wept as they cheered the hero, now fifty-seven, who had given nearly his
whole life to his country's service. On April 30, 1789, the inauguration
took place. At nine o'clock in the morning, religious services were held
in all the churches. At twelve, in the old City Hall, in Wall Street,
Chancellor Livingston administered the oath of office, Washington
stooping down and kissing the open Bible, on which he laid his hand;
"the man," says T. W. Higginson, "whose generalship, whose patience,
whose self-denial, had achieved and then preserved the liberties of the
nation; the man who, greater than Caesar, had held a kingly crown within
reach, and had refused it." Washington had previously been addressed by
some who believed that the Colonies needed a monarchy for strong
government. Astonished and indignant, he replied: "I am much at a loss
to conceive what part of my conduct could have given encouragement to an
address which to me seems big with the greatest mischiefs that can
befall my country." After taking the oath, all proceeded on foot to St.
Paul's Church, where prayers were read.
The next four years were years of perplexity and care in the building of
the nation. The great war debt, of nearly one hundred millions, must be
provided for by an impoverished nation; commerce and manufactures must
be developed; literature and education encouraged, and Indian outbreaks
quelled. With a love of country that was above party-spirit, with a
magnanimity that knew no self-aggrandizement, he led the States out of
their difficulties. When his term of office expired, he would have
retired gladly to Mount Vernon for life, but he could not be spared.
Thomas Jefferson wrote him: "The confidence of the whole Union is
centred in you.... North and South will hang together, if they have you
to hang on."
Again he accepted the office of President. Affairs called more than ever
for wisdom. He continually counselled "mutual forbearances and
temporizing yieldings on all sides." France, who had helped us so nobly,
was passing through the horrors of the Revolution. The blood of kings
and people was flowing. The French Republic having sent M. Genet as her
minister to the United States, he attempted to fit out privateers
against Great Britain. Washington knew that America could not be again
plunged into a war with England without probable self-destruction;
therefore he held to neutrality, and demanded the recall of Genet. The
people earnestly sympathized with France, and, but for the strong man at
the head of the nation, would have been led into untold calamities. The
country finally came to the verge of war with France, but when Napoleon
overthrew the Directory, and made himself First Consul, he wisely made
peace with the United States.
Washington declined a third term of office, and sent his beautiful
farewell address to Congress, containing the never-to-be-forgotten
words: "Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political
prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports.... Observe
good faith and justice towards all nations. Cultivate peace and harmony
with all."
He now returned to Mount Vernon to enjoy the rest he had so long
desired. Three years later the great man lay dying, after a day's
illness, from affection of the throat. From difficulty of breathing, his
position was often changed. With his usual consideration for others, he
said to his secretary, "I am afraid I fatigue you too much." "I feel I
am going," he said to his physicians. "I thank you for your attentions,
but I pray you to take no more trouble about me." The man who could face
death on the battle-field had no fears in the quiet home by the Potomac.
In the midst of his agony, he could remember to thank those who aided
him, and regret that he was a source of care or anxiety. Great indeed is
that soul which has learned that nothing in God's universe is a little
thing.
At ten in the evening he gave a few directions about burial. "Do you
understand me?" he asked. Upon being answered in the affirmative, he
replied, "'Tis well!" when he expired without a struggle, December 14,
1799. Mrs. Washington, who was seated at the foot of the bed, said:
"'Tis well. All is now over. I shall soon follow him. I have no more
trials to pass through."
On December 18, 1799, the funeral procession took its way to the vault
on the Mount Vernon estate. The general's horse, with his saddle and
pistols, led by his groom in black, preceded the body of his dead
master. A deep sorrow settled upon the nation. The British ships lowered
their flags to half-mast. The French draped their standards with crape.
Martha Washington died three years later, May 22, 1802, and was buried
beside her husband. In 1837, the caskets were enclosed in white marble
coffins, now seen by visitors to Mount Vernon. In 1885 a grand marble
monument, five hundred and fifty-five feet high, was completed on the
banks of the Potomac, at the capital, to the immortal Washington.
