Hidden Treasures; Or, Why Some Succeed While Others Fail

"Surely, if happiness can ever come from the honors or triumphs of this world, on that quiet July morning, James A. Garfield may well have been a happy man. No foreboding of evil haunted him; no slightest premonition of danger clouded his sky. His terrible fate was upon him in an instant. One moment he stood erect, strong, confident in the years stretching peacefully out before him. The next he lay wounded, bleeding, helpless, doomed to weary weeks of torture, to silence, and the grave.

"Great in life, he was surpassingly great in death. For no cause, in the very frenzy of wantonness and wickedness, by the red hand of murder, he was thrust from the full tide of this world's interests, from its hopes, its aspirations, its victories, into the visible presence of death—and he did not quail. Not alone for the one short moment in which, stunned and dazed, he could give up life, hardly aware of its relinquishment, but through days of deadly languor, through weeks of agony, that was not less agony because silently borne, with clear sight and calm courage, he looked into his open grave. What blight and ruin met his anguished eyes, whose lips may tell—what brilliant, broken plans, what baffled, high ambitions, what sundering of strong, warm, manhood's friendships, what bitter rending of sweet household ties! Behind him a proud expectant nation, a great host of sustaining friends, a cherished and happy mother, wearing the full, rich honors of her early toil and tears; the wife of his youth, whose whole life lay in his; the little boys not yet emerged from childhood's day of frolic; the fair young daughter; the sturdy sons just springing into closest companionship, claiming every day, and every day rewarding a father's love and care; and in his heart the eager, rejoicing power to meet all demand. Before him, desolation and great darkness! And his soul was not shaken. His countrymen were thrilled with instant, profound and universal sympathy. Masterful in his mortal weakness, he became the center of a nation's love, enshrined in the prayers of a world. But all the love and all the sympathy could not share with him his suffering. He trod the wine-press alone. With unfaltering front he faced death. With unfailing tenderness he took leave of life. Above the demoniac hiss of the assassin's bullet he heard the voice of God. With simple resignation he bowed to the Divine decree.

"As the end drew near, his early cravings for the sea returned. The stately mansion of power had been to him the wearisome hospital of pain, and he begged to be taken from its prison walls, from its oppressive, stifling air, from its homelessness and its hopelessness. Gently, silently, the love of a great people bore the pale sufferer to the longed-for healing of the sea, to live or to die, as God should will, within sight of its heaving billows, within sound of its manifold voices. With wan, fevered face, tenderly lifted to the cooling breeze, he looked out wistfully upon the ocean's changing wonders; on its fair sails, whitening in the morning light; on its restless waves, rolling shoreward, to break and die beneath the noonday sun; on the red clouds of evening, arching low to the horizon; on the serene and shining pathway of the stars. Let us think that his dying eyes read a mystic meaning which only the rapt and parting soul may know. Let us believe that in the silence of the receding world be heard the great waves breaking on a farther shore, and felt already upon his wasted brow the breath of the eternal morning."

We regret that we cannot give our readers the full speech here also, but it is sufficient to say that it was a masterly production. We give these three extracts from speeches to show, and enable the thinker to read and study the characteristics which make Mr. Blaine the great and renowned man that he really is to-day; an honor he has earned for himself.

We do not desire to be regarded as a personal admirer of Mr. Blaine. We are not, but his ability we are in duty bound to delineate truthfully. Our readers will observe the description Mr. Blaine gives in his address on Garfield, of the qualifications necessary in a parliamentary leader. We will say nothing as to our opinion of some enterprises in which Mr. Blaine has engaged; and we will not ask him to explain, what he has never satisfactorily explained, in relation to some transactions, nor will we try to explain, in our short space, his skillfullness in parliamentary practice. As before said, our readers have read his description of a parliamentary leader, and we will further simply say that Mr. Blaine is one of the most skillful parliamentary leaders in the country. He is generally recognized as such by all parties. His canvass for the presidency is well-known to the people. Had he been elected he would, undoubtedly, have made a very satisfactory president, probably one of whom we would long have been proud.

Samuel J. Tilden.

In 1814 there was born at New Lebanon, New York, an infant son to Elam Tilden, a prosperous farmer. His father, being a personal and political friend of Mr. Van Buren and other members of the celebrated 'Albany Regency'; his home was made a kind of headquarters for various members of that council to whose conversation the precocious child enjoyed to listen.

Mr. Tilden declared of himself that he had no youth. As a boy he was diffident, and was studying and investigating when others were playing and enjoying the pleasures of society. From the beginning he was a calculator. Martin Van Buren, to whom he was greatly attached, often spoke of him as 'The sagacious Sammy.'

Thrown into contact with such men at his parent's home, he early evinced a fondness for politics which first revealed itself in an essay on 'The Political Aspect,' displaying ability far beyond one of his years, which was printed in the Albany Argus, and which was attributed to Mr. Van Buren, at that time the leader of the Albany Regency.

At twenty he entered Yale College, but ill-health compelled his return home. He, however, afterward resumed his studies at the University of New York; graduating from that institution he began the practice of law. At the bar he became known as a sound, but not especially brilliant pleader. In 1866 he was chosen Chairman of the State Committee of his party. In 1870-1, he was largely instrumental in unearthing frauds perpetrated in the city of New York, and in 1874 was elected the 'reform governor' of the great Empire State. Although in political discord with Mr. Tilden, it is in no disparaging sense that we speak of him. It is in the sense of a historian bound and obligated to truth that we view him. We regard him as the mysterious statesman of american history.

His personal character was, to a great extent, shrouded from the public in a veil of mystery, which had both its voluntary and involuntary elements. If Mr. Tilden had desired to be otherwise than mysterious it would have required much more self-control and ingenuity than would have been necessary to thicken the veil to impenetrability.

His habit was to weigh both sides of every question, and therein he resembled, though in other particulars entirely different, the late Henry J. Raymond, the founder of the New York Times; and the effect was to some extent similar, for each of these men saw both sides of every question so fully as to be under the power of both sides, which sometimes produced an equilibrium, causing hesitation when the crisis required action.

Mr. Tilden had intellectual qualities of the very highest order. He could sit down before a mass of incoherent statements, and figures that would drive most men insane, and elucidate them by the most painstaking investigation, and feel a pleasure in the work. Indeed, an intimate friend of his assures us that his eye would gleam with delight when a task was set before him from which most men would pay large sums to be relieved: Hence, his abilities were of a kind that made him a most dangerous opponent.

Some persons supposed that Mr. Tilden was a poor speaker because, when he was brought before the people as a candidate for President of the United States, he was physically unable to speak with much force. But twenty years ago, for clearness of statement, and for an easy and straightforward method of speech he had few superiors. His language was excellent, his manner that of a man who had something to say and was intent upon saying it. He was at no time a tricky orator, nor did he aim at rousing the feelings, but in the clearest possible manner he would make his points and no amount of prejudice was sufficient to resist his conclusions. He was a great reader, and reflected on all that he read.

