^•^2 THS COXXMOM- Z.OT. SERMON DEATH AND CHARACTER WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON, LATE PRESIDENT OF THE U. S. PREACHED AT JAMAICA PLAIN, SUNDAY, APRIL IS, 1841. BY GEORGE WHITNEY, Junior Minister of the Congregational Churcb. BUTTS, PRINTER, SCHOOL STREET, BOSTON. M D CCCXLI. 0m mf^^'^m, Class tll ^<^ v Book. iC^ oi^O THE COSXMOZ? I.OT. SERMON DEATH AND CHARACTER WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON, LATE PRESIDENT OF THE U. S. PREACHED AT JAMAICA PLAIN, SUNDAY, APRIL ]8, 1841. . . , . • BY GEORGE WHITNEY, Junior Minister of the Congregational Church. BUTTS, PRINTER, SCHOOL STREET. BOSTON. M DCCCXLI. #" I. — «_/ / /^ I! ;.\NGE. ;ilj^t. G-nl. 30(3. William Henry Harrison was born at Berkley, in Charles City- County, Virginia, on the 9th of February, 1773, and educated at Hampden Sidney College. He began the study of medicine, but left it, and entered the army at the age of eighteen. In 1797 he became Secretary of the North-west Territory. In 1799 he went Delegate to Congress from the same Territory. In 1800 he was appointed Governor of the Territory of Indiana, and made Superintendent of Indian Affiiirs in the North-west. In 1816 he was chosen Representative to Congress from Ohio, and in 1824, Sen- ator. In 1828 he was appointed Minister to Colombia. In 1840 he was chosen President of the United States, was inaugurated 4th of March, 1841, and died the 4th of April succeeding, aged 68 years. SERMON. NUMBERS XVI, 29. "these men die the common death of all men." Since last 1 addressed you, my friends, from this place of our solemnities, an unusual bereavement has passed over our land. Disease and death have been unitedly busy, and rapidly successful in closing the earthly career of one, on whom the world had nothing higher among its honors to bestow. He, whom this great people, in numbers before unpre- cedented in our history, had chosen to stand at the head of its affairs, has suddenly bowed, as in the words of the text, to the common lot, and passed where sovereign and subject lie down together — their empty distinctions no longer known. He had been summoned to fill an exalted station, and in- vested with the forms of earthly power, but they all aflforded no immunity against the universal decree. He has died the common death of all men. He has fallen, too, in the morning of his work, while as yet tlie harness had hardly all been girded on. The sanguine hopes of friends, and the waiting expecta- tions of all, have been blasted in an hour. A deep solemnity and an honorable sympathy pervade all classes and parties throughout our wide spread bor- ders. There is a melancholy and overwhelming sense of a great and common loss. As becomes a Christian patriot, I would turn this afflictive providence to some edifying account. I should degrade myself in my own eyes if I could be persuaded to speak of him any the sooner or the more tardily because of this party or that. He was of the noble party of good men, and that is enough for me. I have no anxiety either to bespeak the patient audience of any one. I am sure of all I can desire from every right mind and every gene- rous heart. It is an hour when honest differences lose all the prominency they may once have pos- sessed, in a theme of deeper import — as fading stars die out before the opening day. There is a power, too, in the grave, which buries up, for the most part, all antipathies, and leads us to a calmer justice towards those whose memories it is soothing to us to guard. Nay, more, even our well-grounded preferences shrink away and give place to tender and charitable emotions, when death has arrested one in his race, and summoned a kindred spirit to the presence of his God. But, more than this, there were circumstances which tended to make the loss we are deploring more than usually affecting. It is an unwonted spectacle to see youthful faces saddened, and tears in the eyes of grown men, at the departure of any public servant. It has not been easy for us to divest the mind of the impression that a void has been made in the household circle. This, I think, has been, to an extraordinary degree, the general senti- ment. Men have felt as if one had been suddenly smitten down, with whom they have been long famihar — a friend and not a stranger — an ac- quaintance and not a public functionary. This has been owing, in part, to the character of the man, as far as it was known, having those traits pre-eminent which bind human sympathies with them ; partly, also, and to a much wider extent, I suppose, to that universal enthusiasm which manifested itself in an endless variety of forms, making his name famihar to us like a household word, and which so recently bore him up from his comparative poverty and re- tirement to the high station he filled, in the striking language of one who had himself been seated there, as upon the wings of a " whirlwind." Furthermore, the event before us has presented another feature already alluded to, always touching to the heart and full of solemn admonition to every thoughtful mind. Only one short month had passed, the waxing and waning of a single moon, from the day of his elevation to the day of his death. Sud- den and melancholy was the transition from the hour, when myriads were doing him glad homage, to the feeble one, appointed to us all, when none could be found strong enough to afford him help. The robes of office and the winding sheet seemed to have been brought in together. The public con- gratulations of the ceremonial hall had hardly sub- sided to give repose to the chamber of death. The sounds of rejoicing seemed still to be lingering round its doors, while flesh and heart were failing. The chariot of state and the funeral car with its nodding plumes, — we might almost fancy them one behind the other. Between triumphant joy and solemn wo, there was scarcely an intermediate scene. It was as when the hopeful are summoned to the bridal, and the burial is substituted in its place. It would be vain to attempt to portray the bereaved feelings of those before whom it immediately passed. But the emotions the event has excited have in a meas- ure pervaded the community. The sudden transi- tion has added to the task of sympathizing with the general feehng, and, at the same time, avoiding the danger of exaggeration. If I may but succeed in some humble approach to this difficult line by a few brief touches of his character, as to me it has appeared, with such reflections as may arise upon them, it will be all that I ought to hope, and more than 1 can reasonably expect to accomplish in the present discourse. 