He left as fair a reputation as ever belonged to a human
character.... Midst all the sorrowings that are mingled on this
melancholy occasion I venture to assert that none could have felt
his death with more regret than I, because no one had higher
opinions of his worth.... There is this consolation, though, to
be drawn, that while living no man could be more esteemed, and
since dead none is more lamented.
--Washington, on the Death of Tilghman
[Illustration: GEORGE WASHINGTON]
Dean Stanley has said that all the gods of ancient mythology were once
men, and he traces for us the evolution of a man into a hero, the hero
into a demigod, and the demigod into a divinity. By a slow process, the
natural man is divested of all our common faults and frailties; he is
clothed with superhuman attributes and declared a being separate and
apart, and is lost to us in the clouds.
When Greenough carved that statue of Washington that sits facing the
Capitol, he unwittingly showed how a man may be transformed into a Jove.
But the world has reached a point when to be human is no longer a cause
for apology; we recognize that the human, in degree, comprehends the
divine.
Jove inspires fear, but to Washington we pay the tribute of affection.
Beings hopelessly separated from us are not ours: a god we can not love, a
man we may. We know Washington as well as it is possible to know any man.
We know him better, far better, than the people who lived in the very
household with him. We have his diary showing "how and where I spent my
time"; we have his journal, his account-books (and no man was ever a more
painstaking accountant); we have hundreds of his letters, and his own
copies and first drafts of hundreds of others, the originals of which have
been lost or destroyed.
From these, with contemporary history, we are able to make up a close
estimate of the man; and we find him human--splendidly human. By his books
of accounts we find that he was often imposed upon, that he loaned
thousands of dollars to people who had no expectation of paying; and in
his last will, written with his own hand, we find him canceling these
debts, and making bequests to scores of relatives; giving freedom to his
slaves, and acknowledging his obligation to servants and various other
obscure persons. He was a man in very sooth. He was a man in that he had
in him the appetites, the ambitions, the desires of a man. Stewart, the
artist, has said, "All of his features were indications of the strongest
and most ungovernable passions, and had he been born in the forest, he
would have been the fiercest man among savage tribes."
But over the sleeping volcano of his temper he kept watch and ward, until
his habit became one of gentleness, generosity, and shining, simple truth;
and, behind all, we behold his unswerving purpose and steadfast strength.
And so the object of this sketch will be, not to show the superhuman
Washington, the Washington set apart, but to give a glimpse of the man
Washington who aspired, feared, hoped, loved and bravely died.
* * * * *
The first biographer of George Washington was the Reverend Mason L. Weems.
If you have a copy of Weems' "Life of Washington," you had better wrap it
in chamois and place it away for your heirs, for some time it will command
a price. Fifty editions of Weems' book were printed, and in its day no
other volume approached it in point of popularity. In American literature,
Weems stood first. To Weems are we indebted for the hatchet tale, the
story of the colt that was broken and killed in the process, and all those
other fine romances of Washington's youth. Weems' literary style reveals
the very acme of that vicious quality of untruth to be found in the
old-time Sunday-school books. Weems mustered all the "Little Willie"
stories he could find, and attached to them Washington's name, claiming to
write for "the Betterment of the Young," as if in dealing with the young
we should carefully conceal the truth. Possibly Washington could not tell
a lie, but Weems was not thus handicapped.
Under a mass of silly moralizing, he nearly buried the real Washington,
giving us instead a priggish, punk youth, and a Madame Tussaud, full-dress
general, with a wax-works manner and a wooden dignity.
Happily, we have now come to a time when such authors as Mason L. Weems
and John S.C. Abbott are no longer accepted as final authorities. We do
not discard them, but, like Samuel Pepys, they are retained that they may
contribute to the gaiety of nations.
Various violent efforts have been made in days agone to show that
Washington was of "a noble line"--as if the natural nobility of the man
needed a reason--forgetful that we are all sons of God, and it doth not
yet appear what we shall be. But Burke's "Peerage" lends no light, and the
careful, unprejudiced, patient search of recent years finds only the blood
of the common people.
Washington himself said that in his opinion the history of his ancestors
"was of small moment and a subject to which, I confess, I have paid little
attention."
He had a bookplate and he had also a coat of arms on his carriage-door.
The Reverend Mr. Weems has described Washington's bookplate thus: "Argent,
two bar gules in chief, three mullets of the second. Crest, a raven with
wings, indorsed proper, issuing out of a ducal coronet, or."