No more extraordinary episode ever occurred than his break with William M. Tweed, and his devoting himself to the overthrow of that gigantic ring. It is not our purpose to treat the whole subject; yet, the manner of the break was so tragic that it should be detailed. William M. Tweed had gone on buying men and legislatures, and enriching himself until he had reached the state of mind in which he said to the public, "What are you going to do about it?" He had gone further. He had applied it to the leading men of the Democratic party. The time came when he sat in his gorgeously furnished apartment in Albany, as Chairman of a certain committee of the Senate. Samuel J. Tilden appeared before the committee to represent a certain interest. On that occasion Mr. Tweed, who was either intoxicated with liquor, or intoxicated with pride and vanity, grossly insulted Mr. Tilden, spoke to him in the most disrespectful manner, and closed by saying: "You are an old humbug; you always were a humbug, and we don't want to hear anything from you!"

Mr. Tilden turned pale, and then red, and finally livid. A spectator, a man second to none in New York State for position, informed the writer that as he gazed upon Mr. Tilden he was terrified. Not a word did he utter; he folded up his books and papers and departed. As he went the spectator said to himself, "This man means murder; there will never be any accommodation of this difficulty." Back to the City of New York went Mr. Tilden. He sat down with the patience and with the keen scent of a sleuth-hound, and unravelled all the mystery of the iniquity which had cursed the City of New York, and of which William M. Tweed was the master-spirit.

Judge Noah Davis said to an acquaintance that 'Mr. Tilden's preparation of the cases against Tweed and his confederates was one of the most remarkable things of which he had ever seen or heard. He said that Tilden would take the mutilated stubbs of check-books, and construct a story from them. He had restored the case of the city against the purloiners as an anatomist, by the means of two or three bones, would draw you a picture of the animal which had inhabited them in the palæontological age.' It will be remembered that Judge Noah Davis tried the cases and sentenced Tweed.

It is not necessary for us to conjecture whether Mr. Tilden would have appeared as the reformer if he had not been grossly insulted by Tweed. That he had not so appeared until the occasion referred to, and that immediately afterward he began the investigation and movements which ended in the total overthrow of the ring and its leader, are beyond question. There came a time when Tweed, trembling in his very soul, sent a communication to Mr. Tilden offering anything if he would relax, but no bronze statue was ever more silent and immovable than Samuel J. Tilden at that time. It is remarkable that a man so silent and mysterious, not to say repellent, in his intercourse with his fellow-men could exert such a mighty influence as he unquestionably did. He did it by controlling master-minds, and by an apprehension rarely or never surpassed of the details to be wrought out by other men.

Mr. Tilden was capable of covering his face with a mask, which none could penetrate. The following scene occurred upon a train on the Hudson River road. Mr. Tilden was engaged in a most animated conversation with a leading member of the Republican party with whom he entertained personal confidential relations. The conversation was one that brought all Mr. Tilden's learning and logical forces into play. It was semi-literary, and not more political than was sufficient to give piquancy to the interview. A committee of the lower class of ward politicians approaching, Mr. Tilden turned to receive him, and in the most expressionless manner held out his hand. His eye lost every particle of lustre and seemed to sink back and down. The chairman of the committee stated the point he had in view. Mr. Tilden asked him to restate it once or twice; made curious and inconsequential remarks, appeared like a man just going to sleep, and finally said: "I will see you on the subject on a future occasion." The committee withdrew. In one moment he resumed the conversation with the brilliancy and vivacity of a boy. Subsequently the chairman of the committee said to the leading Republican, whom he also knew: "Did you ever see the old man so nearly gone as he was to-day? Does he often get so? Had he been taking a drop too much?"

He was at no time in his career embarrassed in his intellectual operations by his emotional nature; he was a man of immense brain-power, and his intellect was trained up to the last possibility; every faculty was under his control; until his health failed he knew no such other source of joy as WORK.

Craft had a very important place in his composition, but it was not the craft of the fox; it was a species of craft which at its worst was above mere pettifogging, and at its best was unquestionably a high type of diplomacy. Those mistake who considered him only as a cunning man. A person opposed to him in politics, but who made a study of his career, observed that in power of intellect he had no superior at the bar of New York, nor among the statesmen of the whole country. The supreme crisis of his life was when he believed himself elected President of the United States. The political aspect we will not revive, except to say that Mr. Tilden consented to the peculiar method of determining the case. The departure of David Davis from the supreme bench in all human probability determined the result.

It is known that Abram S. Hewitt, David Dudley Field, and eminent Democratic leaders, Hewitt being chairman of the National Democratic committee at the time, did all in their power to induce Mr. Tilden to issue a letter to the American people saying that he believed himself to be the President elect, and that on the fourth day of March 1877, he would come to Washington to be inaugurated. Had that been done God alone can tell what would have been the result. In all probability a coup d'etat on one side or the other, followed by civil war or practical change in the character of the relations of the people to the Federal Government. At that moment Mr. Tilden's habit of balancing caused him to pursue the course that he did. It is reported that Mr. Tilden's letter explaining to Mr. Hewitt the reason why he would not do so is still in existence. Of this we know nothing; but that he had reasons and assigned them is certain. Why he consented to the method of arbitration is one of the mysteries of his career. Taking all the possibilities into account, the fact that the issue passed without civil war is an occasion of devout thankfulness to Almighty God. But the method of determining the question is one which the good sense of the American people will never repeat.

Mr. Tilden must have had considerable humor in his composition. Some years ago a Methodist preacher came to the city of New York to raise money for a certain church in Pennsylvania which had been grievously embarrassed. He stayed at the house of one of the ministers in Brooklyn. One evening he said to his host: "I am going to call on Samuel J. Tilden and see if I can't get something out of him for our church. He has a 'barrel,' and I understand it is pretty full." The next morning he went, and on returning said to his host: "Well, I called on Mr. Tilden, and I said: 'Mr. Tilden, I am from——, such a place, in Pennsylvania. My name is——. I am pastor of a church there. We have met with great misfortunes, and are likely to lose our church. There are more than sixty members of my church that voted for you for President, and they are ready to vote for you again, and they wanted me to call on you and tell you of their misfortune, and ask you to give them a little help.'"

"Well, what did Mr. Tilden say?" "He looked up and said he was busy, but told me to come the next morning at nine o'clock." He went, and on his return reported, when the question: "What did Mr. Tilden say"? was asked. "He said to me, 'Your name is——? You are from——, in Pennsylvania? You said that you had more than sixty members who voted for me for President, and who are ready to do it again"? "Yes." "And they wanted you to tell me of their misfortune"? "Yes." Then pulling out of his pocket-book he counted what money he had, which amounted to $15, and handed me $14, and said: "You tell them that Samuel J. Tilden gave you all the money he had except one dollar, which he kept for himself." In all probability he was satirizing an appeal under those circumstances.

