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Famous American Statesmen

by Sarah Knowles Bolton · English · Gutenberg #39012 · 598,833 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Famous American Statesmen

Author: Sarah Knowles Bolton


        
Release date: February 29, 2012 [eBook #39012]

Language: English

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Credits: E-text prepared by Darleen Dove, Julia Neufeld, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)


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FAMOUS AMERICAN STATESMEN

by

SARAH K. BOLTON

Author of "Poor Boys Who Became Famous," "Girls Who
Became Famous," "Famous American Authors,"
"Stories from Life," "From Heart and Nature," etc.


"A nation has no possessions so valuable as its great men,
living or dead."--HON. JOHN BIGELOW.







New York
Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.
No. 13 Astor Place

Copyright, 1888, By
Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.

Electrotyped
By C. J. Peters and Son, Boston.

Presswork by Berwick & Smith, Boston.




  To

  THOMAS Y. CROWELL.

  RESPECTED AS A PUBLISHER
  AND
  ESTEEMED AS A FRIEND.




PREFACE.


"With the great, one's thoughts and manners easily become great; ...
what this country longs for is personalities, grand persons, to
counteract its materialities," says Emerson. Such lives as are sketched
in this book are a constant inspiration, both to young and old. They
teach Garfield's oft-repeated maxim, that "the genius of success is
still the genius of labor." They teach patriotism--a deeper love for and
devotion to America. They teach that life, with some definite and noble
purpose, is worth living.

I have written of Abraham Lincoln, one of our greatest and best
statesmen, in "Poor Boys Who Became Famous," which will explain its
omission from this volume.

                                                    S. K. B.




CONTENTS.


                          PAGE

  GEORGE WASHINGTON         1

  BENJAMIN FRANKLIN        38

  THOMAS JEFFERSON         67

  ALEXANDER HAMILTON       99

  ANDREW JACKSON          133

  DANIEL WEBSTER          177

  HENRY CLAY              230

  CHARLES SUMNER          268

  ULYSSES S. GRANT        307

  JAMES A. GARFIELD       361

[Illustration: G. Washington signature]




GEORGE WASHINGTON.


The "purest figure in history," wrote William E. Gladstone of George
Washington.

When Frederick the Great sent his portrait to Washington, he sent with
it these remarkable words: "From the oldest general in Europe to the
greatest general in the world."

Lord Brougham said: "It will be the duty of the historian, and the sage
of all nations, to let no occasion pass of commemorating this
illustrious man; and until time shall be no more will a test of the
progress which our race has made in wisdom and virtue be derived from
the veneration paid to the immortal name of Washington."

At Bridge's Creek, Maryland, in a substantial home, overlooking the
Potomac, George Washington was born, February 22, 1732. His father,
Augustine, was descended from a distinguished family in England--William
de Hertburn, a knight who owned the village of Wessyngton (Washington).
He married, at the age of twenty-one, Jane Butler, who died thirteen
years afterward. Two years after her death he married Mary Ball, a
beautiful girl, of decided character and sterling common-sense. She
became a good mother to his two motherless children; two having died in
early childhood.

Six children were born to them, George being the eldest. The
opportunities for education in the new world, especially on a
plantation, were limited. From one of his father's tenants, the sexton
of the parish, George learned to read, write, and cipher. He was fond of
military things, and organized among the scholars sham-fights and
parades; taking the position usually of commander-in-chief, by common
consent. This love of war might have come through the influence of his
half-brother Lawrence, who had been in battles in the West Indies.

When George was twelve, his father died suddenly, leaving Mary Ball, at
thirty-seven, to care for her own five children, one having died in
infancy, and two boys by the first marriage. Fortunately, a large estate
was left them, which she was to control till they became of age.

While she loved her children tenderly, she exacted the most complete
obedience. She was dignified and firm, yet cheerful, and possessed an
unusually sweet voice. To his mother's intelligence and moral training
George attributed his success in life. She would gather her children
about her daily, and read to them from Matthew Hale's "Contemplations,
Divine and Moral." The book had been loved by the first wife, who wrote
in it, "Jane Washington." Under this George's mother wrote, "and Mary
Washington." This book was always preserved with tender care at Mount
Vernon, in later years. Such teaching the boy never forgot. When he was
thirteen, he wrote "Rules of courtesy and decent behavior in company and
conversation," one hundred and ten maxims, which seemed to have great
influence over him.

At fourteen, he desired to enter the navy, and a midshipman's warrant
was procured by his brother Lawrence. Now he could see the world, and
was happy at the prospect. All winter long, the mother's heart ached as
she thought of the separation, and finally, when his clothing had been
taken on board of a British man-of-war, her affection triumphed, and the
lad was kept in his Virginia home; kept for a great work. However
disappointed he may have been, his mother's word was law. Those who
learn to obey in youth learn also how to govern in later life. George
went back to school to study arithmetic and land-surveying. He was
thorough in his work, and his record books, still preserved, are neat
and exact.

It is never strange that a boy who idolizes his mother should think
other women lovable. At fifteen, the bashful, manly boy had given his
heart to a girl about his own age, and it was long before he could
conquer the affection. A year later he wrote to a friend, "I might, was
my heart disengaged, pass my time very pleasantly, as there's a very
agreeable young lady lives in the same house; but as that's only adding
fuel to fire, it makes me the more uneasy, for by often and unavoidably
being in company with her revives my former passion for your Lowland
Beauty; whereas, was I to live more retired from young women, I might in
some measure alleviate my sorrows, by burying that chaste and
troublesome passion in the grave of oblivion."

Years afterwards, the son of this "Lowland Beauty," General Henry Lee,
became a favorite with Washington in the Revolutionary War; possibly all
the more loved from tender recollections of the mother. General Lee was
the father of General Robert E. Lee of the Confederate Army, in the
Civil War.

At sixteen, the real work of Washington's life began. Lord Fairfax of
Virginia desired his large estates beyond the Blue Ridge to be surveyed,
and he knew that the youth had the courage to meet the Indians in the
wilderness, and would do his work well.

Washington and a friend set out on horseback for the valley called by
the Indians Shenandoah, "the daughter of the stars." He made a record
daily of the beauty of the trees--every refined soul loves trees almost
as though they were human--and the richness of the soil, and selected
the best sites for townships. In his diary he says, "A blowing, rainy
night, our straw upon which we were lying took fire, but I was luckily
preserved by one of our men awaking when it was in a flame." For three
years he lived this exposed life, sleeping out-of-doors, gaining
self-reliance, and a knowledge of the Indians, which knowledge he was
soon to need.

Trouble had begun already in the Ohio valley, between the French and
English, in their claims to the territory. No wonder a sachem asked,
"The French claim all the land on one side of the Ohio, the English
claim all the land on the other side--now, where does the Indians' land
lie?"

Virginia began to make herself ready for a war which seemed inevitable.
She divided her province into military districts, and placed one in
charge of the young surveyor, only nineteen, who was made adjutant
general with the rank of major. Thus early did the sincere, self-poised
young man take upon himself great responsibilities. Washington at once
began to make himself ready for his duties, by studying military
tactics; taking lessons in field-work from his brother Lawrence, and
sword exercise from a soldier. This drill was broken in upon for a time
by the illness and death of Lawrence, of whom he was very fond, and whom
he accompanied to the Barbadoes. Here George took small-pox, from which
he was slightly marked through life. The only child of Lawrence soon
died, and Mount Vernon came to George by will. He was now a person of
wealth, but riches did not spoil him. He did not seek ease; he sought
work and honor.

Matters were growing worse in the Ohio valley. The Virginians had
erected forts at what is now Pittsburg; and the French, about fifteen
miles south of Lake Erie. Governor Dinwiddie determined to make a last
remonstrance with the French who should thus presume to come upon
English territory. The way to their forts lay through an unsettled
wilderness, a distance of from five hundred to six hundred miles. Some
Indian tribes favored one nation; some the other. The governor offered
this dangerous commission--a visit to the French--to several persons,
who hastened to decline with thanks the proffered honor.

Young Washington, with his brave heart, was willing to undertake the
journey, and started September 30, 1753, with horses, tents, and other
necessary equipments. They found the rivers swollen, so that the horses
had to swim. The swamps, in the snow and rain, were almost impassable.
At last they arrived at the forts, early in December. Washington
delivered his letter to the French, and an answer was written to the
governor.

On December 25, Washington and his little party started homeward. The
horses were well-nigh exhausted, and the men dismounted, put on Indian
hunting-dress, and toiled on through the deepening snow. Washington, in
haste to reach the governor, strapped his pack on his shoulders, and,
gun in hand, with one companion, Mr. Gist, struck through the woods,
hoping thus to reach the Alleghany River sooner, and cross on the ice.
At night they lit their camp-fire, but at two in the morning they
pursued their journey, guided by the north star.

Some Indians now approached, and offered their services as guides. One
was chosen, but Washington soon suspected that they were being guided in
the wrong direction. They halted, and said they would camp for the
night, but the Indian demurred, and offered to carry Washington's gun,
as he was fatigued. This was declined, when the Indian grew sullen,
hurried forward, and, when fifteen paces ahead, levelled his gun and
fired at Washington. Gist at once seized the savage, took his gun from
him, and would have killed him on the spot had not the humane Washington
prevented. He was sent home to his cabin with a loaf of bread, and told
to come to them in the morning with meat. Probably he expected to return
before morning, and, with some other braves, scalp the two Americans;
but Washington and Gist travelled all night, and reached the Alleghany
River opposite the site of Pittsburg.

Unfortunately, the river was not frozen as they had hoped, but was full
of broken ice. All day long they worked to construct a raft, with but
one hatchet between them. After reaching the middle of the river the men
on the raft were hurled into ten feet of water by the floating ice, and
Washington was saved from drowning only by clinging to a log. They lay
till morning on an island in the river, their clothes stiff with frost,
and the hands and feet of poor Gist frozen by the intense cold. The
agony of that night Washington never forgot, even in the horrors of
Valley Forge.

Happily, the river had grown passable in the night, and they were able
to cross to a place of safety. He came home as speedily as possible and
delivered the letter to Governor Dinwiddie. His journal was sent to
London and published, because of the knowledge it gave of the position
of the French. The young soldier of twenty-one had escaped death from
the burning straw in surveying, from the Indian's gun, and from
drowning. He had shown prudence, self-devotion, and heroism. "From that
moment," says Irving, in his delightful life of Washington, "he was the
rising hope of Virginia." And he was the rising hope of the new world as
well.

The polite letter brought by Washington to the governor had declared
that no Englishmen should remain in the Ohio valley! Dinwiddie at once
determined to send three hundred troops against the French, and offered
the command to Washington. He shrunk from the charge, and it was given
to Colonel Fry, while he was made second in command. Fry soon died, and
Washington was obliged to assume control. He was equal to the occasion.
He said, "I have a constitution hardy enough to encounter and undergo
the most severe trials, and, I flatter myself, resolution enough to face
what any man dares, as shall be proved when it comes to the test."

The test soon came. In the conflict which followed he was in the
thickest of the fight, one man being killed at his side. He wrote to his
brother, "I heard the bullets whistle, and, believe me, there is
something charming in the sound." Years afterward, he said, when he had
long known the sorrows of war, "If I said that, it was when I was
young."

At Great Meadows, below Pittsburg, he was defeated by superior numbers,
and obliged to evacuate the fort, but the Virginia House of Burgesses
thanked him for his bravery.

The next year, England sent out General Braddock, who had been over
forty years in the service, a fearless but self-willed officer, to take
command of the American forces. Washington gladly joined him as an
aide-de-camp. They set out with two thousand soldiers, toward Fort du
Quesne (Pittsburg). The amount of baggage astonished Washington, who
well knew the swamps and mountains that must be crossed, but Braddock
could not be influenced. He remarked to Benjamin Franklin, "These
savages may indeed be a formidable enemy to raw militia, but upon the
king's regular and disciplined troops, sir, it is impossible they should
make an impression." How great an "impression" savages could make upon
the "king's regular and disciplined troops" was soon to be shown.

The march was exceedingly difficult. Sometimes a whole day was spent in
cutting a passage of two miles over the mountains. Washington urged
that the Virginia Rangers be put to the front, as they understood
Indian warfare. The general haughtily opposed it, and the regulars in
brilliant uniforms, bayonets fixed, colors flying, and drums beating,
swept over the open plain to battle, July 9, 1755.

Suddenly there was a cry, "The French and Indians!" The Indian yell
struck terror to the hearts of the regulars. They fired in all
directions, killing their own men. A panic ensued. Braddock tried to
rally his men; even striking them with the flat of his sword. Five
horses were killed under him. At last a bullet entered his lungs, and he
fell, mortally wounded. Then the men fled precipitately, falling over
their dead comrades. Out of eighty-six officers, twenty-six were killed
and thirty-six wounded. Nearly half of the whole army were dead or
disabled. The Virginia Rangers covered the retreat of the flying
regulars, and thus saved a remnant. Braddock, bequeathing his horse and
servant, Bishop, to Washington, died broken-hearted, moaning, "Who would
have thought it!... We shall better know how to deal with them another
time." Washington tenderly read the funeral service, and Braddock was
buried in the new and wild country he had come to save.

Washington escaped as by a miracle. He wrote his brother, "By the
all-powerful dispensations of Providence, I have been protected beyond
all human probability or expectation; for I had four bullets through my
coat, and two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt, though death
was levelling my companions on every side of me." Through life, this
man, great in all that mankind prize, loved and believed in the
Christian religion. Agnosticism had no charms for him.

Washington returned to Mount Vernon temporarily broken in health, and
his fond mother, who was living at the old homestead, wrote begging that
he would not again enter the service. In reply he said, "Honored Madam,"
for thus he always addressed her, "if it is in my power to avoid going
to the Ohio again, I shall; but if the command is pressed upon me by the
general voice of the country, and offered upon such terms as cannot be
objected against, it would reflect dishonor on me to refuse it; and
that, I am sure, must and ought to give you greater uneasiness than my
going in an honorable command."

Braddock's defeat electrified the colonies. Governor Dinwiddie at once
called for troops, and Washington was made "commander-in-chief of all
the forces raised or to be raised in Virginia." For two years he
protected the people in the attacks of the Indians; his heart so full of
pity that he wrote the governor, "I solemnly declare, if I know my own
mind, I could offer myself a willing sacrifice to the butchering enemy,
provided that would contribute to the people's ease." No wonder that
such self-sacrifice and unselfishness won the homage of the State, and
later of the nation.

In May, 1758, the condition of the army was such, the men so poorly
clad and paid, that the young commander decided to go to Williamsburg to
lay the matter before the council. In crossing the Pamunkey, a branch of
the York River, he met a Mr. Chamberlayne, who pressed him to dine, more
especially as a charming lady was visiting at his house. He accepted the
invitation, and there met Martha Custis, a widow of twenty-six, two
months younger than himself; a bright, frank, agreeable woman, with dark
eyes and hair, below the middle size, a contrast indeed to his striking
physique, six feet two inches tall, blue eyes, and grave demeanor.

Martha Dandridge, with amiable disposition and winning manners, had been
married at seventeen to Daniel Parke Custis, thirty-eight, a
kind-hearted and wealthy land-owner. For seven years they lived at "The
White House," on the Pamunkey River, where he died, leaving two
children, John Parke and Martha Parke Custis. Mrs. Custis had come to
visit the Chamberlaynes, and now was to meet the most popular officer in
Virginia.

The dinner passed pleasantly, and then Bishop, the servant, brought
Colonel Washington's horse and his own to the gate at the appointed
hour. But Colonel Washington did not appear. The afternoon seemed like a
dream, for love takes no account of time. The sun was setting when he
rose to go, but Major Chamberlayne urged his guest to pass the night.
Probably he did not need to be urged, for the most sublime and
beautiful force in all the world now controlled the fearless
Washington. The next morning he hastened to Williamsburg, transacted his
business, returned to the home of Martha Custis, where he spent a day
and a night, and left her his betrothed.

The commander went back to camp with a new joy in living. The army was
now ordered against Fort du Quesne, under Brigadier-General Forbes of
Great Britain; Washington leading the Virginia troops. He seized a
moment before leaving to write to Mrs. Custis, which letter Lossing
gives in his interesting lives of Mary and Martha Washington:--

     "A courier is starting for Williamsburg, and I embrace the
     opportunity to send a few words to one whose life is now
     inseparable from mine. Since that happy hour when we made our
     pledges to each other, my thoughts have been continually going to
     you as to another self. That an all-powerful Providence may keep us
     both in safety is the prayer of your ever faithful and

                                "Ever affectionate friend,
                                                 "G. WASHINGTON."

The army marched again over the field where the bones of Braddock's men
were bleaching in the sun, and approached the fort, only to find that
the French had deserted it after setting it on fire, and retreated down
the river. Washington, who led the advance, planted the British flag
over the smoking ruin of what is now Pittsburg, so called from the
illustrious William Pitt. With the French driven out of the Ohio valley,
Washington, having served five years in the army, resigned, and married
Martha Custis, January 6, 1759. Every inch a soldier he must have looked
in his suit of blue cloth lined with red silk, and ornamented with
silver trimmings; while his bride wore white satin, with pearl necklace
and ear-rings, and pearls in her hair. She rode home in a coach drawn by
six horses, while Colonel Washington, on a fine chestnut horse, attended
by a brilliant cortege, rode beside her carriage.

The year previous, 1758, Washington had been elected a member of the
Virginia Assembly. When he took his seat, the House gave him an address
of welcome. He rose to reply, trembled, and could not say a word. "Sit
down, Mr. Washington," said the speaker; "your modesty equals your
valor, and that surpasses the power of any language I possess."
Beautiful attributes of character, not always found in conjunction;
valor and modesty!

