brimful of amor patriae, was about to
prefer a complaint against the officers, when they came down with
a round sum of the ready rino, and a promise of his discharge, in
case of secrecy.--This so staggered our incorruptible and
independent hero and quill driver, that he agreed to the terms,
received that very honorable discharge, mentioned with so much
emphasis, in the history of his important life--got cash enough to
come to America, by circuitous route and to set himself up with
the necessary implements of scandal and abuse.

This flea, this spider, this corporal, has dared to point his
impotent spleen at the memory of that illustrious patriot,
statesman and philosopher, Benjamin Franklin.

Let the buzzing insect reflect on this truth--that

"Succeeding times great Franklin's works shall quote,
When 'tis forgot--this Peter ever wrote."

And the _Advertiser_ declared:

Peter Porcupine is one of those writers who attempt to deal in
wit--and to bear down every Republican principle by satire--but he
miserably fails in both, for his wit is as stale as his satire,
and his satire as insipid as his wit. He attempts to ridicule Dr.
Franklin, but can any man of sense conceive any poignancy in
styling this great philosopher, "poor Richard," or "the old
lightning rod." Franklin, whose researches in philosophy have
placed him preeminent among the first characters in this country,
or in Europe: is it possible then that such a contemptible wretch
as Peter Porcupine, (who never gave any specimen of his
philosophy, but in bearing with Christian patience a severe
whipping at the public post) can injure the exalted reputation of
this great philosopher? The folly of the Editor of the Centinal,
is the more conspicuous, in inserting his billingsgate abuse in a
Boston paper, when this town, particularly the TRADESMAN of it are
reaping such advantages from Franklin's liberality. The Editor of
the Centinal ought to blush for his arrogance in vilifying this
TRADESMEN'S FRIEND, by retailing the scurrility of so wretched a
puppy as Peter Porcupine.

As to Dr. Priestley, the Editor was obliged to apologise in this
particular--but colours it over as the effusions of genius--poor
apology, indeed to stain his columns with scurrility and abuse