“The habit of reticence grew upon him,” says one writer, “until he could not be tricked into giving an opinion even about the weather.”

And so he lived out his days as a partial recluse, deep in problems of “raising watermelons, and sheep that would not jump fences.”  He worked with his hands, wore blue jeans, voted at every town election, but to a great degree lived only in the past.  The problems of church and village politics and farm life filled his declining days.

To a great degree his physical health came back, but the problems of statecraft he left to other heads and hands.

His religious nature manifested itself in various philanthropic schemes, and the Bible Society he founded endures even unto this day.  These things afforded a healthful exercise for that tireless brain which refused to run down.

His daughters made his home ideal, their love and gentleness soothing his declining years.

Death to him was kindly, gathering him as Autumn, the messenger of Winter, reaps the leaves.

* * * * *

No one has ever made the claim that Jay possessed genius.  He had something which is better, though, for most of the affairs of life, and that is commonsense.  In his intellect there was not the flash of Hamilton, nor the creative quality possessed by Jefferson, nor the large all-roundness of Franklin.

He was the average man who has trained and educated and made the best use of every faculty and every opportunity.  He was genuine; he was honest; and if he never surprised his friends by his brilliancy, he surely never disappointed them through duplicity.

He made no promises that he could not keep; he held out no vain hopes.

As a diplomat he seems nearly the ideal.  We have been taught that the line of demarcation between diplomacy and untruth is very shadowy.  But truth is very good policy and in the main answers the purpose much better than the other thing.  I am quite willing to leave the matter to those who have tried both.

We can not say that Jay was “magnetic,” for magnetic men win the rabble; but Jay did better:  he won the confidence and admiration of the strong and discerning.  His manner was gentle and pleasing; his words few, and as a listener he set a pace that all novitiates in the school of diplomacy would do well to follow.

To talk well is a talent, but to listen is a fine art.  If I really wished to win the love of a man I’d practise the art of listening.  Even dull people often talk well when there is some one near who cultivates the receptive mood; and to please a man you must give him an opportunity to be both wise and witty.  Men are pleased with their friends when they are pleased with themselves, and no man is ever so pleased with himself as when he has expressed himself well.

The sympathetic listener at a lecture or sermon is the only one who gets his money’s worth.  If you would get good, lend your sympathy to a speaker, and if, accidentally, you imbibe heresy, you can easily throw it overboard when you get home.