Washington had no ambition; his country wanted him to serve her, and he became great rather from a sense of duty than from taste; sometimes even with a painful effort. The trials of his public life were bitter to him; he preferred independence and repose to the exercise of power. But he accepted, without hesitation, the task which his country imposed on him, and in fulfilling it did nothing to diminish its burden. Born to govern, though he had no delight in governing, he told the American people what he believed to be true, and persisted in doing what he thought wise, with a firmness as unshaken as it was simple, and a sacrifice of popularity the more meritorious as it was not compensated by the pleasures of domination. The servant of an infant republic, in which the democratic spirit prevailed, he won the confidence of the people by maintaining its interests in opposition to its inclinations. While founding a new government, he practiced that policy, at once modest and severe, measured and independent, which seems to belong only to the head of an aristocratic senate ruling over an ancient state. His success does equal honor to Washington and to his country. Whether we consider the general destiny of nations, or the lives of the great men whom they have produced; whether we are treating of a monarchy or a republic, an aristocratic or a democratic society, we gather the same light from facts; we see that the same laws determine the ultimate success or failure of governments. The policy which preserves and maintains a state in its ancient security and customary order is also the only policy that can bring a revolution to a successful close, and give stability to the institutions whose lasting excellence may justify it to succeeding ages. FIFTY YEARS AGO. My father, whose manners were at once highbred and lively, had some great acquaintances; but I recollect none of them personally, except an old lady of quality, who (if memory does not strangely deceive me, and give me a personal share in what I only heard talked of; for old autobiographers of childhood must own themselves liable to such confusions) astounded me one day by letting her false teeth slip out, and clapping them in again. I had no idea of the existence of such phenomena, and could almost as soon have expected her to take off her head and readjust it. She lived in Red Lion-square, a quarter in different estimation from what it is now. It was at her house, I believe, that my father one evening met Wilkes. He did not know him by sight, and happening to fall into conversation with him, while the latter sat looking down, he said something in Wilkes's disparagement, on which the jovial demagogue looked up in his face, and burst out a laughing.