For three months Washington remained at the home of his wife, to attend
to the business of the colony; becoming also guardian of her two pretty
children, four and six years of age, whom he seemed to love as his own.
When he took his bride to Mount Vernon to live, he wrote to a relative,
"I am now, I believe, fixed in this spot with an agreeable partner for
life; and I hope to find more happiness in retirement than I ever
experienced in the wide and bustling world."

For seventeen years he lived on his estate of eight thousand acres,
delighting in agriculture, and enjoying the development of the two
children. The years passed quickly, for affection, the holiest thing on
earth, brought rest and contentment. He or she is rich who possesses it.
To have millions, and yet live in a home where there is no affection, is
to be poor indeed.

He was an early riser; in winter often lighting his own fire, and
reading by candle-light; retiring always at nine o'clock. He was
vestryman in the Episcopal Church, and judge of the county court, as
well as a member of the House of Burgesses. So honest was he that a
barrel of flour marked with his name was exempted from the usual
inspection in West India ports.

Into this busy and happy life came sorrow, as it comes into other lives.
Martha Parke Custis, a gentle and lovely girl, died of consumption at
seventeen, Washington kneeling by her bedside in prayer as her life went
out. The love of both parents now centred in the boy of nineteen, John
Parke Custis, who, the following year, left Columbia College to marry a
girl of sixteen, Eleanor Calvert. While Washington attended the wedding,
Mrs. Washington could not go, in her mourning robes, but sent an
affectionate letter to her new daughter.

The quiet life at Mount Vernon was now to be wholly changed. The Stamp
Act and the oppressive taxes had stirred America. When the taxes were
repealed, save that on tea, and Lord North was urged to include tea
also, he said: "To temporize is to yield; and the authority of the
mother country, if it is not now supported, will be relinquished
forever; _a total repeal cannot be thought of till America is prostrate
at our feet_." Mrs. Washington, like other lovers of liberty, at once
ceased to use tea at her table.

When the First Continental Congress met at Philadelphia, September 5,
1774, Washington was among the delegates chosen by Virginia. He rode
thither on horseback, with his brilliant friends Patrick Henry and
Edmund Pendleton. When they departed from Mount Vernon, the patriotic
Martha Washington said: "I hope you will all stand firm. I know George
will.... God be with you, gentlemen."

To a relative, who wrote deprecating Colonel Washington's "folly," his
wife answered: "Yes; I foresee consequences--dark days, and darker
nights; domestic happiness suspended; social enjoyments abandoned;
property of every kind put in jeopardy by war, perhaps; neighbors and
friends at variance, and eternal separations on earth possible. But what
are all these evils when compared with the fate of which the Port Bill
may be only a threat? My mind is made up, my heart is in the cause.
George is right; he is always right. God has promised to protect the
righteous, and I will trust him." Blessings on the woman who, in the
darkest hour, knows how to be as the sunlight in her hope and trust, and
to be well-nigh a divine embodiment of courage and fortitude! Truly
said Schiller: "Honor to women! they twine and weave the roses of heaven
into the life of man."

Congress remained in session fifty-one days. When the results of its
labors were put before the House of Lords, the great Chatham said: "When
your lordships look at the papers transmitted to us from America; when
you consider their decency, firmness, and wisdom, you cannot but respect
their cause, and wish to make it your own. For myself, I must declare
and avow that, in the master states of the world, I know not the people,
or senate, who, in such a complication of difficult circumstances, can
stand in preference to the delegates of America assembled in General
Congress at Philadelphia."

When Patrick Henry was asked, on his return home, who was the greatest
man in Congress, he replied: "If you speak of eloquence, Mr. Rutledge of
South Carolina is by far the greatest orator; but if you speak of solid
information and sound judgment, Colonel Washington is unquestionably the
greatest man on that floor." Wise reading in all these years had given
Washington "solid information," and "sound judgment" was partly an
inheritance from noble Mary Washington.

People all through New England were arming themselves. General Gage, who
had been sent to Boston with British troops, said: "It is surprising
that so many of the other provinces interest themselves so much in this.
They have some warm friends in New York, and I learn that the people of
Charleston, South Carolina, are as mad as they are here." He was soon to
possess a more thorough knowledge of the American character.

The Boston troops, under Gage, numbered about four thousand. He
determined to destroy the military stores at Concord, on the night of
April 18, 1775. It was to be done secretly, but as soon as the British
regiment started, under Colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn, for Concord,
the bells of Boston rang out, cannon were fired, and Paul Revere, with
Prescott and Davis, rode at full speed in the bright moonlight to
Lexington, to alarm the neighboring country. When cautioned against
making so much noise, Revere replied: "You'll have noise enough here
before long--the regulars are coming out."

Long before morning, nearly two-score of the villagers, under Captain
Parker, gathered on the green, near the church, waiting for the
red-coats, who came at double-quick, Major Pitcairn exclaiming,
"Disperse, ye villains! Lay down your arms, ye rebels, and disperse!"
Unmoved, Captain Parker said to his men, "Don't fire unless you are
fired on; but if they want a war, let it begin here." The Revolutionary
War began there, to end only when America should be free. Seven
Americans were killed, nine wounded, and the rest were put to flight;
but the blood shed on Lexington Green made liberty dear to every heart.

The British now marched to Concord, where, in the early morning, they
found four hundred and fifty men gathered to receive them. Captain
Isaac Davis, who said, when his company led the force, "I haven't a man
that is afraid to go," was killed at the first shot, at the North
Bridge.

The British troops destroyed all the stores they could find, though most
had been removed, and then started toward Boston. All along the road the
indignant Americans fired upon them from behind stone fences and clumps
of bushes. Tired by their night march, having lost three hundred in
killed and wounded, over three times as many as the Americans, they were
glad to meet Lord Percy coming to their rescue with one thousand men. He
formed a hollow square, and, faint and exhausted, the soldiers threw
themselves on the ground within it, and rested.

The whole country seemed to rise to arms. Men came pouring into Boston
with such weapons as they could find. Noble Israel Putnam of Connecticut
left his plough in the field and hastened to the war.

May 10, Congress again met at Philadelphia. They sent a second petition
to King George, which John Adams called an "imbecile measure." They made
plans for the support of the army already gathered at Cambridge from the
different States. Who should be the commander of this growing army? Then
John Adams spoke of the gentleman from Virginia, "whose skill and
experience as an officer, whose independent fortune, great talents, and
excellent universal character, would command the approbation of all
America, and unite the cordial exertions of all the colonies better than
any other person in the Union." June 5, Washington was unanimously
elected commander-in-chief.

Rising in his seat, and thanking Congress, he modestly said: "I beg it
may be remembered by every gentleman in the room that I this day
declare, with the utmost sincerity, I do not think myself equal to the
command I am honored with. As to pay, I beg leave to assure the Congress
that, as no pecuniary consideration could have tempted me to accept this
arduous employment, at the expense of my domestic ease and happiness, I
do not wish to make any profit of it. I will keep an exact account of my
expenses. Those, I doubt not, they will discharge, and that is all I
desire." He wrote to his wife: "I should enjoy more real happiness in
one month with you at home than I have the most distant prospect of
finding abroad if my stay were to be seven times seven years. But as it
has been a kind of destiny that has thrown me upon this service, I shall
hope that my undertaking it is designed to answer some good purpose....
I shall feel no pain from the toil or danger of the campaign; my
unhappiness will flow from the uneasiness I know you will feel from
being left alone." No wonder Martha Washington loved him; so brave that
he could meet any danger without fear, yet so tender that the thought of
leaving her brought intense pain.

He was now forty-three; the ideal of manly dignity. He at once started
for Boston. Soon a courier met him, telling him of the battle of Bunker
Hill--how for two hours raw militia had withstood British regulars,
killing and wounding twice as many as they lost, and retreating only
when their ammunition was exhausted. When Washington heard how bravely
they had fought, he exclaimed: "The liberties of the country are safe."
Under the great elm (still standing) at Cambridge, Washington took
command of the army, July 3, 1775, amid the shouts of the multitude and
the roar of artillery. His headquarters were established at Craigie
House, afterward the home of the poet Longfellow. Here Mrs. Washington
came later, and helped to lessen his cares by her cheerful presence.

The soldiers were brave but undisciplined; the terms of enlistment were
short, thus preventing the best work. To provide powder was well-nigh an
impossibility. For months Washington drilled his army, and waited for
the right moment to rescue Boston from the hands of the British.
Generals Howe, Clinton, and Burgoyne had been sent over from England.
Howe had strengthened Bunker Hill, and, with little respect for the
feelings of the Americans, had removed the pulpit and pews from the Old
South Church, covered the floor with earth, and converted it into a
riding-school for Burgoyne's light dragoons. They did not consider the
place sacred, because it was a "meeting-house where sedition had often
been preached."

The "right moment" came at last. In a single night the soldiers
fortified Dorchester Heights, cannonading the enemy's batteries in the
opposite direction, so that their attention was diverted from the real
work. When the morning dawned of March 5, 1776, General Howe saw,
through the lifting fog, the new fortress, with the guns turned upon
Boston. "I know not what to do," he said. "The rebels have done more
work in one night than my whole army would have done in one month."

He resolved to attack the "rebels" by night, and for this attack
twenty-five hundred men were embarked in boats. But a violent storm set
in, and they could not land. The next day the rain poured in torrents,
and when the second night came Dorchester Heights were too strong to be
attacked. The proud General Howe was compelled to evacuate Boston with
all possible dispatch, March 17, the navy going to Halifax and the army
to New York. The Americans at once occupied the city, and planted the
flag above the forts. Congress moved a vote of thanks to Washington, and
ordered a gold medal, bearing his face, as the deliverer of Boston from
British rule.

The English considered this a humiliating defeat. The Duke of
Manchester, in the House of Lords, said: "British generals, whose name
never met with a blot of dishonor, are forced to quit that town, which
was the first object of the war, the immediate cause of hostilities, the
place of arms, which has cost this nation more than a million to
defend."

The Continental Army soon repaired to New York. Washington spared no
pains to keep a high moral standard among his men. He said, in one of
his orders: "The general is sorry to be informed that the foolish and
wicked practice of profane cursing and swearing--a vice heretofore
little known in an American army--is growing into fashion. He hopes the
officers will, by example as well as influence, endeavor to check it,
and that both they and the men will reflect that we can have little hope
of the blessing of Heaven on our arms if we insult it by our impiety and
folly. Added to this, it is a vice so mean and low, without any
temptation, that every man of sense and character detests and despises
it." Noble words!

Great Britain now realized that the fight must be in earnest, and hired
twenty thousand Hessians to help subjugate the colonies. When Admiral
Howe came over from England, he tried to talk about peace with "Mr."
Washington, or "George Washington, Esq.," as it was deemed beneath his
dignity to acknowledge that the "rebels" had a general. The Americans
could not talk about peace, with such treatment.

Soon the first desperate battle was fought, on Long Island, August 27,
1776, partly on the ground now occupied by Greenwood Cemetery, between
eight thousand Americans and more than twice their number of trained
Hessians. Washington, from an eminence, watched the terrible conflict,
wringing his hands, and exclaiming, "What brave fellows I must this day
lose!"

The Americans were defeated, with great loss. Washington could no longer
hold New York with his inadequate forces. With great energy and
promptness he gathered all the boats possible, and then, so secretly
that even his aides did not know his intention, nine thousand men,
horses, and provisions, were ferried over the East River. A heavy fog
hung over the Brooklyn side, as though provided by Providence, while it
was clear on the New York side, so that the men could form in line.
Washington crossed in the last boat, having been for forty-eight hours
without sleep.

In the morning, the astonished Englishmen learned that the prize had
escaped. A Tory woman, the night before, seeing that the Americans were
crossing the river, sent her colored servant to notify the British. A
Hessian sentinel, not understanding the servant, locked him up till
morning, when, upon the arrival of an officer, his errand was known; but
the knowledge came too late!

On October 28, the Americans were again defeated, at White Plains, Howe
beginning the engagement. The condition of the Continental Army was
disheartening. They were half-fed and half-clothed; the "ragged rebels,"
the British called them. There was sickness in the camp, and many were
deserting. Washington said, "Men just dragged from the tender scenes of
domestic life, unaccustomed to the din of arms, totally unacquainted
with every kind of military skill, are timid, and ready to fly from
their own shadows. Besides, the sudden change in their manner of living
brings on an unconquerable desire to return to their homes." So
great-hearted was the commander-in-chief, though on the field of battle
he had no leniency toward cowards.

Washington retreated across New Jersey to Trenton. When he reached the
Delaware River, filled with floating ice, he collected all the boats
within seventy miles, and transported the troops, crossing last himself.
Lord Cornwallis, of Howe's army, came in full pursuit, reached the river
just as the last boat crossed, and looked in vain for means of
transportation. There was nothing to be done but to wait till the river
was frozen, so that the troops could cross on the ice.

Washington, December 20, 1776, told John Hancock, President of Congress,
"Ten days more will put an end to the existence of our army." Yet, on
the night of December 25, Christmas, with almost superhuman courage, he
determined to recross the Delaware, and attack the Hessians at Trenton.
The weather was intensely cold. The boats, in crossing, were forced out
of their course by the drifting ice. Two men were frozen to death. At
four in the morning, the heroic troops took up the line of march, the
snow and sleet beating in their faces. Many of the muskets were wet and
useless. "What is to be done?" asked the men. "Push on, and use the
bayonet," was the answer.

At eight in the morning, the Americans rushed into the town. "The enemy!
the enemy!" cried the Hessians. Their leader, Colonel Rahl, fell,
mortally wounded. A thousand men laid down their arms and begged for
quarter. Washington recrossed the Delaware with his whole body of
captives, and the American nation took heart once more. That fearful
crossing of the Delaware, in the blinding storm, and the sudden yet
marvellous victory which followed, will always live among the most
pathetic and stirring scenes of the Revolution. A few days later,
January 3, 1777, with five thousand men, Washington defeated Cornwallis
at Princeton, exposing himself so constantly to danger that his officers
begged him to seek a place of safety.

The third year of the Revolutionary War had opened. France, hating
England, sympathizing with America in her struggle for liberty, and
being encouraged in this sympathy by the honored Benjamin Franklin,
loaned us money, supplied muskets and powder, and many troops under such
brave leaders as Lafayette and De Kalb. The year 1777, although our
forces were defeated at Brandywine and Germantown, witnessed the defeat
of a part of Burgoyne's army at Bennington, Vermont, and, on the 17th of
October, the remaining part at Saratoga; over five thousand men, seven
thousand muskets, and a great quantity of military stores. Two months
later, France made a treaty of alliance with the United States, to the
joy of the whole country.

On December 11, Washington went into winter-quarters at Valley Forge, on
the west side of the Schuylkill, about twenty miles from Philadelphia.
Trees were felled to build huts, the men toiling with scanty food, often
barefoot, the snow showing the marks of their bleeding feet. Continental
money had so depreciated that forty dollars were scarcely equal in value
to one silver dollar. Sickness was decreasing the forces. Washington
wrote to Congress: "No less than two thousand eight hundred and
ninety-eight men are now in camp unfit for duty, because they are
barefoot and otherwise naked." From lack of blankets, he said, "numbers
have been obliged, and still are, to sit up all night by fires, instead
of taking comfortable rest in a natural and common way." A man less
great would have been discouraged, but he trusted in a power higher than
himself, and waited in sublime dignity and patience for the progress of
events. Martha Washington had come to Valley Forge to share in its
privations, and to minister to the sick and the dying.

The years 1778 and 1779 dragged on with their victories and defeats. The
next year, 1780, the country was shocked by the treason of Benedict
Arnold, who, having obtained command at West Point, had agreed to
surrender it to the British for fifty thousand dollars in money and the
position of brigadier-general in their army. On September 21, Sir Henry
Clinton sent Major John Andre, an adjutant-general, to meet Arnold. He
went ashore from the ship Vulture, met Arnold in a wood, and completed
the plan. When he went back to the boat, he found that a battery had
driven her down the river, and he must return by land. At Tarrytown, on
the Hudson, he was met by three militiamen, John Paulding, David
Williams, and Isaac Van Wart, who at once arrested him, and found the
treasonable papers in his boots. He offered to buy his release, but
Paulding assured him that fifty thousand dollars would be no temptation.

Andre was at once taken to prison. While there he won all hearts by his
intelligence and his cheerful, manly nature. He had entered the British
army by reason of a disappointment in love. The father of the young lady
had interfered, and she had become the second wife of the father of
Maria Edgeworth. Andre always wore above his heart a miniature of Honora
Sneyd, painted by herself. Just before his execution as a spy, he wrote
to Washington, asking to be shot. When he was led to the gallows,
October 2, 1780, and saw that he was to be hanged, for a moment he
seemed startled, and exclaimed, "How hard is my fate!" but added, "It
will soon be over." He put the noose about his own neck, tied the
handkerchief over his eyes, and, when asked if he wished to speak, said
only: "I pray you to bear witness that I meet my fate like a brave
man." His death was universally lamented. In 1821, his body was removed
to London by the British consul, and buried in Westminster Abbey.

Every effort was made to capture Arnold, but without success. He once
asked an American, who had been taken prisoner by the British, what his
countrymen would have done with him had he been captured. The immediate
reply was: "They would cut off the leg wounded in the service of your
country, and bury it with the honors of war. The rest of you they would
hang."

In 1781, the condition of affairs was still gloomy. Some troops mutinied
for lack of pay, but when approached by Sir Henry Clinton, through two
agents, offering them food and money if they would desert the American
cause, the agents were promptly hanged as spies. Such was the patriotism
of the half-starved and half-clothed soldiers.

