and set up for absolute independence, we shall lose the sympathy of mankind.  We shall no longer be defending what we possess, but struggling for something which we never did possess, and which we have solemnly and uniformly disclaimed all intention of pursuing, from the very outset of the troubles.  Abandoning thus our old ground, of resistance only to arbitrary acts of oppression, the nations will believe the whole to have been mere pretence, and they will look on us, not as injured, but as ambitious subjects.  I shudder before this responsibility.  It will be on us, if, relinquishing the ground on which we have stood so long, and stood so safely, we now proclaim independence, and carry on the war for that object, while these cities burn, these pleasant fields whiten and bleach with the bones of their owners, and these streams run blood.  It will be upon us, it will be upon us, if, failing to maintain this unseasonable and ill-judged declaration, a sterner despotism, maintained by military power, shall be established over our posterity, when we ourselves, given up by an exhausted, a harassed, a misled people, shall have expiated our rashness and atoned for our presumption on the scaffold.”

It was for Mr. Adams to reply to arguments like these.  We know his opinions, and we know his character.  He would commence with his accustomed directness and earnestness.

“Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote.  It is true, indeed, that in the beginning we aimed not at independence.  But there’s a Divinity which shapes our ends.  The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and, blinded to her own interest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp.  We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours.  Why, then, should we defer the Declaration?  Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life and his own honor?  Are not you, Sir, who sit in that chair,—­is not he, our venerable colleague near you,—­are you not both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance?  Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws?  If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up, the war?  Do we mean to submit to the measures of Parliament, Boston Port Bill and all?  Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust?  I know we do not mean to submit.  We never shall submit.  Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered into by men, that plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every extremity, with our fortunes