who talked politics, and poured out his vials of wrath against the late Tom Jefferson, President, and author of the “Declaration of Independence:” called him, in a loud voice, the worst of names, always turning himself as he did so to a tall, very thin military man, of a noble appearance, who sate on the other side of the carriage, and who seemed to be half amused by the fat man's ebullitions, although he endeavoured to appease them. But it was like pouring oil upon fire.
“Sir!” exclaimed our fat gentleman, with a stentorian voice, on one occasion, while the train stood still, “Sir, I say that if it had not been for Tom Jefferson, the whole union would be five hundred years farther advanced, and Carolina at least a thousand!”
“Oh! do you think so?” said the other, smiling.
“Yes, I say that Tom Jefferson was the worst man who has yet been placed at the head of a nation; he has done more mischief than all the Presidents after him can do good!”
“Yet he drew up our Act of Independence!” said the thin gentleman.
“He stole it, sir!” exclaimed the fat one; “he stole it, stole it! I can prove to you that he did. There is,” &c. And here followed proofs and many observations and replies between the two gentlemen, which I could not exactly follow.
At length, up sprung the fat gentleman, and grasping with both hands at two seats, stood before the thin one exclaiming,—
“Sir! I regard Tom Jefferson as the compound of everything which is rascally, mean, wicked, dishonourable—&c. &c. &c. &c.—” the great flood of accusation continuing certainly for three minutes, and ending with, “yes, that is what I say, sir!”
“That is strong language, sir!” said the other, still calm, and half smiling.