In May of this year, Cornwallis took command of the English forces in
Virginia, destroying about fifteen million dollars worth of property.
Early in October, Washington with his troops, and Lafayette and De
Rochambeau with their French troops, gathered at Yorktown, on the south
bank of the York River. For ten days the siege was carried on. The
French troops rendered heroic service. Washington was so in earnest that
one of his aids, seeing that he was in danger, ventured to suggest that
their situation was much exposed. "If you think so, you are at liberty
to step back," was the grave response of the general. Shortly
afterwards a musket-ball fell at Washington's feet. One of his generals
grasped his arm, exclaiming, "We can't spare you yet." When the victory
was finally won, Washington drew a long breath and said, "The work is
done and well done." Cornwallis surrendered his whole army, over seven
thousand soldiers, October 19, 1781.

The American nation was thrilled with joy and gratitude. Washington
ordered divine service to be performed in the several divisions, saying,
"The commander-in-chief earnestly recommends that the troops not on duty
should universally attend, with that seriousness of deportment and
gratitude of heart which the recognition of such reiterated and
astonishing interpositions of Providence demands of us." Congress
appointed a day of thanksgiving and prayer, and voted two stands of
colors to Washington and two pieces of field-ordnance to the brave
French commanders. When Lord North, Prime Minister of England, heard of
the defeat of the British, he exclaimed, "Oh, God! it is all over!"

The nearly seven long years of war were ended, and America had become a
free nation.

The articles of peace between Great Britain and the United States were
not signed till September 3, 1783. On November 4 the army was disbanded,
with a touching address from their idolized commander. On December 4, in
the city of New York, in a building on the corner of Pearl and Broad
Streets, Washington said good-bye to his officers, losing for a time his
wonderful self-command. "I cannot come to each of you to take my leave,"
he said, "but shall be obliged if each of you will come and take me by
the hand." Tears filled the eyes of all, as, silently, one by one, they
clasped his hand in farewell, and passed out of his sight.

Then Washington repaired to Annapolis, where Congress was assembled, and
at twelve o'clock on the 23d of December, before a crowded house,
offered his resignation. "Having now finished the work assigned me, I
retire from the great theatre of action; and bidding an affectionate
farewell to this august body, under whose orders I have long acted, I
here offer my commission, and take my leave of all the employments of
public life." "Few tragedies ever drew so many tears from so many
beautiful eyes," said one who was present.

The beloved general returned to Mount Vernon, to enjoy the peace and
rest which he needed, and the honor of his country which he so well
deserved. John Parke Custis, Mrs. Washington's only remaining child, had
died, leaving four children, two of whom--Eleanor, two years old, and
George Washington, six months old--the general adopted as his own. These
brought additional "sweetness and light" into the beautiful home.

The following year the Marquis de Lafayette was a guest at Mount Vernon,
and went to Fredericksburg to bid adieu to Washington's mother. When he
spoke in high praise of the man whom he so loved and honored, Mary
Washington replied quietly, "I am not surprised at what George has done,
for he was always a good boy." Blessed mother-heart, that, in training
her child, could look into the future, and know, for a certainty, the
result of her love and progress! She died August 25, 1789.

Three years later--May 25, 1787--a convention met at Philadelphia to
form a more perfect union of the States, and frame a Constitution.
Washington was made President of this convention. He had long been
reading carefully the history and principles of ancient and modern
confederacies, and he was intelligently prepared for the honor accorded
him. When the Constitution was finished, and ready for his signature, he
said: "Should the United States reject this excellent Constitution, the
probability is that an opportunity will never again be offered to cancel
another in peace; the next will be drawn in blood."

When the various States, after long debate, had accepted the
Constitution, a President must be chosen, and that man very naturally
was the man who had saved the country in the perils of war. On the way
to New York, then the seat of government, Washington received a perfect
ovation. The bells were rung, cannon fired, and men, women, and children
thronged the way. Over the bridge crossing the Delaware the women of
Trenton had erected an arch of evergreen and laurel, with the words,
"The defender of the mothers will be the protector of the daughters."
As he passed, young girls scattered flowers before him, singing grateful
songs. How different from that crossing years before, with his worn and
foot-sore army, amid the floating ice!

The streets of New York were thronged with eager, thankful people, who
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."

An interesting story is told concerning the proverb, "If you would have
your business done, go; if not, send." John Paul Jones, one of the
bravest men in the Revolutionary War, had become the terror of Britain,
by the great number of vessels he had captured. In one cruise he is said
to have taken sixteen prizes; burned eight and sent home eight. With the
Ranger, on the coast of Scotland, he captured the Drake, a large
sloop-of-war, and two hundred prisoners. At one time, Captain Jones
waited for many months for a vessel which had been promised him. Eager
for action, he chanced to see "Poor Richard's Almanac," and read, "If
you would have your business done, go; if not, send." He went at once to
Paris, sought the ministers, and was given command of a vessel, which,
in honor of Franklin, he called Bon Homme Richard.

The battle between this ship and the Serapis, when, for three hours and
a half, they were lashed together by Jones' own hand, and fought one of
the most terrific naval battles ever seen, is well known to all who read
history. The Bon Homme Richard sunk after her victory, while her captain
received a gold medal from Congress and an appreciative letter from
General Washington.

So bravely did Captain Pearson, the opponent, fight, that the King of
England made him a knight. "He deserved it," said Jones, "and, should I
have the good-fortune to fall in with him again, I will make a lord of
him."

No wonder that Franklin's proverbs were copied all over the continent,
and translated into French, German, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Bohemian,
Greek, and Portuguese. In all these very busy years, Franklin did not
forget to study. When he was twenty-seven, he began French, then
Italian, then Spanish, and then to review the Latin of his boyhood. He
learned also to play on the harp, guitar, violin, and violoncello.

Into the home of the printer had come two sons, William and Francis. The
second was an uncommonly beautiful child, the idol of his father.
Small-pox was raging in the city, but Franklin could not bear to put his
precious one in the slightest peril by inoculation. The dread disease
came into the home, and Francis Folger, named for his grandmother--at
the age of four years--went suddenly out of it. "I long regretted him
bitterly," Franklin wrote years afterwards to his sister Jane. "My
grandson often brings afresh to my mind the idea of my son Franky,
though now dead thirty-six years; whom I have seldom since seen equalled
in every respect, and whom to this day I cannot think of without a
sigh." On a little stone in Christ Church burying-ground, Philadelphia,
are the boy's name and age, with the words, "The delight of all that
knew him."

This same year, when Franklin was thirty, he was chosen clerk of the
General Assembly, his first promotion. If, as Disraeli said, "the secret
of success in life is for a man to be ready for his opportunity when it
comes," Franklin had prepared himself, by study, for his opportunity.

The year later, he was made deputy postmaster, and soon became
especially helpful in city affairs. He obtained better watch or police
regulations, organized the first fire-company, and invented the Franklin
stove, which was used far and wide.

At thirty-seven, so interested was he in education that he set on foot a
subscription for an academy, which resulted in the noble University of
Pennsylvania, of which Franklin was a trustee for over forty years. The
following year his only daughter, Sarah, was born, who helped to fill
the vacant chair of the lovely boy. The father, Josiah, now died at
eighty-seven, already proud of his son Benjamin, for whom in his poverty
he had done the best he could.

About this time, the Leyden jar was discovered in Europe by
Musschenbroeck, and became the talk of the scientific world. Franklin,
always eager for knowledge, began to study electricity, with all the
books at his command. Dr. Spence, a gentleman from Great Britain, having
come to America to lecture on the subject, Franklin bought all his
instruments. So much did he desire to give his entire time to this
fascinating subject that he sold his printing-house, paper, and almanac,
for ninety thousand dollars, and retired from business. This at
forty-two; and at fifteen selling ballads about the streets! Industry,
temperance, and economy had paid good wages. He used to say that these
virtues, with "sincerity and justice," had won for him "the confidence
of his country." And yet Franklin, with all his saving, was generous.
The great preacher Whitefield came to Philadelphia to obtain money for
an orphan-house in Georgia. Franklin thought the scheme unwise, and
silently resolved not to give when the collection should be taken. Then,
as his heart warmed under the preaching, he concluded to give the copper
coins in his pocket; then all the silver, several dollars; and finally
all his five gold pistoles, so that he emptied his pocket into the
collector's plate.

Franklin now constructed electrical batteries, introduced the terms
"positive" and "negative" electricity, and published articles on the
subject, which his friend in London, Peter Collinson, laid before the
Royal Society. When he declared his belief that lightning and
electricity were identical, and gave his reasons, and that points would
draw off electricity, and therefore lightning-rods be of benefit,
learned people ridiculed the ideas. Still, his pamphlets were eagerly
read, and Count de Buffon had them translated into French. They soon
appeared in German, Latin, and Italian. Louis XV. was so deeply
interested that he ordered all Franklin's experiments to be performed in
his presence, and caused a letter to be written to the Royal Society of
London, expressing his admiration of Franklin's learning and skill.
Strange indeed that such a scientist should arise in the new world, be
a man self-taught, and one so busy in public life.

In 1752, when he was forty-six, he determined to test for himself
whether lightning and electricity were one. He made a kite from a large
silk handkerchief, attached a hempen cord to it, with a silk string in
his hand, and, with his son, hastened to an old shed in the fields, as
the thunder-storm approached.

As the kite flew upward, and a cloud passed over, there was no
manifestation of electricity. When he was almost despairing, lo! the
fibres of the cord began to loosen; then he applied his knuckle to a key
on the cord, and a strong spark passed. How his heart must have throbbed
as he realized his immortal discovery!

A Leyden jar was charged, and Franklin went home from the old shed to be
made a member of the Royal Society of London, to receive the Copley gold
medal, degrees from Harvard and Yale Colleges, and honors from all parts
of the world. Ah! if Josiah Franklin could have lived to see his son
come to such renown! And Abiah, his mother, had been dead just a month!
But she knew he was coming into greatness, for she wrote him near the
last: "I am glad to hear you are so well respected in your town for them
to choose you an alderman, although I don't know what it means, or what
the better you will be of it besides the honor of it. I hope you will
look up to God, and thank him for all his good providences towards you."
Sweetest of all things is the motherhood that never lets go the hand of
the child, and always points Godward!

Lightning-rods became the fashion, though there was great opposition,
because many believed that lightning was one of the means of punishing
the sins of mankind, and it was wrong to attempt to prevent the Almighty
from doing his will. Some learned men urged that a ball instead of a
point be used at the end of the rod, and George III. insisted that the
president of the Royal Society should favor balls. "But, sire," said Sir
John Pringle, "I cannot reverse the laws and operations of nature."

"Then, Sir John, you had perhaps better resign," was the reply, and the
obstinate monarch put knobs on his conductors.

Through all the scientific discord, Franklin had the rare good-sense to
remain quiet, instead of rushing into print. He said, "I have never
entered into any controversy in defence of my philosophical opinions; I
leave them to take their chance in the world. If they are _right_, truth
and experience will support them; if _wrong_, they ought to be refuted
and rejected. Disputes are apt to sour one's temper and disturb one's
quiet."

Franklin was not long permitted to enjoy his life of study. This same
year, 1752, he was elected a member of the Pennsylvania Assembly, and
reelected every year for ten years, "without," as he says, "ever asking
any elector for his vote, or signifying, either directly or indirectly,
any desire of being chosen." He was also, with Mr. William Hunter of
Virginia, appointed postmaster-general for the colonies, having been the
postmaster in Philadelphia for nearly sixteen years. So excellent was
his judgment, and so conciliatory his manner, that he rarely made
enemies, and accomplished much for his constituents. He cut down the
rates of postage, advertised unclaimed letters, and showed his rare
executive ability and tireless energy.

For many years the French and English had been quarrelling over their
claims in the New World, till finally the "French and Indian War," or
"Seven Years' War," as it was named in Europe, began. Delegates from the
various colonies were sent to Albany to confer with the chiefs of the
Six Nations about the defence of the country. Naturally, Franklin was
one of the delegates. Before starting, he drew up a plan of union for
the struggling Americans, and printed it in the _Gazette_, with the now
well known wood-cut at the bottom; a snake cut into as many pieces as
there were colonies, each piece having upon it the first letter of the
name of a colony, and underneath the words, "JOIN or DIE." He presented
his plan of union to the delegates, who, after a long debate,
unanimously adopted it, but it was rejected by some of the colonies
because they thought it gave too much power to England, and the king
rejected it because he said, "The Americans are trying to make a
government of their own."

Franklin joined earnestly in the war, and commanded the forces in his
own State, but was soon sent abroad by Pennsylvania, as her agent to
bring some troublesome matters before royalty. He reached London, July
27, 1757, with his son William, no longer the friendless lad looking for
a position in a printing-house, but the noted scientist, and
representative of a rising nation. Members of the Royal Society hastened
to congratulate him; the universities at Oxford and Edinburgh conferred
degrees upon him. While he attended to matters of business in connection
with his mission, he entertained his friends with his brilliant
electrical experiments, and wrote for several magazines on politics and
science.

After five years of successful labor, Doctor Franklin went back to
Philadelphia to receive the public thanks of the Assembly, and a gift of
fifteen thousand dollars for his services. His son was also appointed
governor of New Jersey, by the Crown. Franklin was now fifty-seven, and
had earned rest and the enjoyment of his honors. But he was to find
little rest in the next twenty-five years.

The "Seven Years' War" had been terminated by the Treaty of Paris,
February 10, 1763. Of course, great expenses had been incurred. The
following year, Mr. Grenville, Prime Minister of England, proposed that
a portion of the enormous debt be paid by America through the Stamp Act.
The colonies had submitted already to much taxation without any
representation in Parliament, and had many grievances. The manufacture
of iron and steel had been forbidden. Heavy duties had been laid upon
rum, sugar, and molasses, and constables had been authorized to search
any place suspected of avoiding the duties.

When the Stamp Act was suggested, the colonies, already heavily in debt
by the war, remonstrated in public meetings, and sent their protests to
the king. Franklin, having been reappointed agent for Pennsylvania, used
all possible effort to prevent its passage, but to no avail. The bill
passed in March, 1765. By this act, deeds and conveyances were taxed
from thirty-seven cents to one dollar and twenty-five cents apiece;
college degrees, ten dollars; advertisements, fifty cents each, and
other printed matter in proportion.

At once, the American heart rebelled. Bells were tolled, and flags hung
at half-mast. In New York, the Stamp Act was carried about the streets,
with a placard, "The folly of England and the ruin of America." The
people resolved to wear no cloth of English manufacture. Agents
appointed to collect the hated tax were in peril of their lives. Patrick
Henry electrified his country by the well known words, "Caesar had his
Brutus, Charles I. had his Cromwell, and George III."--and when the
loyalists shouted, "Treason!" he continued, "may profit by their
example. If that be treason, make the most of it."

Grenville saw, too late, the storm he had aroused. Franklin was now, as
he wrote to a friend, "extremely busy, attending members of both houses,
informing, explaining, consulting, disputing, in a continual hurry from
morning till night." His examination before the House of Commons filled
England with amazement and America with joy. When asked, "If the Stamp
Act should be repealed, would it induce the Assemblies of America to
acknowledge the rights of Parliament to tax them, and would they erase
their resolutions?" he replied, "No, never!"

"What used to be the pride of the Americans?"

"To indulge in the fashions and manufactures of Great Britain."

"What is now their pride?"

"To wear their old clothes over again, till they can make new ones,"
said the fearless Franklin.

The great commoners William Pitt and Edmund Burke were our stanch
friends. A cry of distress went up from the manufacturers of England,
who needed American markets for their goods, and in 1766 the Stamp Act
was repealed.

America was overjoyed, but her joy was of short duration; for in the
very next year a duty was placed on glass, tea, and other articles. Then
riots ensued. The duty was repealed on all save tea. When the tea
arrived in Boston Harbor, the indignant citizens threw three hundred and
forty chests overboard; in Charlestown, the people stored it in cellars
till it mildewed; and from New York and Philadelphia they sent it home
again to Old England.

In 1774, the Boston Port Bill, which declared that no merchandise should
be landed or shipped at the wharves of Boston, was received by the
colonists with public mourning. September 5 of this year, the First
Continental Congress met at Philadelphia, and again a manly protest was
sent to George III. Again the great Pitt, Earl of Chatham, poured out
his eloquence against what he saw was close at hand--"a most accursed,
wicked, barbarous, cruel, unjust, and diabolical war." But George III.
was immovable.

The days for Franklin were now bitter in the extreme. Ten thousand more
troops had been sent to General Gage in Boston, to compel obedience.
Franklin's wife was dying in Philadelphia, longing to see her husband,
who had now been absent ten years, each year expecting to return, and
each year detained by the necessities of the colonies. At last he
started homeward, landing May 5, 1775. His daughter had been happily
married to Mr. Richard Bache, a merchant, but his wife was dead, and
buried beside Franky. The battles of Lexington and Concord had been
fought; the War for Freedom was indeed begun.

Franklin was now almost seventy, but ready for the great work before
him. He loved peace. He said: "All wars are follies, very expensive and
very mischievous ones. When will mankind be convinced of this, and agree
to settle their differences by arbitration? Were they to do it, even by
the cast of a die, it would be better than by fighting and destroying
each other." But now war was inevitable. With the eagerness of a boy he
wrote to Edmund Burke: "General Gage's troops made a most vigorous
retreat,--twenty miles in three hours,--scarce to be paralleled in
history; the feeble Americans, who pelted them all the way, could scarce
keep up with them."