Truly wrote Jefferson: "His integrity was most pure; his justice the
most inflexible I have ever known; no motives of interest or
consanguinity, of friendship or hatred, being able to bias his decision.
He was, indeed, in every sense of the word, a wise, a good, and a great
man."
The life of George Washington will ever be an example to young men. He had
the earnest heart and manner--never trivial--which women love, and men
respect. He had the courage which the world honors, and the gentleness
which made little children cling to him. He controlled an army and a
nation, because he understood the secret of power--self-control. Well does
Mr. Gladstone call him the "purest figure in history;" unselfish, fair,
patient, heroic, true.
[Illustration: Benj. Franklin with Signature]
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
"To say that his life is the most interesting, the most uniformly
successful, yet lived by any American, is bold. But it is, nevertheless,
strictly true." Thus writes John Bach McMaster, in his life of the great
statesman.
In the year 1706, January 6 (old style), in the small house of a
tallow-chandler and soap-boiler, on Milk Street, opposite the Old South
Church, Boston, was born Benjamin Franklin. Already fourteen children
had come into the home of Josiah Franklin, the father, by his two wives,
and now this youngest son was added to the struggling family circle. Two
daughters were born later.
The home was a busy one, and a merry one withal; for the father, after
the day's work, would sing to his large flock the songs he had learned
in his boyhood in England, accompanying the words on his violin.
From the mother, the daughter of Peter Folger of Nantucket, "a learned
and godly Englishman," Benjamin inherited an attractive face, and much
of his hunger for books, which never lessened through his long and
eventful life. At eight years of age, he was placed in the Boston
Latin School, and in less than a year rose to the head of his class. The
father had hoped to educate the boy for the ministry, but probably money
was lacking, for at ten his school-life was ended, and he was in his
father's shop filling candle-moulds and running on errands.
For two years he worked there, but how he hated it! not all labor, for
he was always industrious, but soap and candle-making were utterly
distasteful to him. So strongly was he inclined to run away to sea, as
an older brother had done, that his father obtained a situation for him
with a maker of knives, and later he was apprenticed to his brother
James as a printer.
Now every spare moment was used in reading. The first book which he
owned was Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," and after reading this over and
over, he sold it, and bought Burton's "Historical Collections," forty
tiny books of travel, history, biography, and adventure. In his father's
small library, there was nothing very soul-stirring to be found. Defoe's
"Essays upon Projects," containing hints on banking, friendly societies
for the relief of members, colleges for girls, and asylums for idiots,
would not be very interesting to most boys of twelve, but Benjamin read
every essay, and, strange to say, carried out nearly every "project" in
later life. Cotton Mather's "Essays to do Good," with several leaves
torn out, was so eagerly read, and so productive of good, that Franklin
wrote, when he was eighty, that this volume "gave me such a turn of
thinking as to have an influence on my conduct through life; for I have
always set a greater value on the character of a doer of good than on
any other kind of reputation; and, if I have been a useful citizen, the
public owe the advantage of it to that book."
As the boy rarely had any money to buy books, he would often borrow from
the booksellers' clerks, and read in his little bedroom nearly all
night, being obliged to return the books before the shop was opened in
the morning. Finally, a Boston merchant, who came to the
printing-office, noticed the lad's thirst for knowledge, took him home
to see his library, and loaned him some volumes. Blessings on those
people who are willing to lend knowledge to help the world upward,
despite the fact that book-borrowers proverbially have short memories,
and do not always take the most tender care of what they borrow.
When Benjamin was fifteen, he wrote a few ballads, and his brother James
sent him about the streets to sell them. This the father wisely checked
by telling his son that poets usually are beggars, a statement not
literally true, but sufficiently near the truth to produce a wholesome
effect upon the young verse-maker.
