the men that have transgressed against me; for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched, and they shall be an abhorring unto all flesh.'

It is everlasting wrath. It would be dreadful to suffer this fierceness and wrath of Almighty God one moment; but you must suffer it to all eternity: there will be no end to this exquisite, horrible misery: when you look forward you shall see a long forever, a boundless duration before you, which will swallow up your thoughts and amaze your soul; and you will absolutely despair of ever having any deliverance, any end, any mitigation, any rest at all; you will know certainly that you must wear out long ages, millions and millions of ages, in wrestling and conflicting with this Almighty merciless vengeance; and then, when you have so done, when so many ages have actually been spent by you in this manner, you will know that all is but a point to what remains. So that your punishment will indeed be infinite. Oh, who can express what the state of a soul in such circumstances is! All that we can possibly say about it gives but a very feeble, faint representation of it; it is inexpressible and inconceivable for who knows the power of God's anger?'

How dreadful is the state of those that are daily and hourly in danger of this great wrath and infinite misery! But this is the dismal case of every soul in this congregation that has not been born again, however moral and strict, sober and religious, they may otherwise be. Oh that you would consider it, whether you be young or old! There is reason to think that there are many in this congregation, now hearing this discourse, that will actually be the subjects of this very misery to all eternity. We know not who they are, or in what seats they sit, or what thoughts they now have. It may be they are now at ease, and hear all these things without much disturbance, and are now flattering themselves that they are not the persons; promising themselves that they shall escape. If we knew that there was one person, and but one, in the whole congregation, that was to be the subject of this misery, what an awful thing it would be to think of! If we knew who it was, what an awful sight would it be to see such a person! How might all the rest of the congregation lift up a lamentable and bitter cry over him! But alas! Instead of one, how many is it likely will remember this discourse in hell! And it would be a wonder if some that are now present should not be in hell in a very short time, before this year is out. And it would be no wonder if some persons that now sit here in some seats of this meeting-house in health, and quiet and secure, should be there before to-morrow morning.

From 'The Freedom of the Will.'

The plain and obvious meaning of the words Freedom and Liberty, in common speech, is power, opportunity, or advantage that any one has, to do as he pleases. Or, in other words, his being free from hindrance or impediment in the way of doing, or conducting in any respect, as he wills. (I say not only doing, but conducting; because a voluntary forbearing to do, sitting still, keeping silence, &c., are instances of persons' conduct about which Liberty is exercised; though they are not so properly called doing). And the contrary to Liberty, whatever name we call that by, is a person's being hindered or unable to conduct as he will, or being necessitated to do otherwise.

If this which I have mentioned be the meaning of the

word Liberty, in the ordinary use of language; as I trust that none that has ever learned to talk, and is unprejudiced, will deny: then it will follow that in propriety of speech neither Liberty nor its contrary can properly be ascribed to any being or thing but that which has such a faculty, power, or property as is called will. For that which is possessed of no such thing as will cannot have any power or opportunity of doing according to its will, nor be necessitated to act contrary to its will, nor be restrained from acting agreeably to it. And therefore to talk of Liberty, or the contrary, as belonging to the very will itself is not to speak good sense, if we judge of sense and nonsense by the original and proper signification of words. For the will itself is not an agent that has a will: the power of choosing itself has not a power of choosing. That which has the power of volition or choice is the man or the soul, and not the power of volition itself. And he that has the Liberty of doing according to his will is the agent or doer who is possessed of the will, and not the will which he is possessed of. We say with propriety that a bird let loose has power and Liberty to fly, but not that the bird's power of flying has a power and Liberty of flying. To be free is the property of an agent who is possessed of powers and faculties, as much as to be cunning, valiant, bountiful, or zealous. But these qualities are the properties of men or persons and not the properties of properties.

There are two things that are contrary to this which is called Liberty in common speech. One is constraint; the same is otherwise called force, compulsion, and coaction; which is a person's being necessitated to do a thing contrary to his will. The other is restraint; which is his being hindered, and not having power to do according to his will. But that which has no will cannot be the subject of these things. I need say the less on this head, Mr Locke having set the same thing forth with so great clearness in his Essay on the Human Understanding.

But one thing more I would observe concerning what is vulgarly called Liberty; namely, that power and opportunity for one to do and conduct as he will, or according to his choice, is all that is meant by it; without taking into the meaning of the word anything of the cause or original of that choice, or at all considering how the person came to have such a volition; whether it was caused by some external motive or internal habitual bias; whether it was determined by some internal antecedent volition, or whether it happened without a cause; whether it was necessarily connected with something foregoing, or not connected. Let the person come by his volition or choice how he will, yet, if he is able, and there is nothing in the way to hinder his pursuing and executing his will, the man is fully and perfectly free, according to the primary and common notion of freedom.

