VALLEY FORGE.
October 1st, 1842.
October 5th, 1842.
Mr. Whitney.—While exposing the demerits of Mr. William Bradford Reed, I have no disposition to disparage whatever of ability or information he may really possess; and concerning the letter, I cheerfully acknowledge that he has made himself very thoroughly acquainted with the true character of the leading men and events of the American Revolution.
But it is this that constitutes his chief shame. In his absurd panegyrics of his "Grandfather," he has not been imposed upon; he is seeking to impose upon others, and in this he has, to a very considerable extent, succeeded; he is sinning against the excess of light and the superfluity of knowledge. Possessing the most ample proofs of his grandfather's treachery to his country in the darkest hour of his country's peril, Mr. William B. Reed has not hesitated to hold him up to that very country which he sought to betray, and did well nigh betray, and would have betrayed, but for the timely interception of his treasonable correspondence with the British Commissioners, as one of the most glorious and incorruptible of the patriots who fought and suffered for the establishment of American Independence! The guilt of this will cling to Mr. Reed enduringly.
Never can he shake off its contamination. Could he escape from the odium of his more immediate personal delinquencies; his fawning sycophancy of Nicholas Biddle; his dirty work in behalf of that man for money, not for love; could he deluge with Lethean ocean the public memory, his malpractices as attorney-general; his venal career as a member of the Legislature; could he induce the public to overlook the bribes which he pocketed under the pretext of fees received for services never performed—bribes, the amount of which and the dates of whose reception, are well known, and sustainable by documentary reference;—could all this be erased, as systematic and persevering labours, from his boyhood upward, to delude a much injured country into reverence for the memory, not of the contemporary, but of the predecessor of Benedict Arnold in "treason" have won for him an infamy from the consequences of which escape is impossible.
I have heretofore referred, in general terms, to Mr. Reed's numerous applications, by writing and in person, to such survivors of the Revolution, or their descendants, as he supposed could furnish the information he desired, for anecdotes of General Reed; a part of my labours, hereafter to be entered upon, will be to narrate not a few of the rebuffs and rebukes this unfortunate Doctor Syntax in search of the biographical Pickenesque has experienced, and the minute fidelity with which my sketches shall be marked, will contribute, let me assure Mr. Reed, no less to his surprise than mortification, nay, I will establish that much of the information, that many of the documents, which I propose to lay before the readers of the Evening Journal, he and his brother, the Professor, possess; that copies of some of the latter have long been in their hands; and that Mr. William B. Reed has solicited the transfer or destruction of the originals. But I will even do more than all this, I will, in at least two instances, publish his own letter, praying for the loan if not the gift, of original papers affecting the fame of his grandfather. Even here I do not mean to stop. I shall show that Mr. Reed succeeded in inveigling from the possession of a gentleman of my acquaintance, for a pretended temporary purpose, a letter, the publication of which he supposed; and a part, I may say a prominent part, of Mr. Reed's scheme to perpetuate the delusion of his grandfather's patriotism, has been to write or call upon, every person projecting any work connected with the Revolution; and by tendering information, or otherwise volunteering his assistance, to deceive or disarm. He has played his game, so far, with very clever success; and, as I formerly mentioned, it is one which he is at present engaged in practising upon Mr. Bancroft—that same Mr. George Bancroft, whom, at a political meeting in this city, held some four or five years since, he so delicately described as a "tin cannister tied to the tail of Martin Van Buren, while Martin Van Buren, was running through the street, like a hot slut, with the whole kennel of loco-focoism bawling at her heels!" Adapting this figure to circumstances, as it might be introduced with great effect, into Mr. Reed's collegiate eulogy upon the services and patriotism of his grandfather.
In Col. Smith's last published letter to Col. ——, he promised to furnish the latter with copies of certain letters, and in another he says.
"I cannot answer your inquiry about Captain Anderson. I knew several officers of that name, but can recal nothing particular concerning any of them. I once received a letter from a person some where in the State of Delaware, calling himself Henry Anderson, inquiring about his uncle Captain Anderson, of the Revolutionary army, but I have not retained, or mislaid the letter, and cannot call to mind his more particular address. But even this defective information may serve to put you on the scent.
"Your son will tell you much for me that I would otherwise write. My rheumatism has prevented my showing him as much of the civilities of our town as I would have liked, but you will excuse me.