He was at once made a member of the Continental Congress, called to meet
May 10, at Philadelphia. George Washington and Patrick Henry, John and
Samuel Adams, were in the noted assemblage. They came with brave hearts
and an earnest purpose. Franklin served upon ten committees: to engrave
and print Continental money, to negotiate with the Indians, to send
another but useless petition to George III., to find out the source of
saltpetre, and other matters. He was made postmaster-general of the
United States, and was also full of work for Pennsylvania.

England had voted a million dollars to conquer the colonies, and had
hired nearly twenty thousand Hessians to fight against them, besides her
own skilled troops. The army under Washington had no proper shelter,
little food, little money, and no winter clothing. Franklin was
Washington's friend and helper in these early days of discouragement. At
first the people had hoped to keep united to the mother country; now the
time had arrived for the Declaration of Independence, by which America
was to become a great nation. Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin
Franklin, Roger Sherman of Connecticut, and Robert R. Livingston of New
York were appointed to draw up the document. Jefferson wrote the
Declaration, and Franklin and Adams made a few verbal changes. And then,
with the feeling so well expressed by Franklin, "We must hang together,
or else, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately," the delegates
fearlessly signed their names to what Daniel Webster well called the
"title-deed of our liberties."

And now another important work devolved upon Franklin. The colonies
believed that the French were friendly and would assist. He was
unanimously chosen commissioner to France, to represent and plead the
cause of his country. Again the white-haired statesman said good-bye to
America, and sailed to Europe. As soon as he arrived, he was welcomed
with all possible honor. The learned called upon him; his pictures were
hung in the shop-windows, and his bust placed in the Royal Library. When
he appeared on the street a crowd gathered about the great American. He
was applauded in every public resort.

"Franklin's reputation," said John Adams, "was more universal than that
of Leibnitz or Newton, Frederick or Voltaire; and his character more
beloved and esteemed than any or all of them. His name was familiar to
government and people, to kings, courtiers, nobility, clergy, and
philosophers, as well as plebeians, to such a decree that there was
scarcely a peasant or a citizen, a valet de chambre, coachman or
footman, a lady's chamber-maid or a scullion in a kitchen, who was not
familiar with it, and who did not consider him a friend to humankind.
When they spoke of him they seemed to think he was to restore the golden
age." Royalty made him welcome at court, and Marie Antoinette treated
him with the graciousness which had at first won the hearts of the
French to the beautiful Austrian. France made a treaty of alliance with
America, and recognized her independence, February 6, 1778, which gave
joy and hope to the struggling colonies. Franklin was now made minister
plenipotentiary. What a change from the hated work of moulding tallow
candles!

The great need of the colonies was money to carry on the war, and,
pressed as was France in the days preceding her own revolution, when M.
Necker was continually opposing the grants, she loaned our country--part
of it a gift--over five million dollars, says James Parton, in his
admirable life of Franklin. For this reason, as well as for the noble
men like Lafayette who came to our aid, the interests of France should
always be dear to America. When the Revolutionary War was over, Franklin
helped negotiate the peace, and returned to America at his own request
in the fall of 1785, receiving among his farewell presents a portrait of
Louis XVI., set with four hundred and eight diamonds. Thomas Jefferson
became minister in his stead. When asked if he had replaced Dr.
Franklin, he replied, "I _succeed_; no one can ever _replace_ him."

He was now seventy-nine years old. He had been absent for nine years.
When he landed, cannon were fired, church-bells rung, and crowds greeted
him with shouts of welcome. He was at once made President of the
Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and at eighty-one a delegate to the
convention that framed our Constitution, where he sat regularly five
hours a day for four months. To him is due the happy suggestion, after a
heated discussion, of equal representation for every State in the
Senate, and representation in proportion to population in the House.

At eighty-four, in reply to a letter to Washington, he received these
tender words:--

     "If to be venerated for benevolence, if to be admired for talents,
     if to be esteemed for patriotism, if to be beloved for
     philanthropy, can gratify the human mind, you must have the
     pleasing consolation to know that you have not lived in vain. And I
     flatter myself that it will not be ranked among the least grateful
     occurrences of your life to be assured that, so long as I retain my
     memory, you will be recollected with respect, veneration, and
     affection, by your sincere friend,

                                             "GEORGE WASHINGTON."

The time for the final farewell came, April 17, 1790, near midnight,
when the gentle and great statesman, doubly great because so gentle,
slept quietly in death. Twenty thousand persons gathered to do honor to
the celebrated dead. Not only in this country was there universal
mourning, but across the ocean as well. The National Assembly of France
paid its highest eulogies.

By his own request, Franklin was buried beside his wife and Franky,
under a plain marble slab, in Christ Church Cemetery, Philadelphia, with
the words,--

  Benjamin  }  Franklin.
  and       }  1790.
  Deborah   }

He was opposed to ostentation. He used to quote the words of Cotton
Mather to him when he was a boy. On leaving the minister's house, he hit
his head against a beam. "'Stoop,' said Mather; 'you are young, and have
the world before you; stoop as you go through it, and you will miss many
hard thumps!' This advice, thus beat into my head, has frequently been
of use to me, and I often think of it when I see pride mortified, and
misfortunes brought upon people by their carrying their heads too high."

Tolerant with all religions, sweet-tempered, with remarkable tact and
genuine kindness, honest, and above jealousy, he adopted this as his
rule, which we may well follow: "To go straight forward in doing what
appears to me to be right, leaving the consequences to Providence."

[Illustration: Thomas Jefferson signature]




THOMAS JEFFERSON.


Five miles east of Charlottesville, Virginia, near where the River
Rivanna enters the James, Thomas Jefferson was born, April 13, 1743, the
third in a family of eight children.

Peter Jefferson, his father, descended from a Welsh ancestry, was a
self-made man. The son of a farmer, with little chance for schooling, he
improved every opportunity to read, became, like George Washington, a
surveyor, and endured cheerfully all the perils of that pioneer life.
Often, in making his survey across the Blue Ridge Mountains, he was
obliged to defend himself against the attacks of wild beasts, and to
sleep in hollow trees. When the provisions gave out, and his companions
fell fainting beside him, he subsisted on raw flesh, and stayed on until
his work was completed.

So strong was he physically that when two hogsheads of tobacco, each
weighing a thousand pounds, were lying on their sides, he could raise
them both upright at once. Besides this great strength of body, he
developed great strength of mind. Shakespeare and Addison were his
favorites. It was not strange that by and by he became a member of the
Virginia House of Burgesses.

When Peter Jefferson was thirty-one, he married into a family much above
his own socially--Jane, the daughter of Isham Randolph, a rich and
cultured gentleman. She was but nineteen, of a most cheerful and hopeful
temperament, with a passionate love of nature in every flower and tree.

From these two the boy Thomas inherited the two elements that make a
man's character beautiful, not less than a woman's--strength and
sweetness. With his mother's nature, he found delight in every varying
cloud, every rich sunset or sunrise, and in that ever new and ever
wonderful change from new moon to full and from full to new again. How
tender and responsive such a soul becomes! How it warms toward human
nature from its love for the material world!

When Thomas was five years old, he was sent to a school where English
only was taught. The hours of confinement doubtless seemed long to a
child used to wander at will over the fields, for one day, becoming
impatient for school to be dismissed, he went out-of-doors, knelt behind
the house, and repeated the Lord's Prayer, thus hoping to expedite
matters!

At nine he entered the family of Rev. William Douglas, a Scotch
clergyman, where he learned Greek, Latin, and French. So fond did he
become of the classics that he said, years later, if he were obliged to
decide between the pleasure derived from them and the estate left him
by his father, he would have greatly preferred poverty and education.

All these early years at "Shadwell," the Jefferson home,--so named after
his mother's home in England, where she was born,--Thomas had an
especially dear companion in his oldest sister, Jane. Her mind was like
his own, quick and comprehensive, and her especial delight, like his,
was in music. Three things, he said, became a passion with him,
"Mathematics, music, and architecture." Jane had a charming voice, and
her brother became a skilled performer on the violin, often practising
three hours a day in his busy student life.

Peter Jefferson, the strong, athletic Assemblyman, died suddenly when
Thomas was but fourteen, urging, as his dying request, that this boy be
well educated. There was but one other son, and he an infant. The
sweet-tempered Mrs. Jefferson, under forty, was left with eight children
to care for; but she kept her sunny, hopeful heart.

When Thomas was a little more than sixteen, he entered the college of
William and Mary, at Williamsburg. He was a somewhat shy, tall, slight
boy, eager for information, and warm-hearted. It was not surprising that
he made friends with those superior to himself in mental acquirements.
He says, in his Memoirs: "It was my great good-fortune, and what,
perhaps, fixed the destinies of my life, that Dr. William Small of
Scotland was the professor of mathematics, a man profound in most of the
useful branches of science, with a happy talent of communication,
correct and gentlemanly manners, and an enlarged and liberal mind. He,
most happily for me, became soon attached to me, and made me his daily
companion when not engaged in the school; and from his conversation I
got my first views of the expansion of science and of the system of
things in which we are placed. Fortunately, the philosophical chair
became vacant soon after my arrival at college, and he was appointed to
fill it _per interim;_ and he was the first who ever gave in that
college regular lectures in ethics, rhetoric, and belles-lettres. He
returned to Europe in 1762, having previously filled up the measure of
his goodness to me by procuring for me, from his most intimate friend,
George Wythe, a reception as a student of law under his direction, and
introduced me to the acquaintance and familiar table of Governor
Fauquier, the ablest man who had ever filled that office."

The governor, though an accomplished scholar and great patron of
learning, was very fond of card-playing, and of betting in the play. In
this direction his influence became most pernicious to Virginia.
Strangely enough, young Jefferson never knew one card from another, and
never allowed them to be played in his house.

He devoted himself untiringly to his books. He worked fifteen hours a
day, allowing himself only time to run out of town for a mile in the
twilight, before lighting the candles, as necessary exercise. Though,
from the high social position of his mother, he had many acquaintances
at Williamsburg, Thomas went little in society, save to dine with the
prominent men above mentioned. These were a constant stimulant to him. A
great man, or the written life of a great man, becomes the maker of
other great men. The boy had learned early in life one secret of
success; to ally one's self to superior men and women.

Years afterward, he wrote to his eldest grandson, "I had the
good-fortune to become acquainted very early with some characters of
very high standing, and to feel the incessant wish that I could ever
become what they were. Under temptations and difficulties, I would ask
myself, what would Dr. Small, Mr. Wythe, Peyton Randolph do in this
situation? What course in it will insure me their approbation? I am
certain that this mode of deciding on my conduct tended more to
correctness than any reasoning powers I possessed. Knowing the even and
dignified lives they pursued, I could never doubt for a moment which of
two courses would be in character for them. From the circumstances of my
position, I was often thrown into the society of horse-racers,
card-players, fox-hunters, scientific and professional men, and of
dignified men; and many a time have I asked myself in the enthusiastic
moment of the death of a fox, the victory of a favorite horse, the issue
of a question eloquently argued at the bar or in the great council of
the nation, well, which of these kinds of reputation should I
prefer--that of a horse-jockey, a fox-hunter, an orator, or the honest
advocate of my country's rights?"

The very fact that Jefferson thus early in life valued character and
patriotism above everything else was a sure indication of a grand and
successful manhood. We usually build for ourselves the kind of house we
start to build in early years. If it is an abode of pleasure, we live in
the satiety and littleness of soul which such a life brings. If it is an
abode of worship of all that is pure and exalted, we walk among high
ideals, with the angels for ministering spirits, and become a blessing
to ourselves and to mankind.

In these college-days, Jefferson became acquainted with the fun-loving,
brilliant Patrick Henry, forming a friendship that became of great value
to both. After two years in college, where he had obtained a fair
knowledge of French, Spanish, and Italian, besides his Latin and Greek,
he went home to spend the winter in reading law. But other thoughts
continually mingled with Coke. On every page he read the name of a
beautiful girl of whom he had become very fond. She had given him a
watch-paper, which having become spoiled accidentally, the law-student
wrote to his friend John Page, afterward governor of Virginia, "I would
fain ask the favor of Miss Becca Burwell to give me another watch-paper
of her own cutting, which I should esteem much more, though it were a
plain round one, than the nicest in the world, cut by other hands." He
asked advice of Page as to whether he had better go to her home and
tell her what was in his heart. "Inclination tells me to go, receive my
sentence, and be no longer in suspense; but reason says, 'If you go, and
your attempt proves unsuccessful, you will be ten times more wretched
than ever.'"

He battled with Coke all winter and all the next summer,--a young man in
love who can thus bend himself to his work shows a strong will,--going
to Williamsburg in October to attend the General Court, and to meet and
ask Miss Burwell for her heart and hand. Alas! he found her engaged to
another. Possibly, he was "ten times more wretched than ever," but it
was wise to know the worst.

A young man of twenty-one usually makes the best of an unfortunate
matter, remembering that life is all before him, and he must expect
difficulties. The following year, a sister married one of his dearest
friends, Dabney Carr; and the same year, 1765, his pet sister, Jane,
died. To the end of his life, he never forgot this sorrow; and, even in
his extreme old age, said "that often in church some sacred air, which
her sweet voice had made familiar to him in youth, recalled to him sweet
visions of this sister, whom he had loved so well and buried so young."

After five years spent in law studies, rising at five, even in winter,
for his work, he began to practise, with remarkable success. He was not
a gifted speaker, but, having been a close student, his knowledge was
highly valued. Years afterward, an old gentleman who knew Jefferson,
when asked, "What was his power in the court-room?" answered, "He always
took the right side."

Parton says, in his valuable life of Jefferson, "He had most of the
requisites of a great lawyer; industry, so quiet, methodical, and
sustained that it amounted to a gift; learning, multifarious and exact;
skill and rapidity in handling books; the instinct of research, that
leads him who has it to the fact he wants, as surely as the hound scents
the game; a serenity of temper, which neither the inaptitude of
witnesses nor the badgering of counsel could ever disturb; a habit of
getting everything upon paper in such a way that all his stores of
knowledge could be marshalled and brought into action; a ready sympathy
with a client's mind; an intuitive sense of what is due to the opinions,
prejudices, and errors of others; a knowledge of the few avenues by
which alone unwelcome truth can find access to a human mind; and the
power to state a case with the clearness and brevity that often make
argument superfluous."

In 1768, when he was only twenty-five years old, he offered himself as a
candidate for the Virginia Legislature, and was elected. He entered upon
his public life, which lasted for forty years, with the resolution
"never to engage, while in public office, in any kind of enterprise for
the improvement of my fortune;" and he kept his resolution.

Two years after he began to practise law, the house at "Shadwell" was
burned. He was absent from home, and greatly concerned about his
library. When a colored man came to tell him of his loss, Jefferson
inquired eagerly for his books. "Oh," replied the servant, carelessly,
"they were all burnt, but ah! we saved your fiddle!"

A new house was now begun, two miles from the Shadwell home, on a hill
five hundred and eighty feet high, which he called afterwards
"Monticello," the Italian for "Little Mountain." This had long been a
favorite retreat for Jefferson. He and Dabney Carr had come here day
after day, in the summer-time, and made for themselves a rustic seat
under a great oak, where they read law together, and planned the
rose-colored plans of youth. Sweet, indeed, is it that we have such
plans in early years. Those get most out of life who live much in the
ideal; who see roses along every pathway, and hear Nature's music in
every terrific storm.

Jefferson was building the Monticello home with bright visions for its
future. Another face had come into his heart, this time to remain
forever. It was a beautiful face; a woman, with a slight, delicate form,
a mind remarkably trained for the times, and a soul devoted to music.
She had been married, and was a widow at nineteen. Her father was a
wealthy lawyer; her own portion was about forty thousand acres of land
and one hundred and thirty-five slaves. Although Jefferson had less
land, his annual income was about five thousand dollars, from this and
his profession.

Martha Skelton was now twenty-three, and Jefferson nearly twenty-nine.
So attractive a woman had many suitors. The story is told that two
interested gentlemen came one evening to her father's house, with the
purpose of having their future definitely settled. When they arrived,
they heard singing in the drawing-room. They listened, and the voices
were unmistakably those of Jefferson and Martha Skelton. Making up their
minds that "their future was definitely settled," as far as she was
concerned, they took their hats and withdrew.

Jefferson was married to the lady January 1, 1772, and after the wedding
started for Monticello. The snow had fallen lightly, but soon became so
deep that they were obliged to quit the carriage and proceed on
horseback. Arriving late at night, the fires were out and the servants
in bed; but love keeps hearts warm, and darkness and cold were forgotten
in the satisfaction of having won each other. This satisfaction was
never clouded. For years, the home life deepened with its joys and
sorrows. A little girl, Martha, was first born into the home; then Jane,
who died when eighteen months old, and then an only son, who died in
seventeen days. Monticello took on new beauty. Trees were set out and
flower-beds planted. The man who so loved nature made this a restful and
beautiful place for his little group.

The year after Jefferson's marriage, Dabney Carr, the brilliant young
member of the Virginia Assembly, a favorite in every household, eloquent
and lovable, died in his thirtieth year. His wife, for a time, lost her
reason in consequence. Carr was buried at "Shadwell," as Jefferson was
away from home; but, upon his return, the boyish promise was kept, and
the friend was interred under the old oak at Monticello, with these
words on the stone, written by Jefferson:--

  "To his Virtue, Good-Sense, Learning, and Friendship,
    this stone is dedicated by Thomas Jefferson, who,
          of all men living, loved him most."

At once, Mrs. Carr, with her six little children, came to Jefferson's
home, and lived there ever after, he educating the three sons and three
daughters of his widowed sister as though they were his own. Thus true
and tender was he to those whom he loved.

