Thomas Jefferson, third president of the United States as told by Thomas Green Fessenden in Democracy Unveiled, 1805.
ARGUMENT.
WITH reverence due, and vast humility,
Approaching Don Perfectibility,
We laud the man by Demo's reckon'd
A sort of Jupiter the Second,
Whose most correct administration,
In annals of Illumination,
Will ever shine superbly splendid,
A long time after time is ended!
WITH awe scarce short of adoration,
Before the Glory of our nation,
With scrape submissive, cap in hand,
I, Doctor Caustic, trembling stand;
And offer with that veneration
Due to his highness's high station,
My services, to daub and gloss over
A philanthropical philosopher.
The mighty Chief of Carter's Mountain,
Of Democratic power the fountain,
I would extol; his favour buying,
By most profound and solid lying.
Sure never lucky man of rhyme,
Was blest with subject so sublime,
For ere his virtues I've reported,
I shall, or ought to be � transported!
Touch'd by my pencil, every fault
Shall fade away like mount of falt,
Which late, �tis said, in weather rainy,
Was melted in Louisiana.
Posterity fhall puff the statesman,
Whom I will prove is our firft rate's man,
Nor Gaffer Time shall dare to tarnish
The character I mean to varnish.
Some say our Chief regards religion
No more than wild-goose, or a pigeon;
But I'll maintain what seems an oddity,
He's overstock'd with that commodity.
That man muft have religion plenty,
Who soars from "no God," up to "twenty," �
No doubt, of common folks the odds,
As "no God" is to "twenty Gods."
Though his High Mightiness was skittish,
When menac'd by the bullying British;
The Feds are wrong to make a clatter
About the Carter-Mountain matter.
�Twas better far to make excursion,
By way of something like diversion,
Than like un-philosophic hot-head,
To run the risk of being shot dead.
Such saving prudence, mark'd a sage,
A great man of a former age,
High Falstaff, famous as our head man,
Thought honour nothing to a dead man.
I'll make it plain as College Thesis,
Our Chief as bold as Hercules is,
By proofs which must confound at once,
Each carping, scurrilous, Federal dunce.
A Chief who stands not shilly shally,
But is notorious for � a Sally,
Might Mars defy in "war's dire tug,"
Or Satan to an Indian hug.
Therefore, ye Feds, if you should now hard
Things mutter of a nerveless coward,
Twill prove your character, ye quizzes,
Black as an Empress's black phiz is.
�Tis true some wicked wags there are,
Who laugh about this dark affair,
But I can tell the shameless faction,
They ought t' admire the same transaction;
And did they rightly comprehend,
How means are sanction'd by the end,
They'd change their grumbling tones sarcastic,
To eulogies encomiastic.
For I will prove, sans disputation,
Our Chief has wondrous calculation;
And is in Politics, as able
As Mazarine or Machiavel.
For where's a readier resource
For that sweet, "social intercourse,"
Which at a grand inauguration
Was promis'd this our happy nation.
And if, by his example, he goes
To recommend the raising negroes,
The chance is surely in his favour
Of being President for ever.
A southern negro is, you see, man,
Already three fifths of a freeman,
And when Virginia gets the staff,
He'll be a freeman and an half.
Great men can never lack supporters,
When manufacture their own voters;
Besides, �tis plain as yonder steeple,
They will be fathers of the people.
And �tis a decent, clever, comical,
New mode of being economical,
For when a black is rais'd, it follows,
It saves a duty of ten dollars.
And he's a wayward blockhead, who says
That making negroes or pappooses,
Is not consistent with the plan,
Of Tom Pain's precious "Rights of Man."
Then Mister Opposition-prater,
Since that reproach to human nature,
The most nefarious Guinea trade
May fall by Presidential aid, �
�Tis plain your best and wisest course is,
With Antifeds to join your forces,
And all combine to daub and gloss over
Our Philanthropical Philosopher.
Though gossip Fame may be a talker
Of an attempt at Mrs. Walker,
Philosophistical perfection,
In morals can have no defection
.
And I'll maintain he is consistent,
His conduct has'nt a single twist in't,
If, having twenty Gods, he drives
To have at least as many wives.
Among our New-School Rights and Duties,
There's no monopoly of beauties,
And he's a churl who will not lend
His pretty wife t' oblige a friend.
And no man who's old and frigid,
Or most unreasonably rigid,
Will e'er "oppugnate" this morality
Of such a pretty genteel quality.
Though he imported Thomas Pain,
(For Chronicleers have lied in vain)
T' oppose with acrimonious vanity,
Law, Order, Morals and Christianity.