The boy now devised a novel way to earn money to buy books. He had read
somewhere that vegetable food was sufficient for health, and persuaded
James, who paid the board of his apprentice, that for half the amount
paid he could board himself.
Benjamin therefore attempted living on potatoes, hasty pudding, and
rice; doing his own cooking,--not the life most boys of sixteen would
choose. His dinner at the printing-office usually consisted of a
biscuit, a handful of raisins, and a glass of water; a meal quickly
eaten, and then, O precious thought! there was nearly a whole hour for
books.
He now read Locke on "Human Understanding," and Xenophon's "Memorable
Things of Socrates." In this, as he said in later years, he learned one
of the great secrets of success; "never using, when I advanced anything
that may possibly be disputed, the words _certainly_, _undoubtedly_, or
any others that give the air of positiveness to an opinion; but rather
say, I conceive or apprehend a thing to be so and so; it appears to me,
or _I should think it so or so_, for such and such reasons; or, _it is
so_, if _I am not mistaken_.... I wish well-meaning, sensible men would
not lessen their power of doing good by a positive, assuming manner,
that seldom fails to disgust, tends to create opposition, and to defeat
every one of those purposes for which speech was given to us, to wit,
giving or receiving information or pleasure.... To this habit I think it
principally owing that I had early so much weight with my
fellow-citizens, when I proposed new institutions or alterations in the
old, and so much influence in public councils when I became a member;
for I was but a bad speaker, never eloquent, subject to much hesitation
in my choice of words, and yet I generally carried my points." A most
valuable lesson to be learned early in life.
Coming across an odd volume of the "Spectator," Benjamin was captivated
by the style, and resolved to become master of the production, by
rewriting the essays from memory, and increasing his fulness of
expression by turning them into verse, and then back again into prose.
James Franklin was now printing the fifth newspaper in America. It was
intended to issue the first--_Publick Occurrences_--monthly, or oftener,
"if any glut of occurrences happens." When the first number appeared,
September 25, 1690, a very important "occurrence happened," which was
the immediate suspension of the paper for expressions concerning those
in official position. The next newspaper,--the _Boston News-Letter_,--a
weekly, was published April 24, 1704; the third was the _Boston
Gazette_, which James was engaged to print, but, being disappointed,
started one of his own, August 17, 1721, called the _New England
Courant_. The _American Weekly Mercury_ was printed in Philadelphia six
months before the _Courant_.
Benjamin's work was hard and constant. He not only set type, but
distributed the paper to customers. "Why," thought he, "can I not write
something for the new sheet?" Accordingly, he prepared a manuscript,
slipped it under the door of the office, and the next week saw it in
print before his eyes. This was joy indeed, and he wrote again and
again.
The _Courant_ at last gave offence by its plain speaking, and it
ostensibly passed into Benjamin's hands, to save his brother from
punishment. The position, however, soon became irksome, for the
passionate brother often beat Benjamin, till at last he determined to
run away. As soon as this became known, James went to every office, told
his side of the story, and thus prevented Benjamin from obtaining work.
Not discouraged, the boy sold a portion of his precious books, said
good-bye to his beloved Boston, and went out into the world to more
poverty and struggle.
Three days after this, he stood in New York, asking for work at the only
printing-office in the city, owned by William Bradford. Alas! there was
no work to be had, and he was advised to go to Philadelphia, nearly one
hundred miles away, where Andrew Bradford, a son of the former, had
established a paper. The boy could not have been very light-hearted as
he started on the journey. After thirty hours by boat, he reached Amboy,
and then travelled fifty miles on foot across New Jersey. It rained hard
all day, but he plodded on, tired and hungry, buying some gingerbread of
a poor woman, and wishing that he had never left Boston. His money was
fast disappearing.
Finally he reached Philadelphia.
