uch question, from what I have witnessed of the
righteous conduct of nations, whether any treaty could be made so strong
that it could not thrust the sword through; nay, I would hold ten to one
the treaty itself would be the very source to which resort would be had to
find a pretext for hostilities.

Thus, therefore, I conclude--that though it is the best of all policies
for a nation to keep up a constant negotiation with its neighbors, yet it
is the summit of folly for it ever to be beguiled into a treaty; for then
comes on non-fulfillment and infraction, then remonstrance, then
altercation, then retaliation, then recrimination, and finally open war.
In a word, negotiation is like courtship, a time of sweet words, gallant
speeches, soft looks, and endearing caresses--but the marriage ceremony is
the signal for hostilities.

If my painstaking reader be not somewhat perplexed by the ratiocination of
the foregoing passage, he will perceive at a glance that the great Peter,
in concluding a treaty with his eastern neighbors, was guilty of
lamentable error in policy. In fact, to this unlucky agreement may be
traced a world of bickerings and heart-burnings between the parties, about
fancied or pretended infringements of treaty stipulations; in all which
the Yankees were prone to indemnify themselves by a "dig into the sides"
of the New Netherlands. But, in sooth, these border feuds, albeit they
gave great annoyance to the good burghers of Mannahata, were so pitiful in
their nature, that a grave historian like myself, who grudges the time
spent in anything less than the revolutions of states and fall of empires,
would deem them unworthy of being inscribed on his page. The reader is,
therefore, to take it for granted--though I scorn to waste in the detail
that time which my furrowed brow and trembling hand inform me is
invaluable--that all the while the great Peter was occupied in those
tremendous and bloody contests which I shall shortly rehearse, there was a
continued series of little, dirty, sniveling scourings, broils, and
maraudings, kept up on the eastern frontiers by the moss-troopers of
Connecticut. But, like that mirror of chivalry, the sage and valorous Don
Quixote, I leave these petty contests for some future Sancho Panza of an
historian, while I reserve my prowess and my pen for achievements of
higher dignity; for at this moment I hear a direful and portentous note
issuing from the bosom of the great council of the