therefore, the most wicked part of the nation.  Amongst them it is that you find all the peculators, all the blood-suckers of various degrees, all the borough-voters and their offspring, all the selfish and unfeeling wretches, who, rather than risk the disturbing of their ease for one single month, rather than go a mile to hold up their hand at a public meeting, would see half the people perish with hunger and cold.  The humanity, which is continually on their lips, is all fiction.  They weep over the tale of woe in a novel; but round their ‘decent fireside,’ never was compassion felt for a real sufferer, or indignation at the acts of a powerful tyrant.

The object of the efforts of such writers is clearly enough seen.  Keep all quiet!  Do not rouse!  Keep still!  Keep down!  Let those who perish, perish in silence!  It will, however, be out of the power of these quacks, with all their laudanum, to allay the blood which is now boiling in the veins of the people of this kingdom; who, if they are doomed to perish, are at any rate resolved not to perish in silence.  The writer whom I have mentioned above, says that he, of course, does not count ’the lower classes, who, under the pressure of need or under the influence of ignorant prejudice, may blindly and weakly rush upon certain and prompt punishment; but that the security of every decent fireside, every respectable father’s best hopes for his children, still connect themselves with the Government.’  And by Government he clearly means all the mass as it now stands.  There is nobody so callous and so insolent as your sentimental quacks and their patients.  How these ‘decent fireside’ people would stare, if some morning they were to come down and find them occupied by uninvited visitors!  I hope they never will.  I hope that things will never come to this pass:  but if one thing more than any other tends to produce so sad an effect, it is the cool insolence with which such men as this writer treats the most numerous and most suffering classes of the people.

Long as this Address already is, I cannot conclude without some observations on the ‘Charity Subscriptions’ at the London Tavern.  The object of this subscription professes to be to afford relief to the distressed labourers, etc.  About forty thousand pounds have been subscribed, and there is no probability of its going much further.  There is an absurdity on the face of the scheme; for, as all parishes are compelled by law to afford relief to every person in distress, it is very clear that, as far as money is given by these people to relieve the poor, there will be so much saved in the parish rates.  But the folly of the thing is not what I wish you most to attend to.  Several of the subscribers to this fund receive each of them more than ten thousand pounds and some more than thirty thousand pounds each, out of those taxes which you help to pay, and which emoluments not a man of them proposes to give up.  The clergy