"I was," he says in his autobiography, "in my working dress, my best
clothes being to come round by sea. I was dirty from my journey; my
pockets were stuffed out with shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul
nor where to look for lodging. I was fatigued with travelling, rowing,
and want of rest. I was very hungry, and my whole stock of cash
consisted of a Dutch dollar and about a shilling in copper. The latter I
gave the people of the boat for my passage, who at first refused it, on
account of my rowing, but I insisted on their taking it; a man being
sometimes more generous when he has but a little money than when he has
plenty, perhaps through fear of being thought to have but little.
"Then I walked up the street, gazing about, till near the Market-house I
met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and, inquiring
where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed me to, in
Second Street, and asked for biscuit, intending such as we had in
Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in Philadelphia. Then I asked
for a threepenny loaf, and was told they had none such. So, not
considering or knowing the difference of money, and the greater
cheapness, nor the names of bread, I bade him give me threepenny-worth
of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I was
surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having no room in my
pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and eating the other.
"Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth Street, passing by the
door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when she, standing at the
door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward,
ridiculous figure. Then I turned and went down Chestnut Street and part
of Walnut Street, eating my roll all the way, and, coming round, found
myself again at Market Street wharf, near the boat I came in, to which I
went for a draught of the river water; and, being filled with one of my
rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that came down the
river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther."
After this, he joined some Quakers who were on their way to the
meeting-house, which he too entered, and, tired and homeless, soon fell
asleep. And this was the penniless, runaway lad who was eventually to
stand before five kings, to become one of the greatest philosophers,
scientists, and statesmen of his time, the admiration of Europe and the
idol of America. Surely, truth is stranger than fiction.
The youth hastened to the office of Andrew Bradford, but there was no
opening for him. However, Bradford kindly offered him a home till he
could find work. This was obtained with Keimer, a printer, who happened
to find lodging for the young man in the house of Mr. Read. As the
months went by, and the hopeful and earnest lad of eighteen had visions
of becoming a master printer, he confided to Mrs. Read that he was in
love with, and wished to marry, the pretty daughter, who had first seen
him as he walked up Market Street, eating his roll. Mr. Read had died,
and the prudent mother advised that these children, both under
nineteen, should wait till the printer proved his ability to support a
wife.
And now a strange thing happened. Sir William Keith, governor of the
province, who knew young Franklin's brother-in-law, offered to establish
him in the printing business in Philadelphia, and, better still, to send
him to England with a letter of credit with which to buy the necessary
outfit.
A mine of gold seemed to open before him. He made ready for the journey,
and set sail, disappointed, however, that the letter of credit did not
come before he left. When he reached England, he ascertained that Sir
William Keith was without credit, a vain man and devoid of principle.
Franklin found himself alone in a strange country, doubly unhappy
because he had used for himself and some impecunious friends one hundred
and seventy-five dollars, collected from a business man. This he paid
years afterward, ever considering the use of it one of the serious
mistakes of his life.
He and a boy companion found lodgings at eighty-seven cents per week;
very inferior lodgings they must have been. There was of course no money
to buy type, no money to take passage back to America. He wrote a letter
to Miss Read, telling her that he was not likely to return, dropped the
correspondence, and found work in a printing-office.
After a year or two, a merchant offered him a position as clerk in
America, at five dollars a week. He accepted, and, after a three-months
voyage, reached Philadelphia, "the cords of love," he said, drawing him
back. Alas! Deborah Read, persuaded by her mother and other relatives;
had married, but was far from happy. The merchant for whom Franklin had
engaged to work soon died, and the printer was again looking for a
situation, which he found with Keimer. He was now twenty-one, and life
had been anything but cheerful or encouraging.
Still, he determined to keep his mind cheerful and active, and so
organized a club of eleven young men, the "Junto," composed mostly of
mechanics. They came together once a month to discuss questions of
morals, politics, and science. As most of these were unable to buy
books--a book in those days often costing several dollars--Franklin
conceived the idea of a subscription library, raised the funds, and
became the librarian. Every day he set apart an hour or two for study,
and for twenty years, in the midst of poverty and hard work, the habit
was maintained. If Franklin himself did not know that such a young man
would succeed, the world around him must have guessed it. Out of this
collection of books--the mother of all the subscription libraries of
this country--has grown a great library in the city of Philadelphia.
