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The Story of a Youn<j Peopled 
Pilgrimage to Historic fiomesj 





Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2011 with funding from 

The Institute of Museum and Library Services through an Indiana State Library LSTA Grant 

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Copyright, 1896, by The Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 


Office of the President-General, National Society 
ok the Daughters of the American Revolution. 

Washington, D. C, June 18, 1896. 

The organization of the National Society of the Daughters of the American 
Revolution was the outgrowth of that notable epoch in American history when from 
the Pacific coast the tidal wave of patriotic enthusiasm started, and by its might and 
power kindled in the hearts of men and women interest in the Colonial and Revolu- 
tionary periods which had so long lain dormant. 

The National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution was organ- 
ized in Washington, D. C, October 11, 1890. Its objects are: "(1) To perpetuate 
the memory and the spirit of the men and women who achieved American Indepen- 
dence, by the acquisition and protection of historic spots and the erection of monu- 
ments ; by the encouragement of historical research in relation to the Revolution, and 
the publication of its results ; by the preservation of documents and relics, and of 
the records of the individual services of Revolutionary soldiers and patriots, and by the 
promotion of celebrations of all patriotic anniversaries. (2) To carry out the injunction 
of Washington in his farewell address to the American people : ' To promote, as an ob- 
ject of primary importance, institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge,' thus 
developing an enlightened public opinion, and affording to young and old such advan- 
tages as shall develop in them the largest capacity for performing the duties of American 
citizens. (3) To cherish, maintain, and extend the institutions of American freedom, 
to foster true patriotism and love of country, and to aid in securing for mankind all 
the blessings of liberty." 

To-day the National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution, 
numbering fourteen thousand five hundred, supplemented by the organization of the 
National Society of the Children of the American Revolution, numbering fourteen 


hundred and thirty, whose motto is, "For God and country," stand united, to main- 
tain the objects of the National Society as presented in the constitution and by-laws 
of the Daughters of the American Revolution. 

By the authority of the National Board of Managers this brief introduction is 
written, and it is a free-will offering. It may be well, further, to state that the 
National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution have no other interest 
in " The Century Book of Famous Americans " than to wish it all success in its 
endeavor to place before the youth of our country an account of the lives of some of 
the men who have helped to make America famous. 

Letitia Green Stevenson, 

President- General. 





I In Boston Town i 

The Birthplace of Franklin — The Story of James Otis — Tories and Traitors — 
The Webster Buildings — The Samuel Adams Tablet — The Father of the Revo- 
lution — A Novel Pilgrimage. 

II In the Home of two Presidents 17 

Quincy Granite and Quincy Men — The Little Old Houses — " Sink or Swim " 

— On Penn's Hill — A Great Father and His Famous Son — An Historic 

III In the Old Colony 33 

From Plymouth to Duxbitry — The Puritan Captain — The Webster Farm — 
Marshfield by the Sea — Daniel Webster's Story — The Home of a Great Ameri- 

IV In the Nation's First Capital 49 

New York's Greatest Man — A Tour of the Old Town — Famous Men and His- 
toric Points — The Story of Alexander Hamilton — A Remarkable Character. 

V The Home of the Liberty Bell 65 

Where Franklin Lived — An Extraordinary Alan — The Story of a Helpful Life 

— Landmarks and Relics — Lndepe/idence Hall and the Liberty Bell. 

VI At the Gateway of the West 83 

Philadelphia's Place in History — A New Plan of Pilgrimage — Ln the Mouth of 
the Chesapeake — The Old Dominion — Richmond and Patrick Henry. 



VII A Famous Old Capital 103 

Richmond on the James — A City Set on a Hill — Relics and Reminders — A 
Jeffersonian Atmosphere — No Sectionalism in Heroism. 

VIII With the Sage of Monticello 117 

At Charlottesville — Up the Little Mountain — The House with Two Fronts — 
The Grave on the Mountain — The Story of a Statesman. 

IX In the Blue-Grass Country 137 

Over the Hills into Kentucky — The Three Giants — The Champion of a 
Mistake — Calhoun's Story — The "Millboy of the Slashes'' — Blue-grass Land- 
scapes — Ashland, the Home of Henry Clay. 

X In and Around the Hermitage 157 

Jack's Discomfiture — Beautiful Kentucky — The Dark and Bloody Ground — 
Louisville Hospitality — Glimpses of Jackson — At the Hermitage — Old 
Alfred's Reminiscences — Relics and Stories — The Home and Character of Old 

XI Beside the Mississippi . 173 

Uncle Tom's Latest — Mammoth Cave Explorers — The Birthplace of Lincoln 
— Across the Prairies — By the " Father of Waters " — Where Grant got His 
Experience — A Leader's Life — A Hero's Death. 

XII At Lincoln's Home 193 

The Mississippi Valley — Pioneers of France — Ln Lincoln's Land — The Sim- 
plicity of it All — The American — A " Rebel's " Tribute. 

XIII By the Potomac 211 

Ln the Big City of the West — Across Ohio — Ln the Land of Romance — The 
Great White Dome — At Mount Vernon — The Greatest of Afen. 

XIV Talking it Over 233 

Famous Americans in Washington — Home7card Bound — A "Quiz" in Fame- 
study — Impressions — Patriotism — Memories — Good-by. 

Index 251 


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The Birthplace of Franklin — The Story of James Otis — Tories and 
Traitors — The Webster Buildings — The Samuel Adams Tablet — 
The Father of the Revolution — A Novel Pilgrimage. 

HEY had left the Old South Meeting-house with its revo- 
lutionary relics, and were slowly sauntering down the sunny 
side of Milk street when Jack seized his uncle's arm. 

" Look over there, Uncle Tom ! " he cried. " See what it 
says on that building : 'The Birthplace of Franklin.' Why, 
I did n't know that Franklin was born in Boston. I thought he was a 

" He was an American, Jack," Uncle Tom replied. " I sometimes think 
he was the first real American. But he was Boston born and bred. You 
ask Roger. I imagine every boy who goes to the Boston Latin School and 
tries for the Franklin medal knows of the clause in Franklin's will that tells 
the story. 'I was born in Boston,' it says. 'I owe my first instruction in 
literature to the free grammar schools established there.' And so he set 
aside five hundred dollars, the interest from which was to provide, forever, 
for silver medals for ' the most deserving boys ' of what afterward became 
the English High and Latin schools of his native town. But, though born 
in Boston, Philadelphia was the home of Franklin for the greater part of 
his life." 

"Why, yes; of course I know that, Uncle Tom," Marian declared. 
" Don't you remember the story, Jack, about Franklin's first day in 
Philadelphia ? " 


"To be sure I do," broke in Jack; "that 's when he saw the girl who 
afterward became his wife, with a loaf of bread under each arm, eating 

Marian laughed so merrily at this that people in the street turned to see 
who could be so very hilarious in the shadow of the Old South. 

"Now, is n't that just like Jack ? " she cried. " You 'd think 
it was Franklin's wife who was eating the bread. And how 
could any one walk the streets with a loaf under each arm 
and eating another? Franklin did n't have three hands, 
did he?" 

" I guess I put a loaf too many in the story," Jack con- 
fessed. " But what of that ? Franklin could have eaten it 
that way if any one could. He was smart enough to do 
anything. And so that 's where he was born, is it?" 
"That 's the spot," said Uncle Tom. Some people 
declare his birthplace was down 
on Hanover street, but it now 
seems pretty certain that the little 
Milk street house was the right 

" But not in that tailor's shop, 
surely," said Christine. "Why, it 
does n't look nearly old enough."' 
" Of course not," Marian de- 
cided. " Why, Franklin was born 

in when was he born, Uncle 

Tom ? " 

" Seventeenth of Januarv, 
i 706," promptly replied her uncle, 
who, as all the boys and girls de- 
clared, was always "great on dates." 
" I 'm afraid," he continued, 
"your making the birthplace of 
Franklin out of that iron building 
across the way about equals Jack's 
three arms, though I must sav 
that the stories all uphold Jack's 
• ;• three loaves." 

the old south church, boston. . " Aha ! Miss Smarty ; what 

Franklin's birthplace is opposite the farther end. did I tell yOU ? " Cried Jack, triuiH- 


I said Franklin could do it. I 

'm going to try it some 

of course, on the site of Franklin's 
It simply marks with its memorial 


" No ; that building over there is, 
birthplace," Uncle Tom explained, 
tablet the spot on which stood, until 
the year 1810, the queer little top- 
heavy wooden cottage in which Ben- 
jamin Franklin was born." 

" That was a good deal like 
Franklin himself, was n't it, Uncle 
Tom ? " Bert commented — " heavy 
in the upper story, you know." 

"Good enough, Bert!" laughed 
Uncle Tom. " Yes ; you may say it 
was typical. I wish we had more 
such tablets as that one over the 
way. It is one of the best history 
teachers for young Americans that I 
know of — and for old ones, too," he 
added. " But come ; let's move on. 
There 's nothing else about that build- 
ing to remind us of Franklin, and 
Faneuil Hall is n't far away." 

They had arrived in Boston that morning on a sight-seeing tour — 
Uncle Tom Dunlap and his nephews Jack Dunlap and Albert Upham, his 
niece Marian Dunlap, and her "best friend" Christine Bacon. Of course 
you remember them — that group of wide-awake boys and girls who, under 
Uncle Tom's guidance, " did" Washington so thoroughly, from the Consti- 
tution to the Capitol, and studied into the making of the American nation. 

In the dark doorway of Faneuil Hall Roger was waiting, according to 
appointment, to welcome and join them. You remember him too, I hope — 
Roger Densmore, " the boy from Boston." He was to do the honors of 
"the Hub" for the young folks from "Gotham." 

They inspected Faneuil Hall with due reverence. 

"Who called it the Cradle of Liberty, Uncle Tom?" Christine inquired, 
as they descended the stairs and walked across to Ouincy Market. 

"James Otis, another famous Bostonian," Uncle Tom replied. "He 
delivered the address of dedication when this hall was rebuilt. He was the 
man who really started the American Revolution, you know." 

"What! James Otis?" cried Jack. "Why, I thought Patrick Henry 

House formerly on Milk street, Boston. 


Benjamin Franklin. Born in Boston in 1706. 


did that — the ' gentlemen - may - cry - peace - peace - but - there - is - no - peace ' 

"No; historians give the credit largely to Otis," Uncle Tom replied. 
" He really made the first move toward independence, years before Patrick 
Henry's fiery speech. For when, in 1761, four years before the passage 
of the Stamp Act, James Otis, in the Superior Court of Massachusetts, in 
this very town of Boston, resisted the granting of what were called the Writs 
of Assistance, the first scene of the first act of opposition to British tyranny 
was opened. ' Then and there,' declared John Adams, fifty years after, ' the 
child Independence was born.' So, let us 
give to James Otis the credit that is justly 
due him." 

"All right; let him have it ! " said Jack, 
administering an appreciative and emphatic 
slap to a particularly large beef carcass that 
hung obtrusively in his path. 

" Whereabouts did he live, Uncle 
Tom ? " asked Bert. 

" Right here in Boston, Bert, 
his uncle replied. 

" Oh, can't we see the house ? " 
Marian inquired. "Somehow, 
it always makes people seem 
more real if one can only see 
where they once lived ; does 
n't it, Christine ? " 

"I don't believe his house 
is standing now," said Uncle 
Tom. " Do you know, 


Roger was obliged to con- 
fess his ignorance, though he 
said he believed there was something to do with Otis in the Old State 
House on Washington street. 

"That 's where he made the famous speech, of which I told you, 
against the Writs of Assistance," said Uncle Tom. "We '11 go in there 
later. And I '11 see if I can find out about the house of James Otis. His 
was a brief but brilliant career, boys and girls ; as sad in its ending as it 
was promising at the opening. He was a bright young Boston lawyer. 
Engaged by the British government to look after its cases in the Boston 

Interior view of Old State House, Boston, where James Otis delivered 
his famous speech ; chair of Elbridge Gerry ; bust of James Otis. 


courts, he threw up his position and all its advantages, because he would 
not argue a case that seemed to threaten the liberties of the people. He 
became the people's champion, an eloquent and impassioned orator, a tire- 
less worker for liberty, one of the leaders of the early Boston patriots, a 
member of the first Continental Congress, and destined, apparently, to play 
an important part in the drama of Independence. Then, suddenly, all 
changed. In a coffee-house here in Boston he was set upon by a gang 
of ruffianly Tories, knocked senseless, made an incurable lunatic, and, the 
very year that the Revolution he had started ended in success, he was 
killed by a stroke of lightning." 

" George ! that was rough, though, was n't it? " said Jack. 

"Those horrid Tories!" exclaimed Marian. "Oh — I just despise 
them ! " 

" But those were rough, hard days, Marian," said Uncle Tom; "and both 
sides had their evil instruments. The fact that men were Tories did not 
make them bad. Every one has a right to his opinion ; it is the way he 
handles his opinion that makes him either a public friend or a public foe. 
America has yet to learn and acknowledge the real service that the forces 
of opposition have done for her development." 

" Oh, Uncle Tom, how can that be ? " demanded Bert. 

" Do you mean to say that the Tories were a benefit? " cried Marian. 

" In what we call the broad sense, most certainly I do," Uncle Tom re- 
plied, " much as it inflames your ardent Americanism to hear me proclaim 
it. The Tories of the Revolution and the Copperheads of the Civil War, 
though detested by patriots, were themselves, as a rule, conscientious, hon- 
est, and kind-hearted people, who loved their homes and their families just 
as dearly as do your fathers and mothers. They meant well ; they even 
loved their native land : but their standards were not as lofty, nor was 
their love of country as unselfish as with those whom they opposed." 

"Why, Uncle Tom!" exclaimed Marian, to whom such a doctrine 
seemed all wrong. 

"So, as I say," went on Uncle Tom, "they were really a benefit to the 
nation. The intense hatred they aroused in their opponents only drew the 
determined people closer together, and led them to stand shoulder to shoulder 
in defense of the cause of liberty. Even those roughs who spoiled the life 
of James Otis, when they struck down one patriot, inspired a dozen others 
to be still more ardent in the cause he championed, and to carry forward his 
work. Think of that, boys and girls, as you study the crises in American 
history. Tories and traitors, instead of weakening our cause, helped it by 
the spirit and will that they aroused ; and these led straight to victory. That 


thought will help you, perhaps, better to understand Thomson's perplex- 
ing line : 

" From seeming evil still educing good." 

" Why, was it Thomson who said that ? " queried Christine. " I thought 
it was Pope." 

No, my dear; « it was Thomson," Uncle Tom replied. " But Pope 
wrote certain lines J, that are even more applicable to all knotty prob- 
lems of whys and wherefores. 
sis Who knows them? " 

.J- K ■.■>' No one knew just to what 

lines of Pope Uncle 
Tom referred ; so, 

A patriot woman escaping from the Tories and the British. 

as they paused before the historic wharf where the disguised patriots flung 
over the offending chests of tea, he repeated the lines he had in mind : 

" All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee ; 

All Chance, Direction which thou canst not see ; 

All Discord, Harmony not understood ; 

All partial Evil, universal Good ; 

And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite, 

One truth is clear : Whatever is, is right ! " 


As they passed along Summer street on their way from the old wharf 
of the Tea Party to the enlarged and renovated State House on Beacon 
Hill, Uncle Tom stopped short and pointed across the way to a six-story 
business block at the corner of Hiodi and Summer streets. 

In front of ihe Boston City Hall. 

" See anything peculiar about that building? " he asked. 
The boys and girls studied it from top to bottom. 

'"The Webster Buildings,'" read Marian, looking- toward the roof; while 
Bert's eye, traveling faster, stopped at the lettering above the second story. 


'"The Home of Daniel Webster,'" he read. "Is that so? Did Daniel 
Webster live there ? " he asked. 

" I never noticed that," confessed Roger, " and I 've passed here hundreds 
of times." 

" Roger, my boy," said Uncle Tom, " you 're not the only American who 
has no eyes for his own historic surroundings. Yes ; the city house in which 
Webster lived once stood on that spot. Then, as now, it was a rounded 
corner ; but to-day, you see, it is the heart of a business center. There he 
entertained Lafayette in 1824, and there he lived at the height of his fame." 

" He was a great man, too, was n't he, Uncle Tom? "said Marian. 

" Great in many ways," her uncle replied. " Come now, what do you 
know about Daniel Webster, boys and girls ? " 

" A great lawyer," suggested Bert. 

"A great statesman," said Marian. 

"A great debater," hazarded Roger. 

"A great fisherman," put in Jack. 

"A great American," said Christine. 

" He was all of those," Uncle Tom nodded. 

" He was twice Secretary of State," said Roger. 

" But never President," commented Jack. 

" He made a famous speech against Hayne," said Bert. 

" But went back on the people who elected him," asserted Jack. 

" No ; did he, Uncle Tom ? " demanded Marian. 

" Why, yes ; don't you know, that 's what Whittier's poem ' Ichabod' was 
all about," Christine announced. " Our history teacher told us that." 

" Say, rather," said Uncle Tom, with a smile at the criticisms of his youth- 
ful convoy, " that the people progressed faster than their leader. Daniel Web- 
ster was a great man, a wise man, a noble man ; but the one great question 
of his day, slavery, was dividing the country North and South. And when 
a man, however ardently he loves peace and union, tries to please two peo- 
ple at once, he has a hard time of it, and ends by pleasing neither. That was 
Daniel Webster's case; and Whittier's fiery verses, to which Christine refers, 
were but the expression of the advancing thought of the people of the North 
— too deeply roused to be calm, too strong of purpose to be discriminating. 
They had forged far ahead of Webster, though he had been the idol and 
champion of the very people who now called him recreant." 

" But if he thought he was doing right," said Jack, " I call it pretty hard 
lines to be pitched into like that." 

"My dear Jack," replied Uncle Tom, "if you are ever a leader, look 
ahead. Lead on to the end. Those who follow often push to the front, 







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and the leader who lags behind is like the fellow who loses his rank in 
school or ' goes down foot' — he simply ' is n't in it,' as you boys say.'' 

They crossed Washington street and in Indian file threaded the nar- 
row and crowded sidewalk that borders the upper side of Winter street. 

At a "canon," as Jack 
called it, which cleft the 
blocks of tall stores on 
Winter street and which, 
they saw, was called Winter 
Place, Uncle Tom halted 
his five followers, and bade 
them read the bronze tablet 
set in the dead wall of a 
great dry-goods store. 

They did so. The tab- 
let advised them that, on 
this corner, once stood the 
house in which lived Sam- 
uel Adams, " the Father of 
the Revolution." 

"How many 'fathers' 
did the Revolution have, 
anyway ?" demanded Jack. 
" I thought you told us, Uncle Tom, that James Otis was its ' respected 
parient.' " 

" I merely quoted John Adams's words to the effect that Otis was the 
' father of Independence,' " Uncle Tom explained; " and, in this land of ours, 
the desire for independence was the forerunner of revolution." 

"Then Otis was a sort of grandfather to it, was n't he?" Jack com- 

" Samuel Adams ! " said Christine, still reading the tablet on the wall. 
" Did n't we see his statue somewhere down near Faneuil Hall? " 

"Yes, in Dock Square, now known as Adams Square," replied Roger. 
"I thought so. 'A statesman incorruptible and fearless.' That was 
what it called him on the statue," said Christine. 

"That was the man," Uncle Tom assented. "And that was the truth. 
Here he lived, and in a green plot beyond us, just below the head of Winter 
street, — the Old Granary Burying-Ground it is called, — he lies buried." 

"Close to his old home," remarked Christine; " and we can see both 
places. Isn't it interesting?" 

On Winter Place, Boston. 


"What relation was he to John Adams, Uncle Tom?" Bert inquired. 
"A brother?" 

"No; John Adams was his second cousin, I believe," Uncle Tom re- 
plied. "This Samuel Adams was a great man, boys and girls, though 
without the calmness, the coolness, or the judgment of his greater cousin. 
Historians tell us that Samuel Adams was the architect of ruin, and John 
Adams the organizer of law." 

"That means, I suppose," said Roger, "that Samuel just tore things 
down and John built things up, doesn't it ? " 

"That 's about it," Uncle Tom answered. "But an old building must 
be pulled down before you can build a grand new one in its place. Samuel 


A famous old Boston site. Faneuil Hall in the distance, the Adams statue in the foreground. 

Adams was a rebel against the English crown from boyhood, although his 
father was a tax-collector for the government, and Adams himself filled 
such a position for a time. When he graduated from Harvard in 1740, his 
commencement oration was a plea for resistance to tyranny. He held to 
that belief all through life. He was the leader and chosen representative 
of the people — 'the tribune of the yeomanry,' some one has called him. 
He ursred on the 'embattled farmers' of Lexington and Concord to fire 


the shot heard round the world,' of which 
you possibly know something — " 

Emerson wrote that," said Roger 
in earnest undertone. 
" Tell me something new, Roger, 
my son," said Jack. "Do you 
think we never went to school? " 
" Samuel Adams was fear- 
i less, sincere, unyielding, and 
absolutely incorruptible," Un- 
cle Tom continued. " He pro- 
posed the Revolution ; he pro- 
posed the Continental Congress; 
he signed the Declaration of In- 
dependence, and was so sharp a 

ma$ thorn in the side of the British gov 
ernment and its generals that they 
tried first to bribe and then to kill him. 
But they could neither bribe nor kill 
him. He lived to see the troops of King 
George driven from Boston and finally from 
America, and the principles for which he 
labored and suffered everywhere triumphant. 
Free America owes much to Samuel Adams. 
On this very corner stood his home. Un- 
cover to it, boys, for it was the home of a patriot." 

The enthusiastic five honored the prosaic dead wall with a Chautauqua 
salute, much to the astonishment of the passers-by, few of whom, probably, 
ever knew of the existence of the tablet or the historic associations of that 
busy corner. Familiarity rarely inspires investigation. 

They " did " the old town thoroughly during their week's visit. They 
inspected its "show places," from Copp's Hill to Dorchester Heights, and 
from Cambridge Common to Bunker Hill. They studied the old grave- 
yards, eloquent with the names of famous ones dead and gone ; they went 
back into the past as far as the one remaining wall of the Old Province 
House which Hawthorne has immortalized, and forward in the present to 
the, splendid new Public Library and the unfinished Subway that burrows 
beneath the Autocrat's dear " Long Walk." 

But Uncle Tom discovered that the homes of famous men, or the spots 
upon which such houses had stood, seemed to possess special interest. 

In the southern end of Old Granary Burying-Ground 

One of Louis St. Gaudens's "lions," in commemoration of the Massachusetts troops. 



" It brings you so near to them," Christine declared ; and even the in- 
tensely modern and practical Jack affirmed that it was as great fun "hunt- 
ing up the stamping-grounds of all those old Boston fellows " as shooting up 
to the twelfth story of the Ames Building, or seeing a ball game on Soldiers' 
Field — and you may be sure that Jack did both these things. 


The State House in the distance. 

Under Roger's guidance, and with Uncle Tom as showman, they visited 
the sites of Franklin's boyhood home and John Hancock's vanished man- 
sion ; they found the place in Court street where the house of James Otis 
had stood ; they looked up the sites of Warren's, Everett's, Sumner's, 
Wendell Phillips's, and Prescott's homes ; of the birthplaces of Paul Revere, 



who roused the country-side for Lexington fight, and of Morse, who in- 
vented the telegraph — the plain wooden house almost in the shadow of 
Bunker Hill. 

"And all these are in Boston!" exclaimed Bert. 

"Good for the Hub!" cried Jack. "Is there any other town that can 
show so many, Uncle Tom ? " 

Whereupon Uncle Tom had an idea. 

" He 's full of em," Jack declared ; " but this just tops them all." 

It did seem to. For it was nothing more or less than a pilgrimage to 
the homes of famous Americans. 


" I think we can do it leisurely and as we have the chance," said Uncle 
Tom; "and I don't believe your fathers and mothers will object. We '11 
see about it, anyhow. So, while we are here, we may as well finish off Massa- 
chusetts by hunting up the homes of John Adams at Quincy, and of Daniel 



Webster at Marshfield. I 'd like to see them myself. We can do it easily. 
What do you say, boys and girls ? " 

What could they say but " Good for you, Uncle Tom " ? 

They said it so emphatically and delightedly that Uncle Tom believed 
his idea to be both wise and practical, and the fifth day of their stay in 
Boston saw them all at the Old Colony depot, en route for Ouincy, the old 
town made famous by the two Adamses — father and son. 

As seen across country from the Arnold Arboretum. 



Quincy Granite and Quincy Men — The Little Old Houses — "Sink or 
Swim " — On Penris Hill — A Great Father and His Famous Son — 
An Historic Mansion. 

H ROUGH the lengthening line of suburban towns, now 
beside blue water, now in sight of the misty Milton hills, 
the tourists rode for a brief half hour ; then, above the trees j 
they caught the glitter of a graceful dome, and Uncle Tom 
told them they were in Quincy. 

"Famous alike for its granite and for its men," he said, as he helped 
the girls to the station platform, and together they walked up the 
street to the open square before the temple-like church with its gilded 

"Out of those quarries on the hills yonder," he continued, "has come 
the gray rock that has gone into many a noble public building ; and from 
this old town have come men who have built themselves into the history 
of the nation. And I think, boys and girls," he added, "that we shall find 
the Quincy men even more enduring than the Quincy granite. Especially 
the Adamses." 

" Did they all come from here ? " inquired Roger. 

"Those did whom we know best," replied Uncle Tom. 

" I thought you said Sam Adams was a Boston boy," remarked Bert. 

"So he was," his uncle answered. "But his 'forebears,' as they call 
them, came from here ; for the Quincy of to-day was all Braintree in Old 
Colony days. The John Adams branch of the family, however, is especially 
remarkable. Just think ! It gave to the republic two Presidents, a Vice- 
President, a Secretary of State, one senator, three members of Congress, 
and three ministers to England." 

"That 's a good record for one family," declared Bert. 


" Anything left for anybody else ? " queried Jack. 

" I ought to explain, however," continued Uncle Tom, "that these dozen 
offices represent really but three persons — father, son, and grandson — in 
this celebrated family." 


" But that makes it all the more remarkable, Uncle Tom," Christine 

"Besides these three," went on Uncle Tom, "the Adamses of Ouincy 
have contributed soldiers, lawyers, legislators, educators, and writers, all of 
whom have done splendid work for America. It is a remarkable record, 

"Who were the three special Adamses, Uncle Tom?" queried Marian. 
" John Adams, of course — " 

"John Adams, — the 'first Adams,' he is called, though eight genera- 
tions preceded him here, — John Ouincy Adams, his son, and Charles 
Francis Adams, his son," Uncle Tom replied. " I call this illustrious three 
an inheritance by talent. Think of it ! John Adams, the father, was Presi- 
dent of the United States, and had been minister to England at the close 
of the American Revolution ; John Ouincy Adams, the son, was President 


Second President of the United States. 



of the United States, and had been minister to England during the War of 
1812; Charles Francis Adams, the grandson, just missed nomination for 
President of the United States, and had been minister to England during 
the Great Rebellion of 1861. Is n't that an honorable record for three 
generations ? Come ! there 's our car. You have seen the spot in Bos- 
ton upon which stood the home of ' Cousin Sam Adams ' ; now we can 

look upon the 
real houses in 
which were born 
and bred these 
famous Adamses 
of Ouincy." 

Thereupon they 
all boarded the 
Braintree "elec- 
tric," and were 
soon skimming 
along Franklin 
street to where, 
a mile beyond, at 
the foot of Penn's 
Hill, stand what 
are known as the 
"Adams houses." 
" Nothing very 
grand or impos- 
ing about either 
of those old 
houses," was Bert's 
critical comment. 
" Little and 
shabby, eh ? " re- 
marked Roger. 
" I should say 

so!" exclaimed out-spoken Jack. "Why, I supposed the Adamses were 
very high and mighty people with big estates and grand houses." 

" Far from it," said Uncle Tom. " John Adams's father, who built the old 
house on our left, was a thrifty Braintree farmer, worth about seven or eight 
thousand dollars in lands and goods. But he managed to send his son to 
Harvard, from which the boy graduated in 1755, and from there went to 

A taste of war with France — the " Boston " raking " Le Berceau." 


teaching school in Worcester. John Adams was born in 1735, in the right- 
hand front room in that little old house ; John Ouincy Adams was born in 

Reporting the Declaration of Independence. 

1767, in the red house on the right. I don't know that, in all the world, I 
can show you another scene like this — the birthplaces of two Presidents 
elbowing each other, and standing all these years unhonored. Now, I believe, 
the design is to place both these historic houses in charge of societies for 
their preservation." 

The children stood silent awhile regarding these two unpretentious 
houses, from which came two men so famous in American history — and these 
two father and son ! Then Marian exclaimed : 

" Oh, Uncle Tom ! Was n't it John Adams who was the 'sink-or-swim ' 
man ? " 

"There never was any such man," declared Bert. " Our history teacher 
told us that was just a ' fake ' speech." 

" Did he say ' fake,' Bert? " queried Roger. 

Uncle Tom was a bit puzzled at this irruption ; but he was accustomed 
to the unconventional speech of his earnest young people, and it speedily 
dawned upon him what the ' sink-or-swim man ' meant. 

"Ah, I see!" he said; "You mean that supposed speech put into the 


mouth of John Adams by Daniel Webster in his famous eulogy on Adams 
and Jefferson — ' Sink or swim — ' " 

" Oh, I know that!" broke in Jack, who was not to be repressed when 
such an opportunity offered. " ' Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, 
I give my hand and my heart to this vote.' Say, that was not a fake speech, 
though, really, was it, Uncle Tom? It is too good not to be true." 

" If by ' fake,' " laughed Uncle Tom, " you boys mean rigged up to suit 
the occasion, I 'm afraid it was. If my memory is correct, however, Webster 
had authority for introducing the words into his splendid eulogy. John 
Adams never did make just such a speech ; but he did say, in a letter to his 
friend Sewall, in i 774, when the colonies were feeling their way toward inde- 
pendence, that the die was cast and he had 'passed the Rubicon.' Then he 
added, ' sink or swim, survive or perish with my country, is my unalterable 
determination.' " 

" Give that to your history teacher, Master Bert, when you see him 
again," cried Jack. " Daniel Webster knew what he was about. But, anyhow, 
Uncle Tom, John Adams was the original fire-cracker man, was n't he?" 

"Your descriptive adjectives, boys and girls, are certainly expressive, 
even if they are a trifle baffling," Uncle Tom rejoined, laughing. " Yes; John 
Adams was, I suppose, the father of the Fourth of July — or, at least, its 
prophet. Only, with him, it happened to be the second of July. That was 
the day — not the Fourth — on which the Congress passed Richard Henry 
Lee's famous resolution, which declared the United Colonies to be ' free and 
independent States.' That was the day of which John Adams, in writing 
home to his patriotic wife, here in Ouincy, made his famous prophecy." 

" What was it ? " inquired Christine. 

"As nearly as I can recall it," said Uncle Tom, "John Adams wrote: 
' This second of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history 
of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding 
generations as the great Anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemo- 
rated as the day of deliverance by solemn acts of devotion to Almighty God. 
It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, 
guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of the continent to the 
other from this time forward, forevermore ! ' " 

As the children applauded the sentiment, Uncle Tom added slyly, 
"nothing about fire-crackers in all that, Jack." » 

But Jack replied: "Well, all the rest of it has come true. I guess we 
can squeeze in the fire-crackers between the guns and the bells, can't we ? " 
And he gave a nod of satisfaction as the memories of all his Fourth of July 
fun in summers past flashed through his mind. 




They had left the "birthplace houses" behind and were climbing Penn's 
Hill, from which little eight-year old John Ouincy Adams and his mother 
watched the smoke of Bunker Hill fight, on a certain famous seventeenth 
of June, and a year later watched the British fleeing from Boston. 

Then Uncle Tom said : 

" That mother was a remarkable woman, too. You girls must some day 



get acquainted with Abigail Adams, the clever wife of John. But let 
me tell you, boys, John Adams was something of a prophet. When he 
was but a young fellow, the French and Indian war was being fought in 
America. Its purpose was, you know, to drive the French from Canada and 
make this continent English. That was the war that brought George 
Washington to the front. Well, in the very year of Braddock's defeat 
young John Adams declared that, if the English soldiers and colonists 
could only succeed in driving out the French, the colonists would increase 
until, in another century, they would exceed the British, and then, 'all Eng- 
land will be unable to subdue us.' A good, clear-sighted bit of prophecy 
for a young college graduate, was n't it ? " 

" He 's not the only Harvard man that has had brains," said Roger. 
" Hear the boy ! " cried Jack. " I guess Yale has had quite as many." 
"Yes, and Columbia, too," said Bert. "But, there! that 's the trouble 
with you Boston fellows. You just think Harvard — " 

" Here, here ! " cried Uncle 
Tom, " we are not in Quincy to 
fight over college supremacy. 
When it comes to making men 
and patriots, no school or col- 
lege has the monopoly. Of the 
twenty-three Presidents of the 
United States fifteen were college 
graduates; but among the remain- 
ing eight are the names of Wash- 
ington and Lincoln — so, I think, 
we' 11 leave the college standard 
out of the reckoning. For, after 
all, boys and girls, success de- 
pends upon the man. Immortality 
comes because of deeds, not di- 

" But surely, Uncle Tom," said 
Christine, "education is necessary." 
" Think how much better even Washington and Lincoln might have 
been if they had been college men," said Bert. 

" 'T is education forms the common mind : 
Just as the twig is bent the tree 's inclined," 

Mrs. John Adams at the age of : 

quoted Roger, who knew his " Moral Essays." 




"But there you 're out, Roger, my boy," cried Jack. "Washington 
and Lincoln were not ' common minds.' " 

" Oh, well ! the exception proves the rule," was Roger's comment. 

" I think Roger has the best of the argument, after all," laughed Uncle 
Tom; "especially when we remember that Washington founded a university 
and that Lincoln was forever studying. And, speaking of Lincoln, do you 
know that his greatest act was based upon a doctrine first propounded by 
John Ouincy Adams — the man who was born in that old farmhouse 
yonder? " 

"His greatest act! What do you mean, Uncle Tom?" queried Bert. 
" The Emancipation Proclamation ? " 

"That's it," his uncle replied. "It was upon a declaration made in 
Congress by John Quincy Adams in 1836 that Abraham Lincoln rested 
his great proclamation." 

"What was it ? " asked Marian. 

" It was in the course of a speech that Adams pronounced this opinion : 
' From the instant that your slave-holding States become the theater of war, — 


civil, servile, or foreign, — from that instant the war powers of the Consti- 
tution extend to interference with the institution of slavery in every way 
in which it can be interfered with.' And, in a later speech, he repeated this 

Sixth President of the United States. 

bold doctrine, and declared that, in the event of such a war, the President 
of the United States had power to order the universal emancipation of the 

" Why, did they say much about slavery in Adams's day ? " inquired 
Christine. " I thought all that came later." 

"Most certainly they did, my dear," Uncle Tom replied. "John 
Ouincy Adams was the earliest and stoutest champion of antislavery in the 
American Congress. In fact, it was his burning words in behalf of freedom, 
and what was called 'the right of petition,' that gave him his popular title 
of ' the Old Man Eloquent.' " 


" And was he so old ? " Christine asked. 

" At that time, yes," Uncle Tom answered. "John Ouincy Adams, you 
know, was elected to Congress long after he had served as President. His 
was the only instance in our history of an ex-President of the republic 
serving in Congress ; and he gained a new and enduring reputation by his 
courage and ability there. Don't you remember, when we were in Wash- 
ington, that we saw the place in the 
Capitol where John Quincy Adams was 
stricken down with paralysis while in his 
seat in the House of Representatives ? 
He was then over eighty years old, 
and, as you see, he literally 'died in 

" I thought he died on the Fourth 
of July," said Jack. 

" That only shows how apt we are to 
mix up this remarkable father and son," 
Uncle Tom declared. " It was John 
Adams — 'grandsire John,' as they called 
him here in Ouincy — who died on the 
fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration 


of Independence — that mighty paper, Cut in the w J hite House 

which he was so largely instrumental in 

having adopted that men called him the ' Colossus of Independence.' And 
on that same Fourth of July, 1826, died also Thomas Jefferson, his 
political rival and successor in the Presidency, the real author of the 
great Declaration." 

"Well, do please set them straight for us, Uncle Tom," Marian re- 
quested. " I know they were both Presidents, and that John Ouincy 
Adams was John Adams's son. But just what did they do ? " 

"That should be easy to set right," Uncle Tom said. And as they 
turned once more from the by-path that led from Penn's Hill into Franklin 
street, Uncle Tom sketched the careers of the two Adamses while the 
party walked leisurely back to the center of the town. 

"John Adams," he said, "was born in that little gray house to the left in 
the year 1735. His son, John Ouincy Adams was born in 1767, in the old 
red house to the right. John Adams was elected President by the Feder- 
alists in 1796. John Ouincy Adams was made President in 1824 by the 
' coalition ' which, later, became first the Whigs, and then the Republicans. 
John Adams died in the old mansion I shall soon show you at the other 



end of town, on the Fourth of July, 1826; John Ouincy Adams died in 
the Capitol at Washington, on the 23d of February, 1848. John Adams was 
bold, outspoken, upright, and true. He always had what is called the cour- 
age of his convictions ; but he was sometimes conceited, long-winded, and 
brusque. He was a great reader, a vigorous writer, and always a patriot. 
The acts of his life that most entitle him to fame were his defense of the 
British soldiers, unwisely tried for murder, after the so-called 'Boston mas- 
sacre' of 1770 ; — " 

"That's what that 'slate-pencil' monument on Boston Common is for, 
you know," whispered Roger to Jack. 

" — the proposing of Washington as commander-in-chief of the Amer- 
ican Army in 1775," went on Uncle Tom; "the speech on the first of July, 
1776, which resulted in the adoption of the Declaration of Independence; 
the recognition by Holland of the new nation of the United States of Amer- 
ica, and the Dutch loan, which put money in the pocket of the young re- 


public — both of these being secured by him in 1782 ; the great treaty with 
England, which he 'achieved' in 1783; his patriotic keeping the peace 
with France, as President, in 1800, when every one was shouting for war; 
and lastly, his struggle for religious liberty in Massachusetts in 1820, when 
he was an old man of eighty-five. Few men, boys and girls, can show 
a better credit side on the ledger of fame than this honest, stanch, stout, 
fussy, hot-tempered, but always fine old patriot, John Adams of Ouincy, 
second President of the United States." 


2 9 

"That is a pretty good record, I tell you," commented Bert, enthusiasti- 
cally, while Jack doffed his hat, in sight of the gilded dome, and exclaimed, 
" Three cheers for the Father of the Fourth of July ! " 

That gilded dome, which had so frequently attracted their notice in Ouincy 
town, topped the square, old-fashioned, and well-preserved " Stone Temple," 
otherwise the First Congrega 

tional (Unitarian) Church of 
Ouincy, in which are the tombs 
of the two Presidents, father 
and son. 

The tourists looked at the 
space beneath the portico in 
which rest the remains of these 
two illustrious men ; they read 
the commemorative tablets set 
within the church to the right 
and left of the pulpit, one 
surmounted by a bust of John 
Adams, by Greenough, the 
other by a bust of John Ouincy 
Adams, by Powers. 

It was both interesting and 
impressive — "the Westmin- 
ster Abbey of Ouincy," Uncle 
Tom called it, and the young people left the quaint old church with re- 
newed respect for the memories of the two famous Americans who lie buried 
there, within the church in which they worshiped, midway between the 
homes of their infancy and their old age. Somehow, even though the 
Adamses of Ouincy were not soldiers, Christine said that she could not help 
repeating the lines : 

" How sleep the brave who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes blessed ! " 

Leaving the "temple," they walked up Hancock street, and just at the 
turn of Adams street looked at the neat stone building surmounted by an 
obelisk-like tower. This, Uncle Tom told them, was Adams Academy, founded 
by President John Adams, built on the site of John Hancock's birthplace, 
and presided over for many years by the son of Edward Everett. 

" How 's that for a combination ? " asked Roger. 

" I don't believe it makes lessons go any easier," declared Jack. 



