And Thomas Jefferson, the strong, the self-poised, the self-reliant, fell
in a helpless swoon, and was laid on a pallet and carried out, as though
he, too, were dead. For three weeks his dazed senses prayed for death. He
could endure the presence of no one save his eldest daughter, a slim,
slender girl of scarce ten years, grown a woman in a day. By her loving
touch and tenderness he was lured back from death and reason's night into
the world of life and light. With tottering steps, led by the child who
had to think for both, he was taken out on the veranda of beautiful
Monticello. He looked out on stretching miles of dark-blue hills and
waving woods and winding river. He gazed, and as he looked it came slowly
to him that the earth was still as when he last saw it, and realized that
this would be so even if he were gone. Then, turning to the child, who
stood by, stroking his locks, it came to him that even in grief there may
be selfishness, and for the first time he responded to the tender caress,
saying, "Yes, we will live, daughter--live in memory of her!"

* * * * *

When two men of equal intelligence and sincerity quarrel, both are
probably right. Hamilton and Jefferson were opposed to each other by
temperament and disposition, in a way that caused either to look with
distrust on any proposition made by the other. And yet, when Washington
pressed upon Jefferson the position of Secretary of State, I can not but
think he did it as an antidote to the growing power and vaunting ambition
of Hamilton. Washington won his victories, as great men ever do, by wisely
choosing his aides. Hamilton had done yeoman's service in every branch of
the government, and while the chief sincerely admired his genius, he
guessed his limitations. Power grows until it topples, and when it
topples, innocent people are crushed. Washington was wise as a serpent,
and rather than risk open ruction with Hamilton by personally setting