At the age of eighty years, borne down by disease, he returned to Philadelphia. He was hailed with enthusiastic joy, affection, esteem and veneration by all the friends of liberty—from the humblest citizen up to the illustrious Washington. He had been a pillar of fire to the American cause—a pillar of smoke to the enemies of human rights. As Thurgot truly observed—"He snatched the thunder bolt from Jove and the sceptre from Kings." He stood—the Colossus of Liberty among the monarchs of Europe and wrung from them the homage due to a nation that dared to be free.
Notwithstanding his advanced age and his ardent desire for retirement, he was placed in the gubernatorial chair of Pennsylvania and in 1787 elected a delegate to the Convention that formed the Federal Constitution. Many of the bright trails of that important instrument received their finishing touch from his master hand. He was anxious to see his long nursed theory of a republican government reduced to as perfect system as its infancy would permit. He well knew, that for its manhood and old age additional provisions would be required. As necessary as this now is, so sacred has that instrument become that the mass would deem it sacrilege to disturb its long repose. It might be made to meet more fully the wants of an expanding country in some particulars but if once disturbed might be polluted by the apoplectic touch of party spirit and never recover from the shock. Caution is the parent of safety.
Early in 1790, Dr. Franklin was confined to his room by his infirmities but his mental powers remained in full vigor. Some of the strongest and most soul-stirring productions from his pen were written during his confinement. Early in April he began to fail more rapidly. He was fully sensible that he stood on the confines of eternity and that he should soon go to his final rest. On the 17th of April 1790, calm and resigned—cool and collected—peaceful and happy—he commended his spirit to Him who gave it—quitted this vale of tears with a full assurance of rising to a glorious immortality at the final resurrection and slumbered quietly and sweetly in the arms of death with a full assurance that his Lord and Master would rebind him in a new and more beautiful edition fully revised.
By his will he prohibited all pomp and parade at his funeral. He was anxious that the mournful obsequies of his burial should be marked with republican simplicity. He was laid in his grave on the 21st of April. It is in the northwest corner of Christ Church yard in the City of Philadelphia, where a plain marble slab—once even but now below the surface of the earth, shows where his ashes repose. By the side of his moulders the dust of his amiable wife.
His death was deeply lamented throughout the civilized world. Congress ordered mourning to be observed throughout the United States for thirty days. The event was solemnized in France and many eloquent eulogies pronounced. The national Assembly decreed that each of its members should wear a badge of mourning for three days. The sensation produced there by his death was similar to that evinced by our country on the death of La Fayette.
In the recapitulation of the life of this great and good man we are charmed with a versatile richness that has no parallel on the historic page. He filled every sphere in which he moved to the remotest lines of its orbit. No matter how bright the galaxy around him he was a luminary of the first magnitude. He entered upon the stage of notion at a time when the world needed just such a man and continued upon it just long enough to complete all he had commenced. He was found equal to every work he undertook and always stopped at the golden point—when he had finished. He was emphatically the architect of his own fortune. No chartered college can claim him as a graduate—no patron rendered him gratuitous aid. Let the young men of our country imitate his examples that they may become useful—let our public men who have in charge our national destiny imitate them that they may be wise—let old men imitate them that they may be revered—let us all imitate them that we may do all the good we can to our fellow men in life and be happy in death.
HORATIO GATES.
War is a calamity to be deprecated at all times. Its history, from its sanguinary embryo to the present time, has but a few bright spots on which the philanthropist can gaze with admiring delight. The back-ground of most of these is so vividly shaded with crimson that the eye grows dim and the heart sickens on too close a scrutiny. We have many among us who preach loudly against war without delineating the innate materials in human nature that cause it. We have anti-war societies that have originated from motives pure as heaven but are planted on the abstract foundation of ills—futile as the baseless vision. Its evils may be portrayed in colors clear as the sunbeams of living light and enforced by all the arguments of human logic and Holy Writ without removing the smallest particle from the cause that produces this fearful calamity. This and the best remedy are not fully defined by the preamble, constitution or by-laws of any society within my knowledge and where partially explained are not always practically carried out by the members. They sometimes engage in a fierce personal war.
The cause exists in the nature of man influenced by the baser passions. Retaliation is among the first developments of the child. Self is a relentless tyrant. Revenge is as natural as our respiration. Anger, envy, jealousy, malice—all combine to perpetuate a disposition for war and lead men from the sublime destiny of immortal bliss.