The old House of Representatives, and the place where 

John Quincy Adams died. 



"As for John Ouincy Adams," said Uncle Tom, continuing the "setting 
right" process, which Marian had requested, "we can say quite as much 
as for his father, although his career had not so historic a background. 
As a boy he went to school in France and Holland, while his father 
was abroad on foreign service for the new republic. But he came back 

The "Old Charles Francis Adams" house, Quincy. 

here of his own accord to enter Harvard because he thought that, for an 
American career, an American education was best." 

"Good for him!" exclaimed the boys. 

" Oh, he was quite a remarkable boy, was John Ouincy Adams," Uncle 
Tom assured them. "When only seven years old he drilled with a musket 
among the Continental soldiers, and I have told you how, from the top of 
Penn's Hill yonder, he stood beside his mother and watched the battle- 
smoke of Bunker Hill, the storming of Dorchester Heights, and the evacu- 
ation of Boston. The good people of Ouincy have just erected a cairn to 
mark the spot — that memorial pile of stones which I showed you on top 
of the hill, you know. At ten he sailed with his father, the American 'com- 
missioner,' to France, and all through his boyhood John Ouincy Adams 
kept a diary that would be a surprise to some girls and boys I know." 



United States Minister to England during the Civil War. 

" He was private secretary to the American minister to Russia at four- 
teen," continued Uncle Tom. " He was minister to Holland at twenty- 
seven ; minister to Prussia at thirty ; United States senator at thirty-five ; 
professor in Harvard at thirty-nine; minister to Russia at forty-two; min- 
ister to England at forty-eight ; Secretary of State at fifty, and again at 
fifty-four; President of the United States at fifty-seven; member of Con- 
gress at sixty-four, continuing as such until his death at eighty — the cham- 
pion of liberty, and a valiant fighter for the rights of free speech, whom no 
antagonist could daunt and no threats could down. A remarkable man, as 



well as a remarkable boy, was John Ouincy Adams — and that 's where he 
lived, in that long brown mansion across the bridge, where lived also his 
famous old father and his illustrious son." 

"Oh, what a lovely old place!" exclaimed Marian. "Is n't it quaint 
and old-fashioned. Who lives there now ? " 

"No one, I believe," replied Uncle Tom. "The place seems to be 
closed. But it has been the scene of many interesting happenings. Here 
old ' Grandsire John,' the 'first Adams,' lived and died; here John Ouincy 
Adams made his home, and delighted to work on his farm in ' overalls ' and 
a straw hat, like any other farmer, just as ready to receive a distinguished 
visitor in his working clothes as if he were in the White House itself." 

They crossed "the President's Bridge," which spans the railroad, and 
entered the grounds now known as "the old Charles Francis Adams place " ; 
they stood beneath the great trees, rested on the narrow piazza, visited the 
modern stables and the long greenhouses, and walked about the wide fields 
that stretched in the rear of the quaint gambrel-roofed house. 

Then they slowly sauntered back to the center of the town, and as they 
took the train for Boston, tired, but full of a new regard for these old 
"fathers of the republic," Bert echoed Uncle Tom's sentiment and said: 

" I guess you were right, Uncle Tom. Ouincy granite may be endur- 
ing, but these Ouincy men will outlast it — both in name and fame." 

Founded by John Adams, and built on the site of John Hancock's birthplace. 



From Plymouth to Duxbury — The Puritan Captain — The Webster Farm 
— Marshficld By the Sea — Daniel Webster's Story — The Home of 
a Great American. 

HEY had spent two delightful days in historic Plymouth, and 
Uncle Tom declared himself to be fairly "pumped dry" on 
Colonial history. 

" Dry ! " exclaimed Jack, in his enthusiastic way. " That 's 
not possible, Uncle Tom. You 're like the fellow Mark Twain 
tells about: you just Teak facts.' Only think of all we 've seen and heard 
about during these last two days ! " 

"I should say so," said Bert. "We 've done Plymouth from Leyden street 
to Billington Sea, and from the Rock and the Faith Monument to Lora Stan- 
dish's sampler in Pilgrim 
Hall. And for everything 
we 've seen, Uncle Tom, 
you had a story." 

"Yes; only I told the 
story about Lora Stan- 
dish's sampler, did n't I. 
Uncle Tom ? " said Marian. 

" You did, indeed, my 
dear," replied Uncle Tom. 
" Credit to whom credit is 
due, Master Bert. I see 
that you 've read your Mrs. 
Austin to good effect, girls. Now, I suppose, you will go home and read 
' Standish of Standish ' with a new interest. " 

" That 's more than I can do for Mrs. Hemans," declared Jack. " ' Stern 




and rock-bound coast, ' eh ? Why, the only rock they can show here is tlic 
Rock — and that you say was a pilgrim from Labrador, Uncle Tom. People 
ought to know what they write about." 

" Well, Mrs. Hemans's intention was excellent, even if her facts were at 
fault," said Uncle Tom; "and 'the breaking waves ' will continue to ' dash 
high ' so long as spirited and noble verse strikes deep into the hearts of 
men. We 've about finished Plymouth. Now, I 'in going to take you 
back to Boston by a new way." 


Uncle Tom always had a new way. 

"He's better than Columbus for discovering things," the boys and girls 
declared, and they were not surprised, therefore when, leaving famous old 
Plymouth behind, he said, " all out for Duxbury ! " as the train slowed up at 
a neat little station ten miles nearer Boston. 

They found a barge awaiting them — not a boat, you understand, like 
Cleopatra's famous float, but a long and roomy two-horse wagon, open at 
the sides — just the thing for a jolly party of sight-seers. 

They drove in sight of the sea, with the Gurnet light gleaming white in the 
foreground, and the storied course of the Mayflozvcr lying before them, 
sparkling in the sun. They looked with proper pride upon the old Standish 
house, on the site of the one in which the valiant captain of Plymouth made 
his home; then they panted their way up the steep slope to the crest of 



Built by the son of Miles Standish, 1666. 

Captain's Hill, where rises the tall, gray column topped by a statue of the 
doughty leader of the Pilgrims' little army. 

They drank in that splendid view of sea and shore ; then, descending, 
they boarded their barge again, and rode through Duxbury town, past the 
home of John Alden and Priscilla — dear 
to all the boys and girls of America who 
delight in a charming love-story, and 
at last came to Marshfield and modern 
history. For Marshfield, so Uncle Tom 
told them, was the dearly loved home of 
Daniel Webster, foremost of American 

The places they had visited, and the 
scenes amid which they had spent two 
memorable days in that famous " Old 
Colony " region, had made a lasting 
impression on their young and recep- 
tive minds. So, as their barge rolled along the new State Highway that, 
in time, will stretch all the way from Boston to Plymouth, the young people 
were still talking of the historic scenes they had left behind. 

Jack and the girls, indeed, were holding an animated discussion as to 
the place of the Pilgrim Fathers in American history, to which Uncle Tom 
listened in amused silence. But when Jack, in his enthusiasm, placed gallant 
Miles Standish, " the Puritan captain," alongside Grant and Sherman in mili- 
tary supremacy, Uncle Tom felt it time to put in a word. 

" Easy, easy, old fellow," he said, with a pat of caution on the boy's 
shoulder; "I 'm afraid your hero-worship of the moment is leading you 
into a bit of exaggeration. Miles Standish was a picturesque figure in 

early American 
history ; but even 
he, I think, would 
smile in his quiet 
fashion if he could 
hear your estimate 
of his military 

" I don't see 
why, Uncle Tom," persisted Jack. " You said yourself that it was fortunate 
for America that one trained soldier came over in the Mayflower ; and 
from what you told me of his story — " 

Of ancient Persian manufacture. In Pilgrim Hall. 



" And what Longfellow says about him in the ' Courtship of Miles Stan- 
dish,'" put in Marian. 

" But Uncle Tom says that is more poetry than fact, you know," re- 
marked Bert. 

" I thought we had left the Pilgrim days and folks behind us, and had 
done with them for a while," said Uncle Tom, laughing. " The truth of the 
matter is here : Miles Standish was a notable figure in what the world now 
regards as a notable time. Hasty in temper, but never a coward — " 

" Oh, I don't know about that, Uncle Tom," broke in Marian. " He 
was afraid of Priscilla." 

"Afraid!" cried Jack, disdainfully. 

" But Priscilla was n't afraid of him," Marian declared. " Don't you 
remember what she said about him ? 

" He is a little chimney and heated hot in a moment." 

" I call that mighty mean of Priscilla, too," Jack spluttered, 
a eirl ! Lot she knew about a soldier ! " 

" Just like 


" No ; she was right, was n't she, Uncle Tom ? " returned Marian. " No 
girl likes to be treated as Miles Standish treated her. Lot he knew about 
a woman, I say ! " 

"See here, see here," protested Uncle Tom, laughing; "are we settling 
the facts of American history, or reopening the old Standish- Alden case ? 



Kindly restrain your impetuous partizanship, and let me finish summing up 
Miles Standish's character. Where was I ? " 

" You said he was never a coward, you know," prompted Bert. 

"Oh, yes. Hasty in temper, but never a coward," again began Uncle 
Tom ; " wise in counsel, but never foolhardy ; trained to war, but never 
seeking a quarrel, he was especially fitted to teach the struggling and dis- 
pirited colonists of Plymouth 
the prudence of courage, the 
wisdom of discipline, and the 
excellence of vigilance. These, 
you see, are all qualities neces- 
sary in a military leader. They 
are what made Grant and 
Sherman successful generals. 
In fact, it may be said that in 
the single heroic person of 
Miles Standish was to be found 
the true soldierly idea — skilled 
military force in loyal subordi- 
nation to the civil authority. 
Miles Standish never sought 
to thrust himself forward ; but 
when put in command by those 
in control, he did his duty faith- 
fully and well. He is indeed a 
typical Colonial soldier. As 
such, America should remem- 
ber and honor him ; and it has been well for us to recall him, here, in the 
neighborhood where he grew into history." 

They turned from the macadamized highway and into a sandy road, the 
note of the sea falling upon their ears in an unbroken monotone. They 
rode past the old house in which once had lived two famous governors of 
the Plymouth colony — Edward Winslow ("a greater than Standish," Uncle 
Tom declared) and Josiah, his son ; past the home of a once famous Ameri- 
can songstress, rebuilt from the humble cottage of her poor farmer father, 
and then entered the grounds known to all the world as Marshfield — the 
two-thousand acre farm of America's statesman and orator, Daniel Webster. 

There was not very much to see that could recall that remarkable man. 
The long avenue of trees that skirted the drive were of Webster's planting; 
the great apple orchard was of his devising; the trout-pond was of his plan- 

By permission of the Massachusetts Historical Society. 



From a daguerreotype made in Philadelphia about 1S49. 


ning ; and here and there on the grounds — the farm, rather, for Webster 
never called his place anything but a "farm" — were numerous localities 
that were associated with the mighty man who delighted to be known as 
"the farmer of Marshfield," and whose heart, even in the most engrossine 
political moves and successes, ever turned toward his dearly loved seaside 
farm, with its broad fields and sturdy trees, and the flocks and live stock in 
which he specially delighted. 

But the house which had been his home was not there. 

The children were greatly disappointed when they learned this fact. 

" Burned down, did you say, Uncle Tom ? " inquired Roger. 

"Yes; burned utterly and swiftly on a February night in 1878," Uncle 
Tom replied. "This building is a modern villa, built by the new owners 
of Marshfield to replace the old mansion. And with the old house went 
many memories that would be of interest and value to-day. That little 
yellow building, just across the drive to the left, is the sole survivor of the 
old 'Webster place,' as they call it about here. In it Webster kept his 
fishing and hunting traps, and called it his ' office.' That little ' office ' and 
the old carriage you can see in the barn yonder are about the only memorials 
of Daniel Webster now to be seen at Marshfield. But the place — the setting 
that framed his chosen home — still remains untouched by time — here are 
the same blue sky, the same strong, health-giving air, the same landscape of 
field and forest, the same ceaseless note of the sea across the marshes. All 
these Webster loved ; from these he drew vigor and inspiration, and toward 
them he turned with an intense longing from crowded court-room and 
senate chamber in which his fame was made." 

Although scarcely the Marshfield of Webster's day, the children found 
themselves impressed by the presence that once had filled this breezy 
seaside farm. Seated upon the steps which, in the modern mansion, have 
replaced the long, low vine-covered piazza of the rambling old homestead 
destroyed by fire, the tourists fell to talking of the great man to whom 
these broad acres had once belonged. In response to their inquiries Uncle 
Tom briefly told his boys and girls the story of Daniel Webster's useful and 
busy life. 

He told them of the pale and puny baby born, on a January day in 1782, 
into the home of a hard-working New Hampshire farmer ; of the father, 
Washington's trusted sentry at West Point in the dark days of Arnold's trea- 
son ; of the boy's early struggles for an education, tempered by his resistless 
love of fun ; of his insatiable thirst for knowledge ; of his school life at Exe- 
ter Academy, where he was so shy that he found it impossible to speak "pieces" 
before his schoolmates ; of his wonderful eyes and yet more wonderful memory ; 



Burned in February, 1878, and now replaced by a modern villa. 

of his voice, so rich and full that the teamsters and farmers would stop the 
boy in the road to hear him recite poetry or verses from the Bible. He told 
them how Webster's father sacrificed everything to send his boy to Dart- 
mouth College, and was rewarded by seeing his son the "prize student"; how 
his marvelous intellectual and oratorical powers gradually developed, until 
the boy orator of sixteen grew into the man whose matchless reply to Hayne 
has been called "the greatest speech since Demosthenes." He told them 
of Webster's election to Congress in 1822, and how, for twenty-eight years, 
he was Massachusetts's foremost representative in the councils of the nation, 
broken only by two seasons of service as Secretary of State, under Harrison, 
the fourteenth President, and Fillmore, the sixteenth. He told them of the 
great statesman's services to the nation, of his unfaltering love of country, 
of his absorbing belief in the greatness of the republic and its magnificent 
possibilities, and how valiantly he' fought in argument and State paper and 
oration for the Union above everything else — for the integrity of the republic 
and the permanence of American nationality. It was this, even more than 
personal ambition, that worked Webster's downfall, so Uncle Tom declared, 
as he told his young auditors of the terrible shock with which Webster's fa- 
mous speech of the 7th of March, 1850, supporting the wicked Fugitive 
Slave Law, fell upon his steadfast supporters. It was " the Union, now and 
forever, one and inseparable," so Uncle Tom assured them, that lay beneath 
even this unfortunate speech. But the statesman was misunderstood. That 
speech lost Webster the Presidency, which he so dearly desired; it turned 



against him the men of the North, to whom he looked for approval and sup- 
port; it so affected him, because of the results, that, two years later, on 
the 24th of October, 1852, the great statesman died here, in quiet Marsh- 
field, the victim of his own mistaken judgment and the equally mistaken 
judgment of his fellow-citizens. 

The Poet of Freedom. 

" But why do you call it mistaken, Uncle Tom ? " asked Bert, who had 
followed the narrative with close attention. " Do you call Whittier's ' Icha- 
bod' poem mistaken — the one you told us about in Boston, you know ? " 

" Let Whittier answer himself, Bert," replied Uncle Tom. " He wrote the 
' Ichabod ' poem in 1850, when the antislavery indignation at Webster's sup- 




posed backsliding was at white heat. Beneath the regret and grief you can 

read his fiery denunciation. But, after twenty-five years had passed, with 

^Afr-w^ all their marvelous changes, 

^ ^ and yet more marvelous ad- 

vancement.Whittier, looking 
back, could say that Web- 
ster had died too soon, and 
that, had he lived, he would 
have been the boldest de- 
fender of the liberty he had 
mistakenly imperiled. Let 
me see if I can remember 
Whittier's lines. They make 
a grand poem on Webster 
— 'The Lost Occasion ' was 
what the poet called it"; and 
Uncle Tom, leaning his head 

against the piazza post, closed his eyes and recited the noble lines by 

Whittier to which he referred : 

" Thou, foiled in aim and hope, bereaved 
Of old friends, by the new deceived, 
Too soon for us, too soon for thee, 
Beside thy lonely Northern sea, 
Where long and low the marsh-lands spread, 
Laid wearily down thy august head. 

Thou shouldst have lived to feel below 

Thy feet Disunion's fierce upthrow, — 

The late-sprung mine that underlaid 

Thy sad concessions, vainly made. 

Thou shouldst have seen from Sumter's wall 

The star-flag of the Union fall, 

And armed rebellion pressing on 

The broken lines of Washington ! 

No stronger voice than thine had then 

Called out the utmost might of men, 

To make the Union's charter free 

And strengthen law by liberty. 

How had that stern arbitrament 
To thy gray age youth's vigor lent, 
Shaming ambition's paltry prize 
Before thy disillusioned eyes ; 


Breaking the spell about thee wound 
Like the green withes that Samson bound ; 
Redeeming in one effort grand, 
Thyself and thy imperiled land. 

Ah, cruel fate, that closed to thee, 
O sleeper by the Northern sea, 
The gates of opportunity ! 
God fills the gaps of human need, 
Each crisis brings its word and deed. 
Wise men and strong we did not lack, 
But still, with memory turning back, 
In the dark hours we thought of thee, 
And thy lone grave beside the sea." 

Uncle Tom rose to his feet. 

" Come, let us go and see that 'lone grave'," he said. 

He led the way past the great barn, with its double line of just such 
noble stock as Webster loved, and on, across the farm, to where, half a mile 
away, upon the crest of Burial Hill, stood the old Colonial burying-ground. 
There were buried the Winslows of Colonial days ; there was the grave of 
Peregrine White, first child of the Mayflower pilgrims ; and there, within 


"Just 'Daniel Webster' — that 's all." 

the Webster plot, the children looked upon the modest marble slab which 
marks the statesman's grave. 

"Simple enough, is n't it?" said Roger. "Just 'Daniel Webster' — 
that 's all." 



The oldest meeting-house in New England (Hingham, Mass.). 

" Seems to me so great a man as Webster ought to have more of a 
monument," was Jack's critical comment. 

" I don't know," mused Bert. " Somehow you get nearer to a man just 
as he was by such a simple thing as that; don't you think so, Uncle Tom? 
That name tells it all. You know who Daniel Webster was. What more 
do you need ? Really, don't you know, to me it seems grander than all 
those long-winded inscriptions on the Adams tablets at Ouincy." 

Jack was still unconvinced. 

" If you 're big enough to be remembered, you 're worth saying something" 
about," he insisted. 

And Uncle Tom said: "I like to have you see and study these me- 
morials of departed greatness, boys and girls. I think I 'm on Bert's side 
of the argument, however. For, after all, a man's life-work is his best 
monument. What he does for the world and his fellow-men will last longer 
than granite or bronze. Some of the biggest monuments have been built 
above the smallest memories. To my thinking, Daniel Webster, as Bert 
says, needs no other memorial than this modest stone. He has built him- 



self into the hearts and life of the people. How many of you know his 
famous reply to Hayne?" 

At once every boy and girl of the five began that famous peroration : 
"When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in 
heaven — ' " 

" That 's it," said Uncle Tom, cutting them short. " Do you suppose you 
can ever forget who spoke those electric words ? As Bert says, we all know 
who Daniel Webster was. His country has honored him. His statue, in mar- 
ble or in bronze, stands in our greatest cities ; his name is inwrought with 
the daily life of our land — counties, townships, institutions, parks, streets, 
lakes, mountains, and men alike bear his honored name ; but more than this, 
the eloquent words he spoke for liberty and union, for American nationality 
and American supremacy, will live as long as the English language exists and 
school-boys live to speak it. There was nothing sectional, nothing small in 
his patriotism ; above all else, Daniel Webster was an American." 

" Did n't he say so in one of his speeches? " asked Christine. 

" ' I was born an American; I live an American ; I shall die an American,'" 
quoted Roger. 

" That was in a speech soon after the famous 7th of March oration that 
so clouded his fame," explained Uncle Tom, "and it explains much in his 
career. For that was his creed, and 
to advance the interests of America 
was his chief desire. Indeed, he was 
in his way a type of American great- 
ness. He was great himself, physi- 
cally and intellectually. He loved 
great things: this view, over marsh 
and sea, and farm and forest, especi- 
ally appealed to him — " 

"It is great," exclaimed Jack, ap- 

" He loved bigness in every- 
thing — big farms, big trees, big 
cattle, mountains, Niagara, the ocean; 
and for that reason, as I have said, 
he could stand nothing small or sec- 
tional or local in American life. He 
loved the Union as a whole ; he be- 
lieved in and labored for its immense possibility; and in trying to preserve 
it unbroken, he made what at the time appeared to be the great mistake 


formerly altacke- 

to"W „ 

arm. oh 

the, . 



Now at Marshfield. 

4 6 


of his life. But the lapse of years creates a new standpoint, you know, and 
as we look back on Webster's life and Webster's work, we can see that all, 
even what men counted as his error, worked to a good end." 



He was born in the extension, or ell, on the eighteenth of January, 1782. 

"There 's your Pope again, Uncle Tom," said Bert — 

" From seeming evil still educing good." 

" Right you are, Bert," returned Uncle Tom; " only, as I told you once be- 
fore, my Pope was Thomson." 

" That 's what you call a word in season, eh, Uncle Tom ? " said Jack, 

But Uncle Tom caught him by the arm. "If you will make puns, old 
fellow, make correct ones," he replied. " I should call it a word out of season 
— for it happens to be not from Thomson's ' Seasons,' but from one of his 
hymns." Whereat the others, who were a bit puzzled by this literary spar- 
ring, saw the fun at last, and declared that the joke was on Master Jack. 

As they walked back to the house and to their waiting barge, Bert, always 
alert for estimates and judgments, asked Uncle Tom what he considered 
Webster's greatest triumphs. To which Uncle Tom replied that, in the es- 
timation of historians, the treaty with England in 1842, when Webster was 
Secretary of State, and the reply to Hayne, in 1830, were Webster's strong- 
est claims to remembrance and immortality. The first was a triumph of di- 
plomacy, the second a triumph of oratory. 


" Because of the treaty," declared Uncle Tom, " England never again at- 
tempted the right of search, which had twice imperiled the republic ; because 
of the speech, came the new United States — the real Union of to-day. I do 
not think it too much to say," he added, "that because Webster's ' Liberty 
and Union' oration became the favorite declamation of American school-boys 
in the fifties, it inspired a devoted and passionate love for the Union, which, 
when the hour of danger came to the republic, emphasized the sentiment of 
nationality, and nerved the arm, as it sustained the courage, of the united 
North. In that, as Senator 
Lodge says, lies the debt which 
the American people owe to 
Daniel Webster, and in that is 
Webster's meaning and im- 
portance to us of to-day. 

"And it may interest and 
please you to know, boys and 
girls," he continued, as once 
again they stood near the site 
of Webster's M arshfield home, 
"that from the window of the 
house which formerly stood 
upon this spot, Webster, when 
he lay a-dying, looked out each 
morning to catch the flutter of 
the stars and stripes which he 
so dearly loved, and which, ac- 
cording to his orders, were kept 
floating from the flagstaff until 
his last breath passed. Does 
that recall anything to you 
in the way of a coincidence?" 

They hesitated a moment; then Jack, quick to see and appreciate such 
dramatic things, cried : 

"Oh, yes, Uncle Tom; don't you know — " and then, before Webster's 
home, on the very spot where so many of the happy moments of his life were 
passed, close beside the place where, with eyes wet with tears, the great 
orator penned his splendid eulogy on Adams and Jefferson in the still hours 
of a summer morning, Jack recited, as Jack knew so well how to recite, the 
words that will live as long as the name and fame of their author shall 
survive : 


One of Webster's foreign appointments when he was Secretary' of State. 
Consul at Tunis in 1841. Author of " Home, Sweet Home." 



" When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see 
him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union ; on States dis- 
severed, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fra- 
ternal blood. Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the 
republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and 
trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased nor polluted, not a single star ob- 
scured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as ' What is all this worth ? ' — nor 
those other words of delusion and folly, ' Liberty first and Union afterwards ! ' ; but everywhere, 
spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds as they float over the 
sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment dear to 
every American heart : ' Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable ! ' " 

"And it happened just as he wished, did n't it?" said Christine, 
stirred by the magnificent words and the associations of the place where she 

"It happened just as he wished," replied Uncle Tom. " He saw the flag 
floating undimmed to the last. And on yonder lawn, before his house, be- 
neath the great silver poplar which he loved, now standing no longer, thou- 
sands came on a beautiful October day in 1852, to look their last upon the 
face of the great statesman whom Theodore Parker described as the grandest 
figure in Christendom since Charlemagne. He lay there, banked in flowers, 
dead, beneath the autumn sky. But, from that sad hour to these happier 
days of the republic's real liberty and real union, the fame of Daniel Webster 
has steadily increased until the world looks upon him not only as a great 
man, but as in the best sense an American, a real son of the republic, a cit- 
izen of the United States, in the most complete and most enduring meaning 
of that noble word. Forget his faults, remember his virtues, boys and girls, 
and be, as long as life shall last, as true an American and as loyal a child 
of the republic as was Daniel Webster, to whose great heart, mighty brain, 
and magnetic voice you young Americans of this day owe so much." 



New York's Greatest Man — A Tour of the Old Town — Famous Men 
and Historic Points — The Story of Alexander Hamilton — A Remark- 
able Character. 

EW YORK'S greatest man?" said Uncle Tom, reflectively, in 
answer to a question from Roger. " Why, I should say, with- 
out hesitation, Alexander Hamilton — even if we count 
General Grant." 

" General Grant! " cried the Boston boy. " Why, how do 
you make that out, Uncle Tom? Grant was an Illinois man, I thought." 

"Primarily, yes," Uncle Tom replied; "though he was Ohio-born, you 
know. But we are regarding America's famous men after they had become, 
as we might say, the property of the nation. Grant was practically a cipher 
until developed into greatness by the inspiration of war. After the war and 
the Presidency, New York was his chosen home ; so, for our purpose, 
we can, I think, claim him as a New York man. At any rate, I prefer so to 
consider him at this stage of the inquiry ; for, except for Grant and Hamil- 
ton, another adopted citizen, New York can lay claim to few really historic 
characters, and to still less really great ones. Men drift here from one 
reason or another, and thus become identified with the metropolis ; but the 
native has never been exceptional for greatness." 

They were in New York. Roger had come on for a visit, and Uncle 
Tom, finding his tourists all together and eager for investigation, had pro- 
posed a continuation of their study of famous Americans, suggesting a trip 
to Philadelphia after they had paid their respects to New York. 

From this had sprung Roger's query and Uncle Tom's reply. Jack, 
however, objected with true Knickerbocker loyalty. 

"Oh, see here, Uncle Tom," he cried, "you must be wrong. I '11 bet I 
can name a dozen creat men who were New Yorkers." 




is great Americans 
people's stamp of greatness, 
count all the really ^^ 
ten fingers. There are J 

" Here, here. Inch- 
"you are dropping into ? 
to take you in hand, 

"Why, what did I 
innocently. "It 's all 
communications corrupt 
Among historic Ameri- 
claim many: John Jay, 
United States, a patriot 
Clintons, George and 
governors ; the two Liv- 

" Name them, Jack, and I '11 forgive the bet," 
returned Uncle Tom. "I 'm listening with avidity." 
Jack hesitated. "Well," he said slowly, "if I 
were as well posted as you are, I could do so. 
I know I could ; but you know, Uncle Tom, I 've 
got an awfully good forgettery." 

The other boys were inclined to charge Jack 
with something technically known in boy language 
as a "crawl," and Uncle Tom laughed heartily. 

"Well, let me help you, Jack," he said. 

" Recollect that our particular line of research 

and by greatness I mean popular adoption — the 

When you attempt that test you can 

_ I ---^=. 1 — - _.,-_-■ great Americans on your 


others " 

Tom," laughed Jack, 
slang, too. We '11 have 

say ? " asked Uncle Tom, 
your fault, Jack. 'Evil 
good manners,' you know, 
cans, New York city- can 
first Chief Justice of the 
and a statesman ; the two 
DeWitt, kinsmen and 

ingstons, Robert and Ed- 
ward, brothers, jurists and statesmen. These are names high on New York's 
roll of fame, but I fear they must all yield precedence in greatness to the 
two historic names I have given you as heading 
the list — Hamilton and Grant. Anyhow, we '11 
go out and investigate." 

They did so, next day. Wise Uncle Tom se- 
lected a Sunday morning before church time, and 
after a particularly early breakfast, for his first 
walk. Then he knew lower Broadway would 
virtually be deserted, and the)' could wander 
through the old streets at their will without being 
pushed or jostled by the hurrying and unhistoric 
crowds of a busy week day. ROBERT R ' LlvINGSTON ' 

So, with Uncle Tom as guide, the five investigators walked the ancient 
section of the old town which Dutch traders had founded, and English 




traders had developed, and American traders had made great. Up and down 
those very streets, years and years before, men whose names are familiar, or 
whose lives are notable, had walked and talked and labored. Here Wouter 
Van Twiller had played the fool, and Peter Stuyvesant the despot ; here 
Kidd the pirate had lived like a gentleman, and Andros the dragoon had 
ruled as governor ; here Jacob Leisler, earliest of American patriots, had died 
for popular liberty, and Zenger, New York's first " newspaper man," had 
fought for the right of free speech, and obtained it. 

They threaded the crooked streets of the old town, and tried to imagine 
what it looked like in the days of beginnings when Wall street was really 
" the street along the wall," and Pearl street was " the Strand," or river beach. 
In fancy, they pulled down the towering modern building at 39 Broadway, 
and put in its place the two little huts built by Block's shipwrecked sailors 
— first homes of the white man in New York. They stood on the breezy 
Battery, reminder of the vigorous Leisler, who gave it its name; they located 
the circle of the ancient fort which had witnessed so many momentous 
scenes, but none more notable than the bold adoption of the colonists' 
"charter of liberties" in 1683. 

Here, at the corner of Pearl and Whitehall streets, they located the 
house in which had lived Leisler, the people's governor, and recalled his 



Where Washington was inaugurated. 

dramatic story; there, near at hand, had stood the queer old " Stadt Huys," or 
City Hall, where aristocracy and democracy had waged their earliest battles. 

It was all very interesting, because, as Christine said, it was making 
over the past, and if you could only unthink, as she expressed it, all the 
real brick and granite and iron, you could imagine the quaint old houses 
and odd surroundings of the place as they looked in Washington's day. 

Uncle Tom helped them to " unthink" the modern dress. 

" Call it Washington's day," he said. " New York is the capital of the 
new republic, and many of the great ones of that storied time live here- 
abouts. Yonder, on Pearl street, near Wall, are the houses of Living- 
ston and Clinton ; not far away Chief-Justice Jay keeps open house ; on 
Maiden Lane lives Jefferson, while Hamilton, his great rival, is on Wall 
street; and here, in front of No. i Broadway, which is President Washing- 
ton's residence, you may perhaps catch a glimpse of these two great states- 
men walking up and down for a full half hour, talking earnestly together 
as, between themselves, they arrange for the selection of the site of the new 
capital of the Unfted States — the city of Washington that is to be." 

" I declare, Uncle Tom, I can almost see them now," Marian announced. 

Then, by a wide loop in their walk, Uncle Tom showed his young peo- 
ple the spot where, at the close of the Revolution, plucky Jack Van Arsdale, 
the sailor boy, climbed the greased pole on the battery and flung out the 
stars and stripes in the face of the departing British. He paused with them 



before Ward's splendid statue of Washington on the sub -Treasury steps — 

the very spot on which he took the oath of office as President ; he showed 

them the region of " Golden 

Hill " on John street, near Cliff, 

where the first blood of the 

Revolution was spilled, while 

not far away, in the sparkling 

harbor,' he pointed out the place 

where New York's "tea party" 

had been held ; he took them to 

City Hall Park, and pointed out 

where Jacob Leisler had been 

martyred for independence and 

Nathan Hale for liberty ; he 

crossed the street and pointed 

out the tomb of Montgomery, the hero of Quebec, set in the brown front 

of St. Paul's, and let them stand for an instant within the old church, 

in the very pew which had been Washington's. Then, passing down 

the street, they came to Trinity churchyard. There, with minds now 




From a print in possession of the New York Historical Society. 

thoroughly in what Uncle Tom called "an historic mood," they surveyed 
the brown sarcophagus that shrines the remains of " Don't-give-up-the- 
ship " Lawrence, as Jack designated him ; they found the sunken slab 



that covers the grave of poor Charlotte Temple ; they stood before the 
towering obelisk that stands as a memorial "to those great and good men 
who died while imprisoned in this city for their devotion to the cause of 
American Independence"; and so came at last to the modest gray monu- 
ment on the south side 
of Trinity churchyard be- 
neath which rest the bones 
of one of the greatest of 
historic Americans and of 
famous men — Alexander 

Bert read the inscription 
on the base: "'To the 
memory of Alexander 
Hamilton, the corporation 
of Trinity Church has 
erected this monument in 
testimony of their respect 
for the Patriot of incom- 
parable integrity, the Sol- 
dier of approved valour, 
the Statesman of consum- 
mate wisdom, whose tal- 
ents and virtues will be 
admitted by grateful pos- 
terity, long after this mar- 
ble shall have mouldered 
into dust. He died July 
12, 1804, aged 47.' " 
The boys and girls regarded the inscription with interest. It seemed a 
fitting culmination to all they had seen that morning. 

" Only forty-seven ! " was Christine's comment. " He was n't so very 
old, was he? And he did so much." 

" Somehow I always think of those Revolutionary fellows as old men," 
said Jack. " Don't you know how the song goes : 

" In their ragged regimentals 

Stood the old Continentals 

Yielding not. 

On the steps of the sub-Treasury, Wall street. Trinity church in the distance. 

But this does n't seem so, does it? Hamilton was an 'old Continental,' 
was n't he, Uncle Tom ? " 



"One of the earliest and youngest," replied Uncle Tom. "But then 
you must remember, Jack, that it is the young men who make history, and — 
govern yourself accordingly ! Why, the average age of the fifty-six signers 
of the Declaration of Independence was only forty-four; twenty of them 
were under forty, and one was but twenty-four. Twenty of the signers of 
the Constitution were under forty — Madison and Hamilton, its authors and 
'fathers,' were but thirty-six and thirty respectively. Age, you see, is not 
a requirement to statesmanship, and the remarkable story of Alexander 
Hamilton, before whose early grave we are standing, is proof of this." 

" Did n't we hear something about him in Washington ? " inquired Marian. 

"To be sure we did — in the State Department, was n't it?" rejoined 

"Why, yes," said Roger; "don't you remember when the custodian in 
the library showed us the real simon-pure original Constitution of the 
United States he told us 
about Hamilton and said that 
his story was one to make 
young men proud of their 
youth ? " 

"What do you recollect 
of his story, boys ? " asked 
Uncle Tom. 

" Let 's see," hesitated 
Bert, " the man in the State 
Department told us that 
Hamilton was an orator and 
patriot at seventeen, a hero 
at twenty, a statesman at 

"Sort of 'historic boy,' 
eh, Uncle Tom ? " suggested 

" But was he all that so 
young ? " Marian demanded. 

"All that and more," 
Uncle Tom replied. "Alex- 
ander Hamilton was really, 
Jack, one of the world's his- 
toric — one of its remarkable boys. Let me see if I can recall his record: 
At twelve, a confidential clerk in a mercantile house ; at thirteen, man- 

In Trinity churchyard. 

raniHA/esinr one.ufe to lose*'***!* 1 ''* 


By Frederick McMonnies, recently erected in City Hall Park, New York. 


ager ; at fourteen, a descriptive writer ; at sixteen, a regular student in 
college and at the same time taking a medical course ; at seventeen, a 
popular orator; at nineteen, a captain of artillery in the Continental army; 
at twenty, a lieutenant-colonel and Washington's aide-de-camp ; at twenty- 
three, a battalion commander ; at twenty-four, a member of Congress ; 
at thirty, framer and signer of the Constitution of the United States ; at 
thirty-two, the first Secretary of the Treasury ; at thirty-five, a great lawyer ; 
at forty, a major-general ; at forty-two, commander-in-chief of the armies 
of the United States ; at forty-five, America's leading statesman ; and at 
forty-seven — here, murdered by his relentless rival, Aaron Burr." 

" Really murdered, Uncle Tom ? How dreadful ! " exclaimed Christine. 

" I thought he was killed in a duel," said Jack. " Duelling was n't called 
murder then." 

" He must have been murdered," said Roger, solemnly. " I know a 
verse my grandmother used to tell me. She got it from her father, she said. 
How did it go ? — something like this : 

" O Aaron Burr, what have you done ? 
You 've shot poor General Hamilton. 
You got behind a bunch of thistles 
And shot him dead with two horse-pistols." 

" Oh, see here, that is n't history, is it ? " exclaimed Bert. 

Uncle Tom laughed. 

"Current tradition done into doggerel," he said. "It was n't just like 
that, Roger, although, as I said, duelling is murder, and in this instance it 
was deliberate murder, even without the thistles and horse-pistols of your 
great-grandfather's rhyme. Burr was determined to kill Hamilton, while 
Hamilton fired his pistol in the air, simply wanting to follow out the form of 
a duel without its tragic ending. But if it killed Hamilton, physically, it 
killed Burr, morally and politically, for it proved to be the greatest mistake 
of his mistaken and wrongly balanced life. It rounded out Hamilton's 
fame, and drove Burr into treason and ignominy." 

As they turned from the grave of one of America's most brilliant states- 
men, and took the cable car up Broadway for home, Uncle Tom rehearsed 
briefly Hamilton's remarkable story : 

"Hamilton was born in 1757 on the island of Nevis, one of — who 
knows where Nevis is ? " he asked. 

They were good geography scholars and not to be caught napping. 

" One of the Leeward Islands, down Venezuela way," said Bert. 

"Yes, and an English possession," added Uncle Tom. "Well, there 




Alexander Hamilton was born in 1757, and before he was ten years old 
had to look out for himself. He was a remarkably bright boy eYen then; 
he had ambitions and aspirations, and told his boy friends he meant to be 
somebody in the world when he grew up. Before he was in his teens he 
became the confidential clerk of his employer, a merchant in the distant 
island of Santa Cruz ; there, too, he wrote and read a great deal and showed 
so much talent that friends sent him to the northern colonies for an educa- 
tion. He went to school in New Jersey and then to King's College (now 
Columbia). In 1774 he made a visit to Boston, and heard so much talk 
about liberty that he came back to New York a full-fledged patriot — " 

" Boston air," asserted Roger in an aside to Jack ; " that 's the effect it has 
on New Yorkers." 

"Is that so?" drawled Jack. "Why, my son, Golden Hill came two 
months before the Boston massacre; Uncle Tom said so." 

But Uncle Tom had not caught this side sparring and was going on 
with his story. 



" Soon after his return, in an open-air mass meeting where he thought the 
speakers were not convincing enough, Hamilton, then a boy of seventeen, 
sprang to his feet and made a ' spur-of-the-moment ' speech that set all his 
hearers on fire and brought him at once into favor as a popular orator. 

■From the painting by Trumbull, 1792 ; now owned by the New York Chamber of Commerce. 

When war really came, Hamilton enlisted at once. He led an artillery com- 
pany at the battle of Long Island, and soon attracted the attention of Wash- 
ington, who added him to his staff as an aide-de-camp. He fought through 
the Revolution, led the last charge at Yorktown, where Cornwallis surren- 
dered, and came out of it all as Colonel Hamilton, aged twenty-five." 

" My, though ! he was a smart one, was n't he?" said Marian. 

" Yes ; he might have been a great soldier and a famous one," said Uncle 



Tom, " if he had not made a 
still higher record as a states- 
man. He had a remarkable 
mind, you understand, and saw, 
even before older and more ex- 
perienced men recognized it, 
the need of something reliable 
and binding if the Colonies 
were to be a real nation. When 
he was twenty- four, in a letter 
to a friend, he outlined many 
of the provisions that, seven 
years later, found place in the 

" I remember the man in the 
State Department told us that," 
said Bert. "Great, was n't 

" I tell you, Alexander was 
quite a boy," Jack declared 

Tearing down the King's arms. 


