The management of Lord Shelburne, whatever may be his views, is a caution to us, and must be to the world, never to regard British assurances. A perfidy so notorious cannot be hid. It stands even in the public papers of New York, with the names of Carleton and Digby affixed to it. It is a proclamation that the king of England is not to be believed; that the spirit of lying is the governing principle of the ministry. It is holding up the character of the House of Commons to public infamy, and warning all men not to credit them. Such are the consequences which Lord Shelburne's management has brought upon his country. After the authorized declarations contained in Carleton and Digby's letter, you ought, from every motive of honor, policy and prudence, to have fulfilled them, whatever might have been the event. It was the least atonement that you could possibly make to America, and the greatest kindness you could do to yourselves; for you will save millions by a general peace, and you will lose as many by continuing the war. COMMON SENSE. PHILADELPHIA, Oct. 29, 1782. P. S. The manuscript copy of this letter is sent your lordship, by the way of our head-quarters, to New York, inclosing a late pamphlet of mine, addressed to the Abbe Raynal, which will serve to give your lordship some idea of the principles and sentiments of America. C. S. THE CRISIS. XIII. THOUGHTS ON THE PEACE, AND PROBABLE ADVANTAGES THEREOF. "THE times that tried men's souls,"* are over--and the greatest and completest revolution the world ever knew, gloriously and happily accomplished. * "These are the times that try men's souls," The Crisis No. I. published December, 1776. But to pass from the extremes of danger to safety--from the tumult of war to the tranquillity of peace, though sweet in contemplation, requires a gradual composure of the senses to receive it. Even calmness has the power of stunning, when it opens too instantly upon us. The long and raging hurricane that should cease in a moment, would leave us in a state rather of wonder than enjoyment; and some moments of recollection must pass, before we could be capable of tasting the felicity of repose. There are but few instances, in which the mind is fitted for sudden transitions: it takes in its pleasures by reflection and comparison and those must have time to act, before the relish for new scenes is complete. In the present case--the mighty magnitude of the object--the various uncertainties of fate it has undergone--the numerous and complicated dangers we have suffered or escaped--the eminence we now stand on, and the vast prospect before us, must all conspire to impress us with contemplation.