Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
On picking up Washington's first inaugural, one is immediately struck by the modesty. He had just been elected unanimously by the Electoral College. He was more respected than any subsequent president has been at the time of his inauguration. And what does he say? [T]he magnitude and difficulty of the trust to which the voice of my country called me, being sufficient to awaken in the wisest and most experienced of her citizens a distrustful scrutiny into his qualifications, could not but overwhelm with despondence one who (inheriting inferior endowments from nature and unpracticed in the duties of civil administration) ought to be peculiarly conscious of his own deficiencies. None of his successors has made the point as forcefully as that. But echoes are to be found in almost every president for the next 68 years. (John Adams was an exception. He was apparently so envious of Washington that he spent a large part of his address spelling out his own excellent qualifications for the job.) That era ended with Lincoln. Subsequent inaugurals routinely contain protestations of humility, but they are perfunctory and do not sound sincere. The antebellum modesty, while in part a reflection of the conventional etiquette of the time, may also have served a political objective: to alleviate the concerns of those who--in the early days of the republic--feared it might be transformed into a monarchy, and the president into a king. A little later, perhaps after 1820, a new worry arose. Would the power of the federal government be used to interfere with the "peculiar domestic institution" of the Southern states? The presidents' assurance of the limitation of their powers may have been intended to give comfort to those states. Lincoln faced a different situation. With the South already seceding, he could only "preserve, protect and defend the Constitution" by asserting the power of the federal government and his own power as chief executive. It was no time for modesty. Lincoln's successors inherited a federal government with much more authority--and more need to use it--than before the war, and they had less motivation to belittle themselves and their powers. In the third phase, the Inaugural Address metamorphosed from describing the government's policy to inspiring the public's behavior. Presidents recognized--or, at least, believed--that the country had problems they ought to deal with but could not manage by using the instruments of government alone. Thus, in his first inaugural, Woodrow Wilson said: "At last a vision has been vouchsafed us of our life as a whole. We see the bad with the good, the debased and decadent with the sound and the vital. With this vision we approach new affairs." If the country is debased and decadent, the cure has to come from uplifting the people, not from acts of government. Similar diagnoses and prescriptions appear in later inaugurals. Presidents derived their license to serve as leader-preacher from Theodore Roosevelt's remark that the presidency was "a bully pulpit," a remark that did not appear in his Inaugural Address. The metaphor of the pulpit suggests not reading but oral and visual contact between the preacher and his flock. Radio and--even more--television made this possible on a national scale. A telltale sign of the leader-preacher inaugural is the use of the phrase, "Let us ... "--meaning, "You do as I say." This expression appears occasionally throughout the history of inaugurals, but it has hit its stride in recent years. John F. Kennedy repeated it 16 times in his Inaugural Address, and Richard Nixon has it 22 times in his second one. Presidents and their speech writers have mined their predecessors for memorable words and repeated them without attribution. Kennedy's trumpet call, "Ask not what your country can do for you: Ask what you can do for your country," has an ironic history. In his inaugural, Harding, surely no model for Kennedy, had said, "Our most dangerous tendency is to expect too little of government, and at the same time do for it too little." And even before he became president, in a speech in 1916, Harding had said, "In the great fulfillment we must have a citizenship less concerned about what the government can do for it and more anxious about what it can do for the nation." Many an issue frets its hour on the inaugural stage and then is heard no more. That includes the Indians, the coastal fortifications, territorial expansion, the Isthmus Canal, civil-service reform, polygamy, and Prohibition. Some subjects that you expect to appear, don't. Hoover's inaugural, March 4, 1929, gives no hint of economic vulnerability. Roosevelt's second inaugural, Jan. 20, 1937, contains no reference to Hitler or to Germany. But what is most amazing, at least to a reader in 1997, is the silence of the inaugurals on the subject of women. The word "women" does not appear at all until Wilson's first inaugural, and it always appears as part of the phrase "men and women," never as referring to any special concerns of women. Even Harding, the first president to be chosen in an election in which women voted nationally, does not remark on the uniqueness of the fact in his inaugural. One subject that does get ample treatment is taxes. "Taxes," or some equivalent word, appears in 43 of the 52 inaugural addresses to date. Coolidge said in 1925: "The time is arriving when we can have further tax reduction. ... I am opposed to extremely high rates, because they produce little or no revenue, because they are bad for the country, and, finally, because they are wrong." Federal taxes were then about 3 percent of the gross domestic product. Ronald Reagan said essentially the same thing in 1981, when they were 20 percent. The most disturbing aspect of the whole series of inaugurals is what is said and unsaid on the subject of race relations, which Arthur Schlesinger Jr. calls "the supreme American problem." The words "black," "blacks," "Negro," or "race" (as applied to blacks) do not appear at all until Rutherford Hayes, 1877. James Monroe asked in 1817, "On whom has oppression fallen in any quarter of our Union? Who has been deprived of any right of person or property?" These were rhetorical questions, intended to get the answer "No one!"--as if there were not millions of slaves in America. Before the Civil War the word "slavery" appears only in the Inaugural Address of Martin Van Buren, 1837, and Buchanan, 1857, and then only as something that, pursuant to the Constitution and in order to preserve the Union, should not be interfered with. But although generally unmentionable, the subject was boiling, and would boil over in 1861. After the Civil War, it is in the inaugurals of Hayes, James Garfield (1881), and Benjamin Harrison (1889) that we find the most explicit and positive discussion of the need to convert into reality the rights and freedom granted to the "freedmen" on paper by the 13 th , 14 th , and 15 th amendments. Garfield's was the strongest among these. (He had been a student at Williams College in the 1850s, 80 years before me, when the college had been a station on the underground railway.) But the subject then began to fade. William McKinley said in his first Inaugural Address, March 4, 1897, "Lynchings must not be tolerated in a great and civilized country like the United States," but he said it without horror. Taft raised the subject of race relations in 1909 only to express satisfaction at the progress that had been made. And then the subject disappeared. FDR never mentioned it in any of his four inaugurals.

<question>:
What did the early US population worry about?

<options>:
A Electoral College unanimously choosing a president
B Monarchy taking over the country
C Limitations of federal power
D John Adams being envious of Washington

<answer>:

B