al share of his heat to both sides of the
world? Are we not all equally born in misery? does not death level us
all _aequo pede_, as the poet hath? are we not all equally hungry,
thirsty, and sleepy, and thus levelled by our natural wants? And such
being the case, ought we not to have our equal share of good things in
this world, to which we have an undoubted equal right? Can any argument
be more solid or more level than this, whatever nonsense Dr Middleton
may talk?

"Yes, my son, if it were not that I still hope to see the sun of Justice
arise, and disperse the manifold dark clouds which obscure the land--if
I did not still hope, in my time, to see an equal distribution of
property--an Agrarian law passed by the House of Commons, in which all
should benefit alike--I would not care how soon I left this vale of
tears, created by tyranny and injustice. At present, the same system is
carried on; the nation is taxed for the benefit of the few, and it
groans under oppression and despotism; but I still do think that there
is, if I may fortunately express myself, a bright star in the west; and
signs of the times which comfort me. Already we have had a good deal of
incendiarism about the country, and some of the highest aristocracy have
pledged themselves to raise the people above themselves, and have
advised sedition and conspiracy; have shown to the debased and
unenlightened multitude that their force is physically irresistible, and
recommended them to make use of it, promising that if they hold in
power, they will only use that power to the abolition of our farce of a
constitution, of a church, and of a king; and that if the nation is to
be governed at all, it shall only be governed by the many. This is
cheering. Hail, patriot lords! all hail! I am in hopes yet the great
work will be achieved, in spite of the laughs and sneers and shakes of
the head which my arguments still meet with from that obstinate fellow
Dr Middleton.

"Your mother is in a quiet way; she has given over reading and working,
and even her knitting, as useless; and she now sits all day long at the
chimney corner twiddling her thumbs, and waiting, as she says, for the
millennium. Poor thing! she is very foolish with her ideas upon this
matter, but as usual I let her have her own way in every thing, copying
the philosopher of old, who was tied to his Xantippe.

"I trust, my dear son, that your principles have strengthened with your
years and for