or political motive for refusing assent to the proposition. But
"no intelligent man," says one of Jefferson's biographers, "has
ever misconstrued it [the Declaration] except intentionally."

Nobody would claim today that Thomas Jefferson's statement of the
sentiments and reasons for the independence of the thirteen
British colonies in 1776 was an adequate handbook of political
wisdom, fit for all the exigencies of contemporary American
democracy. It is not that. It is simply, in Lincoln's phrase, one
of "the standard maxims of free society" which no democracy can
safely disregard.

Jefferson's long life, so varied, so flexible, so responsive to
the touch of popular forces, illustrates the process by which the
Virginia mind of 1743 became the nationalized, unionized mind of
1826. It is needless here to dwell upon the traits of his
personal character: his sweetness of spirit, his
stout-heartedness in disaster, his scorn of money, his love for
the intellectual life. "I have no ambition to govern men," he
wrote to Edward Rutledge. He was far happier talking about Greek
and Anglo-Saxon with Daniel Webster before the fire-place of
Monticello than he ever was in the presidential chair. His
correspondence was enormous. His writings fill twenty volumes. In
his theories of education he was fifty years ahead of his time;
in his absolute trust in humanity he was generations ahead of it.
"I am not one of those who fear the people," he declared proudly.
It is because of this touching faith, this invincible and
matchless ardor, that Jefferson is today remembered. He
foreshadowed Lincoln. His belief in the inarticulate common
people is rewarded by their obstinate fidelity to his name as a