"After the Revolution," continued Uncle Tom, "Hamilton began busi- 
ness as a lawyer here in New York, but gave up his practice to go to 
Congress, and, later, to become a member of the convention that drafted and 
adopted the new Constitution of the United States, of which, as I have said, 
he was largely the father and framer. When the new nation was fairly on 
its feet, President Washington made Hamilton Secretary of the Treasury, 
and it was this wonderful financier of thirty-two who saved the young repub- 
lic from bankruptcy and failure. Did any of you ever hear what Daniel 
Webster said of Hamilton and his services to the republic as Secretary of 
the Treasury ? " 

No one seemed to remember, and Uncle Tom quoted Webster's famous 
words, from his eulogy on Hamilton in 1 83 1 : 

" He smote the rock of the national resources, and abundant streams of revenue gushed 
forth. He touched the dead corpse of Public Credit, and it sprung upon its feet." 

" That 's fine, is n't it ! " exclaimed Jack. " Say, boys, D. W. knew how 
to put things, did n't he ? " 

"A great man always makes strong enemies, just as he creates faithful 
followers," continued Uncle Tom. " Hamilton was the object alike of the 
deepest admiration and the most bitter hatred. Chief among his enemies 
was Aaron Burr, a bold, shrewd, vindictive, and unscrupulous political 
' boss ' of that time. He knew that Hamilton saw through his schemes, 
fathomed his ambitions, and intended to thwart his designs. He set delib- 
erately to work to fasten a quarrel upon Hamilton and kill him. He suc- 
ceeded, and the famous and tragic duel across the river yonder, on the 
Weehawken shore, ended the earthly career of Hamilton, but raised him, 
as I have told you, to a pinnacle of fame which stands out all the bolder 
and more gloriously as the years go by. The man who thought out the 
Constitution of the United States, and the way in which the new nation 
should be firmly established and successfully ' run,' is not likely to fade 
from the grateful memories of the citizens of the great republic he prophe- 
sied and prepared for. That ends my lecture, boys and girls. Here 's our 
corner. Now for home and morning church." 

A day or two after this journey in patriotic paths, Uncle Tom took his 
young people far up-town on the west side of Manhattan Island. He 
pointed out to them the crest of the hill where was fought the battle of 
Harlem Heights, in which the young artillery captain Hamilton first at- 
tracted the attention of Washington, and where now rise the walls of the 
magnificent successor to that young patriot's modest college — then King's, 
now the new Columbia. 



Soon they crested another hill, and stood at last amid the continually 
rising city mansions of this sightly part of upper New York — Convent 
Avenue between 14.26. and 143d streets. 

Midway in this block, on the western side of Convent Avenue, Uncle 
Tom came to a standstill, and pointing to a clump of rather scraggy and 
slanting trees closely bunched together, said : 
" Count them ! " 

"Thirteen," announced Roger. "What are they?" 

"These thirteen trees," said Uncle Tom, impressively, "were planted 
by Alexander Hamilton to commemorate the union of the thirteen Amer- 
ican colonies into a nation, after the 
adoption of the Constitution, in 
which he had so important a share. 
They have lasted thus long. They 
are now the property of the city. 
Let us hope the advance of popula- 
tion will not smother or overthrow 
these last memorials of the home 
of Alexander Hamilton." 

"Why, was this his home?" in- 
quired Marian. 

"The Grange, Hamilton's country 
house, stood just to the left of that 
clump of trees," said Uncle Tom. 
" Now it has been removed. There 
it stands across the way, next to 
that Episcopal church." 

With much interest the boys and 
girls looked across the avenue where, 
on the eastern side, stood the re- 
moved and renovated homestead of Hamilton, which he so dearly loved, 
and from which he had gone direct to his death that fatal nth of July, 1804. 
Jack shook his head meditatively, as if he too were recalling Hamilton's 
tragic story. 

" It was a great shame," he said emphatically. " What a pity ! I 
suppose there always are two sides to a story, and there ma}- have been 
lots of outs about Hamilton — but I don't care; he was a great man, and I 
say three cheers for him." 

"We are none of us perfect, Jack," said Uncle Tom; "but I am trying 
to show you young folks, in our great Americans, the things to remember, 

Convent Avenue, New York. 



not the things to forget. Alexander Hamilton was born to be great. 
Marshall, our foremost Chief Justice, ranked him next to Washington. No 
man has made a deeper mark on American history, or is entitled to a more 
exalted station in the remembrance of the republic. He was a great orator, 

On Convent Avenue, New York; now a school. 

a great lawyer, the ablest politician and statesman of his day, a fine soldier, 
an organizer without a rival. Whatever he touched he mastered, and if 
ever he made a mistake he was not afraid to say so. But though some- 
times mistaken, he never failed. Hamilton's name stands for success, and 
his story should be an inspiration to the boys and girls of America, for it 
shows them that worthy ambition rightly pursued brings to men merited 
success and enduring fame." 

"Albert, my son," said Jack, patting his cousin on the head, "be a 





Where Fra?iklin lived — An Extraordinary Man — The Story of a Help- 
ful Life — Landmarks and Relies — Independence Hall and the Liberty 

NCLE Tom stopped short and glanced about him. 

" It must have been somewhere near this very spot," he 
said, " that a certain runaway Boston boy once did that dif- 
ficult act, referred to in Boston by my friend Jack, of walk- 
ing along with a roll under each arm, eating a third, and at 
the same time ' casting sheep's eyes ' at a girl on the front stoop." 

At once Jack thrust, first, a guide-book, and then a newspaper under 
Roger's arms, and forced a banana into his hand. 

" Try it on, Roger," he said. "You '11 answer for the runaway Boston 
boy. Christine, you go stand in that doorway. We '11 make the whole 
Franklin story realistic." 

But neither Roger nor Christine appeared to enter heartily into the 
spirit of what Jack styled his "realistic reproduction of an historic event," 
and Uncle Tom hurried the laughing group up Market street ; for they 
were abroad, investigating old-time Philadelphia. 

Suddenly he stopped again. Midway in the block between Third and 
Fourth streets, on, the southern side of Market, he spied a queer, arched 
passage, and at once dived into it, followed by his wondering companions. 

The alleyway widened as they advanced. Half way toward Chestnut 
street Uncle Tom stopped a third time. 

" Here, boys and girls," he said, "once stood the house of the most ex- 
traordinary of Americans — Benjamin Franklin." 

"Most extraordinary place to have a house," declared Bert. 

" Here, in the middle of this block of the back doors of buildings, 
Uncle Tom?" cried Marian. "How funny!" 

5 65 




" As if they were here then, goosey ! " exclaimed Jack. 

Warehouses and blank walls hedged in the narrow court. It was nei- 
ther attractive nor suggestive; but in Uncle Tom's eyes it was a shrine 
before which all patriotic Americans could stand with feelings of reverence. 

The queer, narrow cut ran through the block from Market to Chestnut 
streets, and midway, so Uncle Tom assured them, had stood the house 
where Franklin lived with his dearly loved wife Deborah. 

" The girl at whom he cast sheep's eyes while doing the three-loaves act, 
was n't she?" inquired Jack. 

" The same," said Uncle Tom — " Miss Deborah Read. Nothing remains 
of that house now. But from here went out truths that instructed the 
world; from here went the philosopher with his kite and his son into the 
fields beyond the town to experiment with the lightning — the pioneer of 
electrical science." 

"That makes me think of that statue of him in front of the Electricitv 
Building at the World's Fair," said Marian, " with his kite and all, you know." 


Made for the Electricity Building, World's Fair Grounds, Chicago, 1893, and 

now on the grounds of the University of Pennsylvania. 




"He was a pioneer in many other things too, was he not?" inquired 

"Indeed he was," Uncle Tom replied. "I know of no case in history 
of a man with equal genius for 'starting things.' Let me see if I can give 
you a list of the things which Benjamin Franklin set afloat." 

Uncle Tom stood in the shade of a warehouse doorway, and ran over 
the list: 

" He improved the printing-press, and introduced stereotyping and mani- 
fold letter-writers ; he cured chimneys of smoking ; bettered the shape and 
rig of ships ; showed sailors the practical use of the Gulf Stream, and told 
them how to keep provisions fresh at sea. He improved soup-plates for 
men and water-troughs for beasts ; he drained swamp-lands, and made 
them fertile and fruitful ; he improved fireplaces, and invented stoves ; he 
showed how to heat public buildings, and invented automatic fans to cool 
hot rooms and to keep off flies ; he made double spectacles for far- and near- 
sighted folks ; he invented a musical instrument, and improved an electrical 
machine ; he taught men that lightning was electricity, relieved it of its ter- 
rors, and harnessed it to do the will of man ; he invented lightning-rods, 

and was the first advocate of electrocu- 
tion for killing animals instantly and 
without pain ; he thought out phonog- 
raphy and shorthand ; improved car- 
riage wheels, wind-mills, and water- 
wheels ; he revolutionized the covering 
of roofs ; he invented sidewalks and 
crossing-stones, — at least for Philadel- 
phia, — and showed that streets could be 
swept and kept clean. He founded the 
first philosophical society in America, 
the first improvement club, the first free 
schools outside of New England, the 
first public library, the first fire com- 
pany, and the first periodical magazine. 
He started the Philadelphia police force 
and the first volunteer militia. He in- 
troduced the idea of humanity in war ; 
protected the Indians; founded the first 
anti-slavery society ; and introduced into America, from Europe, seeds, vines, 
and vegetables new to the Western world. That 's a pretty good record of first 
things, is n't it ? I don't believe you can match it in the history of the world." 





" He snatched the thunderbolt from heaven and the 

scepter from tyrants." 



" Whew ! what a head he must have had ! " said Jack. " Did he ever eat 
and sleep ? " 

" Well, I guess ! " exclaimed Bert. " He \s the fellow you 've had to go 
to bed by, many a time. Don't 
you know that Franklin was the 
man who said : 

" Early to bed and early to rise 
Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. 

Is n't that so, Uncle Tom ? " 

" Certainly it is," his uncle 
replied. " Benjamin Franklin 
was the author and maker of 
' Poor Richard's Almanack,' 
from which that rhyme comes, 
and which did more to influence 
public opinion in America than 
all the speeches of all the ora- 
tors. It was full of just such 
thrifty maxims and wise coun- 
sels as Bert has just quoted — 
simple verses telling a great 
truth that parents would repeat 
and children would always re- 
member. Franklin published 
his almanac annually for twenty- 
five years, and one student of 
history has declared that the 
battles of the American Revolu- 
tion could not have been fought 
between 1775 and 1783 if ' Poor 
Richard's Almanack ' had not 
been published from 1732 to 

Poor Rich a rd, 1 7 5 3. 

A N 


FortheYear ofChrift 


73 I 




iBeiflg the. Firft after I.EAP YEAR: 

, u .. ; " Aid makes fare the Creation Ycirs 

vJ-Bythe Account of the E.ftrrn Uretti 
• > By the Latin Church, when O ent. T 

! By the Computation pf W.tV. 

f By the Rfm^n Chronology ' 
i By the' Jev/ip Rabbies 

Wherein is contained 
I The. Lunations, Eciipfcs, Judgment. nf 

the Weather, Spring Tides, PlaWs Morion* & 
.mutual Afpects, Sun and Moon's Rifm?'and Set'- 
toting, Length of Days, Time "of High Water, 
'. Fairs, Courts, and obfervab!'-. D.i>s 
Fitted tothe Larirude oi Vorxs Degrees, 
and a Meridian of Five Hours Weft from / ontim, 
£ put may without fenfihle Error, ferveah the id- 
- jacent Places, even from Ne <wfomibmd to South- .< 
, Caroli na. , 



^Printed and fold by B. FR.JNKLIV, at thfrNew 

Printing Office near the Market. 

The Third Jmpicfiloa, 
1 758. There were hundreds and 
hundreds of homes in the Amer- 
ican colonies in which the fam- 
ilies knew and possessed only two books,— the Bible for Sunday reading, 
and ' Poor Richard's Almanack ' for the other six days of the week. As 
you can see from Master Bert here, people are quoting from it yet, though 
it stopped publication almost a hundred and fifty years ago." 


Title-page of the only existing copy of the first number, now in if 

possession of the Pennsylvania Historical Society, Philadelphia. 



Interested, thus, in the remarkable man who for many years was so 
closely identified with American history and the progress of the world, the 
man who, as his French admirers affirmed, " snatched the thunderbolt from 
heaven and the scepter from tyrants," the young people followed Uncle 
Tom from the narrow confines of Franklin alley along what Jack afterward 
referred to as " the trail of B. Franklin." 

They found signs of it in many quarters. They saw the great and 
beneficent Pennsylvania Hospital founded by him. Tucked away behind mo- 
dern and obtrusive buildings they found, on Fourth street, between Market 
and Arch, the first school building of the University of Pennsylvania, started 
by Franklin in i 75 1 . They visited the Philadelphia Library, organized by 
him in 1 73 1 ; they saw the place where he helped Jefferson draft the Declara- 
tion of Independence, the place where he argued for it, the table on which 
he signed it, and the room in which he advocated and signed the Consti- 
tution of the United States. In the rooms of the American Philosophical 
Association, a scientific society founded by him, they were privileged to see 
certain cherished memorials of this great man — twenty or more volumes of 
his autograph letters, personal, public, political, and private ; and the girls, 
with a touch of sentiment mingled with awe, hung over a priceless volume of 
Franklin's European letters to his wife in America. They were creased and 
time-stained, but the handwriting was strong and clear, and every letter be- 
gan " My dear child." 

From that hour, as Marian declared, she "just loved Franklin." 

There, too, they saw the chair in which Franklin presided at the meet- 
ings of his beloved Philosophical Association, when, during his last days, it 
assembled in his sick-room. Especially did this interest the boys, because of 
the ingenuity of the wise old man. For the seat of the great chair was re- 
versible : the upper side was a cushioned seat ; the under side, when tipped 
up, was a ladder by which the sick and aged Franklin could climb into his 
high four-post bed when the philosophical sessions were over. Uncle Tom 
declared that this ingenious contrivance impressed the boys mightily, even 
more than lightning-rods and wise sayings and sidewalks. 

At last they sought the final resting-place of this wonderful American, 
who from a Boston street ballad-seller rose to be the best-known man of his 
day in the two hemispheres. 

Where the high brick fence enclosing the old Christ Church burying- 
ground has been torn away, at the corner of Arch and Fifth streets, so that 
all who pass may see the spot from the street, they gathered before the iron 
railing that separated them from the grave of Franklin. 

It was a flat slab lying at their feet, and the girls, still under the influ- 
ence of the dear home letters they had seen, found a special significance 



and a peculiar beauty in the simple but joint memorial, inscribed only with 
the names of Benjamin Franklin and Deborah, his wife. 

" His life was just as simple as that slab," said Uncle Tom, as, resting from 
their wanderings, they sat together beneath the beautiful trees of Indepen- 
dence Square, " and just as eloquent 
by its very simplicity. And what a life 
it was ! I know of none into which 
was crowded more of good to the na- 
tion and the world, with less of per- 
sonal ambition or the vanity of glory." 
" Tell us his story, Uncle Tom," 
Christine requested. " I sort of 
know it, but I don't really." 

"Briefly, it is this',"said Uncle Tom : 
"A rather harum-scarum boy in the 
streets of old Boston, he began work- 
ing on his own hook when twelve 
years old, selling his own songs through 
the town, because he did not take kindlv 
to his father's business of candle-mak- 
ing. Then he became a printer, ran 
away from home to escape the tyranny 
of a brother, turned up on a Sunday morning here in Philadelphia, and found 
employment in a printing-office ; and here, at twenty years of age, he was pa- 
tronized by a governor, who sent him to England on false promises. Having 
a trade, however, he did not starve when failure met him. He returned, 
after two years in London, to Philadelphia, and set up a printing-office of 
his own on Market street ; he started a newspaper ; he became a bookseller, 
and next an almanac publisher ; then he was made clerk of the assembly, 
postmaster of Philadelphia, and finally postmaster general of the American 
colonies. A pretty good rise for the candle-maker's son, was it not? " 

" I should say it was," said Bert. How old was he when he was made 
postmaster-general, Uncle Tom ? " 

"About forty-six," his uncle replied. "But he had accomplished much 
else. The poor Boston boy, who had scarcely a year's schooling, was now 
master of six languages. He had tamed the lightning, had made his name 
known in Europe, received degrees, medals, and diplomas from the leading 
colleges in Europe and America, and had become, for all time, ' Doctor ' 
Franklin, philosopher and scientist." 

" When did he fly the kite that brought him all that fame, Uncle Tom ? " 
asked Marian. 

Fifth and Arch streets, Philadelphia. 






" On a June day in 1752," Uncle Tom replied, "out here in the fields 
just beyond the town. ■ Now, of course, that little hill is all built over. I 
wish I could locate it for you, for it is one of America's historic spots. 
Well, in 1757 he was sent to England as agent for Pennsylvania, and soon 
after was made agent, or representative, in England for all the colonies. He 
stayed there eighteen years, returning in time to be sent to Congress and 
sign the Declaration of Independence." 

"That 's the time he made the funny answer to Hancock, was n't it?" 
said Roger. 



" I don't know ; what was that, Roger? " Uncle Tom inquired. 
"Why, don't you remember? Hancock said, 'We must all be unanimous 
now; there must be no pulling apart; we must all hang together.' And 


Franklin replied, ' That 's true, John ; for if we don't, we shall all hang 
separately.' " 

"Cheerful old fellow, was n't he?" said Jack. "I do like a man who 
can make a joke just when you don't expect it." 

"Franklin was always bubbling over with fun," Uncle Tom declared. 
" The man who was quick to see the deep and serious side of life could also 
see its sunny and humorous side. That is what helped make him so well 
rounded. That same year he was sent as minister to the Court of France, 
and secured the help of that nation for the struggling colonies. He lived 
there ten years. Then he came home, was made president — that is, governor 
— of Pennsylvania ; went to Congress, and worked for and signed the new 
Constitution of the United States, when he was eighty-one years old, and, 
as you know, the oldest signer of that great document. Three years later, 
on the 17th of April, 1790, he died, aged eighty-four, and now lies buried 
beside his beloved Deborah, ' his wife,' beneath that simple slab in Christ 
Church burying-ground." 



Where Franklin and Washington went to church. 

"What a busy life!" exclaimed Christine. "And think of the things 
he did that you could n't get into the story, Uncle Tom ! I think he must 
have been a delightful old man." 

"He was indeed, Christine," Uncle Tom replied, "and as remarkable 
as he was charming. Self-taught, self-reared, self-made, the candle-maker's 
boy gave light to all the world ; the street ballad-seller set all men to sing- 
ing of liberty ; the runaway printer brought the nations to praise and honor 



him. And he was so well balanced ! Witty, but never malicious ; inflexible, 
but never obstinate ; strong-willed, but never tyrannical ; the wisest of men, 
but never conceited ; a statesman, but never a politician ; an office-holder, but 
never an office-seeker : he had all the attributes and none of the vices of 
greatness ; all the simplicity and none of the sordidness of success. With 
great understanding, he had still greater common sense, and, while asking 
few favors for himself, no man in the world ever set on foot so many good 
works of practical benevolence. Yes, yes ; he was a great man, my friends ; 
America's most remarkable production, I contend. Come, let 's go into 
Independence Hall, and have a look at the Liberty Bell." 

(&< '' 

Chateau de Chaumont. 

In the center of the very room in which was presented, adopted, and 
signed the immortal Declaration of Independence, within its protecting case 
of oak and glass, hung the historic bell which rang out in announcement of 
the great act of July 4, 1776. The children gathered about it with feelings 
of the deepest reverence. There, in the side, they saw the crack that burst 
in it as it tolled for the death of the great Chief-Justice Marshall. About 
the rim they could read its prophetic inscription : " Proclaim liberty through- 
out the land unto all the inhabitants thereof" ; and Uncle Tom told them 
that it had been mute and tongueless ever since the one hundred and thir- 
teenth birthday of Washington, when it had struck its last note. But he 
assured them that, by its silent presence in that memorial hall, and by its 
carefully guarded journeys north and south to expositions and national jubi- 



" Eloquent for loyalty, liberty's most efficient orator." 

lees, it had become eloquent for loyalty, liberty's most efficient orator. 
Even more than the table on which the Declaration had been signed and 
the chairs in which had sat the members of the Congress, did this voiceless 
old bell hold and fascinate the boys and girls. 

Uncle Tom shared their interest. 

" It certainly is one of the most impressive relics in the world," he de- 
clared, as they passed from the Congress room to the National Museum 
across the hall. " I always feel as though I were looking on a real par- 
ticipator in the historic event which it proclaimed so vigorously a hundred 
years or more ago." 

"As you are," Bert declared; while Christine, looking at the winding 
hall stair, exclaimed : 

" Oh, was it up those stairs that the boy ran to tell his grandfather to 
ring? " 

" You remember the old story, do you ? " laughed Uncle Tom. " Those 
should be the stairs, if they have not been renewed or rebuilt. As to the 
truth of that story, I am not prepared to decide." 

" It 's good enough to be true, anyhow," said Roger. 

" It 's all just like the poem," said Christine. " Let 's see, how did it 
go?" and she repeated the opening verse of the bell-ringer story as she 
had spoken it in school : 



JULY 4, 1776. 

" Squarely prim and stoutly built. 
Free from glitter and from gilt, 
Plain, from lintel up to roof-tree and to belfry 
bare and brown, 
Stands the Hall that hot July, 
While the folk throng anxious by, 
Where the Continental Congress meets within 
the Quaker town. 

" Hark ! a stir, a sudden shout. 
And a boy comes springing out, 
Signalling to where his grandsire in the 
belfry waiting stands : 
' Ring ! ' he cries ; ' the deed is done ! 
Ring ! they 've signed, and freedom 's 
won ! ' 
And the ringer grasps the bell-rope with his 
strong and sturdy hands ; 

While the Bell, with joyous note. 
Clanging from its brazen throat, 
Rings the tidings, all-exultant — peals the 
news from shore to sea : 
' Man is man — a slave no longer. 
Truth and Right than Might are stronger. 
Praise to God ! we 're free y tee 're free .' ' " 



They lingered long over the extensive collection of revolutionary relics 
in the museum room; they visited the Congress Hall, where Washington 
and Adams had both been inaugurated ; they hunted up the Supreme Court 
room in which had presided John Jay and Oliver Ellsworth, earliest of chief- 
justices. They studied or recalled all the associations that make Independ- 
ence Hall so notable an object lesson in American history, and Marian 
stood before the ancient fireplace in the Philosophical rooms on the exact 
spot where Washington posed for the celebrated Gilbert Stuart portrait. 

"Gilbert Stuart!" said Bert, " O, don't you remember? we found his 
grave in Boston." 

"Yes, in the old burying ground, inside of Boston Common," replied 


They visited Carpenters' Hall, farther down Chestnut street — a quaint 
reminder of colonial times, hedged about by great modern buildings, but with 
tiny courtyard and grass-plots. They read the inscription above the doors 
of the audience room: "Within these walls, Henry, Hancock, and Adams 
inspired the delegates of the colonies with nerve and sinew for the toils of 
war," and then were quite ready to hunt up that historic corner of Seventh 
and Walnut streets where, so the tablet in the new bank building announced 
to them, had stood the house in which Jefferson wrote the Declaration. 




They dipped still deeper into the past, and hunted up the site of the old 
houses which William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania, had built for him- 
self and his daughter on Letitia street, and so, at last, worked round again to 
dinner and the contemplation of Franklin — Philadelphia's most notable 
figure, as Uncle Tom declared. 

" I told you in Boston," he remarked, as the hungry tourists paused awhile 
between the roast and the dessert, "that, looking upon the spot where 
Franklin was born, I was inclined to put him down as the first real Ameri- 
can. The study of his life here in this city, for which he did so much, only 
strengthens me in that opinion. Benjamin Franklin was the product of his 
own age and the child of his own country." 

" How could he have been anything else," remarked practical Jack. 

" It does sound a bit like a self-evident truth, Jack, I admit," laughed 
Uncle Tom. " But I hope you know what I mean. He was preeminently 
what is called the ' child of his aee ' because he did more than any other 


American to glorify his age and shape the destinies of his country. The 
ballad-peddler of Boston, the runaway printer's apprentice, made his name 
famous in two continents, and, for his native land, joined liberty and law to 
progress and common sense. Here, in this fine old city, he organized educa- 
tion, benevolence, and industry ; here he conquered the lightning, estab- 
lished independence, and cemented union. With Franklin as a model, our 
boys can aspire to anything and accomplish much. With his life as a guide 
anci his integrity as a text, the American of to-day can shape himself into 
a better patriot, a broader-minded American, a more devoted citizen of 
the republic. Now for Fairmount Park and the charming Wissahickon ! " 

Delaware River in foreground. 

X ?. 

O -a 

2 I 

3 1 

z - 



Philadelphia's Place in Hisiory — A New Plan of Pilgrimage — /// the 
Mouth of the Chesapeake — The Old Dominion — Richmond and Pat- 
rick Henry. 

ENI, Vidi, Vici! "exclaimed Bert, as, their three days' stay- 
in Philadelphia over, the boys and girls were on their way 
back to New York. 

" Modest, even for a classical crank ! " retorted Jack. 
"How have you conquered, Mr. Julius Caesar Albert 

" Why, I mean we 've seen about everything there is to see in our line 
in Philadelphia," exclaimed Bert. " Is n't that so ? " 

"Right you are," replied Jack, "and I m bound to confess, Roger my 
boy," he added, turning to his Boston friend, " that, historically at least, the 
Quaker City pushes the Hub pretty close. I had n't any idea, Uncle Tom, 
that Philadelphia was such a treasure chest of relics." 

" Live and learn, Jack," said Uncle Tom. " The fact is, scarcely any city 
in the United States possesses so many historic buildings and sites as Phila- 
delphia. It is one of the oldest municipalities, and has kept steadily ad- 
vancing since Penn's day. For years it was the national capital, and it has 
been its good fortune to have carefully and watchfully preserved many of 
the buildings that have a place in American history." 

They had scoured the old city thoroughly, from Penn's landing-place and 
Franklin's " cake walk," as Jack insisted on calling lower Market street, to 
the new City Hall and Grant's " headquarters " cottage in Fairmount Park. 
They saw a game of ball at Girard College ; went through the splendid 
new bourse, — the "home of the money-changers," Uncle Tom called it; 
visited the Zoo and the Memorial Art Building, reminders of the nation's 
one hundredth birthday ; saw Decatur's grave in the old burying-ground 

8 4 



on Third street ; and even extended their investigations to Germantown 
and Valley Forge. 

Now they were homeward bound ; but Uncle Tom had not yet reached 
the end. He had a new plan to propose ; and when, after a few days at 
home, he brought it to the attention of what Marian called his " pilgrim 
band," it was, naturally, greeted with shouts of approval. 

This new plan was nothing more than a trip by water to Fort Monroe, 
and then, striking inland, a spring excursion to the homes of certain great 
and famous Americans. 

Uncle Tom's plan was warmly assented to by Mr. Dunlap, the father of 
Jack and Marian. For, as you may remember, when he first sent them to 
Washington to study the Government under Uncle Tom's direction, Mr. 
Dunlap had insisted that young Americans should see and know their own 
land first before attempting Europe. 

It so happened that the homes of the great men " slated" by Uncle Tom 
all lay on or near a direct route to the West. It did not "happen," how- 
ever, Uncle Tom assured them. "Nothing happens," he said. " There is a 
reason for all things." And it was with reason, he declared, that nearlv all 
America's famous ones were "border" men, and, hence, that western lay 
their line of travel. Once decided upon, the energetic " personal conductor" 
soon had the trip planned, the excursion tickets procured, all minor details 
arranged, and within four days after decision the five tourists and their men- 
tor were at sea, southward bound. 

It was early in the morning when the steamer passed the lonely light- 
ship off Cape Charles and entered Chesapeake Bay. Even there the broad 
gateway to the West looked like the open sea ; but Uncle Tom reminded the 
boys and girls of the historic events that wide waterway had witnessed since 
first Spaniard and Frenchman tacked cautiously in, searching for the " West- 
ern Passage " to Cathay in the early days of American discover}-. 

" Here, sailing into fame," said Uncle Tom, sweeping with his compre- 



hensive gesture the water-line that stretched from cape to cape, "came Cap- 
tain John Smith, most adventurous of Englishmen ; over this course came 
the early Virginia colonists, and, later, Lord Delaware and the founder of 
Maryland. Out from here, bound for their English home, sailed Pocahontas 
and John Rolfe ; and in between these sandy shores came the famous Dutch 
ship with its cargo of negro slaves and the seeds of future discord. Pioneers 
and pirates, traders and travelers, Roundheads and Cavaliers, supply ships 
and prison ships, troop ships and tobacco ships, royal governors, arrogant 
and assuming, royal governors, disgusted or disgraced — all these, in the 
early days, sailed in or out through this broad water-gate, to the help or the 

hindrance of the Old Dominion and 
the future republic." 
" Why was it called the Old Do- 
minion, Uncle Tom ? " Bert in- 
"Virginia so styled herself be- 
cause of her steadfast loyalty 
to the good-for-nothing Stu- 
arts all through the days of 
the English Commonwealth 
and the mighty Cromwell," 
Uncle Tom replied, with 
the emphasis to be 
expected of so 
sturdy an ad- 




mirer of Cromwell, so firm a hater of the Stuarts. Indeed, Uncle Tom im- 
pressed it upon his tourists that America would never sufficiently honor 
herself until in the capital of the republic should rise a statue of the man 
to whom America owes so much — Oliver Cromwell, greatest of Englishmen. 
" The Stuarts have their trade-marks all about this region," Uncle Tom 
declared. " These two capes between which we are passing were named 
for the two Stuart boys — Henry and Charles, sons of that crowned block- 
head of a James who so scandalously put to death the father of Virginia 
and one of the beginners of American history and progress, Sir Walter 
Raleigh, soldier and statesman." 

"Oh, he was the cloak-man, was n't he?" cried Marian. "I mean 
the young courtier who spread his velvet mantle in the mud for Queen 
Elizabeth to walk over." 

" That was Raleigh," assented Uncle Tom ; " and though 
he never sailed these waters himself, he sent expeditions 
here, and did much toward the establishment of Virginia 
and the development of America. A noble historic figure 
is Raleigh, boys and girls. You should know his story, 
both for its dramatic outlines and for the bearing it has 
on American history." 

The steamer plowed its steady course through this gleam- 
ing water-gate to the West, while Uncle Tom, still intent on 
giving a real atmosphere to facts, continued his catalogue 
of happenings that had made their surroundings historic. 
" Over these shining waters and past these low-lying 
shores," he said, "sped the messenger bearing to the 
worthless Charles Stuart, known as Charles the Second, 
baleigh «nd eu^e™. anc j ^\ lcn a fugitive in Flanders, the colony's invitation to 
come to the Old Dominion and be crowned King of Virginia. Here sailed 
the Virginia vessels that were a part of that ill-fated expedition against 
Carthagena in South America, led by the English admiral Vernon, who 
gave his name to the dearly loved Potomac home of Washington — Mount 
Vernon. Here sailed George Washington himself on the only foreign 'tour' 
he ever attempted, when, as a boy of eighteen, he accompanied his sick 
brother Lawrence to Barbadoes. Here, years after, came the ships of the 
Frenchman De Grasse, sailing to the final victory of the Revolution at 
Yorktown — that way, to the north; and here, eighty years later, Northern 
and Southern seamen met in fight on that momentous March day in 1862, 
when a certain little 'cheese-box on a raft' — the plucky Monitor — came 
steaming along right where we are now, and, just in the nick of time, put an 


end to destruction, and revolutionized the naval war- 
fare of the world. See, before us lies Hampton 
Roads ! " 

The great sheet of water stretched on before them, 
shining in the bright spring sun. To the right rose 
the green sloping battlements of Fort Monroe, backed 
by the great hotels of Old Point Comfort ; to the left 
lay the wooded Virginia shores ; far ahead, the broad 
channel showed the way to Norfolk city, broken only 
by the odd little island of the Rip Raps, with its dis- 
mantled fort, between which and the yellow beach of 
Old Point Comfort they saw swinging at anchor the 
great white water-birds of the new American navy. 

"The heirs, executors, and assigns of the little 
Monitor, eh, Uncle Tom ? " said Bert. 

"And right here was where the fight came off, 
was it ? " cried Jack, while the girls capped his query 
with the verdict, " How interesting !" 

"Yes; there, before us, lies the scene of that now 
famous encounter," Uncle Tom replied — "the only 
incident of the Civil War, by the way," he continued, 
"that Congress allows a place on the walls of the 
Capitol. There you saw, when you were in Wash- 
ington, you remember, the picture of the fight be- 
tween the Mcrrimac and the Monitor ; not because 
it was a Northern victory, — for, indeed, it was really 
but a drawn battle, — but because that memorable 
sea-fight marked a new era in naval history, and 
made a new starting-point for the navies of the 
world. Just now, gentlemen and ladies, you are 
sailing over an historic point. For here was the 
beginning of the formidable modern navy, in which 
yonder great White Squadron has so prominent a 

" Mighty interesting piece of water this, is n't it? " 
said Jack, voicing the general opinion of the " crowd." 

But Roger, with thoughts of Plymouth Rock and 
Fort Warren in mind, was inclined to enter a quali- 

"That's only because Uncle Tom makes it so," 


8 9 

Showing Ihe battleground of the " Monitor" and " Merritnac.' 

he declared. "Is it any more his- 
toric than an)' other big harbor, 
Uncle Tom ? " 

" Not any more so, but fully as historic, Roger," Uncle Tom replied. 
"In fact, the great bays on our Atlantic coast-line have all been, since discov- 
ery, gateways to the West, and through their open portals have ceaselessly 
come the makers of America — peculiar people all. Into Massachusetts 
Bay sailed Pilgrim and Puritan ; into New York Bay, Dutchman and Wal- 
loon ; into Delaware Bay, Swede and Quaker ; into Chesapeake Bay, Cava- 
lier, Churchman, and Catholic ; and into the Carolina sounds, Scotchman and 
German. All of these, in their way, made each great water-gate historic, as 
through privation and pluck they became colonists, Englishmen, Americans. 
But at first the elements were all singularly diverse. We need to remem- 
ber, when we grumble about foreign immigration, that we were all foreign- 
ers once; that the red Indian is the only native American, and that we at- 
tained our birthright gradually and by slow development." 



.MJKpt. - -.! 



" But surely, Uncle Tom," exclaimed dainty Marian, "you would n't put 
our ancestors alongside the riffraff that comes in the steerage to-day, would 
you ? " 

But for answer Uncle Tom, too wise to be led into argument, merely 
turned to his niece with a smile, and dropped into poetry. 

" 'T is distance lends enchantment to the view, 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue," 

he said. " Come ! all off for Old Point ! To-day we are the immigrants." 

A delightful day was spent on that sandy spot where, of old, the storm- 
tossed Virginia colonists first found relief and solid ground, and gratetully 
called the land Point Comfort. 

The young people critically examined the two great hotels, they visited 
the White Squadron, they roamed about the green embrasured fortress that 
fronts the sea and gives a martial air to the little town that has grown up 
about it. The boys studied the preparations for mounting the queer new 
"disappearing gun," the girls walked the whole circuit of the wide, water- 
filled moat, and felt almost like medieval maidens in some moated castle of 
the days of Ivanhoe or Ouentin Durward, while all the young people gazed 
with equal interest upon the room that had been Jefferson Davis's prison, 

/.' ' " *"'• , 

A struggle for possession in the early days of America. 

9 2 


and the grove of live oaks on the great parade- 
ground, beneath which the boys and girls who have 
the delightful experience of living inside a fortress 
were bicycling or playing ball. 

After a most interesting trolley-trip to Hampton 
and its famous school, — fit monument to the vigor, 
patience, and self-sacrifice of that true American, 
General Armstrong, — the whole party boarded the 


train, backed all the way down 
to Newport News, and then 
steamed " on to Richmond," 
eighty miles away. The road 
lay through a region rich in 
the associations of two stirring 
epochs in American history — 
the Revolution and the Civil 

" Over that way, a few miles to the east," Uncle Tom said, "lies York- 
town, where the Revolution came to an end, while here to the right, at our 
very next stopping-place, was sounded one of the first bugle-blasts of the 

" What place is that?" queried Marian. 
But Bert was already studying his time-table. 

" Williamsburg,'' he announced. "Let 's see; is n't there an old, old 
college there ? " 

"Yes," Uncle Tom replied; "William and Mary College, the oldest 
college in the United States, excepting Harvard. Washington was its chan- 
cellor ; Presidents Jefferson, Monroe, and Tyler, Chief-Justice Marshall, and 
General Winfield Scott were once students there. In that old town were 
the headquarters of Nathaniel Bacon, earliest of American rebels against 



kingly authority. There stood the old Capitol building in which Washing- 
ton sat as a burgess, and in which young Thomas Jefferson heard Patrick 
Henry's first famous and fiery speech against the crown." 

" That was n't the ' liberty-or-death' speech, was it, Uncle Tom ? " asked 

" No; it was earlier than that," Uncle Tom replied. " It was the speech 
he made in connection with his resolutions against the Stamp Act, and in it 


he thundered out : ' Caesar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, 
and George the Third — ' ' Treason, treason ! ' came the cry from the 
scandalized loyalists, — ' may profit by their example,' said Henry; and then 
added, ' If this be treason, make the most of it ! ' " 

" That was great ! " cried Jack. " I tell you, he had sand, had n't he ! " 
" How that must have rattled those old Tories ! " said Ro^er. 




'Earliest of American rebels against kingly authority.' 

"It did n't rattle Mr. P. Henry, though, did it? " said Jack. "A great 
orator, was n't he, Uncle Tom ? " 

" Did he ever do anything more than that speech and the ' liberty-or- 
death ' one ? " inquired Marian. 



" Who? Henry ? Why," said Uncle Tom, " he was for years one of the 
foremost figures in Virginia history. We remember him to-day only for 
those two famous speeches, but he filled many offices, declined many, and 
just escaped election as Vice-President." 

"Then he must have had a story, the same as the other men you have 
told us about," said Christine. " Did n't he, Uncle Tom ? " 

"Yes, my dear; he had a story," Uncle Tom replied. "He began 
with the same unpromising youth so many great men have shown. He 
was a careless country boy, loving hunting and fishing more than study, 
loafing more than books — " 

" Who does n't ? " said Jack, sotto voce. But Uncle Tom heard him. 

" Not you, Jack, I 'm sure," he said. 

"What! think I had n't rather go fishing than peg away at problems 
in geometry?" cried Jack. "Well, I guess 

" Now, Jack, I 'm not going to think 
as poorly of you as that," protested 
Uncle Tom. " Of course I '11 admit 
that a shady bank, a hook and line, and 
plenty of bites are more interesting than 
a proposition in Euclid ; but as between 
the two for a real mind developer and 
intellectual spur, I don't think so prac- 
tical and wide-awake a fellow as you 
would hesitate in choice. Greatness 
comes because of persistence quite as 
much as because of genius, and it was 
persistence even more than genius that 
made our dozen or more famous Ameri- 
cans great and immortal." 

" But about Patrick Henry," prompted Bert, who always liked to stick 
to the subject. 

" Did n't he have genius? " asked Jack. 

" I should not call it genius," said Uncle Tom. " With him it was more 
the inspiration of the moment or the spur of necessity that turned his tongue 
to fire. He was what we might call an instigator to liberty, as was Otis in 
Boston, and the boy Hamilton in New York." 

" How soon was it before he became an orator? " Marian inquired. 

" Not until he was twenty-seven years old," was Uncle Tom's reply. 
" His youth, as I have told you, was a careless, happy-go-lucky existence; 
he never succeeded at anything and stuck to nothing long. But when at 



# last he blundered into eloquence, under a terrible pressure, — in what is 
known in history as 'the Parsons' cause,' a matter of church taxes which 
the people resisted, — he sprang at once into popularity as ' the people's 
champion.' " 

" That, I suppose, set him up in business," suggested Jack. 

