Oh, William Henry Harrison. You speak with the same feverish incomprehensibility that I am suffering from on this day of homebound sickness.
It was the remark of a Roman consul in an early period of that celebrated Republic that a most striking contrast was observable in the conduct of candidates for offices of power and trust before and after obtaining them, they seldom carrying out in the latter case the pledges and promises made in the former. However much the world may have improved in many respects in the lapse of upward of two thousand years since the remark was made by the virtuous and indignant Roman, I fear that a strict examination of the annals of some of the modern elective governments would develop similar instances of violated confidence.
Mr. Ninth President of the United States, I cannot understand a word you just said. Or, rather: I cannot understand a word you just said 167 years ago. However, this is amazing, and a confirmation of the wisdom of staying home when one feels the sickness settling in:
President Harrison has the dual distinction among all the Presidents of giving the longest inaugural speech and of serving the shortest term of office. Known to the public as "Old Tippecanoe," the former general of the Indian campaigns delivered an hour-and-forty-five-minute speech in a snowstorm. The oath of office was administered on the East Portico of the Capitol by Chief Justice Roger Taney. The 68-year-old President stood outside for the entire proceeding, greeted crowds of well-wishers at the White House later that day, and attended several celebrations that evening. One month later he died of pneumonia.
Well, Old Tippecanoe, at least it wasn't too bad a way to go.
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