Edwards's works are found in Bohn's edition. See for his biography A. V. G. Allen's Jonathan Edwards (1889), and the admirable paper by Sir Leslie Stephen in Hours in a Library, second series. G. E. W.

Benjamin Franklin (1706-90) was born at Boston, but his life is rather associated with Philadelphia, to which city he early migrated. He followed the printer's trade, and became a publisher of newspapers and books. He had a political

career from 1736, and his public activities grew more diversified and more important till he had become the most useful citizen of the State, and the most profitable servant of the colonies abroad as their agent at London and, during the Revolution, at Paris. He was illustrious in science from the time of his discoveries in electricity. The reputation his name still enjoys is that of one of the great citizens of the world. He was primarily a citizen, not a writer; and the list of his inventions, foundations, and organisations is a long one. In the formative period of American society he was the principal suggester of new methods and ends and the chief organiser of new activities (see above at page 732). Most of his writings have consequently to do with practical affairs, but the Autobiography stands apart from the others, and is the work by which he is universally known. The style he used is one of the best of that day of excellent prose.

His Religious Views.

I had been religiously educated as a Presbyterian ; and, though I early absented myself from the public assemblies of the sect, Sunday being my studying day, I never was without some religious principles. I never doubted, for instance, the existence of the Deity; that He made the world, and governed it by His providence ; that the most acceptable service of God was the doing good to man; that our souls are immortal; and that all crime will be punished and virtue rewarded either here or hereafter. These I esteemed the essentials of every religion; and being to be found in all the religions we had in our country, I respected them all, though with different degrees of respect as I found them more or less mixed with other articles which, without any tendency to inspire, promote, or confirm morality, served principally to divide us and make us unfriendly to one another. This respect to all, with an opinion that the worst had some good effects, induced me to avoid all discourse that might tend to lessen the good opinion another might have of his own religion; and as our province increased in people, and new places of worship were continually wanted, and generally erected by voluntary contribution, my mite for such purpose, whatever might be the sect, was never refused.

Though I seldom attended any public worship, I had still an opinion of its propriety and of its utility when rightly conducted, and I regularly paid my annual subscription for the support of the only Presbyterian minister or meeting we had in Philadelphia. He used to visit me sometimes as a friend, and admonish me to attend his administrations; and I was now and then prevailed on to do so, once for five Sundays successively. Had he been in my opinion a good preacher, perhaps I might have continued, notwithstanding the occasion I had for the Sunday's leisure in my course of study; but his discourses were chiefly either polemic arguments or explications of the peculiar doctrines of our sect, and were all to me very dry, uninteresting, and unedifying, since not a single moral principle was inculcated or enforced, their aim seeming to be rather to make us Presbyterians than good citizens.

At length he took for his text that verse of the fourth chapter of Philippians: Finally, brethren, whatsoever

things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things;' and I imagined, in a sermon on such a text, we could not miss of having some morality. But he confined himself to five points only, as meant by the apostle 1. Keeping holy the Sabbath-day. 2. Being diligent in reading the holy Scriptures. 3. Attending duly the public worship. 4. Partaking of the sacrament. 5. Paying a due respect to God's ministers. These might be all good things; but, as they were not the kind of good things that I expected from that text, I despaired of ever meeting with them from any other, was disgusted, and attended his preaching no more. I had

Courteous Reader: I have heard that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to find his works respectfully quoted by other learned authors. This pleasure I have seldom enjoyed; for, though I have been, if I may say it without vanity, an eminent author (of almanacs) annually, now a full quarter of a century, my brother authors in the same way, for what reason I know not, have ever been very sparing in their applauses and no other author has taken the least notice of me; so that, did not my writings produce me some solid pudding, the great deficiency of praise would have quite discouraged me.

I concluded at length that the people were the best

judges of my merit, for they buy my works; and, besides, in my rambles where I am not personally known, I have frequently heard one or other of my adages repeated with 'As Poor Richard says' at the end of it. This gave me some satisfaction, as it showed not only that my instructions were regarded, but discovered likewise some respect for my authority; and I own that, to encourage the practice of remembering and reading those wise sentences, I have sometimes quoted myself with great gravity.