" It certainly did," said Uncle Tom. " From that day he became a 
prominent figure in Virginia history. It brought him practice as a lawyer, 
advancement as a public man, power as a politician. He became a member 
of the House of Burgesses, — what we call the legislature, you know, — a 
political leader in Virginia, a delegate to the first and second Continental 
Congresses, first commander of Virginia's Revolutionary army, first governor 
of the State of Virginia, being twice reelected. After that, he declined to 
serve as member of the Constitutional Convention, as United States senator, 
as secretary of State, as governor of Virginia for the fourth time, as Chief- 
Justice of the United States, as ambassador to France, and as Vice-President 
of the United States. One or all of these high honors might have been 
Patrick Henry's had he but said yes." 

" Well, I don't see but he had a fine record as a decliner," said Roger. 

" Must have gone into a decline early," suggested Jack the incorrigible. 

" Many a true word is spoken in jest, boy Jack," Uncle Tom said with a 
smile. "That really was a leading reason for those continued refusals to 
hold office. For the last twenty-five years of his life Henry was a confirmed 
invalid, and, as you grow older, boys and girls, you will learn that ill health 
dulls the edge of energy." 

" I suppose it does take the starch out of a fellow," said Jack. " But 
seems to me our ' liberty-or-death ' friend might have braced up and stuck 
to things." 

" Well, I suppose he would have done so had he been better satisfied 
with the way things were going," Uncle Tom replied. "But, you see, there 
was a lot of criticism afloat in those early days of the republic, and that was 
one thing that Parick Henry could not stand. He hated to have his mo- 
tives questioned, and he chafed under restraint. That, in fact, was one cause 
of his eloquence. As an orator he had remarkable powers ; but as a leader 
he was uncertain and a bit headstrong, so that he often found his boat in 
troubled waters." 

" But Washington trusted him," asserted Bert. 

"Yes; Washington saw his good points and appreciated his sincer- 
ity, devotion, and loyalty," Uncle Tom replied. "Washington could handle 
him, and it is certainly to the credit of Patrick Henry that two such wise 
and well-balanced men as Washington and Adams stood his friends and 



On their way 10 Philadelphia as delegates to the First Continental Congress. 

Their study of Patrick Henry's character was resumed when, next day, 
they, as Jack expressed it, "crossed his tracks again" in Richmond. 

It was in the old church of St. John, a plain but picturesque old bit of 
pre- Revolutionary architecture, standing on Church Hill, on the corner of 
Broadway and Twenty-fourth streets. A trolley car left them at the gate. 
Christine declared she never could get used to the strange mixture of the old 
and the new — " trolley cars and Patrick Henry ! " she exclaimed. 

The sexton came from his little office building and unlocked the side 
door of the old church, which, he explained, had been considerably enlarged 
since Revolutionary days. 

" It must have been a bandbox then," was Marian's comment, " for it is n't 
very big now." 

But large or small, it was big with interest for them all. For when the 
sexton, pointing to the third pew in the little block of seats on the right of 


the entrance, informed them that " in that pew Patrick Henry made his 
great speech that every boy and girl of you knows by heart, I reckon," 
there was an immediate scramble by the five to stand on the identical spot 

where the familiar words were 

Jack, indeed, with his irrepress- 
ible spirits, faced the chancel 
where the chairman of the con- 
vention sat on that memorable 
March day in 1775, and would 
at once have branched out into 
the famous speech. 

But when he had gone as far 
as " Mr. President, it is natural to 
man to indulge in the illusions 
of hope," Uncle Tom interfered, 
and reminded him that oratory 
was not included in the permis- 
sion to enter. 

The pleas of the other boys 
and girls, however, who always 
liked to hear Jack "orate," and 
the good nature of the interested 
sexton, led Uncle Tom to compromise on the closing paragraph of the 
oration, which Jack rendered with appreciation and effect, standing in the 
precise spot from which those wonderful words were uttered by Patrick 
Henry a hundred and twenty years and more ago : 

"It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace, 
but there is no peace. The war is actually begun. The next gale that 
sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms. 
Our brethren are already in the field. Why stand we here idle ? What 
is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear or peace 
so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it. 
Almighty God ! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, 
give me liberty, or give me death ! " 

" That was a great speech, was n't it, though ! " Roger remarked, as, 
leaving the church, they stood in the shade of one of the spreading trees, 
trying to decipher the inscription on an ancient stone. " I don't wonder it 
has never been forgotten." 

" It was never forgotten by those who heard it, friend or foe," Uncle 




Tom declared. " No report 
was made of it at the time, 
but, until old age, men who 
had listened to it in breath- 
less excitement could recall 
its burning sentences and 
the method of delivery. 
Jack gave the close very 
well. I have heard boys in 
school tear it into tatters 
when they came to the ' lib- 
erty or death.' But that 
was not Patrick Henry's 
style of oratory. There is 
to-day in the library of Cor- 
nell University a manu- 
script account of the speech, 
written by one who heard 
and never forgot it. This 
is the way, according to the 
writer, that Patrick Henry 
Sfave the closing sentence: 
' Is life so dear or peace so 
sweet as to be purchased at 
the price of chains and slav- 
ery ? ' he uttered in the atti- 
tude of one condemned to 
slavery, bowed under the 
weight of fetters. With that he paused, and raising hand and eyes 
to heaven, prayed, ' Forbid it, Almighty God ! ' Dropping his hand, he 
turned toward the Tories and Loyalists, who sat spell-bound and terrified 
at his audacious speech, and with form bent low he said hopelessly, ' I know 
not what course others may take,' and then, straightening himself as if strain- 
ing against his fetters, he hissed through clenched teeth, ' but as for me,' 
changing into the triumphant trumpet call, ' give me liberty ; ' thus he stood, 
as the manuscript says, 'a magnificent incarnation of Freedom,' until, finally, 
after an impressive pause, his left hand dropped to his side powerless ; his 
right hand was clenched, as if holding a dagger to his breast ; then it struck 
the imaginary weapon into his heart as the closing words came out, fear- 
lessly, victoriously, like a heroic dirge — ' or give me death ! ' There you 




have the methods of a born orator, boys and girls. I 'm afraid if you tried 
it that way, however, you might overdo the thing ; for it is but a step, you 
know, from the sublime to the ridiculous. But Patrick Henry was an orator 
above everything else ; and it is as the orator of resistance, of liberty, of 
patriotism that America will remember him forever and ever." 

" Where did he live, Uncle Tom ? Here in Richmond ? " Christine in- 
quired, still interested in the search for "local color." 

" No, not in Richmond," Uncle Tom replied. " Henry lived quite a way 
to the southwest of Richmond, in what is now Charlotte County, just a few 
miles south of historic Appomattox. His fine plantation was called Red 
Hill, and to-day it is the country residence of the great orator's descen- 
dants, to one of whom I hope to introduce you all to-day." 

This was interesting, and, in fact, Uncle Tom did keep his promise. 
For, later in the day, each one of the five was presented to a courteous and 
delightful " gentleman of the old school " whom they afterward referred to 
as " the real grandson of the real Patrick Henry." 

The incident impressed them strongly, for they felt as if, somehow, they 
had been brought by that introduction into direct contact with that great 
and glorious past which had proclaimed liberty to the nations and given a 
new and splendid republic to the world. 



John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United States. 



Richmond on the James — A City Set on a Hill — Relics and Reminders — 
A Jeffcrsonian Atmospliere — No Sectionalism in Hci'oism. 

HE young people were delighted with Richmond. As, early 
in the morning, the best time to see any place to advan- 
tage, they rode about the famous old capital from one his- 
toric point to another, they were quite ready to echo Daniel 
Webster's verdict, "Truly, the city hath a pleasant seat." 
" Daniel Webster?" exclaimed Bert. " Why, I thought that was Shak- 
spere — in ' Macbeth.' " 

" Quite right, Mr. Scholar," replied Uncle Tom, who had made the quo- 
tation ; " only Shakspere says ' castle,' you know, and Daniel Webster had a 
way of making pat applications of familiar quotations. And it applied here, 
don't you think ? " 

" I should say it did," returned Bert, who seemed specially impressed with 
the commanding position of the city., "Why," he continued, "I had no 
idea Richmond was so high up. No wonder it took our soldiers four years 
to get it. I '11 bet if the South had been as well fixed as we were in men 
and supplies it would have taken us four times four years to get in here." 
Jack was inclined to dissent from this opinion. 

" Not with Grant to lead," he exclaimed. " He 'd have hammered it 
down in no time, no matter how many forts it had ; would n't he, Uncle 
Tom? " 

But Uncle Tom was not to be drawn into any such argument. 
"Well, you see it was n't a question of 'if,' boys," he replied. " It was 
a hard enough job to take Richmond just as it was. And — the war 's over ! 
But, as Bert says, the position of the city makes Richmond, when well pro- 
tected, almost impregnable. Its situation is certainly a commanding one. 



Set on these hills like a coronet, it looks abroad over the land and, indeed, 
like the city in the Bible, ' cannot be hid.' " 

"And just see the James winding down there among the woods and 
fields ! " cried Marian. " Is n't it perfectly charming? Was n't it near here 
somewhere, Uncle Tom, that Pocahontas lived?" 

"Yes; ten or twelve miles down the river," her uncle replied, "in the 
great loop of lowland about which the river winds, and which has the queer 
name of Dutch Gap. Look down there, girls, and romance to your hearts' 
content ; for in that valley of the James our most famous love-story came 

Christine, looking down toward the home of Pocahontas, recalled 

her Thackeray, and said half 
aloud : 

" Who will shield the fearless heart ? 

Who avert the murd'rous blade ? 

From the throng, with sudden start, 

See ! there springs an Indian maid. 

Quick she stands before the knight, 

' Loose the chain, unbind the ring; 

I am daughter of the king 

And I claim the Indian right ! ' 

" Dauntlessly aside she flings 
Lifted ax and thirsty knife; 

Fondly to his heart she clings, 
And her bosom guards his life ! 

In the woods of Pow r hattan, 
Still 'tis told by Indian fires 
How a daughter of their sires 

Saved the captive Englishman." 

" Pocahontas did save 
Smith, did n't she, Uncle 
Tom? I just won't believe 
what the books say now," 
Marian declared. 

" Why was n't it Rolfe she 
saved ? " queried Christine. 
" Then the romance would 
have been completed." 
rather than the romance of a 
at their feet. 
Libby Hill, at the eastern end 

(SMatoaAs_ aujieptcxa. daugitiA- totkt inutility zrrtn 

trowJuitan Eiimerow of^lttaiioualiiomoiictld& vuylrua- 
coiwertcaaad £nnti^eJ/in. tfiz C finfnanftutS, aiutP 

From the engraving in the first edition of John Smith's General History. 

But the boys, alive to the life of to : day 

misty past, were looking down upon the city 

The carriages had halted on the crest of 



of the town, and, close beside the tall shaft of the soldiers' monument, the 
sight-seers were " drinking- in the view." 

o o 

" It 's a much bigger and busier place than I expected to see," Roger 

" It is New Richmond you 're looking at, Roger," Uncle Tom replied. 
" Many things, you see, have happened since Daniel Webster's Shaksperian 
verdict. Richmond has made great strides even 
since I saw it last. Broad streets, fine resi- 
dences, electric lights, trolley cars, that splendid 
new hotel, big business blocks — all these indi- 
cate a prosperity in which every American will 
rejoice. For, you see, Richmond is one of our 
show towns, with a past that is historic." 

" Let 's hunt it down, then, Uncle Tom," said 
Jack. " Drive on, please. I want to see Holly- 

They saw Hollywood — that beautiful city 
of the dead, with its ruined portal masked in 
living green. They stood beside the scarcely 
picturesque " iron summer-house sort of can- 
opy," as Roger styled it, that marks the rest- 
ing-place Of President Monroe; they StOOd From the engraving on Smith's Map of Virginia. 

above the unmarked grave of President Tyler ; they saw the ivy-covered 
pyramid of stone that rises as a memorial to thousands of Confederate 
dead ; they saw the graves of Pickett, Hill, and Stuart, famous rebel fighters 
in the stirring days of '61 ; they heard the story of other notable names, 
and then they rode back to town and the things of to-day. 

But in Richmond the things of to-day touch elbows with the things of 
yesterday — and the day before. 

" Richmond is the Boston of the South for historic associations," Uncle 
Tom declared, searching for a comparison that his young people would 
appreciate. "Its story reaches back to 1609 an d John Smith. It knew 
Pocahontas and Powhatan. Here gallant Nat Bacon flung out his standard 
of rebellion against the king's governor ; from here went the first shipments 
of tobacco and the first sentiments of revolution. Here Patrick Henry 
spoke for liberty, and Arnold, the traitor, brought fire and sword ; here the 
rebellious South set up its banner and established its capital, and here was 
the central stage on which ' the Lost Cause ' played its brief but bloody 
part. A city of relics and reminders is this, with a story stretching from Na- 
thaniel Bacon to Jefferson Davis, and from Thomas Jefferson to " 




" The hotel ! " put in Bert. Whew ! There 's democratic simplicity for 
you, eh, Uncle Tom ? What do you suppose Jefferson would say, if his 
statue should come to life in those gorgeous surrounding's ? " 

" That 's so ; what would he ? He was the man who tied his horse to the 
fence rail and just went in to be inaugurated, was n't he?" said Jack. 
" Seems to me, Uncle Tom, we run up against the Father of the Declara- 
tion wherever we go." 

"That 's natural, Jack," said Uncle Tom. "Jefferson is in the air here." 

" Is that so? Smells to me like tobacco," said Jack, with a critical sniff. 

They all laughed, and Uncle Tom accepted Jack's amendment. " So 
far as tangible smells are concerned, you are right," he said. " That build- 

In " gallant Nat Bacon's" day. 

ing to the left is one of the largest tobacco factories in the world, and the 
fragrant weed " 

"Fragrant? Oh, Uncle Tom!" cried Marian. 

" I speak in a general sense, my dear," said her uncle, "and as a preva- 
lent, unconfmed perfume, I must say it is — well — a bit fragrant. And here 
in Richmond it is a chief staple, for it gives steady employment to thousands 
of workers, and does a yearly business of millions of dollars." 

"And all to go up in smoke," persisted Marian, who, you see, had her 
opinions. "What a waste!" 

" Nothing is a waste that is productive, my dear," said Uncle Tom. 
" And really, you know, tobacco has played an important part in the history 
of this country." 

"To be sure," said Bert. " It gave Washington his fortune, so that he 
would n't take a cent for what he did in the Revolution." 



The captain of a train-band. 

"And Grant won his victories on it," said Jack. 

But still Marian was not convinced, and the talk might have drifted into 
a discussion of the tobacco habit if Uncle Tom had not drawn it back to 
the original topic. 

"The personal atmosphere," he declared, "is Jefferson. He, as I said, 
is in the air. You feel his presence growing upon you gradually all the 
way up from Williamsburg. There he went to college ; there he made his 
first entry into public life ; here he won position and fame. The fine old 
Capitol yonder was designed by him ; here he served three terms as gov- 
ernor of his State in a rough and stormy time, and, all about, you find traces 
or reminders of this remarkable man. For fifty years Thomas Jefferson was 
Virginia's representative man." 

"Jefferson!" exclaimed Roger. "What 's the matter with Washing- 
ton ? " 

" He 's — all — right!" Jack vociferated, and Uncle Tom added: 

"Washington, Roger, was America's representative man." 

" Well, that 's so, of course," Roger admitted. " But was n't Jefferson, 
too ? " 

"Assuredly, to a certain extent," Uncle Tom replied. " But this section 
of the Old Dominion was especially his. Washington was never here very 
much. We do not 'cross his tracks,' as Jack puts it, so often here as we 



shall in the Potomac region, where he lived as boy and man. But Jefferson 
was three times governor of Virginia ; he framed Virginia's constitution, and 
built himself into the State in many ways. No wonder, then, that he and 
Patrick Henry stand on the base of that splendid Washington monument 

yonder in Capitol Park, and that his heroic 
figure graces the grand new hotel that 
has been honored with his name. So, 
you see, in this section Jefferson is the 
man for us to study rather than Wash- 
ington, who will claim our attention later 
in our tour." 

They dismissed their carriage at the 
hotel, and spent the rest of that day and a 
good part of the next, in cars or on foot, 
visiting the points of interest to which 
they wished to devote time for careful in- 

The list of such places was a long 

They visited the notable monuments in 
the city, from Crawford's Washington in 
Capitol Park to Lee on horseback at the 
farther end of Franklin Street. They saw 
the famous Washington, by Houdon, the 
Frenchman — esteemed the best of all 
statues of Washington, because modeled 
from life; they viewed the Stonewall Jack- 
son monument, near the governor's house; 
they inspected the old Capitol, designed 
by Jefferson, and in which the Confederate congress held its sessions during 
that stirring time of war, from 1861 to 1865. 

This old capitol building was especially productive of explanation and 
discussion ; but the things in it by which the boys and girls were most im- 
pressed were the rusty old picture depicting the storming a redoubt at York- 
town — "Perhaps the very charge," suggested Roger, "in which Alexander 
Hamilton ended the Revolution," — and those two Colonial antiques, the 
Speaker's chair of the old House of Burgesses, and the funny three-storied 
stove in the Rotunda Gallery. 

In that very chair, Christine, who, the boys declared, "never weakened 
on Washington," was positive, the Speaker must have sat when he said to 

In the State Capitol, Richmond. 



Washington, who had " stage fright " when he tried to reply to the Colony's 
vote of thanks for driving the French out of Fort Duquesne: "Sit down, 
Mr. Washington. Your modesty equals your valor, and that surpasses the 
power of any language I possess." 

"Oh, what a pretty compliment!" cried Marian. "Who said it, Chris- 
tine ? " 

"The Speaker of the House of Burgesses at Williamsburg," replied 
Christine. " I don't know his name; do you, Uncle Tom?" 

"He was Mr. Robinson," Uncle Tom answered; "and, as Christine 
says, it is very probable that he was sitting in this very chair when he made 
Washington blush." 

"Well, I think this old stove is simply cute," Marian declared. "I 
can just imagine Jefferson warming his hands before it." 

" Or Patrick Henry turning from it to say, 'We must fight,' and so warm- 
ing up the whole country to action," declared Bert. 

"Very neatly put, Bert," Uncle Tom declared, with a nod of approval, 
" even if it is a question whether those hardy Virginia farmers would have a 
fire going in this elegant affair in the spring. 
Come, let us go across to the State Library and 
see the portraits." 

They spent an hour in that treasure-house 
of Colonial, Revolutionary and Civil War times, 
the State Library ; then, passing around Capitol 
Square, they located the various State offices of 
the defunct Confederacy, had a look at the gov- 
ernor's mansion in the park, and visited the 
" White House of the Confederacy " — the house 
in which Jefferson Davis had lived during the 
war. They saw the house of Chief-Justice Mar- 
shall, now old and time-worn. They saw on 
Main street the roomy old Allan mansion, in 
which Edgar Allan Poe lived as a boy. They, 
stood, as you already know, in the very pew in 
old St. John's Church from which Patrick Henry 
declared for liberty or death ; they saw that later church, with the needle- 
like spire, where Davis received word from Lee that the cause was lost and 
Richmond must be evacuated; they visited the "Monumental Church," 
erected on the site of the dreadful Richmond theater fire of 181 1 ; they 
admired Richmond College standing in its attractive grounds near to the 
Lee monument ; they located, as far as possible, the notable battle spots 




within range of Richmond, the site of Libby Prison, the old Slave Market, 
Belle Isle, the prison home of so many valiant "boys in blue" during the 
Civil War, the very spot in the lower town where President Lincoln landed 
on his memorable visit to captured Richmond, when, with loud cries, the 
race he had enfranchised hailed him as a deliverer ; they saw the quaint old 
Bell House, from which in Colony days had rung the call to debate or to 
arms; the jail where Aaron Burr was imprisoned for treason — "And served 
him right," interrupted Jack, who did not admire the brilliant New Yorker 
since he had heard Hamilton's story — all these they saw, and so many other 
historic, notable, or modern landmarks that, when all was over, Marian de- 
clared her eyes "just ached, seeing things," and Christine dropped into a 
chair with a sigh of tired content. 

But at last, refreshed and rested, they sat after dinner beneath the palms 
in the Pompeian court of their hotel, and, beside Valentine's marble statue 
of Jefferson, they listened to the strains of the band-concert in the gallery 
beyond the great interior court. There they fell to talking over the day's 
sights and impressions as was their wont ; and Roger said : 

" It seems strange, does n't it, to see so many monuments to rebels? " 

"It should never seem strange, my boy," Uncle Tom replied, "to see 
monuments to brave and honest men. We are not here as Northerners, but 
as Americans, and with us it should be as it was with the old Roman who 
said — what did he say, Bert? Homo sum — you know the rest." 

And Bert, who, they all declared, welcomed a chance to air his Latin, 
gave the quotation: "Homo sum; hitmani nihil a me alicnum puto." 

"Which being translated, my beloved hearers," said Jack, " meaneth, 
' I 'm with you through thick and through thin.' " 

"Oh, Jack ! Is n't he just dreadful ! " cried Marian. " What does it 
mean, Bert ? " 



" ' I am a man. I think nothing human alien to me,' " translated Bert. 

" My, my ! hear the boy," cried Jack ; " does n't he roll that out finely, 
though ? ' I am a man.' Well, you will be some day, my son." 

" Let us hope that you will too, Master Jack," said Uncle Tom. " Now, 
1 would like you all to localize that declaration by Terence, so that it 
may read : ' I am an American, and to nothing American can I be indif- 
ferent.' " 

"Well, how does that differ from my free translation?" Jack demanded. 
" I had the same idea." 

"Whatever concerns America should interest us," went on Uncle Tom. 
"The time has passed for sectionalism. We can all have our opinions as 
to the right or justice of the Civil War. It simply had to come. It was 
fought and decided, and all living Americans are now glad of it and rejoice 
in its conclusions, as they accept its decisions. What was your Decoration 
Day piece, Jack? You know how it ends — give us the last stanza." 



To which Jack, nothing loath, responded in moderated tones, so as not 
to disturb those who were listening to the concert : 

" For the wreck and the wrong of it, boys and girls, 
For the terror and loss, as well, 
Our hearts must hold 
A regret untold 
As we think of those who fell. 
But their blood, on whichever side they fought, 
Re-made the Nation, and Progress brought. 
We forget the woe ; 
For we live, and know 
That the fighting and sighing, 
The falling and dying, 
Were but steps toward the Future — the Martyr's 

Adown which the sons of the Blue and the Gray 
Look, with love and with pride, Decoration Day." 

'.■y'C ■■ "•' 



In Capitol Park. 

"That 's about my idea of it," Un- 
cle Tom declared. "So it seems to 
me, in that spirit Americans should look 
with interest and appreciation on the 
memorials of our brave Americans. History hangs by slender threads. 
Had it not been for Franklin's way of making friends, and thus securing the 
aid of France in the Revolution, Adams and Henry would have been ' trait- 
ors ' instead of Arnold, Washington would have been a 'wicked rebel,' and the 
American Revolution would have been but an insurrection. Americans would 
have been rearing statues to-day to the De Lanceys and Olivers, whom we 
now detest as ' tories,' instead of to Prescott and Putnam and Hale and Jef- 
ferson — whereas, every one of these was an American, and of certain value 
to his country — rebel and tory alike. So, too, I can see in the splen- 
did Lee on horseback, on Lee Circle, here in Richmond, the qualities that 
make for courage, manliness, gallantry, and devotion, quite as much as in the 
equally striking Grant on horseback in Grant Square in Brooklyn, or the 
mighty monument that, overtopping all others in the world, in the city that 
bears his name, testifies to the nation's love and pride in the name and fame 
of Washington." 

The young people were not altogether willing to accept Uncle Tom's 
theories. Somehow, it seemed to them that to admit virtues in one side 
took away from the other. But Uncle Tom assured them that such a stand 
was local, narrow, un-American. 

" Be liberal, be broad-minded, boys and girls," he said. " Remember that 

ii 4 


loyalty is as much brotherly love as 
it is hoisting the flag, and that pa- 
triotism is as all-embracing as it is 
assertive. Never tolerate treason ; 
but never forget to forgive. Re- 
member the ■words of Lincoln, most 
American of Americans : "We are 
not enemies, but friends. We must 
not be enemies. Though passion 
may have strained, it must not 
break our bonds of affection. The 
mystic chords of memory, stretch- 
ing from every battle-field and pa- 
triot grave to every living heart 
and hearthstone all over this broad 
land, will yet swell the chorus of 
the Union, when again touched, as 
surely the}' will be, by the better 
angels of our nature!" 

" And vet Lincoln gave the 
rebels Hail Columbia," declared 
Jack, reflectively. 

" Of course he did," replied Uncle 
Tom. "It was his duty to preserve 
the Union, even through blood and tears, and he never faltered. But he 
never wavered in his great-hearted affection for all Americans, either. ' Y\ ith 
malice toward none, with charity for all ' — that was his plea, even in the 

1 ' * L* 

Scene of an Indian battle in old Colony days. 


hour of victory. Thank God ! that ' better nature ' which he sought to 
awaken is now common to all his countrymen, and no true American heart 
harbors a trace of sectionalism, or limits its love of country to any narrower 
boundary than that of lake to gulf and ocean to ocean." 

Uncle Tom saw that his words had made an impression upon his boys 
and girls, and he sought by just a final word to broaden and deepen that im- 
pression in the way he specially desired. 

" So we come back, you see, to where we started," he said. "All men 
who have shed lustre or brought credit to the American name, or who by 
gallant deeds, by worthy lives, or by earnest efforts, have helped to make 
America famous, are famous Americans, whatever their time, their section or 
their occupation. Here, in Richmond, while we honor Marshall, the great 
Chief Justice, and Jefferson, the statesman, we can also honor Lee, the general, 
or Jackson, the ' Stonewall ' hero, or Poe, the poet, who played here as a 
boy. For all of these men were famous Americans, as well as famous Vir- 
ginians, and all, in time, will find their rightful places in the righteous ver- 
dict of unbiased history." 

lm c " n "a™ no conUlci, without being yourselves the aggressors >'..« hive no onlh 
registered in Heaven to destroy the government, while /sh.ill have the raoslaolema one 

10 "j.r. erve, proteot and defend" it. in in fill I to | i, I ■ — 

I .i l l 11 ■— i i f i ,i 

^^ %f 2^ y^^^, <*r^£*~ ts^ow 7Zh~c-^*. ^0 ^^^ ^?£L, i^u^ 

From original from which the address was delivered. 

Third President of the United States, and author of the Declaration of Independence. 



At Charlottesville — Up the Little Mountain — The House with Two 
Fronts — The Grave on the Mountain — The Story of a Statesman. 

ACK stood at the foot of the staircase of the little inn at 
Charlottesville, and called impatiently up the stairs. 

"Come, come, girls! Stop prinking!" he cried. "We 're 
bound for a mountain-top, not for the university." 

The next moment the door above swung open and the 
o-irls came down the stairs, while Marian, in her most digni- 
fied manner, said to her brother : 

"Jack Dunlap, we scorn your insinuations. We dress just as much to 
honor dead statesmen as live collegians ; so there ! " 

Roger, ever gallant, sought to rise to the opportunity, and try his luck 

with a quotation. 

" If eyes were made for seeing, 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being," 

he remarked, whereupon Jack sank limply into the nearest chair, the girls 
courtesied profoundly, and Uncle Tom clapped Roger on the back with a 
laughing "Bravo, Roger! Virginia courtesy must be in the air, and 

A ride of four hours the day before had brought the party to picturesque 
Charlottesville. A restful night in that quiet town had refreshed them 
greatly, and put them in prime condition to see and enjoy the home of 
Thomas Jefferson. 

The wagonette was at the door, and soon they were speeding out of 
Charlottesville and along pleasant country roads to the mansion on the 

The road wound up the steep hillside, a good three miles from town, 
though even there the same spirit of progress that they had noted at 



Richmond seemed to be in evidence, 
for the town was pushing ambitiously 
out into what were formerly farms 
and old estates. 

The hill-slopes were green and 
inviting, the valley was dotted with 
farms, the little stream across 
which Thomas Jefferson, as a boy, 
had often swum his horse, wound 
through the plain, the woods were 
brilliant with the contrasting white 
and red blossoms of the dogwood 
and the redbud, and everywhere 
were the delight and beauty of a 
spring morning in Virginia. 

The young folks enjoyed the 
ride greatly ; but Bert said, as the 
horses breasted the climb, " ' Little 
mountain ' ! That 's what Monti- 
cello means, is it ? Seems to me 
it 's quite a respectable one. Why, 
it 's almost as steep as a road in the 
Catskills. I should think Tarle- 
ton's troopers must have been pretty well winded if they galloped all the 
way up this hill just to loot Jefferson's home." 

" Oh, did they do that? The mean things ! " cried Marian. 
" Bert is just a trifle too realistic," said Uncle Tom. " Tarleton and his 
troopers came tearing up here to capture that pestilent rebel, Jefferson, who 
was then governor of Virginia. But the governor just managed to give 
them the slip, and the British colonel kept his hands off the fine old place — 
it was not so very old then, however, — and did not do much damage." 

Jack seemed just a bit dissatisfied. The idea that the British in the Rev- 
olution could stay their hands whenever there was a chance to pillage or 
destroy did not accord with his idea of history. 

" I thought that was just the sort of picnic that chump of a Tarleton 
liked," he said severely. 

" Even the worst of us are not so black as we are painted," Uncle Tom 
declared. " Tarleton has enough sins to his account without adding the loot- 
ing of Monticello. He held off his hands here, even when Arnold had 
burned Richmond and Cornwallis had laid waste Jefferson's lowland estate 
of Edgehill, two or three miles away." 




" What were the Americans doing all this time ? " asked Jack. " Where 
were our soldiers ? " 

"With Washington," Uncle Tom replied. "Virginia was stripped of 
fighting men at the time of Cornwallis's raid. She was almost bare of re- 
sources, too, so lavishly had she contributed to the support of the American 
army. When the State was invaded by the British, — first by Arnold the 
traitor and next by Cornwallis and Tarleton, — Jefferson, who was then gov- 
ernor, would not call on Congress or the army for aid, lest Washington's 

' The governor just managed to give them the slip." 

forces should be weakened. He himself was no soldier; the militia he 
summoned were worse than useless ; the legislature fled from Richmond 
to this town of Charlottesville ; and along came Cornwallis and Tarleton 
to bag the whole ' rebel brood.' The militia made themselves scarce ; the 
fugitive legislature followed suit ; and Jefferson, making for shelter here 
at Monticello, had just five minutes' warning, brought by a sort of Vir- 
ginia Paul Revere, who came tearing up this road to give the alarm. He 
was just in time, for, as Jefferson galloped down the mountain on one side, 
he saw the redcoats climbing up the other. He got off, you see, just in the 
nick of time." 



" How frightened they must 

" I should say so ! " exclaimed Roger. 

"Were his family here?" asked Christine, 
have been ! " 

"They had already hidden their valuables and had been hurried to a 
safe place," Uncle Tom explained. " Jefferson had then six adopted chil- 
dren in his family — nephews and nieces — and three little motherless girls 
of his own." 

"Well, he did have his hands full," said Jack. 

" But he took good care of them and got them all to safe places, while 
Cornwallis was burning and pillaging his estate of Edgehill," Uncle Tom 
continued. " After the invasion Jefferson was taken to task for what was 
claimed to be an indifference to Virginia's security, and even to-day some 
historians refer contemptuously to his conduct during the British invasion. 
The truth is, however, that what appeared indifference, and was even called 
cowardice, was indeed heroism ; for Thomas Jefferson knew better than his 
critics the condition of affairs. It was a case of the few suffering for the 
many. He felt it to be better even that Virginia should be 
overrun and laid waste than that the success of the cause 
for which America was fighting should 
be jeopardized by a call for help. So 
he did the best he could with 
what he had at hand, and his 
own State came in time 
to appreciate and ac- 
knowledge his wis- 
dom. There are ^ 
phases of patriotism, A 
boys and girls," 
Uncle Tom contin- 
ued, "that are quite 
different from those 
with which we are 
familiar in history. 
To suffer that good 
may come, even 
when that suffering 
seems needless, or in- 
vited, even, may some- 
times be, instead, a -3- ^~ 


high order of patriotism." Hiding the valuables. 




By this time they had reached the crest of the hill, a spur of Carter 
Mountain, upon which, perched six hundred feet above the plain, stood the 
dome-topped mansion of Monticello, the much-loved home of Thomas Jef- 
ferson, author of the Declaration of Independence. 

The wagonette drew up before the "quarters," and the old negro who 
has shown the historic house to a generation of visitors met them with 
garrulous greeting. 

" Is this the front?" Marian inquired, going up the broad steps of the 
western portico. "Oh, is n't it just lovely! Where 's the door?" 

" No, missey," the old negro replied ; " the entrance is cl'ar round on de 
east front." 

"Why, is there another ?" asked Marian. "This looks like the front." 

"Well — yes — missey," said the polite old chap, "dis yere 's de r'ar 
front. De ra'al front is on de furder side." 

They left the "rear front" and walked around to the main entrance of 
the mansion, the beautiful east front, in which are set the historic clock and 
weather dial, and which opens into the great hall, once the center of the 


" De ra'al front." 

master's overflowing hospitality, when Monticello was the Mecca of strangers, 
admirers, and friends. 

The young people, by favor of the present owner, spent a delightful hour 
in and about the old place examining, inspecting, exclaiming. 

They saw the octagonal drawing-room, the great dining-hall, the tea 
room, and the library ; they saw the room occupied by Lafayette, the double- 
alcoved bed-chamber near to the conservatory, and the room in which Jef- 
ferson died. The old negro told them how the house was built, wing bo- 
wing, of bricks made on the place, and of timber felled and hewn on the 
estate. He told them that the plan of the house and the grounds was Jef- 
ferson's own, and that even the furniture was designed by him, and much of 
it made on the place. 

" Well, he could do a little of everything, could n't he ? " said Roger. 

" Indeed he could," Uncle Tom replied. " In head and hand and heart, 
Thomas Jefferson was a marvel." And then he told the girls what a charm- 
ing grandfather was the great Democrat. He liked nothing better than a 
lively romp with his boys and girls, and he was always devising and making 
all manner of toys and contrivances for them — cupboards and closets, and 


dishes, and doll-houses, until the little Jeffersons and Randolphs naturally 
came to the conclusion that "grandpapa" could do about everything. 
" I don't blame them," said Christine. " It looks as if he could." 
" Of course not many real relics of Jefferson are to be seen about the 
place to-day," Uncle Tom told them. " Change of owners and the fortunes 
of war have sadly depleted its belongings and marred its beauty. But it 
seems to be the desire of the present owner to make the restored mansion as 
nearly Jeftersonian as possible, and the furnishings of the house are, as you 
see, on the colonial plan. But, after all, it is the environment that interests. 
As Monticello is to-day, in situation, outline, atmosphere, and outlook, — in 

" De r'ar front." 

the real breath of the place, — so it was in the days of its famous master, plus 
the life of a great baronial estate ; for that it was in its palmy days, when 
all the world knew it as the home of the Sage of Monticello." 

After they had inspected the house and rambled about the beautiful 
grounds, Uncle Tom brought them all together at last in the spacious out- 
look, a stone's throw from the house. 




" My ! what a view ! " cried Marian. 

" Your uncle Thomas had an eye for scenery, had n't he? " said Jack. 

" He was a great lover of natural scenery,'' Uncle Tom replied. " Even 
in France, where he did and saw so much, he was always pining for what 
he called his Virginia wilderness on the mountain-top." 

They sat silent for a while enjoying the scene. Hillside and valley, as 
the boys and girls looked out upon them, were green with all the verdant 
beauty of a Virginia spring. Great trees rose above them on the far-spread- 
ing lawns. Redbud and lilacs, dogwood and golden willow, gave color and 
fragrance, while redbreasts hopped about on the grass or swung and whistled 
on the branches above them. 

Below them stretched the valley, where to the right Uncle Tom located 
for them Shadwell, the birthplace of Jefferson, Edgehill, his other estate, and, 
farther off, Montpellier, the home of yet another President of the United 
States — his successor, James Madison. To the west, the long spur of the 
Blue Ridge rose from the basin-like valley, while above this ridge could be 
traced the faint, far-distant line of the Alleghanies. Almost at their feet 
lay Charlottesville, and, just beyond the town, they could see, peeping from 


its screen of trees, the clustered buildings of the University of Virginia, 
founded by Jefferson in his later days, and almost as dear to his heart as 
the Declaration of Independence itself. 

" What a lovely, lovely spot ! " said Christine, upon whom the place and 
its associations made a deep impression. " I 'd rather live here than at the 
White House." 

"Jefferson was much of your opinion, my dear," Uncle Tom declared. 
" The White House of his day was little 
more than a great, draughty, white barn ; 
and, yet, it was the White House rather 
than this charming Monticello that 
linked Jefferson's name to fame." 

" Ting-a-ling, ting- a- ling- ling ! " 
cried Jack, swinging an imaginary bell. 
" All aboard for a biography cruise ! 
Heave ahead, Uncle Tom ! Here 's just 
the spot to give us Jefferson's story." 

" It must be condensed into brief 
space, then," said Uncle Tom ; "for we 
shall need to start on our return ride 

So Uncle Tom sketched rapidly for 
them the outline of Thomas Jefferson's 
career. He told them of the young 
Virginian's boyhood and youth, into 
which, though earnest and painstak- 
ing, the boy managed to get a good 
deal of fun and out-of-door life, and 
learned to love the woods, the fields, 
and the farm; he told them how Jeffer- 
son gained success as a young lawyer, 
and at last ventured into public life ; 
how, at twenty -six, he became a mem- 
ber of the Virginia House of Burgesses ; 
and how, when he went into politics, he 
was both prudent and honest, and made 
a vow never to be drawn into speculation THK MAIX stairway at monticello. 
or "jobs," or be anything but just "a farmer"; and, through fifty years of 
public life, Uncle Tom assured them, Jefferson kept his vow. 

" Then, politicians did speculate and make money out of their opportuni- 



ties in Jefferson's time, eh?" queried Jack. "Why, I thought these were 
the degenerate days, and that every one was angelic in the good old times." 
" My dear Jack," said Uncle Tom, " there is not a phase of public dishon- 
esty or political intrigue to-day but had its parallel in what are wrongly 
called the good old days. You know my theory ; we are an improvement 
on our ancestors in every way — morally, physically, and intellectually." 
" Hear, hear, hear ! " cried Jack. 

" Oh, Uncle Tom ! " exclaimed Christine. " Is that so ? Better than 
Washington ? " 

" Don't hold me to individual cases, my dear," said Uncle Tom. " I 
speak collectively. The world progresses in everything that works for good. 
In spite of all the unpleasantnesses we daily see, in spite of all the hard 
things we hear, we are better than the folks of those so-called ' good old 
davs.' In the story of the past it is the good only that survives. We do 
not see or else we do not heed the evil. Distance always lends enchantment 
alike to past and future — the was and the is-to-be. But here ! let me get on 
with Jefferson. He was not very well off as a young man, but in 1772 he 
married a rich wife, and his two thousand acres increased to forty thousand. 
Then it was that he built Monticello, turned his ' little mountain ' into a park, 
and became a landed proprietor." 

" I thought he was called the Great Democrat," said Bert. 
"He was," replied Uncle Tom; "but more from the principles he laid 
down and the measures for which he worked than from any simplicity in 
living or surroundings. His love of personal liberty grew 
He heard Patrick Henry give his great 
Richmond speech, and be- 
came a fiery patriot. When 
Washington was made com- 
mander-in-chief, Jefferson was 
sent to Congress in his place. 
and there prepared and pre- 
sented the famous document 
with which his 
name is chieflv 
connected — the 
Declaration of In- 

" I have seen 
the desk on which 




claration of Independence," Roger announced with due impressiveness. " It 
belongs to one of his descendants in Boston." 

" And when we were in Philadelphia, Roger," declared Jack, solemnly, 
" I saw as many as four million descend- 
ants of the fellows- who put the Declara- 
tion through Congress." 

"What do you mean, Jack?" said 
Roger. " Philadelphia people ? Where 
did you get four million ? " 

"No; Philadelphia flies, my son," 
was Jack's reply. 

