He remained in France for nine years, and was the pride and pet of the people.  His sound sense, his good humor, his distinguished personality, gave him the freedom of society everywhere.  He had the ability to adapt himself to conditions, and was everywhere at home.

Once, he attended a memorable banquet in Paris shortly after the close of the Revolutionary War.  Among the speakers was the English Ambassador, who responded to the toast, “Great Britain.”  The Ambassador dwelt at length on England’s greatness, and likened her to the sun that sheds its beneficent rays on all.  The next toast was “America,” and Franklin was called on to respond.  He began very modestly by saying:  “The Republic is too young to be spoken of in terms of praise; her career is yet to come, and so, instead of America, I will name you a man, George Washington—­the Joshua who successfully commanded the sun to stand still.”  The Frenchmen at the board forgot the courtesy due their English guest, and laughed needlessly loud.

Franklin was regarded in Paris as the man who had both planned the War of the Revolution, and fought it.  They said, “He despoiled the thunderbolt of its danger and snatched sovereignty out of the hand of King George of England.”  No doubt that his ovation was largely owing to the fact that he was supposed to have plucked whole handfuls of feathers from England’s glory, and surely they were pretty nearly right.

In point of all-round development, Franklin must stand as the foremost American.  The one intent of his mind was to purify his own spirit, to develop his intellect on every side, and make his body the servant of his soul.  His passion was to acquire knowledge, and the desire of his heart was to communicate it.

The writings of Franklin—­simple, clear, concise, direct, impartial, brimful of commonsense—­form a model which may be studied by every one with pleasure and profit.  They should constitute a part of the curriculum of every college and high school that aspires to cultivate in its pupils a pure style and correct literary taste.

We know of no man who ever lived a fuller life, a happier life, a life more useful to other men, than Benjamin Franklin.  For forty-two years he gave the constant efforts of his life to his country, and during all that time no taint of a selfish action can be laid to his charge.  Almost his last public act was to petition Congress to pass an act for the abolition of slavery.  He died in Seventeen Hundred Ninety, and as you walk up Arch Street, Philadelphia, only a few squares from the spot where stood his printing-shop, you can see the place where he sleeps.

The following epitaph, written by himself, not, however, appear on the simple monument that marks his grave: 

The Body
of
Benjamin Franklin, Printer
(Like the cover of an old book,
Its contents torn out,
And stripped of its lettering and gilding,)
Lies here food for worms. 
Yet the work itself shall not be lost,
For it will (as he believes) appear once
more
In a new
And more beautiful Edition
Corrected and Amended
By
The Author.