* * * * *
Mary Ball was the second wife of Augustine Washington. In his will the
good man describes this marriage, evidently with a wink, as "my second
Venture." And it is sad to remember that he did not live to know that his
"Venture" made America his debtor. The success of the union seems pretty
good argument in favor of widowers marrying. There were four children in
the family, the oldest nearly full grown, when Mary Ball came to take
charge of the household. She was twenty-seven, her husband ten years
older. They were married March Sixth, Seventeen Hundred Thirty-one, and on
February Twenty-second of the following year was born a man child and they
named him George.
The Washingtons were plain, hard-working people--land-poor. They lived in
a small house that had three rooms downstairs and an attic, where the
children slept, and bumped their heads against the rafters if they sat up
quickly in bed.
Washington got his sterling qualities from the Ball family, and not from
the tribe of Washington. George was endowed by his mother with her own
splendid health and with all the sturdy Spartan virtues of her mind. In
features and in mental characteristics, he resembled her very closely.
There were six children born to her in all, but the five have been nearly
lost sight of in the splendid success of the firstborn.
I have used the word "Spartan" advisedly. Upon her children, the mother
of Washington lavished no soft sentimentality. A woman who cooked, weaved,
spun, washed, made the clothes, and looked after a big family in pioneer
times had her work cut out for her. The children of Mary Washington obeyed
her, and when told to do a thing never stopped to ask why--and the same
fact may be said of the father.
The girls wore linsey-woolsey dresses, and the boys tow suits that
consisted of two pieces, which in Winter were further added to by hat and
boots. If the weather was very cold, the suits were simply duplicated--a
boy wearing two or three pairs of trousers instead of one.
The mother was the first one up in the morning, the last one to go to rest
at night. If a youngster kicked off the covers in his sleep and had a
coughing spell, she arose and looked after him. Were any sick, she not
only ministered to them, but often watched away the long, dragging hours
of the night.
And I have noticed that these sturdy mothers in Israel, who so willingly
give their lives that others may live, often find vent for overwrought
feelings by scolding; and I, for one, cheerfully grant them the privilege.
Washington's mother scolded and grumbled to the day of her death. She also
sought solace by smoking a pipe. And this reminds me that a noted
specialist in neurotics has recently said that if women would use the weed
moderately, tired nerves would find repose and nervous prostration would
be a luxury unknown. Not being much of a smoker myself, and knowing
nothing about the subject, I give the item for what it is worth.
All the sterling, classic virtues of industry, frugality and truth-telling
were inculcated by this excellent mother, and her strong commonsense made
its indelible impress upon the mind of her son.
Mary Washington always regarded George's judgment with a little suspicion;
she never came to think of him as a full-grown man; to her he was only a
big boy. Hence, she would chide him and criticize his actions in a way
that often made him very uncomfortable. During the Revolutionary War she
followed his record closely: when he succeeded she only smiled, said
something that sounded like "I told you so," and calmly filled her pipe;
when he was repulsed she was never cast down. She foresaw that he would be
made President, and thought "he would do as well as anybody."
Once, she complained to him of her house in Fredericksburg; he wrote in
answer, gently but plainly, that her habits of life were not such as would
be acceptable at Mount Vernon. And to this she replied that she had never
expected or intended to go to Mount Vernon, and moreover would not, no
matter how much urged--a declination without an invitation that must have
caused the son a grim smile. In her nature was a goodly trace of savage
stoicism that took a satisfaction in concealing the joy she felt in her
son's achievement; for that her life was all bound up in his we have good
evidence.
Washington looked after her wants and supplied her with everything she
needed, and, as these things often came through third parties, it is
pretty certain she did not know the source; at any rate she accepted
everything quite as her due, and shows a half-comic ingratitude that is
very fine.
When Washington started for New York to be inaugurated President, he
stopped to see her. She donned a new white cap and a clean apron in honor
of the visit, remarking to a neighbor woman who dropped in that she
supposed "these great folks expected something a little extra." It was the
last meeting of mother and son. She was eighty-three at that time and "her
boy" fifty-five. She died not long after.
Samuel Washington, the brother two years younger than George, has been
described as "small, sandy-whiskered, shrewd and glib." Samuel was married
five times. Some of the wives he deserted and others deserted him, and two
of them died, thus leaving him twice a sad, lorn widower, from which
condition he quickly extricated himself. He was always in financial
straits and often appealed to his brother George for loans. In Seventeen
Hundred Eighty-one we find George Washington writing to his brother John,
"In God's name! how has Samuel managed to get himself so enormously in
debt?" The remark sounds a little like that of Samuel Johnson, who on
hearing that Goldsmith was owing four hundred pounds exclaimed, "Was ever
poet so trusted before?"