" Oh, Jack Dunlap ! " exclaimed 
Marian. " Don't be ridiculous." 

"No; honor bright, it 's so," Jack 
asserted. " A man there told me that 
this very Thomas Jefferson declared that 
the final vote on the Declaration of In- 
dependence was hastened by the flies 
that came in swarms from a near-by 
stable and nearly pestered the lives of 
the Congressmen those hot July days. 
So the delegates just hurried things, to 
get out of the way of the flies." 

" Is that really so, Uncle Tom? " asked Marian, a bit doubtfully. 

"Well, Jack tells it, and Jack is an investigator, you know," Uncle Tom 
replied diplomatically. 

"Then, Ishould think,"said Bert, "that, instead of theeagle, the fly should be 

the national 'bird'of America. He made 
usfree, if heputthe Declaration through." 
" What an absurd lot of boys you 
are!" said Marian. " Do drop fairy tales 
and let Uncle Tom go on with facts." 

"Well, I like that!" said Jack. "I 
tell you my fly story was fact, Marian 
Dunlap. We get it straight from the Sage of Monticello himself." 

"The Sage of Monticello!" cried Marian scornfully. "As if Jefferson 
would say such a ridiculous thing as that." 

"That's the trouble with girls," remarked Jack. "They always will 
doubt the truth of history." 

" But that fly story is n't history, is it, Uncle Tom?" said Marian. 




From a drawing by Thomas Jefferson. 


"Well — Jefferson, like Franklin, had an excellent sense of humor," 
said Uncle Tom. "So it may be that he is responsible for Jack's fly story, 
just as he is responsible for lifting out of a Latin comic poem our splendid 
national motto of E Pluribus Unum." 

" Oh, yes ; I remember how we came across that story in Washington," 
said Christine. 

" For further particulars inquire of Mr. Albertus Uphamus, our lexicon 
fiend," said Jack. " Push ahead with grandpapa Jefferson, Uncle Tom." 

"Well," said his uncle, again picking up his biographical thread, "Jef- 
ferson declined a reelection to Congress, believing he could best serve the 
cause by keeping his State progressing toward liberty and self-government. 
So he went into the Virginia legislature, and for nearly two years worked 
away on a constitution for the new State. He was always proud of this 
work, especially of the clause that established religious freedom in Vir- 
ginia. That may seem to you, now, a simple aftair, not even open to ar- 
gument ; but it took a long, hard fight to get it through. Things were dif- 
ferent in Jefferson's day. Bigotry and sectarianism have almost died out in 
our hundred and twenty years of freedom. Another sign of progress, you 
see, boys and girls. America has no place in this enlightened day for the bias 
of bigotry or the enigma of exclusion. It was these that Jefferson ever 
fought against, and against them all real Americans should earnestly pro- 
test, as we stand at the dawn of a new and yet more glorious century of 
power and progress." 

Uncle Tom spoke earnestly, and the young people, though they did not 
catch his full meaning, applauded his sentiment and honored him with an 
emphatic " That 's so ! " 

"In 1779," said Uncle Tom, "Jefferson was elected governor, and soon 
after had to stand the strain of British invasion of which I told you, which so 
nearly culminated in his capture. After his term closed he refused reelection, 
thinking that a soldier was a better head for the State just then. His wife 
died, and he came here to Monticello sad and heartbroken ; but he was not 
permitted to remain here long. His country demanded his services. He 
was sent to Congress, where he invented the dollars and dimes of our na- 
tional currency, which, before, had been pounds, shillings, and pence." 

" Good for him ! " cried Jack, " He was right up-to-date and American, 
was n't he ? " 

" None more so in his day," Uncle Tom replied. " In 1 784 he was sent 
as American Minister to France and returned in 1789 to go into President 
Washington's cabinet as Secretary of State. He resigned in 1794, because 
he and Hamilton could not agree, and thus helped to invent politics in Amer- 



ica, for out of this disagreement came the two political parties of his day. 
In 1796 he was elected Vice-President, and in 1800 he was elected Presi- 
dent of the United States." 

" Well, he kept going right up, did n't he?" said Roger. 
"That 's the time he rode horseback to the capitol, hitched his horse to 
the picket fence, and just went in to be inaugurated, is n't it ? " queried Jack. 

" All of which reads very nicely, but 
I 'm afraid it is n't altogether fact," said 
Uncle Tom. "He meant to ride to his 
inauguration in his own fine coach and 
four, but his turnout did not get to 
Washington from Monticello in time. 
So he went — some say on horseback, 
others say, in a hired coach just like any 
other President, and was inaugurated 
with just as much display and noise and 

" Well, how did that horseback story 
get into history then ? " inquired Jack. 
" From a later occurrence, I imagine," 
Uncle Tom replied. " When Madison, 
his successor, was inaugurated, Jeffer- 
son and his sixteen-year old grandson 
rode on horseback to the capitol, 
hitched their horses to the palings, and 
went in to see the show. The two occa- 
sions have simply got mixed, you see." 
"That 's so. Now, what were the 
biggest things he did as President ? " 
asked Roger. 

" The biggest things, as you would 
call them," said Uncle Tom, "were, I 
suppose, when he sent Decatur and 
his sailors to say to the Dey of Algiers, ' No, sir ! we won't pay tribute ' ; 
the purchase of Louisiana from Napoleon Bonaparte, who was then rising 
to great power in France; and the embargo of 1807, which Jefferson always 
held, if strictly kept, would have prevented the war of 18 12." 
" Would it?" asked Bert. 

"That 's an open question," Uncle Tom replied. " If all men had been 
Jeffersons it might have served his purposes ; but men are not alike, and de- 


The statue by Bartholdi in Union Square, New York. 




signs frequently go wrong — as in this case. After his two terms as- Presi- 
dent, Jefferson came home here to Monticello — but not to be left alone. He 
was kept busy being hospitable, and it well nigh ruined him. His affairs 
became so involved that, in his last years, he was in desperate straits for 
money ; he nearly lost Monticello, and had to sell his 
great library to supply his needs. He died on the 
Fourth of July, 1826 — the fiftieth anniversary of the 
Declaration of Independence, which owed its form 
and language to him." 

"That was odd, was n't it? " said Roger. 

" It was certainly a coincidence," replied Uncle 
Tom ; " but it was emphasized still more by the fact 
that on the same day his fellow-worker, old-time 
friend, political rival, and brother-patriot, John 
Adams, died in his Massachusetts home — his last 
words a thought of Jefferson." 

"Give us Daniel Webster, Jack," said Bert, as 
they all rose from their seats in the outlook. So, 
and as they walked down the road to the monu- 
ment, Jack, obligingly, as ever, recited for them 
there, under the Virginia sky, upon that forest- 
clothed hill-slope of Monticello, the great orator's 
tribute to these two "fathers of the republic": 




" 'Their fame is safe. That is now treasured up beyond the reach of ac- 
cident. Although no sculptured marble should rise to their memory, nor 
engraved stone bear record of their deeds, yet will their remembrance be as 
lasting as the land they honored. Marble columns may indeed moulder into 
dust, time may erase all impress from the crumbling stone, but their fame 
remains ; for with American liberty it rose, and with American liberty only 
can it perish.' " 

And Uncle Tom responded with a solemn "Amen!" 
They halted before the iron-fenced enclosure by the roadway down the 
mountain and looked upon the simple ten-foot obelisk that rises above the 
dust of the third President of the United States. 

" Not much of a marble column about this," was Jack's comment. 
Bert read aloud the inscription on the pedestal : 

" ' Here lies buried Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Amer- 
ican Independence, of the 
statutes of Virginia for 
Religious Freedom, and 
Father of the University 
of Virginia.' " 

"Is n't that splendid!" 
said Christine, impressed 
alike by the simplicity and 
meaning of the inscription. 
"Those three things, I 
suppose," Marian re- 
marked, "are what folks 
consider the greatest 


" So considered by himself," Uncle Tom explained. " In fact, that in- 
scription was composed by Jefferson himself, and found among his papers 
after his death." 

As the wagonette took them up, and they drove down this historic hill- 
side toward Charlottesville, Uncle Tom, in a few words, summed up the 
famous man whose home they had seen : "A great leader, a great American, 
a great man," he said. " With an unwavering faith in the will of the people 
as the sole law of the land, he became, for our republic, the typical democrat, 
— a believer in the theory of government by the people. Politically a 
mighty factor in American history, he was personally a delightful man, 
benevolent and intelligent, cheery of manner and placid in disposition ; he 
was never angry, fretful, or discontented; he was happiest when helping others, 




and one of his chief rules of con- 
duct was ' never to trouble another 
for what he could do himself.' " 

At this Marian bent forward 
and nudged, significantly, her bro- 

"Very good advice, my dear," 
said Jack, the incorrigible. " Please 
see that you follow it." 

That afternoon, they took the 
trolley quite to the other end of 
this picturesque old town of Char- 
lottesville, to visit the delightfully 
situated University of Virginia — 
the child of Jefferson's later years, 
founded by him, endowed by his 
exertions, and ever loyal to his 

Uncle Tom and his "pilgrims" 

wandered about the beautiful ^4?J< * 

grounds, unrivalled in situation and 

unsurpassed in view. They walked 

the cool and shady colonnades before the students' low-roofed dormitories ; 

they studied the curious curved brick walls enclosing certain sections of the 




These walls are one brick thick, the winding form 
is taken for snpposed economy of material. 

grounds — a Jeffer- 
sonian contrivance to 
economize bricks, and 
yet have strength 
and durability ; they 
visited the museum 
and saw the rem- 
nants of the library 
and the marble statue 
of the founder, saved 
by the students from 
the fire that destroyed 
the famous Rotunda, designed by Jefferson. The Rotunda 
and annex still lay in ruins, but a nobler structure they were 
told was soon to rise thereon, and other buildings of modern de- 
sign and finish. They " did their manners " for a while in the cool drawing- 
room of one of the courteous Professors ; they strolled about East Lawn 
and West Lawn — the double "Campus" of the college, as Bert called it; 
they visited the gymnasium and the athletic field, in which the boys were 
especially interested. Indeed, when he had talked with some of " the 
fellows," and compared notes of records and achievements, Jack declared 
that he did n't wonder that, in the excitement of the fire, twelve of those 
" plucky chaps " had in a few minutes taken down and carried out, without a 
break, the heavy marble statue of Jefferson, which it had taken the contrac- 
tors many hours and much ingenuity to erect. 



The central rotunda, designed by Jefferson, was destroyed by fire in 1895. 



" I tell you," he said, " excitement does a good deal, but sand does more, 
and these university fellows have a lot of it. They 're just A 1 ball players, 
and I don't wonder. Look at what they 've got here in grounds and 
scenery. I tell you they can build men down here in Virginia. Three cheers 
for the mother of Presidents ! Run up the flag for Thomas Jefferson ! " 




Over the Hills into Kentucky — The T/wee Giants — The Champion of a 
Mistake — Calhoun's Story — The " Millboy of the Slashes" — Blue- 
grass Landscapes — Ashland, the Home of Henry Clay. 

HE boys and girls long remembered their westward way from 

Up hill and down dale, climbing heavy grades, piercing 
mountain passes, while the afternoon grew into sunset and 
the sunset into glorious moonlight, the train sped on, now 
giving broad vistas of the Piedmont lowlands, stretched like a panorama 
beneath them, now showing peak after peak of the forest-clad Blue Ridge, 
piled far above them, until they crossed the wide Shenandoah Valley, 
and climbed the farther slopes of the Alleghanies. A constant succession 
of " Oh ! " and " Ah ! " of " Look ! " and " See ! " kept eye and tongue busy, 
as picturesque views of mountain and valley, farm land, village, and hillside 
clearing followed fast upon each other ; and when at last the dark settled 
down, and in the highlands, where peak seemed crowded against peak, the 
mountain-tops were ringed with fire, the children accepted this disastrous 
illumination as a spectacle specially prepared for their benefit, and thanked 
Uncle Tom for so dramatic a finale. 

As for Uncle Tom, he was watchful for whatever, on this delightful car 
ride, might interest his young charges. He pointed out to them as they 
drew away from Charlottesville the last glimpse of Monticello perched on 
its distant hill-top ; he showed them in what direction, miles to the south, lay 
Appomattox, and, farther still, Red Hill, the pleasant plantation home of 
Patrick Henry, champion of Independence. As they crossed the valley of 
the Shenandoah each one of the five wished to break out with " Sheridan's 
Ride," but could not for the views that claimed their attention ; and as they 
drew up at Staunton Station, Uncle Tom told them that forty miles to the 


In the Virginia lowlands. 

south rose that surprising rock freak, the " Natural Bridge,' up which young 
George Washington once climbed to cut his name, high above that of all 
other visitors. 

So they journeyed on into the health-giving regions of the Virginia 
springs ; and as they sat at supper in the comfortable dining-car, Uncle Tom 
fell to talking of the new region they were to enter during the night, while 
they, as Jack expressed it, " lay sleeping at the rate of forty miles an hour," 
as, after crossing the Alleghanies, they would descend into the fertile region 
of Kentucky, the heroic land of American history. 

" The dark and bloody ground, — was n't it called that ? " asked Roger. 

"The home of Daniel Boone," cried Jack. 

"And of Henry Clay," said Bert. 

" Henry Clay ? " queried Christine ; " is n't he the man who said, ' I had 
rather be right than President ? ' " 

" Tell us about him, Uncle Tom," said Marian. " Can we see where 
he lived ? " 

"That 's the next thing on the docket," Uncle Tom replied. " I hope 
to show you Ashland to-morrow." 

" But see here," he said, as, a few minutes later, they sat in the unoccu- 
pied saloon compartment of their car, which the)' now and then, as Bert 
explained, "preempted for a conference," "what can you boys and girls 
tell me about Henry Clay ? Who was he ? " 

They really could n't tell so very much when thus brought to book. 
Bert said that Clay was called the great Kentuckian, though just why, he 



When he was Speaker of the House of Representatives. 





did n't know, unless he was Kentucky's greatest man. Roger thought he 
was Webster's rival in the Senate, though precisely over what Roger 
could n't tell unless it was in the desire to be President. Jack said he was 
called the " mill-boy of the Slashes," though just what that meant Jack really 
could n't say. 

As for the girls, Marian was positive that Clay had something to do with 
the Missouri Compromise, which kept the nation from fighting over slavery, 
and Christine knew he was Secretary of State and two or three times was 
defeated for the Presidency, although he was the most popular man in the 
country, which, so Christine declared, seemed to her very odd indeed. 

Uncle Tom smiled approval at these attempts to locate Henry Clay, as 
he called them, although he felt forced to confess that the information was 
a trifle vague as to foundations and reasons. 

" But, then," he added, "your misty conception of one of the most popu- 
lar leaders in American politics is but a reflection of the cloudiness that veils 
all the men of what might be termed the middle ages of American history. 
The fathers of the republic still stand out clear and strong ; but the giants 
of the " forties " — Clay, Webster, Calhoun — are little more than a memory, 
scarce more, indeed, than names to the mass of Americans to-day. But, 
you see, failure begets forgetfulness, and these three men, because they 
failed of their chief ambition, — the Presidency, — fail of due recognition. 
It does not seem right, but perhaps it is just. I doubt now if you can tell 
me as much about Calhoun as you did of Clay. Can you ? " 

There was silence a moment. Then Bert said : 

"Was n't he called 'the great Nullifier'? Did n't he believe so thor- 
oughly in State Sovereignty and State Rights that he came very near break- 
ing up the Union ? " 

Uncle Tom nodded. 

"Was n't he Vice-President ? " asked Christine. 



" Yes; for two terms," Uncle Tom replied. 

"And a Southerner with a great head of hair?" asked Marian. 

" Right," was the answer; "at least, his best-known pictures pile up the 
hair, though the best-known, you remember, are not always the best in fact." 

"Well, I guess that's all we know of the gentleman," said Jack. " Bert 
can go up head." 

"It is n't very much to know, though; do you think so?" was Uncle 
Tom's comment. "And yet, in his day," he added, "John C. Calhoun was 


as great a force in American history as Daniel Webster, as notable a person- 
ality as Henry Clay. Honored, almost idolized by his State, followed by a 
host of supporters, his career was, nevertheless, a great mistake, and pos- 
terity, as I have assured you, never perpetuates mistakes. It is only suc- 
cess that succeeds." 

"Now, Uncle Tom," cried Christine, "you know you don't believe that. 



Now on the grounds of Clemson Agricultural College. 

How many times have you repeated for us that poem of Story's — ' Io 
Victis,' is n't it? " 

" Oh, yes ; a fine thing ! " exclaimed Jack. " I know it, too : 

' I sing the hymn of the conquered, who fell in the battle of life — ' " 

" All right, Jack," said Uncle Tom, restraining his nephew's oratory ; " I 
don't know, however, that that exactly fits Calhoun's case. You see, - he suc- 
ceeded to a certain extent, and out of his apparent success came America's 
greatest stress and bloodiest struggle for existence. And yet, Calhoun's 
life story is that of an earnest and honest endeavor toward what he deemed 
just, right, and patriotic ends. Action depends largely upon the point of 
view, and to his standpoint the world has given the verdict of ' a mistake.' 
But John C. Calhoun was a famous American ; he is South Carolina's most 
eminent son, and is well worth our study and remembrance." 

" He was a disunion man, was n't he? " objected Bert. 

"He was an earnest and outspoken States' Rights man," Uncle Tom re- 
plied. "He held that each State was an independent power, and had the 
right, under the Constitution, to act for itself, even to act contrary to — or 
what is called 'nullify' — a law of the nation." 

"From ne ullits, not any," interpolated the philological Bert. "That 
means, not amounting to anything, useless, not binding." 



" In other words, N. G.," said Jack ; "make it brief, professor." 

" To us Calhoun's doctrine sounds revolutionary," Uncle Tom continued. 
"It was ; but all such beliefs, as we look back upon them, were really neces- 
sary to the proper development of the real strength of the republic. Obsta- 
cles help us to remove obstacles, you know, and the path of abiding union 
lay through attempted disunion." 

" That sounds odd," said Roger. 

" It would if it were n't Uncle Tom who says it," Christine declared. 
"He always sees a good side to everything." 

"We must, my dear," said Uncle Tom, smiling. "Why else should 
things occur ? I remember somewhere having seen a verse that fits here : 

" To that clearer sight 
The rim of shadow 
Is the line of light. 

Do you know what that means ? Well, you will, later. And let me say 
for Calhoun and his followers that they acted from what they deemed right 
motives. Even though he was the chiet and most eloquent advocate of 
slavery, he was so from principle, and while abhorring his conclusions, we 
should honor his integrity. No man ever questioned Calhoun's sincerity, 
and he certainly had what is called the courage of his convictions." 


i 4 4 


" But that is what we wish to forget him for," said Marian. " Is n't there 
something we can remember him for? " 

" Certainly," replied Uncle Tom. " Calhoun first proposed the annexa- 
tion of Texas, and he kept the nation from a third war with England, in 

1848, over the vexed question of the 
Oregon boundary. These are both 
what the boys would call ' feathers in 
his cap,' and are well worth remember- 

"Where did he live?" Christine 

" In the very uppermost corner of 
South Carolina, just where the State 
lies like a wedge between North Caro- 
lina and Georgia. Calhoun, you know, 
was South Carolina born and bred. 
He was Secretary of War under Pres- 
ident Monroe, and Secretary of State 
under Tyler. He was Vice-President 
for two terms, with John Ouincy 
Adams and Andrew Jackson. While 
he was Secretary of War he removed to 
this estate in the wedge of South Caro- 
lina. It was called Fort Hill, and was 
a quaint old Southern mansion, very 
much like Mount Vernon. 
"The estate now belongs to an agricultural college and the old mansion 
is, I believe, used as the college museum and post office. Not far from the 
house still stands the little office or library in which the great Nullifier did 
his thinking, reading, and working." 

" The same as on the Webster place," Christine reminded them. 
"There were numerous things that were almost coincidences in the ca- 
reers of those three great Senators, Clay, Webster, and Calhoun," Uncle Tom 
replied. "Each was a leader, each aspired to the highest place in the na- 
tion, each failed of success. They were all born at the same period — 
about 1780; all three died at the same period — about 1850. A com- 
parative study of their lives is of great interest, for their influence upon their 
times was great." 

"Tell us about Henry Clay, Uncle Tom," said Bert. "You began to, 
you know, and then switched off on Calhoun." 

General Samuel Houslun, first President of Texas. 



"You 're a great fellow to stick to the main subject, Bert," said Uncle 
Tom, with a laugh. "That \s all right; I like to see it in you. It means a 
clear mind and persistence — two qualities to keep a man active and bring 
him to success." 

" Oh, that 's Bert, every time, Uncle Tom," cried Jack. " He 's a master 
mind. He '11 be President yet. Don't go back on your friends, will you, 
old fellow ?" 

" Nor on your convictions, either, Bert," said Uncle Tom. " That is what 
has wrecked too many reputations and brought too many public men to 


grief. Now as to Henry Clay. His story is one of popularity and progress, 
tinctured with failure. He was a poor boy, born in the Virginia lowlands, 
at a place called the Slashes, in Hanover county, a short distance north of 
Richmond. He was the fifth in a family of seven, and one of his 'chores' 
was to ride the horse to mill; hence, the " mill-boy of the Slashes," you see. 
He was a bright, wide-awake boy, and finally managed to get to Richmond 
and start out in life as a lawyer. In 1797 he decided to try his fortunes in 



a new region, and removed across the mountains into Kentucky, settling 
in Lexington — the town for which we are bound." 

" I '11 bet he did n't go in a parlor car, though," said Jack. 

" Of course he did n't," said 
Marian. "Why, they did n't even 
have steam-cars then, did they, Uncle 
Tom ? " 

"No, no; it was 1830, at least, 
before the railway pierced these 
hills," Uncle Tom replied, "nearly 
forty years after Clay crossed the 
mountains. You may be sure that 
Henry Clay went on horseback, as 
did most people then, along the old 
highway to the West that had 
been made out of the trail of 
trappers and pioneers. He soon 
became popular in Kentucky. He 
had a frank, cordial way about 
him that made friends quickly, 
and before long he was in 
politics. He was sent to the 
legislature in 1804, where he 
advocated the gradual abo- 
lition of slavery. In 1806 he 
was sent to the Senate ot the 
United States." 


" A senator so soon ! " cried Bert. " Why, how old was he ? " 

" Not quite thirty," was Uncle Tom's reply. " But young men of prom- 
ise quickly got to the front in those days." 

" I should say so," said Roger. 

" Why were n't we living then ? " remarked Jack. 

" From that time on, .for more than forty years, Henry Clay was a pub- 
lic man, either in the Senate, the House of Representatives, or the Cabinet. 
He was three times Speaker of the House of Representatives ; he was Secre- 
tary of State under President John Ouincy Adams ; he was one of the com- 
missioners to sign the Treaty of Ghent that closed the War of 181 2. From 
first to last his policy was popular, because it was what is called American." 

" Meaning by that? " queried Bert. 

"Meaning by that," replied Uncle Tom: "'the best for America, and 
America the best ! ' I don't mean that he went about bragging and ' spoiling 
for a fight,' as the saying is; he was n't, by any means, one of those chip- 
on-the-shoulder people sometimes called 'Jingoes' ; I mean that he labored 
for the welfare of the republic in whose future he so ardently believed. 
Henry Clay made mistakes, and had many shortcomings, but from first to 
last he was an American : national, broad-minded, patriotic, proud of his 
country, ardently devoted to the Union, earnest and eloquent for every mea- 
sure or policy likely to advance American nationality — from curbing the 
tyranny of England in 181 2 to struggling to keep the Union unbroken in 

" That 's the kind of man I like," cried Jack. " Why under the sun 
was n't he President?" 

" Simply because he was n't elected, Jack," said Uncle Tom. 

" Well, it was a shame," Jack declared. " He was better than half the 
fellows who were elected." 

" A man who is so ardent and so splendid a party chief as was Henry 
Clay," said Uncle Tom, "also makes many enemies. The crowds cheered 
for ' the mill-boy of the Slashes ' and ' Harry of the West,' as they loved to 
call their magnetic leader, but he always just failed of nomination or election. 
For twenty years the prize of the Presidency dangled before the eyes of 
Henry Clay only to be snatched away by less able men, and always to ac- 
complish the very desire which Clay had most at heart — harmony and 
union. When you read American political history, you will understand why 
so popular a leader never became anything but a fallen idol." 

"I don't see it," exclaimed Jack, hotly. Jack seemed already to have 
become a Clay partizan by inspiration, Uncle Tom declared. "He did n't 
fall. The people who went back on him fell," said Jack. 



" Good for you, Jack ! " cried Uncle Tom, who always did admire enthu- 
siasm. " I like to see earnestness, even when I am not thoroughly in ac- 
cord with it. Your remark, too, though your own, singularly enough is 
exactly what Henry Clay's admirers said. I wonder if I can recall a spirited 
bit of verse by an ardent Clay man — William Wilberforce Lord. I got it 
by heart once because then I believed it. Mr. Stedman considers it as fine 
as Whittier's lines on Webster. Let 's see how it sounds to-day. It was 
written after Clay's overthrow, and was called ' On the Defeat of a Great 
Man.' " 

And Uncle Tom, leaning back against the comfortable cushions of the 
compartment, recalled Lord's spirited lines : 

" Fallen ! How fallen ? States and empires fall ; 

O'er towers and rock-built walls, 
And perished nations, floods and tempests call 
With hollow sound along the sea of time ; 

The great man never falls ; — 
He lives, he towers aloft, he stands sublime; 

They fall, who give him not 
The honor here that suits his future name, — 

They die and are forgot. 


" O giant, loud and blind ! the great man's fame 
Is his own shadow and not cast by thee ; 
A shadow that shall grow 
As down the heaven of time the sun descends, 

And on the world shall throw 
His godlike image till it sinks, where blends 
Time's dim horizon with Eternity." 

" Fine, but not Whittier," was the verdict of Roger of Boston. 

"It 's true, all the same," said Jack. "Great heads, eh — yours truly 
and Mr. Lord ? " 

"Come back here a hundred years from now, Jack," Uncle Tom suggested, 
" and see how your hero's fame stands the test of time. That, after all, is 
the real standard of greatness." 

With that they separated for the night, and next morning were up 
bright and early for their first glimpse of Kentucky, as they sped on from the 
eastern foot-hills toward Lexington, in the heart of the blue-grass country. 

"Why is it called blue-grass, Uncle Tom?" asked Marian. " It looks 
greener than green to me — and how beautiful and velvety." 

" Later in the year you get the blue effect that gives this famous Ken- 
tucky grass its name," Uncle Tom replied. "When the wind bends the high 
grass, you catch the tint that underlies the green and gives a bluish tinge 
to the waving blades." 

" But that man in the smoking-compartment just told me," said Bert, 
" that the blue grass was not of Kentucky origin. He says it was brought 
here from Indiana, but that the Kentucky soil has seemed particularly adapted 
to its development. Is that so, Uncle Tom ? " 

" Give it up," his uncle replied. " I am not up in botanical history, as 
your friend in the smoking-room seems to be. Perhaps he is right ; but for 
all purposes, sentimental, picturesque, 

and practical, the blue grass is es- {SSSli 

pecially a Kentucky product, and will 
always be associated with this fertile c «s=^''58i^v , ' 

They reached Lexington and their WKEKEtiSK^^^* 

hotel in time for breakfast, and, soon ~ ;-^-^ F~ r s T^ s ^' ^^^^^^ ^ff^ 
after, sauntered up and down broad, ^^sUS"? 

prosperous-looking Main Street for a henry clays inkstand. 

glance at the attractive town. 

Roger seemed inclined to resent its size and importance. 

"Why, it 's bigger than our Lexington," he said, with the tone of one 


who thought that the Lexington of America should be the historical town 
surrounding the storied Middlesex green. 

"To be sure it is," said Uncle Tom. "This Lexington leads your Lex- 
ington by nearly twenty thousand people. It is a business center, you can 
see, Roger, and a thriving, go-ahead city. But let this satisfy you — it was 
named for your Lexington in Massachusetts. For while the settlers were 
laying out their town, the tidings came to them of that famous fight that 
opened the American Revolution, and at once they gave to the new Ken- 
tucky settlement the name of that far-off Massachusetts battle-field." 

" Good for them ! " cried Jack. " There 's appreciation for you, Roger." 

" That was fine, was n't it ? " said Roger, highly satisfied with the infor- 
mation ; and as they boarded a trolley in front of the Breckenridge statue 
on their way to Ashland, the Boston boy raised his cap in salute to the en- 
terprising Kentucky city, which he called " Sam Adams's stepson." 

A ride of a mile along broad and pleasant Main Street brought them to 
a turn in the road from where it was only a short walk to the estate fa- 
mous throughout America under its name of " Ashland." 

The "old Kentucky home " of Henry Clay lay at a very slight elevation 
in the midst of broad and far-reaching pastures, while all about the house 
itself clustered a stately growth of ash, oak, and walnut trees. 

The house stood back some distance from the road, a broad driveway 
leading to the ample front door. 

But here again, as in the Webster case, the children learned that they 
were not looking upon the real Clay house. That, so Uncle Tom informed 
them, was torn down years ago because no longer safe, the small, yellow 
building off in the fields being the only real survivor of Henry Clay's day. 

" Well, here 's a curious thing ! " said Jack, standing still beneath a great 
ash, and pushing back his cap in surprise. " Do you notice the coincidence, 
Uncle Tom? Clay, Webster, and Calhoun — three statesmen of the same age 
and time — each one of them in the Senate — each in the Cabinet — each 
hoping to be President — each one a farmer on a big estate — the house of 
each one practically wiped out of existence after the death of the owner, 
and, standing not far from the house, the only real relic in each case — a 
solitary little yellow building, used by its former owner as his study or office. 
Now, is n't that odd ? " 

The whole party exclaimed at the curious coincidence, and Uncle Tom 
remarked : 

"It is as I told you, Jack, when we were talking over Calhoun's story. 
The similarity in the lives of these three great statesmen, though they 
were so absolutely different as personalities, is marked and striking. But, 




I confess, I had not seen or known of all these points that you bring out." 
You have a sharp eye for ' curios', old fellow." 

The door of the mansion was flung open in hospitable welcome, and 
under the guidance of an affable colored butler the children were shown 
through the handsome house, every room of which is eloquent with memo- 
rials of the great man who once called Ashland "home." 

The house, they were glad to know, was in almost every respect an exact 
and faithful reproduction of the original Clay mansion, built by "the great 
pacificator" in 1809. 

But, even more than the house, the surroundings of the house spoke of 
the famous Kentuckian. Here, at least, were things that actually environed 

When he was nominated for the Presidency of the United States. 



Now in possession of John M. Clay, Esq. 

him, and in which he delighted — the tall pines transplanted by him from the 
Kentucky mountains ; the winding path that was his favorite walk, tree- 
shaded and shrub-bordered, just as arranged by him ; the wide stretches of 
pasture land beyond the 
house, which, as in the 
founder's day, give the 
finest grazing-ground in 
the world to a blooded 
stock that has become 
famous in horse-history. 

Boys and girls alike 
were "simply crazy," as 
their extravagant lan- 
guage declared, over the beautiful Kentucky horses, which had been an 
increasing feature in the landscape ever since their descent from the east 
Kentucky highlands. But the Lexington horses, so Jack affirmed, "just 
walk away with them all." 

Beyond the town, through a frame of leafy walnut branches, Uncle Tom, 
as he stood with his young people on the violet-studded Ashland lawn, 
pointed out to them, two miles away, the tall column of the Clay monument 
in the Lexington cemetery. 

Leaving beautiful Ashland, the tourists boarded a trolley back to town, 
and, a mile to the north, as Ashland was a mile to the south, they came to 
the grave of a true American. 

The towering marble shaft, topped by the ever- familiar figure of Henry 
Clay, the lawmaker, sprang into the air from a pedestal that was the tomb. 
Within this rectangular room the children saw, through the gate of open iron- 
work, the marble sarcophagi that held the remains of Henry Clay and his 
devoted wife. Encircled by a wreath carved upon one draped sarcophagus 
stood the simple announcement: HENRY CLAY; while on the base of the 
supporting pedestal these words were read — a message from the ■ dead 
statesman to his fellow- Americans : 

" I can with unshaken confidence appeal to the divine Arbiter for the 
truth of the declaration that I have been influenced by no impure purpose, 
no personal motive, have sought no personal aggrandizement, but that in all 
my public acts I have had a sole and single eye and a warm, devoted heart 
directed and dedicated to what, in my best judgment, I believe to be the true 
interests of my country." 

"Well, I guess that 's so, is n't it?" was Bert's comment, as, at last, 
they turned from the grave of Clay and walked down the grassy slope. 




"Yes; I believe it is," his uncle replied. "With all his inconsistencies, 
Henry Clay was immovable in one thing: his devotion to the Union. Al- 
most his last public words were a plea for harmony. ' Let us,' he said, ' discard 
all resentments, all passions, all petty jealousies,, all personal desires, all love of 
place, all hungering after the gilded crumbs which fall from the table of 
power .... and think alone of our God, our country, our conscience, and our 
glorious Union.' " 

"That was fine," said Roger ; "but they did n't mind him." 
" No ; they did n't," Uncle Tom replied. " The conflict between freedom 
and slavery was inevitable. It had to come, and not even the loving appeal 
of the great peacemaker could stop, although it did for a time stay, it. If it 
had come in his day I am certain he would have been found on the side of 
Union. There only could he stand who gave voice to this as the sentiment 
of his old age : ' So long as it pleases God to give me a voice to express 
my sentiments, or an arm, weak and enfeebled as it may be by age, that 
voice and that arm will be on the side of my country, for the support of the 
general authority and for the maintenance of the powers of this Union.'" 

" Henry Clay," continued Uncle Tom, as once again they took the trolley 
and, watching the tall Clay shaft recede in a verdant perspective, buzzed 



back to town, "was a notable figure in the history of the republic. Imperi- 
ous, headstrong, brilliant, imaginative, restive under advice, impatient under 
criticism, he lacked caution as a leader and accuracy as a guide. Though 
fearless as a party chieftain, he fought mostly for compromise, and though 
ambitious for the Presidency, he desired it for national rather than personal 
ends. A statesman and not a politician, he hated selfishness in office and 
greed in public trust, so that his integrity as a man and citizen is free from 
spot or stain. A gentleman always, he could face down all assaults upon 
his honor or his name, and if he had not been consumed by the one laudable 
ambition to be President of the republic, his story would have been one of 
success, of leadership, of popularity, and of a fame undimmed by the shadow 
of failure or the cloud of personal ambition. But his record is still, that of 
a great American, and his country will gratefully remember his services, 
while for years his home here in beautiful Lexington will be a point of pil- 
grimage for the patriot, the citizen, the American." 



As seen from Ashland Lawn, across the city of Lexington. 





Jack's Discomfittire — Beautiful Kentucky — The Dark and Bloody Ground 
— Louisville Hospitality — Glimpses of Jackson — At the Hermitage — 
Old Alfred 's Reminiscences — Relics and Stories — The Home and Char- 
acter of Old Hickory. 

S Jack registered for his party at the hotel in Nashville — 

Jack always assumed this duty, and Uncle Tom declared 

that it was done with such an air of proprietorship that he 

always felt his own insignificance — he said to the clerk, as 

he buried the pen-point in the box of shot: 

"Whereabouts does the trolley start, for the Hermitage? Near here?" 

"The Hermitage!" exclaimed the hotel clerk, with the hotel clerk's 

superior though affable smile ; " why, there 's no trolley to the Hermitage. 

That 's twelve miles off." 

" Is that so!" said Jack. "Well, that 's the first time we 've been so 
far from a lemon. Everything, everywhere, from Norfolk on, has been just 
a trolley-ride away. What 's the matter with the Hermitage ? " 

"Oh, that 's all right," the clerk replied, with a twinkle; "but you see, 
Old Hickory did n't think of trolleys when he settled there. Like to move 
it for you, sir, but, you see, we can't. It 's a pleasant trip down there, 
though. Better take it in." 

"Why, that 's what we 're here for," said Jack, turning away to join the 
others, marshaled under Uncle Tom's lead at the elevator. 

To them, Jack reported. In the midst of the laugh at Jack's expense 
that followed, Uncle Tom assured his nephew that his inquiry was entirely 
unnecessary, as all such details had been duly attended to, and that they 
would leave for the Hermitage on the morning train. 

"Meantime," he said, "we '11 still be loyal to your trolley program, 



Jack, and ride out this afternoon to see the Vanderbilt University and the 
big exposition buildings at the farther end of the city." 

They did so, and were amply repaid for the trip, surprised and pleased 

at the bigness and beauty of Nash- 
ville — the great exposition buildings 
set in a broad, green park ; the State 
Capitol, with its Grecian outlines, set 
high on a hill ; and, close beside it, 
the grave of President Polk, and the 
fine equestrian statue of General 
Andrew Jackson, whose home, called 
by him "the Hermitage," they were 
now en route to see. 

Their journey west and south from 
Lexington had been a delightful one. 
The boys and girls all fell in love with 
Kentucky. The green stretch of 
"blue-grass" country between Lex- 
ington and Louisville was a veritable 
garden-land, and Roger declared that 
he should prevail on his father to sell 
out in Boston and buy one of the 
beautiful estates in Pewee Valley, or some other fair stretch of Kentucky 
country, and go into the horse business. 

At this there was a general shout. The idea of the Boston boy "weak- 
ening on his beloved Hub," as Jack expressed it, was too much for them. 

"All the same," said Bert, "there 's no discount on this, " and he swept 
his hand toward the verdant landscape that lay on each side of the rumbling 
train. " That man in the smoking compartment yesterday told us that 
Kentucky was the Lord's own country ; and it does look like it — on the 

"And yet," Uncle Tom declared, "no region in our land has been more 
torn by ferocity and feud. Think of it ! This was ' the dark and bloody 
ground ' — this peaceful-looking landscape ! " 

" Forest land, though ; not pasture then, I guess," put in practical Bert. 
" Of course, much of it ; but just as beautiful then as now, Bert," said 
Uncle Tom. " But it was the red-man's battle-ground. Here, again and 
again, Northern and Southern Indians met in fierce struggle for the possession 
of these choice hunting-grounds ; here hunters and pioneers struggled with 
the red owners for a foothold. Just a few miles to the south of where we are 





now the Kentucky river winds its way through the region made famous by 
Daniel Boone; and at our very next stop — Frankfort, the capital of the 
State — the great frontiersman lies buried in the only six feet of Kentucky 
soil that, after all he did for this region, he could call his own. There, too, 
in that same Frankfort cemetery, rises the monument to one whose name* 
and work you must recall — O'Hara, the soldier-poet." 

" What, the one who wrote the ' Bivouac of the Dead ' ? " cried Roger. 

" Why, that 's the poem that is cut up and posted about among all those 
soldiers' graves at Arlington," said Jack. 

" Oh, yes; just across the river from Washington," said Marian ; " I re- 
member that. And the man who wrote that splendid poem is buried here, 
you say ? " 

" Just beyond us here, in Frankfort cemetery," replied Uncle Tom, while 
Christine, looking through the window toward the town they were nearing, 

repeated softly : 

" On Fame's eternal camping-ground 
Their silent tents are spread, 
And Glory guards with solemn round 
The Bivouac of the Dead." 



" Somehow, that poem always just goes through me," said Marian. " It 
makes me tingle." 

" A fine piece of verse," said Uncle Tom. " One stanza not used in Arling- 
ton is local" and applies especially to the Kentucky soldiers of 1812 and 

1 846 who rest beneath their marble monu- 
ment yonder in Frankfort cemetery : 

" Sons of the dark and bloody ground, 

Ye must not slumber there 
Where stranger steps and tongues resound 

Along the heedless air ; 
Your own proud land's heroic soil 

Should be your fitter grave ; 
She claims from war its richest spoil — 

The ashes of the brave. " 

Just then the train drew into Frank- 
fort, and Uncle Tom pointed out the old 
and new capitol buildings and told them 
of Kentucky's contributions to the re- 

" ' Your own proud land's heroic soil ' 
has a notable record," he said. "A 
Kentucky man drew my attention to it 
yesterday as we wandered about Lex- 
ington. Let me see if I can recall it. 
Two Presidents of the United States — 
Zachary Taylor and Abraham Lincoln — 
were Kentucky born, you know, and the one Confederate President, Jef- 
ferson Davis. Besides these, two Vice-Presidents of the United States 
and two acting Vice-Presidents, two Secretaries of State, four Secretaries 
of the Treasury, three Secretaries of War, one Secretary of the Navy, one 
Secretary of the Interior, six Postmasters-General, six Attorneys-General, 
seven Judges of the Supreme Court, two Presidents of the Senate, and six 
Speakers of the House. That 's quite a list, is n't it?" 
" I should say so," said Bert. 
"Anything left for Ohio?" queried Jack. 