Judge, then, how much I must have been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to you. I stopped my horse lately where a great number of people were collected at an auction of merchants' goods. The hour of the sale not being come, they were conversing on the badness of the times; and one of the company called to a plain, clean old man with white locks, 'Pray, Father Abraham, what think you of the times? Will not these heavy taxes quite ruin the country? How shall we ever be able to pay them? What would you advise us to do?' Father Abraham stood up and replied, 'If you would have my advice, I will give it to you in short; for A word to the wise is enough, as Poor Richard says.' They joined in desiring him to speak his mind, and gathering round him, he proceeded as follows:

'Friends,' said he, 'the taxes are indeed very heavy, and if those laid on by the Government were the only ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we have many others, and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly; and from these taxes the commissioners cannot ease or deliver us by allowing an abatement. However, let us hearken to good advice, and something may be done for us; God helps them that help themselves, as Poor Richard says.

'It would be thought a hard Government that should tax its people one tenth part of their time, to be employed in its service; but idleness taxes many of us much more; sloth, by bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens life.

Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labour wears, while The used key is always bright, as Poor Richard says. But dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of, as Poor Richard says. How much more than is necessary do we spend in sleep, forgetting that the sleeping fox catches no poultry, and that there will be sleeping enough in the grave, as Poor Richard says. If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be, as Poor Richard says, the greatest prodigality; since, as he elsewhere tells us, Lost time is never found again, and what we call time enough always proves little enough. Let us, then, be up and be doing, and doing to the purpose; so by diligence shall we do more with less perplexity. Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry, all easy; and, He that riseth late must trot all day and shall scarce overtake his business at night; while Laziness travels so slowly that Poverty soon overtakes him. Drive thy business, let not that drive thee; and, Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise, as Poor Richard says.'

(From Poor Richard Improved.) Franklin's Works are edited by John Bigelow in ten volumes (1887-89), the Autobiography in three volumes (1868). Excellent Lives of him are J. B. M'Master's (1887) and J. T. Morse's (1889). G. E. W.

John Woolman (1720-72) was born at Northampton in New Jersey, and after a humble beginning, he began to teach poor children and to preach as an itinerant among the Quakers. For a quarter of a century he travelled extensively in the Atlantic States, and was from the start an abhorrer of slavery. His Journal tells the story of his journeys, and in the narrative discloses a pious soul simply and sincerely. It owes something of its vogue to Charles Lamb's love of it, and to Whittier's eulogy. A brief extract shows its quality.

An Angelic Vision.

In a time of sickness with the pleurisy, a little upward of two years and a half ago, I was brought so near the gates of death that I forgot my name. Being then desirous to know who I was, I saw a mass of matter of a dull, gloomy colour, between the south and the east; and was informed that this mass was human beings in as great misery as they could be and live; and that I was mixed in with them, and that henceforth I might not consider myself as a distinct or separate being. In this state I remained several hours. I then heard a soft, melodious voice, more pure and harmonious than any I had heard with my ears before; I believed it was the voice of an angel, who spake to the other angels. The words were 'John Woolman is dead.' I soon remembered that I once was John Woolman, and being assured that I was alive in the body, I greatly wondered what that heavenly voice could mean. I believed beyond doubting that it was the voice of an holy angel; but as yet it was a mystery to me.

I was then carried in spirit to the mines, where poor, oppressed people were digging rich treasures for those called Christians, and heard them blaspheme the name of Christ, at which I was grieved, for His name to me was precious. Then I was informed that these heathen were told that those who oppressed them were the followers of Christ; and they said amongst themselves, if Christ directed them to use us in this sort, then Christ is a cruel tyrant.

All this time the song of the angel remained a mys tery; and in the morning my dear wife and some others coming to my bedside, I asked them if they knew who I was; and they telling me I was John Woolman, thought I was light-headed, for I told them not what the angel said, nor was I disposed to talk much to any one, but was very desirous to get so deep that I might understand this mystery. My tongue was often so dry that I could not speak till I had moved it about and gathered some moisture, and as I lay still for a time, at length I felt divine power prepare my mouth that I could speak, and then I said, 'I am crucified with Christ, nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ that liveth in me; and the life I now live in the fles is by faith in the Son of God, who loved me, and gave Himself for me.' Then the mystery was opened, and I perceived there was joy in heaven over a sinner who had repented, and that that language, John Woolmaa is dead,' meant no more than the death of my own will. Soon after this I coughed and raised much bloody matter, which I had not done during this vision, and now my natural understanding returned as before.

Here I saw that people getting silver vessels to set off their tables at entertainments were often stained with

worldly glory, and that in the present state of things I should take heed how I fed myself from out of silver vessels. Soon after my recovery, I, going to our monthly-meeting, dined at a Friend's house where drink was brought in silver vessels, and not in any other; and I, wanting some drink, told him my case with weeping, and he ordered some drink for me in another vessel. The like I afterward went through in several Friends' houses in America, and have also in England, since I came here; and have cause, with humble reverence, to acknowledge the loving-kindness of my heavenly Father who hath preserved me in such a tender frame of mind that none, I believe, have ever been offended at what I have said on that occasion.