1 shall feel, at least, that mine has been well meant among worthier eulogies. It is a cheering reflection that, for vastly the larger portion even of what may be termed the important stations of society, great talents or genius, or a ca- pacious intellect are, as leading objects, neither necessary nor desirable. There is that which is better than them all. Strikingly in keeping with this are the distributions of divine Providence. Take a large city, and how few, comparatively, are they, who stand out from the rest as great men in the popular acceptation of the term. Moreover, wherever those gifts are bestowed, which ensure re- markable preeminence, they are not unfrequently found in most unfortunate contrast with some great deficiency, as in Lord Bacon, for example, gigantic in intellect, but dwarfish in conscience. Among many others, there is, in the world, this mistaken notion of what constitutes true greatness. It is as- sociated indispensably with power surprisingly effi- cient, and, hke a sudden thunderbolt, startling ; sup- posed capable also of accomplishing astonishing re- sults in every department, and on all occasions. If 8 I am right in the estimate I have formed of his char- acter, he whose loss the country now deplores, was not a great man in any of the popular acceptations of the term, more especially in this. His powers were not such as startle and impress, but rather those more solid qualities that wear well. His char- acter is to be ranked in that class, of which the Fa- ther of our country was the great model among our- selves, if not among all men that ever hved. It was most remarkable for its even balance and for the rightful supremacy of all the higher elements : — a kind of greatness to which the popular voice is slowest to do justice. Its great beauty was its har- mony. He had httle about him, if indeed, he was not wholly destitute of anything, prominent or dis- jointed. There was no preponderance of love of power ; no greedy covetousness of gain ; no empty ambition for a name. We find him little varying in every station — the same man in them all ; equally at home where his somewhat varied fortunes cast him, — in battles, where, I think, neither his taste nor his nature led him to act ; among the wild tribes of the wilderness who regarded him as a friend ; in the new kingdoms of the south ; in the councils of the nation, or in the quiet retreats of domestic hfe, and the unpretending, useful services, from which he was called to be a ruler. He was not peculiarly endowed with the philo- sophic element. Nevertheless, though he might not be consulted as a philosopher, he would be the first to be confided in for his discretion. He had that clear good sense which oftentimes sees more surely even than the highest philosophy. Though he might not electrify and charm us with that brilliancy of mind, the gift of some, he would seldom lead us to lament that he had erred in judgment, and never that he had been betrayed by passion. Multitudes might pass him by, fascinated by no glittering at- tractions, but they, who lingered long enough to see his wordi, would feel reluctant to depart. Little occasion would he ever furnish an enemy, if any such he had, for accusation against him ; certainly little in imprudence or folly, and still less in any moral delinquency. Is not this the better kind of greatness ? So far as character alone is concerned, is it not that which best fills and honors every public station ? This man, whom the people had set over them, remarkable as he was, in the general view of his character for an even and well balanced one, had nevertheless, two or three leading points among the higher qualities, which we may cursorily notice. As striking as any, perhaps, was his sense of justice. I should be slow to ascribe to him, as a characteris- 2 10 tic trait, either warmth of character, or ardor of temperament. But the sight of a wrong practised either upon others or himself, and much more any inducement to perpetrate such an act, or the sus- picion of having committed it, would be likely some- times to be mistaken for both. He was not the one to stand calm and unmoved in such emergencies. That, which had so firm a seat within, would show itself in the kindling eye and the warm glow of in- dignation. On ordinary occasions its natural ex- pression would be seen in the absence of hasty de- cisions, and a calm and patient manner. It would then beget reliance. We have good assurance that this w^as so. I understand it to have been the first impression with which, upon a personal interview, a stranger was sure to be inspired. You would feel yourself in the presence of one from whom no wrong would be feared or suspected. This influ- ence can never be assumed. It must be in the man. It can never be put on. We could no more have been made to feel the same security in the pres- ence of Nero or Napoleon, by any purpose of theirs, than by any efforts of our own we could have trans- formed them into angels of light. I repeat it, it must be in the man. It is enough to know that this influ- ence was shed around him, to be assured that the ele- ment existed in him of whom we are speaking. It 11 created confidence. It bound others to him. It made him the