Jefferson was scowling heavily. “I am not so sure that I do, sir,” he said; inconsistent often in his calmest tempers, passion dissipated his power of consecutive thought. “When Mr. Hamilton and I were on friendly terms—before he took to annoying me with a daily exhibition of personal rancour, from which I have been entirely free—he has often at my own table avowed his admiration of the British Constitution, deprecated the weakness of our own admirable instrument, tacitly admitted his regret that we are a republic and not a kingdom. I have his very words in my diary. He is committed out of his own mouth. I not only believe but know him to be a lover of absolute monarchy, and that he has no faith that this country can continue to exist in its present shape. It is for that reason I hold him to be a traitor to the country with which he is merely amusing himself.”
“Sir,” said Washington, turning to Jefferson an immobile face, in which the eyes were beginning to glitter, “is a man to be judged by his private fancies or by his public acts? I know nothing of Mr. Hamilton’s secret desires. Neither, I fancy, do you. We do know that he has resigned a brilliant and profitable practice at the bar to guide this unfortunate country out of bankruptcy and dishonour into prosperity and every promise of a great and honourable future. Pray let the matter rest there for the present. If Mr. Hamilton be really a liar and a charlatan, rest assured he will betray himself before any great harm is done. Every man is his own worst enemy. I was deeply interested in what you were saying when we entered this room. Where did you say you purchased those lily bulbs? My garden is sadly behind yours, I fear. I certainly shall enter upon an amiable rivalry with you next summer.”
And Jefferson knew better than to persist.