shington, while he was still busy with his
Franklin, his reply was, "No time!" and the printer never waited for
him a moment, so keen and clear were his decision and sense of
proportion.

In 1854, he published the Correspondence of the American Revolution, in
letters from eminent men to General Washington from the time of his
taking command of the army to the end of his Presidency. This valuable
addition to his historical series was prepared from the original MSS.,
and terminated Mr. Sparks's important contributions to our national
stores. It has been said that he contemplated a History of the Foreign
Diplomacy of the Revolution, and it is quite certain that he intended
to write a HISTORY OF THE REVOLUTION, itself, preceding it, probably,
by several volumes on our Colonial history. As I heard Mr. Irving once
say that the biography of Washington was not a task to his liking, for
"he had no _private_ life" to give it the personal interest essential
to secure the reader's sympathy; so it may truly be said, from the
constant publicity of the Chief's career, that his life, during most of
it, was the life of his country. Nevertheless, Mr. Sparks felt that it
was, in truth, biography and not history, and he sought a more extended
field, for which he considered his powers to be, as doubtless they
were, entirely equal. His collection of materials for this purpose was
rich, completed, and bound in volumes; but his noble intention was,
unfortunately, frustrated, and with it perished his most cherished
hope. He always regretted his inability to go on with this work. All
his other publications, valuable as they were, in his estimation had
been but preparatory. In 1850 he broke his right arm, which was already
weakened by a neuralgic affection contracted by long years of labor at
the desk. This, ever afterwards, made the use of a pen extremely
irksome. Under the weight of these mixed evils of nervous malady and
fractured limb, his task was procrastinated; yet, his patient hope was
profound. The conflict between the desire to achieve and the disability
was so painful, that the subject of his projected History became a
sacred one among all who were familiar with him, and, even in his
family, it was passed over in silence. At times, he would look at these
accumulations of years in his library, with the simple ejaculation,
"sad, sad!" When others alluded to them, he had some light reply: "you
are a younger man; do _you_ work?" It was his