The proposal to send me to the legislature was perplexing. It was an honour—undoubtedly a great honour; but it is harder to deal with proffered honours than with threatened evils. What shall I do?—and I reasoned myself thereon, till for satisfaction I earned but vexation.

When adversity marks us for her quarry, and her evils are ready to pounce upon us, our part is to stand firm, to summon our native courage, and to trust to Providence for aid to withstand the onset— then to have confidence in himself and in his destiny, sets the man upon the rock of fortitude, above the waves and the tides of fortune; but when the evil is more doubtful, and may yet by strength or adventure be overcome, then is the time to call in friends to counsel and to solicit their aid. I could play my part better, thought I, in either case, than where the question is the acceptance of honour; for there is some chance that under misfortune pity may move to good and sincere advice—but honours are enviable; it is not fair to expect from human nature sincerity of opinion, when you would propose yourself to be a candidate for offices which will raise you above your friends, unless it be from your adversary.

Such aimless and unamiable reflections molested my brain all the remainder of that day;—my sons evidently counted on my acceding to the proposal; and Bradshaw Cockspur, who called at night on one of his wooing visitations to my daughter, set it down as a settled matter, and joked with me about my speeches. He did not then know I had been one of “The Friends of the People,” and accounted among them a rising orator, though in the fashion of my figure there was but little dignity.

Mr. Bell, the minister, an ambitious man, also called in during the same evening, to combat my scruples, for he did me the justice to believe I had really conscientious scruples; but the course he took was extraordinary.