months, just as the season for destroying kingdoms is coming on, is
(beloved Abraham), whatever you may think of it, little short of
positive insanity.

Here is a frigate attacked by a corsair of immense strength and
size, rigging cut, masts in danger of coming by the board, four foot
water in the hold, men dropping off very fast; in this dreadful
situation how do you think the Captain acts (whose name shall be
Perceval)? He calls all hands upon deck; talks to them of King,
country, glory, sweethearts, gin, French prison, wooden shoes, Old
England, and hearts of oak; they give three cheers, rush to their
guns, and, after a tremendous conflict, succeed in beating off the
enemy. Not a syllable of all this; this is not the manner in which
the honourable Commander goes to work: the first thing he does is
to secure twenty or thirty of his prime sailors who happen to be
Catholics, to clap them in irons, and set over them a guard of as
many Protestants; having taken this admirable method of defending
himself against his infidel opponents, he goes upon deck, reminds
the sailors in a very bitter harangue, that they are of different
religions; exhorts the Episcopal gunner not to trust to the
Presbyterian quartermaster; issues positive orders that the
Catholics should be fired at upon the first appearance of
discontent; rushes through blood and brains, examining his men in
the Catechism and thirty-nine Articles, and positively forbids every
one to sponge or ram who has not taken the Sacrament according to
the Church of England. Was it right to take out a captain made of
excellent British stuff, and to put in such a man as this? Is not
he more like a parson, or a talking lawyer, than a thorough-bred
seaman? And built as she is of heart of oak, and admirably manned,
is it possible, with such a captain, to save this ship from going to