alter the constitution of right and wrong, but to judge the one from the other; and the question was not between them and Omnipotence, but the electors of Bristol and the “sublime and beautiful” BURKE. [Footnote 7: “And vice itself loses half its evil by losing all its grossness.”—[Reflections on the French Revolution.]] He next contends that the delegate owes his _judgment_ as well as his exertions to his constituents—which is true—and the debt is paid when they ask to set aside his judgment for theirs. He admits the delegate should sacrifice his _will_ to his constituents, but that government is a matter of judgment and of reason—not of inclination; and asks, “What sort of reason is that in which the determination precedes the discussion—one set of men deliberate, and another decide—and where those who form the conclusion are perhaps three hundred miles distant from those who hear the arguments?” I might ask what sort of a will is this conceded, which is never to prevail? Can there be no reason or judgment—no discussion—no deliberation—no arguments out of parliament? Can the people neither talk, or think, or read? This argument wholly falls, when the instructions are given, after both popular and parliamentary discussion has spread all the light upon the subject through the country. Now what remains of MR. BURKE'S great defence of disobedience? His arguments all go to expediency in particular cases, and not the _right_, when stript of the difficulties he throws around its exercise. Take him from his position, and strip him of his gorgeous and dazzling armor, and he must stand a pigmy confessed before all, as he was before the electors of BRISTOL. JUDGE HOPKINSON finds fault with MR. TYLER for resignation. “He had sworn to support and defend the constitution against _wrong from any quarter_,” and he violated his duty and his oath, it seems, by resigning. “Where is the difference,” he indignantly exclaims, “between the sentinel who turns his own arms upon the citadel he was bound to defend, and one who gives up his trust to the _enemy_, that he may do the work of ruin which the conscience of the latter forbids.” The difference is rather between the sentinel who, being ordered to shoot a traitor brother from the battlements, turns and kills his commander—and one who, with the same orders, retires with leave from the service, and suffers another to do what affection for a brother, or perhaps participation in his designs, will not permit him to accomplish.