The following poem appeared in The Virginia Journal and Alexandria Advertiser on March 15, 1789. It is entitled, “The Newsmonger.” With a little imagination, it may today aptly be renamed simply, “The Blogivore,” or “The Blogophile.”
It is an indictment of those who gain an hypocritical perspective on world and local affairs, because their own opinions are formed by second- and third-hand opinions, rather than consulting a primary source, causing befuddlement, contradictions, and inconsistencies:
THUS, all the business of mankind,
And all the follies we might find
Are huddled in his crazy mind;
Under its title is a corruption of Seneca’s Thyestes, quoted,
Nimiam notus omnibus,
Moritur ignotus sibi,
which is to say,
Knowing too much about everyone,
yet to his own self dies unknown
“The Newsmonger”
An insect lives among mankind
For what wise ends by fate design’d
I never yet could clearly find
In pain for all, and thank’d by none
And most perplext when most alone
No State regards him, or the throne
The flowers that deck the summer field
The vernal bloom that frost conceal’d
To him no spark of pleasure yield.
He life supports on self-esteem;
He plans, contrives, and lives by scheme
And spoils good paper — many a ream
Distrest for those he never saw–
Of kings and princes not in awe
He scorns their mandates, and their law.
Relief he finds for other’s woes,
The wants of all the world he knows–
His boots are only out at toes.
Now Europe’s feuds employ his brains,
Now Asia’s news his head contains–
But still his labor for his pains
The river Scheldt he opens wide,
And Joseph’s ships in triumph ride;–
The Dutchmen are not on his side
On great affairs condemn’d to fret,
The interest of our foreign debt
He hopes good Louis may forget
He fears the Bank will hurt our trade,
And fall it must without his aid–
And yet his barber goes unpaid.
Our Western Posts (that Britons keep
In spite of treaties) break his sleep;
He plans their conquest at one sweep.
He grumbles at the price of flour
The mourns and mutters many an hour
That Congress have so little power.
Although he has no ships to lose,
The Algerines he dares abuse,
And longs to hear some better news.
The French, he thinks will soon prepare
To undertake some grand affair–
**** ’tis but war, we need not care.
**** Mississippi laves the plain,
*****s bold Kentucky swain
**** her forts and plague Old Spain
[Such mo]rning thoughts, such evening dreams!
[Thr]o’ long dull nights he plans odd schemes
To dispossess her of those streams.
He prophesies the time will come
When few shall drink West-India rum,–
Our spirits will be proof at home.
The tories on New-Scotland’s coast,
He deems, may all their freedom boast
In half a century, at most.
Then shakes his head, and shifts the scene,
Talks much about the Empress Queen,
And wonders what the Germans mean.
He doubts, and frets, and seems afraid
The States will lose by China trade,
Since dollars for their tea are paid;
Then hopes that by the month of June
Lunardi, in his new balloon,
Will make a passage to the moon
THUS, all the business of mankind,
And all the follies we might find
Are huddled in his crazy mind;
‘Till doom’d to think of new affairs,
At last with death he walks down stairs,
And leave–the wide world to his heirs.
Editorial note: The emendation **** indicates this portion of the MS is obliterated and the editor cannot accurately insert the original text. Text indicated in brackets, “[Such mo]rning” etc, is the editor’s emendatory insertion based on context and partial words or letters in the MS.
