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IN THE TIME OF THE REVOLUTION
Living the War of American Independence

ALAN AXELROD

Guilford, Connecticut
An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc.
4501 Forbes Blvd., Ste. 200
Lanham, MD 20706
www.rowman.com

Distributed by NATIONAL BOOK NETWORK

Copyright © 2020 by Alan Axelrod

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any

form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote
passages in a review.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information available

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019954036

ISBN 978-1-4930-3863-3 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4930-3864-0 (e-book)

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum

requirements of American National Standard for Information
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ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.
 CONTENTS

Introduction: The American Crisis

CHAPTER 1: Why Our Founding Fathers Fought Our Mother Country

CHAPTER 2: The War Young Washington Started
CHAPTER 3: The Rich, the Poor, and the “Middling Sort”
CHAPTER 4: Patriots, Loyalists, Native Americans, and Slaves
CHAPTER 5: America Praying, America Thinking
CHAPTER 6: King and Parliament
CHAPTER 7: From Massacre to Tea Party
CHAPTER 8: Tipping Point
CHAPTER 9: Heard round the World
CHAPTER 10: Of Green Mountains and Continental Ambitions
CHAPTER 11: Defeat and Triumph in Boston
CHAPTER 12: A Time of Decision
CHAPTER 13: The Long Retreat
CHAPTER 14: Counterattack
CHAPTER 15: Gentleman Johnny’s Plan
CHAPTER 16: The Capital Falls Yet the War Continues
CHAPTER 17: Saratoga Glory and an Ally Earned
CHAPTER 18: Hope Dims, Winter Calls
CHAPTER 19: Springtime
CHAPTER 20: Out of Uniform
CHAPTER 21: The Southern Strategy
CHAPTER 22: A Trial of Souls
CHAPTER 23: A Hero’s Life
CHAPTER 24: The Backcountry War
CHAPTER 25: Upside Down
CHAPTER 26: Never a Good War or a Bad Peace
 INTRODUCTION

The American Crisis

THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION WAS MORE THAN A WAR AND MORE, EVEN, than
a war for independence. It was what the American philosopher
Thomas Kuhn would call a paradigm shift. As he defined the phrase
in his highly influential 1962 The Structure of Scientific Revolutions,
a paradigm shift is not a change merely within known or accepted
frameworks (paradigms) but a change that renders the accepted
paradigms obsolete. Shattering them, it creates a new frame of
reference.
The American Revolution transformed government but, more
important, transformed an entire population from subjects of King
George III to citizens of the United States, which was the first nation
founded on a set of ideas, authorized by a body of men “in Congress
assembled,” and willed into existence by the blood and sacrifice of
aspiring Americans. Before the United States, nations were based on
tribes, race, territorial association, conquest, the hereditary—often
“God-given”—right of monarchs, or, typically, some combination of
these things. The United States, in contrast, was based on a
philosophy of human rights, natural rights, and the defense thereof.
It was formed, essentially, on a set of social contracts, the three
most important of which we call the Declaration of Independence,
the Articles of Confederation, and the Constitution.
But it is not the legal force of any agreement that created the
nation and that continues to sustain it. Although Americans often
seem to be among the most cynical people on the planet, we really
do believe in such things as the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit
of happiness, in justice and fair play, and in the sanctity of basic
human rights. When the occasional demagogue rises to challenge
these, his or her reign is typically short-lived. These were all values
at the heart of the American Revolution, and they remain our values
today.
But back to the cynicism. We Americans feel compelled to debunk
so-called idealistic or great causes. Did the Civil War really have
anything to do with ending slavery? You don’t have to look very far
to find more than a few people eager to tell you that it really was
“all about economics” (as if economics had nothing to do with
slavery). Similarly, many knowingly sneer at the American
Revolution. Its real cause? They will patiently explain that a clique of
wealthy colonial merchants and plantation owners were sick and
tired of sharing their profits with British tax collectors.
With respect to both the Civil War and the American Revolution,
the cynical view is not so much false as it is a half-truth—in other
words, wholly inadequate to explain the events. If you want a
simple, but still more complete, answer to what drove the American
Revolution, it is this. A sufficient number of people either believed or
were persuaded to believe that they were not living as fully, justly,
and even as naturally as they could and should. Instead of justice,
their lot was tyranny. Things were out of balance, and they burned
to set that balance right.
Without doubt, tyranny existed in eighteenth-century North
America. It was a land in which nearly three-quarters of a million
persons, all black, were enslaved by the end of the revolution. But
was the free white majority also the victim of tyranny?
Consider two of history’s most famous revolutions, both of which
came after the American Revolution.
The French Revolution (1787–1799) had many, often complex
causes, but the main ones were these: The people of France were
hungry, and the government failed to feed them. The government,
an absolute monarchy, was remarkably indifferent to the condition of
the people except when it came to meting out oppression to keep
them in line. Technology and commerce created an expanding
middle class, which was intolerably excluded from political power,
and a class of French political thinkers, known as the philosophes,
laid a compelling intellectual basis for radical reform.
Like the French Revolution, the Russian Revolutions of 1917
resulted most directly from the desperate want of the people. At the
most basic level, the people of Russia were hungry, and the nation
failed to feed them. Two classes of people, the peasantry
(agricultural laborers) and the proletariat (the urban working
population), who had both been excluded from all power for
centuries, were fed up and ready to bring about change. As for the
absolute monarchy of Russia, as in pre-revolutionary France, it was
indifferent to the condition of the people and often harshly
oppressive. In this environment, political leaders such as Lenin,
Stalin, and Trotsky gave the cause of revolution political and
intellectual direction.
At bottom, both the French Revolution and the Russian
Revolutions were driven by a popular instinct for survival. Conditions
had become so desperate, so intolerable, that change, by any means
necessary, seemed the only viable option. Make no mistake, the
history of these two great revolutions is rich and complex, but at the
root of both was a single starkly simple quality: desperation.
This was not true of the American Revolution. Doubtless, the
economics of life in the vast North American frontier regions was
harsh, yet few Americans went hungry, let alone starved. Moreover,
while many of the policies of the British monarchy were perceived as
unjust, King George III was not a tyrant—though some American
revolutionaries described him as such. He was a constitutional
monarch, not an absolute monarch, his powers strictly limited by a
parliamentary government. Although, as we will see, there was a
fundamental injustice in British colonial government, King George III
was, by the standards of his day, an enlightened monarch who may
have treated the colonies with contempt but lacked the power to
oppress the Americans with anything like the brute force Louis XVI
used against his French subjects or Czar Nicholas II exercised
against the Russians. In fact, most Americans retained ties of loyalty
and affection to the British monarch and did not hate him. For that
matter, the British government showed a willingness, albeit often a
grudging willingness, to compromise and even yield on many
colonial concerns. While it is easy to see the makings of a violent
revolt in France and Russia, one has to squint very, very hard to
detect anything comparable in eighteenth-century North America.
The American Crisis is the title of a series of pamphlets Thomas
Paine wrote and published during virtually the entirety of the
revolution, from 1776 to 1783. Paine, whose great pamphlet
Common Sense (January 10, 1776) was instrumental in persuading
the Continental Congress and the American people to declare
independence from Britain, sought in The American Crisis to make
the case for why the American people should support and sustain
the revolution.
So, what was the “American Crisis” that justified the loss of some
sixty-eight hundred Americans killed in action, sixty-one hundred
wounded, and twenty thousand taken prisoner (of whom perhaps
twelve thousand succumbed in captivity to disease)? What was the
crisis that made it worth inflicting some twenty-four thousand
casualties (killed, wounded, or captured) on British regular forces
and twelve hundred killed among the so-called Hessian mercenaries
in the British service?
In part, the justification was neither more nor less than the fact of
geography. America is very far from England, separated from it by a
vast ocean. Communication and travel between colony and mother
country were difficult, expensive, hazardous, and slow. Conducting
government across such distances was all but impossible, at least in
terms of understanding and responding to the needs of the
governed. The burden of distance made it increasingly difficult for
the colonists to identify with the people and government of the
mother country and for those in that distant land to identify with a
subject population in North America. In the fullness of time, the
colonies and the mother country simply developed separate and
unique identities.
For a time, the British government was content to let the colonies
pretty much govern themselves, but, as we will see, a series of
North American wars culminating in the French and Indian War
(1754–1763) increased the Crown’s feeling of possessiveness toward
the colonies. King George III wanted a tighter grasp on the people
and the territory his country had fought to defend. Many in Britain
felt that the Americans owed them a debt of unquestioning
allegiance.
Whatever the nature of that debt, Parliament began levying heavy
taxes and duties on the colonies. These were burdensome, but the
real issue they raised was the fundamental injustice of being
compelled to pay to support a government in which the colonies had
no parliamentary representation. Ever since the Magna Carta of
1215, English men and women had enjoyed a degree of
representation in the government they supported with their loyalty
and their treasure. In fact, no British subject paid a single shilling to
the king or the queen. Taxation was a power of Parliament, which
represented the people, the will of the people, and the consent of
the people.
The first demand of the “rebellious” American colonists was not
for independence but for representation in Parliament. That is, they
wanted the rights of English men and women. In a sense, the
colonists considered these common English rights to be “natural,”
since, they argued, “God made us Englishmen.” By the time the
colonists finally went to war with the mother country, those rights
were called the “rights of man,” natural rights, God-given.
 Such was the American crisis: a combination of mistreatment and
injustice that was partly the result of shortsighted,
uncomprehending, and wholly inadequate governance from Britain
and partly a result of geography. The phrase “taxation without
representation is tyranny” became a popular call to war among the
colonists. Strictly speaking, tyranny is government by an absolute
ruler who is unrestrained by law. This was not the case with the
British monarch. However, from the point of view of colonists who
had no representation—and therefore no voice—in government, the
situation was one of functional tyranny.
Perhaps that was “crisis” enough on which to base a war. But
there was more. Geography—distance, the great Atlantic Ocean—
made true parliamentary representation a practical impossibility.
Even if the British government had been willing to grant more of the
colonists’ demands, no power on earth could change geography,
time, and distance. For this reason, the American crisis was
especially resistant to any solution other than independence.
The crisis, then, was political, psychological, moral, and physical.
Added to what we might call these negative pressures was a set of
positive ideological drivers born of what cultural historians call “the
Enlightenment,” an era in which a remarkable array of European
philosophers and scientists, from the late seventeenth century
through the era of the American and French revolutions, rethought
and revised virtually every area of human enterprise. The negative
pressures set many Americans on a course toward revolution, but
the positive pressures caused them to run that course with both
hope and joy in anticipation not merely of righting some particular
wrongs but of creating in the process a newer and greater world.
 CHAPTER 1