For his service in breaking up the Tweed ring, and for his career as Governor of the State of New York, apart from purely party aspects, he is entitled to the thanks of the people. His own party will say to the end of time that he was elected president of the United States, and defrauded out of the office. But neither they nor anyone else can say, after the plan was agreed upon and adopted for determining the result, that the person who did occupy the chair did not have a legal right there, and was not president after the acceptance by the House of Representatives of the conclusion.

Mr. Tilden will never be considered inferior in intellect and learning to the many great men of whom New York can proudly boast. He will ever be ranked with Daniel Tompkins, George Clinton, William L. Marcy, Silas Wright, William H. Seward, John A. Dix and many others, and it is not strange that it was with a feeling of deep and genuine regret that on the 4th of August, 1886, the people were told of his sudden death at 'Greystone.'

Henry Ward Beecher.

A sturdy tree, standing alone in a vast field, suggesting strength, growth and independence, and regarded both as a landmark and a shelter; withstanding alike the heats of summer and wrestling with and throwing off the blasts of winter; drawing from Nature her myriad stores of nutrition and giving back to Nature a wealth of power and grace in return; seemed Henry Ward Beecher, in his youth of old age, to the observation of men. Original orator, advocate, poet, humorist, agitator, rhetorician, preacher, moralist and statesman. The greatest preacher of modern times, possibly of all times, the man was one of the wonders of America; one of the marvels of the world.

Henry Ward Beecher's career has been phenomenal for the activity and variety of its achievements. Coming from a long line of mentally alert and physically vigorous ancestors, he was richly endowed with the qualities going to make up the highest type of human nature. He was handicapped only in being the son of a man whose fame was world-wide; a preacher of such intensity of spirit and eloquence of expression that he stood at the head of, if not above, all of his contemporaries. Yet, while Dr. Lyman Beecher will always hold an honored place in American history and biography, who can deny that his fame has been far outshone by that of his brilliant son? It may be truly said, therefore, that Henry Ward Beecher won a double triumph. He emerged from the comparative obscurity in which he dwelt, behind the shadow of his father's greatness, and he lived to see his own name emblazoned more brightly and engraved more indelibly upon the records of time than that of his noble father.

He was born at Litchfield, Connecticut, June 24th, 1813. His father was a busy minister, and the mother divided her time among several children, so that no especial attention was paid to Henry Ward, nor was he considered more promising than some of the others. He was not, by any means, fond of books in early life. He gives the following sketch of himself in one of his personal writings: 'A hazy image of myself comes back to me—a lazy, dreamy boy, with his head on the desk, half-lulled asleep by the buzzing of a great blue-bottle fly, and the lowing of the cows, and the tinkling of their bells, brought into the open door, across the fields and meadows.' Through the advice of his father, he attended Mount Pleasant Academy. Afterwards he attended Amherst College where he graduated in 1834. During his last two years of school, Beecher followed the example of many another young man who has since attained eminence in his chosen profession, and taught in district schools. With the money thus obtained he laid the foundation upon which he built that splendid superstructure which is recalled at the sound of his name.

Dr. Lyman Beecher meanwhile had accepted a professorship at Lane Seminary, Cincinnati, and having decided to follow the ministry, the son went West this same year and began the study of theology under his father. He finished his course three years later, married, and accepted the first charge offered him; a small Presbyterian Church in Lawrenceburg, a little town on the Ohio river, near Cincinnati. Of this dismal beginning of his illustrious career he said:

"How poor we were! There were only about twenty persons in the flock. I was janitor as well as pastor of the little white-washed church. I bought some lamps and I filled them and lighted them. I swept the church and dusted the benches, and kindled the fire, and I didn't ring the bell, because there wasn't any; did everything in fact but come to hear myself preach, that they had to do. It doesn't occur to me now that Lawrenceburg was remarkable for anything but a superabundance of distilleries. I used to marvel how so many large distilleries could be put in so small a town. But they were flourishing right in the face of the Gospel, that my little flock and I were preaching in the shadows of the chimneys. My thoughts often travel back to my quaint little church and the big distilleries at Lawrenceburg. Well, my next move was to Indianapolis. There I had a more considerable congregation, though I was still far from rich in the world's goods. I believe I was very happy during my eight years out there. I liked the people. There was a hearty frankness, a simplicity in their mode of life, an unselfish intimacy in their social relations that attracted me. They were new people—unharrowed and uncultured like the land they lived on—but they were earnest and honest and strong. But the ague shook us out of the State. My wife's health gave out and we were forced to come East."

From this it would seem that chills and fever were the means used by Providence for bringing Henry Ward Beecher and Plymouth Church together. The church came into existence on the 8th of May, 1847, when six gentlemen met in Brooklyn at the house of one of their number, Mr. Henry C. Bowen, the present proprietor of the Independent, and formed themselves into a company of trustees of a new Congregational Church, the services of which they decided to begin holding at once in an edifice on Cranberry street, purchased from the Presbyterians. The following week Mr. Beecher happened to speak in New York, at the anniversary of the Home Missionary Society. He had already attracted some attention by his anti-slavery utterances, and the fearless manner in which he had preached against certain popular vices.

The founders of the new congregation invited him to deliver the opening sermon on the 16th. A great audience was present, and shortly afterwards the young preacher was asked to become the first pastor of the organization. He accepted, and on the 10th of the following October he entered upon the term of service which lasted until the day of his death. And what a pastorate that was! The congregation readily grew in numbers and influence until Plymouth Church and Henry Ward Beecher became household words all over the land, and a trip to Brooklyn to hear the great preacher grew to be an almost indispensable part of a stranger's visit to New York.

At the opening of the civil war, in 1861, Mr. Beecher undertook the editorship of the Independent which, like the church under his administration, speedily became a power in the country. In addition to all this work he was continually delivering speeches; for from the firing of the first gun on Fort Sumpter on April 12th, Plymouth's pastor was all alive to the needs of the nation. With voice and pen he pointed out the path of duty in that dark and trying hour, and his own church promptly responded to the call by organizing and equipping the First Long Island regiment. But the strain of this threefold service—preaching, speaking and editing, was too much for his strength, powerful and well-grounded, as he was, physically. His voice gave out at last, and doctors imperatively demanded rest. This brought about the trip to Europe which was destined to be remembered as the most remarkable epoch in the remarkable career of this man.