" You don't think that Kentucky man's 'Kentucky-ness ' made him swell 
things, do you ? " asked Roger. 

"Well, his loyalty may have led him into over-appropriation," said 
Uncle Tom ; " for he included James G. Blaine, because the famous Speaker 
taught school and married his wife in Kentucky, and I suspect one or two 




others may have been Kentuckian by his adoption. 
Still, it 's a strong list, and one not easily paralleled. 
Kentucky 's a great State, you see." 

So they all concluded before they were through 
with it. Their two days in Louisville were crowded 
with pleasure. The situation, extent, energy, and 
stateliness of the city impressed them, its wide 
streets and verdant lawns gave to it breadth and 
beauty, while its hospitality was avoided only by a 
vigorous effort. 

But Uncle Tom, with a stern sense of duty, 
dragged his "brood "away from the delightful Third- 
street mansion where lived a charming Kentucky 
woman whom some of the boys and girls had met at 
their Maine summer resort by the sea, and who in- 
sisted upon keeping them all and indefinitely. So 
at last they escaped across the Kentucky border 
" by the skin of their teeth," Bert biblically declared, 
and reached the southernmost point in their trip 
— Nashville and the home of Andrew Jackson. 



The morning after their arrival in Nashville they took an early train 
on the Lebanon Branch road, running east from Nashville, and, as they 
made the hour's run through a green and fertile country of rolling land 
that, so Bert declared, looked " real New Englandy," Uncle Tom gave 
his young auditors brief glimpses of the remarkable man whose homestead 
they were approaching. 

"A stirring life, from the word 'go,' was that of Andrew Jackson," he 
said. " We see him first a rough, red-haired, freckle-faced, fatherless boy 
of the ' piney woods ' section of Carolina, picking up a poor living and a 
poorer schooling. A bluff and boisterous boy, I imagine ; something of a 
bull)-, but never a coward. Brought up on the border, he was a belligerent 
before he was in his teens, fighting the British as a boy guerrilla, seeing his 
brothers and mother die through British cruelty, and early learning the 
lesson of hatred to the foes of America that clung to him through all his 
eventful life. 

"We next see him a Western emigrant, crossing the border into Ten- 
nessee in i 788, when he was twenty-one years old, settling as a lawyer in 
the new town of Nashville, and taking long horseback rides from court- 
house to court-house through a region swarming with Indians and wild 
beasts — enemies he was obliged again and again to face in fight. 

"After this come success, recognition, popularity, advancement. He 
helps draft the constitution of the new State of Tennessee, is sent to the na- 
tion's capital, first as a representative, then as a senator ; he becomes Judge 
Jackson of Tennessee, then General Jackson, finally President Jackson. 

" We see him building on his big plantation, toward which we are trav- 
eling, a house of logs in 1804. I will show you that very log house, yet 
standing. There he and his dearly loved wife live for fifteen long years, 
when, in 18 19, he builds the house now famous, as the Hermitage. 

"We might, if we had time, follow him step by step throughout his 
steady progress from a ' piney-woods boy' to President. It would be a course 
checkered with much hard fighting, many personal quarrels, lawsuits, duels, 
bitterness, and anger, for Andrew Jackson loved hard and hated hard ; but 
there would be in it, too, honesty, integrity, business ability, firmness, cou- 
rage, loyalty, and love. These were the things that sent him ahead, that gave 
him popularity, that made people believe in and follow him. Let me give 
you these steps upward, in just so many words : farmer-boy, soldier-bov, 
saddler's apprentice, law-student, horse-trainer, lawyer, frontiersman, prose- 
cuting attorney, land speculator, constitution-maker, representative, senator, 
judge, storekeeper, farmer, flatboat-builder, wholesale shipper, cotton- 
planter, stock-raiser, militia officer, volunteer soldier, general, conqueror in 




the war of 181 2, victor in Florida, governor of Florida, United States sena- 
tor, presidential candidate, President, hero by popular acclaim ! — there is a 
record of steady progress filling a life of seventy-eight busy years, and punc- 
tuated with all those fiery incidents that made Andrew Jackson at once a 
terror and a triumph. I think there is no other figure in American history 
whose success is so meteoric, or whose career was so dramatic as that of this 
tall, thin, sinewy, strong-faced, stiff-haired, seventh President of the United 
States, whom men still love to refer to as ' Old Hickory.' " 

The train, soon after, left them on the platform of the little wayside sta- 
tion called Hermitage — a depot, a cross-roads country store, a house or 



two in sight, and, stretching all about, green and wooded slopes and pastures. 
The girl at the store stepped to the door and shouted, " Jack ! You Jack!" with 
such startling earnestness that our Jack really felt uncomfortable. The other 
Jack came, and with him the carriages Uncle Tom had ordered. Then fol- 
lowed a delightful two miles' drive to where, turning from the pike, they drove 
through a shaded roadway up to the doorway of a low, rambling, square-built, 
porticoed, two-story house, standing far back from the road — the Hermitage. 
"How perfectly delightful!" exclaimed Marian, as she surveyed the 
breezy, hospitable-looking place, which seemed to speak a welcome in every 
line and corner of its unpretentious amplitude. 

They paid a lingering visit to the 
homestead which, with twenty-five acres 
of surrounding land, is now owned 
by the State of Tennessee, and cared 
for by the Ladies' Hermitage Associ- 
ation. Under the guidance of old Al- 
fred, the last of the Jackson slaves, they 
inspected the few, the very few, remain- 
ing Jackson relics (for most of them, 
unfortunately, have been scattered or 
transferred), the house, the grounds, 
the garden, and the monument. 

The old fellow proved entertaining, 
and a loyal adherent of the " ole gin'ral " 
and of " Missus Jackson." 

" Why, I held the ole gin'ral's arm 
jest like dat 'fore he died," he assured 
Roger, grasping the boy's arm ; and he 
delighted the girls by holding forth on 
"Missus Jackson's" goodness and im- 

"She was a good missus," he declared, 
" 'n mighty good to the pore folks. She 
could sing, and ride a horse as well as 
the gin'ral hisself, and she was 'tentive 
to her pra'rs and minded her Bible. 
Many 's de time," he added reflectively, 
Andrew, and the Injun boy, one after 
t' other, 'crost her knee and jest whopped us for bein' owdashus." 

Uncle Tom hastened to explain that "Marse Andrew " was Mrs. Jackson's 

'"Jack! You Jack!"' 

dat Missus has put me, Marse 




nephew and the general's adopted son, while the "Injun boy" was that 
little Indian orphan, whose story is familiar, who was picked up by Jackson 
on a Creek battlefield, sent to the Hermitage, and cared for by the conqueror 
of his race. 

"The Hermitage was a great place for children, white and black," 
Uncle Tom declared. "Andrew Jackson had no sons or daughters of his 
own, but he loved all children, and there were many nephews and nieces to 
play about these grounds, while the boys and girls through the country that 
were named 'Andrew' or ' Rachel' by his admirers were legion." 

They wandered through the big breezy rooms of the old-fashioned man- 
sion while Alfred drew their attention to things that seemed to him impor- 
tant — the paper on the halls and stairway, imported from France by Jack- 
son, and put on the walls under his supervision — a monstrous pattern ot 
commingled history and mythology, as impossible in scene as in perspective. 

He took them to the wide-porticoed piazzas, up-stairs and down, and 
showed them just where Jackson stood when he made his last public speech, 
and he drew their attention to the cedar- shaded walk that led from the gate- 
entrance. The great cedars that lined it were planted by the " ole gin'ral," 
so he explained, "in the form of a git-thar." 

" A what? " inquired puzzled Marian; and it required a repetition and an 
explanatory sweep of the hand to show that the old custodian meant that 
the cedar walk was shaped like a guitar. 

Alfred also explained, as he led them about the house to show its pro- 

1 66 


Built 1804. The smaller building is old Alfred's birthplace. 

portions, that when the Hermitage was built in 1 819 it was just a square 
blockhouse with a small porch. " But in 1835," he informed them, "the ole 
gin'ral, 'ca'se he was President, you see, put on dese yere exaggerations," 

and he indicated the ample pillared 
porticoes which project from the 
house at front and rear. 

The children smothered a laugh 
at the old man's apt though inno- 
cent appellation, and then followed 
him afield to the first Hermitage — 
the old house of logs, a gunshot 
away from the later mansion. That, they learned, was Jackson's home at 
the time of the war of 181 2 — the war that made him famous, when, behind 
the cotton bales of New Orleans (only Bert assured them that there were 
no cotton bales there at the time of the battle), he forced back the veter- 
ans of Wellington and closed a leaderless war with a brilliant victory. 

They roamed all about the place, resting again and again in the shade 
of the great encompassing trees. Then old Alfred grew interested in the 
enthusiastic young people and made an exception in their case. For he 
unlocked the gate in the iron fence that encircled the monument and let 
the boys and girls stand within the temple-like 
mausoleum that marks the grave of a statesman. 

"As simple as Webster's, so far as inscription 
goes, is n't it? " said Bert. " But it tells the story, 
just as Webster's did. All the world knows An- 
drew Jackson." 

The girls read twice, carefully, the touching trib- 
ute to his wife Rachel that Jackson caused to be 
carved upon the slab that lies close beside his own. 

" Is n't it beautiful ? " said Christine. " I don't 
see, Uncle Tom, how a man who could say such 
lovely things about his wife could be such a fighter 
in war and politics." 

" Jackson's respect for women was almost 
knightly in its courtesy," Uncle Tom declared. 
"His affection for his wife was peculiarly deep and strong, and when she 
died, just before his inauguration as President, he went to Washington, in 
the midst of shouts of welcome and congratulation, a lonely and broken- 
hearted man." 

" Yes. sir, dat 's de troof," old Alfred affirmed. " I 'member, jest 'fore he 




/ X 


went, de ole gin'ral he planted dese yere willows hisself, beside ole Missus' 
grave. Dey was jest switches den, but dey done growed, 'cept dat ar one 
what was struck by lightnin'. De ole gin'ral loved dis place. Wen he gits 
into his kerridge fer to go to Washington he done tuk off his hat to de house, 
jest like it was a lady, and den he dribe away." 

It was all very interesting. Yonder, at the old house in the fields, so 
Uncle Tom told them, Aaron Burr had been a frequent visitor, and from it 


Jackson went to war and victory; here, in the " new" house, Jackson had 
received Lafayette as a guest, and behind the mansion were spread the long 
tables for the great barbecue in honor of the famous Frenchman. Here he 
received the news of his election ; here he outlined the action that made his 
name a power in American politics; here "all the world" came to see and 
honor him ; and here, on a June day, he died, an old man of seventy-eight. 
The young people felt, indeed, that the Hermitage had been well worth the 
visit. It seemed, so Christine declared, to put them nearer to the real man 
with a good and tender side, whom they had only known by the unyielding 
nickname of " Old Hickory." 

A lunch at the Hermitage, a visit to the Confederate Soldiers' Home on 
the adjoining grounds, a talk with numerous friendly and grizzled old veter- 
ans who had worn the gray, a delightful drive back to the station through 
woodlands vocal with finch-songs and robin-notes, and through the mingling 
green and white of Tennessee's spring foliage and blossoms, completed this 
most satisfactory trip to the home of Jackson. 

In the fields beyond the country store they waited for the up-train to 
Nashville, and while they did so, Uncle Tom, as they all sat in the shade of 
the great hickory-trees, sought to give them a brief summing up of the 
character of the master of the Hermitage. 

" I have already told you," he said, " that I can name no more unique 
or picturesque figurejn American history than Andrew Jackson." 

" flow picturesque, Uncle Tom?" demanded Bert, who was always very 
particular as to adjectives. "Can you apply that to such a bluff and gruff 
old fellow as Jackson ? " 

The girls remembered the inscription on his wife's tablet, and were in- 
clined to protest against calling him bluff and gruff. But Uncle Tom did 
not seem to find the boy's words objectionable, and simply assured Bert that 
anything that occupied a unique or "decorative" position in material or in- 
tellectual conditions could be called picturesque. 

"Certainly," he added, "nothing could be more noticeably picturesque 
in character or story than this brave and fiery old fighting-man. No man 
was ever more devotedly followed, none was ever more cordially hated. 
Bartizans rallied around him as about a tribal chief; enemies raged against 
him as against the bitterest foe. He came into our political history as a free- 
lance ; his nomination and election upset all the old traditions. The aristo- 
crats prophesied anarchy ; the people hailed his inauguration as bringing in 
the reign, of the people. All the starch and show that had held sway 
in presidential etiquette from Washington's time were overthrown. It was 
a new departure, and Jackson's election to the Fresidency," Uncle Tom 



declared, " was the most important event in American history from Wash- 
ington's day to that of Lincoln." 

" Jackson was the first ' people's President,' " he said. " More than Jeffer- 
son, he was the father of national democracy ; more than Clay, he was in- 
tensely, even belligerently, American ; more than Webster, he had what 
we call, 'the courage of his convictions,' and would live up to what he 
esteemed right, no matter who opposed it. Absolutely fearless, vigorous in 
methods, quick in action, emphatic in speech, if he thought a thing should 
be done, he did it, careless of consequence. 

" Not a great man in the sense that Washington and Lincoln were great, 
he was yet so brave, so outspoken, so determined, and so resolute that he 


silenced all opposition and triumphed over all enemies, while his stern and 
inflexible honesty rose almost to greatness." 

" He did n't go much on civil-service reform, Uncle Tom, did he ? " asked 

"Was n't he the man who said, 'To the victor belong the spoils'?" 
Jack inquired. 

" No; he was not the originator of that detestable saying," Uncle Tom 



replied ; " but he acted up to it, for it was the advice of one of his partizans. 
Even in that, though, was Jackson's picturesqueness displayed. He was in- 
tensely loyal to his friends ; he was equally vindictive to his foes, and from 
his administration certainly dates the system of political rewards and punish- 
ments which for half a century marred and cheapened American politics 
and patriotism. Jackson, you see, was the soldier in office. He knew no 
master save his own will, which, he declared, was the will of the people. 
And it did appear to be so, too ; for the majority of the people believed so 
thoroughly in him that his two terms as President were at once the most 
popular the most dramatic and the most effective of those of all the Presi- 
dents of the United States up to his time." 

In a locket worn by the President. 

" He won the battle of New Orleans, and he said ' the Union must and 
shall be preserved.' I know that much about him," said Jack. " What 
else ? " 

" I can't enumerate here in detail, Jack," Uncle Tom replied; but this I 
can tell you, Andrew Jackson was a patriotic President." 


I 7 I 



t"»' 1 




"No monkeying with the Constitution allowed — keep off the grass — 
that kind of President, was n't he, Uncle Tom ? " said Jack. 

"That 's about it — in your peculiar and vigorous speech," Uncle Tom 
admitted. "With the sternness of the despot he crushed the rebellious at- 
tempts of the ' nullifiers,' and saved the Union from disruption ; with an 
equally heavy hand he demolished the institution called the United States 
Bank, which he considered a menace to the republic ; he brought England 
to terms ; made France pay a just but delayed indebtedness ; settled disputes 
of long standing with Denmark and with Spain ; and forced Europe to rec- 
ognize and admit the strength and vigor of America as a nation." 

"That 's the talk!" exclaimed Jack, with enthusiasm. "He had some 
'sand' about him, General Jackson did." 

" He was certainly what we call to-day American and aggressive," 
Uncle Tom declared. " But he was so from inclination and conviction, not 
from policy. He was a true man, whatever he did. 

"Warm-hearted, fearless, patriotic, honest, and sincere, he lived, the 
people's idol ; and dying, was canonized by all America as the synonym of 
leadership, force, and mastery. 

" He was impulsive, he was hot-headed, he was obstinate. He made 
many mistakes, and yet even these proved successes ; for, in all the history 
of the republic, Jackson was the only living President who retired from 
office more popular than when he went in. 

I 72 


" Throughout all this region he was loyally loved. All over the land 
men were his faithful partizans long after his public life closed, and his last 
years at the Hermitage were those of a sage and an oracle, to whom men 
looked for advice and direction. A remarkable man every way, boys and 
girls, was Andrew Jackson. From the time when, as a plucky boy of thir- 
teen, he refused to clean the boots of the British officer, to the day when he 
died yonder, at the Hermitage, an old and honored man, his story is well 
worthy of study, and, whenever studied, will be found suggestive, picturesque, 
dramatic, American. 

"There! I 've talked till train-time. All aboard for Nashville, and 
good-by to the Hermitage ! " 

They whirled away toward Nashville. But in the intervals of " Jack- 
son talk" and delight at the Tennessee landscape Jack waxed eloquent 
over an account of the splendid "coon hunt" that "the other Jack." had 
told him of, as the Northern and the Southern boy had sat together beneath 
one of the great shade trees at the Hermitage. 

Painted at the Hermitage in 1845. 



Uncle Tom 's Latest — Mammoth Cave Explorers — The Birthplace of Lin- 
coln — Across the Prairies — By the ''Father of Waters " — Where Grant 
got His Experience — A Leaders Life — A Herds Death. 

T was a good three hours' run through regions where the 

names had a certain familiar sound to those who had studied 

the campaigns of the Civil War — Nashville and Franklin 

and Bowling Green. Suddenly Uncle Tom started to his feet. 

"Come, boys; gather up your traps," he said. "Put on 

your hats, girlies. The next station is ours." 

"The next station?" exclaimed Marian, who for the time was immersed 
in the new "St. Nicholas," which Uncle Tom had bought for her at Nash- 
ville. "The next, did you say? Why, we can't be back again at Louis- 
ville as soon as this!" 

" A hundred miles from there, my dear," laughed Uncle Tom. " This is 
just a little joke of mine. Here we are — Glasgow Junction ! All out for 
Mammoth Cave ! " 

"Mammoth Cave! No, Uncle Tom! Are we really going there?" 
came the surprised and exultant chorus. " Oh, is n't that just splendid ! " And 
a demonstration of affection was made upon this scheming uncle who had 
worked upon them another of his delightful surprises. 

In the midst of it all the train stopped, and soon after they were lunching 
at the comfortable little railroad inn ; and, before long, the short branch 
railway bore them into the honeycombed hill region and up to the rambling 
hotel of logs which stands in its pleasant woodsy park, upon the crust of 
earth so wondrously seamed and tunneled by the crossways and caverns 
of the mighty Mammoth Cave. 

Will they ever forget that delightful burrowing in the ground — the 
descent from the upper world ; the barred iron gate at the great black mouth 



of the cavern; their "convict garb of blue jeans," as Jack described it ; the 
swinging torchlights; the jolly p.arty of young folks — students from a 
Bowling Green institute — with whom they made the trip ; the endless pas- 
sages "stretching from nothing to no- 
where," as Marian expressed it; the 
great domed chambers ; the yawning 
pits, the fantastic forms and figures 
formed by stalactites and stalagmites; 
the giant's coffin; the bridal altar; the 
star chamber; the elephant's head; the 
corkscrew; the statue of Martha Wash- 
ington; the memorial cairns, or monu- 
ments, piled up by generations of vis- 
itors; the flaring fires lighted by the 
guides to bring out strange formations 
or gruesome contrasts ? These, and all 
the other surprises, delights, wonders, 
and what Christine called "shivery 
sensations " of that eight-mile walk un- 
derground, will stand out among the 
chief memories of their "famous-men 
hunt," because the experience was at 
once so unexpected and so novel. And 
next morning, as they sped northward 
toward Louisville, the personallv con- 
ducted five held a mass meeting in their 
parlor-car compartment, and returned a 
special vote of thanks to Uncle Tom, 
duly engrossed in a shaky, " railroady " 
hand on a telegraph blank, and as 
shakily signed by each one of them. 
But when they had left the curious cave region behind them, and were 
speeding Louisville-ward again, Uncle Tom led their minds back to the tem- 
porarily deserted channel of historic Americans, and advised them that they 
were passing over storied ground. 

" Up and down these highways," he said, "contending armies moved in the 
fierce days of the Civil War, struggling for the possession of Kentucky, a 
border State. Off there to the east, at Perryville, was fought the most des- 
perate battle ever waged on Kentucky soil. It was brother against brother, 
and Kentucky was saved to the Union. But even more than by the valor of 




Three miles from Lincoln's birthplace ; town of Hodgensville in the background. 

the boys in blue was Kentucky saved to the Union by the wisdom and 
patience and will of Abraham Lincoln, himself a Kentucky boy." 

" That's so," said Bert ; " he was born in Kentucky, was n't he ? And so 
was Jefferson Davis, too." 

"Yes; some miles southwest of us, in Todd County. From this region, 
by the way, came also Mrs. Lincoln, whose name was Mary Todd. Strange, 
is n't it, how lines of coincidence cross?" Uncle Tom answered. "But, as I 
was saying, I esteem the saving of Kentucky by Abraham Lincoln one of his 
chief claims to greatness. It was a triumph of sound judgment and inex- 
haustible patience. No other man — not Clay himself, the great pacificator 
— could have achieved the beneficent ends aimed at and attained here in 
Kentucky by Lincoln, the great emancipator, whose early home lies not far 
away from the very region we are now traversing." 

"Oh, are Ave so near his birthplace?" cried Roger. "Whereabouts 
is it ? " 

Uncle Tom consulted a moment with the porter, crossed to the window, 
and then said : 

J 7 6 


" Now, look — look out of the window — here, on the left. See that little 
stream coming down through the pastures ? Now we are crossing it. Boys 
and girls, this is Nolin's Creek ; and on the banks of this little stream, 
twelve miles farther up, Abraham Lincoln was born." 

At once the boys' hats were doffed in salute to this, the most impor- 
tant river in Christendom, so enthusiastic Jack declared, and the girls fluttered 
their handkerchiefs toward it ; for, as you know, this peripatetic five had 
been schooled in Uncle Tom's belief that Abraham Lincoln was the world's 
greatest man. 

Even as they rumbled over the bridge and looked across country to- 
ward the rolling land where, when all was forest or scarcely-won clearing, 
the great American was born, Uncle Tom dropped into poetry, as he some- 
times would, and gave to his boys and girls those fine lines from Lowell's 
matchless tribute in his " Commemoration Ode." 

"It seems to fit just in this place," he said: 

" Nature, they say, doth dote, 
And cannot make a man 
Save on some worn-out plan, 
Repeating as by rote ; 
For him, the Old- World moulds aside she threw, 
And, choosing sweet clay from the breast 
Of the unexhausted West, 
With stuff untainted shaped a hero new, 
Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true." 

"How was he different from anybody else?" asked Bert. "You call 
him ' new ' and ' the American.' Have n't we had other men as American ? 
What 's the matter with Franklin ? " 

" Nothing is the matter with him, Bert," said Uncle Tom. " Franklin, 
in a way, was the most characteristic American ; certainly, up to the time of 




Lincoln, he was the greatest American — as an American. But Lincoln 
was a new type. Franklin had quite other environments, and was broad- 
ened and deepened by foreign travel and education. Lincoln was all Amer- 
ican. Had he never been Presi- 
dent he would have carved out 
a career that would have been 
unique in our history; for he 
learned from experience and a 
knowledge of men how to ma 
the most of opportunity, and t 


become, as Lowell said of him, ' wise, stead- 
fast in the strength of God, and true.' It was 
this nobility of soul that made him the savior of 
his country. It was this wisdom, steadfastness, 
patience, and belief in the strength of his cause 

and in the Eternal Justice that enabled Abraham Lincoln, in despite of criti- 
cism, false accusations, and a restless and insistive North, to save Kentucky 
to the Union, and by so doing to save the Union for us — for you as well as 
for me, boys and girls, and for the ages yet to come." 

Next morning they left Louisville, crossed the Ohio River, and, running 
northward, changed cars at a little- Indiana junction, and were soon speeding 
westward out of the broken land of Indiana, and across the Illinois prairies 
to the mighty Mississippi and its mightiest city — St. Louis. 


The wonderful levels of the far-reaching prairie lands were a revelation 
to these sons and daughters of the hills and the sea. Indeed, Bert declared 
that he got the same sense of space and vastness on those verdant and fertile 
prairies that he did on the ocean when they had steamed southward to Fort- 
ress Monroe. Like the sea that day, the prairie was, as Bert expressed it, 
•'one great rolling plain of color." 

That was perhaps just a bit poetic ; but Jack went even beyond his 
cousin, and declared that his impressions could find vent only in verse. With 
a wave of the hand toward the verdant fields and the clear, overarching 
skies, he delivered himself of this — Roger insisted on calling it "Jack's 
Epic " : 

" Green as the greenest of greenness, 

Blue as the bluest of blues, 
Flat as the flattest of flatness, 
Wide as the widest of views." 

" Bravo, Jack ! Hail to the twentieth-century Wordsworth ! " cried Uncle 
Tom, while the girls crowned him with an elongated time-table, and the 
whole party bent in homage to him as ''the laureate of the peripatetic." as 
Bert proclaimed him. 

At last the prairies billowed up into what, carrying out the ocean simile 
as the land ran into the bluffs along the river, they called the surf. At sun- 
set they saw the mighty Mississippi, and, crossing it by the famous Eads 
Bridge, they left the train at the fine Union Station, and were soon at the 
dinner-table in their great hotel in St. Louis. 

Two days were spent in sight-seeing in this metropolis of the Missis- 
sippi Valley — the "Future Great," as some of its indwellers refer to it. 
They shot up to the roof of the tall Union Trust Building, and took a 
bird's-eye view of the terraced city and the turbid river flowing at its feet. 
They rambled through its broad streets, rode to its beautiful parks, saw its 
great stores and splendid residences, walked along its " paved seashore," as 
Marian described the sloping levee fringed with big "stern-wheelers" ; and 
there Jack, looking out upon the broad tide, recalled Lincoln's words : 

The signs look better. The Father of Waters again goes unvexed to the sea. Thanks to 
the great Northwest for it. Nor yet wholly to them. Three hundred miles up they met New 
England, Empire, Keystone, and Jersey hewing their way right and left. The sunny South, too, 
in more colors than one, also lent a hand. On the spot, their part of the history was jotted down 
in black and white. The job was a great national one, and let none be banned who bore an 
honorable part in it. And while those who have cleared the great river may well be proud, even 
that is not all. . . . Thanks to all. For the great republic, for the principles by which it 
lives and keeps alive for man's vast future — thanks to all. 



By C. W. Reed, after a sketch made at the time. 




"That 's good, Jack," said Uncle Tom, nodding approval; "and here 
beside the great river which he freed, in the very city in and about which so 
many of his earlier experiences centered, let us remember the man to whom 
the thanks of the republic are specially due — Grant, greatest of American 
soldiers, the product of an iron will and of a stern necessity." 

" See here, Uncle Tom ! " exclaimed Jack ; " is n't that rather going back 
on us ? You said in New York that we would, for the purpose of this trip, 
call Grant a New Yorker, and now you 're bringing him out west again." 

"That 's so, Jack," said Uncle Tom, with a laugh. " I did say so, and 
I 'm not going to depart from that decision. But here we are on his earlier 
stamping-ground ; and while I count him a great New Yorker, here, in 
Missouri and Illinois, he first became known. Here his successes and his 
failures tried his metal, and gave him to the nation schooled by experience 
into the trained and reliable fighting-man. And yet it is a curious fact 
that, though he was the greatest soldier of his day, Grant hated war." 

This seemed so impossible a statement that the young folks all expressed 
surprise, and Marian said, suspending the wedding ceremony, as Jack 
called her act of pouring into the Mississippi the vial of ocean water she 
had brought from Fortress Monroe : 

"Why, Uncle Tom ! Is that likely — a soldier to hate fighting?" 

"That 's what he said himself," Uncle Tom replied. "'Although a 
soldier by education and profession,' he declared, ' I have never felt any sort 



of fondness for war, and I never advocated it except as a means of peace. 
I never went into a battle willingly or with enthusiasm. I was always glad 
when a battle was over.' " 

"That sounds odd, does n't it?" said Bert. "How could he win if 
he never liked to fight ? " 

" ' I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer,'" quoted 
Roger, significantly. 

General Grant is sitting with his back to the smaller tree. From a war-time photograph. 

"That 's it, Roger. He won because he fought to win," Uncle Tom 
declared. " That is what generalship means. It 's what the old darky at 
Jackson's home called the ' git-thar ' quality ; and Grant, as you know, had 
but one end in view — to ' git thar' ! " 

"And he did, did n't he?" said Jack, to whom Grant was always a hero. 

"He did," Uncle Tom replied; "but only because he had learned 
patience through hope long deferred, and endurance because of great 


and repeated obstacles. In fact, his life was one of vicissitude — the best 
schooling for practical experience and ultimate success." 

They walked across to inspect the Grant statue in Grand Avenue, and, 
after they had roamed the city a little more, gathered about Uncle Tom in 
the comfortable entresol of their hotel, and listened as he outlined for them 
the story of Ulysses Simpson Grant. 

" He was an Ohio boy," Uncle Tom began, "born at Point Pleasant, on 
the banks of the Ohio River, not far from Cincinnati. His boyhood and 
youth were uneventful. He got the appointment to West Point by acci- 
dent, and went there against his will. After his graduation he was sta- 
tioned at Jefferson Barracks — the pleasant military post we visited this 
morning, ten miles below St. Louis. He served through the Mexican war, 
came back a captain, married a St. Louis girl, and went to farming a little 
ways out of town. He had a hard time of it. His farming was not profit- 
able. He tried real estate and bill-collecting with no better success, and 
finally went to Galena, in the northwestern corner of Illinois, and ' clerked 
it ' in his father's tannery. There he lived unnoticed and unknown until 
the war came. He tried to get an army appointment, but could not ; but at 




I8 3 


From a photograph taken early in the war. 

last was made captain of a volunteer company, then colonel, then brigadier- 
general, and then commander of the military district of Cairo. From that 
time — January, 1862 — his hidden ability began to show itself. While 
others argued he acted. He took Fort Donelson; won the battle of Shiloh; 
captured Vicksburg ; conquered at Chattanooga ; was made lieutenant-gen- 
eral ; and at Nashville, where we were the other day, assumed command of 
the armies of the United States. He took charge of the Army of the 
Potomac in the spring of 1864. In one year he brought the war to a 
close. Then he was made General of the United States Army, Secretary 
of War, President of the United States. That is his story — all the sue- 



cesses and honors of his life crowded into less than ten years. But to reach 
that high position the experiences of an unsuccessful youth were necessary. 
Hope deferred taught him patience ; discouragement taught him decision ; 
failure taught him persistence. The tan-yard was the preparatory school to 
the general's saddle." 

"Well, that was all right," said Roger; "he tanned 'em as a boy, and 
when he was a general he tanned 'em, too." 

" Yes ; and he and victory rode tandem, eh, folkses? " declared Jack. 
But the girls clearly counted these puns frivolous ; Uncle Tom, too, 
gave them but scant attention as, continuing, he said: "But he was the 
same Grant, you know. The daring with which he flanked the enemy 
at Vicksburg was just the same as that which had made him captain for the 
action at the San Cosme gate." 
" What was that ? " asked Bert. 

" Why, don't you know ? " cried Jack. " That was when he lugged a can- 
non into a church steeple, was n't it, Uncle Tom ? " 
" Yes ; tell us about it, Jack," said his uncle. 

" Not much to tell, only it was mighty 
plucky," said Jack. " It was when 
Grant was a lieutenant in Mexico. 
The Americans wanted to get into the 
city, and were stopped by the enemy at 
the San Cosme gate — that was one 
of the principal entrances into the city 
of Mexico, you know. Grant saw a 
way to flank them. He got permission 
and a mountain howitzer, took some 
gunners with him, and started for a 
little church he saw across the fields 
and ditches. The church had a high 
steeple, but Grant took the howitzer 
to pieces, carried it across the ditches 
and up into the steeple, put it together, 
loaded it, and banged away at the 
enemy until he cleared them from the 

CAPTAIN U. S. GRANT. gatg J^ ^ Americans captured 

it, and next day the city of Mexico surrendered, and Grant was made a 
captain. Bright boy, eh ? " 

" I should say so," said Bert. 

" Well, that was Grant every time," Uncle Tom declared. "He had a 



Where General Grant won his captaincy in the Mexican war. 

keenness for perceiving what is called the strategical importance of a point ; 
he was prompt at deciding what to do, and quick to do it after deciding. 
That is the secret of much of his success. That is how he forced the San 
Cosme gate ; that is how he won when, in the Civil War, opportunity came 
to him." 

" But I thought you said he was successful just because he ' fought it out 
on this line if it took all summer,' don't you know," said Bert. 

"They call him ' Grant, the hammerer,' don't they? " Roger asked. 

" They do," Uncle Tom replied. " But he was equally ' Grant, the strat- 
egist.' If you will read, some day, how he got in behind Vicksburg, and 
how he fought at Chattanooga, you will see that he was something more 
than a hammerer." 

"But that 's the way he got Richmond, is n't it, Uncle Tom? Just by 
keeping at it, and not knowing when he was whipped — if he ever was 
whipped. I don't believe he was," Jack declared. 

" Any other man would have called it being whipped in the Wilderness 
campaign," replied Uncle Tom ; " but Grant would not. By energy and te- 
nacity he won, and the nation was saved. For, you see, he could tell when 


hammering was needed, and could keep fighting it out along a certain line, 
no matter how often he was apparently baffled. Other leaders adapted 
themselves to circumstances : Grant conquered circumstances. It required 
something more than skill or strategy to defeat so great a general as Lee 
and his splendid fighting array. It needed skill plus tenacity ; and that, as 
I told you, won the day. He just stuck to it, and ended the rebellion." 

" That makes me think of something by James Russell Lowell about 
Grant that our history teacher had us learn for Grant's birthday," Christine 
remarked. "Shall I say it, Uncle Tom?" 

" Certainly, my dear," he replied. " I shall be as delighted to hear it as 
I am to know that due honor is paid in our schools to the birthdays of the 
heroes of the nation. What were Lowell's lines ? " 

" It was from one of his last, unfinished poems, our teacher said," Chris- 
tine explained, "and it went something like this : 

' He came, grim, silent, saw, and did the deed 

That was to do ; in his master grip 
Our sword flashed joy; no skill of words could breed 

Such sure conviction as those close-clamped lips ; 
He slew our dragon, nor, so seemed it, knew 

He had done more than any simplest man might do.' " 

"That was Grant," said Uncle Tom. " Modest and unassuming, simple 
and silent, he recognized the duty that was laid upon him, and did it." 

■ - ; "I guess there were no fuss and 
feathers about him," said Jack. 

" Not a bit," returned his uncle. 
" Sagacious, resolute, energetic, 
aggressive, audacious, courageous, 
indomitable, indifferent to danger 
or fatigue, relentless in battle, 
magnanimous in victory — these 
were the attributes that brought 
Grant to success and made his 
name famous." 

THE TEMPORARY TOMB OF GENERAL GRANT. " He OUght tO have abig Statue," 

Riverside Park, New York. sa J c J R g er) emphatically. 

" Ought to have ! " cried Jack. " Why, what 's the matter with the one 
in Riverside Park ? " 

"What! that little round box-cover?" said Roger. "That 's not a 


I8 7 

^^^mmmm^m 1 $s ^vm- * 

Riverside Park, New York. 

"Oh, no; the new one alongside of it, I mean," said Jack. "Just wait 
till that is finished. That '11 be big enough. Why, you can see it from 

" But that is his tomb, you know," said Bert. "That should be fine, of 
course. What Roger meant is his statue. I don't think this one in St. 
Louis is as fine as it should be." 

"Wait until you see the one in Chicago," said Uncle Tom. " That, I think, 
will satisfy even your over-enthusiastic demands. But, after all, boys and 


girls, the best monument to General Grant will be in the hearts of the Amer- 
ican people, for whom he fought and won. That will grow, as time goes on, 
until it overtops even the tallest statue. But we should remember to-day 
that right here in the Mississippi Valley is where the great general was 
schooled in the experiences that worked finally for success. Here, near 
the city, you have seen the Jefferson Barracks, where he was first stationed ; 
not far from here is the Dent farm, at Whitehaven, where he won his wife ; 
and, near it, the little farm where he built his log cabin, and tried farming 
and real estate until forced to go at something else. Four hundred and fifty 
miles up the river, at Galena, he was busy as a tanner's clerk when the 
war broke out. In Springfield, where we go to-morrow, he reported for 
service with a company of volunteers four days after the President's call for 
troops ; and one hundred and twenty-five miles down the river, at Cairo, 
he first assumed a separate command. From that as a starting-point, he 
fought on until, as Lincoln said, he made the Father of Waters flow ' un- 
vexed to the sea.' So, you see, the name of Grant is associated with 
many points in this region, and here, therefore, it has been highly proper 
to study him." 

" And yet you called him a New Yorker," persisted Jack. 

" Simply because there he lived after fame and greatness had made him 

Here Grant first won fame. On the hill to the right is seen the flag-staff of the National Cemetery. 




America's foremost living man," said Uncle Tom, " and because, especially, 
it was in New York that he waged the longest, the fiercest, the most dra- 
matic fight of his whole life." 

" A battle in New York! Why, where was that?" exclaimed Marian, 
overhauling her historical knowledge to locate such a famous fight. 

" In that plain vine-covered, brown-stone house which I showed you at 
Number 3 East Sixty-sixth street," her uncle returned. "There Ulysses S. 

Grant fought the battle against dis- 
aster, disgrace, and death — and won 
it. In all history," added Uncle Tom, 
gravely, "there has been no more 
pathetic, no more dramatic, no more 
heroic spectacle." 

"Tell us about it, Uncle Tom," said 

" He had reached the pinnacle of 
fame in his native land," Uncle Tom 
declared. " He had led its armies to 
victory; he had been hailed conqueror 
and deliverer ; he had stood at the 
head of the republic as President ; he 
had traveled in foreign lands and been 
welcomed by kings and princes and 
people as the greatest of American 
soldiers. Honored by his country- 
men, respected by the world, there 
was but one other thing he desired — 
to leave his children a heritage equal 
For their sake he went into business. The old story of his 
failure. But it was failure through the rascality of a 

No. 3 East Sixty-sixth street. 

to his fame. 

youth was repeated 

man who traded upon the name, the honor, and the reputation of the great 

general who trusted him ; and when the crash came, the name, the honor, 

the reputation of the great general, were trailed in the dust. 

" He was stripped of everything. He was almost penniless. Defeat 
seemed destruction. But even as in war, his darkest moment was but the 
entrance to action. He set to work to retrieve himself, to save his credit 
and his name. He became the annalist of the events that had made him 
great. He determined to tell the story of his campaigns, and his success is 
scarcely exceeded in the history of literature. 

" But almost before pen touched paper a fell disease struck him down. He 



was threatened with a speedy and painful death. Then his wonderful will 
came into play : he would not surrender ; he would fight disease and death 
until he had finished the work he had set himself to do. Stubbornly, tena- 
ciously, he clung to his purpose. At times he seemed close to defeat, but, 
rallying, he fell to the work again. When we were in New York I showed 
you the Sixty-sixth street house where that fearful fight was fought. The 
battle shifted to a mountain-top near Saratoga. There, on Mount McGregor, 
he rallied, there he sank, there again he held death at bay, until at last he 
conquered. The memoirs were completed; the task he had set for himself 
was done. Then he laid down his pen — the pen that, indeed, had been 
mightier than the sword; he said, 'I am. ready,' and died — a greater hero 
than ever he had been in war, a nobler figure than when in the presence of 
kings, or as the head of his own republic." 

