But by the next day he had reasoned it out that if England succeeded in suppressing the rising insurrection she would take all credit to herself; and if the Colonies succeeded there would be honors for those who did the work.  Suddenly it came over him that there was such a thing as “the divine right of insurrection,” and that there was no reason why men living in America should be taxed to support a government across the sea.  The wealth produced in America should be used to develop America.

He was young, and burning with a lofty ambition.  He knew, and had known all along, that he would some day be great and famous and powerful—­here was the opportunity.

And so, next day, he announced at the boarding-house that the eloquence and logic of his messmates were too powerful to resist—­he believed the Colonies and the messmates were in the right.  Then several bottles were brought in, and success was drunk to all men who strove for liberty.

Patriotic sentiment is at the last self-interest; in fact, Herbert Spencer declares that there is no sane thought or rational act but has its root in egoism.

Shortly after the young man’s conversion, there was a mass-meeting held in “The Fields,” which meant the wilds of what is now the region of Twenty-third Street.

Young Hamilton stood in the crowd and heard the various speakers plead the cause of the Colonies, and urge that New York should stand firm with Massachusetts against the further encroachments and persecutions of England.  There were many Tories in the crowd, for New York was with King George as against Massachusetts, and these Tories asked the speakers embarrassing questions that the speakers failed to answer.  And all the time young Hamilton found himself nearer and nearer the platform.  Finally, he undertook to reply to a talkative Tory, and some one shouted, “Give him the platform—­the platform!” and in a moment this seventeen-year-old boy found himself facing two thousand people.  There was hesitation and embarrassment, but the shouts of one of his college chums, “Give it to ’em!  Give it to ’em!” filled in an awkward instant, and he began to speak.  There was logic and lucidity of expression, and as he talked the air became charged with reasons, and all he had to do was to reach up and seize them.

His strong and passionate nature gave gravity to his sentences, and every quibbling objector found himself answered, and more than answered, and the speakers who were to present the case found this stripling doing the work so much better than they could, that they urged him on with applause and loud cries of “Bravo!  Bravo!”

Immediately at the close of Hamilton’s speech, the chairman had the good sense to declare the meeting adjourned—­thus shutting off all reply, as well as closing the mouths of the minnow orators who usually pop up to neutralize the impression that the strong man has made.