Decidedly the most memorable oratorical success ever achieved by an American citizen abroad, in behalf of the name and honor of his country, was that by the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, which he achieved during this trip. Undertaking the journey for recreation and recuperation he was bitterly opposed by his friends in his decision, but he saw there was work to be done, and felt that he must do it. Beginning at Manchester, October 9th, Mr. Beecher delivered five great speeches in the great cities of the kingdom, Manchester, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Liverpool and London, each speech being devoted to some special train of thought and argument bearing upon the issues involved in the momentous contest; and the whole series taken together did more for the Union cause in Great Britain than all that had before been said or written. Possessing the faculty beyond any other American orator of combining close, rapid, powerful, practical reasoning with intense passion—his mind always aglow with his subject—the effect of Mr. Beecher's speaking was to kindle sympathy, even if it did not flash conviction. It is this quality, according to the opinion of those best acquainted with Mr. Beecher's oratory, which combined with his marvelous power of illustration, marvelous alike for its intense vividness and unerring pertinency, and his great flexibility whereby he seemed to adapt himself completely to the exigency of the instant gave him rare command over a popular assemblage.

Mayor Carrington, of Richmond, tells the following: "He went to Richmond in 1881, his first appearance there after the war, and he was somewhat doubtful as to the reception he would get. He walked onto the stage where he was to lecture, before a crowded house, and was not greeted with the slightest welcoming applause. Immediately in front of the stage facing Mr. Beecher were several leading ex-generals of the Confederate army, among them General Fitz-Hugh Lee. Mr. Beecher surveyed the cold and critical audience for a moment, and then stepping directly in front of General Lee, he said, 'I have seen pictures of General Fitz-Hugh Lee, and judge you are the man; am I right?' General Lee was taken aback by this direct address, and nodded stiffly, while the audience bent forward breathless with curiosity as to what was going to follow. 'Then,' said Beecher, his face lighting up, 'I want to offer you this right hand which, in its own way, fought against you and yours twenty-five years ago, but which I would now willingly sacrifice to make the Sunny South prosperous and happy. Will you take it, General?' There was a moment's hesitation, a moment of death-like stillness in the hall, and then General Lee was on his feet, his hand was extended across the footlights, and was quickly met by the preacher's warm grasp. At first there was a murmur, half surprise, half-doubtfulness, by the audience. Then there was a hesitating clapping of hands, and before Mr. Beecher had loosed the hand of Robert E. Lee's nephew,—now Governor of Virginia—there were cheers such as were never before heard in that hall, though it had been the scene of many a war and political meeting. When the noise subsided, Mr. Beecher continued: 'When I go back home I shall proudly tell that I have grasped the hand of the nephew of the great Southern Chieftain; I shall tell my people that I went to the Confederate capitol with a heart full of love for the people whom my principles once obliged me to oppose, and that I was met half way by the brave Southerners who can forgive, as well as they can fight.' That night Beecher entered his carriage and drove to his hotel amid shouts, such as had never greeted a Northern man since the war."

The famous Beecher-Tilton trial began in a series of whispers. With such an immense congregation, with everybody in Brooklyn familiar with his affairs, and with the whole community seemingly resolved into an immense gossiping committee, it was no wonder that rumors and report went flying about until at last, in the summer of 1874, Plymouth Church appointed a committee to investigate the charges preferred by Theodore Tilton against Mr. Beecher.

Mr. Tilton read a sworn statement detailing his charges and specifying the actions of Mrs. Tilton and Mr. Beecher during the previous two years. This was on July 28th, and on the next day Mr. Beecher made his speech declaring the innocence of Mrs. Tilton; and she, too, testified in her own defense. Mr. Beecher made an elaborate statement before his congregation, August 14th, denying all immorality. Mr. and Mrs. Tilton were subjected to a most thorough examination and cross-examination, and then Mr. Francis D. Moulton, the famous mutual friend, came into the matter with his story of a most remarkable series of confessions and letters. The committee reported its findings at the weekly prayer-meeting, August 28th. Mr. Beecher was acquitted, and Mr. Moulton was most vigorously denounced, and when he left the meeting it was under police protection, because of the fury of the friends of the pastor. Before this Mr. Tilton had concluded to go to the courts, and on August 19th opened a suit for $100,000 against Mr. Beecher. It was not until October 17th that Judge Neilson granted an order for a bill of particulars against the plaintiff, and William M. Evarts, for Mr. Beecher, and Roger A. Pryor for Mr. Tilton, carried the case up to the Court of Appeals, where the decision of the general term was reversed, and on December 7th, the new motion for a bill was granted.

It was on January 4th, 1875, that the case was taken up in the City Court of Brooklyn. For Mr. Tilton appeared General Pryor, ex-Judge Fullerton, William A. Beach and S. D. Morris; while on the other side were William M. Evarts, General Benjamin F. Tracy and Thomas G. Shearman. The first witness was Editor Maverick, who testified on the 13th of January to the Tilton marriage. Mr. Tilton took the stand on January 29th, and Mr. Evarts objected to his being sworn, and took several days to state his objections. From February 2nd to February 17th, Mr. Tilton was on the stand, and the case for the defense opened on February 25th, and the first witness took the stand March 2nd. Mr. Beecher took the stand April 1st, and affirmed his testimony. He kept the stand until April 21st, and on May 13th the testimony on both sides closed after the examination of one hundred and eleven witnesses, and the consumption of four and one-half months of time. Mr. Evarts took eight days for his summing up, and other counsel for the defense six more. Mr. Beach talked for nine days, and Judge Neilson, on June 24th, charged the jury, which, after a consultation of eight days, reported on July 2nd, that they were unable to agree. All through the trial Mrs. Beecher sat beside her husband in court. The court was packed day after day, and in the daily papers thousands of columns were consumed in reporting every word uttered. It was never tried again.

The enormous expense of the defense was met by a generous subscription. Mr. Beecher's letters were remarkable productions for any man other than Beecher to pen, and the explanation of them so that the jury-men, and men generally, could comprehend them was the task of his counsel. Mr. Tilton is now in Europe, and Mrs. Tilton is in this country. Mr. Beecher passed through the ordeal of his life in safety, and since the trial he has been watched as no man ever has been before or since.

He was unquestionably one of the most able, if not the ablest, preacher the world ever knew, and it is not strange that the country should be startled at the announcement of his sudden death on march 7th, 1887, at his home in Brooklyn.

Henry Ward Beecher is already as historical a character as Patrick Henry; with this exception, that whereas there are multitudes living who have seen and heard Mr. Beecher, and many who knew him personally; there are few, if any, who can remember Patrick Henry. Mr. Beecher was the most versatile and ready orator this country has ever produced,—a kind of Gladstone in the pulpit. He was a master of every style; could be as deliberate and imposing as Webster; as chaste and self-contained as Phillips; as witty and irregular as Thomas Corwin; as grandiloquent as Charles Sumner; as dramatic as father Taylor, and as melo-dramatic as Gough.

