And then they retired to beloved Monticello to enjoy the rest that comes only after work well done—­to spend the long vacation of their lives in simple homekeeping work and studious leisure, her husband yet in manhood’s prime, scarce thirty-seven, as men count time, and rich, passing rich, in goods and lands.

And then she died.

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 bounds, he invited Jefferson into his cabinet, and the acid was neutralized to a degree where it could be safely handled.

Jefferson had just returned from Paris with his beloved daughter, Martha.  He was intending soon to return to France and study social science at close range.  Already, he had seen that mob of women march out to Versailles and fetch the King to Paris, and had seen barricade after barricade erected with the stones from the leveled Bastile; he was on intimate and affectionate terms with Lafayette and the Republican leaders, and here was a pivotal point in his life.  Had not Washington persuaded him to remain “just for