" ' Victor for us and spotless of all blame, 

Doer of hopeless tasks which praters shirk — 

One of those still, plain men that do the world's rough work,' " 

said Christine, returning to Lowell's ode once more, while even the boys 
were silent. The story of that victory of the vanquished stilled even their 
exultant enthusiasm in the nation's peerless soldier — mighty even in death. 




The Mississippi Valley — Pioneers of France — In Lincoln s Land — The 
Simplicity of it All — The American — A "Rebel's" Tribute. 

LL aboard ! " once again. Then, along the bluffs of the Mis- 
sissippi, they rode five-and-twenty miles to terraced Alton 
and its white-paved hill-slope, where, across the river, the 
turbid Missouri, rolling down from its source in the Rockies, 
nearly three thousand miles away, joins its flood to the 
tideless Mississippi, bound for the blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico, twelve 
hundred miles to the south. 

That is what Uncle Tom told them as, at Edwardsville, five miles below 
Alton, they first saw the Missouri. It seemed to link them more closely to 
the great Northwest and the last of the borderers. The young travelers, in- 
deed, were quite bewildered by the joint statistics of the Mississippi and 
Missouri flung at them by Uncle Tom. 

He told them that the Missouri was really the main stream ; that the 
length of the great river from its source in the Rocky Mountains to its many- 
mouthed delta was thirty-nine hundred miles ; that it represented, with its 
tributary rivers, more than fifteen thousand miles of navigable water ; and 
that it drained a territory larger than central Europe. He told them what 
an important part the mighty river and its feeders had played in the early 
history of the land, and how, for over a hundred and twenty years, France 
had held the whole great basin in fee from that far-off day when, down the 
very stretch of water on which they were now looking, the brave Chevalier 
de la Salle, with his Indians and Frenchmen, came paddling into the 
Mississippi from the tributary Illinois, and, first of white men, traced the 
course of the mighty river from Alton to the gulf, and gave to France, 
as Parkman says, " a region watered by a thousand rivers and ranged 
by a thousand warlike tribes." 

i 9 4 


" And we bought the whole outfit for fifteen millions," said Jack. " Three 
cheers for Thomas Jefferson ! What is it worth now, Uncle Tom?" 

" Give it up, Jack — billions," returned Uncle Tom, falling back upon the 


convenient basis of vague and glittering generalities. " But I can tell you, 
young people, the story of this Mississippi watershed, from La Salle's day 
to our own winning of the West, is mightily interesting. Missionaries, 
voyageurs, courier du bois, pioneers, trappers, traders, Indian-fighters. 
France's bluecoats, England's redcoats, the stars and stripes, the stars and 
bars, liberty, union, progress — all these flash out on history's screen, an 
American vitascope full of life and color and dramatic action. Oh, no ; we 
don't monopolize all the romance of history in the valley of the Hudson, or 
round about Plymouth Rock. Why, right here in this hilly town of Alton, 
Lovejoy died for fighting slavery; and here, years after, Abraham Lincoln 
gave it the first fall in its mighty wrestle for existence." 



"And Lincoln was a champion wrestler, was n't he?" said Jack. 

"Just as Washington was," said Roger. "But what was the 'first 
fall ' ? " 

"Why, here in Alton," Uncle Tom explained, " Lincoln made one of his 
great speeches in the famous Lincoln -Douglas debates. Those speeches 
made Lincoln famous ; they made him President ; they were the first steps 
in his progress to martyrdom and immortality." 

"Are we coming into the Lincoln region now?" queried Marian. 

" Yes," Uncle Tom replied; "from here on stretches the country through 
which he traveled again and again as country lawyer and growing states- 
man ; here his tall form, his sinewy frame, his odd voice, his countless 
stories, his stirring words, all became familiar, and from here sprang the 
many true stories and the thousand legends which even now surround his 
life and make one agree with Emerson's statement that if Lincoln had lived 
at a time when printing was unknown he would in a few years, by his prov- 
erbs and fables, have become mythological, like ^Esop or Pilpay, or one of 
the Seven Wise Masters, the story-tellers of antiquity." 

Near which Lincoln made one of his great speeches. 

" Then here is just the place to tell us his story, Uncle Tom," said 
Christine. " What was it ? " 

" 'The short and simple annals of the poor,'" answered Uncle Tom. 

"Why, that 's from Gray's ' Elegy,'" Christine said. 

"Yes; that poem was one of Lincoln's favorites," Uncle Tom replied; 
" and when asked for the story of his life he replied with that line from Gray. 


It fits, certainly. His was a story that for years was preparing to be told; 
for the real story of Abraham Lincoln is crowded into less than seven brief 
but busy years of effort, action, and achievement." 

" Is n't that so with the lives of most public men ? " inquired Bert. 

" Your own recent researches should be the best answer to that, Bert," 
Uncle Tom replied. " Look at the famous men with whom you have be- 
come acquainted. Nearly every one of them had a record of eminence be- 
fore fame was reached — the two Adamses, Jefferson, Hamilton, Webster, 
Franklin, Clay, Calhoun. But Lincoln, up to the time of his Presidency, 
never held but one civil office, unless we count his term as a representative 
in Congress a civil office. It scarcely seems that. The one distinctively 
civil office he did hold was village postmaster, — a position so insignificant 
that he was said actually to carry around his post-office in his hat. All his 
life seemed a preparation by hard and bitter experiences for the hardest and 
bitterest of all — the Presidency of the United States." 

" But he did get ahead," persisted Bert. 

"So modestly, or at least so silently," replied Uncle Tom, "that when 
he was nominated for President men had to ask ' Who 's Lincoln ? ' Up to 
that day he was practically ' unknown, unhonored, and unsung.' " 

At this, three, at least, of Uncle Tom's auditors sprang at him with a 
shout, and Bert cried gleefully : 

"Aha, Uncle Tom! Got you there, have n't we? 'Unwept,' not 
'unknown.' Is n't that so, boys and girls? We did n't study our Walter 
Scott for nothing. See canto six, ' Lay of the Last Minstrel,' don't you 
know ? Give it to him, Jack." 

Whereupon Jack, nothing loath, gave voice to the whole quotation : 

" Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself has said, 

This is my own, my native land ! 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 

From wandering on a foreign strand ! 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell ; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish could claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung." 


Lincoln said of this picture: " Please explain to folks that Tad and I are looking at a photograph album. They might think 

we were reading a book. We were n't ; and I don't like giving out false impressions." 




"There, sir; 'unwept,' not 'unknown,' you see," said Marian. 

"Right you are!" cried Uncle Tom, in laughing acknowledgment. 
"I '11 have to be careful when I drop into quotation before the school-boy 
or girl of this advanced age; and I 'm glad to acknowledge it, too, and 
cry for quarter." 

And quarter at once was granted with the hug and caress that sweeten 

"But, somehow," said Christine, musingly, "that extract from Scott 
does n't seem to fit Lincoln's case — does it, now? He did n't go away and 
come home and make fun of his native land; and he certainly did n't go 
down ' unwept, unhonored, and unsung.' Seems to me that one verse from 
his favorite Gray's ' Elegy ' fits him better : 

' Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.' " 

" Well, that certainly does seem more ap- 
plicable to his case during nearly fifty years of 
life," Uncle Tom replied. 

" But that does n't fit, either," declared Bert. 
"Better give up poetical parallels. Lincoln did n't 
'blush unseen' or 'waste his sweetness,' did he?" 

" Not much," said Jack. " He was very much 
in evidence at just the right time." 

"And yet," said Uncle Tom, "we can even 

connect that fervid extract from Scott with the 

great President. For that 'Breathes there 

a man ' was the text for Edward Everett 

From a sketch by Theodore R. Davis, made at the time. 




Hale's matchless story of ' The Man Without a Country,' which you all know 
and love ; and that story was written to stimulate patriotism at the time 
when Abraham Lincoln was calling' for volunteers to defend and preserve 
the Union in the dark days of the war." 

" Oh, yes ; don't you remember how splendidly Dr. Hale worked that 
' Breathes there a man ' into the story ? " said Marian. " I declare, I 



cry every time I come to that part where poor Nolan tried to read the 

" And so you can connect that poem with Lincoln after all, Uncle Tom," 
said Roger. " I never saw such a man. We can't down you, can we? " 

"I 'in in Lincoln's country, you see, Roger," said Uncle Tom, with a 
laugh, ''and nothing could ever down him. So it must be in the air, eh?" 

" Go on with the 'short and simple annals of the poor,' Uncle Tom," said 
Bert, reverting, as usual, to the main topic. 

" Well," began his uncle, "you saw, back in Kentucky, the little stream 
on the banks of which Abraham Lincoln was born on the 1 2th of February, 
1809. It is near to what is now the village of Hodgensville ; but there was 
no village thereabouts when Lincoln was a boy. Indeed, I doubt if we have 
seen, in all our travels, 
ranch, hut, or cabin hum- 
bler or meaner than the 
miserable little hovel in 
which was born the great- 
est President of these 
United States. It would 
be hard for me to tell you 
the real facts. You would 
think I was overstraining 
the case just for effect. 

' SS lIf 



Farm now occupied by Mrs. Richard Creal. The house stood back of 

the group of trees near the right center of picture ; a rock spring is 

at the end of the path under the group of trees in left center. 

But this you can believe — Abraham Lincoln's 
story was poor enough at the start ; but, for 


20 1 

that reason, his rise was all the more wonderful. For, as in fairy-tale or 
wonder-story, the prince or hero was all the more notable because of the 
difficulties he overcame or the tasks he accomplished, so with our great 
American. The fact that 
he faced and conquered 
obstacles that have dis- 
couraged millions of less 
determined men, — ob- 
stacles of birth, upbring- 
ing, surroundings, educa- 
tion, and circumstance, — 
makes him all the more 
our hero, all the more a 
character to be admired, 
honored, wondered at, re- 
vered. Boys and girls," 
continued Uncle Tom, 
solemnly, " I stand be- 
fore his story in simple 
amazement, marveling at 
the ways of Providence, 
that, in his case, so set at naught man's most mathematical statement that 
'out of nothing, nothing can come.'" 

" ' Ex nihilo nihil fit' " murmured classical Bert. 

" Is n't this one of the cases in which you can say that the exception 
proves the rule ? " inquired Roger. 

" Perhaps so," Uncle Tom replied, "and yet it is even more one of the 
cases that show how wonderfully and how 
wisely is plotted out the making of a mighty 
man. See how carefully Lincoln was whittled 
out to fit the place he was sent to fill. He 
began life away down — a ' poor white ' on a 
scrubby hillside farm. His father was shift- 
less ; his mother was overworked ; he him- 
self was a forlorn and ragged little son of the 
soil. He had uphill work to learn his letters 
and get an education; but he got one. He 
never went to school more than a year in all 
the days of his life put together ; but he never stopped studying. Strong, 
sinewy, good-natured, obliging; with a will of his own, but always con- 

Where Lincoln lived after his marriage. 



'iZZ^^-- ^:BIHSh2S_ 



From a sketch from memory, in possession of 

R. T. Durrett, Esq. 



Lincoln's chief political rival before the war, and stanch supporter afterward. 

siderate of others ; a peacemaker, although, as you know, a champion 
wrestler ; a favorite through all this backwoods region, and as honest as 
the day is long, Abraham Lincoln served his hard apprenticeship to experi- 
ence, and came out tried and true. He was chore-boy, hired man, flat- 
boatman, rail-splitter, clerk, storekeeper, soldier, inventor, surveyor, post- 
master, representative in Congress, lawyer, politician, President — going on 
two steps and slipping back one, until well up the slope where Fame stood 
waiting at the top." 

"A politician, Uncle Tom? Why not a statesman?" queried Bert. 

"Why not, Bert?" was Uncle Tom's reply. "Now, what is a states- 

" Oh," said the boy, "a 'way-up politician, I guess." 

"That 's about it," laughed Uncle Tom. "A man must be a politician 
in the best sense of that much-abused word before he can become a states- 
man. And Lincoln was the true politician. Established as a practising 
lawyer in Springfield, whither we are now bound, he found appreciation, 
success, popularity. Traveling all over this part of Illinois, ' riding the cir- 
cuit,' as it was called, from court-house to court-house, he became known in 


twenty counties, and gradually made for himself a reputation as a trustworthy 
counselor, an honest adviser, and a capable lawyer. Law is the stepping- 
stone to politics, and an honest lawyer will be an honest politician. Lincoln 
began to speak in public, and to interest himself in local, State, and national 
questions. He had served a silent term in Congress in Daniel Webster's 
clay ; he had heard John Ouincy Adams's earnest appeals ; he had imbibed 
Henry Clay's principles ; and he had developed a hatred for slavery which, 
while not that of the fanatic, the one-idea man, or even of the advanced 
reformer, was that of the conservative and the patriot." 

" And yet he was the man who put an end to slavery," said Roger. 

" Because, after all, it is the conservative and the patriot who act," Uncle 
Tom replied. " There is need for the reformer, need even for the fanatic. 
Before Abraham Lincoln came John Brown, you know. But the man of 
balance, of moderation, of caution, is the man who finally brings about the 
needed result. And, even here, I am scarcely able properly to place Abra- 
ham Lincoln for you, even as his story seems slight, when we look at the hero 
himself. In his case the subject dwarfs 
the narrative, and greatness like his is 
far beyond qualifications." 

The visit to Springfield was thor- 
oughly enjoyable. From the moment 
that they drew near to the city out of 
its adjoining farms and prairies, and saw 
above the trees the great dome of the 
new Capitol, the ardor of investigation 
seized them. Had 
not Uncle Tom 
curbed their energy 
and held their ardor 
in check, they would 
have sallied out to 
"do the town" at 

But Uncle Tom 
was a careful guar- 
dian. He insisted 
on the girls remain- 
ing quietly at the 
hotel, although he 


allowed them a walk reconnoiteRing the enemy. 



into the Capitol grounds and through the corridors of the great cross-shaped 
building, where they freely criticized the poorly-executed historical paintings, 
and halted with inquiry before the fine statue in the grounds. 
" Menard," they read. "Who was Menard, Uncle Tom? " 
"Oh, one of the old explorers," Uncle Tom replied, off-hand, but in so 
" unexplanatory " a tone, as Marian expressed it, that she charged him with 
not really knowing himself, and he confessed he was a bit misty, but prom- 
ised to look it up for her. 

The boys, meantime, had procured bicycles and whirled away on a tour 
of investigation up and down the broad and shaded streets of what is es- 
teemed "the best paved city in the State of Illinois." It is proof of their 


loyalty to Uncle Tom and the girls, however, that they confined themselves 
to streets and parks, and refrained from any " Lincoln hunt," as Jack said. 
Next morning, however, they began in earnest and saw all there was to 
see in Lincoln's pleasant home-town. Here was the site of the old Globe 
Tavern, where the young lawyer took his bride and began his married life 


at the extravagant price of "four dollars a week for board and lodging-." 
Here, the site of the law offices where he first " hung out his shingle," and 
especially the very building in which were passed his most successful days 
as a lawyer — the old office of " Herndon and Lincoln." The Lincoln office 
they found to be a dentist's " studio," and Jack declared it was like pulling 
teeth to get any trustworthy information about Lincoln thereabouts, al- 
though he was partly compensated by an introduction to a man who used to 
play "hand-ball" with Lincoln in front of that identical office. 

They visited the old State- House, now the County Court- House, set in 
the center of a public square. It was built the very year that Lincoln moved 
to Springfield, and in it he served as a legislator, and made his mark in the 
world as a public character and a leader of men. 

At last they stood before the home of Lincoln. 

Jack was inclined to resent its simplicity, and Roger declared that he 
knew " lots of folks " in the villages about Boston who had better and bigger 
houses than this. 

" Of course you do," said Uncle Tom. "There are plenty of people in 
the villages about Boston who are better off than Lincoln ever thought of 
being. This simple two-story frame house is typical of the man. There is 
nothing about it uncommon, pretentious, or imposing. It is just a plain 
house of one of the people. But it was Lincoln's home. That is sufficient. 
Not Nero's golden house or any home of royalty in old or later days stands 
higher in the world's esteem. And yet, plain though this house is, it is, as 
you know, a vast step beyond the great President's early home." 

A small girl, not over well informed concerning Lincoln matters, showed 
them through the house, which is now the property of the State of Illinois. 
The collection of Lincoln relics was neither extensive nor important, and Uncle 
Tom informed them that the few belongings of the house and other relics 
of the great man were now widely scattered. There had been a struggle 
for possession, he said, and, as a result, some were in this Lincoln home- 
stead, some in the memorial chamber in the Lincoln tomb, some in Chicago, 
and some in Washington. " One would imagine," said Uncle Tom, " that so 
modest a collection of relics could all be housed together, but in the strife 
for ownership they have gone to half a dozen custodians." 

"Somehow," said Christine, "it makes me think of that in the Bible — 
it is n't wrong that it should, is it, Uncle Tom? — 'They parted my raiment 
among them, and for my vesture, they did cast lots ! ' " 

And Uncle Tom said, quietly, "That is not the only instance, my dear, 
in which we may find a parallel between the Bible story and that of Lincoln." 

They rode a mile or so beyond the city to beautiful Oak Ridge Ceme- 



tery, where, just within the entrance, rises 
the monument to Lincoln above the ped- 
estal which is his tomb. 

" Ouincy granite ! " said Uncle Tom, as 
they approached the pile of gray and bronze. 
" It takes us back to that plain little farm- 
house, at the foot of Penn's Hill, does n't 
it — the home of the 'old man eloquent' of 
Lincoln's congressional days — the man who 
gave Abraham Lincoln his clear course 
concerning emancipation — John Ouincy 

Fronting them was the open doorway to 
the memorial chamber, full of Lincoln relics. 
But Uncle Tom passed this by and led the 
way to the rear, where, through a grated 
iron door, they saw before them the tomb of 

The marble sarcophagus that stood over 
the grave bore within the circle of a carven 

wreath the single word, "Lincoln"; above the wreath was the sentence so 

characteristic of the man: "With malice toward none, with charity for 

all " ; across the top of the sarcophagus was laid the stars and stripes. 
The children were silent a moment. 

The place, the associations, the man, alike 

held them speechless. Then Jack said : 

" ' Now he belongs to the ages ! ' Was 

n't that what Stanton said as Lincoln 

died, Uncle Tom? You told me once." 
" Yes, that was it, Jack, and the great 

war secretary spoke truly," Uncle Tom 

replied. " I think of that as I stand here ; 

and I think, too, of a noble poem by a 

Southerner and an 

Maurice Thompson : 


At Ford's Theater, where Lincoln 
April 14, 1865. 

ex-rebel soldier, 

' Years pass away, but freedom does not pass ; 
Thrones crumble, but man's birthright crum- 
bles not ; 
And, like the wind across the prairie grass 
A whole world's aspirations fan this spot 

*l^^;f^53l£: :/ 

After a photograph taken by J. A. W. Pittman for J. C Power- 



With ceaseless pantings after liberty, 

One breath of which would make even Russia 
And blow sweet summer through the exile's cave, 
And set the exile free ; 
For which I pray, here, in the open air 
Of Freedom's morningtide, by Lincoln's grave.' " 

"And he was a rebel soldier ! " ex- 
claimed Roger. "You would n't think 
so from that, would you ?" 

" Many things happen differently 
from what one would think, Roger," 
Uncle Tom replied. "The man who 
lies within this crypt was the best 
friend the South ever had, and the 
time will surely come when her people 
will build statues to honor him with an 
even deeper reverence than they give 
to the heroes and leaders of that ' Lost 
Cause' which they can never forget, 
but for which now they would not wish 
success. No man loved the Southern 
people more than Abraham Lincoln. He loved all alike, because they were 
Americans. As Mr. Thompson, from whose poem I just quoted, says : 

From the Keyes Lincoln Memorial Collection, Chicago. 

' He was the North, the South, the East, the West, 

The thrall, the master, all of us in one. 

There was no section that he held the best; 

His love shone on impartial as the sun.' 

No nobler American, no nobler man ever lived, boys and girls, than he be- 
fore whose honored grave we stand — Abraham Lincoln, the American." 

Still sobered, and silent, they turned at last from the crypt and spent a 
brief season in the memorial chamber, where they seemed especially impressed 
by the fitting arrangement of three commemorative busts — Lincoln be- 
tween two other great and historic martyrs, Coligny and William the Silent. 

Then they rode back to town ; they visited once more the plain, homely 
brown house that had been the home of Lincoln, and, soon after, left for 
Chicago deeply impressed by all that they had seen, but especially with the 
simplicity of everything, so in accordance with all they knew or had heard 
of the great emancipator. 

On the journey to Chicago Uncle Tom gave them just a little talk on 


the famous man now in their thoughts, and sought properly to point out to 
them his place in history. 

" Before all else," he said, "Abraham Lincoln was a man of the people. 
By that I don't mean that he was uncultured or uncouth. Lincoln was 
always a gentleman in the best sense of the word, and no man had a finer 
native dignity. He never lowered himself. He was at once the peer of the 
greatest, the equal of the poorest. He understood the people better than 
any other man that was ever sent to lead them. Let me give you a bit from 
Maurice Thompson once more. I consider his poem a remarkable one, 
and true, to the heart of it : 

' Annealed in white-hot fire he bore the test 

Of every strain temptation could invent ; 
Hard points of slander shivered on his breast, 

Fell at his feet, and envy's blades were bent 
In his bare hand and lightly cast aside; 

He would not wear a shield ; no selfish aim 
Guided one thought of all those trying hours, 

No breath of pride, 
No pompous striving for the pose of fame 

Weakened one stroke of all his nobler powers.' ' : 

"Why, it 's like a photograph," said Christine. "Thank you so much 
for telling us of that poem, Uncle Tom. I mean to read it all when I get 

" Do so, all of you ; it will surprise and inspire you," said Uncle Tom. 
" Lincoln had a remarkable face," he continued. " How many of you can 
recall it now as you remember the picture ? " 

" I can see just how it looks," Marian declared, shutting her eyes to 
help her memory. 

" I think you can," said Uncle Tom. " Lincoln, it is asserted, is the only 
President with an absolutely impressive likeness." 

" What 's the matter with Washington, Uncle Tom ? " asked Jack, still 
with closed eyes. " I can see his face too." 

" I don't vouch for that statement ; I only repeat it," said Uncle Tom. 
" But Washington's portraits are as varied in looks as in quantity. Lincoln 
never varies. When once his picture has been studied the general expression 
is never forgotten. Just as marked in mind as in feature was this won- 
derful man. Absolutely without vices or eccentricities, he had strongly- 
marked characteristics. Tender-hearted but inflexible when occasion re- 
quired ; sunny-tempered, but tinged with melancholy ; simple in speech and 
life, but capable of eloquence and of stirring words that will live forever ; 




and above all else logical, which all orators are not, 5-011 know : brave, 
broad-minded, just and true, his humanity embraced all men, his faith in 
the people he knew so well never faltered; his homely phrases have grown 
into maxims, his loving words into a benediction. There never was, in any 
age of the world, a leader more directly selected by Providence to guide 
the destinies of his people and be the savior of the republic. Born in the 
lowest ranks of life, he rose to the highest leadership. Upon his life, 
through four years of terrible war, hung the destinies of a nation and the 
redemption of a race. Study his story closely, boys and girls. It grows 
greater with each re-telling ; for, as time goes on, Abraham Lincoln will rise 
above his fellows as unquestionably the greatest, noblest man of this won- 
derful nineteenth century, now almost ended." 

" Why not the greatest of any century, Uncle Tom ? " said Bert. " Can 
you match him in any ? " 


" I told you once before, Bert," Uncle Tom replied, "that greatness like 
Lincoln's is beyond comparison or qualification. I make no comparisons 
now. I give you instead, as the end of my little talk, Lowell's splendid 
tribute to the great President. You see, when I get to talking of Abraham 
Lincoln I distrust myself; for words are weak and he alone is strong." 

And, with a final bit of quotation 
from the " Commemoration Ode," 
Uncle Tom brought his remarks to 
a close : 

" I praise him not ; it were too late ; 
And some innative weakness there must be 
In him who condescends to victory 
Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, 
Safe in himself as in a fate. 

"So, always firmly, he; 
He knew to bide his time, 
And can his fame abide, 
Still patient in his simple faith sublime, 

Till the wise years decide. 
Great captains with their drums and guns 
Disturb our judgment for the hour. 
But at last silence comes ; 
These all are gone, and, standing like a tower. 
Our children shall behold his fame. 

The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man. 
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame. 
New birth of our new soil, the first American." 

From a photograph taken March 6, 1865. 




In the Big City of the West — Across Ohio — /;/ the Land of Romance — - The 
Great White Dome — At Mount Vernon — The Greatest of Men. 

HEY had a fine time in Chicago. Every one does when one 
has friends there ; and every one of course has friends in the 
big, open-handed, open-hearted city. 

They walked and rode and " biked " over a sufficient por- 
tion of its one hundred and eighty square miles of area ; they 
shot up to the roofs of its "sky-scrapers"; they tunneled far beneath its 
dividing river ; they strolled along its lake front ; they shopped in its great 
stores; they spent many pleasant hours " a- wheel," and decided that, with 
its four thousand acres of park land and its hundred miles of boulevard, 
Chicago was indeed a paradise for cyclers ; they marveled at its breadth, 
its bigness, and its prosperity — in fact, the only thing they did not wonder at 
was the resident Chicagoans' "civic pride," which, Roger declared, was as big 
as its boundaries, and he did n't know that he blamed them for their enthusiasm. 
They visited its few historic points, noted its memorial buildings, monu- 
ments, and tablets. Christine, standing before the building that marks the 
spot on DeKoven street where, so Jack told her, Mrs. O'Leary's historic 
cow kicked over the equally historic lamp, and laid a city in ashes, dropped, 
as was her wont, into an appropriate poem, and gave them portions of Whit- 
tier's beautiful "Chicago." You know that poem, of course. It begins: 

" Men said at vespers, ' All is well ! ' 
In one wild night the city fell." 

If you do not recall it, look it up at once, for it fitly marks the underlying 
sympathy which, in times of disaster or of stress, makes all the world akin : 

" A sudden impulse thrilled each wire 
That signaled round that sea of fire ; 
Swift words of cheer, warm heart-throbs came ; 
In tears of pity died the flame ! 




" From East, from West, from South, from North, 
The messages of hope shot forth, 
And, underneath the severing wave, 
The world, full-handed, reached to save." 

Christine's sympathetic voice gave especial beauty to the final verses, re- 
cited upon the very spot where started the flame that unloosed the heart- 
strings of half the world : 

" Ah ! not in vain the flames that tossed 
Above thy dreadful holocaust ; 
The Christ again has preached through thee 
The Gospel of humanity ! 

" Then lift once more thy towers on high, 
And fret with spires the western sky, 
To tell that God is yet with us, 
* And love is still miraculous ! " 

"Well, she 's lifted 'em, has n't she?" said Jack — "towers and spires 
and all. I o^uess it 's a o'ood thins* to have a fire once in a while, when 



there 's pluck and sand behind it, as there was here. I don't believe the 
old Chicago would know the new Chicago ; do you, Uncle Tom ? " 

" I imagine they would need to be presented to each other, just as much 
as old Fort Dearborn and John Kinzie's log-house would need an introduc- 
tion to Lincoln Park and the Auditorium." 

At last the too brief visit was over; grips and dressing-cases once more 
were locked and strapped ; the good-bys were said, and, all aboard once 
again, the tourists were speeding southeasterly across five States, en route 
to Washington, the national capital. 

All day the train rolled on across the wide-spreading fields of Indiana and 
Ohio, while Uncle Tom, in the intervals of fun, chatter, and quiet, told them 
the story of George Rogers Clark, the brave borderer, who had won Indiana 
for the republic, and of the second Mayflower in which New England "pil- 
grims " had sailed to the colonization of the Ohio wilderness. 

That same Ohio country, he told them, was in Washington's mind when, 
in the dark hours of the Revolution, in the shadow of possible defeat, he 






declared that the colonists would never give up, but if driven from the At- 
lantic seaboard, " then," asserted the great commander, "we will retire to 
the valley of the Ohio, and there we will be free." 

Next morning they awoke in Maryland and the romance of history. 
For miles the railroad cleft the lofty ridges, and, following the course of the 
twisting Potomac, now beneath rocky heights, now along wooded slopes, and 
always in sight of the flashing river, it bore them through a land as rich in 
studies for stories as were ever the Scottish Highlands, only awaiting the 
Walter Scott who will some day give its stirring romance to the world. 

Across the rushing river and through these broken hill-gaps, so Uncle 
Tom told his young people, twice did the South invade the North ; here, 
beside the Potomac, had young George Washington, as boy and man, passed 
and repassed as surveyor, as explorer, as envoy, as colonial major and 
colonel, the chief instrument of Dinwiddie in his strife with the French 
along the Ohio, the only stay and safety of England in the tragedy forever 
famous as Bracldock's defeat. For, here at Cumberland, where they break- 
fasted, Uncle Tom explained, were the headquarters of the invaders of the 



J. Us 1 Mb* A~ 



French possessions ; it was Washington's point of departure upon the peril- 
ous trips in which he won alike confidence, experience, and fame. 

Here, too, in this hill-country, just the place for foray, feud, or siege, 
amid the straggling stone houses upon the heights and along the river-bank, 
was played, in later years, said Uncle Tom, " the curtain-raiser that prefaced 
the mighty strife of brother against brother, when John Brown and his men 



stood at bay in the old engine-house here at Harper's Ferry — as dramatic 
a situation as one of Stevenson's hand-to-hand conflicts, in a country as 
rugged as that stern old borderers' sense of duty." 

It was all mightily interesting. As Uncle Tom told them the story of 
Harper's Ferry, the young people looked with eager eyes upon the steep 
and rocky heights, the winding, rushing river, the old houses on each bank, 
and the monument that marks the spot where Brown of Ossawatomie and 
his handful of followers faced death unflinchingly for principle — a fool- 
ish and harebrained band of fanatics, no doubt, but, as Bert assured them, 
"his soul is marching on"; and Uncle Tom declared that "yonder gray- 
stone monument beside the Potomac and the canopy-covered rock on the 

beach at Plymouth are foster-broth- 
ers — each the beginning of a new 
era in the history of America and 
the world." 

" And we 've seen 'em both," said 

"Perish with him the folly that seeks through 
evil good," 

said Christine, drawing upon her 
favorite Whittier, 

" Long live the generous purpose unstained 
with human blood; 

Not the raid of midnight-terror, but the 
thought which underlies; 

Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the 
Christian's sacrifice." 

Christine was always, so Jack de- 
clared, "rounding up with Whit- 
tier," and Uncle Tom had to admit that Whittier was really the only poet 
who had given immortality to this romantic region. So, when in the region 
about Sharpsburg, he recalled the struggle at Antietam near by, and the 
later turning-point of the Civil War at Gettysburg, Christine thought rather 
of Barbara Frietchie and Stonewall Jackson, and knew that it was these 
very hill-gaps that had made history and a noble poem as well, 

" On that pleasant morn of the early fall, 
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall — 
Over the mountains, winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.*' 




South of Washington Junc- 
tion, where the railroad 
branches off to Frederick, Un- 
cle Tom pointed out to them, 
across the Virginia border, the 
direction in which, so he said, 
lay Leesburg, the nearest point 
of departure for the home of a 
famous American — a states- 
man and a President, a man 
whose name is now al- 
most a household word 
— James Monroe of 

— Ti ■ 


This building is now in Chicago. A granite monument marks its site at Harper's Ferry. 

" What, the Monroe Doctrine man ? " said Roger. 

"Only Jefferson was the real Monroe Doctrine man, was n't he?" said 

" No ! is that so, Uncle Tom ? " was Bert's query. 

" So recent students of American politics tell us," Uncle Tom replied. 
"They assert that Jefferson undoubtedly inspired it, for Monroe was his 
friend and follower. Indeed, Jefferson regarded Monroe so highly that he 
said of him, ' his soul might be turned inside out without discovering a 
blemish to the world.' " 

" Pretty, good send-off for James, that, was n't it now ?" Jack observed. 

"Monroe seems to have deserved it," said Uncle Tom. "He was 
as brave as he was good. He fought under Washington at the battle of 
Trenton, and was the last of the five ' Revolutionary ' Presidents. As to the 
' Monroe Doctrine,' however, we must give a certain amount of credit to our 
old friend John Ouincy Adams. He had a liberal hand in suggesting, out- 
lining, and preparing it. James Monroe lived off here a little ways, on his 
fine old estate of Oak Hill, near Leesburg, and thirty-three miles from Wash- 


ington city. Oak Hill is a great stock-farm and creamery now, and in good 
condition, though out of the possession of the Monroe family. You remem- 
ber we saw Monroe's tomb in Hollywood Cemetery, at Richmond." 
" Oh, yes; that queer iron summer-house sort of affair," said Bert. 
"Monroe died, however, in New York, in 1831," said Uncle Tom, "at 
the house of his daughter, Mrs. Gouverneur. Her husband, by the way,. 
was a descendant of my old colonial hero Jacob Leisler, the people's gov- 
ernor, who was martyred for independence in New York in the days of 
William and Mary, — a forerunner both of the American Revolution and the 
Monroe Doctrine, too." 

"Uncle Tom," laughed Jack, "you are — a corker!" Jack really could 
n't find anything but his expressive slang to meet the case. " You just 
make everything come your way." 

"I don't, Jack. History does. Facts do," declared Uncle Tom. "Blood 
does intermingle, you see, and the world is not so wide or so big after all." 

So, with talk and with story, the morning wore away, and they drew 
near to Washington. And when, at last, the great white dome and the 
tapering shaft of the mighty monument burst upon their view, they felt at 
home again. For here they were once more on familiar ground ; salt water, 
they knew, was now not so far away, and their journey of exploration to the 
South and West was over. 

They renewed the old associations ; revisited the places that had the 
strongest hold on their memory ; honored Congress with a brief attendance 
and a divided attention, and found a new interest in the capital and its 
notable spots by connecting sites, houses, or places, statues or scenes, with 
the famous Americans whose lives and homes had been their study as they 
had wandered about the land. 

They visited the Petersen house on Tenth street, in which Lincoln died 
— now a veritable museum of Lincoln relics and 
reminders, and the property, as it should be, of the 
government. They hunted up the spot in Statu- 
ary Hall in the Capitol where John Ouincy Adams 
fell stricken with death — oddly marked with con- 
centric circles, as shown in the diagram on this page. 
They tried to imagine his mother, Mrs. John 
Adams, hanging out her " Monday wash " in the 
now splendid East Room of the White House; 
they conjured up Jackson, tracing out with his cane 

the majestic proportions of the splendid Treasury Building ; they hunted up 
the sites of houses made famous by being the houses in Washington ot 

From a photograph in possession of Mr. Charles Henry Hart. 


the great men they had studied — Webster and Clay and Madison and 
Grant ; and marveled as once again they listened to the story of how the 
new Washington had obliterated or swallowed up the old, and become a 
noble and beautiful capital. 

So, in time, they came to Mount Vernon, — the Mecca of every Amer- 
ican who has in his heart one atom of affection for his native land, and time 
or money enough to visit the national capital, — no more to be left out of 
such a trip than Jerusalem out of Palestine, the Yosemite out of California, 
or Stratford-on-Avon out of England. 

The place showed no perceptible change from their former visit, except 
that the trolley-road was more pretentious and the trolley-trips more fre- 
quent Still as brightly, between its sloping banks, the broad Potomac 


slipped southward to the bay ; still, through its gaps of green, as they came 
sailing down the river, the famous old mansion stood just as invitingly on 
its green and shaded knoll. Trees, garden, lawns, outbuildings, barricaded 
rooms, relics, mementos, and reminders — all were in as good condition and as 
full of interest as ever ; and, even as before, they found themselves awed into 
silence before the sacred tomb, and thrilled into enthusiasm by the throng 



Published in 1798, by I. Stockdale, Piccadilly. 

of suggestions and memories that hang forever about the pillared portico 
and cupola-crowned roof of that rambling old Virginia farm-house, renowned 
through all the world as the home of Washington. 

There happened to be but few visitors to Mount Vernon that morning. 
Our tourists had the place virtually to themselves; so, seated comfortably 
in chairs within the broad, high portico, they looked out upon the beautiful 
river with which so many years of Washington's life were associated. They 
"took in" the view that he so dearly loved, and talked upon the one theme 
of which no American ever tires — the life of Washington. 

"Was there ever any other man in all the world so much thought of 
— really thought of — as Washington?" Christine inquired. 

" I doubt if there ever was, my dear," Uncle Tom replied. " Indeed, I 
am sure there was not. Every nation has its great men — has, indeed, its 
greatest man ; and yet in every nation are varying opinion's. Greece killed 
Socrates, and now he is her greatest man ; but it was later ages and alien 
people who so elevated him, even as they gave to Ctesar, killed by his coun- 
trymen, his proper place as the greatest Roman. England's greatest man 
may have been Cromwell, or Shakspere, or Alfred ; opinions differ there 
even as they differ in France and Germany, in Austria, Italy, or Spain. 


The test of greatness is popular remembrance — and I know of no char- 
acter in history who holds this place so unquestionably as does George 

" 'First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen,'" 
quoted Jack. 

" More than Lincoln ? " inquired Bert. 

" Lincoln's fame has but just begun," Uncle Tom replied. " It is 
American. The fame of Washington is world-wide. It has steadily grown 
for over a hundred years. It shows no dimming of its glory, and he 
who seeks to belittle it is like one who beats upon a great wall with 
his puny fist to make no impression thereon and only to find himself ridicu- 
lous. So we might add to Jack's quotation from Marshall's speech, first 
in the hearts of his fellow-men. For, as you see, all the world honors 
Washington. To no one man have all nations so paid the united homage 
of esteem. Statesmen, historians, poets, politicians alike point to Wash- 
ington as the supremely great, 
even while some of them scoff at 
republics and doubt the worth of 
liberty and equality." 

Whereupon Jack cried: "That's 
just where Byron comes in. 
Don't you know what he said 
right on that point ? We had to 
learn it last Washington's Birth- 
day : 

' Where may the wearied eye repose, 

When gazing on the Great, 
Where neither guilty glory glows 

Nor despicable state ? 
Yes,- one — the first, the last, the best — 

The Cincinnatus of the West, 
Whom envy dared not hate — 

Bequeath the name of Washington, 
To make men blush there was but one ! ' " 

"And he was an Englishman ! " 
said Bert. 

" Confederates booming Lincoln, Britishers hurrahing for Washington 
— it is kind of odd, is n't it, though?" said Roger. " How do you account 
for it, Uncle Tom ? " 



General Washington taking command of the army. 

" It is one of the proofs of great- 
ness," Uncle Tom replied; "when 
foemen become admirers fame can 
go no higher. The best thought 
of the South now yields reverence 

to Abraham Lincoln ; after a hundred years of scrutiny and criticism the 
latest and broadest of English historians says of George Washington, ' No 
nobler figure ever stood in the forefront of a nation's life.' " 

"Who was that, Uncle Tom? " asked Marian. 

" Green," Uncle Tom replied ; " not the historian of England's kings and 



wars, but of England's people — among whom, indeed, by ancestry, Wash- 
ington can claim a place." 

"Is n't that so, Uncle Tom ? " said Bert. " Was n't Washington nearer 
an English gentleman than an American?" 

" Don't get that folly in your head, my boy," Uncle Tom replied. " It is 
a favorite error with certain American critics who would exalt Lincoln at the 
expense of Washington. Such criticism is unnecessary. The two need not 
be compared. They are types by themselves. Washington may not have 
been a man of the people in the sense that Jackson was, or Lincoln, but he was 
an American and of America. And yet he sprang from the soil as much as 
they or any one else. Here in these Virginia valleys he grew to manhood — a 

country boy, a farmer's son as much as any tan- 
ner's son or any ' mill-boy of the Slashes.' Fifty 
miles below where we now sit, on the banks of 
the broadening Potomac, he was born in 1732, 
in a low-roofed old farm-house that would seem 
very plain and small to you to-day." 

"Is it standing now?" asked Marian, who 
always wished to locate any reference to place 
or personality. 