For some years past, Jefferson had been developing under that British
teaching which led America to freedom. When a student of law, he had
listened to Patrick Henry's immortal speech in the debate on the Stamp
Act. "I attended the debate," said Jefferson in his Memoir, "and heard
the splendid display of Mr. Henry's talents as a popular orator. They
were indeed great; such as I have never heard from any other man. He
appeared to me to speak as Homer wrote.... I never heard anything that
deserved to be called by the same name with what flowed from him; and
where he got that torrent of language from is inconceivable. I have
frequently shut my eyes while he spoke, and, when he was done, asked
myself what he had said, without being able to recollect a word of it.
He was no logician. He was truly a great man, however,--one of enlarged
views."

The whole country had become aflame over the burning of the Gaspee, in
March, 1772,--a royal schooner anchored at Providence, R. I. The
schooner came there to watch the commerce of the colonies, and to search
vessels. She made herself generally obnoxious. Having run aground in her
chase of an American packet, a few Rhode Islanders determined to visit
her and burn her. The little company set out in eight boats, muffling
their oars, reaching her after midnight. The Gaspee was taken unawares,
the hands of the crew tied behind them, and the vessel burned.

At once a reward of five thousand dollars was offered for the detection
of any person concerned; but, though everybody knew, nobody would tell.
Word came from England "that the persons concerned in the burning of the
Gaspee schooner, and in the other violences which attended that daring
insult, should be brought to England to be tried." This fired the hearts
of the colonists. The Virginia House of Burgesses appointed a committee
to correspond with other Legislatures on topics which concerned the
common welfare. The royal governor of Virginia had no liking for such
free thought and free speech as this, and dissolved the House, which at
once repaired to a tavern and continued its deliberations.

Soon a convention was called, before which Jefferson's "Summary View of
the Rights of British America" was laid. It was worded as a skilful
lawyer and polished writer knew how to word it; and it stated the case
so plainly that, when it was published, and sent to Great Britain,
Jefferson, to use his own words, "had the honor of having his name
inserted in a long list of proscriptions enrolled in a bill of attainder
commenced in one of the Houses of Parliament, but suppressed by the
hasty step of events." Remoteness from England doubtless saved his life.

Jefferson went up to the Continental Congress at Philadelphia, which
opened May 10, 1775, taking his "Summary View" with him. The delegates
were waiting to see what Virginia had to say in these important days.
She had instructed her men to offer a resolution that "the United
Colonies be free and independent States," which was done by Richard
Henry Lee, on June 7. Four days later, Congress appointed a committee of
five to prepare a Declaration of Independence. Thomas Jefferson, only
thirty-two, one of the youngest members of Congress, was made chairman.
How well he had become fitted to write this immortal document! It was
but a condensation of the "Summary View." He was also, says John T.
Morse, in his life of Jefferson, "a man without an enemy. His abstinence
from any active share in debate had saved him from giving irritation."

The Declaration still exists in Jefferson's clear handwriting. For three
days the paper was hotly debated, "John Adams being the colossus of the
debate." Jefferson did not speak a word, though Franklin cheered him as
he saw him "writhing under the acrimonious criticism of some of its
parts."

When it was adopted, the country was wild with joy. It was publicly read
from a platform in Independence Square. Military companies gathered to
listen to its words, fired salutes, and lighted bonfires in the
evenings. The step, dreaded, yet for years longed for, had been
taken--separation and freedom, or union and slavery. Jefferson came to
that Congress an educated, true-hearted lover of his country; he went
back to Martha Jefferson famous as long as America shall endure. He was
reelected to Congress, but declined to serve, as he wished to do
important work in his own State, in the changing of her laws.

But now, October 8, 1776, came a most tempting offer; that of joint
commissioner with Benjamin Franklin and Silas Deane to represent America
at the court of France. He had always longed for European travel; he was
a fine French scholar, and could make himself most useful to his new
country, but his wife was too frail to undertake the long journey. She
was more to him than the French mission, and he stayed at home.

Born with a belief in human brotherhood and a love for human freedom, he
turned his attention in the Virginia Legislature to the repeal of the
laws of entail and primogeniture, derived from England. He believed the
repeal of these, and the adoption of his bill "for establishing
religious freedom," would, as he said, form a system by which every
fibre would be eradicated of ancient or future aristocracy. "The repeal
of the laws of entail would prevent the accumulation and perpetuation of
wealth in select families.... The abolition of primogeniture, and equal
partition of inheritances, removed the feudal and unnatural distinctions
which made one member of every family rich and all the rest poor.... The
restoration of the rights of conscience relieved the people from
taxation for the support of a religion not theirs."

There was much persecution of Dissenters by the Established Church.
Baptists were often thrown into prison for preaching, as Patrick Henry
declared, "the Gospel of the Saviour to Adam's fallen race." For nine
years the matter of freedom of conscience was wrestled with, before
Virginia could concede to her people the right to worship God as they
pleased.

Jefferson was averse to slavery, worked for the colonization of the
slaves, and in 1778 carried through a bill against their further
importation. He wrote later, in his "Notes on Virginia": "The whole
commerce between master and slave is a perpetual exercise of the most
boisterous passions, the most unremitting despotism, on the one part,
and degrading submissions on the other.... I tremble for my country when
I reflect that God is just; that his justice cannot sleep forever; that,
considering numbers, nature, and natural means only, a revolution of the
wheel of fortune, an exchange of situations, is among possible events;
that it may become probable by supernatural interference! The Almighty
has no attribute which can take side with us in such a contest." When
his State could not bring itself to adopt his plan of freeing the
slaves, he wrote in his autobiography, in 1821, "The day is not distant
when it must bear and adopt it, or worse will follow. Nothing is more
certainly written in the book of fate than that these people are to be
free." How great indeed was the man who could look beyond his own
personal interests for the well-being of the race!

He worked earnestly for common schools and the establishment of a
university in his native State, believing that it is the right and duty
of a nation to make its people intelligent and capable of
self-government.

In June, 1779, Jefferson was made governor of Virginia, to succeed
Patrick Henry, her first governor. The Revolutionary War had been going
forward, with some victories and some defeats. Virginia had given
generously of men, money, and provisions. The war was being transferred
to the South, as its battle-ground. British fleets had laid waste the
Atlantic coast. Benedict Arnold and Cornwallis had ravaged Virginia.
When General Tarlton was ordered to Charlottesville, in 1781, and it
seemed probable that Monticello would fall into his hands, Jefferson
moved his family to a place of safety.

When the British arrived, and found that the governor was not to be
captured, they retired without committing the slightest injury to the
place. This was in return for kindness shown by Jefferson to four
thousand English prisoners, who had been sent from near New York, to be
in camp at Charlottesville, where it seemed cheaper to provide for them.
Jefferson rightly said: "It is for the benefit of mankind to mitigate
the horrors of war as much as possible. The practice, therefore, of
modern nations, of treating captive enemies with politeness and
generosity, is not only delightful in contemplation, but really
interesting to all the world--friends, foes, and neutrals."

Two faithful servants at Monticello, fearful that the silver might be
stolen by the red-coats, concealed it under a floor a few feet from the
ground; Caesar, removing a plank, and slipping through the cavity,
received it from the hands of Martin. The soldiers came just as the last
piece was handed to Caesar; the plank was immediately restored to its
place, and for nearly three days and nights the poor colored man
remained in the dark, without food, guarding his master's treasures.
When a soldier put his gun to the breast of Martin and threatened to
fire unless Jefferson's whereabouts was disclosed, the brave fellow
answered, "Fire away, then!" A man or woman who wins and holds such
loyalty from dependents is no ordinary character.

After holding the office of governor for two years, Jefferson resigned,
feeling that a military man would give greater satisfaction. Such a one
followed him, but with no better success among the half-despairing
patriots, destitute of money and supplies. Jefferson, with his sensitive
spirit, felt keenly the criticisms of some of the people, saying, "They
have inflicted a wound on my spirit which will only be cured by the
all-healing grave." He refused to return to public life, and looked
forward to happy years of quiet study at Monticello.

How little we know the way which lies before us. We long for sunlight,
and perchance have only storms. We love to be as children who must be
carried over the swamps and rough places, not knowing that strength of
manhood and womanhood comes generally through struggling. The "happy
years" at Monticello were already numbered. Another little girl had come
to gladden the heart of the man who so loved children, and had quickly
taken her departure. And now Martha Jefferson, at thirty-four, the
sweet, gentle woman who had lived with him only ten short years, was
also going away. She talked with him calmly about the journey; she said
she could not die content if she thought their children would have a
stepmother. The young governor, without a moment's thought as to his
future happiness, taking her hand, solemnly promised that he would never
marry again, and he kept his word. It is not known that any person ever
entered the place left vacant in his heart by Martha Jefferson's death.

For four months he had watched by her bedside, or had his books so near
her that he could work without being separated from her. When she died
he fainted, and remained so long insensible that the attendants thought
he could never be restored to consciousness. For three weeks he kept his
room, ministered to by his little daughter Martha, who wound her arms
about his neck, with that inexpressible consolation that only a pure,
sweet child-nature can give. She said years later, "I was never a moment
from his side. He walked almost incessantly, night and day, only lying
down occasionally, when nature was completely exhausted.... When, at
last, he left his room, he rode out, and from that time he was on
horseback rambling about the mountain, in the least frequented roads,
and just as often through the woods. In those melancholy rambles I was
his constant companion, a solitary witness to many a burst of grief."

He longed now for a change of scene; Monticello was no more a place of
peace and rest. Being elected to Congress, he took his seat in
November, 1783. To him we owe, after much heated discussion, the
adoption of the present system of dollars and cents, instead of pounds
and shillings. In May, 1784, he was appointed minister to France, to
join Dr. Franklin and John Adams in negotiating commercial treaties. He
sailed in July, taking with him his eldest child, Martha, leaving Mary
and an infant daughter with an aunt.

The educated governor and congressman of course found a cordial welcome
in Parisian society, for was he not the author of the Declaration of
Independence, endeared to all lovers of liberty, in whatever country. He
was charmed with French courtesy, thrift, and neatness, but he was
always an American in sentiment and affection. He wrote to his young
friend, James Monroe, afterwards President: "The pleasure of the trip to
Europe will be less than you expect, but the utility greater. It will
make you adore your own country,--its soil, its climate, its equality,
liberty, laws, people, and manners. How little do my countrymen know
what precious blessings they are in possession of, and which no other
people on earth enjoy!" More and more he loved, and believed in, a
republic. He wrote to a friend: "If all the evils which can arise among
us from the republican form of government, from this day to the day of
judgment, could be put into scale against what this country suffers from
its monarchical form in a week, or England in a month, the latter would
preponderate. No race of kings has ever presented above one man of
common-sense in twenty generations. The best they can do is to leave
things to their ministers; and what are their ministers but a committee
badly chosen?"

Jefferson spent much time in looking up the manufacturing and
agricultural interests of the country, and kept four colleges--Harvard,
Yale, William and Mary, and the College of Philadelphia--advised of new
inventions, new books, and new phases of the approaching Revolution.

He had placed his daughter Martha in a leading school. His letters to
her in the midst of his busy life show the beautiful spirit of the man,
who was too great ever to rise above his affectional nature. "The more
you learn the more I love you," he wrote her; "and I rest the happiness
of my life on seeing you beloved by all the world, which you will be
sure to be if to a good heart you join those accomplishments so
peculiarly pleasing in your sex. Adieu, my dear child; lose no moment in
improving your head, nor any opportunity of exercising your heart in
benevolence."

His baby-girl, Lucy, died two years after her mother, and now only
little Mary was left in America. He could not rest until this child was
with him in France. She came, with a breaking heart on leaving the old
Virginia home and her aunt. On board the vessel she became so attached
to the captain that it was almost impossible to take her from him. She
spent some weeks with Mrs. John Adams in London, who wrote: "A finer
child I never saw. I grew so fond of her, and she was so much attached
to me, that, when Mr. Jefferson sent for her, they were obliged to force
the little creature away."

Once in Paris, the affectionate child was placed at school with her
sister Martha, to whom Jefferson wrote: "She will become a precious
charge upon your hands.... Teach her, above all things, to be good,
because without that we can neither be valued by others nor set any
value on ourselves. Teach her to be always true; no vice is so mean as
the want of truth, and at the same time so useless. Teach her never to
be angry; anger only serves to torment ourselves, to divert others, and
alienate their esteem."

The love of truth was a strong characteristic of Jefferson's nature, one
of the most beautiful characteristics of any life. There is no other
foundation-stone so strong and enduring on which to build a granite
character as the granite rock of truth. Jefferson wrote to his children
and nephews: "If you ever find yourself in any difficulty, and doubt how
to extricate yourself, _do what is right_, and you will find it the
easiest way of getting out of the difficulty.... Give up money, give up
fame, give up science, give the earth itself, and all it contains,
rather than do an immoral act. And never suppose that, in any possible
situation or any circumstances, it is best for you to do a dishonorable
thing." Again he wrote: "Determine never to be idle. No person will
have occasion to complain of the want of time, who never loses any. It
is wonderful how much may be done if we are always doing."

After five years spent in France, most of which time he was minister
plenipotentiary, Dr. Franklin having returned home, and John Adams
having gone to England, Jefferson set sail for America, with his two
beloved children, Martha, seventeen, and Mary, eleven. He had done his
work well, and been honored for his wisdom and his peace-loving nature.
Daniel Webster said of him: "No court in Europe had at that time a
representative in Paris commanding or enjoying higher regard, for
political knowledge or for general attainments, than the minister of
this then infant republic."

Even before Jefferson reached home he had been appointed Secretary of
State by President Washington. He accepted with a sense of dread, and
his subsequent difficulties with Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the
Treasury, realized his worst fears. The one believed in centralization
of power--a stronger national government; the other believed in a pure
democracy--the will of the people, with the least possible governing
power. The two men were opposite in character, opposite in financial
plans, opposite in views of national polity. Jefferson took sides with
the French, and Hamilton with the English in the French Revolution. The
press grew bitter over these differences, and the noble heart of George
Washington was troubled. Finally Jefferson resigned, and retired to
Monticello. "I return to farming," he said, "with an ardor which I
scarcely knew in my youth."

Three years later, he was again called into public life. As Washington
declined a reelection, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson became the two
Presidential candidates. The one receiving the most votes of the
electors became President, and the second on the list, Vice-President.
John Adams received three more votes than Jefferson, and was made
President.

On March 4, 1797, Jefferson, as Vice-President, became the leader of the
Senate, delivering a short but able address. Much of the next four years
he spent at Monticello, watching closely the progress of events. Matters
with the French republic grew more complicated. She demanded an alliance
with the United States against England, which was refused, and war
became imminent. At the last moment, John Adams rose above the tempest
of the hour, went quite half-way in bringing about a reconciliation, and
the country was saved from a useless and disastrous war.

The Federalists had passed some unwise measures, such as the "Alien
Law," whereby the President was authorized to send foreigners out of the
country; and the "Sedition Law," which punished with fine and
imprisonment freedom of speech and of the press. Therefore, at the next
presidential election, when Adams and Jefferson were again candidates,
the latter was made President of the United States, the Federalists
having lost their power, and the Republicans--afterwards called
Democrats--having gained the ascendancy.

The contest had been bitter. Jefferson's religious belief had been
strongly assailed. Through it all he had the common-sense to know that
the cool-headed, good-natured man, who has only words of kindness, and
who rarely or never makes an enemy, is the man who wins in the end. He
controlled himself, and therefore his party, in a manner almost
unexampled.

March 4, 1801, at the age of fifty-eight, in a plain suit of clothes,
the great leader of Democracy rode to the Capitol, hitched his horse to
the fence, entered the Senate Chamber, and delivered his inaugural
address. Thus simple was the man, who wished ever to be known as "the
friend of the people." Alas! that sweet Martha Jefferson could not have
lived to see this glad day! To what a proud height had come the
hard-working college boy and the tender-hearted, tolerant man!

As President, he was the idol of his party, and, in the main, a wise
leader. He made few removals from office, chiefly those appointed by
John Adams just as he was leaving the Presidency. Jefferson said
removals "must be as few as possible, done gradually, and bottomed on
some malversation or inherent disqualification." One of the chief acts
was the purchase from France of a great tract of land, called the
Territory of Louisiana, for fifteen million dollars.

During his second four years in office, there were more perplexities.
Aaron Burr, Vice-President during Jefferson's first term, was tried on
the charge of raising an army to place himself on the throne of Mexico,
or at the head of a South-western confederacy. England, usually at war
with France, had issued orders prohibiting all trade with that country
and her allies; Napoleon had retorted by a like measure. Both nations
claimed the right to take seamen out of United States vessels. The
British frigate Leopard took four seamen by force from the American
frigate Chesapeake. The nation seemed on the verge of war, but it was
postponed, only to come later, in 1812, under James Madison.

Congress passed the Embargo Act, by which all American vessels were
detained in our own ports. It had strong advocates and strong opponents,
but was repealed as soon as Jefferson retired from office. Owing to
these measures our commerce was well-nigh destroyed.

At the age of sixty-five years, Jefferson retired to Monticello, "with a
reputation and popularity," says Mr. Morse, "hardly inferior to that of
Washington." He had had the wisdom never to assume the bearing of a
leader. He had been careful to avoid disputes. Once, when riding, he met
a stranger, with whom engaging in conversation, he found him bitterly
opposed to the President. Upon being asked if he knew Mr. Jefferson
personally, he replied, "No, nor do I wish to."

"But do you think it fair to repeat such stories about a man, and
condemn one whom you do not dare to face?"

"I shall never shrink from meeting him if he ever comes in my way."

"Will you, then, go to his house to-morrow, and be introduced to him, if
I promise to meet you there?"

"Yes, I will."

The stranger came, to his astonishment found that the man he had talked
with was the President himself, dined with him, and became his firm
friend and supporter ever afterward.

