niversality of the
conceit. Men start at the notion of a natural enemy, and ask no other
question. The cry obtains credit like the alarm of a mad dog, and is
one of those kind of tricks, which, by operating on the common passions,
secures their interest through their folly.

But we, sir, are not to be thus imposed upon. We live in a large world,
and have extended our ideas beyond the limits and prejudices of an
island. We hold out the right hand of friendship to all the universe,
and we conceive that there is a sociality in the manners of France,
which is much better disposed to peace and negotiation than that of
England, and until the latter becomes more civilized, she cannot expect
to live long at peace with any power. Her common language is vulgar
and offensive, and children suck in with their milk the rudiments of
insult--"The arm of Britain! The mighty arm of Britain! Britain that
shakes the earth to its center and its poles! The scourge of France! The
terror of the world! That governs with a nod, and pours down vengeance
like a God." This language neither makes a nation great or little; but
it shows a savageness of manners, and has a tendency to keep national
animosity alive. The entertainments of the stage are calculated to the
same end, and almost every public exhibition is tinctured with insult.
Yet England is always in dread of France,--terrified at the apprehension
of an invasion, suspicious of being outwitted in a treaty, and privately
cringing though she is publicly offending. Let her, therefore, reform
her manners and do justice, and she will find the idea of a natural
enemy to be only a phantom of her own imagination.

Little did I think, at this period of the war, to see a proclamation
which could promise you no one useful purpose whatever, and tend only
to expose you. One would think that you were just awakened from a four
years' dream, and knew nothing of what had passed in the interval.
Is this a time to be offering pardons, or renewing the long forgotten
subjects of charters and taxation? Is it worth your while, after every
force has failed you, to retreat under the shelter of argument and
persuasion? Or can you think that we, with nearly half your army
prisoners, and in alliance with France, are to be begged or threatened
into submission by a piece of paper? But as commissioners at a hundred
pounds sterling a week each, you conceive yourselves bound to do
something, and the genius of ill-fortune to