Washington's ledger shows that he advanced his brother Samuel two thousand
dollars, "to be paid back without interest." But Samuel's ship never came
in, and in Washington's will we find the debt graciously and gracefully
discharged.
Thornton Washington, a son of Samuel, was given a place in the English
army at George Washington's request; and two other sons of Samuel were
sent to school at his expense. One of the boys once ran away and was
followed by his uncle George, who carried a goodly birch with intent to
"give him what he deserved"; but after catching the lad the uncle's heart
melted, and he took the runaway back into favor. An entry in Washington's
journal shows that the children of his brother Samuel cost him fully five
thousand dollars.
Harriot, one of the daughters of Samuel, lived in the household at Mount
Vernon and evidently was a great cross, for we find Washington pleading as
an excuse for her frivolity that "she was not brung up right, she has no
disposition, and takes no care of her clothes, which are dabbed about in
every corner, and the best are always in use. She costs me enough!"
And this was about as near a complaint as the Father of his Country, and
the father of all his poor relations, ever made. In his ledger we find
this item: "By Miss Harriot Washington, gave her to buy wedding-clothes,
$100.00." It supplied the great man joy to write that line, for it was the
last of Harriot. He furnished a fine wedding for her, and all the
servants had a holiday, and Harriot and her unknown lover were happy ever
afterwards--so far as we know.
From Seventeen Hundred Fifty to Seventeen Hundred Fifty-nine, Washington
was a soldier on the frontier, leaving Mount Vernon and all his business
in charge of his brother John. Between these two there was a genuine bond
of affection. To George this brother was always, "Dear Jack," and when
John married, George sends "respectful greetings to your Lady," and
afterwards "love to the little ones from their Uncle." And in one of the
dark hours of the Revolution, George writes from New Jersey to this
brother: "God grant you health and happiness. Nothing in this world would
add so to mine as to be near you." John died in Seventeen Hundred
Eighty-seven, and the President of the United States writes in simple,
undisguised grief of "the death of my beloved brother."
John's eldest son, Bushrod, was Washington's favorite nephew. He took a
lively interest in the boy's career, and taking him to Philadelphia placed
him in the law-office of Judge James Wilson. He supplied Bushrod with
funds, and wrote him many affectionate letters of advice, and several
times made him a companion on journeys. The boy proved worthy of it all,
and developed into a strong and manly man--quite the best of all
Washington's kinsfolk. In later years, we find Washington asking his
advice in legal matters and excusing himself for being such a
"troublesome, non-paying client." In his will the "Honorable Bushrod
Washington" is named as one of the executors, and to him Washington left
his library and all his private papers, besides a share in the estate.
Such confidence was a fitting good-by from the great and loving heart of a
father to a son full worthy of the highest trust.
Of Washington's relations with his brother Charles, we know but little.
Charles was a plain, simple man who worked hard and raised a big family.
In his will Washington remembers them all, and one of the sons of Charles
we know was appointed to a position upon Lafayette's staff on Washington's
request.
The only one of Washington's family that resembled him closely was his
sister Betty. The contour of her face was almost identical with his, and
she was so proud of it that she often wore her hair in a queue and donned
his hat and sword for the amusement of visitors. Betty married Fielding
Lewis, and two of her sons acted as private secretaries to Washington
while he was President. One of these sons--Lawrence Lewis--married Nellie
Custis, the adopted daughter of Washington and granddaughter of Mrs.
Washington, and the couple, by Washington's will, became part-owners of
Mount Vernon. The man who can figure out the exact relationship of Nellie
Custis' children to Washington deserves a medal.
We do not know much of Washington's father: if he exerted any special
influence on his children we do not know it. He died when George was
eleven years old, and the boy then went to live at the "Hunting Creek
Place" with his half-brother Lawrence, that he might attend school.
Lawrence had served in the English navy under Admiral Vernon, and, in
honor of his chief, changed the name of his home and called it Mount
Vernon. Mount Vernon then consisted of twenty-five hundred acres, mostly a
tangle of forest, with a small house and log stables. The tract had
descended to Lawrence from his father, with provision that it should fall
to George if Lawrence died without issue. Lawrence married, and when he
died, aged thirty-two, he left a daughter, Mildred, who died two years
later. Mount Vernon then passed to George Washington, aged twenty-one, but
not without a protest from the widow of Lawrence, who evidently was paid
not to take the matter into the courts. Washington owned Mount Vernon for
forty-six years, just one-half of which time was given to the service of
his country. It was the only place he ever called "home," and there he
sleeps.