For the next seventeen years, Jefferson lived at Monticello, honored and
visited by celebrities from all the world. Sometimes as many as fifty
persons stayed at his home over night. One family of six came from
abroad, and remained with him for ten months. His daughter Martha,
married to Thomas Mann Randolph, presided over his hospitable home, and
with her eleven children made the place a delight, for she had "the
Jefferson temperament--all music and sunshine." The beautiful Mary, who
married her cousin, John W. Eppes, had died at twenty-six, leaving two
small children, who, like all the rest, found a home with Jefferson.

In the midst of this loving company, the great man led a busy life,
carrying on an immense correspondence, by means of which he exerted a
commanding influence on the questions of the day as well as on all
social matters. To a child named for him, he wrote a letter which the
boy might read after the statesman's death. In it are these helpful
words: "Adore God. Reverence and cherish your parents. Love your
neighbor as yourself. Be just. Be true. Murmur not at the ways of
Providence."

To his daughter Mary he wrote these lines, which well might be hung up
in every household:--

"Harmony in the married state is the very first object to be aimed at.
Nothing can preserve affections uninterrupted but a firm resolution
never to differ in will, and a determination in each to consider the
love of the other as of more value than any object whatever on which a
wish had been fixed. How light, in fact, is the sacrifice of any other
wish when weighed against the affections of one with whom we are to pass
our whole life. And though opposition in a single instance will hardly
of itself produce alienation, yet every one has his pouch into which all
these little oppositions are put. While that is filling, the alienation
is insensibly going on, and when filled it is complete. It would puzzle
either to say why, because no one difference of opinion has been marked
enough to produce a serious effect by itself. But he finds his
affections wearied out by a constant stream of little checks and
obstacles.

"Other sources of discontent, very common indeed, are the little
cross-purposes of husband and wife, in common conversation; a
disposition in either to criticise and question whatever the other says;
a desire always to demonstrate and make him feel himself in the wrong,
and especially in company. Nothing is so goading. Much better,
therefore, if our companion views a thing in a light different from what
we do, to leave him in quiet possession of his view. What is the use of
rectifying him, if the thing be unimportant, and, if important, let it
pass for the present, and wait a softer moment and more conciliatory
occasion of revising the subject together. It is wonderful how many
persons are rendered unhappy by inattention to these little rules of
prudence."

Jefferson rose early; the sun, he said, had not for fifty years caught
him in bed. But he bore great heart-sorrow in these declining years, and
bore it bravely. His estate had diminished in value, and he had lost
heavily by indorsements for others. His household expenses were
necessarily great. Finally, debts pressed so heavily that he sold to
Congress the dearly prized library, which he had been gathering for
fifty years. He received nearly twenty-four thousand dollars for it,
about half its original value. But this amount brought only temporary
relief.

Then he attempted to dispose of some of his land by lottery, as was
somewhat the fashion of the times. The Legislature reluctantly gave
permission, but as soon as his friends in New York, Philadelphia, and
Baltimore heard of his pecuniary condition, they raised about eighteen
thousand dollars for him, and the lottery plan was abandoned. He was
touched by this proof of esteem, and said: "No cent of this is wrung
from the tax-payer; it is the pure and unsolicited offering of love."

Jefferson was now, as he said, "like an old watch, with a pinion worn
out here and a wheel there, until it can go no longer." On July 3, 1826,
after a brief illness, he seemed near the end. He desired to live till
the next day, and frequently asked if it were the Fourth. He lingered
till forty minutes past the noon of July 4, and then slept in death.
That same day, John Adams, at ninety-one, was dying at Quincy, Mass. His
last words were, as he went out at sunset, the booming of cannon
sounding pleasant to his patriotic heart, "Thomas Jefferson still
lives." He did not know that his great co-laborer had gone home at
midday. "The two aged men," says T. W. Higginson, "floated on, like two
ships becalmed at nightfall, that drift together into port, and cast
anchor side by side." Beautiful words!

The death of two Presidents at this memorable time has given an
additional sacredness to our national Independence Day.

Among Jefferson's papers were found, carefully laid away, "some of my
dear, dear wife's handwriting," and locks of hair of herself and
children. Also a sketch of the granite stone he desired for his
monument, with these words to be inscribed upon it.

                   Here was buried
                  THOMAS JEFFERSON,
     Author of the Declaration of Independence,
  Of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom,
     And Father of the University of Virginia.

He was buried by his family and servants, on the spot selected by
himself and Dabney Carr in boyhood, his wife on one side and his loving
Mary on the other.

The beloved Monticello passed into other hands. Martha Jefferson and her
children would have been left penniless had not the Legislatures of
South Carolina and Louisiana each voted her ten thousand dollars. Thomas
Jefferson Randolph, the grandson, with the assistance of his daughters,
who established a noted school, paid all the remaining debts, many
thousand dollars, to save the honor of their famous ancestor.

To the last, Jefferson kept his sublime faith in human nature and in the
eternal justice of republican principles, saying it is "my conviction
that should things go wrong at any time, the people will set them to
rights by the peaceable exercise of their elective rights." Whatever his
religious belief in its details of creed, he said, "I am a Christian in
the only sense in which Jesus wished any one to be--sincerely attached
to his doctrines in preference to all others." He compiled a little
book of the words of Christ, saying, "A more precious morsel of ethics
was never seen."

In his public life he was honest, in his domestic life lovable, and he
died, as he had lived, tolerant of the opinions of others,
even-tempered, believing in the grandeur and beauty of human nature.
What though we occasionally trust too much! Far better that than to go
through life doubting and murmuring! That he believed too broadly in
States' Rights for the perpetuity of the Union, our late Civil War
plainly showed, and his views on Free Trade are, of course, shared by a
portion only of our citizens. However, he gave grandly of the affection
of his heart and the power of his intellect, and he received, as he
deserved, the love and honor of thousands, the world over.

[Illustration: Signature A. Hamilton]




ALEXANDER HAMILTON.


To the quiet and picturesque island of Nevis, one of the West Indies,
many years ago, a Scotch merchant came to build for himself a home. He
was of a proud and wealthy family, allied centuries before to William
the Conqueror.

On this island lived also a Huguenot family, who had settled there after
the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, which drove so many Protestants
out of the country. In this family was a beautiful and very intellectual
girl, with refined tastes and gentle, cultured manners. Through the
ambition of her mother she had contracted a marriage with a Dane of
large wealth, followed by the usual unhappiness of marrying simply for
money. A divorce resulted, and the attractive young woman married the
Scotch merchant, James Hamilton. A son, Alexander, was born to them,
January 11, 1757.

But he was born into privation rather than joy and plenty. The generous
and kindly father failed in business; the beautiful mother died in his
childhood, and he was thrown upon the bounty of her relations.

The opportunities for education on the island were limited. The child
read all the books he could lay his hands upon, becoming especially fond
of Plutarch's Lives and Pope's works. He was fortunate also in having
the friendship of a superior man, Dr. Knox, a Presbyterian clergyman,
who delighted in the boy's quick and comprehensive mind.

At twelve years of age he was obliged to earn money, and was placed in
the counting-house of Nicholas Cruger. Probably, like other boys, he
wished he were rich, but found later in life that success is usually
born of effort and economy. He early chose "Perseverando" for his motto,
and it helped to carry him to the summit of power.

That the counting-house was not congenial to him, a letter to a
school-fellow in New York plainly shows. "To confess my weakness, Ned,
my ambition is prevalent, so that I contemn the grovelling condition of
a clerk, or the like, to which my fortune condemns me, and would
willingly risk my life, though not my character, to exalt my station. I
am confident, Ned, that my youth excludes me from any hopes of immediate
preferment, nor do I desire it, but I mean to prepare the way for
futurity. I'm no philosopher, you see, and may be justly said to build
castles in the air; my folly makes me ashamed, and beg you'll conceal
it; yet, Neddy, we have seen such schemes successful, when the projector
is constant. I shall conclude by saying, I wish there was a war."

The "projector was constant," and the "schemes became successful." He
was indeed "preparing the way for futurity," this lad not yet fourteen.
At this time, Mr. Cruger made a visit to New York, and left the
precocious boy in charge of his business. Such reliance upon him
increased his self-reliance, and helped to fit him to advise and uphold
a nation in later years.

In these early days he began to write both prose and poetry. When he was
fifteen, the Leeward Islands were visited by a terrific hurricane. In
one town five hundred houses were blown down. So interested was
Alexander in this novel occurrence that he wrote a description of it for
a newspaper. When the authorship was discovered, it was decided by the
relatives that such a boy ought to be educated. The money was raised for
this purpose, and he sailed for New York, taking with him some valuable
letters of introduction from Dr. Knox.

He was soon attending a grammar-school at Elizabeth, New Jersey. The
principal, Francis Barber, was a fine classical scholar, patriotic,
entering the Revolutionary War later; the right man to impress his
pupils for good. Alexander, with his accustomed energy and ambition, set
himself to work. In winter, wrapt in a blanket, he studied till
midnight, and in summer, at dawn, resorted to a cemetery near by, where
he found the quiet he desired. In a year he was ready to enter college.

Attracted to Princeton, he asked Dr. Witherspoon, the president of the
college, the privilege of taking the course in about half the usual
time. The good days of election in study had not yet dawned. The dull
and the bright must have the same routine; the one urged to his duties,
the other tired by the delay. The doctor could not establish so peculiar
a precedent, and Princeton missed the honor of educating the great
statesman.

He entered Columbia College, and made an excellent record for himself.
In the debating club, say his classmates, "he gave extraordinary
displays of richness of genius and energy of mind." He won strong
friendships to himself by his generous and unselfish nature, and his
ardent love for others. It is only another proof of the old rule, that
"Like begets like." Those who give love in this world usually receive
it. Selfishness wins nothing--self-sacrifice, all things.

The college-boy was often seen walking under the large trees on what is
now Dey Street, New York, talking to himself in an undertone, and
apparently in deep thought. The neighbors knew the slight, dark-eyed
lad, as the "young West Indian," and wondered concerning his future.
When he was seventeen, a "great meeting in the fields" was held in New
York, July 6, 1774. While Hamilton was studying, the colonies of America
had been looking over into the promised land of freedom, driven thither
by some unwise task-masters. Boston had seasoned the waters of the
Atlantic with British tea. New York, well filled with Tories, yet had
some Patriots, who felt that the hour was approaching when all must
stand together in the demand for liberty. Accordingly, the "great
meeting" was called, to teach the people the lessons of the past and the
duties of the future.

Hamilton had recently returned from a visit to Boston, and was urged to
be present and speak at the meeting. He at first refused, being a
stranger in the country and unknown. He attended, however; and when
several speakers had addressed the eager crowds, thoughts flowed into
the youth's mind and pleaded for utterance. He mounted the platform. The
audience stared at the stripling. Then, as he depicted the long endured
oppression from England, urged the wisdom of resistance, and painted in
glowing colors the sure success of the colonies, the hearts of the
multitude took fire with courage and hope. When he closed, they shouted,
"It is a collegian! it is a collegian!"

Hamilton was no longer a West Indian; he was, heart and soul, an
American. Liberty now grew more exciting than college books. Dr.
Seabury, afterwards Bishop of Connecticut, wrote two tracts entitled
"Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of the Continental Congress," and
"Congress Canvassed by a Westchester Farmer." These pamphlets attempted
to show the foolishness of opposing a monarchy like England. They were
scattered broadcast.

Then tracts appeared in answer; clear, terse, sound, and able. These
said, "No reason can be assigned why one man should exercise any power
or preeminence over his fellow-creatures more than another, unless they
have voluntarily vested him with it. Since, then, Americans have not, by
any act of theirs, empowered the British Parliament to make laws for
them, it follows they can have no just authority to do it.... If, by the
necessity of the thing, manufactures should once be established, and
take root among us, they will pave the way still more to the future
grandeur and glory of America; and, by lessening its need of external
commerce, will render it still securer against the encroachments of
tyranny."

This was rank heterodoxy toward a power which had crippled the
manufactures of America in all possible ways, and wished to keep her a
great agricultural country. "The sacred rights of mankind," said the
writer, "are not to be rummaged for among old parchments or musty
records; they are written, as with a sunbeam, in the whole volume of
human nature, by the hand of the Divinity itself, and can never be
erased or obscured by mortal power." The wonder grew as to the
authorship of these pamphlets. Some said John Jay wrote them; some said
Governor Livingstone. When it was learned that Hamilton, only eighteen,
had composed them, the Tories stood aghast, and the Patriots saw that a
new star had risen in the heavens.

Hamilton knew that the war was inevitable; that the time must soon come
for which he longed when he wrote to his friend Ned, "I wish there was a
war." He immediately began to study military affairs. There are always
places to be filled by those who make themselves ready. He was learning
none too early. His corps, called the "Hearts of Oak" in green uniforms
and leathern caps, drilled each morning. While engaged in removing
cannon from the battery, a boat from the Asia, a British ship-of-war,
fired into the men, killing the person who stood next to Hamilton. At
once the drums were beaten, and the people rushed to arms. The king's
store-houses were pillaged, and the "Liberty Boys" marched through the
streets, threatening revenge on every Tory.

Young Hamilton, fearless before the Asia, could also be fearless in
defence of his friends. Dr. Cooper, the President of Columbia College,
was a pronounced Tory. When the mob approached the steps of the
institution, Hamilton, nothing daunted, appeared before them, and urged
coolness, lest they bring "disgrace on the cause of liberty." Dr. Cooper
imagined that his liberal pupil was assisting the mob, and cried out
from an upper window, "Don't listen to him, gentlemen! he is crazy, he
is crazy!" But the mob did listen, and the president was saved from
harm.

The Revolutionary War had begun. Lexington and Bunker Hill were as
beacon-fires to the new nation. In 1776, the New York Convention ordered
a company of artillery to be raised, and Hamilton applied for the
command of it. Only nineteen, and very boyish in looks, his fitness for
the position was doubted, till his excellent examination proved his
knowledge, and he was appointed captain. He used the last money sent
him by his relatives in the West Indies, to equip his company.

College days were now over, and the busy life of the soldier had
commenced. For most young men, the stirring events of the times would
have filled every moment and every thought. Not so the man born to have
a controlling and permanent influence in the republic. He found time to
study about money circulation, rates of exchange, commerce, taxes,
increase of population, and the like, because he knew that a great work
must be done by somebody after the war. How true it is that if we fit
ourselves for a great work, the work will find us.

Meantime, Captain Hamilton drilled his troops so well that General
Greene observed it, made the acquaintance of the captain, invited him to
his headquarters, and spoke of him to Washington. Had not the work been
well done, it would not have commanded attention, but this attention was
an important stepping-stone to fame and honor. Hamilton was ever after a
most loyal friend to General Greene.

The company was soon called into active service. At the disastrous
battle of Long Island, Hamilton was in the thickest of the fight, and
brought up the rear, losing his baggage and a field-piece. After the
retreat up the Hudson, at Harlem Heights, Washington observed the skill
used in the construction of some earthworks, and, finding that the
engineer was the young man introduced to him by General Greene, invited
him to his tent. This was the beginning of a life-long and most devoted
friendship between the great commander and the boyish captain.

Later, at the battles of Trenton and Princeton, Hamilton was fearless
and heroic. "Well do I recollect the day," said a friend, "when
Hamilton's company marched into Princeton. It was a model of discipline;
at their head was a boy, and I wondered at his youth; but what was my
surprise when, struck with his slight figure, he was pointed out to me
as that Hamilton of whom we had already heard so much.... A mere
stripling, small, slender, almost delicate in frame, marching beside a
piece of artillery, with a cocked hat pulled down over his eyes,
apparently lost in thought, with his hand resting on a cannon, and every
now and then patting it, as if it were a favorite horse or a pet
plaything."

He had so won the esteem and approbation of Washington that he was
offered a position upon his staff, which he accepted March 1, 1777, with
the rank of lieutenant-colonel. His work now was constant and absorbing.
The correspondence was immense, but all was done with that clearness and
elegance of diction which had marked the young collegian. He was popular
with old and young, being called the "Little Lion," as a term of
endearment, in appreciation of bravery and nobility of character.

When the skies looked darkest, as at Valley Forge, Hamilton was
habitually cheerful, seeing always a rainbow among the clouds. His
enthusiasm was contagious. He carried men with him by a belief in his
own powers, and by deep sympathy with others. Lafayette loved him as a
brother. He wrote Hamilton, "Before this campaign I was your friend and
very intimate friend, agreeably to the ideas of the world. Since my
second voyage, my sentiment has increased to such a point the world
knows nothing about. To show _both_, from want and from scorn of
expression, I shall only tell you--Adieu!"

Baron Steuben used to say, in later days, "The Secretary of the Treasury
is my banker; my Hamilton takes care of me when he cannot take care of
himself."

Hamilton wrote to his dear friend Laurens, "Cold in my professions--warm
in my friendships--I wish it were in my power, by actions rather than
words, to convince you that I love you.... You know the opinion I
entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself
free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent
of the caprices of others. You should not have taken advantage of my
sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent."

Best of all, Washington confided in him, and loved him, and we usually
love those in whom we have confided. When he wanted a calcitrant
general, like Gates, brought to terms, he sent the tactful, clear-headed
Hamilton on the mission. When he wanted decisive action, he sent the
same fearless young officer, who knew no such word as failure.
Sometimes he broke down physically, but the power of youth triumphed,
and he was soon at work again.