To attempt to analyze the sources of his power is like exhibiting the human features separately, in the hope of giving the effect of a composite whole; for whether he moved his finger, elevated his brow, smiled, frowned, whispered or vociferated, each act or expression derived its power from the fact that it was the act and expression of Henry Ward Beecher. His oratory was marked by the entire absence of trammels, of rhetoric gesture or even grammar. Not that his style was not ordinarily grammatical and rhetorical, but that he would never allow any rules to impede the expression of his thought and especially of his feelings, nor was he restrained by theological forms, and always appeared independent and courageous. He believed in the absolute necessity of conversion and a thorough change of heart; he taught the beauty of living a religious life, for the nobleness of the deeds rather than for the purpose of escaping a future punishment, and his sayings in this connection were often misconstrued.

He stimulated the intellect by wit; he united the heart and mind by humor; he melted the heart by un-mixed pathos. He was characterized by the strange power of creating an expectation with every sentence he uttered, and though he might on some occasions, when not at his best, close without meeting the expectations aroused, no dissatisfaction was expressed or apparently felt by his hearers. In personal appearance he was remarkable, chiefly for the great transformation of his countenance under the play of emotion.

On the platform of Plymouth Church he was as a king upon his throne, or the commander of a war-ship in victorious action. His manners in private life were most ingratiating. His writings can impart to coming generations no adequate conception of his power as an orator. His career in England during those five great speeches were worth 50,000 soldiers to the National government, and probably had much to do with the prevention of the recognition of the Southern Confederacy by European nations. It was a triumph of oratory; he literally compelled a vast multitude, who were thoroughly in opposition to him, to take a new view of the subject.

A Metropolitan in the pulpit, a magician on the platform, a center of life and good cheer in the home, a prince in society possessed of exhaustive vitality, warmth and energy, he suggested to any one who gazed upon him the apostrophe of Hamlet to the ideal man: "What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals!" Such a piece of work was Henry Ward Beecher. He had no predecessor, and can have no successor till a similar ancestry and life; the one coeval with birth, and the other running parallel with the lusty youth of such a nation, and a similar life and death struggle, both in a conflict of moral principles fought out under a Democratic form of Government, shall combine to evolve a similar career. The course of human history does not furnish a probability of another coincidence of elements so extraordinary.

PERCEPTION.
Engraved Expressly for "Hidden Treasures."
(click on image to see enlarged view.)

In this advanced age we know the power of steam, and what a great factor it is as a help in carrying on the daily work of life. Yet, it is only during the last century that men have discovered to how many purposes it can be applied.

James Watt, the great utilizer of steam, was born in Greenock, Scotland, January 19th, 1736. His father was a carpenter and general merchant in Greenock, and seems to have been highly respected, for he was long a member of the council, and for a time, magistrate. James was a sickly child, unable to attend school with regularity, hence was left to follow his own inclinations; becoming his own instructor, to a great extent. The boy was early furnished with tools by his father, and with them found amusement and instruction. He early manifested a taste for mathematics and mechanics, studied botany, chemistry, mineralogy, natural philosophy, and at fourteen constructed an electrical machine.

At the age of eighteen he was sent to Glasgow to learn to make mathematical instruments, but for some reason he went to London the same year, engaging with one Morgan, working at the same trade. Ill-health, however, compelled his return home about a year later. He had made great use of his time while in London, and after his health had improved somewhat he again visited Glasgow with the desire of establishing himself there, but met with opposition from some who considered him an intruder upon their privileges. The Principal of the college, appreciating his fine tact and ingenuity, offered him protection and gave him an apartment for carrying on his business within their precinct, with the title of "Mathematical Instrument Maker to the University." But this location was unfavorable for his business. He was scarcely able to make a living, however, the five or six years he passed in those quarters were well employed in investigations, and during the time he unmistakably manifested rare ability.

As soon as possible he secured a better situation in town, and after this change did much better, still it is said: "He had to eke out his living by repairing fiddles, which he was able to do, though he had no ear for music," also, in doing any mechanical piece of work that came in his way; no work requiring ingenuity or the application of scientific knowledge seems to have baffled him. But he kept studying, devoting his evenings and spare moments to the mastery of German, Italian, mastered some of the sciences, learned to sketch, was a superior model-maker; and, if his profession had been defined at the time he first turned his attention to steam, having constructed an improved organ, he would have been spoken of as a musical-instrument maker.

In 1858 he began his experiments with steam as a propelling power for land carriages, which he temporarily abandoned, and did not patent a road engine until 1784. In 1767 he assumed a new occupation, for in that year he was employed to make the surveys and prepare the estimates for a projected canal to connect the Forth and Clyde. This project fell through for the time being, as it failed to gain the sanction of Parliament, but Watt had now made a beginning as civil engineer, and henceforth he obtained a good deal of employment in this capacity. He superintended the surveys and engineering works on the Monkland Collieries Canal to Glasgow, deepening the Clyde, improving the harbors of Ayr, Port, Glasgow, and Greenock; building bridges and other public works his final survey being for the Caledonia Canal.

During this period he had invented an improved micrometer, and also continued his experiments with steam as a motive power. Perhaps it would be interesting to some of our readers to know how Watt tested the power of steam. The implements with which he performed his experiments were of the cheapest kind. Apothecaries' vials, a glass tube or two, and a tea-kettle enabled him to arrive at some very important conclusions. By attaching a glass tube to the nose of the tea-kettle he conducted the steam into a glass of water, and by the time the water came to the boiling point, he found its volume had increased nearly a sixth part; that is, one measure of water in the form of steam can raise about six measures of water to its own heat. It would be impossible in our allotted space to tell fully of the many experiments James Watt made. It is needless to say that his success came by slow and discouraging channels, so slow, indeed, that most men would have given up long before.

His reputation was assailed by jealous rivals, his originality denied, and his rights to various patents vehemently contested. He was many times disappointed in the workings of his own machines, and was obliged to throw away pieces of machinery from which he had expected much, while with others he had perfect success. His experiments finally resulted in his invention of the condensing engine. Now, he struggled for years, through poverty and every imaginable difficulty, to make a practical application of his improvements, doing work as a surveyor in order to support himself.

In 1769 he became a partner of Mathew Boulton, a large hardware dealer and manufacturer, of Birmingham, England. Previously Mr. Boulton had built engines after the plans of Savery, hence, he undoubtedly discerned the great improvement over all engines then in use, that this new discovery was sure to prove. He was a man of wealth, and, in all probability, his personal knowledge of such matters greatly aided his faith. No other can be given, for he was obliged to advance over $229,000 before Watt had so completely perfected his engine that its operations yielded profit. But his confidence was not misplaced. The immense Birmingham manufactory, which employed over one thousand hands, was ultimately driven to its utmost capacity to supply the constantly increasing demand for steam engines. It was first applied to coinage in 1783, from thirty to forty thousand milled coins being struck off in an hour as a test. Boulton & Watt sent two complete mints to St. Petersburg, and for many years executed the entire copper coinage of England.

