to separate his public from his personal rancour.  He would drive Jefferson from public office for the public good, but he would experience the keenest personal pleasure in so doing.  Such was Hamilton.  Could a genius like his be allied in one ego with a character like Washington’s, we should have a being for which the world has never dared to hope in its most Biblical moments.  But genius must ever be imperfect.  Life is not long enough nor slow enough for both brain and character to grow side by side to superhuman proportions.

XXIX

The following political year was a lively one for Hamilton, perhaps the liveliest of his career.  As it approached, those interested in public affairs had many subjects for constant and excited discussion:  the possible Vice-President, whose election was to determine the future status of the Secretary of State, and cement or weaken the centralized powers of the Administration; the battle in the two Gazettes, with the laurels to Hamilton, beyond all controversy, and humiliation for Jefferson and Madison; the growing strength of the “Republican” party under Madison’s open and Jefferson’s literary leadership; the probable policy of the Administration toward the French Revolution, with Jefferson hot with rank Democracy, and Hamilton hotter with contempt for the ferocity of the Revolutionists; the next move of the Virginians did Hamilton win the Vice-Presidency for the Administration party; and the various policies of the Secretary of the Treasury and their results.  At coffee-houses, at public and private receptions, and in Mrs. Croix’s drawing-room, hardly another subject was broached.

“A fool could understand politics in these days,” said Betsey, one evening in December, with a sigh.  “Not a word does one hear of clothes, gossip, husbands, or babies.  Mrs. Washington told me the day after she returned that she had deliberately thought of nothing but butter and patchwork during the entire recess, that her poor brain might be able to stand the strain of the winter.  Shall you have to work harder than ever?”

“I do not know,” replied Hamilton, and at that moment he did not.  He was correcting a French exercise of his son’s, and feeling domestic and happy.  Jefferson and he had made no pretence at formal amiability this season; they did not speak at all, but communicated on paper when the business of their respective departments required an interchange of opinion.  He had vanquished his enemy in print, made him ridiculous in the eyes of all who read the Gazettes.  Moreover, Washington, disturbed during the summer by the constant nagging of Jefferson and his agents, respecting the “monarchical schemes” and “corrupt practices” of the Secretary of the Treasury, had formulated the accusations and sent them to Hamilton for refutation.  The vindication, written without passion, as cold, clear, consistent, and logical, as if dealing with