Why Our Founding Fathers Fought Our

Mother Country

WHEN A MARRIED COUPLE GETS A DIVORCE AND CANNOT AGREE AMICAbly on

the terms, they plead their case in court before a judge. The law
provides a menu of reasons—“grounds”—such as adultery, desertion,
or domestic violence. Sometimes something or some things on this
menu adequately describe the grounds. Usually, though, the reasons
are more complicated than what can be captured in a word or two.
The legal decision rarely reflects such human complexity. But it’s a
necessary place to start. Chapters 2 through 7 will go deeper behind
America’s divorce from Crown and Parliament, but let us begin with
the simplest, most direct publicly stated reasons for the breakup.

A TYRANT KING—REALLY?
In 1776, the Continental Congress tasked Thomas Jefferson with
writing a brief document, the Declaration of Independence, for the
purpose of pleading the colonial case for independence. As Jefferson
himself acknowledged, “a decent respect to the opinions of mankind
requires [declaring] the causes which impel … the separation.”
The fact is that few revolutions begin with a declaration. Most
start with despair and desperation. They begin as an emotional
revolt against urgent need, wrong, or oppression. Consider the
French Revolution of 1789–1799. The vast majority of the French
were hungry, and the nation under Louis XVI could not or would not
feed them. Although there was a middle class rapidly rising in
France, they were mostly excluded from political power. Time for
change. Or take the Russian Revolutions of 1917. The vast majority
of Russians were hungry, and the nation under Czar Nicholas II
could not or would not feed them. The rural agricultural working
class (the peasants) and the urban industrial working class (the
proletariat) were excluded from political power. Time for a change.
Of course, both the French and the Russian revolutions were far
more complicated than this, but the raw fuel for both was the same.
People were suffering. People were dying and therefore urgently
desperate. They resolved to fight for survival. An automobile built
around a traditional internal combustion engine is far more complex
than the gasoline that drives it, but without the gasoline, the car
gets nowhere. In late-eighteenth-century France and early-
twentieth-century Russia, the gasoline of revolution was despair and
desperation.
And what of colonial America in the run-up to 1776?
There were economic problems. As we will see in Chapter 7, the
Boston Massacre started out as a labor riot during an economic
depression. On the colonial frontier, life was pretty rough. Yet for
many desperate European immigrants, colonial America figured as a
kind of promised land, a New World where life looked to be better
than in the Old. The historical record suggests that hunger, much
less starvation, was not a critical social problem in eighteenth-
century colonial America. So, we have to probe elsewhere for a
cause to rebel.
We know that King George III, his ministers, and the conservative
faction in Parliament were politically tone deaf and often unfair when
it came to the American colonies. They were often stubborn,
unresponsive, and just plain thick-headed.
Now, there would come a time, as we will see, in which the word
tyranny was bandied about, and Jefferson, in the 1776 Declaration,
accused King George III of committing “repeated injuries and
usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an
absolute tyranny over these states”—that is, America. Was this
accusation justified? As the word is usually understood, a “tyrant” is
a cruel, oppressive, and evil ruler. Does this describe George III?
Was he (take your pick) a Nero, a Caligula, an Ivan the Terrible, a
Vlad the Impaler, a Hitler, a Mugabe, a Mao Zedong, an Idi Amin, a
Pol Pot, a Saddam Hussein—or even a Louis XVI or Nicholas II?
Compare George III to the monarchs ruling other major colonial
powers of the time, Spain and France. Unlike Spain’s Charles III
(1716–1788) or France’s Louis XVI (1754–1793), George III was
substantially constrained by a strong national “constitution” (a body
of laws and traditions rather than a single document) founded on the
Magna Carta of 1215. Add to this a powerful liberal tradition of
common law deeply ingrained in the English culture.
 This 1859 painting by Johannes Adam Simon Oertel depicts the Sons of Liberty
pulling down a statue of King George III in New York City on July 9, 1776, after
Washington read the Declaration of Independence to locals. The statue was
pulled down, but the work was performed by slaves at the direction of their
owners. Eyewitnesses recall only soldiers and the “rougher sort” of civilians
gathered to watch. There were no Native Americans present. WIKIMEDIA
COMMONS

