h monarch himself, whose letter
the Irish colonel had brought. The extraordinary occasion inspired him.
It is a rare occurrence when one can speak direct to a king as man with
man on terms of real equality. Franklin seized his chance, and wrote a
letter in his best vein, a dignified, vigorous statement of the American
position, an eloquent, indignant arraignment of the English measures
for which George III. more than any other one man was responsible. In
language which was impassioned without being extravagant, he mingled
sarcasm and retort, statement and argument, with a strenuous force that
would have bewildered the royal "de Weissenstein." To this day one
cannot read these stinging paragraphs without a feeling of
disappointment that de Vergennes would not let them reach their
destination. Such a bolt should have been sent hotly home, not dropped
to be picked up as a curiosity by the groping historians of posterity.

The good Hartley also was constantly toiling to find some common ground
upon which negotiators could stand and talk. One of his schemes, which
now seems an idle one, was for a long truce, during which passions might
subside and perhaps a settlement be devised. Franklin ever lent a
courteous ear to any one who spoke the word Peace. But neither this
strong feeling, nor any discouragement by reason of American reverses,
nor any arguments of Englishmen ever induced him to recede in the least
from the line of demands which he thought reasonable, nor to abate his
uncompromising plainness of speech.

With the outbreak of war Franklin's feelings towards England had taken
on that extreme bitterness which so often succeeds when love and
admiration seem to have been misplaced. "I was fond to a folly," he
said, "of our British connections, ... but the extreme cruelty with
which we have been treated has now extinguished every thought of
returning to it, and separated us forever. You have thereby lost limbs
that will never grow again." English barbarities, he declared, "have at
length demolished all my moderation." Often and often he reiterated such
statements in burning words, which verge more nearly upon vehemence than
any other reminiscence which survives to us of the great and calm
philosopher.

Yet in the bottom of his heart he felt that the chasm should not be made
wider and deeper than was inevitable. In 1780 he told Hartley that
Congress would fain have had him "make a school-book" from accounts of
"British