with antique prejudices; and we shrink from the strangely contrasted
times into which we emerge, like one of those immutable old Tories, who
acknowledge no oppression in the Stamp Act. It may be the most effective
method of going through the present file of papers, to follow out this
idea, and transform ourself, perchance, from a modern Tory into such a
sturdy King-man as once wore that pliable nickname.

Well, then, here we sit, an old, gray, withered, sour-visaged, threadbare
sort of gentleman, erect enough, here in our solitude, but marked out by
a depressed and distrustful mien abroad, as one conscious of a stigma
upon his forehead, though for no crime. We were already in the decline
of life when the first tremors of the earthquake that has convulsed the
continent were felt. Our mind had grown too rigid to change any of its
opinions, when the voice of the people demanded that all should be
changed. We are an Episcopalian, and sat under the High-Church doctrines
of Dr. Caner; we have been a captain of the provincial forces, and love
our king the better for the blood that we shed in his cause on the Plains
of Abraham. Among all the refugees, there is not one more loyal to the
backbone than we. Still we lingered behind when the British army
evacuated Boston, sweeping in its train most of those with whom we held
communion; the old, loyal gentlemen, the aristocracy of the colonies, the
hereditary Englishman, imbued with more than native zeal and admiration
for the glorious island and its monarch, because the far-intervening
ocean threw a dim reverence around them. When our brethren departed, we
could not tear our aged roots out of the soil.

We have remained, therefore, enduring to be outwardly a freeman, but
idolizing King George in secrecy and silence,--one true old heart amongst
a host of enemies. We watch, with a weary hope, for the moment when all
this turmoil shall subside, and the impious novelty that has distracted