Count the Cost An Address to the People of Connecticut, On Sundry Political Subjects, and Particularly on the Proposition for a New Constitution — Text and Context

The Rhetoric of Prudence and Suspicion

Daggett repeatedly frames the proposed constitutional change as a gamble whose costs must be calculated. He uses the verb 'cost' not only in the title but as a recurring conceptual anchor: 'Would the accomplishment of the object be worth the cost?' This question, he insists, should be answered by examining Connecticut's present condition and the probable consequences of reform. The author's diction consistently favors words like 'evil,' 'benefit,' 'scheme,' and 'project,' casting the reformers as reckless enthusiasts.

His suspicion extends to the motives of the convention delegates. He names three leaders—Judd, Bishop, and Wolcott—and asks sarcastically whether their 'disinterested virtue' and 'exalted patriotism' can be doubted. The sarcasm is thick: 'Can any man doubt either the truth of this remark or the sincerity with which it is uttered?' This pattern of ironic questioning is a hallmark of Daggett's style, designed to undermine the credibility of his opponents without directly accusing them of falsehood.

Attacking the Convention's Credibility

Daggett devotes considerable energy to discrediting the convention that proposed the new constitution. He points out that many delegates were chosen by fewer than a quarter—'in general with less than a tenth'—of the voters in their towns, yet they styled themselves 'Delegates from ninety-seven towns.' He calls this a 'grosly deceptive declaration' and 'notoriously false and impudent.' The attack is personal and specific: he names Major Judd as chairman and accuses him of obeying 'Mr. Edwards' and 'Bishop and Wolcott.'

The convention's claim that Connecticut had 'no Constitution of civil Government' is met with incredulity. Daggett argues that the existing charter and laws had served well, and he contrasts Connecticut's stability with the turmoil in other states and nations. He cites New York's recent convention, Pennsylvania's two constitutions and near civil war, Georgia's two, Vermont's two, and France's six constitutions in fifteen years—'in the grave of anarchy and despotism.' This comparative argument is central to his case: why risk a proven system for untested change?

The Absence of Specific Grievances

A key observation in Daggett's address is that the convention's own document fails to list any concrete wrongs. He quotes their admission: they must be 'excused a detail of the numerous wrongs which have arrived to us under this Government.' Daggett pounces: 'they are excused indeed—yes, they are excused from not polluting their address with falsehoods in this particular.' He insists that no such wrongs existed and that the convention knew it.

Instead of grievances, the convention appealed to concern for 'the next generation.' Daggett mocks this as 'an astonishing display of philanthropy.' His sarcasm here serves a rhetorical purpose: by highlighting the absence of specific complaints, he suggests that the push for a new constitution is based on abstract fears or hidden motives rather than genuine problems. This move forces readers to question whether the reformers have any real case at all.

Diction, Voice, and the Pseudonymous Persona

Daggett writes as 'Jonathan Steadfast,' a name that itself signals his rhetorical stance: steadfastness against change. The pseudonym allows him to adopt a plain-speaking, common-sense persona. His voice is that of a man who 'neither holds an office nor seeks one,' claiming only 'the same interest in the welfare of society as the great body of his fellow citizens.' This is a classic appeal to ethos, positioning the author as a trustworthy everyman.

His diction is often biblical and moralistic: 'truth,' 'darkness,' 'light,' 'wisdom,' 'folly.' He warns of 'ambition, fierce, cruel and destructive as hell.' Yet he also uses colloquial, even mocking language, as when he says of the convention's declaration that 'it is scarcely possible to be serious.' The mix of high moral tone and sharp sarcasm creates a distinctive voice—one that is both preacher and pamphleteer. The excerpts show a writer who controls tone carefully, shifting from solemn warning to biting ridicule within a single paragraph.

Daggett's address is best read as a specimen of early American political rhetoric, where biblical allusion, sarcasm, and appeals to experience combine to defend the status quo. Readers should note how the author constructs his authority by disclaiming office and ambition, and how he uses comparative examples—from New York to France—to argue that constitutional change brings instability. The text rewards attention to its rhetorical strategies, especially the way Daggett turns the convention's own words against them.

That rainy afternoon, I sat with Daggett’s “Jonathan Steadfast,” his sarcasm oddly comforting against the window’s drumming. He kept counting costs nobody else would admit. Afterwards, restless, I drifted to Reform and Politics Part 2 from The Works of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume VII — Background and Themes, and found Whittier asking quieter versions of the same hard question—what change truly demands.