any thing afterwards. Do look back to my past conduct respecting you, and try if you cannot raise one grain of gratitude in your heart towards me, for all the kind acts of benevolence I bestowed on you. I showed your letter, at the time I receiv. ed it, to an intelligent friend; he said it was a characteristic of the vileness of your natural disposition, and enough to damn the reputation of any man. You tell me that I should have come to you, and not written the letter. I did so three times; and the last you gave me the ten dollars, and told me you were going to have a stove in a separate room, and then you would pay me. One month had passed, and I wanted the money, but still found you with the family that you resided with, and delicacy prevented me to ask you for pay of board and lodging; you never told me to fetch the account, as you say you did. When I called the last time but one, you told me to come on the Sunday following, and you would pay or settle with me; I came according to order, but found you particularly engaged with the French woman and her two boys; whether the boys are yours I leave you to judge; but the oldest son of the woman, an intelligent youth, I suppose about fourteen or fifteen years of age, has frequently told me and others, that you were the complete ruin of their family, and that he despised you; and said that your character, at present, was not so well known in America as France.

"You frequently boast of what you have done for the woman above alluded to; that she and her family have cost you two thousand dollars; and since you came the last time to York, you have been bountiful to her, and given her one hundred dollars per time. This may be all right. She may have rendered you former and present secret services, such as are not in my power to perform; but at the same time I think it would be just in you to pay your debts. I know that the poor black woman, at New Rochelle, that you hired as a servant, and I believe paid every attention to you in her power, had to sue you for her wages, before you would pay her, and Mr. Shute had to become secu rity for you.

A respectable gentleman, from New Rochelle, called to see me a few days past, and said that every body was tired of you there, and no one would undertake to board and lodge you. I thought this was the case, as I found you at a tavern, in a most miserable situation. You appeared as if you had not been shaved for a fortnight; and as to a shirt, it could not be

said that you had one on; it was only the remains of one, and this likewise appeared not to have been off your back for a fortnight, and was nearly the colour of tanned leather; and you had the most disagreeable smell possible, just like that of our poor beggars in England. Do you not recollect the pains I took to clean and wash you? That I got a tub of warm water and soap, and washed you from head to foot, and this I had to do three times before I could get you clean. I likewise shaved you and cut your nails, that were like birds claws. I remember a remark that I made to you at that time, which was, that you put me in mind of Nebuchadnezzar, who was said to be in this situation. Many of your toe nails exceeded half an inch in length, and others had grown round your toes, and nearly as far under as they extended on the top. Have you forgotten the pains I took with you, when you lay sick wallowing in your own filth? I remember that I got Mr. Hooton, (a friend of mine, and whom I be lieve to be one of the best hearted men in the world) to assist me in removing and cleaning you. He told me he wondered how I could do it; for his part he would not like to do the same again for ten dol lars. I told him you were a fellow being, and that it was our duty to assist each other in distress. Have you forgotten my care of you during the winter you staid with me? How I put you in bed every night, with a warm brick to your feet, and treated you like an infant one month old? Have you forgotten likewise how you destroyed my bed and bedding by fire, and also a great coat that was worth ten dollars? I have shown the remnant of the coat to a tailor, who says, that cloth of that quality could not be bought for six dollars per yard. You never said that you were sorry for the misfortune, or said that you would recompense me for it. I could say a great deal more, but I shall tire your and the public's patience; after all this and ten times as much more, you say you were not treated friendly or civilly. Have I not reason to exclaim, and say, O the ingratitude of your obdurate heart!

"You complain of the room you were in, but you know it was the only one I had to spare-it is plenty large enough for one person to sleep in. Your physician and many others requested you to remove to a more airy situation; but I believe the only reason why you would not comply with the request was, that you expected to have more to pay, and not to be so well attended; you might think nobody would keep a fire, as I did, in the kitchen, till

eleven or twelve o'clock at night, to warm things for your comfort, or take you out of bed two or three times a day, by a blanket, as I and my apprentice did for a month; for my part I did so till it brought on a pain in my side, that prevented me from sleeping after I got to bed myself.

I remember during one of your stays at my house, you were sued in the justice's court by a poor man, for the board and lodging of the French woman, to the amount of about thirty dollars; but as the man had no proof, and only depended on your word, he was non-suited, and a cost of forty-two shillings thrown upon him. This highly gratified your unfeeling heart. I believe you had promised payment, as you said you would give the French wo man the money to go and pay it with. I know it is customary in England, that when any gentleman keeps a lady, that he pays her board and lodging. You complain that you suffered with the cold, and that there ought to have been a fire in the parlour. But the fact is, that I expended so much money on your account, and received so little, that I could not go to any further expense, and if I had, I should not have got you away. A friend of yours that knew my situation, told you that you ought to buy a load of wood to burn in the parlour; your answer was that you should not stay above a week or two, and did not want to have the wood to remove; this certainly would have been a hard case for you to have left me a few sticks of wood.

"Now, sir, I think I have drawn a complete portrait of your character; yet to enter upon every minutia would be to give a history of your life, and to develop the fallacious mask of hypocrisy and deception, under which you have acted in your -political as well as moral capacity of life. There may be many grammatical errors in this letter. To you I have no apologies to make; but hope the candid and impartial public will not view them 'with a critic's eye.