* * * * *
When Washington was fourteen, his schooldays were over. Of his youth we
know but little. He was not precocious, although physically he developed
early; but there was no reason why the neighbors should keep tab on him
and record anecdotes. They had boys of their own just as promising. He was
tall and slender, long-armed, with large, bony hands and feet, very
strong, a daring horseman, a good wrestler, and, living on the banks of a
river, he became, as all healthy boys must, a good swimmer.
His mission among the Indians in his twenty-first year was largely
successful through the personal admiration he excited among the savages.
In poise, he was equal to their best, and ever being a bit proud, even if
not vain, he dressed for the occasion in full Indian regalia, minus only
the war-paint. The Indians at once recognized his nobility, and named him
"Conotancarius"--Plunderer of Villages--and suggested that he take to wife
an Indian maiden, and remain with them as chief.
When he returned home, he wrote to the Indian agent, announcing his safe
arrival and sending greetings to the Indians. "Tell them," he says, "how
happy it would make Conotancarius to see them, and take them by the hand."
His wish was gratified, for the Indians took him at his word, and fifty of
them came to him, saying, "Since you could not come and live with us, we
have come to live with you." They camped on the green in front of the
residence, and proceeded to inspect every room in the house, tested all
the whisky they could find, appropriated eatables, and were only induced
to depart after all the bedclothes had been dyed red, and a blanket or a
quilt presented to each.
Throughout his life Washington had a very tender spot in his heart for
women. At sixteen, he writes with all a youth's solemnity of "a hurt of
the heart uncurable." And from that time forward there is ever some "Faire
Mayde" to be seen in the shadow. In fact, Washington got along with women
much better than with men; with men he was often diffident and awkward,
illy concealing his uneasiness behind a forced dignity; but he knew that
women admired him, and with them he was at ease. When he made that first
Western trip, carrying a message to the French, he turns aside to call on
the Indian princess, Aliguippa. In his journal, he says, "presented her a
Blanket and a Bottle of Rum, which latter was thought the much best
Present of the 2."
In his expense-account we find items like these: "Treating the ladys 2
shillings." "Present for Polly 5 shillings." "My share for Music at the
Dance 3 shillings." "Lost at Loo 5 shillings." In fact, like most
Episcopalians, Washington danced and played cards. His favorite game seems
to have been "Loo"; and he generally played for small stakes, and when
playing with "the Ladys" usually lost, whether purposely or because
otherwise absorbed, we know not.
In Seventeen Hundred Fifty-six, he made a horseback journey on military
business to Boston, stopping a week going and on the way back at New York.
He spent the time at the house of a former Virginian, Beverly Robinson,
who had married Susannah Philipse, daughter of Frederick Philipse, one of
the rich men of Manhattan. In the household was a young woman, Mary
Philipse, sister of the hostess. She was older than Washington, educated,
and had seen much more of polite life than he. The tall, young Virginian,
fresh from the frontier, where he had had horses shot under him, excited
the interest of Mary Philipse, and Washington, innocent but ardent,
mistook this natural curiosity for a softer sentiment and proposed on the
spot. As soon as the lady got her breath he was let down very gently.
Two years afterwards Mary Philipse married Colonel Roger Morris, in the
king's service, and cards were duly sent to Mount Vernon. But the
whirligig of time equalizes all things, and, in Seventeen Hundred
Seventy-six, General Washington, Commander of the Continental Army,
occupied the mansion of Colonel Morris, the Colonel and his lady being
fugitive Tories. In his diary, Washington records this significant item:
"Dined at the house lately Colonel Roger Morris confiscated and the
occupation of a common Farmer."
Washington always attributed his defeat at the hands of Mary Philipse to
being too precipitate and "not waiting until ye ladye was in ye mood." But
two years later we find him being even more hasty and this time with
success, which proves that all signs fail in dry weather, and some things
are possible as well as others. He was on his way to Williamsburg to
consult physicians and stopped at the residence of Mrs. Daniel Parke
Custis to make a short call--was pressed to remain to tea, did so,
proposed marriage, and was graciously accepted. We have a beautiful steel
engraving that immortalizes this visit, showing Washington's horse
impatiently waiting at the door.
Mrs. Custis was a widow with two children. She was twenty-six, and the
same age as Washington within three months. Her husband had died seven
months before. In Washington's cash-account for May, Seventeen Hundred
Fifty-eight, is an item, "one Engagement Ring £2.16.0."
