Though, from the general corruption, it is a case that has but seldom occurred in the page of history, yet let us suppose a good and virtuous man, associated with a set of good and virtuous companions, bound to him by the strong and endearing ties of private friendship, in the defence of some good and virtuous cause. Novelty, the love of fame, a desire of appearing to the world in some conspicuous point of view, the prospect of some great temporal advantages, and a variety of other motives of a selfish nature, might suddenly prompt a considerable number of persons to join these champions of virtue, and follow them in the glorious enterprize. Enemies appear, dangers threaten; yea, death, perhaps, in all its horrors, presents itself to their view. Personal security is to be preferred before the general interest of virtue; and where virtue cannot be supported without personal losses, her cause must be abandoned. Upon these principles, the weak and timid multitude forsake their gallant leader. Attached to him by no bonds, but those of interest or ambition, when these fail, they think themselves at liberty to abandon his person and his cause. The noble chieftain, not so much affected with the prospect of danger to himself and his cause, as with a real concern for the baseness of his followers, and an apprehension, that their flight might perhaps intimidate those, whom he knew to be attached, from principle, to virtue and himself; the noble chieftain, I say, might with great propriety, and without the least tincture of fear or despondency, but rather as a trial of their fidelity, and a most powerful incentive to new and more vigorous efforts, address himself in such words to the chosen few, as those, which the great Captain of our Salvation delivered upon this occasion: "Will ye, also go away?" In this address, there is not implied the least unkind suspicion of their integrity. It is no more than an affectionate appeal to the warm and tender sensations of true and genuine friendship.