicted on them; and oi opposition to the unjust powers you have exercised over them.
5. Everything combines to animate them to this war and such a war is without end; for, whatever obstinacy enthusiasm ever inspired man with, you will now find it in America. No matter what gives birth to that enthusiasm,
whether the name of religion or of liberty, the effects are the same; it inspires a spirit that is unconquerable, and solicitous to undergo difficulty, danger, and hardship; and as long as there is a man in America, a being formed such as we are, you will have him present himself against you in the field.
6. The war in France is of another sort; the war in France is a war of interest. It was her interest first induced her to engage in it, and it is by that interest she will measure its continuance.
CHARLES JAMES Fox.
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Rode the six hundred.
Flashed all their sabers bare,
All the world wondered !
Shattered and sundered.
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Volleyed and thundered :
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
All the world wondered.
Noble six hundred !
URIOSITY is a passion very favorable to the love of
study, and a passion very susceptible of increase by cultivation. Sound travels so many feet in a second; and light travels so many feet in a second. Nothing more probable: but you do not care how light and sound travel. Very likely: but make yourself care; get up, shake yourself well, pretend to care, make believe to care, and very soon you will care, and care so much, that you will sit for hours thinking about light and sound, and be extremely angry with any one who interrupts you in your pursuits ; and tolerate no other conversation but about light and sound; and catch yourself plaguing every body to death who approaches you, with the discussion of these subjects.
2. I am sure that a man ought to read as he would grasp a nettle: do it lightly, and you get molested; grasp it with all your strength, and you feel none of its asperities. There is nothing so horrible as languid study; when you sit looking at the clock, wishing the time was over, or that somebody would call on you and put you out of your misery. The only way to read with any efficacy, is to read so heartily, that dinner-time comes two hours before you expected it.
3. To sit with your Livy before you, and hear the geese cackling that saved the Capitol; and to see with your own eyes the Carthaginian sutlers gathering up the rings of the Roman knights after the battle of Cannæ, and heaping them into bushels; and to be so intimately present at the actions you are reading of, that when anybody knocks at the door, it will take you two or three seconds to determine whether you are in your own study, or in the plains of Lombardy, looking at Hannibal's weather-beaten face, and admiring the splendor of his single eye; this is the only kind of study which is not tiresome; and almost the only kind which is not useless: this is the knowledge