�Twas right, for ought I can discover,
To send and fetch the fellow over,
For freedom with his aid may chance,
to thrive here as it does in France.
But though our Chief to all intents is
A paragon of Excellences,
The wicked Feds are always prating
Matters the most calumniating.
For I've heard many a crabbed Fed,
While things like these he muttering said,
Though I stood tortur'd all the while in
A state which set my blood a boiling.
A fine man he to head the nation,
The very soul of fluctuation,
�Twould take the stamina of two men
Like him to make out one old woman.
What though the Democratic host,
His wisdom and his talents boast,
For pelf or office I would lay all
I'm worth, these men would worship Baal.
Demo's may white-wash all they can,
They cannot quite disguise the man,
But something of his native hue,
With all their daubing will peep through.
Wisdom � in him descends to cunning,
Talents � a knack at danger shunning,
Morality � to be complete in
What some old fashion'd folks call cheating.
In literature his reputation,
A fabric is, without foundation,
Those works which please his party, some say,
Are quite exuberant and clumsy.
What though he writes with some facility,
What fascinates our wise mobility,
Who always find out something grand in
Whate'er is past all understanding.
With all his sophimore's rotundity,
Will all his semblance of profundity,
Pore pages over you'll not see a
Novel or well expressed idea.
His stile is tinsel, glare and whimsy,
No lady's novel half so flimsy,
As full of downright contradictions
As Ovid's works are full of fictions.
And, what ideed we might expect,
His morals are incorrect
As are his writings � froth and flummery
Express them both in manner summary.
Was it not something like hypocrisy,
To please the looking-on mobocracy,
For him to sob, and sigh, and groan
O'er the green grave of Washington.
When this same gentleman had paid
One, who set up the lying trade,
A scoundrel from a foreign nation,
To blast that Hero's reputation?
Is it not true he left no stones
Unturn'd for � Gabriel Jones?
Or does he learn from Rights of Man,
To cheat his neighbor when he can?
Thus spake this muttering son of slander,
Which made it plain to each by-stander,
He was a rogue belonging unto
The most nefarious Essex Junto.
Now should I ever hear again,
A grumbler mutter such a strain,
I'll teach the knave by dint of banging,
A prettier method of haranguing.
For know, ye stubborn Feds, that I
Am very nearly six feet high,
Stout in proportion, own a cudgel,
For those of Jefferson, who judge ill.
With plenti-potent paw, a club in,
I'll give each wicked Fed a drubbing,
Who wont humillime succumb,
At beat of our poetic drum.
And kneel before th' mighty man,
Who leads the Democratic van,
The glorious Chief of Carter's Mountain,
Of Democratic power the fountain.
The theme of demi-adoration,
The very right-hand of our nation,
Compar'd with whom, all Heroes must rate
As Gun-boat liken'd to a first rate.
And though I shan't have much to say t' ye,
You'll find my arguments are weighty,
Withal, so manfully propounded,
If not convinc'd, you'll be confounded.
But now my modest, little Muse,
Who drips with Hyblaean, honey dews,
Her curtsey makes, to curry favor
With Federal gentlefolks, who waver.
Good Messrs. almost Democrats,
If you were not as blind as bats,
Before our Chief, your trembling knees on,
You'd deprecate his wrath in season.
No more at Jefferson be railing,
Nor scout the party now prevailing,
Although the tail has "got the upper"
Hand of the head, for want of crupper.
z
The character of this our nation
�Tis time to place on some foundation,
Which may without deceit declare
To all mankind just what we are.
And if Americans are Jockies,
If public virtue but a mock is,
Then, � "Hail Columbia! happy land!"
Where scoundrels have the upper hand!
But let Columbia be contented,
As she's at present represented,
Nor at our Democrats be vext,
Lest their great prototype come next.
Now I'm a man who would not keep ill
Terms with my sovereign friends, the people,
Have therefore strove, with main and might,
To wash their Ethiopian white.
Then I might suit them to a tittle,
Have stretch'd the truth, and � lied a little,
For which my complaisance, I beg
They'll hoist my Bard-ship up a peg.
Or two, or so, for I've a notion
That none can better bear promotion;
And I'll accept of any thing,
From petty Juryman to King.
Besides, I fancy that his HIGHNESS,
Wont treat his Eulogist with shyness,
But compliment me with a pension,
And fine things which I need not men tion.
Thomas Green Fessenden, 1805
*****
Preface to Democracy Unveiled or, Tyranny Stripped of the Garb of Patroitism. Christopher Caustic, Boston, 1805, Printed by David Carlisle for the Author.
American Monthly, May 1838, Nathaniel Hawthorne's obituary for Thomas Green Fessenden.
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