G. E. W.

George Washington (1732-99) has been referred to above (page 713) as a conspicuous representative of the political literature of this period. The writings of Jefferson and Washington were incidental to their public life, and though the style of one is censured as rhetorical and that of the other as cold, the inspiration is felt in the first and dignity in the second with a fire and weight that make their sentences imperishable. The language of the Declaration is well known. His Farewell Address is a noble example of Washington's power to utter character in words, putting himself into his wisdom; veneration for the man is a part of the impressiveness of what he says.

From Washington's 'Farewell Address.' The impressions with which I first undertook the arduous trust were explained on the proper occasion. In the discharge of this trust, I will only say that I have with good intentions contributed towards the organisation and administration of the government the best exertions of which a very fallible judgment was capable. Not unconscious, in the outset, of the inferiority of my qualifications, experience in my own eyes, perhaps still more in the eyes of others, has strengthened the motives to diffidence of myself; and every day the increasing weight of years admonishes me more and more that the shade of retirement is as necessary to me as it will be welcome. Satisfied that if any circumstances have given peculiar value to my services, they were temporary, I have the consolation to believe that while choice and prudence invite me to quit the political scene, patriotism does not forbid it.

In looking forward to the moment which is intended to terminate the career of my public life, my feelings do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledgment of that debt of gratitude which I owe to my beloved country for the many honours it has conferred upon me; still more for the steadfast confidence with which it has supported me; and for the opportunities I have thence enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment, by services faithful and persevering, though in usefulness unequal to my zeal. If benefits have resulted to our country from these services, let it always be remembered to your praise, and as an instructive example in our annals, that under circumstances in which the passions, agitated in every direction, were liable to mislead, amidst appearances sometimes dubious, vicissitudes

of fortune often discouraging, in situations in which not unfrequently want of success has countenanced the spirit of criticism, the constancy of your support was the essential prop of the efforts, and a guarantee of the plans by which they were effected. Profoundly penetrated with this idea, I shall carry it with me to my grave, as a strong incitement to unceasing vows that Heaven may continue to you the choicest tokens of its beneficence; that your union and brotherly affection may be perpetual; that the free constitution, which is the work of your hands, may be sacredly maintained; that its administration in every department may be stamped with wisdom and virtue; that, in fine, the happiness of the people of these States, under the auspices of liberty, may be made complete by so careful a preservation and so prudent a use of this blessing as will acquire to them the glory of recommending it to the applause, the affection, and adoption of every nation which is yet a stranger to it.

Here, perhaps, I ought to stop. But a solicitude for your welfare, which cannot end but with my life, and the apprehension of danger, natural to that solicitude, urge me on an occasion like the present to offer to your solemn contemplation, and to recommend to your frequent review, some sentiments which are the result of much reflection, of no inconsiderable observation, and which appear to me all-important to the permanency of your felicity as a People. These will be offered to you with the more freedom, as you can only see in them the disinterested warnings of a parting friend, who can pos sibly have no personal motive to bias his counsel. Nor can I forget, as an encouragement to it, your indulgent reception of my sentiments on a former and not dissimilar occasion.

Interwoven as is the love of liberty with every ligament of your hearts, no recommendation of mine is necessary to fortify or confirm the attachment.

The unity of Government, which constitutes you one people, is also now dear to you. It is justly so; for it is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independ ence, the support of your tranquillity at home, your peace abroad; of your safety; of your prosperity; of that very Liberty which you so highly prize. But as it is easy to foresee that, from different causes and from different quarters, much pains will be taken, many artifices employed, to weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth; as this is the point in your political fortress against which the batteries of internal and external enemies will be most constantly and actively (though often covertly and insidiously) directed, it is of infinite moment that you should properly esti mate the immense value of your national Union to your collective and individual happiness; that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, and immovable attachment to it; accustoming yourselves to think and speak of it as of the Palladium of your political safety and prosperity; watching for its preservation with jealous anxiety; discountenancing whatever may suggest even a suspicion that it can in any event be abandoned; and indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various parts.