The American Revolution began with the Battles of Lexington and

Concord on April 19, 1775. Yet it was not until July of 1776 that the
decision for independence was made. For more than a year, the
British colonies were in violent armed revolt while most Americans
continued to feel toward George III a degree of loyalty and perhaps
even affection. At least, they did not hate him. Even after the
Continental Congress approved the Declaration of Independence
and, on July 4, 1776, the colonies ratified it, many Americans did not
agree with the long list of sins Jefferson tallied against the British
monarch. Whence, then, the decision to embark on a bitter and
violent divorce?

ABSENCE
To begin, there was the fact of the Atlantic Ocean, which separated
Britain from its American colonies. A one-way trip in 1776 took a
minimum of six weeks and could take as long as three months—if
you survived the perils of the sea and dangers posed by infectious
diseases in the close quarters of a small vessel. Not only was the
crossing time-consuming and hazardous, it was also costly, well
beyond the means of most travelers. If people and goods moved
between London and the colonial American capitals slowly and
expensively, so did letters and documents. The immutable fact of
geography made remotely governing colonies difficult. From the
perspective of the colonial subject, government was chronically
unresponsive, representation was nonexistent, and beneficent
authority seemed, in a word, absent. Crown and Parliament were
absentee landlords.
Doubtless, the British government looked on the American
colonies as the tail of the British bulldog. But, over the years, as
Americans born in America came to outnumber those who had
immigrated from Britain, the tail began to wag the dog. It is natural
to feel affinity for your place of birth, especially if you have never
even seen the place of your ancestors’ birth.
So, geography alone—the intractable physical realities of space
and time—provided a source of fuel for revolution. Yet, for a long
time, Crown and Parliament were content to be undemanding
absentee landlords. They reaped the rewards of possession of the
American colonies, sources of raw materials to import and a market
for manufactured goods to export, without interfering in colonial
affairs. British colonial policy was what historians have labeled
“salutary neglect.” Profits were made, taxes were collected, and the
colonists were left alone to govern themselves.
As we will see in the next chapter, salutary neglect began to
change in a series of wars fought from the late seventeenth century
through the middle of the eighteenth in North America, mainly
between Europe’s longtime rivals, Britain and France. These included
King William’s War (1689–1697), Queen Anne’s War (1702–1713),
and King George’s War (1744–1748). Each was the North American
theater of a European-based conflict: the War of the League of
Augsburg (or Nine Years’ War, 1688–1697), the War of the Spanish
Succession (1701–1714), and the War of the Austrian Succession
(1740–1748), respectively. In Europe, these conflicts culminated in
the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763), the North American theater of
which was called the French and Indian War (1754–1763).
The 1754–1763 conflict was tremendously destructive to the
colonies, and Crown and Parliament could no longer practice salutary
neglect, especially since the colonists looked to the mother country
for protection. Britain’s costly military contribution to the war made
the imperial government feel increasingly possessive of the colonies.
Moreover, the expense of fighting a major war across an ocean
created a massive debt, which, George, his ministers, and Parliament
believed the colonies should help to defray.
On the colonial side, the French and Indian War stirred English
patriotism and pride among many. But the increasingly heavy hand
the London government took, intervening in colonial affairs, strictly
regulating trade, and—soon—enforcing existing taxes and levying
new ones, began to unknot the bonds of loyalty already thinly
stretched across the broad Atlantic. There was also a feeling that
Britain’s military contribution to the French and Indian War had been
both inept and indifferent. Many colonists, young George
Washington among them, served in colonial militia units during the
war and had reason to be critical of the quality of some officers and
to be resentful of the disrespectful and belittling treatment colonial
troops often received from them.
Historians continue to debate whether the French and Indian War
tended to strengthen bonds between the colonies and Britain or
weaken them. What does seem apparent is that the colonists who
fought in the war were hardly awed by the performance of the
British military. On balance, it may well be that British intervention in
the conflict saved British North America from the French only to
begin losing it to the colonists themselves. Moreover, while British
victory ended the conflict with the French, fighting on the frontier
did not end. Continued war between Native Americans and colonists
strained British and colonial resources. In an effort to reduce tension
between the colonists and the Indians, George III issued a
proclamation on October 7, 1763 setting the Appalachian Mountains
as the limit to western colonial settlement.
In the beginning, the Proclamation of 1763 appeared to work
wonders, quickly ending Pontiac’s Rebellion, a bloody conflict fought
in the aftermath of the French and Indian War. In it, the Ottawa,
Delaware, and Iroquois, loosely led by the Ottawa chief Pontiac,
fought to reclaim lands they had lost in the war just ended. But as
the “Proclamation Line” pacified Native Americans, it enflamed many
settlers, who defiantly crossed it, provoking Indian raids throughout
the trans-Appalachian frontier. When settlers who had defied the
Proclamation Line called for help from royal authorities, they were
rebuffed as the lawbreakers they were.
The Proclamation of 1763 deepened a growing division between
the southeastern coastal region of the continent, the so-called
Tidewater, home to the longest-established and wealthiest portion of
the colonial population, and the western frontier, or Piedmont,
region, whose people were on the economic margins. One would
expect that the disaffected Piedmont would be stirred to revolution,
whereas the wealthy and established Tidewater would embrace the
status quo. In fact, because Tidewater people were more directly
connected to Europe than the Piedmont, they were also more
conversant with and receptive to the latest in ideas in philosophy,
science, and government. This awareness and attitude introduced
into the Tidewater a strong current of liberal thought, to which the
more remote inland Piedmont was not exposed. As a result, the
Piedmont tended toward both religious and political conservatism. As
more and more frontier people defied the Proclamation Line,
however, and violence with the Indians became widespread, the
hitherto conservative Piedmont, increasingly resentful of being
neglected by both the mother country and the Tidewater, was
radicalized. Soon, ideological liberalism in the Tidewater made that
population question colonial ties to the Crown and Parliament, while
a rawer form of radical rebellion took hold in the Piedmont. The two
regions were still divided from one another on many cultural issues,
but they grew increasingly united not so much in a common desire
for independence as in an evolving conception of tyranny. As for the
coastal cities, Boston quickly coalesced around rebellion, but New
York and Philadelphia tended to prize trade relations highly. The
merchant classes in these cities favored maintaining the status quo
with the British crown while the laboring classes drifted toward
independence.

