On Saturday last, the ever-memorable Fourth of July, the Rising States of America entered the Third year of their Independence, in spite of numerous fleets and armies; in spite of tomahawk and scalping knife; in spite of the numerous wicked and diabolical engines of cruelty and revenge, played off against us by the magnanimous and heroic, humane and merciful George the Third, the father of this people, and his wicked and abandoned soldiery. On this day, the bright morning star of this western world arose in the east, and warned us to emerge from the slavish tyranny and servile dependence on a venal and corrupt court, and to assume to ourselves a name among nations, a name terrible to tyrants, and wrote in indelible characters by the Almighty as a refuge from persecution. This day was observed here with every possible mark and demonstration of joy and reverence; triple salutes were fired from the batteries in town, and on board the ship Cornell, and the privateer brig Bellona, belonging to this port, the gentlemen of the town met, where many toasts suitable to the importance of the day were drunk and the evening happily concluded.
By several accounts from Head Quarters, it seems to be well authenticated that the British troops have evacuated Philadelphia, and that our army are in possession of it.