Harrison was elected. He was sixty-eight when he arrived in Washington in February, 1841, and was in delicate health, but affected a vain pretense of robustness. Though the day was chilly, with snow thinly covering the streets and a cold rain falling, he declined to enter a carriage, and walked half a mile to the City Hall with his hat in his hand, bowing to the people on either side of the street. At the hall he stood on the portico, still uncovered, while the Mayor made a speech of welcome and he responded. His exposure gave him a cold which, following his fatigues and excitement, brought on a serious nervous attack, and this was not improved by the prospect of a wearisome inaugural ceremony. He had only a common school education, but had read a good deal, particularly ancient history. Mr. Webster, whom he had selected for Secretary of State, recognizing his literary limitations, composed an excellent inaugural address and carried it to him, saying in explanation: “I feared lest, with all you are called upon to do just now, you might not find time to do anything of this sort.” “Oh, yes,” answered Harrison, cheerfully, producing a packet of neatly written sheets, “I attended to all that before leaving home.” Webster tactfully contrived to induce him to exchange manuscripts, “so that each author could read the other’s production, and whichever proved the better could be used.” But the next day Harrison handed back Webster’s paper with the remark: “If I were to read your address, everybody would know you wrote it. Mine is not so good, but at least it is mine, and I shall prefer my own poor work to your brilliant one.” As a last resort Webster offered to revise Harrison’s address, and Harrison consented, though very reluctantly. Webster struggled with his task a whole day, chopping out paragraph after paragraph of classical citations. When a lady that evening inquired what he had been doing to make him look so ill, he exclaimed: “You’d be ill, too, if you had committed all the crimes I have. Within twelve hours I have killed seventeen Roman pro-consuls--dead as smelts, every man of them!”