TYRANNY
Regardless of where eighteenth-century colonists lived—north,
south, Tidewater, Piedmont, city or farm—chances are that they
thought of themselves not as Americans but as English men and
women who happened to live in America. The idea of breaking away
from the mother country formed only after an awareness grew
among more and more colonists that, while they were expected to
be loyal English men and women, they were being denied the full
rights and privileges of British subjects. Since King John had signed
the Magna Carta in 1215, subjects of the Crown were entitled to
representation in the government. The British monarch did not
possess absolute power but was subject (in varying degree) to the
will of Parliament, whose House of Commons, in turn, represented
the will of the people.
What is crucial to bear in mind is that the monarch had no power
of taxation. Parliament and Parliament alone had the power of the
purse—and that was crucial to the rights of English men and
women. They accepted taxation because the taxing authority was
not the person who inherited the throne but the Parliament who
represented not the king or queen but the people. What was
becoming increasingly clear to many colonists was the truth that
they—English men and women who happened to live across an
ocean—were taxed and yet not represented by Parliament, the
authority that taxed them. As we will see in Chapter 4, this
realization would crystallize into a definition of tyranny. When it did,
“tyranny” would no longer be some vague, subjective, highly
emotional concept. It would be as objective as an equation: Taxation
without representation is tyranny.
TAXATION
The long era of so-called salutary neglect ended with the royal
imposition of the Proclamation Line, which was the first step in a
transformation from salutary neglect to what we might term
malignant interference. The new approach came in a torrent of taxes
—some new and others long-established taxes that simply had never
been enforced before. The taxes were established by a series of
revenue laws, many of which also regulated and restricted colonial
free enterprise by forcing colonists to export their goods exclusively
to England and to import other goods exclusively from England. This
was felt as an even more oppressive burden than the taxes.
The cascade of taxes, duties, and regulations hit the colonial
economy hard, which was already suffering from the depressive
effects of the French and Indian War. To this injury was added the
insult of what the colonists perceived as royal indifference and
arrogance. Financially afflicted, the colonists were also made to feel
abused. In 1765, a Quartering Act required colonial governments to
furnish barracks and provisions for royal troops, the very personnel
charged with enforcing the hated taxes and regulations. Already
inclined to see taxation without representation as tyranny, the
American colonists now saw themselves as also occupied by a
“foreign” army. This made tyranny feel like much more than an
equation. It was an invasion.
A tone-deaf London government turned the screw even tighter
with acts designed to enhance the enforcement of the revenue acts.
All violations of these acts were henceforth to be tried not in colonial
courts, but in vice-admiralty courts, which answered to the Crown
rather than to the people of America. Moreover, admiralty courts had
no juries, which meant that one of the most sacred rights
guaranteed to all English men and women by the Magna Carta—the
right to be tried by a jury of one’s peers—was denied to colonists
accused of failing to pay taxes levied by a Parliament in which they
had no voice.

TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION

We need to return to the concept of taxation without representation.
Even in the mid-1760s, the majority of colonists were not ready to
argue, let alone agree, that George III and Parliament were on the
attack against their human rights, the rights Jefferson, in 1776,
would call “self-evident” and “unalienable.” What a growing number
of them were arguing was that they were being denied the rights
long enjoyed by all British subjects.
On February 24, 1761, a prominent Boston lawyer, James Otis,
made a speech that galvanized the popular sense of unjust
discrimination by Crown and Parliament. The speech concerned
“writs of assistance,” which were legal orders compelling colonial
officials to cooperate with royal officers in curbing and prosecuting
customs and duties violations. One line from this speech rang out
very loudly. Otis declared: “Taxation without representation is
tyranny.”
Another local attorney, John Adams, heard the speech and
immediately wrote to his wife, the brilliant Abigail Adams, that Otis,
impassioned, “burned with a fire of flame.” That flame spread, and
“No taxation without representation” became a battle cry. Everybody
grumbles about taxes and onerous regulations. Those who heard
Otis’s speech or read it or heard about it experienced an epiphany.
They realized that taxes and trade regulations were not the principal
issues. No. It was all about the imposition of these taxes and other
laws by a government that gave the governed no voice in the
matter. The function of government and taxes and laws is to benefit
the people. Fulfilling this function requires a government that
embodies the will of the governed. Absent this, there is only tyranny.
What is more, it is a tyranny that had been abolished among the
English long ago, in 1215, by the Magna Carta. Thus, no subject of
the king could be expected to tolerate it now—whether that subject
lived in London, England, or Boston, Massachusetts. Parliament, in
which the English people were represented, levied taxes. Not a
penny of tax could be levied by an English monarch. And not a
penny could rightfully be extorted from English men and women
who lacked parliamentary representation. English men and women
would never subjugate themselves to a tyrant.
So, a diagnosis of colonial discontent was born in 1761: Taxation
without representation is tyranny. Now, what was the cure?
Some colonial leaders proposed to do nothing more than appeal to
Parliament for representation. In reply to the appeal, Parliament
claimed that, although its members were indeed elected from
geographical districts, they really did not represent the districts that
elected them. The political theory now proposed held that each
member of Parliament represented all English subjects, including the
colonists, even though they had no vote.
It was a lame argument, a non-starter. Worse, it provoked some
colonial leaders to argue that even if Crown and Parliament did
someday agree to some formula whereby the colonies would be
directly represented in Parliament—and no one believed that Crown
and Parliament ever would agree to this—proportional parliamentary
representation for the colonies was manifestly a practical
impossibility.
There were three reasons for this. First, the barrier of time and
distance presented by the Atlantic Ocean was an insuperable
obstacle to efficient, effective representation. Second, colonial
interests were often very different from those of the mother country
—especially where trade was concerned. Third, Parliament would
never—and, really, could never—grant to the rapidly growing
colonies anything like proportional representation. At some point in
the not-too-distant future, it was clear, colonial population would
exceed British population in Europe. Proportional representation that
would be fair to the colonists as well as to the people of England just
was not possible.
Here was the kernel of the independence movement. Taxation
without representation is tyranny. Representation for the colonies is
ultimately impossible. English men and women, wherever they
happened to live, would never bow to tyranny. Therefore, the only
option was independence from Britain.
But if Crown and Parliament refused—as they most certainly would
—to accept this formulation of truth? The only course remaining
would be revolution.
 CHAPTER 2

The War Young Washington Started

THE FOUR-YEAR-LONG KING GEORGE’S WAR, THE THIRD OF THREE wars

involving the French, the British, and the Indian allies of each in
North America, ended in 1748, when the parallel War of the Austrian
Succession ended in Europe. This brought to the American frontier a
most fleeting peace, which began falling apart on March 16, 1749,
when King George II granted vast western tracts to the Ohio
Company, a powerful syndicate of British traders and speculators.
The grant came with strings attached. Within seven years, the
company had to plant a settlement of one hundred families and build
a fort for their protection—or forfeit the land. Both the French and
Indians saw this as the start of an English invasion into their
territories.