The happy couple were married eight months later, and we find Mrs.
Washington explaining to a friend that her reason for the somewhat hasty
union was that her estate was getting in a bad way and a man was needed to
look after it. Our actions are usually right, but the reasons we give
seldom are; but in this case no doubt "a man was needed," for the widow
had much property, and we can not but congratulate Martha Custis on her
choice of "a man." She owned fifteen thousand acres of land, many lots in
the city of Williamsburg, two hundred negroes, and some money on bond; all
the property being worth over one hundred thousand dollars--a very large
amount for those days. Directly after the wedding, the couple moved to
Mount Vernon, taking a good many of the slaves with them. Shortly after,
arrangements were under way to rebuild the house, and the plans that
finally developed into the present mansion were begun.
Washington's letters and diary contain very few references to his wife,
and none of the many visitors to Mount Vernon took pains to testify either
to her wit or to her intellect. We know that the housekeeping at Mount
Vernon proved too much for her ability, and that a woman was hired to
oversee the household. And in this reference a complaint is found from the
General that "housekeeper has done gone and left things in confusion." He
had his troubles.
Martha's education was not equal to writing a presentable letter, for we
find that her husband wrote the first draft of all important missives that
it was necessary for her to send, and she copied them even to his mistakes
in spelling. Very patient was he about this, and even when he was
President and harried constantly we find him stopping to acknowledge for
her "an invitation to take some Tea," and at the bottom of the sheet
adding a pious bit of finesse, thus: "The President requests me to send
his compliments and only regrets that the pressure of affairs compels him
to forego the Pleasure of seeing you."
After Washington's death, his wife destroyed the letters he had written
her--many hundred in number--an offense the world is not yet quite willing
to forget, even though it has forgiven.
* * * * *
Although we have been told that when Washington was six years old he could
not tell a lie, yet he afterwards partially overcame the disability. On
one occasion he writes to a friend that the mosquitoes of New Jersey "can
bite through the thickest boot," and though a contemporary clergyman,
greatly flurried, explains that he meant "stocking," we insist that the
statement shall stand as the Father of his Country expressed it.
Washington also records without a blush, "I announced that I would leave
at 8 and then immediately gave private Orders to go at 5, so to avoid the
Throng." Another time when he discharged an overseer for incompetency he
lessened the pain of parting by writing for the fellow "a Character."
When he went to Boston and was named as Commander of the Army, his chief
concern seemed to be how he would make peace with Martha. Ho! ye married
men! do you understand the situation? He was to be away for a year, two,
or possibly three, and his wife did not have an inkling of it. Now, he
must break the news to her.
As plainly shown by Cabot Lodge and other historians, there was much
rivalry for the office, and it was only allotted to the South as a
political deal after much bickering. Washington had been a passive but
very willing candidate, and after a struggle his friends secured him the
prize--and now what to do with Martha! Writing to her, among other things
he says, "You may believe me, my dear Patsy, when I assure you in the most
solemn manner that so far from seeking the appointment I have done all in
my power to avoid it." The man who will not fabricate a bit in order to
keep peace with the wife of his bosom is not much of a man. But "Patsy's"
objections were overcome, and beyond a few chidings and sundry
complainings, she did nothing to block the great game of war.
At Princeton, Washington ordered campfires to be built along the brow of a
hill for a mile, and when the fires were well lighted, he withdrew his
army, marched around to the other side, and surprised the enemy at
daylight. At Brooklyn, he used masked batteries, and presented a fierce
row of round, black spots painted on canvas that, from the city, looked
like the mouths of cannon at which men seek the bauble reputation. It is
said he also sent a note threatening to fire these sham cannon, on
receiving which the enemy hastily moved beyond range. Perceiving
afterwards that they had been imposed upon, the brave English sent word to
"shoot and be damned." Evidently, Washington considered that all things
are fair in love and war.
Washington talked but little, and his usual air was one of melancholy that
stopped just short of sadness. All this, with the firmness of his features
and the dignity of his carriage, gave the impression of sternness and
severity. And these things gave rise to the popular conception that he
had small sense of humor; yet he surely was fond of a quiet smile.
At one time, Congress insisted that a standing army of five thousand men
was too large; Washington replied that if England would agree never to
invade this country with more than three thousand men, he would be
perfectly willing that our army should be reduced to four thousand.