Watt was the first to conceive the idea of warming buildings by steam. He was the first to make a copying-press; he also contrived a flexible iron pipe with ball and socket joints, to adapt it to the irregular riverbed, for carrying water across the Clyde. At the time of his death he was fellow of the Royal Societies of London, and Edinburgh correspondent of the French Institute, and foreign associate of the Academy of Sciences. He was buried beside Boulton, in Handsworth Church; his statue, by Chantery, is in Westminister Abbey. The pedestal bears the following inscription:—

"Not to perpetuate a name Which must endure while the peaceful arts flourish, But to show That mankind have learned to honor those Who best deserve their gratitude, The King, His Ministers, and many of the Nobles And Commoners of the Realm, Raised this Monument to James Watt, Who, directing the force of an original Genius, Early exercised in philosophic research, To the improvement of The Steam Engine, Enlarged the resources of his Country, Increased the power of man, and rose to an eminent place Among the most illustrious followers of Science And the real benefactors of the World. Born at Greenock, MDCCXXXVI, Died at Heathfield, in Staffordshire, MDCCCXIX."

The properties of steam had been known to a certain extent for centuries. In the seventeenth century attention was frequently directed by ingenious workers to the uses of steam in performing simple but laborious occupations, such as pumping water out of the mines. To other purposes steam was imperfectly applied, but it remained for Watt to make more practical and efficient use of it.

This, indeed, is the history of almost every useful art. A discovery, which, after it is known, seems so simple that every one wonders why it remained hidden for so many years, yet proves simple enough to immortalize the name of the fortunate inventor. It is said there was hardly a physical science or one art with which Watt was not intimately acquainted. His philosophical judgment kept pace with his ingenuity. He studied modern languages, and was acquainted with literature. His memory was extremely tenacious, and whatever he once learned he always had at his command; and yet this brave earnest worker and gifted man was a sufferer from ill-health all his life. With constitutional debility, increased by anxiety and perplexity during the long process of his inventions, and the subsequent care of defending them in court; yet, through constant temperance and watchfulness over his peculiar difficulties, his life was preserved to the great age of eighty-three years. He had in his character the utmost abhorrece for all parade and presumption, and, indeed, never failed to put all such imposters out of countenance by the manly plainness and honest intrepidity of his language and manner. In his temper and disposition he was not only kind and affectionate, but generous and considerate of the feelings of all around him, and gave the most liberal assistance and encouragement to all young persons who proved any indication of talent, or applied to him for patronage or advice. He was twice married, and left his two sons, long associated with him in his business, to carry out some of his plans and discoveries of the great utility and power of steam. All men of learning and science were his cordial friends, and such was the influence of his mild character and perfect firmness and liberality, even to pretenders of his own accomplishments, that he lived to disarm even envy itself, and died the peaceful death of a Christian without, it is thought, a single enemy.

George Stephenson.

A small collection of houses in a mining district, called Wylam, about nine miles west of Newcastle-on-Tyne, we find to be the birth-place of George Stephenson, born June 9th, 1781.

His father was a very humble workman, who filled the position of fireman of the pumping-engine in use at the colliery, at three dollars a week. With a wife and six children to support, there was not much left after satisfying the cravings of hunger. The children, soon as opportunity afforded, were set at work to help support the family. We find young George beginning life pulling turnips at two pence a day. At eight years old he tended Widow Ainslie's cows at five cents a day. Later, he received fifty cents a week when caring for horses.

Of course, it is the rule to find something in the boy indicative of the man, and in Stephenson's case, legend or history furnishes the material. It seems that while acting as herder, in company with other boys, it was his favorite amusement to model engines out of clay. After a time he received a dollar a week as assistant to his father, and at the age of sixteen he was appointed to work as attendant upon the pumping-engine, at men's wages,—three dollars per week. He was delighted, and it is doubtful if he was ever happier over subsequent triumphs as a locomotive builder, than when he was elevated to this position. He was employed at various collieries, as fireman, and afterwards as plugman, and gradually acquired so complete a knowledge of the engine as to be able to take it apart and make ordinary repairs. His ingenuity in repairing an obstinate defect in a steam engine gained him the charge of the engine.

After this his fondness for his work increased until, with study, he had thoroughly mastered all its details. At the age of eighteen he could not even read, and he began to long for some education, so that he might fit himself for a higher place in his business. He accordingly commenced his studies by taking lessons in reading, of a neighboring school-master, three nights in a week, at a small tuition. At the end of a year he could read and spell some, and could write his own name. He now had a great thirst for mathematics, which he studied faithfully the second year; at the close of which, by his attentiveness, he could cipher with tolerable facility.

During odd moments he gave some attention to mending shoes, by which he was able to earn a few extra pence. Among some shoes that were sent him to repair was a pair belonging to a young lady, whom he afterward married. In 1805 he removed to Killingworth colliery, and about this time he was desirous of emigrating to the United States, but was unable to raise money for his outfit and passage. He continued to work at his home evenings and leisure hours, cutting out clothes for the miners, mending clocks and shoes, and all this time studying mechanics and engineering with a view to perpetual motion, which a great many others of his time were studying.

His first opportunity to show his superiority was when an expensive pump had been put in the colliery, and utterly failed to do the work required of it. Various experts gave it their best efforts, but it still refused to do what was required of it. Stephenson was heard to say, by some of the workmen, that he could repair it. After all others had failed, the overseer, in despair, with but little expectation that anything could be accomplished by a raw colliery hand, employed him to attempt a remedy. He took the engine to pieces and at the end of a few days repaired it ready for work, and in two days it cleared the pit of water.

For this, and other improvements made upon old machinery, he was appointed chief engineer in 1813, at Killingworth, at a salary of £100 per year. Besides erecting a winding engine for drawing up coal, and a pumping-engine, he projected and laid down a self-acting incline along the declivity of the Willington ballast quay, so arranged that full wagons descending to the vessels drew up the empty ones. But the construction of an efficient and economical locomotive steam engine mainly occupied his mind. He was among those who saw the Blenkinsop engine first put on the track, and watched its mechanism for some time, when he concluded he could make a better machine. He found a friend in his employer, Lord Ravensworth, who furnished the money, and in the work-shops at West Moor, Killingworth, with the aid of the colliery blacksmith, he constructed a locomotive which was completed in July, 1814. The affair, though clumsy, worked successfully on the Killingworth railway, drawing eight loaded carriages, of thirty tons each, at the rate of four miles an hour. It was the first locomotive made with smooth wheels, for he rejected the contrivance which Trevithick, Blenkinsop and others had thought necessary to secure sufficient adhesion between the wheels and the rails.