WILLIAM CARVER.'

worth of the money which he paid for his board. He chose to perform all the functions of nature in bed. When censured for it he would say, 'I pay you money enough, and you shall labour for it.'

'He returned,' says Mr. Cheetham, 'to his farm at New Rochelle, taking with him Madame Bonneville and her sons. On his arrival, he hired Rachel Gidney, a black woman, to cook for him. Rachel continued with him about two months. But as he never thought of paying for services, or for meat, or for any thing else, Rachel had to sue him for five dollars, the amount of her wages. She got out a warrant; on which he was apprehended, and Mr. Shute, one of his neighbours and political admirers, was his bail. The wages were finally obtained, but he thought it hard that he should be sued in a country for which he had done so much"

It is now time to bring this article to a close. We will conclude it with a passage from a letter written by Dr. Manley, who attended this extraordinary person in his last illness, in answer to inquiries from the author of the work before us. P. 144.

During the latter part of his life, though his conversation was equivocal, his conduct was singular. He would not be left alone night or day. He not only required to have some person with him, but he must see that he or she was there, and would not allow his curtain to be closed at any time; and if, as it would sometimes unavoidably happen, he was left alone, he would scream and holla, until some person came to him. When relief from pain would admit, he seemed thoughtful and contemplative, his eyes being generally closed, and his hands folded upon his breast, although he never slept without the assistance of an anodyne. There was something remarkable in his conduct about this period, (which comprises about two weeks immediately preceding his death) particularly when we reflect, that Thomas Paine was author of the Age of Reason. He would call out during his paroxysms of distress, without intermission, 'O Lord help me, God help me, Jesus Christ help me, O Lord help me,' &c. repeating the same expression without any, the least variation, in a tone of voice that would alarm the house. It was this conduct which induced me to think that he had abandoned his former opinions; and I was more inclined to that belief, when I understood from his nurse, (who is a very serious, and, I believe,

pious woman) that he would occasionally inquire, when he saw her engaged with a book, what she was reading, and being answered, and at the same time asked whether she should read aloud,* he assented, and would appear to give particu lar attention.

"I took occasion, during the night of the 5th and 6th of June, to test the strength of his opinions respecting reve lation. I purposely made him a very late visit; it was a time which seemed to sort exactly with my errand; it was midnight; he was in great distress, constantly exclaiming in the words above-mentioned; when, after a considerable preface, I addressed him in the following manner, the nurse being present:

Mr. Paine, your opinions, by a large portion of the community, have been treat ed with deference: you have never been in the habit of mixing in your conversation words of course: you have never indulged in the practice of profane swearing: you must be sensible that we are acquainted with your religious opinions as they are given to the world. What must we think of your present conduct? Why do you call upon Jesus Christ to help you? Do you believe in the divinity of Jesus Christ? Come now, answer me honestly; I want an answer as from the lips of a dying man, for I verily believe that you will not live twenty-four hours.' I waited some time at the end of every question; he did not answer, but ceased to exclaim in the above manner. Again I addressed him. Mr. Paine, you have not answered my questions; will you answer them? Allow me to ask again-Do you believe? or let me qualify the question-do you wish to believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God? After a pause of some minutes, he answered, I have no wish to believe on that subject.' I then left him, and know not whether he afterwards spoke to any person, on any subject, though he lived, as I before observed, till the morning of

On the 8th of June, 1809, about nine in the morning, died this memorable reprobate, aged seventy-two years and five months; who at the close of the 18th century, had well nigh persuaded the common people of England, to think that all was wrong in that government and that religion which their forefathers had transmitted to them. He had the merit of discovering, that the best way of diffusing discontent and revolutionary fanaticism, was by a broad forms, of those infidel and anarchical display, in their naked and barbarous elements, which sophistry had, till his time, refined above the perceptions of the vulgar. By stripping the mischief of the dress, though still covering it with the name and boast of philosophy, he rendered it as familiar to the capacity as it was flattering to the passions of the mob; and easy to be understood in proportion to the ascendency of the baser qualities of the mind.

To the people he promulged, under the imposing title of the Rights of Man,' their dormant claim to an equal participation of luxury and power. And such has been the impression of that notable discovery, that we fear it will be long before the new methods of popular education, efficacious as they are said to be, will prepare the multitude to hear and understand, that power implies subordination, and that luxury owes its existence to the distinction of orders in society; that the riches they envy arise out of the inequality they deplore; that acquisition, enjoyment, dignity, and splendor, are the rewards which animate our hopes, and stimulate our exertions; but that to do this they must be stable and secure; that forced into activity by these incentives, we become gradually acquaintand are led in a regular ascent by the ed with the capabilities of our minds, hand of nature herself, to place, to character, to distinction, to privilege,

With respect to the unhappy teacher of this fraudulent philosophy to which we have so much alluded, we hope we shall hear no more of him. For the sake of England and humanity, it is to be wished that his impostures and his memory may rot together. In speaking of such a man it was impossible to suppress indignation. Decency towards the dead may draw the curtain of oblivion over transient obliquities of conduct, but duty to the living, demands the records of villainy to be honestly severe. The examples of the dead, either for warning or imitation, are the property of the living; and the veritable description of virtue and vice, is among the genuine rights of man. We shall now leave him to his reckoning with those whom his false and presumptuous theories may have conducted to practical misery; and whom his 'Rights of Man' and 'Age of Reason,' may have rendered proudly in'sensible to the concerns of the soul, and the perils which encompass our being.

