the Constitution is an obscure document, for it would be difficult to
cite any political document in the annals of mankind that was so simple
and lucid in expression. There is nothing Johnsonese about its style.
Every word is a word of plain speech, the ordinary meaning of which even
the man in the street knows. No tautology is to be found and no attempt
at ornate expression. It is a model of simplicity, and as it flows
through the reaches of history it will always excite the admiration of
those who love clarity and not rhetorical excesses. One can say of it as
Horace said of his favourite Spring:

_O, fons Bandusiae, splendidior vitro.
Dulce digne mero, non sine floribus_.

If I be asked why, if this be true, it has required many lengthy
opinions of the Supreme Court in the 256 volumes of its Reports to
interpret its meaning, the answer is that, as with the simple sayings of
the great Galilean, whose words have likewise been the subject of
unending commentary, the question is not one of clarity but of
adaptation of the meaning to the ever-changing conditions of human life.
Moreover, as with the sayings of the Master or the unequalled verse of
Shakespeare, questions of construction are more due to the commentators
than to the text itself.

On September 17 the convention met for the last time. The document was
engrossed and laid before the members for signature. Of the fifty-five
members who had attended, only thirty-nine remained. Of those, a number
were unwilling to sign as individuals. While the members had not been
unconscious of the magnitude of their labours, they were quite
insensible of the magnitude of their achievement. Few there were of the
convention who were enthusiastic about this result. Indeed, as the