It is one of the maxims of history that great events produce great men, and the struggle for independence abundantly proved this. Never again in the country's history did it possess such a group of statesmen as during its first years, the only other period at all comparable with it being that which culminated in the Civil War. It was inevitable that these men should assume the guidance of the newly-launched ship of state, and Washington had, in every way possible, availed himself of their assistance. Alexander Hamilton had been his secretary of the treasury, Thomas Jefferson his secretary of state, and James Monroe his minister to France. The first man to succeed him in the presidency, however, was none of these, but John Adams of Massachusetts. His election was not uncontested, as Washington's had been; in fact, he was elected by a majority of only three, Jefferson receiving 68 electoral votes to his 71.
Let us pause for a moment to see how this contest originated, for it was the beginning of the party government which has endured to the present day, and which is considered by many people to be essential to the administration of the Republic. When Washington was elected there were, strictly speaking, no parties; but there was a body of men who had favored the adoption of the Constitution, and another, scarcely less influential, who had opposed it. The former were called Federals, as favoring a federation of the several states, and the latter were called Anti-Federals, as opposing it.
One point of difference always leads to others, wider and wider apart, as the rain-drop, shattered on the summit of the Great Divide, flows one half to the Atlantic the other half to the Pacific. So, after the adoption of the Constitution, there was never any serious question of abrogating it, but two views arose as to its interpretation. The Federals, in their endeavor to strengthen the national government, favored the liberal view, which was that anything the Constitution did not expressly forbid was permitted; while the Anti-Federals, anxious to preserve all the power possible to the several states, favored the strict view, which was that unless the Constitution expressly permitted a thing, it could not be done. As there were many, many points upon which the Constitution was silent—its framers being mere human beings and not all-wise intelligences—it will be seen that these interpretations were as different as black and white. It was this divergence, combined with another as to whether, in joining the Union, the several states had surrendered their sovereignty, which has persisted as the fundamental difference between the Republican and Democratic parties to the present day.
Adams was a Federalist, and his choice as the candidate of that party was due to the fact that Hamilton, its leader, was too unpopular with the people at large to stand any chance of election, more especially against such a man as Jefferson, who would be his opponent. With Hamilton out of the way, the place plainly belonged to Adams by right of succession, and he was nominated. He was aided by the fact that he had served as Vice-President during both of Washington's administrations, and it was felt that he would be much more likely to carry out the policies of his distinguished predecessor than Jefferson, who had been opposed to Washington on many public questions. Even at that, as has been said, he won by a majority of only three votes.
In a general way Adams did continue Washington's policies, even retaining his cabinet. But, while his attitude on national questions was, in the main, a wise one, he was so unwise and undignified in minor things, so consumed by petty jealousies, envies and contentions, that he made enemies instead of friends, and when, four years later, he was again the Federal candidate, he was easily beaten by Jefferson, and retired from the White House a soured and disappointed man, fleeing from the capital by night in order that he might not have to witness the inauguration of his successor. To such depths had he been brought by colossal egotism. In his earlier years, he had done distinguished service as a member of the Continental Congress, but his prestige never recovered from the effect of his conduct during his term as President, and his last years were passed in retirement. By a singular coincidence, he and Jefferson died upon the same day, July 4, 1826.
Thomas Jefferson, whose influence is perhaps more generally acknowledged in the life of the Republic of to-day than that of any other man of his time, and whose name, Washington's apart, is oftenest on men's lips, was born in Virginia in 1743, graduated from William and Mary College, studied law, and took a prominent part in the agitation preceding the Revolution. Early in his life, owing to various influences, he began forming those ideas of simplicity and equality which had such an influence over his later life, and over the great party of which he was the founder. His temperament was what we call "artistic"; that is, he loved books and music and architecture, and the things which make for what we call culture. And yet, with all that, he soon grew wise and skillful in the world's affairs, possessing an industry and insight which assured his speedy success as a lawyer, despite an impediment of speech which prevented him from being an effective orator.
He had the good fortune to marry happily, finding a comrade and helpmate, as well as a wife, in beautiful Martha Skelton, with whom he rode away to his estate at Monticello when he was twenty-seven. She saw him write the Declaration of Independence, saw him war-governor of Virginia, and second only to Washington in the respect and affection of the people of that great commonwealth; and then she died. The shock of her death left Jefferson a stricken man; he secluded himself from the public, and declared that his life was at an end.
Washington, however, eight years later, persuaded him to accept a place in his cabinet as secretary of state. Within a year he had definitely taken his place as the head of the Anti-Federalist, or Republican party, and laid the foundations of what afterwards became known as the Democratic party. His trust in the people had grown and deepened, his heart had grown more tender with the coming of affliction, and it was his theory that in a democracy, the people should control public policy by imposing their wishes upon their rulers, who were answerable to them—a theory which is now accepted, in appearance, at least, by all political parties, but which the Federalist leaders of that time thoroughly detested. Jefferson seems to have felt, too, that the tendency of those early years was too greatly toward an aristocracy, which the landed gentry of Virginia were only too willing to provide, and when, at last, he was chosen for the presidency, he set the country such an example of simplicity and moderation that there was never again any chance of its running into that danger.
Everyone has read the story of how, on the day of his inauguration, he rode on horseback to the capitol, clad in studiously plain clothes and without attendants, tied his horse to the fence, and walked unannounced into the Senate chamber. This careful avoidance of display marked his whole official career, running sometimes, indeed, into an ostentation of simplicity whose good taste might be questioned. But of Jefferson's entire sincerity there can be no doubt. Inconsistent as he sometimes was—as every man is—his purposes and policies all tended steadily toward the betterment of humanity; and the great mass of the people who to this day revere his memory, "pay a just debt of gratitude to a friend who not only served them, as many have done, but who honored and respected them, as very few have done."
Perhaps the greatest single act of his administration was the purchase from France of the vast territory known as Louisiana, which included the state now bearing that name, and the wide, untrodden, wilderness west of the Mississippi, paying for it the sum of fifteen million dollars—a rate of a fraction of a cent an acre. The purchase aroused the bitterest opposition, but Jefferson seems to have had a clearer vision than most men of what the future of America was to be. He served for two terms, refusing a third nomination which he was besought to accept, and retiring to private life on March 4, 1809, after a nearly continuous public service of forty-four years. The remainder of his life was spent quietly at his home at Monticello, where men flocked for a guidance which never failed them. The cause to which his last years were devoted was characteristic of the man—the establishment of a common school system in Virginia, and the founding of the University of Virginia, which still bears the imprint of his mind.
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