So, in his election and re-election to the office of President, Hamilton set forth the clearness and urgency of the call in the remark that circumstances left Washington no option. That wonderful triumphal procession from Mount Vernon to New York, through Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Trenton, is in response to the appeal and command not only of earth, but of Heaven. As the nation's first President was called of God, so is the nation itself called. The divine ideal is before it as it was before him. God had work for Washington; he had work for his nation; he had work for every one of his fellow-citizens. An ideal good is before every man, and divine power behind him. Let him consent to the control of the power.
The nation's life and each individual life within it is founded on the sense of obligation. We have in the model of Washington a definition of duty in the special sense of the term, in the saying, "I most heartily wish the choice may not fall upon me. The wish of my soul is to spend the evening of my days as a private citizen on my farm." There is the power of inclination, the pleading of personal ease and comfort, the assertion of individual good. In all this there is nothing wrong, until it comes into conflict with the national call, with the universal good. Then came the fight between the special and the general, the private and the public, the individual and the universal good.
The hope of a nation is in the choice of office of its best men. The historic peril of the republic lies in the choice of unfit men for eminent official position. This is our peril. It is well we are becoming more and more alive to it. Nevertheless it is well to remember that there have been times in our history when the voice of electors has been the voice of God. When Washington was elected, the fittest man was chosen. His was the rule of the wisest and best man. There are few living who will not confess that Abraham Lincoln was another example of the choice by the people of the best man. We turn in hope to the great future. After he had taken the oath, Washington bowed his head, kissed the Bible, and, with the deepest feeling, uttered the words, "So help me God." There was his hope. There is the hope of every man. There is the hope of the nation.
PRESIDENT WASHINGTON'S RECEPTIONS [ToC]
BY WILLIAM SULLIVAN
He devoted one hour every other Tuesday, from three to four, to these visits. He understood himself to be visited as the "President of the United States," and not on his own account. He was not to be seen by anybody and everybody; but required that everyone who came should be introduced by his secretary, or by some gentleman whom he knew himself. He lived on the South side of Market Street, just below Sixth. The place of reception was the dining-room in the rear, twenty-five or thirty feet in length, including the bow projecting over into the garden. Mrs. Washington received her visitors in the two rooms on the second floor, from front to rear.
At three o'clock, or at any time within a quarter of an hour afterward, the visitor was conducted to this dining-room, from which all seats had been removed for the time. On entering, he saw the tall, manly figure of Washington, clad in black velvet; his hair in full dress, powdered and gathered behind in a large silk bag; yellow gloves on his hands; holding a cocked hat with cockade in it, and the edges adorned with a black feather, about an inch deep. He wore knee and shoe buckles; and a long sword with a finely wrought and polished steel hilt. The scabbard was white polished leather.
He stood always in front of the fireplace, with his face toward the door of entrance. The visitor was conducted to him, and he required to have the name so distinctly pronounced that he could hear it. He had the very uncommon faculty of associating a man's name and personal appearance so durably in his memory, as to be able to call anyone by name, who made a second visit. He received his visitor with a dignified bow, while his hands were so disposed of as to indicate that the salutation was not to be accompanied with shaking hands. This ceremony never occurred in these visits, even with his most near friends, that no distinction might be made.