But the public career of Washington was not yet at an end. The French directory, still entertaining the opinion that the American people were adverse to the measures of neutrality adopted by the government, and believing that they could be drawn into an alliance against England, had bestowed indignities on our minister; made aggressions upon our commerce; and committed other depredations and outrages which could not be overlooked. Indeed, so confident was the directory that the people of the United States could be separated from their government, and so ignorant were they of our true character, that they had the effrontery to demand money from the envoys of the United States, as a condition for opening a negotiation between the two governments for the settlement of our mutual differences. Under these circumstances, Mr. Adams summoned a meeting of congress, which authorized him to enlist ten thousand men as an army to be used or not, as the case might require. This army was placed under the command of Washington, who was looked to from every part of the union as the sword and shield of his country. From this time to the close of his life, a great part of his attention was taken up with the new duties which had thus devolved upon him. The difficulty with France was, however, amicably adjusted. Intimations having been received that a better disposition existed toward us, the president appointed three envoys, with full power to negotiate with the republic. On arriving at Paris, they found Bonaparte at the head of the government, who, perceiving no advantage in continuing the dispute, readily consented to an arrangement. Washington, however, did not live to participate in the joy which was diffused through the country by this intelligence. On the 12th of December, 1799, he returned home from a visit to his farms wet and chilled with the rain and sleet to which he had been exposed in his ride. A sore throat and hoarseness were the consequence; but on the next day he appeared as well as usual, passing the evening with his family. About two or three o'clock on Saturday morning, however, he awoke Mrs. Washington, and informed her that he was very unwell, and had an ague. As the morning advanced, the soreness of his throat increased, and he breathed with so much difficulty that he thought it best to be bled. The operation was accordingly performed by one of his own overseers, and a messenger was sent for his physician, Dr. Craik, who lived nine miles off, at Alexandria. Dr. Brown, another physician, in the neighbourhood, and Dr. Dick were also called. About nine o'clock, "Dr. Craik arrived and put a blister of cantharides on his throat, and took more blood, but without the desired relief. In the course of the day Dr. Dick arrived, but the united counsel of all could devise no means to stay the progress of the destroyer. "In the afternoon he called Mrs. Washington to his bedside, and gave directions respecting his wills, two of which had been prepared, and one of which he wished her to destroy. He then said to Mr. Lear, his private secretary, 'I find I am going; my breath cannot last long; I believed from the first attack it would be fatal. Do you arrange and record all my military letters and papers, arrange my accounts and settle my books, as you know more about them than any one else; and let Mr. Rawlins finish recording my other letters which he has begun."" His sufferings during the day were most acute, but were borne with that equanimity, patience, and composure, which we would naturally expect from such a character. In the evening, when Dr. Craik desired to have him raised up, he said, "I feel myself going; you had better not take any more trouble about me, but let me go off quietly; I cannot last long." After he was again laid down, he said: "Doctor, I die hard; but I am not afraid to die." About ten o'clock he gave Mr. Lear some brief directions respecting his funeral; and in a few minutes after quietly breathed his last, being in the 68th year of his age. He was in the full possession of his mental faculties, and exhibited in his short illness all that patience, fortitude, and submission to the divine will, which had marked his course through life. Thus perished the mortal part of Washington; but his deeds, his fame, his unspotted life, and his illustrious example shall live for the instruction of ages yet unborn. At the time of his death congress was in session at Philadelphia; and at the first intelligence of the melancholy event both houses adjourned. The next morning resolutions were passed, providing for a suitable tribute of respect to the memory of the departed. The speaker's chair was shrouded in black; the members wore mourning during the session; the citizens throughout the union were desired to wear crape on their left arm for thirty days; and General Lee was appointed to deliver a eulogy before congress on the occasion. But no formal act of the national legislature was required to remind the people of the virtues and services of Washington, or of the loss sustained in his death. As the sad news spread, like a cloud, over the land, there was no heart which did not respond to the general gloom, and no tongue which did not utter its regret. His obsequies were celebrated by solemn processions, anthems, prayers, orations, and tears of silent grief all over the union. Public honours were decreed to his memory in the different states; the knell was in every heart; and the nation was shrouded in mourning. As time advanced, and the pure patriotism and unclouded virtues of this great man have appeared undimmed by the prejudices of party, he has become the wonder and admiration of mankind; and the glory of his name, untarnished by a single speck to obscure its transcendent lustre, is a legacy to our young republic ten thousand times richer than the gold of Mexico or the diamonds of Golconda. Beautiful statues may be chiselled to his memory, and lofty monuments erected to his greatness, but his most enduring statue is in the hearts of a grateful people, and his noblest monument is in the liberty and prosperity of his country. We cannot better close this chapter than by giving the reader the annexed eulogy from the back of a picture at Mount Vernon. It seems to have been intended for a monumental inscription; but who is the writer is unknown: WASHINGTON, The defender of his country, the founder of liberty, History and tradition are explored in vain And the noblest names of antiquity Nature made him great, He made himself virtuous. Called by his country to the defence of her liberties, And voluntarily resigning the sceptre and the sword, A spectacle so new and sublime Was contemplated with the profoundest admiration; |