ALLIES AND ENEMIES

In response to the English influx, the Marquis de La Jonquière,
governor of New France, built Fort Rouillé (at the location of
present-day Toronto) to cut off trade between the northern Great
Lakes and Oswego, a British stronghold on the south shore of Lake
Ontario in New York. Jonquière also added fortifications at French-
held Detroit and launched a punitive raid against the English-allied
Shawnee, which proved counterproductive, driving that tribe deeper
into the English fold. British colonial authorities supported the
aggressiveness of English traders and purchased more western land
from the Indians. In 1752, the British negotiated a treaty at
Logstown (Ambridge, Pennsylvania) between the Iroquois Six
Nations, Delaware, Shawnee, and Wyandot on the one side and
Virginia and the Ohio Company on the other. The treaty secured for
Virginia a quitclaim to the entire Ohio country.
The British were in the process of gaining valuable Indian allies
when the Miami (or Twightwee) Indian village at Pickawillany
(present-day Piqua, Ohio) was raided by French-led Native American
forces on June 21, 1752. In response, the Senecas, westernmost of
the Iroquois tribes, asked the Virginia government to build a
defensive fort at the forks of the Ohio, the site of present-day
Pittsburgh. The Virginians responded with no response, a rebuff that
sent the Miamis into the French camp—a move that instantly undid
the Logstown Treaty and, as a result, began to drive English trade
out of the Ohio Valley.
The new governor of New France, the Marquis Duquesne, was
quick to pounce on the rupture in British relations with the Native
Americans. He built a string of new forts extending from Montreal
down to New Orleans. This intimidated the Iroquois and other
English-allied tribes throughout the Ohio. By 1753, Britain’s few
dwindling Indian alliances were dissolving. Yet, at precisely this
point, in far-off London, Lord Halifax, a principal booster of Britain’s
North American empire, prodded the Cabinet toward a declaration of
war against France. He argued that the French, by trading
throughout the Ohio Valley, had invaded Virginia. Cabinet and Crown
ordered Virginia lieutenant governor Robert Dinwiddie to take
military measures to evict the French from territory under his
jurisdiction. Dinwiddie accordingly commissioned twenty-one-year-
old Virginia planter and militia officer George Washington to carry an
ultimatum to Captain Jacques Legardeur de Saint-Pierre,
commandant of Fort LeBoeuf (present-day Waterford, Pennsylvania):
France must vacate the Ohio country or face forcible eviction.
 Washington set out from Williamsburg on October 31, 1753, with
a small delegation. He reached Fort LeBoeuf on December 12, 1753,
where Captain Legardeur politely rejected the ultimatum.
Washington reported this to Dinwiddie, who ordered Captain William
Trent to build at the forks of the Ohio the fort that Britain’s erstwhile
Indian allies had requested. On April 17, 1754, Captain Claude-Pierre
Pécaudy de Contrecoeur, the new French commandant of Fort
LeBoeuf, attacked the nearly completed British fort. Its commander
and garrison surrendered to superior French forces without a fight.
Contrecoeur renamed the structure Fort Duquesne.
In the meantime, on the very day the Ohio fort fell, Dinwiddie,
unaware of the surrender, dispatched Washington with 150
militiamen to reinforce the fort Virginia no longer held. On May 28,
Washington led forty of his provincials and a dozen Indian warriors
in a surprise assault on a thirty-three-man French reconnaissance
party. In the ensuing combat that followed, ten of the Frenchmen
were killed, and the remaining twenty-three surrendered.
Washington thus claimed the first victory of his military career in an
encounter of which the English writer Horace Walpole would later
write: “The volley fired by a young Virginian in the backwoods of
America set the world on fire.”

FIRE IN THE WILDERNESS

Washington had started the French and Indian War, which would
soon become the North American theater of the Seven Years’ War,
an epic conflagration many historians consider the first “world” war,
since it engulfed North America, Europe, and other French and
British colonies, including in India.
But George Washington was not worried about the world. He
understood he had more immediate problems. The French, he knew,
would certainly retaliate against him—in strength. He scrambled to
recruit more Delaware warriors but could muster no more than forty
Another random document with
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 VOL. VIII.

93. ‘Not one of the angles,’ etc. Tristram Shandy, Book III.
chap. xii.
164. ‘Shines like Hesperus,’ etc. The Faerie Queene, I. vii. 30.
371. ‘A singing face.’ Bombastes Furioso, Sc. I.
437. ‘Such were the joys,’ etc. Bickerstaffe, Love in a Village,
II. 1.
 VOL. IX.

64. ‘Play at bowls,’ etc. Hazlitt elsewhere quotes these words

as from ‘an old song.’
106. ‘To dream and be an Emperour.’ Cf. ‘I am like a man
that dreamt he was an Emperour.’ Fletcher, The Spanish
Curate, II. 2.
245. ‘Perceive a fury,’ etc. Cf. Othello, IV. 2.
292. ‘Retire, the world shut out,’ etc. Young, Night Thoughts
(IX.).
429. The Gods, ‘the children of Homer.’ Lucien Buonaparte,
Charlemagne. See vol XI. (Fugitive Writings), p. 232.
 VOL. X.

187. ‘Empurpling all the ground.’ Cf. Lycidas, 141.

208. ‘Relegated to obscure cloisters,’ etc. Cf. Burke,
Reflections on the Revolution in France (Select Works, ed.
Payne, II. 121).
260. ‘Yet his infelicity,’ etc. Cf. Webster, The Duchess of
Malfy, Act IV. Sc. 2.
314. The American Farmer’s Letters. Letters from an
American Farmer, by Hector St. John Crevecœur (1731–
1813), published 1794.
378. ‘Hold our hands,’ etc. Cf. Dryden, Alexander’s Feast, 72.
 VOL. XI.

277. ‘I take her body,’ etc. These lines are not Suckling’s, but
from a song by Congreve, beginning ‘Tell me no more I am
deceived.’
336. ‘Loud as a trumpet,’ etc. Dryden, Palamon and Arcite,
III. 85.

