Washington, then sixty-four years of age, announced in September, 1796, his intention to retire to the sunshine of private life. His farewell was the blessing of a ripe sage upon a sorrowing people. It was none the less genuine, rich, and good, because comically imitated by a few of his successors. Even Andrew Johnson’s did not belittle it.
Several gentlemen, it was discovered, had a fancy to try the official shades which the great American was so glad to quit. Of course Virginia supposed that the rotation in the office should, like charity, begin at home. Such, too, was the opinion of sixty-eight electors; but as seventy-one disagreed with them, the short, stout, well-grained “column of Congress” was transferred, for the four following[following] years, into the executive post.
CHAPTER III.
OLD FAMILY PORTRAITS.
Modern Photographic Albums like Ancient Roman Simulacra.—The Pleasure of looking at the Likenesses of Friends.—The Portraits of our Fore-Fathers.—Our dear old Great-Grandfather George Washington.—His one hundred and twenty-eight Original Portraits.—His unique Character; of the same Size all the Way up.—His Manners and Characteristics.—How the Eighteenth Century, so long mated, refused to survive him.—Our Great-Grand and good Mother Martha Washington.—The Resemblance between her and a Bowl of ripe Strawberries and Cream.—Her Pride.—What Qualities were corseted in her Bosom.—Our favorite Uncle, Benjamin Franklin.—How the Sky got into his Face and how it stays charged.—Looks like an hereditary Director of all the Estates.—A born Trustee.—What an idea Burns might have got of him in 1774, and how expressed it.—Of our Aunt, Mrs. James Madison; and what a fine Lady she was.—Her careful Dress and Manners.—Impressive but patronizing.—How Time forgot her, and the Years ran on un-notched.—The forty Years she acted as Presidentess.—Patrick Henry described in Dress, Person, shooting Game, and taking Audiences.—Our dear Visitor, General Lafayette; his Difficulties in reaching us; his noble Bride; his Embarkation at a Spanish Port; his Labors here; his two subsequent Visits, and how he survived Hand-shaking and Kissing.—About John Jay and his Wife Sallie Livingston.—How they lived and what he became.—Glances at Israel Putnam and his expressive Face; at Nathaniel Greene and his square, Quaker Character; at the Telescopic Eyes of Francis Marion, with a Dash at his soldierly Qualities.—The Effigies of the Wise Men—General Sketches of our Heroes and Heroines.—A Heart Delineation of the Mothers, Wives, and Sisters of the Men of the Revolution.
Cold indeed must be the heart, colder than any which pendulates in the readers of this History, that does not warm up pleasantly when carried by its owner into what is wisely called in the country “the living-room,” and there obeying the electrical summons of the eye, wanders with it lovingly through the pages of a family photographic album.
The elder Romans had a chamber, placed in the innermost part of the house, devoted to the images of the departed members of the family; images named after, but not always likenesses of, those who had led the way in the family history. So great was their reverence for these, so intimate the relation maintained with them, that, on the departure or return of any of the household, these silent figures were saluted with the same affection as the living.
The family photographic album is the modern chamber in which are kept our simulacra. Enter it as often as we may, scan as often as we choose its portraitures, we never survey with indifference, and rarely without better and tenderer feelings, these mute, dear faces.
Just as dear, just as touching to our national feelings, sensibilities, and emulous gratitude, just as instructive to head and heart, are the cherished and beloved features of our national forefathers. Turn we then a few leaves with interest, perchance with profit.
An instinctive delicacy places the elders at the head of the procession.
Of course the very first in the book, as in our hearts, is the dear, good face of our great-great-great-grandfather, George Washington. How well we all know it. One hundred and twenty-eight original portraits were taken of him, between 1770, when he was thirty-eight years old, and 1796, when he was sixty-four, by various painters, from the elder Peale to Sharpless. The statue of Houdon, ordered by Virginia in 1785, and finished in 1788, perpetuates in marble, to its visitors at Richmond, as its engraved copies have made familiar to all, the full-length majestic figure and port of the wise, thoughtful, and careful General. Yet numerous as are the likenesses, multiplied by various art processes, and scattered through parlors, bedrooms, sheds, cabins, and books, we instantly recognize and instinctively love the noble features of our dear old grandfather. Very grave he is, very sedate, as if he was thinking how it was best to settle in life some of his large household. His thoughts seem so earnest and weighty that we cannot interrupt them. Good and humane as is the face, we cannot bounce in, leap upon his high knees, pull lovingly his long hair, and then scamper away with a sense of unspoken forgiveness in our thumping hearts. O no! There is an awe in his presence, benevolent as it is, a width of responsibility in his thought-beaming face, which stills and hushes us. Very reserved and calm, seldom volunteering a remark, never a laugh, for mere entertainment, he makes ordinary conversation appear like empty chattering. Yet ever gracious is he, ever gentle, well-bred, and self-contained. His reticence is not sour, but thoughtful, his silence the waiting upon a large utterance. Intent and earnest after something he always seems. Even in his relaxation from formal work, and when least occupied, he seems like a good fisherman sitting on the bank, carefully watching the float, and fixed upon securing the nibbles.