England. He asked only for simple justice, and said, "The middle
course is best." He listened to John Adams and Patrick Henry and quietly
discussed the matter with Samuel Adams; but it was some time before he saw
that the density of King George was hopeless, and that the work of
complete separation was being forced upon the Colonies by the blindness
and stupidity of the British Parliament.

He then accepted the issue.

During those first days of the Revolution, New York did not stand firm,
as did Boston, for the cause of independence. "The foes at home are the
only ones I really fear," once wrote Hamilton.

First to pacify and placate, then to win and hold those worse than
neutrals, was the work of John Jay. While Washington was in the field,
Jay, with tireless pen, upheld the cause, and by his speech and presence
kept anarchy at bay.

As president of the Committee of Safety he showed he could do something
more than talk and write. When Tories refused to take the oath of
allegiance he quietly wrote the order to imprison or banish; and with
friend, foe or kinsman there was neither dalliance nor turning aside. His
heart was in the cause--his property, his life. The time for argument had
passed.

In the gloom that followed the defeat of Washington at Brooklyn, Jay
issued an address to the people that is a classic in its fine, stern
spirit of hope and strength. Congress had the address reprinted and sent
broadcast, and also translated and printed in German.

His work divides itself by a strange coincidence into three equal parts.
Twenty-eight years were passed in youth and education; twenty-eight years
in continuous public work; and twenty-eight years in retirement and rest.

As one of that immortal ten, mentioned by a great English statesman, who
gave order, dignity, stability and direction to the cause of American
Independence, the name of John Jay is secure.

WILLIAM H. SEWARD

I avow my adherence to the Union, with my friends, with my party,
with my State; or without either, as they may determine; in every
event of peace or war, with every consequence of honor or
dishonor, of life or death.
--Speech in the United States Senate, 1860

[Illustration: WILLIAM H. SEWARD]

When I was a freshman at the Little Red Schoolhouse, the last exercise in
the afternoon was spelling. The larger pupils stood in a line that ran
down one aisle and curled clear around the stove. Well do I remember o