338. ‘Like importunate Guinea fowls,’ etc. Burke’s Regicide

Peace (ed. Payne, p. 51).
427 (and p. 501). ‘Hymns its good god,’ etc. Cf. Thomson, The
Castle of Indolence, I. x.
488. ‘Each other’s beams to share,’ Collins, Ode, The
Manners, 56.

The following printer’s errors may be noted:—

Vol. I. p. 436 (note to p. 142). Read The Beggar’s Opera, Act I. Sc.
1.
Vol. II. p. 440 (note to p. 391). For Huckman read Hackman.
Vol. V. p. 391 (note to p. 97). Read The Spirit of the Age, vol. IV.,
etc.
Vol. V. p. 406 (note to p. 254). Read Here be woods.
Vol. V. p. 410 (note to p. 318). The words ‘The Countess ... in 1690’
belong to the note above.
Vol. VI. p. 519 (note to p. 435). For 1870 read 1780.
Vol. IX. p. 458 (note to p. 247). Read Sir Martin Archer Shee.
Vol. IX. p. 463 (note to p. 317). For Mallard read Mallord.
 INDEX
TO THE TITLES OF HAZLITT’S WRITINGS

Abstract Ideas, On, xi. 1.

Acted Drama in London, Essays on, contributed to the London
Magazine, viii. 381.
Actors and Acting, On, i. 153, 156.
—— and the Public, xi. 348.
—— ought to sit in the Boxes? Whether, vi. 272.
Adelaide, or the Emigrants, viii. 308.
All’s Well that Ends Well, i. 329.
Alsop’s Rosalind, Mrs., viii. 252.
American Literature, Dr. Channing, x. 310.
Ancient and Modern Literature, On the Spirit of—On the German
Drama, contrasted with that of the Age of Elizabeth, v. 345.
Angerstein’s Collection, Mr., ix. 7.
Anglade Family, The, viii. 279.
Antiquity, On, vii. 252.
Antony and Cleopatra, i. 228; viii. 190.
Apostates, On Modern, iii. 155.
Application to Study, On, vii. 55.
Arguing in a Circle, xii. 285.
Aristocracy of Letters, On the, vi. 205.
Art, Fragments on, ix. 489.
Artaxerxes, viii. 192.
Arts are not Progressive? Why the, A Fragment, i. 160.
As You Like It, i. 338.

Bacon’s Works, Character of Lord, compared as to style with Sir

Thomas Browne and Jeremy Taylor, v. 326.
Ballads, On the Old English, v. 123.
Ballets, Two New, viii. 353.
Bannister’s Farewell, Mr., viii. 229.
Barbarossa, viii. 372.
Barry, James, ix. 413.
Beaumont, F., v. 295.
—— and Fletcher, Ben Jonson, Ford, and Massinger, On, v. 248.
Beauty, On, i. 68.
Beggar’s Opera, On the, i. 65; viii. 193, 254; xi. 373.
Belief, Whether Voluntary, xii. 439.
Bentham, Jeremy, iv. 189; xi. 411.
Bertram, viii. 304.
Bonaparte, iii. 52; iii. 350.
—— and Muller, iii. 154.
Bonaparte’s Collection, etc., Lucien, xi. 237.
Booth’s Duke of Gloster, Mr., viii. 354;
Iago, viii. 355;
Richard, viii. 357.
Bourbons and Bonaparte, The, iii. 52.
Bowles, Mr., xi. 486.
Boyle’s Rosalind, Miss, viii. 336.
British Institution, xi. 242, 246, 248.
Brougham, Mr., iv. 318.
—— Esq., M.P., The Speech of Henry, iii. 127, 132.
Browne, Sir Thomas, v. 326.
Brunton’s Rosalind, Miss, xi. 396.
Buncle, On John, i. 51.
Burdett, Sir F., iv. 319.
Burke, Character of, Mr., iii. 252, 325.
Burleigh House, Pictures at, ix. 62.
Burns and the Old English Ballads, On, v. 123.
Busy Body, The, viii. 270.
Butler, viii. 49.
Byron, Lord, iv. 253; xi. 486.
—— and Wordsworth, xii. 328.

Campbell, Mr., iv. 343.

Canning, Character of, xi. 334.
Cant and Hypocrisy, On, xii. 330, 336.
Castle of Andalusia, viii. 329.
Catalogue Raisonné of the British Institution, On the, i. 140, 146; ix.
311.
Chalmers, Dr., xii. 275.
Channing, Dr., x. 310.
Chapman, v. 223.
Characteristics in the Manner of Rochefoucauld’s Maxims, i. 351.
Characters of Shakespear’s Plays, i. 165.
Charlemagne: ou l’Église délivrée, xi. 230, 234.
Chatham, Character of Lord, iii. 321.
Chaucer and Spenser, On, v. 19.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, xi. 420.
Civil and Criminal Legislation, Project for a New Theory of, xii. 405.
Classical Education, On, i. 4.
Clerical Character, On the, iii. 266, 271, 277.
Cobbett, Mr., iv. 334;
Character of, vi. 50.
Coffee-House Politicians, On, vi. 189.
Coleridge, Mr., iv. 212; xi. 411;
Memorabilia of, xii. 346.
Coleridge’s Christabel, x. 411; xi. 580;
Lay-Sermon, iii. 152; x. 120;
Lectures, xi. 416;
Literary Life, x. 135.
Collins, v. 104.
Comedy of Errors, The, i. 351.
Comic Writers of the Last Century, On the, viii. 149.
Common-Place Critics, On, i. 136.
Common Places, xi. 541.
—— Sense, xii. 377.
Comus, viii. 230.
Conduct of Life, On the; or, Advice to a Schoolboy, xii. 423.
Congress, whether the Friends of Freedom can entertain any
sanguine Hopes of the favourable Results of the ensuing, iii. 103.
Congreve, viii. 70.
Conquest of Taranto, The, viii. 366.
Consistency of Opinion, On, xi. 508.
Controversy, The Spirit of, xii. 381.
Conversation of Authors, On the, vii. 24, 35.
Conversations as Good as Real, xii. 363, 369.
Coriolanus, i. 214; viii. 347.
Corporate Bodies, vi. 264.
Country People, Character of the, xi. 309.
Courier and Times Newspaper, On the, iii. 58.
—— The, and ‘the Wat Tyler,’ iii. 200.
Court Influence, On, iii. 254, 259.
—— Journal, The, A Dialogue, xii. 354.
Cowley, Butler, Suckling, Etherege, etc., On, viii. 49.
Cowper, v. 85.
Crabbe, Mr., iv. 343; xi. 603.
Criticism, On, vi. 214.
Curran, the late Mr., xii. 353.
Cymbeline, i. 179.

Dandy School, The, xi. 343.

