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Of worldly wishes. Time, Eternity! (‘Tis these, mis-measured, ruin all Mankind:) Set them before me; let me lay them Both In equal Scale, and learn their various Weight. Let Time appear a Moment as it is: And let Eternity’s full orb, at once, Turn on my Soul, and strike it into Heaven. When shall I see far more than charms me now? Gaze on Creation’s Model in Thy Breast Unveil’d, nor wonder at the Transcript more? When, This vile, foreign, Dust, which smothers All That travel Earth’s deep Vale, shall I shake off? 45 to john adams Plymouth July 29th 1779 Your vigilant and invariable friend Mr Warren, has just written you a long letter which makes it unnecessary for me to take up my pen;—nor should I do it at this time; but in compliance with his wish, whose partiality leads him to think it is in my power to contribute to the entertainment of a gentleman, who has from interest, from vanity, and from some more noble principles, such a multitude of correspondents. Was it not for the many adverse accidents, which prevent a safe passage, you would have little cause to complain that you was forgotten on this side the Atlantic. Your head would be replete with intelligence, and your Cabinet crouded with epistolary lumber—among which when you have leisure to retrospect, you will find several letters unanswered, from a lady who claims a reply, both from politeness, and friendship. I will neither suspect the one, nor censure the other, till assured in some future paragraph that you have not time to answer letters, but when the interest of the public— or the indispensable duties of private life require it. Certain I am, did all the political, military, and gubernatorial observations , which are designed for your perusal, reach the gardens of Passy,1 you would be willing to unbend a little, by listning to the more familiar style of female composition. But, as many packets have been lost, through fear, to john adams, july 1779  115 misfortune, or treachery—I imagine an avidity is still kept up, and that you open every seal that comes to hand, with expectation and desire, to investigate the plans of the statesman, and to survey the martial operations of the heroes of your Country. Nor is any one better qualified than yourself to penetrate the arcane of American politics. Yet you must be surprised at the inconsistency which appears in some characters. You must also be at a loss, if not at the stimulus which provoked, yet for the influence that could carry into execution certain resolves, painful to the best, and a rich repast to the worst men that disgrace your native land. But a spirit of party has entered into all our departments. The Deanites2 that is to say the votaries to pleasure, men of pretended taste and refinement, make no inconsiderable figure,—while many others worship only at the shrine of Pluto. Yet the old republicans, (a solitary few) with solemn dignity still persevere . Their hands unstained by bribes—though poverty stares them in the face,—and their hearts unshaken by fear amidst the dissipation, and folly;—the levity, luxury, and wickedness of the times. I can only sigh with a celebrated writer “alas, for poor human nature, alas, the manners of my country!”3 How much longer shall we probably be distressed and embarrassed by the insidious arts of courtiers, gamblers, and stockjobbers of American growth, while a merciless enemy is laying waste our borders, burning our Cities, and murdering the innocent of all ages and ranks? Dark and inscrutable are the ways of providence:—yet only so to us short sighted mortals. I forbear to draw aside the curtain or indulge a wish to look forward to the blood stained field,—to the revolutions of goverment , the convulsions of nature, and the mighty shocks both in the moral, political, and natural world, that are yet to take place, and which are but a combination of incidents to compleat the peice,—which for ought we know may be the admiration and astonishment of wondering worlds, that revolve around this little ball, and may be taught by the example of man, to avoid every deviation from the center of perfection. Here I cannot forbear to mention the renowned astronomer—and to mingle a tear of sympathy with you, and his philosophical friend Dr Franklin over the tombe of...

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