While engaged on plans for an improved engine his attention was attracted to the increase in the draught of the furnace obtained by turning the waste steam up the chimney, at first practiced solely in the desire to lessen the noise caused by the escape of the steam. Hence originated the steam-blast, the most important improvement in the locomotive up to that time. The steam-blast, the joint action of the wheels by connecting them with horizontal bars on the outside, and a simplifying connection between the cylinder and the wheels, were embodied in the second engine, completed in 1815. For some years Stephenson had been experimenting with the fire-damp in the mines, and in the above year completed a miner's safety lamp, which he finally perfected under the name of the "Gregory Lamp," which is still in use in the Killingworth collieries. The invention of a safety lamp by Sir Humphry Davy was nearly simultaneous, and to him the mining proprietors presented a service of plate worth £2,000, at the same time awarding £100 to Stephenson. This led to a protracted discussion as to the priority of the invention, and in 1817 Stephenson's friends presented him with a purse of $5,000 and a silver tankard.

Having now brought the locomotive to a considerable degree of perfection, Stephenson next turned his attention to the improvement of railways, his opinion being that both were parts of one mechanism, and that the employment of steam carriages on common roads was impracticable. For the purpose of making railways solid and level, and preventing jerks at the junction of the rails, he took out a patent for an improved rail and chair, and recommended the employment of heavier rails, and the substitution of wrought for cast-iron. In connection with these improvements he added considerably to the lightness and strength of the locomotive, simplified the construction of the working parts, and substituted steel springs for the small cylinder, on which the boiler had at first rested.

His next important undertaking was the construction of a railway eight miles in length, for the owners of the Helton Colliery, which was successfully opened November 18th, 1822. The level parts were traversed by five of Stephenson's locomotives, while stationary engines were employed to overcome the heavy grades.

In 1820 an act of Parliament was obtained for a railway between Stockton and Darlington, which was opened September 27th, 1825. Stephenson, who made the preliminary surveys and specifications, was appointed engineer. The line was intended to be worked by stationary engines for the steep gradients, with horse-power on the level portions; but at Stephenson's urgent request, the act was amended so as to permit the use of locomotives on all parts of the road. In the meantime he had opened, in connection with Edward Pease, an establishment for the manufacture of locomotives, at Newcastle-on-Tyne.

In 1825 he was appointed principal engineer of the Liverpool & Manchester railroad, which employed him during the next four years. Canals connected the two towns, Liverpool and Manchester, but it was believed that the carrying trade would support this new railway if it could be made to work. The people were told by the newspapers that locomotives would prevent cows from grazing and hens from laying. The poisoned air from the locomotives would kill birds as they passed over them, and render the preservation of pheasants and foxes no longer possible. Householders adjoining the line were told that their houses would be burned up by fire thrown from the engine chimneys, while the air around would be polluted by the clouds of smoke. There would be no longer any use for horses, and if the railways extended the species would become extinct, and therefore oats and hay would become unsalable. Traveling by road would be rendered exceedingly dangerous, and country inns would be ruined. Boilers would burst and blow the passengers to pieces.

Of course, the inculcation of such theories rendered it extremely difficult for Stephenson and his party to survey for the proposed line. The land-owners along the line made all sorts of trouble for them. Their instruments were smashed and they were mobbed, yet, on they went,—at meal times they worked, before the residents awoke in the morning, and nights, in some instances were employed. At last the survey was accomplished, the plans drawn, and the estimates furnished the company, were approved.

In Parliament even more opposition was experienced. Public sentiment can be inferred from an article which appeared in the Quarterly Review for March, 1825. Among other things it said: "What can be more palpably absurd and ridiculous than the prospect held out of locomotives travelling twice as fast as horses. We should as soon expect the people of Woolwich to suffer themselves to be fired off upon one of Congreve's richochet rockets as to trust themselves to the mercy of such a machine, going at such a rate. We trust that Parliament will, in all the railways it may grant, limit the speed to eight or nine miles an hour, which we entirely agree with Mr. Sylvester is as great as can be ventured on."

But despite all such seemingly insurmountabilities, Stephenson succeeded in getting the railway bill passed. But the troubles of George Stephenson were not at an end. The company, not fully satisfied with his opinion alone, conferred with two of the leading engineers of England, who reported averse to the locomotive, recommending stationary engines at a distance of one and a-half miles apart. But at last Stephenson prevailed upon the company to offer a prize of about $2,500 for the best locomotive produced at a trial to take place on the 6th of October, 1829. At last the eventful day came, and with it thousands of spectators. Four engines appeared to compete for the prizes. "The Novelty," the "Rocket," the "Perseverance" and the "Sanspareil." The "Perseverance" could only make six miles an hour, and as the rules called for at least ten, it was ruled out. The "Sanspareil" made an average of fourteen miles an hour, but as it burst a water-pipe, it lost its chance. The "Novelty" did splendidly, but unluckily also burst a pipe, and was crowded out, leaving the field to the "Rocket," which carried off the honors. The average speed made by this engine, which belonged to Stephenson, was fifteen miles, and even attained twenty-nine miles an hour.

The distinguishing features of the Rocket, the first high-speed locomotive of the standard modern type, were the multitubular boiler, which was not Stephenson's invention, but was first applied by him to locomotives; the blast pipe; and the direct connection of the steam cylinders to one axle, and one pair of wheels. At the opening of the road, September 15th, 1830, eight locomotives, constructed at the Stephenson works, were employed, and Mr. Huskinson, having been accidentally struck down and fatally injured by the Rocket, was conveyed in the Northumbrian, driven by George Stephenson, from Parkside to Eccles, fifteen miles, at the unprecedented rate of thirty-six miles an hour.

Stephenson was almost incessantly employed for the next fifteen years on new roads, and was called three times to Belgium, and once to Spain as a consulting engineer. With his increasing wealth he also engaged extensively and profitably in coal mining and lime works, particularly in the neighborhood of Tapton Park, an elegant seat in Derbyshire, where he passed his latter years. He declined the honor of Knighthood.

To Watt is due the honor of giving the world a practical stationary engine; George Stephenson picked that engine up bodily and placed it on wheels, and against the most direful predictions of the foremost engineers of his age, proved the practicability of harnessing steam to coaches for rapid transportation.

On August 12th, 1848, Stephenson died, leaving an immense fortune, which was the honest reward he deserved.

Benjamin Franklin.

Possibly there never has lived a man who has excited more comment than has the subject of this narrative, who was born in Boston, January 17th, 1706. His father was a soap boiler and tallow chandler, and he was the fifteenth in a family of seventeen children.

Young Benjamin was expected by his parents to become a minister of the Gospel, and for this purpose was placed in school at the age of eight, but the reduced circumstances of his father compelled his return home two years later, and he began the work of cutting wicks in his father's establishment. Afterwards he was bound to his brother James, who was a printer, where he worked hard all day, and often spent half the night in reading.