Daniel, v. 295.
Dansomanie, The, xi. 299.
Deckar, v. 223.
D’Enghien, The Duke, xi. 577.
Defoe, Wilson’s Life and Times of Daniel, x. 355.
Depth and Superficiality, On, vii. 346.
Didone Abandonnata, viii. 196.
Disadvantages of Intellectual Superiority, On the, vi. 279.
Disagreeable People, On, xii. 173.
Distant Objects Please, Why, vi. 255.
Distressed Mother, The, viii. 334.
Don Giovanni and Kean’s Eustace de St. Pierre, xi. 307.
Don Juan, viii. 362.
Dottrel-Catching, iii. 51.
Double Gallant, viii. 359.
Dowton in the Hypocrite, xi. 395.
Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, Lectures on, v. 169.
Drayton, v. 295.
Dreams, On, vii. 17.
Dryden and Pope, On, v. 68.
Duke of Milan, The, viii. 289.
Dulwich Gallery, The, ix. 17.
Dunlop’s History of Fiction, x. 5.

Edinburgh Review, Contributions to the, x. 1.

Editors, A Chapter on, xii. 230.
Edwards’s Richard III., Mr., viii. 247.
Effeminacy of Character, On, vi. 248.
Egotism, On, vii. 157.
Eldon, Lord, iv. 325.
Elgin Marbles, On the, ix. 326.
Elia, iv. 362.
Eloquence of the British Senate, iii. 387.
England in 1798, iii. 241.
English Comic Writers, Lectures on, viii. 1.
—— Grammar, xii. 342.
—— Novelists, On the, viii. 106.
—— Poets, Lectures on the, v. 1.
—— Students at Rome, ix. 367.
Envy, xii. 386;
On, vii. 97.
Essay-Writing, A Farewell to, xii. 321.
Etherege, viii. 49.
Every Man in His Humour, viii. 310.
Exit by Mistake, viii. 321.

Fair Penitent, The, viii. 287.

Fame, On Different Sorts of, i. 93.
Familiar Style, On, vi. 242.
Farquhar, viii. 70.
Fashion, On, xi. 437.
Fear of Death, On the, vi. 321.
Fight, The, xii. 1.
Fine Arts, ix. 377.
—— British Institution, xi. 187.
—— The Louvre, xi. 195.
Flaxman’s Lectures on Sculpture, x. 330.
Fletcher, v. 248.
Fletcher, P., v. 295.
Fonthill Abbey, ix. 348.
Footmen, xii. 131.
Ford, v. 248.
Four P’s, The, v. 274.
Fox, Character of Mr., iii. 337.
France and Italy, Notes on a Journey through, ix. 83.
Free Admission, The, xii. 119.
—— Thoughts on Public Affairs or Advice to a Patriot, in a Letter
addressed to a Member of the Old Opposition, iii. 1.
French Plays, xi. 352, 356.
Fudge Family in Paris, The, iii. 311.

Gainsborough’s Pictures, On, xi. 202.

Gammer Gurton’s Needle, v. 274.
Genius and Common Sense, vi. 31, 42.
—— and Originality, On, xi. 210.
—— is Conscious of its Powers? Whether, vii. 117.
Geoffrey Crayon, iv. 362.
George Barnwell, viii. 268.
German Drama, contrasted with that of the Age of Elizabeth, On the,
v. 345.
Gifford, Mr., iv. 298.
—— Esq., A Letter to William, i. 363.
Godwin, William, iv. 200; x. 385.
Going a Journey, On, vi. 181.
Good-Nature, On, i. 100.
Good Old Times, Sketches of the History of the, xi. 582.
Grammar of the English Tongue, Preface to a New and Improved, iv.
387.
Gray, v. 104.
Great and Little Things, On, vi. 226.
Grosvenor’s Collection of Pictures, Lord, ix. 49.
Gusto, On, i. 77.
Guy Faux, xi. 317, 323, 328.

Hamlet, i. 232.
Hampton Court, The Pictures at, ix. 42.
Harley’s Fidget, Mr., viii. 239.
Hartley and Helvetius, Remarks on the Systems of, vii. 434.
Haydon’s ‘Solomon,’ On, ix. 309.
—— ‘Christ’s Agony in the Garden,’ xi. 481.
Helvetius, vii. 434.
Henry IV., i. 277.
—— V., i. 285.
—— VI., i. 292.
—— VIII., i. 303.
Heroes of Romance are insipid, Why the, xii. 59.
Heywood, v. 192.
Hobbes, On the Writings of, xi. 25.
Hogarth’s ‘Marriage a-la-mode,’ Criticism on, ix. 75;
On, i. 25, 28.
Hogarth, On the Works of, On the grand and familiar style of
painting, viii. 133.
Holcroft, Memoirs of the late Thomas, ii. 1.
Honeymoon, The, xi. 409.
Hot and Cold, vii. 169.
Human Action, An Essay on the Principles of, vii. 383.
Humorous Lieutenant, The, viii. 353.
Hunt, Mr. Leigh, iv. 353.
Hunt’s Rimini, Leigh, x. 407.
Hypocrite, The, viii. 245.
Ideal, The, ix. 429; xi. 223.
Ignorance of the Learned, On the, vi. 70.
Imitation, On, i. 72.
—— of Nature, On the, xi. 216.
Immortality in Youth, On the Feeling of, xii. 150.
Indian Jugglers, The, vi. 77.
Iron Chest, The, viii. 342.
Irving, Rev. Mr., iv. 222; xii. 275.
Italian Opera, The, viii. 324.

Jane Shore, viii. 352.

Jealous Wife, The, viii. 316.
Jealousy and the Spleen of Party, On the, vii. 365.
Jeffrey, Mr., iv. 310.
Jews, Emancipation of the, xii. 461.
John Bull, Character of, i. 97.
—— du Bart, viii. 253.
—— Gilpin, xi. 305.
——, King, i. 306; xi. 410.
Jonson, Ben, v. 248; viii. 30.
Judging of Pictures, ix. 356.
Julius Cæsar, i. 195.

Kean, Charles, xi. 362.

—— Mr., viii. 292; xi. 389, 410.
—— and Miss O’Neill, xi. 407.
Kean’s Bajazet and ‘The Country Girl,’ Mr., xi. 274;
 Eustace de St. Pierre, xi. 307;
Hamlet, viii. 185;
Iago, i. 14; viii. 190, 211, 215, 559;
Leon, viii. 233;
Macbeth, viii. 204, xi. 404;
Sir Giles Overreach, viii. 284;
Othello, viii. 189; xi. 405;
Richard, viii. 180, 200;
Richard II., viii. 221;
Richard III., xi. 399;
Romeo, viii. 208;
Shylock, viii. 179, 294;
Zanga, viii. 227.
Kemble’s Cato, Mr., viii. 342;
King John, viii. 345;
Sir Giles Overreach, viii. 302;
Penruddock, xi. 205;
Retirement, viii. 374.
King’s Proxy, The, viii. 243.
Knowledge of Character, On the, vi. 303.
—— of the World, On, xii. 297, 301, 306.