Keimer proved a business failure; but kindness to a fellow-workman,
Meredith, a youth of intemperate habits, led Franklin to another open
door. The father of Meredith, hoping to save his son, started the young
men in business by loaning them five hundred dollars. It was a modest
beginning, in a building whose rent was but one hundred and twenty
dollars a year. Their first job of printing brought them one dollar and
twenty-five cents. As Meredith was seldom in a condition for labor,
Franklin did most of the work, he having started a paper--the
_Pennsylvania Gazette_. Some prophesied failure for the new firm, but
one prominent man remarked: "The industry of that Franklin is superior
to anything I ever saw of the kind. I see him still at work when I go
home from the club, and he is at work again before his neighbors are out
of bed."
But starting in business had cost five hundred more than the five
hundred loaned them. The young men were sued for debt, and ruin stared
them in the face. Was Franklin discouraged? If so at heart, he wisely
kept a cheerful face and manner, knowing what poor policy it is to tell
our troubles, and made all the friends he could. Several members of the
Assembly, who came to have printing done, became fast friends of the
intelligent and courteous printer.
In this pecuniary distress, two men offered to loan the necessary funds,
and two hundred and fifty dollars were gratefully accepted from each.
These two persons Franklin remembered to his dying day. Meredith was
finally bought out by his own wish, and Franklin combined with his
printing a small stationer's shop, with ink, paper, and a few books.
Often he wheeled his paper on a barrow along the streets. Who supposed
then that he would some day be President of the Commonwealth of
Pennsylvania?
Franklin was twenty-four. Deborah Read's husband had proved worthless,
had run away from his creditors, and was said to have died in the West
Indies. She was lonely and desolate, and Franklin rightly felt that he
could brighten her heart. They were married September 1, 1730, and for
forty years they lived a happy life. He wrote, long afterward, "We are
grown old together, and if she has any faults, I am so used to them that
I don't perceive them." Beautiful testimony! He used to say to young
married people, in later years, "Treat your wife always with respect; it
will procure respect to you, not only from her, but from all that
observe it."
The young wife attended the little shop, folded newspapers, and made
Franklin's home a resting-place from toil. He says: "Our table was plain
and simple, our furniture of the cheapest. My breakfast was, for a long
time, bread and milk (no tea), and I ate it out of a twopenny earthen
porringer, with a pewter spoon: but mark how luxury will enter families,
and make a progress in spite of principle. Being called one morning to
breakfast, I found it in a china bowl, with a spoon of silver. They had
been bought for me without my knowledge by my wife, and had cost her the
enormous sum of three and twenty shillings! for which she had no other
excuse or apology to make, but that she thought _her_ husband deserved
a silver spoon and china bowl as well as any of his neighbors."
The years went by swiftly, with their hard work and slow but sure
accumulation of property. At twenty-seven, having read much and written
considerable, he determined to bring out an almanac, after the fashion
of the day, "for conveying instruction among the common people, who
bought scarcely any other book." "Poor Richard" appeared in December,
1732; price, ten cents. It was full of wit and wisdom, gathered from
every source. Three editions were sold in a month. The average annual
sale for twenty-five years was ten thousand copies. Who can ever forget
the maxims which have become a part of our every-day speech?--"Early to
bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise."--"He
that hath a trade, hath an estate."--"One to-day is worth two
to-morrows."--"Never leave that till to-morrow which you can do
to-day."--"Employ thy time well if thou meanest to gain leisure; and
since thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour."--"Three
removes are as bad as a fire."--"What maintains one vice would bring up
two children."--"Many a little makes a mickle."--"Beware of little
expenses; a small leak will sink a great ship."--"If you would know the
value of money, go and try to borrow some; for he that goes a-borrowing
goes a-sorrowing."--"Rather go to bed supperless than rise in
debt."--"Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no
other."