Part 45 (2/2)
CHAPTER XLI.
JANE'S LAST VISIT.
IT was midsummer. Benjamin Franklin, of fourscore years, President of Pennsylvania, had finished a long, three-story ell to his house on Market Street, and in this ell he had caused to be made a library which filled his heart with pride. He had invented a long arm with which to take down books from the high shelves of this library--an invention which came into use in other libraries in such a way as to make many librarians grateful to him.
He was overburdened with care, and suffered from chronic disease.
In his days of pain he had been comforted by letters from Jenny, now long past seventy years of age. She had written to him in regard to his sufferings such messages as these:
”Oh, that after you have spent your whole life in the service of the public, and have attained so glorious a conclusion, as I thought, as would now permit you to come home and spend (as you say) the evening with your friends in ease and quiet, that now such a dreadful malady should attack you! My heart is ready to burst with grief at the thought.
How many hours have I lain awake on nights thinking what excruciating pains you might then be encountering, while I, poor, useless, and worthless worm, was permitted to be at ease! Oh, that it was in my power to mitigate or alleviate the anguish I know you must endure!”
When she heard of his arrival in Philadelphia she wrote:
”I long so much to see you that I should immediately seek for some one that would accompany me, but my daughter is in a poor state of health and gone into the country to try to get a little better, and I am in a strait between two; but the comfortable reflection that you are at home among all your dear children, and no more seas to cross, will be constantly pleasing to me till I am permitted to enjoy the happiness of seeing and conversing with you.”
The tenderness and charity of Franklin for the many members of his own family still revealed his heart. ”I tenderly love you,” he wrote to Jane--Jenny--”for the care of our father in his sickness.”
One of his sisters, Mrs. Dowse, whose family had died, insisted upon living alone, on account of her love for the place that had been her home. Many other men would have compelled her removal, but there is nothing more beautiful in all Franklin's letters than the way that he advised Jenny how to treat this matter. He had been told that this venerable woman would have her own way.
”As _having their own way_ is one of the greatest comforts of life to old people, I think their friends should endeavor to accommodate them in that as well as anything else. When they have long lived in a house, it becomes natural to them; they are almost as closely connected with it as the tortoise with his sh.e.l.l; they die if you tear them out. Old folks and old trees, if you remove them, 'tis ten to one that you kill them, so let our good old sister be no more importuned on that head; we are growing old fast ourselves, and shall expect the same kind of indulgences; if we give them, we shall have a right to receive them in our turn.”
Jane Mecom--the ”Jenny” of Franklin's young life--had one great desire as the years went on: it was, to meet her brother once more and to review the past with him.
”I will one day go to Philadelphia and give him a great surprise,” the woman used to say.
Let us picture such a day.
Benjamin Franklin sat down in his new library. His books had been placed and his pictures hung.
Among the pictures were two that were so choice that we may suppose them to be hung under coverings. One of them was the portrait of the King of France in its frame of four hundred brilliants, and the other was his own portrait with, perhaps, Turgot's famous inscription.
It was near evening when he sat down and asked to be left alone.
He opened his secretary, and took from it a letter from Was.h.i.+ngton. It read:
”Amid the public gratulations on your safe return to America after a long absence, and many eminent services you have rendered it, for which as a benefited person I feel the obligation, permit an individual to join the public voice in expressing a sense of them, and to a.s.sure you that, as no one entertains more respect for your character, so no one can salute you with more sincerity or with greater pleasure than I do on the occasion.”
He took from his papers the resolution of the a.s.sembly of Pennsylvania and began to read:
”We are confident, sir, that we speak the sentiments of the whole country when we say that your services in the public councils and negotiations have not only merited the thanks of the present generation, but will be recorded in the pages of history to your immortal honor.”
He dropped the paper on the table beside the letter of Was.h.i.+ngton and sank into his armchair, for his pains were coming upon him again.
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