unsulHed man he was. It set him above reproach. It raised his integrity beyond suspicion. All fair men among his opponents have acknovvl- edsed that he was an honest man. "With him a trust would be safe as far as he could know how to fulfil it. He could look with no complacency upon any wrong. The highest would not escape censure were it deserved, and the meanest would lose no right it was his to claim. I err greatly if this was not a strong feature in the character of him whom we lament ; — and a fitting trait it was for one whom the people had led up so high. Close by this, and well associated with it, was a hearty good will for his fellow-men. He stood with- in the circle of human sympathies. His benevo- lence was active and influential. What is recorded of his public acts and his spoken words, with all that has escaped of the gentleness and kindness of his private life, leave us no room to doubt this. Moreover, it seems to have been a part of himself. It was the spontaneous acting out of his nature — whether in power or out of it, commanding others or serving them, the persuasion that he was one of his race. He never parted with the feeling that he was a man. With many this is only a conviction or a recollection. With him, if I interpret him right, 12 it was diflcrent. He was benevolent almost from necessity : it was his pleasure and natural life. He could not be otherwise but by doing violence to himself. Nothing humble or erring could exclude one from a share in his benevolent regards. It tinged his whole character, and, 1 may add, gave beauty to the whole. It took off the coldness and severity which, without this, sometimes encircle the man of incorruptible integrity, like a freezing at- mosphere, and chill us as we would draw nigh. It gave that suavity and tenderness to his character. Oh ! how much missed in the home that is now des- olate, the suavity and tenderness which we are told was such a charm. It blunted the edge of a com- mand and turned it into a persuasion. It spoke welcome and fellowship in the beaming eye, and the light of the face in anticipation of the tongue. And it was an affecting testimony to the trait which had been manifested before them, but a few days before, that, on the morning before his death, they gathered up in the market-place, with swimming eyes and eager inquiries, sorrowing lest they should see his face no more. There is yet one other point, to which it would be wrong in us not to advert — a trait, if not before all, certainly behind none. The want of enthusiasm and the absence of ardor, might by some, be mis- 13 construed here, as in other parts of his character, and be thought to preclude the possibility of deep rehgious feehng. But if we may judge from his hfe it was not so. He was a devout man. He walked with God. He adorned his hfe with the beauty of hohness. He who ponders his character, as displayed through eventful and trying scenes, will not find that he was the one to dissemble in anything. What he seemed, he was. He put on nothing for effect. And although we should make but little account of the fact, for the spirit is the essential, and not the form, yet when it is related of him that he worshiped his Maker on his knees, we under- stand it to be the natural expression of the deep sentiment of his heart — the natural posture which his soul required for the reverential homage of his Maker. It is likewise a striking incident related among the pecuharly affecting circumstances attend- ing his public obsequies, that the funeral service, over his lifeless remains, was in part read from a copy of the Holy Scriptures he had purchased as his guide and oracle, when he first entered his new and responsible sphere of action. Both may seem a curious coincidence ; on the latter day only I would remark. In itself, indeed, it may to some appear but a simple and natural act. But it speaks vol- umes for the deep reverence with which that best of 14 books had been regarded. It discloses to the ac- curate observer, as the thin smoke points the wind, when no breath seems stirring, in what direction his tendencies moved him. In analyzing his character, as portrayed to us by his conduct in the stations he had filled, together with what is left to us in public documents and speeches, and the testimony of those who had en- joyed his society, these seem to me to have been the leading traits in the character of our departed chief. If in intellect he was not startling or daz- zling, he certainly was far more than ordinarily en- dowed. If not great in the world's estimate of greatness, that must undeniably be conceded to him, which results from powers well balanced and con- trolled. In this he was great. In every just sense he was good. Superior elements ever took the lead in his character. His long and successful ser- vices among the Indian tribes were enough alone to confirm this. No human being could deal with those most savage and selfish forms of humanity through such protracted periods, and to such happy issues — every influence perpetually exerted to draw out all that was selfish in himself — but by kindness, and justice, and other elevating influences. He illustrated beautifully the power of moral over brute force. In this respect he resembled Penn, of whom 15 it is recorded that he made a treaty with those wild sons of the wilderness which lasted seventy years — " the only one," says Voltaire, " ever concluded be- tween savages and christians, that was not ratified by an oath, the only one that never was broken." His independence was manly and straight-for- ward ; tempered meanwhile with that same suavity, which threw a rosy coloring round all he did and said. With no fear for the mightiest, he could not wound or wrong the meanest. The fortunes of his life had thrown him into the camp and on the bat- tle-field. But he was not made for a warrior, as warriors usually have been ; and I think all the better of