For this you have every inducement of sympathy and interest. Citizens, by birth or choice, of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate your

affections. The name of American, which belongs to you in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of Patriotism more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. With slight shades of difference, you have the same religion, manners, habits, and political principles. You have in a common cause fought and triumphed together; the Independence and Liberty you possess are the work of joint counsels and joint efforts, of common dangers, sufferings, and successes. But these considerations, however powerfully they address themselves to your sensibility, are greatly outweighed by those which apply more immediately to your interest. Here every portion of our country finds the most commanding motives for carefully guarding and preserving the Union of the whole.

In

G. E. W.

Lindley Murray (1745-1826), the grammarian, was born of Quaker parentage, the eldest of twelve children, at Swatara, Pennsylvania, and was educated at Philadelphia, New York, and Burlington, having at fourteen run away to school from his father's counting-house. He studied law at New York, and was called to the Bar in 1763. At twenty-two he married, and in 1770-71 first visited England, where from 1785 he made his home at Holgate, York, for the last sixteen years never leaving the house. 1787 he published his Power of Religion on the Mind; and his English Grammar (1795), long a standard on both sides of the Atlantic, was followed by A Compendium of Faith and Practice, The Duty of a Daily Perusal of the Scriptures, and Memoirs, written in a series of six letters by himself, and concluded by Elizabeth Frank (1826). Spite of his proverbial credit as an authority, his own style was by no means a model of excellence; it was not impeccable even on grammatical grounds, the 'misallied participle' being only too frequent.

Joel Barlow (1754-1812), born at Redding in Connecticut, studied at Dartmouth and Yale Colleges, and served as a military chaplain during the war of independence. In 1788 he came to France as agent for a land company; in 1792 published in London a poem entitled The Conspiracy of Kings; spent some years on the Continent in political, literary, and mercantile pursuits, in which he made a fortune; served as American consul at Algiers; and was appointed ambassador to France in 1811. He died near Cracow when on his way to a conference with Napoleon. His Columbiad (1807) is a historical review of events from the time of Columbus to the French Revolution. Other works are his intemperate Advice to the Privileged Orders (1791-95) and the would-be humorous poem, Hasty Pudding. See Todd's Life and Letters of Joel Barlow (1886).

Charles Brockden Brown (1771-1810) was born of Quaker stock in the Quaker city of Philadelphia, yet, bred for law, deliberately chose literature as a profession, and ranks as the first American to make this choice. The French

Revolution and Godwin's influence, political and literary, drew him wholly away from Quaker sympathies, and it was in New York that he wrote Aleuyn (1797) on the rights of women. His first novel, Wieland, or Transformation (1798), turned on ventriloquism. In the next three years he produced four more novels-Arthur Mervyn, Ormond, Edgar Huntley, and Clara Howard— and secured the proud position he maintained for twenty years as first of American novelists, until his star paled before Fenimore Cooper's. Much of his early work consisted of tales of terror and horror, morbid and improbable enough, and showing Godwin's influence all too plainly, but with passages of real intensity and power, and characteristic touches all his own. He anticipated Cooper

in exploiting the forest life of the continent, and patriotic critics have discovered in him suggestions of Poe, of Hawthorne, and even of later Americanism. His first magazine ran only a year; his second Literary Magazine lived from 1803 till 1805, and the half-yearly American Register was thriving at his death, when he was engaged on a system of geography and a treatise on Rome under the Antonine emperors. His last novel, Jane Talbot,

had appeared in 1801; and he had written in defence of the Justice of Restrictions on Foreign Commerce. His Life by Dunlop (2 vols. 1815) was reissued with the seven-volume edition of his novels (1827); there were reprints of his works in 1857 and 1887; and on his life and work, see Prescott's Biographical and Critical Miscellanies (1867).

James Kirke Paulding (1779-1860) was born in Dutchess county, New York, and, though strongly drawn to literature, was mainly selfeducated. A friend of Washington Irving, he wrote part of the wonderfully popular Salmagundi. During the war of 1812 he published the Diverting History of John Bull and Brother Jonathan, an effective satire, and in 1814 a more serious work, The United States and England, which gained him an appointment on the Board of Naval Commissioners. A continuation of Salmagundi by his own pen was a failure. But he produced a very successful romance of old New York, The Dutchman's Fireside (1831), and a Kentuckian story, Westward Ho! (1832)—not to speak of a good deal of poetry, a Life of Washington (1835), and a defence of Slavery in the United States (1836). In 1837 he became Secretary of the Navy. Even at his best he had been overshadowed by Irving and Cooper, and he is now but little read. See his Literary Life by his son (1867), and Grant Wilson's Bryant and his Friends (1886).

William Ellery Channing (1780-1842), preacher and writer, was born at Newport in Rhode Island, graduated at Harvard in 1798, and in 1803 was ordained minister of a Congregational church in Boston, where his sermons were famous