On his expedition to General Gates, in November, 1777, with all his
desire to keep himself "free from particular attachments," he laid the
foundation for the one lasting attachment of his life. At the house of
the wealthy and distinguished General Philip Schuyler, he met and liked
the second daughter, Elizabeth. Three years later, in the spring of
1780, when the officers brought their families to Morristown, the
acquaintance ripened into love, and December 14, 1780, when Hamilton was
twenty-three, he was married to Miss Schuyler. The father of the young
lady was proud and happy in her choice. He wrote Hamilton, "You cannot,
my dear sir, be more happy at the connection you have made with my
family than I am. Until the child of a parent has made a judicious
choice, his heart is in continual anxiety; but this anxiety was removed
the moment I discovered it was you on whom she placed her affections."

In this year, 1780, the country was shocked by the treason of Benedict
Arnold. Hamilton was sent in pursuit, only to find that he had escaped
to the British. He ministered to the heart-broken wife of Arnold, as
best he could. He wrote to a friend, "Her sufferings were so eloquent
that I wished myself her brother, to have a right to become her
defender."

For Major Andre he had the deepest sympathy, and admiration of his manly
qualities. He wrote to Miss Schuyler, afterward his wife, "Poor Andre
suffers to-day. Everything that is amiable in virtue, in fortitude, in
delicate sentiment and accomplished manners, pleads for him; but
hard-hearted policy calls for a sacrifice. I urged a compliance with
Andre's request to be shot, and I do not think it would have had an ill
effect."

A month after his marriage, his only difficulty with General Washington
occurred. The commander-in-chief had sent for Hamilton to confer with
him, who, meeting Lafayette, was stopped by him for a few moments'
conversation on business. When he reached Washington, the general said,
"Colonel Hamilton, you have kept me waiting at the head of the stairs
these ten minutes. I must tell you, sir, you treat me with disrespect."
The proud young aid answered, "I am not conscious of it, sir; but since
you have thought it necessary to tell me so, we part." He therefore
resigned his position, glad to be free to take a more active part in the
war. Washington, with his usual magnanimity, made overtures of
reconciliation, and they became ever after trusted co-workers.

All these years, Hamilton had shown himself brave and untiring in the
interests of his adopted country. At the battle of Monmouth, his horse
was shot under him. At Yorktown, at his own earnest request, he led the
perilous assault upon the enemy's works, and carried them. When
Hamilton saw that the enemy was driven back, he humanely ordered that
not a British soldier should be killed after the attack. He says in his
report, "Incapable of imitating examples of barbarity, and forgetting
recent provocations, the soldiers spared every man who ceased to
resist."

Washington appreciated his heroism, and said, "Few cases have exhibited
greater proof of intrepidity, coolness, and firmness than were shown on
this occasion."

Letters home to his wife show the warm heart of Hamilton. "I am
unhappy--I am unhappy beyond expression. I am unhappy because I am to be
so remote from you; because I am to hear from you less frequently than I
am accustomed to do. I am miserable, because I know you will be so....
Constantly uppermost in my thoughts and affections, I am happy only when
my moments are devoted to some office that respects you. I would give
the world to be able to tell you all I feel and all I wish; but consult
your own heart, and you will know mine.... Every day confirms me in the
intention of renouncing public life, and devoting myself wholly to you.
Let others waste their time and their tranquillity in a vain pursuit of
power and glory; be it my object to be happy in a quiet retreat, with my
better angel."

At the close of the Revolutionary War, he repaired to Albany, spending
the winter at the home of General Schuyler, his wife's father. He had
but little money, and his dues in the service of an impoverished
country were unpaid; but he had what was far better, ability. He
determined to study law. For four months, he bent himself unreservedly
to his work, and was admitted to the bar. He steadily refused offers of
pecuniary aid from General Schuyler, preferring to support his wife and
infant son by his own exertions. Such a man, of proud spirit and
unwavering purpose, would, of course, succeed.

Friends who appreciated the service he had rendered to his country now
interceded in his behalf, and he was appointed Continental receiver of
taxes for New York. To accept a position meant, to him, persistent
labor, and success in it if possible. He at once repaired to
Poughkeepsie, where the Legislature was in session; presented his plans
of taxation, and prevailed upon that body to pass a resolution asking
for a convention of the States that a Union might be effected, stronger
than the existing Confederation.

The position as receiver of taxes was sometimes a disagreeable one, but
it was another round in the ladder which carried him to fame. He had
increased the number of his acquaintances. His energy and his knowledge
of public questions had been revealed to the people; and the result was
his election to Congress, at the age of twenty-five. Thus rapidly the
ambitious, energetic, and intelligent young man had risen in influence.

That his voice would be heard in Congress was a foregone conclusion.
General Schuyler wrote his daughter soon after Congress met:
"Participate afresh in the satisfaction I experience from the connection
you have made with my beloved Hamilton. He affords me happiness too
exquisite for expression. I daily experience the pleasure of hearing
encomiums on his virtue and abilities, from those who are capable of
distinguishing between real and pretended merit. He is considered, as he
certainly is, the ornament of his country, and capable of rendering it
the most essential services, if his advice and suggestions are attended
to."

The country was deeply in debt from the Revolutionary War. It had no
money with which to pay its soldiers; its paper currency was nearly
worthless; dissatisfaction was apparent on every hand. There was little
unity of interest among the States. Hamilton's plans for raising money,
and for a more centralized government, were unheeded; and, after a year
in Congress, he returned to the practice of law, saying, "The more I
see, the more I find reason for those who love this country to weep over
its blindness."

As soon as the war was over, the people began to grow more bitter than
ever toward the Tories, or loyalists. Harsh legislative measures were
passed. The "Trespass Act" declared that any person who had left his
abode in consequence of invasion could collect damages of those who had
occupied the premises during his absence. A widow, reduced to poverty by
the war, brought suit against a rich Tory merchant, who had lived in her
house while the Tories held the city. Hamilton, feeling that a
principle of justice was involved, took the part of the merchant, and by
a brilliant speech, in which he contended that "the fruits of immovables
belong to the captor so long as he remains in actual possession of
them," he gained the case. Of course, he brought upon himself much
obloquy; was declared to be a "Britisher," and lover of monarchy, a
charge to which he must have grown accustomed in later years.

Hamilton's pen was not idle in this controversy. He wrote a pamphlet,
advocating respect for law and justice, which was called "Phocion," from
its signature. It was read widely, both in England and America. Among
the many replies was one signed "Mentor," which drew from Hamilton a
"Second letter of Phocion." So inflamed did public opinion become that
in one of the clubs it was decided that one person after another should
challenge Hamilton, till he should fall in a duel. This came to the
knowledge of "Mentor" and the abhorrent plan was stopped by his timely
interference. There are too few men and women great enough to be
tolerant of ideas in opposition to their own, or to persons holding
those ideas. Tolerance belongs to great souls only.

Matters in the States had so grown from bad to worse, and Congress, with
its limited powers, was so helpless, that a convention was finally
called at Philadelphia, May 25, 1787, to provide for a more complete and
efficient Union. Nine States sent delegates: Massachusetts, New York,
New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Virginia, North Carolina, South
Carolina, and Georgia. General Washington was made president of the
convention. A plan of government was submitted, called the "Virginia
plan," which provided for a Congress of two branches, one to be elected
by the people, the other from names suggested by the State Legislatures.
There was to be a President, not eligible for a second term. Then the
"New Jersey plan" was submitted; which was simply a revision of the
Articles of Confederation.

The debates were earnest, but most intelligent; for men in those times
had studied the existing governments of the world, and the fate of
previous republics. Hamilton was present as a delegate, and, early in
the convention, gave his plan for a new government, in a powerful
speech, six hours long. He reviewed the whole domain of history, the
present condition of the States, and the reasons for it, and then
developed his plan. Those only could vote for President and Senators who
owned a certain amount of real estate. These officials were to hold
office for life or during good behavior. The President should appoint
the Governors of the various States.

Of course, the believers in "States' Rights" could not for a moment
concede such power to one man, at the head of a nation. When Hamilton
affirmed that the "British government was the best model in existence,"
he awoke the antagonism of the American heart. He probably knew that
his plan could not be adopted, but it strengthened the advocates of a
central government. Many delegates went home under protest; but the
Constitution, brought into its present form largely by James Madison,
was finally adopted, and sent to the different States for ratification.

The opposition to its adoption was very great. Hamilton, with
praiseworthy spirit, accepted it as the best thing attainable under the
circumstances, and worked for it night and day with all the vigor and
power of his masterly intellect. To the _Federalist_ he contributed
fifty-one papers in defence of the Constitution, and did more than any
other man to secure its ultimate adoption.

Henry Cabot Lodge, in his clear and admirable "Life of Hamilton," says:
"As an exposition of the meaning and purposes of the Constitution, the
_Federalist_ is now, and always will be cited, on the bench and at the
bar, by American commentators, and by all writers on constitutional law.
As a treatise on the principles of federal government it still stands at
the head, and has been turned to as an authority by the leading minds of
Germany, intent on the formation of the German Empire."

Party feeling ran high. When a State enrolled herself in favor of the
Constitution, bonfires, feasts, and public processions testified to the
joy of a portion of the people; while the burning in effigy of prominent
Federalists, mobs and riots, testified to the anger of the opponents.
In the State of New York the contest was extremely bitter. Hamilton used
all his logic, his eloquence, his fire, and his boundless activity to
carry the State in favor of the Constitution. Said Chancellor Kent: "He
urged every motive and consideration that ought to sway the human mind
in such a crisis. He touched, with exquisite skill, every chord of
sympathy that could be made to vibrate in the human breast. Our country,
our honor, our liberties, our firesides, our posterity were placed in
vivid colors before us."

When told by a friend, who was just starting on a journey, that he would
be questioned in relation to the adoption of the Constitution, Hamilton
replied: "God only knows! Several votes have been taken, by which it
appears that there are two to one against us." But suddenly his face
brightened, as he said, "Tell them that the convention shall never rise
until the Constitution is adopted."

The excitement in New York city became intense. Crowds collected on the
street-corners, and whispered, "Hamilton is speaking yet!" Late in the
evening of July 28, 1788, it was announced that the Constitution had
been adopted by New York, the vote standing thirty to twenty-seven. At
once the bells were rung and guns were fired. A great procession was
formed of professional men and artisans, bearing pictures of Washington
and Hamilton, and banners, with the words "Federalist," "Liberty of the
Press," and "The Epoch of Liberty." The federal frigate Hamilton was
fully manned, and received the plaudits of the crowds.

When the Constitution was adopted, at last, Washington was made
President, April 30, 1789. It was not strange that he chose for his
Secretary of the Treasury the man who had studied finance by the
camp-fires of the Revolution. At thirty-two Hamilton was in the Cabinet
of his country. At once Congress asked him to prepare a report on the
public credit, stating his plan of providing for the public debt. In
about three months the report was ready. It advocated the funding of all
the debts of the United States incurred through the war. As to the
foreign and domestic debts, all persons seemed agreed that these should
be paid; but the assumption of the debts of the different States met
with the most violent opposition. Those who owed a few million dollars
were unwilling to help those who owed many millions.

Hamilton advocated a foreign loan, not to exceed twelve millions, and a
revenue derived from taxes on imports; such a revenue as would not only
provide funds for the new nation, but protect manufactures from the
competition of the old world. The believers in protection have had no
more earnest or able advocate than Hamilton.

His next report was an elaborate one upon national banks, and the
establishment of a United States bank, which should give a uniform
system of bank-notes, instead of the unreliable and uneven values of the
notes of the State banks. His financial policy, while it aroused the
bitterest enmity in some quarters, raised the United States from
bankruptcy to the respect of her creditors, abroad and at home. When the
old cry of "unconstitutional!" was heard, as it has been heard ever
since when any great matter is suggested, Hamilton taught the people to
feel that the _implied_ powers of the Constitution were great enough for
all needs, and that the document must be interpreted by the spirit as
well as the letter of the law. Capitalists were his strong advocates, as
they well knew that a firm and safe financial policy was at the root of
success and progress.

Very soon after his report on banks, he transmitted to Congress a report
on the establishment of a mint, showing wide research on the subject of
coinage. Besides these papers, he reported on the purchase of West
Point, on public lands, navigation laws, on the post-office, and other
matters, always showing careful study, good judgment, and patriotism.

That he was accused of being a monarchist signified little, as there
were hundreds of people at that time who feared that the republic would
go down, as had others in past centuries. He so deprecated the lack of
central power in the government that he exaggerated the dangers of the
people's rule. This lack of trust in the masses and in the power of the
Constitution, and Thomas Jefferson's trust in self-government and belief
in States' rights, led, at last, to the bitter and public disagreement
of these two great men, the Secretary of the Treasury and the Secretary
of State. Each was honest in his belief; each was tolerant of most men,
but intolerant of the other to the end of life.

Hamilton naturally became the leader of the Federalists, as Jefferson
the leader of the Republicans, or Democrats, as they are now called. One
party saw in Hamilton the great thinker, the safe guardian of the
destinies of the people; the other party thought it saw a bold and
unscrupulous man, who would sit on a throne if that were possible.
Hamilton's character was assailed, sometimes with truth, but oftener
without truth. He was not perfect, but he was great, and in most
respects noble.

The French Revolution was now interesting all minds. Genet had been sent
to America by the French Republic, as her minister. Hamilton urged
neutrality, and looked with horror upon the growing excesses in France.
Jefferson, with his hatred of monarchy, was lenient, and, in the early
part of the Revolution, sympathetic. The United States became divided
into two great factions, for and against France. Genet fanned the flames
till the patient Washington could endure it no longer; the unwise
minister was recalled, and neutrality was proclaimed April 22, 1793.

Through all this matter, Hamilton had the complete love and confidence
of Washington. When it was deemed wise to send a special commissioner
to effect a treaty with England, that proper commercial relations be
maintained, Hamilton was at once suggested. Party feeling opposed, and
John Jay was appointed. When he returned from his mission, Great Britain
having consented to pay us ten million dollars for illegal seizure of
vessels, we agreeing to pay all debts owed to her before the
Revolutionary War, the people rose in wrath against the treaty, and
burned Jay in effigy. When Hamilton was speaking for its adoption at a
public meeting in New York, he was assaulted by stones. "Gentlemen," he
said, coolly, "if you use such strong arguments, I must retire." After
this he wrote essays, signed "Camillus," in defence of the treaty, and
helped largely to secure its acceptance.

Meantime, the Excise Law, whereby distilled spirits were taxed, caused
the "Whiskey Insurrection" in Pennsylvania. Hamilton, who believed in
the prompt execution of law, urged Washington to take decisive measures.
The President called out thirteen thousand troops, and the refusal to
pay the taxes was no more heard of.

Hamilton, like Jefferson, had become weary of his six years of public
life; his increasing family needed more than his limited salary, and he
resigned, returning to his law practice in the city of New York.

When a new President was chosen to succeed Washington, it was not the
real leader of the party, Hamilton, but one who had elicited less
opposition by strong measures--John Adams, a man of long and
distinguished service, both in England and America. Hamilton seems to
have preferred Thomas Pinckney of South Carolina, and thus to have
gained the ill-will of Adams, which helped at last to split the Federal
party.

When Adams and Jefferson became the Presidential nominees in 1800,
Hamilton threw himself heartily into the contest in the State of New
York. Here he found himself pitted against a rare antagonist, the most
famous lawyer in the State except himself, Aaron Burr. He was well born,
being the son of the president of the college at Princeton, and the
grandson of Jonathan Edwards. Like Hamilton, he was precocious; being
ready to enter Princeton when he was eleven years old. He was short in
stature, five feet and six inches in height; with fine black eyes, and
gentle and winsome manners. Both these men won the most enduring
friendships from men and women--homage indeed. Both were intense in
nature, though Burr had far greater self-control. Both were brave to
rashness; both were untiring students; both loved and always gained
authority. Burr had won honors in the Revolutionary War. He had married
at twenty-six, a woman ten years older than himself, a widow with two
children, with neither wealth nor beauty, whom he idolized for the
twelve years she was spared to him, for her rare mind and devoted
affection. From her he learned to value intellect in woman. He used to
write her before marriage, "Deal less in sentiments, and more in
ideas." When she died, he said, "The mother of my Theo was the best
woman and finest lady I have ever known." For his only child, his
beloved Theodosia, he seemed to have but one wish, that she be a
scholar. He said to his wife, "If I could foresee that Theo would become
a mere fashionable woman, with all the attendant frivolity and vacuity
of mind, adorned with whatever grace and allurement, I would earnestly
pray God to take her forthwith hence. But I yet hope by her to convince
the world what neither sex appear to believe--that women have souls!"

At ten years of age, she was studying Horace and Terence, learning the
Greek grammar, speaking French, and reading Gibbon.

This Theo, the idol of his life, afterward married to Governor Alston of
South Carolina, loved him with a devotion that will forever make one
gleam of sunshine in a life full of shadows. When the dark days came,
she wrote him, "I witness your extraordinary fortitude with new wonder
at every new misfortune. Often, after reflecting on this subject, you
appear to me so superior, so elevated above all other men; I contemplate
you with, such a strange mixture of humility, admiration, reverence,
love, and pride, very little superstition would be necessary to make me
worship you as a superior being; such enthusiasm does your character
excite in me.... I had rather not live than not be the daughter of such
a man."

Burr's success in the law had been phenomenal. When he was studying for
admission to the bar, he often passed twenty hours out of the
twenty-four over his books.

And now, Colonel Burr, at thirty-six, after being in the United States
Senate for six years, was the candidate for Vice-President on the
Jefferson ticket. Hamilton's eloquence stirred the State of New York in
the contest; but Burr's generalship in politics won the votes, and he
was elected.