To Mr. Cheetham we are certainly obliged for the completest develop ment we have yet seen of his character and principles. The work itself,

as a specimen of biography, and in point of literary merit, ranks with middling performances. It has many defects in grammar and composition, and nothing to arrest its progress to oblivion, but the magnitude of the wickedness which it records. No edition of it has yet issued from the English press, and we believe that there are very few copies of it in this country. We have extracted the greatest part of what is interesting in the volume, and enough we hope to increase in our countrymen their abhorrence of revolutionary characters and projects. Mr. Cheetham would have acted more wisely and discreetly had he contented himself 'with the mere mention of the blasphemous verses of Thomas Paine. The introduction of them in his notes could answer no purpose but that of shocking even vulgar decency, and the commonest respect for religion. The turpitude of moral as well as natural deformity should not be exhibited, without a little drapery to satisfy the demands of ordinary decorum. Although Mr. Cheetham, in page 89 of his work, confesses that with wit, at whatever expense, he is pleased; we hope to be excused by him, if, with all deference, we observe, that to be pleased with profane wit, is to prostitute our understandings, but to retail it to others is to sin against society as well as ourselves.

[We now offer to our readers an article from the Edinburgh Review, on the subject of a work which has been already noticed in the Select Reviews. But in doing this, we do not imagine that any apology will be demanded of us. They who peruse the two articles will find no repetitions, of illustration or argument, and, if a few of the same extracts from Sir Robert Wil

son's work, appear in each, it would scarcely justify us in withholding from the public the best powers of the conductors of the first journal which has yet instructed and amused the literary and political world. Ed. Sel. Rev.]

THIS is, in many points of view, a very interesting book. The name

of its author stands deservedly high, for gallantry and enterprise in the profession of arms; he is known too, and favourably known, by his former writings; and whatever comes from his pen, though frequently tinctured with prejudices, and marked with a zeal sometimes bordering on intemperance, bears nevertheless a strong character of originality and enthusiasm, which excites and maintains our attention. The subject of the present volume is sufficiently import

ant.

It is the real vindication of the Russian army from certain supposed charges, and a supposed defence of the Russians in general, from some actual imputations which recent travellers have brought against them. It contains many valuable particulars imperfectly known in this country; and, after making allowance for much inaccuracy, and a good deal of use. less disputation, to prove what no one seems to have disputed, must be allowed to have made an important addition to our knowledge of that country. If any further apology were wanting, for directing the attention of our readers to this work, we might find it in the circumstance of Sir Robert Wilson having apparently been led to publish it as an answer to Dr. Clarke's excellent travels, formerly noticed in this Journal.

The opportunities of information possessed by our author were, in so far as regards the Russian army, and the campaigns in Poland, exceedingly ample. He was attached to the mission of Lord Hutchinson during those campaigns; and, beside having access to the Russian staff, (if we may so term it), he was an eye witness of part of the manœuvres of the mass of the soldiers, which we are taught to call the Russian army. Studying the subject so nearly, and in company with so admirable a military observer as Lord Hutchinson, it must be his own fault if he has reported inaccurately to his readers; and, that the inaccuracy, if any, is undesigned, we may infer from the appeal which he

makes to that noble and gallant offi. cer to confirm his statements,—an appeal, which indeed, as yet, only manifests his own consciousness of well-meaning, inasmuch as it is coupled with the admission that Lord Hutchinson has not seen the work, nor consequently given any testimony to its correctness, but which, at all events, is an evidence of frankness and sincerity. Lord Hutchinson,' he observes, 'is indisputably high authority; and although I have had no communication with him relative to this publication, I dare to affirm, that he will corroborate all that I have stated respecting the emperor and his government, and the courage, conduct and merits of the Russian army; and that he will express his concurring sentiments in more impressive language than I have used, whenever suitable opportunity offers.' (p. vii.) He then goes on to mention various other things, for which Lord Hutchinson is, according to our author's expectations, ready to vouch, but which, until these large drafts on his Lordship are duly accepted, must rest entirely on the credit of Sir Robert Wilson. We do not mean to insinuate that this is inferior, we only remark, in passing, and to prevent mistakes, that it is a different security. He makes a similar appeal to

five hundred' other travellers, some of whom he names. But the only document like evidence which he has hitherto produced, is a short letter from the Hon. C. H. Hutchinson, expressive of his good will toward the Russians, and his indignations at the accusations made against them ;——-accusations, of which he seems to have no very correct idea, (probably because he took them at second hand); for he adds, that they have been described as a people with whom no intercourse should be held;' and we are confident, that if any such description has been given of them, it has not fallen under our eyes. In truth, Sir Robert Wilson himself defends the Russians against attacks which