ference that could wake up the mind to his
having had anything to do with the Revolution. He had helped to pave the
way for that great event by the influence of his high character thrown
into the scale when the early questions of resistance or submission were
in agitation; he had helped it on by his attachment to constitutional
liberty at that epoch though his fortune was at stake, and friendships
among the highborn and cultivated from the parent State then among his
associates in Virginia--could a bosom like his have been swayed by such
thoughts; he had helped it on by the special weight of name he had won
in arms fighting side by side with the proud generals and troops of
Britain confident of victory, but saved from annihilation by his inborn
fearlessness and superiority, when death was all around him and dismay
everywhere in Braddock's disastrous fight--their silent homage crowning
the head of their deliverer; his triumphant sword at Yorktown put the
crowning hand to the immortal work--the work that founded this great
nation; yet we could never infer from a word or hint in the course of
these letters, from first to last, that he had anything to do with the
work, except as the name of "_Sergeant Cornelius_" incidentally falls
from his pen with only a rural object. What a lesson! Some extol
themselves openly. Some do it under cover of self-humiliation, called by
a French writer the pomp of modesty. Washington is simply silent; he
will slide into no allusions to the great and glorious work of his life
in the midst of temptations to it.

Finally: the charm of these letters is in their being so familiar, so
out of the sphere of his correspondence generally, and therefore holding
him up in lights that seem new. Mankind, long familiar with the external
attributes and grandeur of his character, looking up to his vast fame
as hero and statesman uncertain which predominates, have known less of
him at home with his family, his relations and his friends. The inner
parts of his character, the kindlier impulses of his nature, his
sympathies with those dear to him, dependent on him, or looking to him
for the solace of his kindness, seem to have remained less publicly
known. Mr. Sparks, in his preface to his "Life and Writings," remarks
that "it must be kept in mind that much the larger portion of his life
passed on a conspicuous public theatre, and that no account of it can be
written which will not assume essentially the air of his