21. Old Fog
Massachusetts Centinel, 29 September 1787

—And really as I was saying, this Cassius is a humming fellow—there is no resisting the force of his eloquence: Happy must that party be, and successful in all its schemes, which boasts such an able champion—how convincing his arguments!—How he emblazons his subject!—How fully he proves that the late Administration were tyrants in grain! Julius Cæsar was but an antitype of them! Cataline a meer bungler, and Mark Antony knew nothing about aristocracy! The late Administration were the jewels—they played a proper game—they raised an army to quell, not an host of rebels, but, to cut the throats of miserable, misguided, oppressed, over-taxed, poor, harmless creatures, and when this bloody business was compleated, the Constitution was next to follow—and then heigh for ARISTOCRACY!—All this is so apparent, that Numa and his coadjutors are in the opinion of Cassius, and the junto fools and blockheads, for controverting such an opinion—Cassius in his yesterday’s performance has outdone himself—and by the help of Addison’s Cato, has fully evinced his amazing knowledge of History—it is a given point, that Cassius has the whole world before him—and that his boundless genius, fancy and eredition, can supply a fund of political disquisitions that could keep his pen going from this time forth, even until patience itself should say enough—but as he has produced sufficient already to convince all gainsayers that he is the man, and that wisdom shall die at his decease—as he has given the coup-de-grace not only to all that Numa has wrote, but to all his speculations that are to come, he would therefore do well to reserve his future labours for the attack of other windmills which he will doubtless meet in his political peregrinations—he need not fear the issue, as neither the publick nor himself has any thing to fear—his head-piece having been tried and found windmill-proof.