The latter end of doctor Franklin affords glorious proof that nothing so softens the bed of sickness, and brightens the gloom of the grave, as a life spent in works of love to mankind.
See George Washington, who by an active and disinterested benevolence, was called "The Father of his Country." See Martha Washington, who by domestic virtues, and extensive charities, obtained to herself the high character of "the Mother to the Poor."—Both of these found the last bed spread as it were with roses; and the last enemy converted into a friend. Such is the lot of all who love; "not in word, but in deed and in truth."
The friends of doctor Franklin never entered his chamber without being struck with this precious text, "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace." Though laid on the bed whence he is to rise no more, he shows no sign of dejection or defeat. On the contrary, he appears like an aged warrior reposing himself after glorious victory; while his looks beaming with benevolence, express an air pure and serene as the Heaven to which he is going. Death, which most sick people are so unwilling to mention, was to him a favourite topic, and the sublime conversations of Socrates on that great subject, were heard a second time, from the lips of our American Franklin, pregnant with "immortality and eternal life." No wonder then that with such views doctor Franklin should have been so cheerful on his dying bed; so self-possessed and calm, even under the tortures of the gravel, which was wearing him down to the grave. "Don't go away," said he to the Rev. Dr. Colline, of the Swedes' church, Philadelphia, who, as a friend, was much with him in his last illness, and at sight of his agonies and cold sweats under the fits of the gravel, would take up his hat to retire—"O no! don't go away," he would say, "don't go away. These pains will soon be over. They are for my good. And besides, what are the pains of a moment in comparison of the pleasures of eternity."
Blest with an excellent constitution, well nursed by nature's three great physicians, temperance, exercise, and cheerfulness, he was hardly ever sick until after his seventy-sixth year. The gout and gravel then attacked him with great severity. He bore their excruciating tortures as became one who habitually felt that he was as he said, in the hands of an infinitely wise and benevolent being, who did all things right.
His physician, the celebrated Dr. Jones, published the following account of his last illness.
"The stone, had for the last twelve months confined him chiefly to his bed; and during the extreme painful paroxysms, he was obliged to take large doses of laudanum to mitigate his tortures—still in the intervals of pain, he not only amused himself with reading and conversing with his family, and his friends who visited him, but was often employed in doing business of a public as well as private nature, with various persons who waited on him for that purpose, and in every instance displayed, not only that readiness of doing good, which was the distinguishing characteristic of his life, but the fullest possession of his uncommon mental abilities; and not unfrequently indulged himself in those flashes of wit and entertaining anecdotes, which were the delight of all who heard him.
"About sixteen days before his death, he was seized with a pain in his left breast, which increased till it became extremely acute, attended with a cough and laborious breathing. During this state, when the severity of his pains some times drew forth a groan, he would observe, that, he was afraid he did not bear them as he ought—acknowledged his grateful sense of the many blessings he had received from the Supreme Being, who had raised him from small and low beginnings to such high rank and consideration among men—and made no doubt but his present afflictions were kindly intended to wean him from a world, in which he was no longer fit to act the part assigned him. In this frame of body and mind he continued till five days before his death, when an imposthumation in his lungs, suddenly burst, and discharged a great quantity of matter, which he continued to throw up while he had strength, but, as that failed, the organs of respiration became gradually oppressed—a calm lethargic state succeeded—and, on the 7th of April, 1790, about eleven o'clock at night he quietly expired, closing a long and useful life of eighty-four years and three months."
Come holy calm of the soul! Expressive silence come! and meditating the mighty talents of the dead, and their constant application to the glory of the giver, let us ascend with him on the wings of that blessed promise, "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord! even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours and their works do follow them."
That Franklin is now enjoying that rest which "remaineth for the people of God"—and that while many a blood-stained monster who made great noise in the world, is followed by the cries of thousands of widows and orphans, Franklin dying in the Lord, and followed by the blessings of thousands, fed, clothed, educated, and enriched by his charities, is in glory, may be fairly inferred from the following most valuable anecdote of him.
Naturalists tell us, that so great is the paternal care of God, that every climate affords the food and physic best suited to the necessaries of its population. What gratitude is due to that goodness, which foreseeing the dangers impending over this country from British injustice, sent us two such protectors as Franklin and Washington? The first, (the forerunner of the second,) like the lightning of Heaven, to expose the approaching tempest; and the second, like the rock of the ocean, to meet that tempest in all its fury, and dash it back on its proud assailants? And how astonishing too, and almost unexampled that goodness, which with talents of wisdom and fortitude to establish our republic, combined the cardinal virtues of justice, industry, and economy that alone can render our republic immortal?