aces some day; meanwhile one's taste must defer to
one's heart and one's intelligence."

"Yes," said I, with malicious derision, "when 'tis so great a question
as a paltry tax upon tea."

"'Tis no such thing," says he, warming up; "'tis a question of being
taxed one iota, the thousandth part of a farthing, by a body of
strangers, a body in which we are not represented."

"Neither were we represented in it when it sent armies to protect us
from the French, and toward the cost of which 'tis right we should
pay."

"We paid, in men and money both. And the armies were sent less for our
protection than for the aggrandisement of England. She was fighting
the French the world over; in America, as elsewhere, the only
difference being that in America we helped her."

So 'twas disputed between many another pair of friends, between
brothers, between fathers and sons, husbands and wives. I do not know
of another civil war that made as many breaks in families. Meanwhile,
the local authorities--those of local election, not of royal
appointment--were yet outwardly noncommittal. When Colonel Washington,
the general-in-chief appointed by the congress of the colonies at
Philadelphia, was to pass through New York on his way to Cambridge,
where the New England rebels were surrounding the king's troops in
Boston, it was known that Governor Tryon would arrive from England
about the same time. Our authorities, rather than seem to favour one
side, sent a committee to New Jersey to meet the rebel commander and
escort him through the town, and immediately thereafter paid a similar
attention to the royal governor. One of those who had what they
considered the honour of riding behind Mr. Washington a part of his
way (he came accompanied by a troop of horse from Philadelphia, and
made a fine, commanding figure, I grant) was Philip Winwood. When he
returned from Kingsbridge, I, pretending I had not gone out of my way
to see the rebel generalissimo pass, met him with a smile, as if to
make a joke of all the rebel preparations:

"Well," says I, "what manner of hero is your illustrious chief? A very
Julius Caesar, I make no doubt."

"A grave and modest gentleman," says Phil, "and worthy of all the
admiration you used to have for him when we would talk of the French
War. I remember you would say he was equal to all the regular English
officers together; and how you declared Governor Shirley was a fool
for not giving him a king's commission."