" Oh, no ; it was burned when Washington 
was three years old," Uncle Tom replied. " But 
the spot has been properly marked at last. 
In Washington's day the place was known as 
Bridge's Creek. To-day it is called Wake- 
field, and a year ago a modest but satisfactorv 
monument was placed upon the spot where once 
stood the farm-house that was the birthplace of 
Washington. As a boy, he lived in another 
farm-house on the banks of the Rappahannock, 
opposite the city of Fredericksburg, forty miles 
to the south of us. In 1743 his brother Law- 
rence built a house here on this estate, and 
called it Mount Vernon, from the British ad- 
miral under whom he had fought at Carthaeena. 
When Lawrence died in 1752 George Wash- 
ington became owner of Mount Vernon, and 
here was his home until his death." 

" And is this the very house that his brother built? " asked Christine. 
" Oh, no; the original house was scarcely one third the size," Uncle Tom 





By permission of John Crawford & Son, designers 




A marvel of generalship. Washington directing the passage of the American army across the East River, at night. 

replied. " The old house was rebuilt and enlarged after the Revolution, in 
1 785, upon plans designed by Washington himself. As you see it to-day, 
therefore, you see Washington's own work, alike as to house and grounds." 

" He had to be away from here a great deal, did n't he ? " inquired Marian. 

"Far more than he wished," Uncle Tom replied. "Washington dearly 
loved his home and farm life at Mount Vernon. To him, his horses and 
his dogs, his acres and his crops, were very important affairs. But he was 
at home only twice during the Revolutionary War, and when he was Presi- 
dent his most enjoyable moments were those passed as a sort of vacation 
here at Mount Vernon." 

" How many public offices did he hold in his life? " asked Bert. 




"Not so many in number — soldier, congressman, President, that was 
all ; but that service extended through nearly fifty years. Remember, he 
began young. His schooling was slight, indeed. But the woods and the 
fields were a greater school — his university. He was a public surveyor of 
land at sixteen, tramping with pole and chain over these very fields and 
slopes on which we are now looking. At nineteen he was the governor's 
adjutant, a major in the Virginia militia, and from that time he was before 
the people, known and honored of men." 


" Regular genius, eh ? " said Jack. 

" No, not a genius, Jack ; a ibuilder upon sure foundations, but building 
slowly, solidly, safely. Washington was not born great. He grew into 
greatness. Things had to be done, and he did them. And as he did them 
he gained patience, confidence, ability. See now how gradually he pro- 
ceeded. From his nineteenth to his twenty-seventh year he was major and 
colonel in the British colonial service, facing the French at Great Meadows 
and Fort Necessity, and casting the only ray of glory that lighted up Brad- 
dock's disastrous defeat." 

" Which was a defeat because his advice was n't taken ; is n't that so, 
Uncle Tom ? " said Roger. 

" Certainly," replied Uncle Tom ; "and men soon learned to know that, 
and to appreciate the young colonel's ability. From his twenty-seventh to 
his forty-third year he was farmer, member of the Virginia legislature (the 
house of burgesses at Williamsburg, you know), and of the first and second 
Continental Congress." 

"I thought he was not in the Congress that signed the Declaration of 
Independence," said Marian. 

" He was a member when it met in May, 1775, but the next month he 
was elected commander-in-chief and resigned his seat," Uncle Tom explained. 
"From his forty-third to his fifty-first year he was commander-in-chief of 
the American forces, serving through the entire Revolutionary War without 
pay; from his fifty-first to his fifty-seventh year he was farmer, pioneer, del- 
egate to the Continental Congress, and president of the convention that 
framed the Constitution of the United States ; from his fifty-seventh to his 
sixty-fifth year he was President of the United States ; in his sixty-sixth year 
he was lieutenant-general of the armies of the United States, and in his sixty- 
seventh year he died — above us here, in the little room that we have seen 
to-day, and forever, sacred while this building stands, as the death-chamber 
of Washington." 

"Well, that 's checking off his life pretty well, Uncle Tom," said Bert. 
" But — tell me — just what was it that made Washington great? " 

Uncle Tom tried to put it into few words. 

"Good judgment," he began, "and great good sense; wonderful talent 
for organization and administration — that is, thinking out things and putting 
them through ; high moral character, manliness, courage, unselfishness, mod- 
esty, a mighty will, perfect integrity, unfaltering loyalty, a clear conviction 
of duty, sincerity, magnanimity, justice, truthfulness, nobility of soul. It was 
the combination of all these qualities that made George Washington great. 

" And no man to-day questions his greatness," Uncle Tom continued. 


Painted in 1801, signed " R. F." 



Original in possession of Mrs. F. T. Moorhead. 

"A farmer-boy, he became the noblest of rulers; in all the history of the 
world no man has a loftier name ; no name was ever so dear to the thought- 
ful among mankind ; no man ever had his name become so closely the syno- 
nym for heroic virtue, or so unhesitatingly upon men's lips as the watchword 
of liberty. In truthfulness, in integrity, in endurance, in wisdom, in justice, 
in devotion to duty and loyalty to purpose, he stands supreme, at once the 
model for those in authority and an ideal and example for us all. His story 
is a twice-told tale, and yet it is ever new. It will never end while men and 
women honor nobility of character, or boys and girls love to hear the story 
of how the farmer-boy grew into the hero, the simple gentleman into the 
world's greatest man. It will never end, for never will the world cease to 
honor, reverence, and love the name of Washington." 
Bert nodded emphatic approval. 
" That 's so," he said ; " great man, was n't he ! " 
"Great," responded Roger, while Jack replied, "Immense." 
"That 's just it," said Marian, as with thoughtful eyes she looked out 
upon the Potomac. " He 's too great to think about the same as you do 
about other people." 

" He was very great and good, I know," said Christine ; "but I don't see 
why we can't think of the nice, every-day things about him, and so get kind 



of close up to him ; do you, Uncle Tom ? Here \s where he lived with his 
wife Martha — right here at Mount Vernon. Can't you see him riding and 
walking around here, looking after things and having a good time ? That 's 
a good deal easier than to think of him perched up on top of some high 

"Well, I don't know," said Roger; "that 's the way I always think of 
him — prancing along on horseback, like most of the statues we have seen.'' 

"Or else like the one in front of the Capitol at Washington," said Bert. 

"What, that third-base one, where he 's calling out 'Judgment'?" 
queried Jack. 

" There ! just see, now," said Christine ; " see how quick you are to bring 
him down from the pedestal and make a man of him, Jack, even in joke ! 
Don't you see what I mean, Uncle Tom ? " 

"I think I do, my dear, and appreciate it," Uncle Tom replied. "The 
tendency is to put Washington out of reach by reverence, to make a demi- 
god of him as the old Greeks and Romans did of their leaders and rulers. 
Christine wishes to give him the human heart. That 's right ; he had one, 
I assure you. So, while I would elevate Washington where he could be 
seen, and where he can stand as the ideal and pattern for all our boys and 
girls, I still like to think of him and to have you think of him as a man 
among men ; with faults and failings, just as all men have, but able so to 
school himself that we forget his failings and remember only his virtues. 
So, too, I like to think of him here, at Mount Vernon, where, as Christine 
says, he 'lived with his wife Martha,' interested in the things about him, 
showing sympathy and affection and tenderness and friendliness and hospi- 
tality to all with whom he came in contact. I like to think of him here — 
as we can — hunting the fox with young Jacky Custis, or 'getting off' 
pretty Nellie Custis from her ' horrid ' music-lesson ; riding about the farm in 
a broad-brimmed white hat and drab clothes, with his hickory stick and his 
saddle-umbrella; listening to the fun of the negro story-tellers at the quar- 
ters, and shaking all over at some good joke; taking a bowl of hot tea to the 
bedside of a visitor who, he thought, had caught a cold ; protecting the 
young son of Lafayette here at Mount Vernon when the boy's gallant father 
was in danger in France ; walking up and down this very portico, with 
a toddling baby girl clinging to his great fingers ; romping with the little 
daughters of his Secretary of State, or exchanging compliments and fun 
with the nice little girl who, when she bade him good-by, said she had 
rather let him in the door than let him out — in fact, it must be confessed, 
boys, that Washington had an especial preference in favor of the girls." 

" And showed his sense," said Marian. 



" Another sign of greatness," declared polite Roger, with a bow toward 
the girls, which Jack at once imitated with superfluous extravagance. 

"So you see, boys and girls," said Uncle Tom, "while our Washington 
is high above us as the hero and the beacon, he may also be very near to us 
as the man. A leader of men, he was also a lover of men, noble because he 
was good, and great because he was noble ; ' the purest figure in history,' as 
Mr. Gladstone declares ; ' the greatest man of our own or any age,' so 
Lord Brougham, another famous Englishman, asserts ; ' the only one upon 
whom the epithet "great," so thoughtlessly lavished by men, may be 
justly bestowed.' 

" Come! it 's almost trolley-time. One more turn through the grounds, 
one more walk through these glory-haunted rooms, and then : All aboard 
for Washington — and home." 




Famous Americans in Washington — Homeward Bound — A "Quiz" in 
Fame-study — Impressions — Patriotism — Memories — Good- by. 

NCLE TOM," said Marian, as they sat in a shady place 
between the Capitol and the splendid new Congressional Li- 
brary, which they had just been investigating, " were all these 
men we have been hunting up ever here in Washington ? " 
"What do you think about it, my dear?" said Uncle 
Tom. " Run over your list and see how closely you can connect them with 
this place." 

Literal, as usual, Marian drew out her list of persons and places, and 
proceeded to check off the names. 

"Let's begin at the beg;innine\" she said. "Franklin? No; Franklin 
was n't here, of course." 

"Of course he was n't," Jack decided. "Why don't you go back to 
Noah while you are about it." 

" Not so fast, not so fast, my young friends," said Uncle Tom. " Do 
you remember that Franklin was postmaster-general of the colonies at the 
time of Braddock's defeat ? " 

"Well?" said Jack. 

"Well," returned Uncle Tom, 
notabilities yonder in Alexandria, 
ington there, or in Frederick — " 

" What, where Barbara Frietchie lived ? " asked Christine. 

"Yes; and Franklin, you see, may have passed through this region," 
Uncle Tom asserted, "when he came this way to give good but unheeded 
advice to Braddock." 

" But there was nothing here then, was there? " asked Bert. 

Braddock held a conference of colonial 
FYanklin met both Braddock and Wash- 


" No," Uncle Tom replied; "nothing but a hill, a marsh, and a swamp. 
Still, it was the site of Washington. Go on, Marian ; who next ? " 


" Why, he picked out the place himself," said Bert. " Of course he was 
here in the early days of the republic." 

" Of course," again decided Jack. " Go ahead, Marian." 

"Hamilton? Now, he could n't have been here, could he?" Marian 
declared. " He was killed by Burr before Washington was built." 

"Oh, no, no, my dear," said Uncle Tom. "The government was estab- 
lished here in Washington in 1800. Hamilton was not killed until 1804. 
He had a hand in the selection of this site. Don't you remember that in 
New York I told you how Hamilton and Jefferson walked for half an hour 
in front of Washington's house on Broadway, deciding the location of the 
national capital ? " 

"Oh, yes; then I suppose, of course, he was here," said Marian, still 
puzzling over her list. "And Patrick Henry — he, too, I suppose. He was 
a Virginian, and I suppose had to come this way when he went to Congress. 
And all the rest of these" — here she ran over her list hurriedly — "they 
were either Presidents or senators, so, of course, they were here — the two 
Adamses, Jefferson, Clay, Calhoun, Webster, Jackson, Lincoln, Grant, Mad- 
ison, Monroe, all of them." 

" Yes ; they were all residents of Washington, some of them for many 
years," Uncle Tom replied. "We have, you know, found either the house or 
the spot where stood the house in which each one of them lived. As for 
the Presidents, we know about them. Washington laid the corner-stone of 
the Capitol and located the White House. John Adams was the first Presi- 
dent to occupy it as a residence, and, as I have told you, his down- east wife 
used the big, bare east room to dry her Monday's washing in. In that same 
east room Jefferson served the sixteen-hundred-pound cheese sent him by 
the Massachusetts farmers, and the White House lights were always ' out ' at 
ten o'clock when ' Early to bed and early to rise' John Ouincy Adams was 
President. We saw the little room there, you remember, in which Jackson 
used to smoke his corn-cob pipe, and in which he dashed it to the floor and 
cried : ' By the Eternal ! I '11 fix 'em. Send for General Scott,' when the nulli- 
fiers threatened to destroy the Union. Up and down the floor of the Presi- 
dent's room in the White House went the ceaseless tramp-tramp of Lincoln 
the night before the battle of Gettysburg, and in that same White House 
Grant gave his daughter in marriage to an Englishman — the first child of 
a President married at the White House. 

"So we could go on," continued Uncle Tom, "and link plenty of inter- 




esting things here in Washington with our different famous men. But we 
have n't time. Our train starts in two hours, and we must be off. But it has 
been a good idea to centralize all our characters here in the capital of the na- 
tion to which they devoted so much of their lives, their thought, and their 
labor, and which to-day gratefully remembers and honors them." 


Two hours later, as their train crossed the eastern branch of the Potomac 
bearing them toward home, the boys and girls craned their necks and strained 
their eyes for a good-by glimpse of the tall white shaft and the great white 
dome — alike the landmarks and the glory of that splendid capital city of 
the republic. 

Then they turned their faces northward, and in due time were exchanging 
greetings and caresses with the dear ones at home. Their journey was over. 

But their retrospect, it would seem, had but just begun ; for when, next 
day, they all gathered for a conference — or, as Jack called it, an " experience 
meeting " — in his father's comfortable library, the flow of tongues was so con- 
stant and resistless that Mr. Dunlap declared it " Out-Babeled Babel," while 
the " Oh, don't you remember," and the " Say, did you see," and the " Uncle 
Tom said " came so fast and vociferous that Uncle Tom at last was obliged 
to constitute himself chairman of the meeting, rap it to order, and request 
each lady and gentleman to speak to the question, one at a time, and not 
to usurp the floor. 

"We '11 have a quiz in fame-study," he declared, "and your father, Jack, 
shall be the interlocutor. Come, try them," he said, turning to Mr. Dunlap. 
"I 'd like to have you see if the)' 've brought back anything worth the 

"Well, let 's see," said Mr. Dunlap; "you 've studied twelve or fifteen 
famous Americans on their native heaths. What do you think of their back- 



Now in the Governor's room, City Hall, New York. 

ground, as the story-writers would say ? Come, Roger, as the visiting 
member, we '11 give you the preference. What impressed you most ? " 

"Oh — I don't know," began Roger slowly. "Statues, I guess. We've 
seen loads of them. But that one of Lincoln in Chicago — St. Gaudens's 

— is best of all, I think. The 
Washington monument in Rich- 
mond crowds it pretty close, but 

— somehow — there was a real 
grandeur to the Lincoln, and yet 
it was so perfectly simple and 
natural. Seems to me all the 
statues are too high up — out 
of reach. The Clay monument 
at Lexington and the Douglas 
at Chicago were away up in the 
air, like a pin stuck in a pen- 
holder. It gives you a stiff neck to look at them. Both the Lee at Rich- 
mond and the Grant at St. Louis seemed out of reach, while the Grant at 
Chicago — very near the Lincoln in Lincoln Park, you know — is a magnifi- 
cent thing, but has so much granite about it all, and is so 
high up, that it looks as if the General were just charging 
across the Rocky Mountains. But St. Gaudens's Lincoln is 
just the thing. There he stands right among the people — 
just like him, don't you know. Why, you feel like going right 
up and shaking hands with him. He 's grand, but so natural. 
And he 's right where you can get at him. So is the Far- 
ragut in Madison Square and the Nathan Hale in City Hall 
Park, in New York. I do like to get at people." 

" Roger 's right," said Uncle Tom, nodding his approval. 
" That St. Gaudens's Lincoln is indeed most impressive. The 
great paved semicircle, with that heroic, natural figure 
in the center, seemed to me strong in its magnificent 
simplicity. The Grant statue near it is more im- 
posing, but it is almost forbidding in its mas- 
sive foundation. It is all castellated and for- 
tress-like — grim, as a relentless soldier, while 
Lincoln stands there modest but mighty, a 
friendly figure, one of the people amid the 

THE FARRAGUT MONUMENT. P e °P le ' A " d Wh&t * Splendid background 

in Madison Square, New York. that great park and that ocean of a lake make 


for two such vast Americans ! Yes ; the study of statues is certainly inter- 
esting. Roger, you 're a boy of discrimination." 

" Well, Bert, let 's have your report," said Mr. Dunlap. 

Bert declared himself as having been especially impressed with, as he 
expressed it, "what folks don't know," particularly the lack of knowledge 
concerning famous men in the very places where they were born and brought 
up, or had made their homes later in life. 

" A prophet is not without honor, you know, Bert, " said Mr. Dunlap, 
" save in his own country and in his own house." 

"That 's so. I 've often experienced that," said Jack, shaking his head. 

"You, Jack Dunlap? Why the house is just run for you," Marian 
cried in the midst of the laugh that greeted Jack's modest announcement, 
while Bert, sticking to the subject, said: "But it did n't seem to be that so 
much. There 's honor enough for these great men in their homes, but 
no information." 

" Familiarity breeds — forgetfulness, perhaps," Mr. Dunlap again haz- 

" Perhaps," said Bert. "Anyhow, we struck this 'don't know' business 
everywhere — except at Richmond. They could answer questions there. 
Why, the trolley-car conductor at Lexington did n't know Ashland as Henry 
Clay's home, but as Major McDowell's stock-farm. Then Uncle Tom knew 
more about Lincoln in Springfield than the hotel-proprietor, our driver, and 
the man who has the store where Lincoln's office was, all put together. Even 
in Quincy it was hard to get from people real facts about the Adamses ; 
Philadelphia people could n't tell you much about Franklin, and New York 
is as misty about Hamilton as St. Louis is about Grant. You 've just 
got to post up for yourself before going on a great-man hunt." 

" That 's so, Bert," Uncle Tom confessed. " But, after all, it 's only natural. 
Reverence for historic character is a matter of education ; interest in every- 
day affairs is spontaneous." 

"You know what I 've often confessed to you, Jack," said his father. 
" My one and only diary was kept as a boy in the momentous year of 1864, 
and yet you could read that diary through from January to December and 
not suspect that a war was being fought in America. And it was not because 
the war had no interest to me. It had a mighty interest. My father's house, 
you know, was a center for war fever. But that 's just it — a boy's personal 
affairs are to him of more moment than the affairs of the nation — and men 
are but children of a larger growth, you know." 

" But education is counteracting this indifference, I think," Uncle Tom 
declared. "Wherever we went I got more information from the boys and 


After the bust by Augustus St. Gaudens, modeled from life in 1888-89. 



girls I questioned than from the ' grown-ups.' The salvation of the republic, 
after all, lies in the hands and hearts of its boys and girls." 

" Now, Marian, it 's your turn," said her father. 

" What impressed me most about these people ? " she queried, referring to 
her well-worn list. "Let me see — I gruess what Uncle Tom told us once, 


that, after all, they were men. It seems as though we heard horrid, mean 
little things about every one of them ; but that 's because people like to talk, 
I suppose ; and, after all, I could n't but see that the great and noble things 
they did pushed the little things out of sight. Every man of them all went 
up in the world from pretty small beginnings, and I suppose success starts 
mean things about people just as much as it starts fine things. It takes all 
sorts of people to make a world, and, for my part, I 'm going to forget the 
gossip and remember only the glory." 

" That 's the talk, my dear ! " exclaimed Uncle Tom. " I wish you could 
put that spirit into certain of our historians who seem to think that truth 



consists in picking flaws. No one of us is perfect ; we all have our failings. 
Forget the bad, remember the good. For it is the good in people that lives 
the longest, and perhaps even the things we call failings in our great men 
were but the steps by which they mounted to brave and wise and excellent 
deeds for the good of their fellows and the glory of the republic. You know 
how I stand. I believe that never anything in this world was without use 
and advantage. The wars of Alexander and Caesar and Attila and Napo- 
leon were all for the world's good, though fought for selfishness and ambi- 
tion ; so slavery and the Civil War were necessary to the growth of this re- 
public. There is no such thing, boys and girls, as an unmixed evil. Now, 
we have progressed, I trust, beyond the need of blood and tears ; the days 
of slavery and war are over, and the republic can say with Tennyson — 

' I hold it truth with him who sings 

That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things.' 

though, even 

I hope that America at last has reached its higher things 
yet, the signs of foolishness have not altogether passed." 

Mr. Dunlap might have branched off into a discussion with his brother 
on this open question, but Jack, improving the op- 
portunity, filled in the pause. 

"Want to know what impressed me the most?" 
he asked. "Well — tombs." 

There was a general laugh at the sepulchral tone 
in which Jack announced his impression — so foreign 
to such a really "live" boy as Jack Dunlap. 

" You need n't laugh," he said. " That 's right — 
they did. I 'm sure we saw enough of them ; we 
seemed to run up against them everywhere. There 
was Polk's, in the State-House grounds at Nashville; 
and Adams's, inside the place where he went to * 
church ; and Jackson's, in his own front-door yard ; ^ 
and Jefferson's, hung up there on a hillside ; and 
Webster's, almost on the seashore ; and all the others. 
They 're interesting enough, but they 're not big 
enough. What 's the matter with having a West- 
minster Abbey sort of place for them ? We 're a big 
country and we ought to honor our great men in a great 
way. Grant's new tomb is going to be something like franklins clock 
— when it is finished. But none of the rest amount in the Philadelphia Library. 



President Grant on the street in Washington. 

to a Hannah Cook, from Webster's shabby little headstone at Marshfield to 
Lincoln's ramshackle affair — half museum and half ruin — at Springfield." 

" O, see here, Jack! you 're going it altogether too strong!" exclaimed 
Bert. " I thought they were fine, most of them." 

" No, sir! there is n't a fine one in the whole lot, except Grant's," Jack 

"Lincoln's did look somewhat shabby and run-down — or rather, not 
kept up," Roger admitted, "but that can be fixed; and I m sure we are 
agreed that Webster's just suited him." 

" And, surely, no one would change Washington's, or Jackson's, or 
Franklin's," declared Marian, remembering their devotion to the memory 
of their wives. 

"That 's all right. You can have your opinion; I '11 keep mine," said 


Jack. " You asked what impressed us most, and I 've given it to you 
straight. I 'd like to see something great and appropriate over the graves 
of every one of these men; for they all were great, and should be honored by 
something great." 

" Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? " 

quoted Mr. Dunlap, looking at Jack significantly. 

" I don't care," the boy persisted. " That 's what I think. I don't mean for 
their sakes, but for our own. They were great, and deserve great memorials." 

" Now, I don't know," said Christine. " They were great ; but they were 
great because they were simple. That 's the one thing about all of them 
that most impressed me." 

" What ! Daniel Webster simple ? Washington, Patrick Henry, John 
Adams, Andrew Jackson simple — do you really think so, Christine?" cried 

"Yes, every one of them," Christine declared. "That 's not what folks 
remember about them all, I know, but they were all simple in their lives and 
ways. Uncle Tom said so, and I think it 's fine to know that such great and 
noble men could be so nice and plain and homelike about things — from the 
way they lived to the way they died, — and were buried," she added, with a 
challenging look at Jack. 

"You don't remember what Emerson says about greatness, I suppose," 
said Mr. Dunlap, " but it just fits Christine's theory. ' Nothing,' he says, 
' is more simple than greatness ; indeed, to be simple is to be great.' " 

Whereupon Roger slipped across the room and shook Christine's hand in 
evident congratulation ; but Jack remained unconvinced. 

" Well, all these things that you boys and girls have noted and reported 
are of course interesting," said Mr. Dunlap, " though they seem to me 
rather on the negative than the positive side, rather criticism than approval." 

"But that, I think, is all right," Uncle Tom declared. "They wish to 
see things so perfect in the honors paid to the great that they become 
critical, and notice the little ' outs ' that are at once apparent. Bert and 
Jack may be, in the main, correct in their monumental criticisms ; but, after 
all, what greater honors can be paid our famous ones than those of remem- 
brance, emulation, and praise ? It is what these men did for the republic and 
for us, the manner in which they served the nation and advanced its strength 
and glory, that America will never forget, and which will endure as their best 
monuments and memorials." 



"I think," said Mr. Dunlap, " that just here Uncle Tom might exalt the 
office that most of the men whose tracks you have been following- filled at 
some time in their lives. Most of your baker's dozen were, at one time or 
another, Presidents of the United States." 

In the dark days of '61. 

"And the three who did n't get there wished they could," said Jack. 

" President of the United States of America ! " continued Mr. Dunlap. 
"Why, that in itself is enough to immortalize a man. The office would 
make almost the smallest great. What king or queen in all the world 
is the equal of the man whom the people delight to honor in a land 
where the people is king? So, above all things, boys, when you come 


into power as voters be careful whom you advance to this exalted position. 
There is none higher. Let me, right in this place, read you what was 
said by one of the best and bravest Englishmen that ever lived — John 
Bright, the friend of America at a time when all the wealth and power of 
Europe seemed hostile to the republic, in the dark days of i860 and '61." 

And Mr. Dunlap, taking a book from one of his library shelves, read 
aloud this : " ' Every four years there springs from the vote created by the 
whole people a President over that great nation. I think the world affords 
no finer spectacle than this ; I think it affords no higher dignity — that there 
is no greater object of ambition on the political stage on which men are per- 
mitted to move. You may point, if you like, to hereditary royalty — to 
crowns coming down through successive generations in the same families, to 
thrones based on proscription or on conquest, to scepters wielded over veteran 
legions or subject realms, but to my mind there is nothing more worthy of 
reverence or obedience, nothing more sacred, than the authority of a freely- 
chosen magistrate of a great and free people.'" 

" Three cheers for John Bright ! " cried Jack. " His head was level, 
was n't it ? " 

" Yes ; but yours will be just as level, my boy," replied his father, " if you 
will keep such words as his in view and try neither to belittle your birth- 
right by unjust comparisons nor cheapen it by unwise boastings. Not that I 
fear that you will do either, Jack," he hastened to assert; "you 're a pretty 
good patriot, though sometimes an extravagant one." 

"Better to overdo in that particular, I think, than to fall short," Uncle 
Tom declared. "What was that sonnet by Professor Woodberry, Jack, that 
you and I learned together last year ? Do you remember it ? " 

"What 's that? " said Jack, still a bit unsteady over his father's uninten- 
tional criticism. " Do you mean his sonnet to one who objected to his hav- 
ing too much patriotism ? " 

"Yes, that 's the one," said Uncle Tom; and Jack, with a look toward 
his father, said: "This is a sonnet, please bear in mind, to one who objected 
that the fellow was overdoing his patriotism. And this is what the poet said 
to him : 

" The riches of a nation are her dead 

Whom she hath borne to be her memory 

Against her passing, when that time shall be, 
And in the Caesar's tomb she makes her bed ; 
And oft of such decay in books I 've read — 

Carthage or Venice, who had wealth as we ; 

Yet, all too wise for patriots, blame not me ! 
I know a nation's gold is not man's bread. 



" But rather from itself the heart infers 

That ached when Lincoln died ! those boyish tears 
Still keep my breast untraitored by its fears ; 

Farragut, Phillips, Grant — I saw them shine, 

Names worthy to have filled a Roman line ; 
If I prove false, it is the future errs." 

" That 's very fine, Jack, both for Professor Woodberry, who wrote it, and 
you, the orator," Mr. Dunlap said, as the applause subsided, "and it 's very 
true, too. The future may err, but see to it that you boys and girls do not. 
The riches of a nation are her dead ! You know that now. The phrase fits, 
and Professor Woodberry's sentiment, too, applies capitally to all you boys and 
girls, who, after your pilgrimage to historic shrines, should now be infused 
with a practical patriotism. That is what the dozen or more men you have 
been investigating all displayed ; that is what every American should aim to 
possess. Be not selfish individuals, or selfish patriots, even, but citizens of 
America, heirs to her greatness and glory, ready to fill any post of duty or of 
honor you may be called to occupy ; loyal to your home-land, ready to do 
your share in aid or in service to your fellow-men — in other words, be intel- 
ligent, loyal, faithful, active citizens of the republic. And this call comes to 
you girls just as much as to the boys. ' It is as great to be a woman as a 
man,' one of our philosophers has said, and patriotism — true patriotism — is 
not limited to sex or strength. So, at last, shall your study of our famous 
Americans prove of service to you all, and Uncle Tom's latest labor of love 
will not have been in vain." 

The good-bys were now to be said, for, next day, Roger was to return 
to his Boston home. But before the party broke up, Uncle Tom, as he had 
done at the close of their Washington trip, asked each one of his boys and 
girls what would be the thing longest remembered by them of this delight- 
fully-extended tramp about America. 

In one thing they were all agreed — the greatness of the American re- 
public, the vastness of its area, the beauty, wealth and size of its cities. Even 
New York's grandeur and Chicago's bigness did not impress them more than 
the signs of prosperity and taste displayed in Richmond and Lexington and 
Louisville and Nashville — centres, all of them, of culture, business energy, 
architectural beauty, modern ideas, and up-to-date enterprise. They agreed, 
too, that such a trip as they had taken to the homes of famous Americans was 
possible to all who could spare the means or time to take it ; for their homes 
lay along a line of continual travel and were all readily accessible, while the 
comforts of modern railway journeys made the trip at once easy and enjoyable. 

,: It 's as °/ood as an education," said Bert. 



And Christine agreed, with the addition, " if only Uncle Tom 's the 
teacher," in which sentiment one and all concurred. 

But when it came to picking out the one thing that they would longest 
remember in connection with their trip their replies were of course as di- 
verse as their natures. 

" I don't believe I shall ever forget the thirteen Hamilton trees near his 

From a photograph by Pach Brothers. 

home on Convent avenue," said Bert, "or the last of the Confederate earth- 
works on the old Kentucky battle-ground of Munfordville." 

Marian was certain she should always remember that sick chamber in 
the Sixty-sixth Street house in New York where General Grant wrote his 
memoirs, passed through the furnace-fire of misfortune, and fought the valiant 
fight with death ; " though, to be sure," she added, " I was awfully interested 
to see the place where Pocahontas fell in love with Rolfe." 

" Oh, that 's ancient history," said Jack ; " it was not nearly so interesting 
to me as old Alfred at the Hermitage, though I think I shall always remember 
the boy conductors on the trolley-cars at Nashville, and the \\ nite Squad- 
ron in Hampton Roads — both of them were pretty fresh, you know." 

Rotrer wavered between the star chamber and its mornimj effects in 



Mammoth Cave, and Jefferson's one-brick wall at the University of Virginia, 
which seemed to him at once odd and incongruous. Christine, as usual, 
reserved her opinion. 

Then, when all had spoken, she said: "Well, I saw so many, many 
things I never can forget that it 's hard to pick out just one or two. But 
really, I don't think I ever can forget the beautiful way President Jackson 
spoke of his wife on her tablet in the garden at the Hermitage, nor that odd 
sick-chair of dear old Franklin in Philadelphia. Oh, yes, there 's one thing I 
think I shall remember even longer than those, and that was the little black 
girl playing at Lincoln's feet when we were looking at St. Gaudens's splen- 
did statue in Chicago. Don't you remember her ? It was all so appropriate, 
you know, for she seemed to be almost at his feet, 
even though the pedestal was too high for her to 
reach him ; and she was playing there in such 
perfect and unconscious freedom that really it 
seemed almost typical, as you call it, Uncle Tom." 

" It was, indeed, my dear," Uncle Tom re- 
plied. " I believe you 're a born poet, Christine. 
You always see the sympathetic side of things, 
and, after all, it is the sympathetic that is prac- 
tical. Here, let me give you this final bit of 
verse. It is by a young poet named Cutler, 
who, in 1 86 1, read this splendid war poem 
before the very so- 
ciety at Harvard 
College that, thirty 
years after, listened 
to a eulogy of 
Abraham Lincoln 
from the lips of the 
Confederate sol- 
dier, Thompson. It 
seems to me to fit 
Christine's thought 
and type, as well 
as the real mean- 
ing of our trip to 
the home of those 
who made the re- 
public great. madison square garden and tower, new york. 



And Uncle Tom recited this : 

" O Law, fair form of Liberty, God's light is on thy brow ; 
O Liberty, thou soul of Law, God's very self art thou ! 
One, the clear river's sparkling flood that clothes the bank with green, 
And one, the line of stubborn rock that holds the water in ; 
Friends whom we cannot think apart, seeming each other's foe, 
Twin flowers upon a single stalk, with equal grace that grow ; 
O, fair ideas ! we write your names across our banner's fold, 
For you the sluggard's brain is fire, for you the coward bold ; 
O, daughter of the bleeding past! O, hope the prophets saw! 
God give us Law in Liberty, and Liberty in Law ! " 

"Amen to that! " said Mr. Dunlap, almost solemnly. " For such a hope 
did Franklin labor and Washington fight and Jefferson struggle and Web- 
ster plead ; for it did Adams legislate and Jackson stand firm and Grant 
battle and Lincoln die. For it must you all, boys and girls, strive heroic- 
ally, patriotically, practically — if you would make America the resistless, 
law-abiding republic which is to be the future's glory and pride." 

With that the " Convention adjourned," as Jack declared, sine die. With 
many good-bys and much exchange of promises, the peripatetic five sepa- 
rated, and the pilgrimage to historic homes was a thing of memory ; but, 
you may be sure, it proved a strong and lasting one. 


Only the important names are entered here. There are slight allusions to many persons and places in the 
liook which it has not been thought necessary to include in the Index, and the entries given generally refer 
to an important mention (or illustration) of the subject. When the treatment of a subject occupies a num- 
ber of pages the reference is to the first page only. 

Adams, Abigail, 24. 

Adams,- Charles Francis, 17. 

Adams, John, 1 7. 

Adams, John Quincy, 17, 218. 

Adams, Samuel, 10, 17. 

Alton, Ills., 194. 

Andros, Sir Edmund, 51. 

Ashland, the home of Henry Clay, 138. 

Bacon, Nathaniel, 92. 

Battery, The, New York, 51. 

Blue-Grass Country, The, 137. 

Boone, Daniel, 138. 

Boston, I. 

Bright, John, 244. 

Brown, John, 216. 

Burr, Aaron, 57, 167. 

Calhoun, John C, 140. 

Calvert, Leonard, Landing of, 82. 

Cape Charles, 84. 

Carpenters' Hall, Philadelphia, 79. 

Charlottesville, Va., 117. 

Chateau de Chaumont, France, 76. 

Chesapeake Bay, 84. 

Chicago, Ills., zn. 

Christ Church, Philadelphia, 75. 

City Hall, New York, 53. 

Clay, Henry, 138. 

Clinton, De Witt, 50. 

Clinton, Governor George, 50. 

Convent Avenue, New York, 62. 

Cromwell, Oliver, 85. 

Davis, Jefferson, 109. 

Decatur, Stephen, 83, 128, 130. 

Declaration of Independence, 21, 76. 

De Grasse, Admiral, 86. 

Delaware, Lord, 85. 

Dock Square, Boston, II. 

Douglas, Stephen A., 202. 

Dutch Gap, Virginia, 104. 

Duxbury, Mass., 34. 

Elizabeth, Queen, 86. 

Emancipation Proclamation, 25. 

Faneuil Hall, Boston, II. 

Federal Hall, New York, 52. 

Fort Hill, S. C, 142. 

Fortress Monroe, 88. 

Frankfort, Kentucky, 159. 

Franklin, Benjamin, I, 65. 

Franklin, N. H., 46. 

Frederick, Va., 216. 

" Golden Hill," New York, 53. 

Grant, General U.S., 49, 180, 242. 

Hale, Nathan, 56. 

Hamilton, Alexander, 49. 

Hampton Roads, 88. 

Hampton, Va., 92. 

Harlem Heights, Battle of, 61. 

Harper's Ferry, 216. 

Henry, Patrick, 93, 137. 

Hermitage, The, 157. 

Hingham, Mass., 44. 

Hodgensville, Ky., 175. 

Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond, 105. 

Houston, General Samuel, 144. 

Jackson, Andrew, 158. 

Jackson, Rachel, wife of Andrew, 170. 

Jackson Square, New Orleans, 169. 

Jay, John, 50. 

Jefferson, Thomas, 71, 107, 116. 

Kentucky, 137. 

Kidd, Captain, 51. 

King's (now Columbia) College, New 
York, 61. 

Lafayette, 168. 

Lafayette, Bartholdi's Statue of, 130. 

Lawrence, Captain James, 53. 

Lee, Richard Henry, 22. 

Lee, Robert E., 113. 

Leisler, Jacob, 51. 

Lexington, Ky., 146. 

Liberty Bell, 76. 

Lincoln's First Inaugural Address, 

Lincoln, Abraham, 175, 193. 

Livingston, Robert R., 50. 

" Long Walk," Boston Common, 12. 

Lord, William Wilberforce, 148. 

Lowell's Commemoration Ode, 210. 

Mammoth Cave, 173. 

Marshall, Chief Justice, 102. 

Marshfield, Mass., 37. 

Mississippi River, 180, 193. 

Missouri River, 193. 

" Monitor " and " Merrimac," 86. 

Monroe, James, 217. 

Montgomery, Tomb of, 53. 

Monticello, 117. 

Montpellier, 124. 

Mount Vernon, 220. 

Nashville, Tenn., 157. 

Natural Bridge, Va., 138. 

Newport News, Va., 92. 

New York, 49, 236. 

Nixon, John, Reading the Declara- 
tion of Independence, 64. 

Nolin's Creek, Ky., 175. 

Norfolk, Va., 8S. 

O'Hara's " Bivouac of the Dead," 159. 

Old Dominion, 85. 

Old Point Comfort, 88. 

Old Province House, Boston, 12. 

Old South Church, Boston, I. 

Otis, James, 3. 

Park Street Gate, Boston Common, 14. 

Payne, John Ploward, 47. 

Pendleton, Edmund, 97. 

Penn, William, 80. 

Philadelphia, 65. 

Pittsburg Landing, 1S8. 

Plymouth, Mass., 33. 

Pocahontas, 85, 104. 

Poe, Edgar Allan, 109. 

Point Pleasant, Ohio, 182. 

Polk, President, 158. 

" Poor Richard's Almanack," 69. 

Priscilla, 36. 

Public Library, Boston, 12. 

Ouincy, Mass., 17. 

Raleigh, Sir Walter, 86. 

Read, Deborah, 66. 

Richmond, Va., 97. 

Rolfe, John, 85. 

Salisbury (now Franklin), N. H.,46. 

San Cosme Gate, Mexico, 184. 

" Sheridan's Ride," 137. 

Sherman, General William T., 239. 

Smith, Captain John, 85, 105. 

Springfield, Ills., 203. 

Standish House, Duxbury, Mass., 35. 

Standish, Miles, 35. 

St. John's Church, Richmond, 98. 

St. Louis, Mo., 177. 

St. Paul's Church, Washington's Pew 

in, 58. 
Stuart, Charles, 86. 
Stuart, Gilbert, 79. 
Stuyvesant, Peter, 51. 
Temple, Charlotte, 54. 
Todd, Mary, 175. 

Trinity Churchyard, New York, 53. 
University of Pennsylvania, 71. 
University of Virginia, 133. 
Van Arsdale, Jack, 52. 
Vanderbilt University, 158. 
Van Twiller, Wouter, 51. 
Vernon, Admiral, 86. 
Wall Street, New York. 51. 
Washington, Crawford's Statue of, 

III, 113. 
Washington, D. C, 233. 
Washington, George, 214, 220. 
Washington, Houdon's Statue of, 10S. 
Washington, Ward's Statue of, 54. 
Webster Buildings, Boston, 8. 
Webster, Daniel, 9, 22, 37, 131. 
"White House of the Confederacy," 

White, Peregrine, 43, 
Whittier, John G., 41, 211, 216. 
William and Mary Co'lege, 92. 
Williamsburg, Va. , 92. 
Winslow, Governor Edward, 37. 
Winslow, Josiah, 37. 
Yorktown, Va., 93. 
Zenger, New York's first " newspaper 

man," 51. 

No. L O I Sect., Gl Shelf 


Lincoln National Life Foundation 
Collateral Lincoln Library 

7/ S.003. 0&. D59W,