and the honest can repair; the event is in the hand of God." The
whole personality of the great Virginian is back of that simple,
perfect sentence. It brings us to our feet, like a national
anthem.

One American, no doubt our most gifted man of letters of that
century, passed most of the Revolutionary period abroad, in the
service of his country. Benjamin Franklin was fifty-nine in the
year of the Stamp Act. When he returned from France in 1785 he
was seventy-nine, but he was still writing as admirably as ever
when he died at eighty-four. We cannot dismiss this singular,
varied, and fascinating American better than by quoting the
letter which George Washington wrote to him in September, 1789.
It has the dignity and formality of the eighteenth century, but
it is warm with tested friendship and it glows with deep human
feeling: "If to be venerated for benevolence, if to be admired
for talents, if to be esteemed for patriotism, if to be beloved
for philanthropy, can gratify the human mind, you must have the
pleasing consolation to know that you have not lived in vain. And
I flatter myself that it will not be ranked among the least
grateful occurrences of your life to be assured, that, so long as
I retain my memory, you will be recollected with respect,
veneration, and affection by your sincere friend, George
Washington."

There remains another Virginian, the symbol of the Revolutionary
age, the author of words more widely known around the globe than
any other words penned by an American. "Thomas Jefferson," writes
the latest of his successors in the Presidency, "was not a man of
the people, but he was a man of such singular insight that he saw