Landor’s Imaginary Conversations, x. 231.

Lawyers and Poets, On Modern, iii. 161.
Lay of the Laureate, The, Carmen Nuptiale, iii. 109.
Lay-Sermon, A.... By S. T. Coleridge, Esq., iii. 138.
Lear, i. 257.
Letter-Bell, The, xii. 235.
Liber Amoris or the New Pygmalion, ii. 283.
Libertine, The, viii. 370.
Liberty and Necessity, On, xi. 48.
Literary Character, On the, i. 131.
Living in London, viii. 242.
Living Poets, On the, v. 143.
—— to One’s-self, On, vi. 90.
Locke, Mr., as a great plagiarist, xi. 284.
Locke’s Essay on the Human Understanding, On, xi. 74.
Logic, xii. 350.
Londoners and Country People, On, vii. 66.
Look of a Gentleman, On the, vii. 209.
Lords, On the Conversation of, xii. 38.
Love for Love, viii. 278.
—— of Life, On the, i. 4.
—— of Power or Action as main a principle in the Human Mind as
Sensibility to Pleasure or Pain, The, xi. 263.
—— of the Country, On the, i. 17.
Lovers’ Vows, viii. 249.
Love’s Labour’s Lost, i. 332.
Lyly, v. 192.

Macbeth, i. 186.
Macirone, Francis ... Interesting Facts relating to the Fall and Death
of Joachim Murat, etc., iii. 177, 183.
Mackintosh, Sir James, iv. 279.
Macready’s Macbeth, Mr., xi. 315;
Othello, viii. 338.
Maid and the Magpie, The, viii. 244.
Main-Chance, The, xii. 78.
Malthus, Mr. iv. 287;
a Reply to the Essay on Population by the Rev. T. R., iv. 1.
Malthus’s Doctrines, An examination of Mr., iii. 356;
Essay, On the Originality of, iii. 361;
Principle to the Poor Laws, On the Application of Mr., iii. 374.
Man, Aphorisms on, xii. 209.
Man of the World, The, viii. 318, 350.
Manner, On, i. 41.
Manners, Essay on, xi. 269.
Marlow, v. 192.
Mars, Mademoiselle, vii. 324.
Marston, Chapman, Deckar, and Webster, On, v. 223.
Massinger, v. 248.
Maurice’s Parrot, Prince, iii. 101.
Maywood’s Shylock, Mr., viii. 374;
Zanga, xi. 397.
Means and Ends, On, xii. 184.
Measure for Measure, i. 345; viii. 281.
Merchant of Bruges, The, viii. 264.
—— of Venice, The, i. 320.
Merry England, xii. 15.
Merry Wives of Windsor, The, i. 349.
Merry’s Mandane, Miss, viii. 320.
Methodism, On the Causes of, i. 57.
Middleton, v. 192.
Midsummer Night’s Dream, On the, i. 61, 244; viii. 274.
Milton, v. 44.
Milton’s Eve, On the character of, i. 105;
Lycidas, On, i. 31;
Sonnets, On, vi. 174;
Versification, On, i. 36.
Miscellaneous Poems, F. Beaumont, P. Fletcher, Drayton, Daniel,
etc., Sir P. Sidney’s Arcadia, and other Works, On, v. 295.
Modern Comedy, On, i. 10; viii. 551.
Monarchy, On the Spirit of, xii. 241.
Money, On the want of, xii. 136.
Moore, Mr. T., iv. 353.
Much Ado about Nothing, i. 335.
Muller, iii. 154.
Munden’s Sir Peter Teazle, xi. 392.
My First Acquaintance with Poets, xii. 259.
My Wife! What Wife?, viii. 237.
My Landlady’s Night-Gown, viii. 328.

New English Opera-House, viii. 314.

New Way to pay Old Debts, A, viii. 272.
Nicknames, On, xi. 442.
Northcote, Esq., R. A., Conversations of James, vi. 331.
Novelty and Familiarity, On, vii. 294.

Old Actors, Some of the, xi. 366.

Old Age of Artists, On the, vii. 88.
—— Customs, viii. 327.
—— English Writers and Speakers, On, vii. 311.
O’Neill’s Belvidera, Miss, viii. 261;
Elwina, viii. 256;
Juliet, viii. 198;
Lady Teazle, viii. 291;
Widow Cheerly, xi. 297.
Opera, The, xi. 426.
—— The Company at the, xi. 369.
Opposition, The, and ‘the Courier,’ iii. 240.
Oratorios, The, viii. 296.
Originality, ix. 423.
Oroonoko, xi. 301.
Othello, i. 200.
Oxford and Blenheim, Pictures at, ix. 69.

‘Pannel, The,’ and ‘The Ravens,’ xi. 303.

Paradox and Common-Place, On, vi. 146.
Parallel Passages in various Poets, xi. 282.
Parliamentary Eloquence, On the Present State of, xi. 464.
Partisanship, On the Spirit of, xi. 521.
Party-Spirit, On, xii. 402.
Past and Future, On the, vi. 21.
Pasta, Madame, and Mademoiselle Mars, vii. 324.
Patriotism, On, A Fragment, i. 67.
Patronage and Puffing, On, vi. 289.
Pedantry, On, i. 80, 84.
Penelope and the Dansomanie, xi. 299.
People? What is the, iii. 283, 292.
—— of Sense, On, vii. 242.
—— with One Idea, On, vi. 59.
Periodical Essayists, On the, viii. 91.
—— Press, The, x. 202.
Personal Character, On, vii. 230.
—— Identity, On, xii. 198.
—— Politics, xii. 456.
Persons One would Wish to have Seen, Of, xii. 26.
Peter Pindar, xii. 348.
‘Peveril of the Peak,’ xi. 537.
Philosophical Necessity, Doctrine of, xi. 277.
Picture-Galleries in England, Sketches of the Principal, ix. 1.
Picturesque and Ideal, On the, vi. 317.
‘Pirate, The,’ xi. 531.
Pitt and Buonaparte, iii. 350.
Pitt, Character of the late Mr., i. 125; iii. 346.
Plain Speaker, The, vii. 1.
Pleasure of Painting, On the, vi. 5, 13.
Pleasures of Hating, On the, vii. 127.
Poetry, xii. 339.
—— in General, On, v. 1.
Poetical Versatility, On, i. 151.
Political Essays, with Sketches of Public Characters, iii. 25.
Pope, v. 68.
—— Lord Byron and Mr. Bowles, xi. 486.
—— was a Poet, On the Question whether, xi. 430.
Popular Opinion, On the Causes of, xii. 316.
Population, On the Principle of, as affecting the schemes of Utopian
Improvement, iii. 367;
Queries relating to the Essay on, iii. 381.
Posthumous Fame, On, Whether Shakspeare was influenced by a
love of it, i. 21.
Poussin, On a Landscape of Nicolas, vi. 168.