“With the Constitution in one hand, and the Word of God in the other, George Washington swore to defend a republican form of government, which abhors the insidious machinery of royal imposture. Has he done so? What have been the fruits of this solemn oath? The seclusion of a monk, and the supercilious distance of a tyrant. Old habits have been on a sudden thrown away. Time was, when he more than any other, indulged the manly walk and rode the generous steed. Now to behold him afoot or on horseback, is the subject of remark. The concealing carriage drawn by supernumerary horses, expresses the will of the President, and defies the will of the people. He receives visits. He returns none. Are these Republican virtues? Do they command our esteem?”
These words, dear cousin, filled with virtuous indignation, yet so elegantly expressed, are no doubt your sentiments as well as mine. Some of our West Springfield people, I am glad to say, have shown much spirit in this matter. The last time an attempt was made to celebrate the birthday of this odious tyrant, the swabs were stolen from the cannon, so that no salute could be fired. It will be a happy day for the Country, when G. Washington, Charlatan, political Trickster, Apostate, and Coward, is removed from our midst.
Yr Cousin & ob’d’t Servant,
ENOCH DAY.
P. S. The last Rum you sent was of Prime quality. If you get any more bargains in those slightly damaged Blankets from England, wch can be sold for new, remember yr loving Cousin.
The next letter is from John Adams, to his friend and former playmate, Dorothy Coolidge of Boston.
SPRINGFIELD, MASS., October 22, 1789.
MY DEAR FRIEND DOROTHY:—
I know that I ought not to write to you again this week, but my clients are few, and time hangs heavily on my hands, out here in the backwoods. You ask me if there are no handsome Springfield girls to take my attention, and keep me from being lonely. There are some very decent-looking young ladies, whom I see when I attend divine worship in the First Church, but you know very well why I do not care to cultivate their acquaintance. There is only One—no, I will not break my promise which I made, not to propose for your hand again for six months, but you know what I mean. I am going to tell you about the visit which that noble Patriot & Friend of Mankind, President George Washington, has just made to Springfield. He was here yesterday. About four o’clock his coach came up the Main street, horses at a smart trot, and drew up with a flourish in front of Zenas Parson’s Tavern. There was a small crowd, and three cheers were give as the President stepped from his coach, but no great enthusiasm, for I am bound to say that Springfield is an anti-Federalist town, and there is already much grumbling about the government. The general remained in the tavern but a short time, when he came out, and mounting a horse set out with several officers up the Boston road, to visit the Government Stores. I learn that he was well satisfied with the location and the improvements, and predicts that there will be here one day great manufactories and warehouses for the making and storing of Munitions of War. After supper he sat for a couple of hours, until ten o’clock, with a company of gentlemen in the great room of the Tavern, before a roaring fire, for the nights are chill. I was invited, no doubt on my father’s account, for whom the General inquired kindly. There were, among others in the company, Col Worthington, Col Williams, Adjt. General of the State, Gen William Shepard, Mr Lyman, and many other respectable gentlemen of the Town. I shall never forget that evening. His Excellency talked more freely than is his wont. He is loth to speak of his own achievements, but at the urgent solicitation of Col Williams he told of his part in the Trenton campaign. He gave great praise to our Massachusetts men, particularly to the Marblehead fishermen, who ferried the army, men, horses and guns, across the river, amid the floating ice. I can very well see, Dorothy, how some men can worship him and others hate him. He is a gentleman, an aristocrat, if you please, by nature; proud, self-contained, refined in every sense of the word. Added to that he is afflicted—I think that is the right word—with an abnormal shyness and reserve. His nature suddenly draws in upon itself, leaving him silent, diffident, almost glum. He cannot speak at such times. His lips close in a firm line; he looks like a marble statue. This mood is what some men mistake for hauteur, pride, arrogance. They call him Caesar, because he does not smirk and grin, and slap every country Tom and Jerry on the back. And yet, beneath that cold exterior, there is a nature which can be as warm and as tender as Spring. Once or twice during the evening he laughed as heartily as any one. I am convinced that the reserve and apparent exclusiveness, which seems so offensive to some, is partly a natural dignity, a respect for his position, and partly a disposition which he cannot help.
But there is a quality about him which only the most superficial observer can fail to notice. The sense of it grew upon me as I sat there and watched the play of his features in the firelight. Dorothy, he is a great man, the greatest, perhaps, that our country will ever see. He is cast in the heroic mold. He belongs in the company of the elect of all the ages. Only once in centuries does Nature form such a man, and then, like Caesar and Cromwell, he must be misunderstood, because he walks in a different atmosphere from the common throng. When I was in college I went on a hunting trip in the New Hampshire wilderness. Away up there in the Northland, suddenly, from a hilltop, I saw that splendid mountain peak, which has just been rightly named Washington. Gloriously, above its fellows, it soared into the sunset sky, remote, inaccessible, companion of the stars, yet rooted in mother earth, with running stream and birds and flowers about its base. That is our Washington, and such he must ever be. Once he alluded to the slanders and vituperations, which cannot but annoy him. He spoke in a voice which had more of sadness than anger in it. “These attacks,” he said, “are outrages on common decency. But I have a consolation within that no earthly effort can deprive me of, and that is, that neither ambition nor interested motives have influenced my conduct. The arrows of malevolence, therefore, however barbed and well pointed, can never reach the most vulnerable part of me, though while I am up as a mark they will be continually aimed.” The truth is, Dorothy, his public life is one continual martyrdom and self-sacrifice. He does not care for public life. He loves his farm on the Potomac—his horses and his dogs, his tobacco and his wheat, and he would be happier there than in any office which the people can give him. This talk about his being unrepublican is absurd. No man could be more ardently republican. He went into the war from pure sentiment and love of the country. He would have fought in the ranks, if his place had not been in the saddle. He believes, as every man must, in a strong central government, but monarchial institutions he abhors.