The secret of his great success can be readily perceived, when we know that his favorite books were Mather's "Essays to Do Good," and DeFoe's "Essays of Projects," and many others of a like nature: instead of the modern "Three Fingered Jack," "Calamity Jane," "The Queen of the Plains," or the more 'refined' of to-day's juvenile reading.

When he was about sixteen he wrote, in a disguised hand, an article for his brother's paper. This article was published anonymously, and excited great curiosity. Other articles followed, at length the identity of the author was discovered, and for some unknown reason the elder brother was offended. From that hour Benjamin resolved to leave Boston, as his brother's influence was used to his disadvantage in that city.

Embarking, he worked his passage to New York, where he arrived at the age of seventeen, almost penniless, and without recommendations. Failing to obtain work here he continued on to Philadelphia, where he arrived, disappointed but not discouraged. He now had but one dollar, and a few copper coins, in the world. Being hungry, he bought some bread, and with one roll under either arm, and eating the third, he passed up the street on which his destined wife lived, and she beheld him as he presented this ridiculous appearance. Obtaining employment, he secured board and lodging with Mr. Reed, afterward his father-in-law.

Being induced to think of going into business for himself, through promises of financial help from influential parties, he sailed to London for the purpose of buying the necessary requisites for a printing office. Not until his arrival in that great city, London, did he learn of the groundlessness of his hope for aid from the expected quarter. In a strange land, friendless and alone, without money to pay his return passage, such was his predicament; yet he lost not his courage, but obtained employment as a printer, writing his betrothed that he should likely never return to America. His stay in London lasted, however, but about eighteen months, during which time he succeeded in reforming some of his beer-drinking companions.

In 1826 he returned to America as a dry-goods clerk, but the death of his employer fortunately turned his attention once more to his especial calling, and he soon after formed a partnership with a Mr. Meredith. This was in 1728. Miss Reed, during his stay abroad, had been induced to marry another man who proved to be a scoundrel; leaving her to escape punishment for debt, and, it is alleged, with an indictment for bigamy hanging over his head. Franklin attributed much of this misfortune to himself, and resolved to repair the injury so far as lay within his power. Accordingly he married her in 1830. This proved a most happy union. His business connection with Mr. Meridith being dissolved, he purchased the miserably conducted sheet of Mr. Keimer, his former employer, and under Franklin's management it became a somewhat influential journal of opinion.

It was through this channel that those homely sayings, with such rich meanings, first appeared in print. His great intelligence, industry and ingenuity in devising reforms, and the establishment of the first circulating library, soon won for him the esteem of the entire country. 1732 is memorable as the year in which appeared his almanac in which was published the sayings of the world-famous 'Poor Richard.' This almanac abounded with aphorisms and quaint sayings, the influence of which tended mightily to economy, and it was translated into foreign languages, in fact was the most popular almanac ever printed.

After ten years' absence he returned to his native city, Boston, and his noble instincts were shown, as he consolingly promised his dying brother that he would care for his nephew, his brother's son. Returning to Philadelphia he became postmaster of that city, established a fire department, becomes a member of the Assembly, to which office he is elected ten consecutive years.

Although he was not an orator, no man wielded more influence over the legislative department than did Franklin. As is well-known, he invented the celebrated Franklin Stove, which proved so economical, and for which he refused a patent. For years he entertained the theory that galvanic electricity, and that which produced lightning and thunder were identical; but it was not until 1752 that he demonstrated the truth by an original but ingenious contrivance attached to a kite, and to Franklin we owe the honor of inventing the lightning rod, but not its abuse which has caused such widespread animosity to that valuable instrument of self-preservation.

These discoveries made the name of Franklin respected throughout the scientific world. Forever after this period, during his life, he was connected with national affairs. At one time he was offered a commission as General in the Provincial Army, but distrusting his military qualifications he unequivocally declined. Sir Humphrey Davy said: "Franklin seeks rather to make philosophy a useful inmate and servant in the common habitations of man, than to preserve her merely as an object for admiration in temples and palaces." While it is said of him by some that he always had a keen eye to his own interests all are forced to add he ever had a benevolent concern for the public welfare.

The burdens bearing so heavily upon the colonies: Pennsylvania, Maryland, Georgia, and Massachusetts, appointed Franklin as their agent to the mother-country. Arriving in London in 1757, despite his mission, honors awaited him at every turn. There he associated with the greatest men of his time, and the universities of Edinburgh and Oxford honored him with the title of L.L.D. and the poor journeyman printer of a few years before, associated with princes and kings. At the end of five years he returned to America, and in 1762 received the official thanks of the Assembly. Two years later he was again sent to England, and he opposed the obnoxious stamp act, and where he carried himself with decorum and great ability before the entire nobility. Upon his return to America he was made a member of the Assembly the day he landed, where he exerted his whole influence for a Declaration of Independence, and soon after had the pleasure of signing such a document.

In 1776 Congress sent him to France, where he became one of the greatest diplomats this country has ever known. During his voyage over he made observations relative to the Gulf Stream, and the chart he drew of it nearly one hundred years ago, still forms the basis of maps on the subject. As is well known, to Franklin more than all others, are we indebted for the kindly interference by France in our behalf, whose efforts, though ineffective in the field, helped the revolutionary cause wonderfully in gaining prestige. At the close of the war Franklin was one of the commissioners in framing that treaty which recognized American independence. His simple winning ways won for him admiration in any court of embroidery and lace, while his world-wide reputation as a philosopher and statesman won for him a circle of acquaintances of the most varied character. On the 17th of April, 1790, this great statesman died, and fully 20,000 people followed him to the tomb. The inscription he had designed read:

"The body of Benjamin Franklin, printer; Like the cover of an old book— Its contents torn out, and script of its lettering and gilding: Lies here food for worms."

Yet the work itself shall not be lost. For it will, as he believed, appear once more, in a new and more beautiful edition, corrected and amended by the Author. Truly, America has been rich in great men, of which Franklin was not the least. Dr. Franklin, in his will, left his native town of Boston, the sum of one thousand pounds, to be lent to the young married artificers upon good security and under odd conditions. If the plan should be carried out as successfully as he expected, he reckoned that this sum would amount in one hundred years to one hundred and thirty-one thousand pounds. It was his wish, and so expressed in his will that one hundred thousand pounds should be spent upon public works, "which may then be judged of most general utility to the inhabitants; such as fortifications, bridges, aqueducts, public buildings, baths, pavements, or whatever makes living in the town more convenient to its people, and renders it more agreeable to strangers resorting thither for health or temporary residence." It was also his wish that the remaining thirty-one thousand pounds should again be put upon interest for another hundred years, at the end of which time the whole amount was to be divided between the city and the State. The bequest at the end of the first one hundred years may not attain the exact figure he calculated, but it is sure to be a large sum. At the present time it is more than one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, and it has many years yet to run.