English coast. Adams, too, writing in
1782, says: "If I could see a prospect of
half-a-dozen line-of-battle ships under the
American flag, commanded by Commodore
Paul Jones, engaged with an equal British
force, I apprehend the event would be so
glorious for the United States, and lay so
sure a foundation of their prosperity, that
it would be a rich compensation for a
continuance of the war."

Paul Jones was never defeated, and never
wounded. He seems to have had great
acuteness in seeing what was possible and
what was impracticable. His leading
principle, evidently, was to revenge upon
England the cruelties wrought by her soldiers in
America. Money and plunder do not appear
to have been the inducements that led Paul
Jones to accomplish what he did. The
American government was then poor, and
not exact in its payments. Writing to
the American commissioners in 1778 he
says, with honest indignation: "I hope
you do not mean to impute to me a desire
to receive presents of the public money, or
even to touch a dollar of it for my own
private use. On the contrary, I need not
now assert that I stepped forth at the
beginning from nobler motives. My
accounts before I left America testify that I
am more than fifteen hundred pounds in
advance for the public service, exclusive
of any concern with the sloop of war
Banger; and as for wages, I have never
received any." The Americans take a
great pride in the fact that Paul Jones
treated his men with kindness, seldom
using the cat, and to this circumstance
they attribute his constant successes.
There is no doubt that he had some spy
in our Admiralty; for among his papers
was found a complete tabular list of every
vessel, large or small, in the English navy,
with its men, guns, tons, draught, and even
the number of its boats stated.

Mischievous as Paul Jones was once to
us, we can now afford to say that he was
an indefatigable, chivalrous sailor, of clear,
quick vision and sound judgment, who,
with greater advantages, might have
become, if not a Nelson, at least a Rodney or
a Howe.

We have, we hope, written enough to show
that Paul Jones was not the mere brutal
pirate he was once supposed to be. He
was rather one of those generous, fanatical
adventurers whom the American Revolution
aroused to fight for its cause. In a
letter to Lafayette, Jones gives us his
political creed with evident sincerity. "I
am," he says, with the romantic enthusiasm
of his nature, "a citizen of the world,
totally unfettered by the little, mean
distinctions of country or of climate, which
diminish or set bounds to the benevolence
of the heart. Impelled by principles of
gratitude and philanthropy, I drew my
sword at the beginning of the American
Revolution, and when France so nobly
espoused that great cause, no individual
felt the obligation with truer gratitude than
myself. As an American officer and man
I affectionately love and respect the character
and nation of France. His most
Christian Majesty has very few of his
own subjects who would bleed in his
present cause with greater freedom than
myself. At the same time I must lament
the calamities of war, and wish, above all
things, for an honourable, happy, and
lasting peace. My fortune is not
augmented by the part I have hitherto acted
in the revolution, although I have had
frequent opportunities of acquiring riches."

These are not the words of a murderous,
unprincipled privateersman, but the calm
utterances of a high-spirited, intrepid
gentleman. The British government did
not perhaps much over-estimate the man
when, after the moonlight fight off
Flamborough Head, they offered ten thousand
guineas for the capture of Paul Jones.

LEFT BEHIND BY THE SEA.

LEFT behind, not only by the waves, but
by the tide of life and social progress, are
two quiet little towns on the coast of Sussex,
Winchelsea and Rye.

Winchelsea, twice swept away by the
fierce invasion and rude washings of the
sea, is now left behind, a melancholy wreck,
looking down upon the vast and lonely
marsh whence the capricious waves have
receded. In former days crowned with
military glory, commercial, aristocratic,
strongly fortified, adorned with beautiful
buildings, wealthy and populous,
Winchelsea is now little more than a village,
deserted by all but a few inhabitants. A
century and a half ago grass grew in the
streets and squares, so that the herbage was
let for four pounds a year, and sheep and
cows wandered about among the ruins of
the town.

Winchelsea, with its lands and churches,
was given, by Edward the Confessor, to
the abbey of Fécamp in Normandy, and
the abbots of Fécamp held it until the
reign of Henry the Third. In Henry
the Third's reign it became the