Hamilton went back again to his large law practice. Men sought him with
the belief that if he would take their cases, there was no doubt of the
result. An aged farmer came to him to recover a farm for which a deed
had been obtained from him in exchange for Virginia land. Hamilton heard
the case; then wrote to the wealthy speculator to call upon him. When he
came, Hamilton said, "You must give me back that deed. I do not say that
you knew that the title to these lands is bad; but it is bad. You are a
rich--he is a poor man. How can you sleep on your pillow? Would you
break up the only support of an aged man and seven children?" He walked
the floor rapidly, as he exclaimed, "I will add to my professional
services all the weight of my character and powers of my nature; and
_you_ ought to know, when I espouse the cause of innocence and of the
oppressed, that character and those powers will have their weight."

The property was reconveyed to the farmer, who gratefully asked Hamilton
to name the compensation. "Nothing! nothing!" said he. "Hasten home and
make your family happy."

Hamilton was clear in his reasoning; a master in constitutional law;
persuasive in his manner; sometimes highly impassioned, sometimes solemn
and earnest. Says Henry Cabot Lodge: "Force of intellect and force of
will were the sources of his success.... Directness was his most
distinguishing characteristic, and, whether he appealed to the head or
the heart, he went straight to the mark.... He never indulged in
rhetorical flourishes, and his style was simple and severe.... That
which led him to victory was the passionate energy of his nature, his
absorption in his work, his contagious and persuasive enthusiasm."

"There was a fascination in his manner, by which one was led captive
unawares," says another writer. "On most occasions, when animated with
the subject on which he was engaged, you could see the very workings of
his soul, in the expression of his countenance; and so frank was he in
manner that he would make you feel that there was not a thought of his
heart that he would wish to hide from your view."

"Alexander Hamilton was the greatest man this country ever produced,"
said Judge Ambrose Spencer.... "He argued cases before me while I sat as
judge on the bench. Webster has done the same. In power of reasoning
Hamilton was the equal of Webster; and more than this can be said of no
man. In creative power Hamilton was infinitely Webster's superior....
He, more than any man, did the thinking of the time."

His chief relaxation from work was at "The Grange," his summer home at
Harlem Heights, not far from the spot, it is said, where he first
attracted the eye of Washington. Beeches, maples, and many evergreens
abounded. The Hudson River added its beauty to the picturesque place.
Here he read the classics for pleasure, and the Bible. To a friend he
said: "I have examined carefully the evidence of the Christian religion;
and, if I was sitting as a juror upon its authenticity, I should
unhesitatingly give my verdict in its favor.... I can prove its truth as
clearly as any proposition ever submitted to the mind of man."

At "The Grange" he was especially happy with his family. He said, "My
health and comfort both require that I should be at home--at that home
where I am always sure to find a sweet asylum from care and pain.... It
will be more and more my endeavor to abstract myself from all pursuits
which interfere with those of affection. 'Tis here only I can find true
pleasure."

When Hamilton was forty-four, he endured the great affliction of his
life. His eldest son, Philip, nineteen, just graduated from Columbia
College, deeply wounded by the political attacks upon his father,
challenged to a duel one of the men who had made objectionable remarks.
The lad fell at the first fire, a wicked sacrifice to a barbarous "code
of honor." After twenty hours of agony, he died, surrounded by the
stricken family. Hamilton was especially proud of this son, of whom he
said, when he gave his oration at Columbia College, "I could not have
been contented to have been surpassed by any other than my son."

For three years Hamilton worked on with a hope which was never broken,
constantly adding to his fame. And then came the fatal error of his
life. All along he had opposed Aaron Burr. When named for a foreign
mission, Hamilton helped to defeat him. When the tie vote came between
Jefferson and Burr in the Presidential returns, Hamilton said, "The
appointment of Burr as President will disgrace our country abroad." When
Burr was nominated for Governor of New York, Hamilton used every effort
to defeat him, and succeeded. Burr, exasperated and disappointed at his
failures, sent Hamilton a challenge. He wrote to Hamilton, "_Political_
opposition can never absolve gentlemen from the necessity of a rigid
adherence to the laws of honor and the rules of decorum. I neither claim
such privilege nor indulge it in others." Alas! that some men in public
life, even now, forget the "laws of honor and the rules of decorum" in
their treatment of opponents.

Everything in Hamilton's career protested against this suicidal combat.
He was only forty-seven, distinguished and beloved, with a wife and
seven children dependent upon him.

Before going to the fatal meeting, he wrote his feelings about duelling.
"My religious and moral principles are strongly opposed to the practice
of duelling, and it would even give me pain to be obliged to shed the
blood of a fellow-creature in a private combat forbidden by the laws....
To those who, with me, abhorring the practice of duelling, may think
that I ought on no account to have added to the number of bad examples,
I answer that my _relative_ situation, as well in public as private,
enforcing all the considerations which constitute what men of the world
denominate honor, imposed on me (as I thought) a peculiar necessity not
to decline the call. The ability to be in future useful, whether in
resisting mischief or effecting good, in those crises of our public
affairs which seem likely to happen, would probably be inseparable from
a conformity with public prejudice in this particular."

He made his will, leaving all, after the payment of his debts, to his
"dear and excellent wife." "Should it happen that there is not enough
for the payment of my debts, I entreat my dear children, if they, or any
of them, should ever be able, to make up the deficiency. I, without
hesitation, commit to their delicacy a wish which is dictated by my own.
Though conscious that I have too far sacrificed the interests of my
family to public avocations, and on this account have the less claim to
burden my children, yet I trust in their magnanimity to appreciate as
they ought this my request. In so unfavorable an event of things, the
support of their dear mother, with the most respectful and tender
attention, is a duty, all the sacredness of which they will feel.
Probably her own patrimonial resources will preserve her from indigence.
But in all situations they are charged to bear in mind that she has been
to them the most devoted and best of mothers." And then, the great
statesman, after writing two farewell letters to "my darling, darling
wife," conformed to "public prejudice" by hastening with his second, at
daybreak, to meet Aaron Burr, at Weehawken, two miles and a half above
Hoboken. It was a quiet and beautiful spot, one hundred and fifty feet
above the level of the Hudson River, shut in by trees and vines, but
golden with sunlight on that fatal morning.

At seven o'clock the two distinguished men were ready, ten paces apart,
to take into their own hands that most sacred of all things, human life.
There was no outward sign of emotion, though the one must have thought
of his idol, Theodosia, and the other of his pretty children, still
asleep. Hamilton had determined not to fire, and so permitted himself to
be sacrificed. The word of readiness was given. Burr raised his pistol
and fired, and Hamilton fell headlong on his face, his own weapon
discharging in the air. He sank into the arms of his physician, saying
faintly, "This is a mortal wound," and was borne home to a family
overwhelmed with sorrow. The oldest daughter lost her reason.

For thirty-one hours he lay in agony, talking, when able, with his
minister about the coming future, asking that the sacrament be
administered, and saying, "I am a sinner. I look to Him for mercy; pray
for me."

Once when all his children were gathered around the bed, he gave them
one tender look, and closed his eyes till they had left the room. He
retained his usual composure to the last, saying to his wife, frenzied
with grief, "Remember, my Eliza, you are a Christian." He died at two
o'clock on the afternoon of July 12, 1804. The whole nation seemed
speechless with sorrow. In New York all business was suspended. At the
funeral, a great concourse of people, college societies, political
associations, and military companies, joined in the common sorrow. Guns
were fired from the British and French ships in the harbor; on a
platform in front of Trinity Church, Governor Morris pronounced a
eulogy, General Hamilton's four sons, the eldest sixteen and the
youngest four, standing beside the speaker. Thus the great life faded
from sight in its vigorous manhood, leaving a wonderful record for the
aspiring and the patriotic, and a prophecy of what might have been
accomplished but for that one fatal mistake.

Aaron Burr hastened to the South, to avoid arrest; but public execration
followed him. He became implicated in a scheme for putting himself at
the head of Mexico, was arrested and tried for treason, and, though
legally acquitted, was obliged to flee to England, and from there to
Sweden and Germany. Finally he came home, only to hear that Theodosia's
beautiful boy of eleven was dead. Poor and friendless, he longed now for
the one person who had never forsaken him, his daughter. She started
from Charleston in a pilot-boat, for New York, and was never heard from
afterwards. Probably all went down in a storm off Cape Hatteras. When it
was reported in the papers that the boat had been captured by pirates,
Burr said, "No, no, she is indeed dead. Were she alive, all the prisons
in the world could not keep her from her father. When I realized the
truth of her death, the world became a blank to me, and life had then
lost all its value."

When he was nearly eighty, he married a lady of wealth; but they were
unhappy, and soon separated. He died on Staten Island, cared for at the
last by the children of an old friend. His courage and fortitude the
world will always admire; but it can never forget the fatal duel by
which Alexander Hamilton was taken from his country, in the prime of his
life and in the midst of his great work.

The name of Hamilton will not be forgotten. The Hon. Chauncey M. Depew
of New York, on February 22, 1888, gave the great statesman this well
deserved tribute of praise:--

     "The political mission of the United States has so far been wrought
     out by individuals and territorial conditions. Four men of unequal
     genius have dominated our century, and the growth of the West has
     revolutionized the republic. The principles which have heretofore
     controlled the policy of the country have mainly owed their force
     and acceptance to Hamilton, Jefferson, Webster, and Lincoln.

     "The first question which met the young confederacy was the
     necessity of a central power strong enough to deal with foreign
     nations and to protect commerce between the States. At this period
     Alexander Hamilton became the savior of the republic. If
     Shakespeare is the commanding originating genius of England, and
     Goethe of Germany, Hamilton must occupy that place among Americans.
     This superb intelligence, which was at once philosophic and
     practical, and with unrivalled lucidity could instruct the dullest
     mind on the bearing of the action of the present on the destiny of
     the future, so impressed upon his contemporaries the necessity of a
     central government with large powers that the Constitution, now one
     hundred and one years old, was adopted, and the United States began
     their life as a nation."

[Illustration: Signature Andrew Jackson]




ANDREW JACKSON.


George Bancroft said, "No man in private life so possessed the hearts of
all around him; no public man of the country ever returned to private
life with such an abiding mastery over the affections of the people....
He was as sincere a man as ever lived. He was wholly, always, and
altogether sincere and true. Up to the last he dared do anything that it
was right to do. He united personal courage and moral courage beyond any
man of whom history keeps the record.... Jackson never was vanquished.
He was always fortunate. He conquered the wilderness; he conquered the
savage; he conquered the veterans of the battle-field of Europe; he
conquered everywhere in statesmanship; and when death came to get the
mastery over him, he turned that last enemy aside as tranquilly as he
had done the feeblest of his adversaries, and passed from earth in the
triumphant consciousness of immortality."

Thus wrote Bancroft of the man who rose from poverty and sorrow to
receive the highest gift which the American nation can bestow. The gift
did not come through chance; it came because the man was worthy of it,
and had earned the love and honor of the people.

In 1765, among many other emigrants, a man, with his wife and two sons,
came to the new world from the north of Ireland. They were
linen-weavers, poor, but industrious, and members of the Presbyterian
Church. They settled at Waxhaw, North Carolina, not far from the South
Carolina boundary, and the husband began to build a log house for his
dear ones. This man was the father of Andrew Jackson.

Scarcely had the log house been built, and a single crop raised, before
the wife was left a widow and the children fatherless. There was a quiet
funeral, a half-dozen friends standing around an open grave, and then
the little house passed into other hands, and Mrs. Jackson went to live
at the home of her brother-in-law.

Not long after the funeral, a third son was born, March 15, 1767, whom
the stricken mother named Andrew Jackson, after his father. He was
welcomed in tears, and naturally became the idol of her young heart.
Three weeks later, she moved to the house of another brother-in-law to
assist in his family. She was not afraid to work, and she bent herself
to the hard labor of pioneer life. There was no sorrow in the labor, for
was she not doing it for her sons, and a noble woman knows no hardship
in her self-sacrifice for love.

Her ambition seems to have centred in the slight, light-haired,
blue-eyed Andrew, who, she hoped, one day might become a Presbyterian
minister. How he was to obtain a college education, perhaps, she did not
discern, but she trusted, and trust is a divine thing.

The barefooted boy attended a school kept by Dr. Waddell. He made
commendable progress in his studies, from his quick and ardent
temperament, but he loved fun even better than books. He was impulsive,
ambitious, and persevering. He could run foot-races as rapidly as the
bigger boys, and loved to wrestle or engage in anything which seemed
like a battle. Says an old schoolmate, "I could throw him three times
out of four, but he would never _stay throwed_. He was dead game, even
then, and never _would_ give up."

To the younger boys he was a protector, but from the older he would
brook no insult, and was sometimes hasty and overbearing. One of the
best traits in the boy's character was his love for his mother. His
intense nature knew no change, and he was loyal and single of purpose
forever. He used to say in later life, "One of the last injunctions
given me by my mother was never to institute a suit for assault and
battery or for defamation; never to wound the feelings of others nor
suffer my own to be outraged: these were her words of admonition to me;
I remember them well, and have never failed to respect them; my settled
course through life has been to bear them in mind, and never to insult
or wantonly to assail the feelings of any one; and yet many conceive me
to be a most ferocious animal, insensible to moral duty and regardless
of the laws both of God and man."

He did nothing slowly nor indifferently. He bent his will to his work,
even at that early age, and knew no such word as failure. When the boy
was thirteen, an incident occurred which made a lasting impression. The
British General Tarlton, in the Revolutionary War, with three hundred
cavalry, came against Waxhaw, surprised the militia, killing one hundred
and thirteen and wounding one hundred and fifty. The little settlement
was terrorized. The meeting-house became a hospital, and Mrs. Jackson,
with her sons, helped to minister to the wants of the suffering
soldiers. Andrew learned not only lessons in war, but to dream of future
rewards to the British.

When Cornwallis, after the surrender of General Gates, moved his whole
army toward Waxhaw, Mrs. Jackson and her sons were obliged to seek a
safe retreat with a distant relative. Here Andrew did "chores" for his
board. "Never," said one who knew him well at this time, "did Andrew
come home from the shops without bringing with him some new weapon with
which to kill the enemy. Sometimes it was a rude spear, which he would
forge while waiting for the blacksmith to finish his job. Sometimes it
was a club or a tomahawk. Once he fastened the blade of a scythe to a
pole, and, on reaching home, began to cut down the weeds with it that
grew about the house, assailing them with extreme fury, and occasionally
uttering words like these, 'Oh, if I were a man, how I would sweep down
the British with my grass blade!'"

A year later, when Mrs. Jackson had returned to Waxhaw, the brothers
were both taken prisoners in a skirmish. Being commanded to clean the
boots of a British officer, Andrew refused, saying, "Sir, I am a
prisoner of war, and claim to be treated as such."

The angry Englishman drew his sword, and rushed at the boy, who,
attempting to defend himself from the blow, received a deep gash in his
left hand, and also on his head, the scars of which he bore through
life. Robert, the brother, also refused to clean the boots, and was
prostrated by the sword of the brutal officer. Soon after, the boys were
taken with other prisoners to Camden, eighty miles distant, a long and
agonizing journey for wounded men.

They found the prison a wretched place, with no medical supplies; the
food scanty, and small-pox raging among the inmates. The poor mother,
hearing of their forlorn condition, hastened to the place. Both her boys
were ill of the dreaded small-pox, and both suffering from their
sword-wounds. She arranged for the exchange of prisoners, and took her
sons home; Robert to die in her arms two days later, and Andrew to be
saved at last after a perilous illness of several months. Her oldest
son, Hugh, had already given his life to his country in the war.

Almost broken-hearted with the loss of her two sons, yet intensely
patriotic, she hastened to the Charleston prison-ships, to care for the
wounded, taking with her provisions and medicine sent by loving wives
and daughters. The blessed ministrations proved of short duration. Mrs.
Jackson was taken ill of ship-fever, died after a brief illness, and was
buried in the open plain near by. The grave is unmarked and unknown.
When, years later, her illustrious son had become President, he tried to
find the burial-place of the woman he idolized, but it was impossible.

Andrew was now an orphan, and poor; but he had what makes any boy or man
rich, the memory of a devoted, heroic mother. Such a person has an
inspiration that is like martial music on the field of battle; he is
urged onward to duty forevermore. The world is richer for all such
instances of ideal womanhood; the womanhood that gives rather than
receives; that seeks neither admiration nor self-aggrandizement; that,
like the flowers, sends out the same fragrance whether in royal gardens
or beside the peasant's door; that lives to lighten others' sorrows, to
rest tired humanity, to sweeten the bitterness of life by her loveliness
of soul; that is to the world around her

  "A new and certain sunrise every day."

Fatherless, motherless, brotherless, the boy of fifteen looked about him
to see what his life-work should be. In the family of a distant relative
he found a home. The son was a saddler. For six months Andrew worked at
this trade. But other plans were in his mind. He knew how his mother had
desired that he might be educated. But how could a boy win his way
without money? For two years or more, little is known of him. It is
believed that he taught a small school. When nearly eighteen, he had
made up his mind to study law, a somewhat remarkable decision for a boy
in his circumstances.

If he studied at all, it should be under the best of teachers; so he
rode to Salisbury, seventy-five miles from Waxhaw, and entered the
office of Mr. Spruce McCay, an eminent lawyer, and later a judge of
distinction.

For nearly two years he studied, enjoying also the sports of the time,
and making, as he did all through life, close friends who were devoted
to his interests. When in the White House, forty-five years afterward,
he said, "I was but a raw lad then, but I did my best." And he did his
best through life!

He loved a fine horse almost as though it were human; he enjoyed the
society of ladies, and possessed a grace and dignity of manner that
surprised those who knew the hardships of his life. His eager
intelligence, his quick, direct glance, that bespoke alertness of mind,
won him attention, even more than would beauty of person. Over six feet
in height, slender to delicacy, he gave the impression of le

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