The canvass, for months before the day of the election, carried the most intense excitement and unbounded enthusiasm throughout the Union. The pecuniary difficulties of the country, during the past administration, left the people an opportunity for political gatherings. Financial prostration and hopeless bankruptcy paralyzed the various trades; and in the workshop, as in the counting-house, in the streets, in the fields, in vacant factories and barns, in the mechanic’s as in the artisan’s room, were heard debates of the pending question. Everywhere long processions with mottoed banners were seen marching to music, and throughout the land was heard the famous old “Tippecanoe and Tyler too,” and “Van is a used-up man,” campaign songs. Never before or since was such interest manifested, and never again will there be the same admiration expressed for any aspirant to public honors. Log-cabins, illustrative of General Harrison’s early days, were “raised” everywhere, and “companies” visited from place to place, equipped in handsome uniforms, and accompanied by bands of music. The whigs struggled manfully to elect their candidate, bringing to their service powerful appeals in the forms of stirring song, executed by youths in the streets, and dwelling continually upon the resumption of specie payment, revival of languishing trade, and public retrenchment and economy. The result was such as every one expected. General Harrison was elected President by a large majority, and John Tyler, of Virginia, was chosen Vice-President. This triumphant victory brought no sense of pride or elation to Mrs. Harrison. She was grateful to her countrymen for this unmistakable appreciation of the civil and military services of her husband, and rejoiced at his vindication over his traducers, but she took no pleasure in contemplating the pomp and circumstance of a life at the Executive Mansion. At no period of her life had she any taste for the gayeties of fashion or the dissipations of society. Her friends were ever welcome to her home, and found there refined pleasures and innocent amusements, but for the life of a woman of the world she had no sympathy.
General Harrison left his home in February, and was received in Washington with every demonstration of respect, and welcomed by Mayor Seaton in a speech delivered at City Hall. It was raining hard when he left the railroad depot, yet he walked with his hat in his hand, accompanied by an immense concourse of people. He went from Washington to his old home in Virginia for a few days, but returned in time for the Inauguration. The morning of the 4th of March, 1841, was ushered in by a salute of twenty-six guns. The day was devoted entirely to pleasure. The city of Washington was thronged with people, many of whom were from the most distant States of the Union. The procession was in keeping with the enthusiasm and interest displayed throughout the campaign. Ladies thronged the windows, and waved their handkerchiefs in token of kind feelings, while the wild huzzas of the opposite sex filled the air with a deafening noise. General Harrison was mounted on a white charger, accompanied by several personal friends, and his immediate escort were the officers and soldiers who had fought under him. Canoes and cabins, covered with appropriate mottoes, were conspicuous, and the scene was one of universal splendor.
Mrs. Harrison’s health, delicate for many years, was particularly frail in February when her husband left home for Washington, and her physicians protested against her crossing the mountains at that season of the year, and urged her remaining in Ohio until the opening of spring. General Harrison was accompanied to Washington by his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Jane F. Harrison, the widow of his namesake son, and her two sons. She was a very refined, accomplished person, and exceedingly popular during her short stay as mistress of ceremonies at the White House. Besides Mrs. Jane F. Harrison, there were several ladies of the President’s family residing temporarily with her until Mrs. Harrison should come on. Mrs. Findlay, the wife of General Findlay and aged aunt of Mrs. Harrison, Miss Ramsay, a cousin, and Miss Lucy S. Taylor, of Richmond, Virginia, a niece of the President’s, these were the occupants of the mansion the few short weeks of the President’s life, for in one month from the day of his inauguration he died. Pneumonia was the avowed cause, but it was the applicants for office who killed him. He was weak and aged, and unaccustomed to the confined life forced upon him in his new position, and the gentle kindness with which he received all who were clamoring for office did but inspire them with renewed ardor. The whig party had been out of power many years, and the greed of the politicians snapped the tendrils of the veteran’s declining years and sent him to the tomb before the glad notes of the inauguration anthem had died over the Virginia hills. President Harrison died the 4th of April, 1841, and on the 7th was laid temporarily to rest in the Congressional burying-grounds. The service was performed in the White House, by Rev. Mr. Hawley, in the presence of President Tyler, ex-President Adams, members of the cabinet, of Congress, and the foreign ministers. The procession was two miles in length, and was marshalled on its way by officers on horseback carrying white batons with black tassels. At the grounds, the liturgy of the Episcopal church was recited by Mr. Hawley. The coffin having been placed in the receiving vault, and the military salute having been fired, the procession resumed its march to the city, and by five o’clock that evening nothing remained but empty streets, and the emblems of mourning upon the houses, and the still deeper gloom which oppressed the general mind with renewed power after all was over; and the sense of the public bereavement alone was left to fill the thoughts. The following touching lines, from the gifted pen of N. P. Willis, remarkable for their pathos and harmony, need no apology for being introduced here. The grandeur and simple beauty of the swelling poem deserve a more lasting record than transitory verses usually receive.
What soared the old eagle to die at the sun,
Lies he stiff with spread wings at the goal he has won!
Are there spirits more blest than the planet of even
Who mount to their zenith, then melt into heaven?
No waning of fire, no quenching of ray,
But rising, still rising, when passing away!
Farewell, gallant eagle! thou’rt buried in light!