When the King of Spain, knowing he was a farmer, thoughtfully sent him a
present of a jackass, Washington proposed naming the animal in honor of
the donor; and in writing to friends about the present, draws invidious
comparisons between the gift and the giver. Evidently, the joke pleased
him, for he repeats it in different letters; thus showing how, when he sat
down to clear his desk of correspondence, he economized energy by
following a form. So, we now find letters that are almost identical, even
to jokes, sent to persons in South Carolina and in Massachusetts.
Doubtless the good man thought they would never be compared, for how could
he foresee that an autograph-dealer in New York would eventually catalog
them at twenty-two dollars fifty cents each, or that a very proper but
half-affectionate missive of his to a Faire Ladye would be sold by her
great-granddaughter for fifty dollars?
In Seventeen Hundred Ninety-three there were on the Mount Vernon
plantation three hundred seventy head of cattle, and Washington appends to
the report a sad regret that, with all this number of horned beasts, he
yet has to buy butter. There is also a fine, grim humor shown in the
incident of a flag of truce coming in at New York, bearing a message from
General Howe, addressed to "Mr. Washington." The General took the letter
from the hand of the redcoat, glanced at the superscription, and said:
"Why, this letter is not for me! It is directed to a planter in Virginia.
I'll keep it and give it to him at the end of the war." Then, cramming the
letter into his pocket, he ordered the flag of truce out of the lines and
directed the gunners to stand by. In an hour, another letter came back
addressed to "His Excellency, General Washington."
It was not long after this a soldier brought to Washington a dog that had
been found wearing a collar with the name of General Howe engraved on it.
Washington returned the dog by a special messenger with a note reading,
"General Washington sends his compliments to General Howe, and begs to
return one dog that evidently belongs to him." In this instance, I am
inclined to think that Washington acted in sober good faith, but was the
victim of a practical joke on the part of one of his aides.
Another remark that sounds like a joke, but perhaps was not one, was when,
on taking command of the army at Boston, the General writes to his
lifelong friend, Doctor Craik, asking what he can do for him, and adding a
sentiment still in the air: "But these Massachusetts people suffer
nothing to go by them that they can lay their hands on." In another letter
he pays his compliments to Connecticut thus: "Their impecunious meanness
surpasses belief." When Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown, Washington
refused to humiliate him and his officers by accepting their swords. He
treated Cornwallis as his guest, and even "gave a dinner in his honor." At
this dinner, Rochambeau being asked for a toast gave "The United States."
Washington proposed "The King of France." Cornwallis merely gave "The
King," and Washington, putting the toast, expressed it as Cornwallis
intended, "The King of England," and added a sentiment of his own that
made even Cornwallis laugh--"May he stay there!" Washington's treatment of
Cornwallis made him a lifelong friend. Many years after, when Cornwallis
was Governor-General of India, he sent a message to his old antagonist,
wishing him "prosperity and enjoyment," and adding, "As for myself, I am
yet in troubled waters."
* * * * *
Once in a century, possibly, a being is born who possesses a transcendent
insight, and him we call a "genius." Shakespeare, for instance, to whom
all knowledge lay open; Joan of Arc; the artist Turner; Swedenborg, the
mystic--these are the men who know a royal road to geometry; but we may
safely leave them out of account when we deal with the builders of a
State, for among statesmen there are no geniuses.
Nobody knows just what a genius is or what he may do next; he boils at an
unknown temperature, and often explodes at a touch. He is uncertain and
therefore unsafe. His best results are conjured forth, but no man has yet
conjured forth a Nation--it is all slow, patient, painstaking work along
mathematical lines. Washington was a mathematician and therefore not a
genius. We call him a great man, but his greatness was of that sort in
which we all can share; his virtues were of a kind that, in degree, we too
may possess. Any man who succeeds in a legitimate business works with the
same tools that Washington used. Washington was human. We know the man; we
understand him; we comprehend how he succeeded, for with him there were no
tricks, no legerdemain, no secrets. He is very near to us.
Washington is indeed first in the hearts of his countrymen. Washington has
no detractors. There may come a time when another will take first place in
the affections of the people, but that time is not yet ripe. Lincoln
stood between men who now live and the prizes they coveted; thousands
still tread the earth whom he benefited, and neither class can forgive,
for they are of clay. But all those who lived when Washington lived are
gone; not one survives; even the last body-servant, who confused memory
with hearsay, has departed babbling to his rest.
We know all of Washington we will ever know; there are no more documents
to present, no partisan witnesses to examine, no prejudices to remove. His
purity of purpose stands unimpeached; his steadfast earnestness and
sterling honesty are our priceless examples.
We love the man.
We call him Father.