itish crown than
could ever be given by the American Congress in which he had once
served. What was it that divided the Rev. Jacob Duche from the Rev.
John Witherspoon? It was Duche's fear that the cause for which he had
prayed so eloquently in the first Continental Congress was doomed after
the capture of Philadelphia, and his unwillingness to go down with that
cause instead of enjoying the comfortable fruits of his native wit and
eloquence in an easy London chaplaincy. What was it that cut William
Franklin off from his professedly prudent and worldly wise old father,
Benjamin? It was the luxurious and benumbing charm of the royal
governorship of New Jersey.

"Professedly prudent" is the phrase that I have chosen to apply to
Benjamin Franklin. For the one thing that is clear, as we turn to look
at him and the other men who stood with Washington, is that, whatever
their philosophical professions may have been, they were not controlled
by prudence. They were really imprudent, and at heart willing to take
all risks of poverty and death in a struggle whose cause was just though
its issue was dubious. If it be rashness to commit honor and life and
property to a great adventure for the general good, then these men were
rash to the verge of recklessness. They refused no peril, they withheld
no sacrifice, in the following of their ideal.

I hear John Dickinson saying: "It is not our duty to leave wealth to our
children, but it is our duty to leave liberty to them. We have counted
the cost of this contest, and we find nothing so dreadful as voluntary
slavery." I see Samuel Adams, impoverished, living upon a pittance,
hardly able to provide a decent coat for his back, rejecting with scorn
the offer of a profitable office, wealth, a title even, to win him from
his allegiance to the cause of America. I see Robert Morris, the wealthy
merchant, opening his purse and pledging his credit to support the
Revolution, and later devoting all his fortune and his energy to restore
and establish the financial honor of the Republic, with the memorable
words, "The United States may command all that I have, except my
integrity." I hear the proud John Adams saying to his wife, "I have
accepted a seat in the House of Representatives, and thereby have
consented to my own ruin, to your ruin, and the ruin of our children";
and I hear her reply, with the tears running down her face, "Well, I am
willing in this cause to run all risks with you, and be