him that he was not. He had not enough of the contentious and destructive spirit for that. Nevertheless, his high moral sentiments led him always to act bravely and well, however repugnant the task might be to his nature or taste. Of one thing I am sure ; he would have made a poor mili- tary man if called to fight a batde in an unjust cause. It has been said as a marked feature in the character of him who was " first in war " as in peace, that his retreats were as remarkable as his successful engagements ; showing the element of mercy ever vigilant to protect his soldiers. It was the predominance of the same trait, which must have robbed the batde-field of every charm in the 16 eyes of him who followed him in his last elevated station. Yet this very peculiarity only rendered him the more fit to fill it well. He had been made to shine best in the councils of State and the civi- lian's chair. As to his intercourse with others, he could little sympathise with the remark of the wily Talleyrand, that " God seemed to have given us the power not to express but to conceal our thoughts." His natu- ral frankness and openness, both of which were conspicuous, might possibly have been deemed in- consistent with the character of an eminent and successful statesman. I know not but as the in- trigues of courts and their artful policy may, in the past history of the world, have been managed, it might have been so. But I have yet to learn that such crystal traits as these can be any impediment towards forming a good and virtuous one. Let us believe, rather, that if we are to consider political hfe as only capable of being pursued successfully by artifice, stratagem and concealment, we have not yet discovered its rightful paths ; and that we have no claim as yet to be enrolled as the worthy ser- vants of men, till we have first become the true- hearted and faithful servants of God. To the removal of such a character — let me hope I may not have departed from the truth of it — 17 it is not easy at any time to be indifferent. Occur- ring as it has, it has seemed to render more mourn- ful, if not to magnify the loss. Nevertheless, let us beware lest we look at the divine appointments only through our own sorrows. " It is related as a singu- lar fehcity," — I borrow from another the beautiful description of a record of history — " it is related as a singular felicity of the great philosopher Plato, that he died at a good old age, at a banquet, sur- rounded with flowers and perfumes, amidst festal songs, on his birth-day." Happy, I may add, in the spirit of the old Latin maxim, not more in the glory of his life than in the period of his death. I know not but that in the departure of him, on whom the nation's thoughts have been fixed, the same might be repeated with equal force. I could entertain no anxious forebodings for my country, so far as char- acter is concerned, under such direction. 1 would express no fears, which we might not feel for any human strength. But at the best, it might be hap- piest for himself, as we know it was wisest, that he was permitted to depart before promises could even be in danger of being broken, or trials feebly borne could detract from the lustre of his renown. Could we see all its issues, we might behold him de- parting in a chariot of light ; dropping, too, like him of old, as he ascended, a mantle, rich in bless- 3 11 ings, on those who should come after him, and on the country of his fondest prayers. Could our hearts, too, but be opened to every sanctifying influence, how much larger service than his life might we see his death conferring ! The solemn voice of God, whose protecting care was ever over our fathers, and those whom he raised up for their defence, has spoken with awakening tones in the deaths, on the jubilee day of the nation, of three of those who had been successively chosen to preside over this people. Still another, whom the people had honored, has suddenly closed his eyes almost at the very hour when he had assumed the robe. Is there no lan- guage of warning in these striking uccurrences, no words of wisdom speaking from his death ? Are there no monitions of the emptiness of human ele- vation, of the common lot that awaits us all ? Is there no encouragement to cultivate the spirit and life, which he, whom wc mourn, has left us as his brightest legacy ? Yes, brethren, all these monitions are saving. All the memory of the man is good. His life was an honor to his country and humanity. He lived like a Christian patriot and he died hke one, — the best good of his country at his heart in its last throbbings. The nation has become a mourner, for it had reposed confidence in his integrity, and its 19 anticipations of him have been disappointed. A gloomy and sad reverse has passed hke a sudden cloud in the stately mansion, and at the Halls of the Capitol, and among the family circle, where, but a month ago, he walked as chief, and shed, on all, the beams of his kindly countenance. I rejoice that above all this, bringing with it its disappoint- ment and lonely bereavement, there remaineth a noble monument, that will endure forever. I re- joice in the memory of the man. Time will take not a gem from his crown of graces. It will grow brighter and brighter, age after age, the longer and the deeper it is pondered. I can think better of my country and my race, — of the one that she could put confidence in such worth, — of the other, that such an example is recorded on its page. And I will believe, and bless God who permits me to do it, that one whom half a continent has honored and now mourns for, one of the Lord's noblemen, a kind- hearted, true-hearted man, with all his soul for his Maker, and more than half for his race, having faith- fully finished his services on earth, has gone hence with a measure of the spirit of Heaven, — has gone to sit on a higher throne within the bright circles of glory on high. / I'r LBJL'Ob i