consider, without delay, of a proper law for a perma-
nent revenue, solid, definite, and without limitation.’
All public money was to be applied by the governor's warrant, with the consent of Council, and the Assembly should never be allowed to examine accounts.
With a distressed countenance and a plaintive voice, he asked if these instructions would be obeyed.1
All agreed that the Assembly never would comply.
He sighed, turned about, reclined against the windowframe, and exclaimed, ‘Then, why am I come here?’
Being of morbid sensitiveness, honest, and scrupulous of his word, the unhappy man spent the night in arranging his private affairs, and towards morning hanged himself against the fence in the garden.
Thus was British authority surrendered by his despair.
His death left the government in the hands of James Delancey
, a man of ability and great possessions.
A native of New York, of Huguenot
ancestry, he had won his way to political influence as the leader of opposition in the colonial Assembly; and Newcastle
had endeavored to conciliate his neutrality by a commission as lieutenant-governor.
He discerned, and acknowledged, that the custom of annual grants could never be surrendered.
‘Dissolve us as often as you will,’ said his old associates in opposition, ‘we will never give it up.’
But they relinquished claims to executive power, and consented that all disbursements of public money should require the warrant of the governor and council, except only for the payment of their own clerk and their agent in England
Nor did public opinion in Great Britain
favor the instructions.
was, indeed, ever ready to defend