with protests against tyranny and ends with subservience to it, we look
for the cause. What was it that separated Joseph Galloway from Francis
Hopkinson? It was Galloway's opinion that, while the struggle for
independence might be justifiable, it could not be successful, and the
temptation of a larger immediate reward under the British crown than
could ever be given by the American Congress in which he had once
served. What was it that divided the Rev. Jacob Duché from the Rev.
John Witherspoon? It was Duché's fear that the cause for which he had
prayed so eloquently in the first Continental Congress was doomed after
the capture of Philadelphia, and his unwillingness to go down with that
cause instead of enjoying the comfortable fruits of his native wit and
eloquence in an easy London chaplaincy. What was it that cut William
Franklin off from his professedly prudent and worldly wise old father,
Benjamin? It was the luxurious and benumbing charm of the royal
governorship of New Jersey.

"Professedly prudent" is the phrase that I have chosen to apply to
Benjamin Franklin. For the one thing that is clear, as we turn to look
at him and the other men who stood with Washington, is that, whatever
their philosophical professions may have been, they were not controlled
by prudence. They were really imprudent, and at heart willing to take
all risks of poverty and death in a struggle whose cause was just though
its issue was dubious. If it be rashness to commit honor and life and
property to a great adventure for the general good, then these men were
rash to the verge of recklessness. They refused no peril, they withheld
no sacrifice, in the following of their ideal.

I hear John Dickinson saying: "It is not our duty to leave wealth to our
children, but it is our duty to leave liberty to them. We have counted
the cost of this contest, and we find nothing so dreadful as voluntary