Once in a century, possibly, a being is born who possesses a transcendent
insight, and him we call a "genius." Shakespeare, for instance, to whom
all knowledge lay open; Joan of Arc; the artist Turner; Swedenborg, the
mystic--these are the men who know a royal road to geometry; but we may
safely leave them out of account when we deal with the builders of a
State, for among statesmen there are no geniuses.

Nobody knows just what a genius is or what he may do next; he boils at an
unknown temperature, and often explodes at a touch. He is uncertain and
therefore unsafe. His best results are conjured forth, but no man has yet
conjured forth a Nation--it is all slow, patient, painstaking work along
mathematical lines. Washington was a mathematician and therefore not a
genius. We call him a great man, but his greatness was of that sort in
which we all can share; his virtues were of a kind that, in degree, we too
may possess. Any man who succeeds in a legitimate business works with the
same tools that Washington used. Washington was human. We know the man; we
understand him; we comprehend how he succeeded, for with him there were no
tricks, no legerdemain, no secrets. He is very near to us.

Washington is indeed first in the hearts of his countrymen. Washington has
no detractors. There may come a time when another will take first place in
the affections of the people, but that time is not yet ripe. Lincoln
stood between men who now live and the prizes they coveted; thousands
still tread the earth whom he benefited, and neither class can forgive,
for they are of clay. But all those who lived when Washington lived are
gone; not one survives; even the last body-servant, who confused memory
with hearsay, has departed babbling to his rest.

We know all of Washington we will ever know; there are no more documents
to present, no partisan witnesses to examine, no prejudices to remove. His